Salvage

by R J Theodore

  That had gone very well. She was in such a good mood, she’d have suffered a romp with him of her own free will. Not that she’d tell him so.

  She rounded the corner, her head swimming more than slightly after three pints of the first real stout she’d had in years. The Rakkar distillers were famed for a fiery drink that had effects to challenge even a veteran, but that stuff didn’t go down near as easily as the chocolatey tones of a stout, and she hadn’t had the coin for it anyway. She blinked against the undulated warping of her vision as she entered a darker alley. It took her a few sleepy blinks to clear her sight and see she’d come up face-to-face with a Yu’Nyun.

  The meeting with Talbot had gone so well she’d forgotten all about Scrimshaw, but there xe stood.

  “It is you.” Her voice slurred more than expected.

  Xe drew back with a hissing sound, xist balance faltering with the movement. Xe fell shoulder-first against a wall to keep from losing xist feet. Foot.

  A sorry wreck of a peg leg—splintered scraps of wood bound with adhesive repair strips and twine—had replaced xist crutch. Xe was naked except for a scrap of loincloth and a jute sack hanging across the gray scar of xist old wound. From its strap hung the bones and skulls of rats and snakes. A chicken bone or two among them. There were metal bottle tops and broken bits of machinery strung between the grisly ornaments. Dirty twine wrapped around xist upper arms, crisscrossing in knotted patterns, contrasting with the pale exoskeleton beneath. A line of parallel black streaks marked one side of xist long skull, along the ridge that ran back from where an ear might have been if xe were native to Peridot, up to the curving point where it crested in back.

  Xist back curved forward in a feral hunch, arms held like feelers on a prawn, stooped over so low that xist eyes were level with hers. The light that reached xist carapace fell on a smooth surface, free of carvings.

  She never could read the sparkling depths of xist pupil-less sapphire eyes. Even less so when tipsy in the dark.

  But it was xin. It was Scrimshaw—whom she’d believed dead and nearly even mourned.

  The alien who betrayed xist people to help Talis and her crew. To save Peridot. Or just to spit in the eye of the society that said xist sacrifice should mark xin for death.

  Talis didn’t care which at the time. Couldn’t really figure, even now, how she felt about it. But it bothered her to see xin like this.

  And then xe attacked her.

  Scrimshaw had no weapons but leapt at Talis with those slender fingers, tips scuffed and stained. She leaned backward, too far, and toppled to the ground, landing painfully on her back and elbows. Scrimshaw went down with her, scratching at her face and pulling at her hair. The bones strung across xist chest clacked together before their bodies collided. When xe landed on top of her, the morbid trinkets cracked against her, dry and brittle. She felt some of them break and crumble with the impact.

  Perhaps triggered by the effects of the stout, stunned by the fall, or out of some fear response, her vision flashed, the present superseded by old memories. The light, dry, bony body still struggled and lashed at her, but the alien’s vicious, directionless thrashing, xist scramble for survival made her recall the syringe in Amos’s hands. The anguish-wracked body of the little lab rodent. She remembered its weakened state just before its death. Its agony and its confused rage.

  She got her hands around Scrimshaw’s limbs, and grasped xist shoulders, pinning xin like a delicate, panicked bird. It had been a small matter to physically overpower the Yu’Nyun years ago, but she was still surprised at how easily it was done. Especially if someone had used that Yu’Nyun solution on xin.

  “Scrimshaw.” Her voice was a breathy grunt. Xist peg leg was leaning into her stomach. “You still in there, friend?”

  The thrashing stopped. In the dim light of the alley, she saw nictitating eyelids blink at her, wiping the membranes across xist dark eyes like the slide change in a projector. The rigid mandible opened and closed. Without soft flesh, she couldn’t read xist expression, but xe had stilled, stopped struggling against her.

  “Captain Talis?” The voice was a whisper and heavy with an accent—the hiss and hum that wound around the consonants and vibrated between the vowels. The clacking of some percussive vocal movement in the back of xist mouth. The accent had always been stronger when xe whispered.

  She let go of xist shoulders, and xe pulled away. The wooden peg attached to xist leg, above the knee, skidded on paper trash that piled in drifts on the floor plating, and it took xin an awkward extra movement to get xist-self back on xist feet.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows, feeling the bruises that would be there in the morning, but waved away the offer of an outstretched hand. She’d felt the insubstantial strength of xist limbs. She’d do better getting herself back on her feet.

  “Sounds strange when you say it. Haven’t been ‘Captain’ for two years.” She made a vague attempt to wipe dirt and grime off her backside, but even in the dusk light of the alley, she knew the clothes were a lost cause. She tried not to consider what category of filth she’d been rolling in.

  Scrimshaw withdrew the offered hand, and xist fingers slid beneath the string of bones to run along the line of the enormous scar. “I cannot see well in these alleys,” xe said, murmuring, and she had to focus on the words to make them out.

  “Not a problem. I didn’t expect to bump into you, either.”

  Xe retreated back down the alley, hobbling as xe walked. Talis feared xe would run off again, but xe stooped to retrieve a walking stick from behind a dumpster. It was decorated much in the same way as xe was, with marks, knotted string, and a jangle of tiny bones.

  “You’re a mess, my friend.” She looked over her shoulder at the street. Traffic was light, but no one on Subrosa went anywhere unaware of their surroundings, or of what interesting information might be worth something to someone. “Come with me. Sophie’s gonna have a fit. She’ll be so happy to see you. We heard you were dead.”

  Scrimshaw shrunk back a bit. “I am not welcome in the light, Captain Talis.”

  That was sure to be true. Didn’t exactly blend in, and the population of Subrosa had sense enough to hold no love for the Yu’Nyun. No matter how far afield this particular one had strayed from xist own kind. “Yeah, fair enough. You know the bones you’re wearing probably don’t help. You look like something out of the old adventure stories.”

  “The lost civilization known as Rak Menna Droon,” xe said. Xe still spoke at a cautious volume but with more confidence as though xe was beginning to remember how to be a person again, instead of a ghost. “I read of them when I was still researching your planet. They were described as terrifying. I thought that to make my appearance more fearsome might keep others away.”

  Chuckling, Talis shook her head. “You always gonna know more about Peridot than me?”

  Xe didn’t answer and instead clutched the staff tight and leaned on it. Xe looked exhausted. Their overly physical greeting couldn’t have helped. The vermin of Subrosa were as starved as the people. Xe was no doubt malnourished if xe was chasing and eating the same creatures whose bones xe wore. And Talis knew the local food wasn’t compatible with xist digestion in the first place.

  Without xist own kind, and with any stores of their proper diet sunk to flotsam, all the Yu’Nyun on Peridot had probably suffered some kind of digestive adaptation. Maybe now Scrimshaw would be more willing to talk about it. They’d find out soon enough—if xe was to come with them. But Scrimshaw was right. She couldn’t just tour xin openly through the streets of Subrosa.

  “Tonight,” she said, a promise to xin. Anyone watching Moth Catcher would have lost their trail. The ship had been handed off to Jones’s care, her name plaques swapped, and tomorrow, she’d have a new coat of paint and new sails. “Sneak your way to the dockyard on the leeward side of the city. Find a ship named Fortune’s Storm, and watch f
or us to board. There’ll be a work crew there now, but you’ll be safe there once we’re settled in.”

  “With you?”

  She stepped forward and put a hand on xist shoulder. “Yeah, with us. We’re not just going to leave you here. Kids are making a game of hunting you, did you know that?”

  Xe turned xist head away, and Talis wondered what the painted marks on xist head plating signified. “That has become standard.”

  “Yeah, well, tonight it ends, you hear? We’ll wait for you, so you come find us.”

  Scrimshaw blinked in the darkness. Xe made no promise. Had xe been among enemies for so long that xe didn’t know who to trust?

  On the way back to her ship, the thought struck Talis that she’d not hesitated before deciding to bring the alien back into their fold. Xe’d helped Meran all but destroy xist own people, and whether xe regretted it or not, xe could never rejoin them with the scar across xist chest. The scar xe’d chosen to keep.

  It wasn’t the pool of facts that made her trust xin. Everything that went wrong was a result of going against her gut. She’d have to learn to listen to her instincts again. And it started with Scrimshaw.

  Chapter 32

  A gaunt and skeletal silhouette approached a Bone barque in Jones’s shipyard that night.

  Warned of the impending arrival, Sophie was eagerly keeping watch on the newly re-monikered Fortune’s Storm, named for an old airship legend about rare storms that rained gold, silver, and diamonds upon ships. Anyone who could survive their onslaught would be rich beyond their wildest fantasies.

  Talis had always kept the name in mind for a future ship, dating back before she ever thought she’d be casually flying about with a fortune in her hold. Now the irony amused her.

  The reunion with Scrimshaw was as enthusiastic as Talis knew it would be. Even Dug did not hesitate to clap xin on the arm, and she thought she saw the alien’s jaw rattle.

  Amos and Kirna emerged from the safety of their onboard laboratory at the commotion, and new introductions were made. Amos seemed instantly enthralled by Scrimshaw, both as a specimen and as a fellow seeker of knowledge.

  What a sight, her crew. The four of them were enough to turn heads before, whether because of the Bone man in Cutter skies or the Cutter folk in a Rakkar city. Now they were seven, it seemed, and if they all went walking through the streets of Subrosa together, they would be more of a curiosity than ever.

  They got Scrimshaw cleaned up as first order of business, which was critical to being in close quarters with xin. They washed and wiped at the grime and self-applied don’t-tell-me-what of xist markings. Eventually they resorted to using rubbing alcohol from Amos’s stocks to get the worst of it off xin, or at least off xist smoother portions. The notches and scratches across xist body seemed keen to hold on to their stains.

  That’s when they learned xist exoskeleton was porous.

  Drunk off the solvent that had absorbed through and beyond exhausted from years of being tortured and hunted, Scrimshaw became so emotional that xe broke into song. A Yu’Nyun song, which was about the most painful thing Talis had ever experienced. Worse than her own singing. They’d made xin lie down in one of the guest cabins when the one-legged stumbling, swaying alien seemed to present a danger to xist-self. But somehow, knowing the Yu’Nyun could become intoxicated to the point of self-embarrassment made Talis feel better. She had a hundred questions for Scrimshaw, but in sympathy for xist long journey back to them, she let xin take sleep where it came.

  Meanwhile, Talbot’s small crate arrived, as did Jones’s crew. Above board and all around the hull, hammers, drills, and saws added the upgrades that would make the oversized barque manageable for their core crew.

  Tisker was on high alert while the unfamiliar workers crawled all over the ship, playing with her most delicate lines and systems. The others rested below, but even on Subrosa—check that, especially on Subrosa—a watch had to be kept. Every one of the city’s denizens was a potential burglar. Or stowaway. Talis was too aware of her bad track record with stowaways. Zero-for-two. She was done inviting extra bodies to hide aboard a ship under her command.

  When only one could be on watch, she was glad it was Tisker, who knew all the tricks of Subrosa’s worst elements—or at least knew there were always new tricks, enough to stay paranoid and watchful.

  “What’re you saying, Cap?”

  She’d given him a recap of her meeting with Talbot. “Saying I already know what we’re going to find in his crate, but I’ll be happy to learn I’m wrong. We’ve got a chance, if the Gods-That-Remain blow us a kiss, to stop all this fussing right now. We get lucky enough, a box of test tubes might still be in that lot, and we’ll know that Peridot’s fools have missed another chance to destroy themselves and take a number of the rest of us in the bargain.”

  “Odds on that?”

  “You know the odds on that. But the slimmest chance, if we take it, is going to help me sleep tonight.” She clapped him on the shoulder as she passed by him on the way to her cabin.

  She tossed the packet from Talbot down on her desk and poured herself a double from her reserve rum. The chance of doing right by Peridot might help her sleep, but truth was the growing list of concerns was going to keep her up absolutely all night, unless she gave herself a hand.

  Scrimshaw, the solution, the Veritors and their alien puppeteers, and now, waiting to hear if the Tempest’s leader would meet with her. The idea of a rebellion was romantic, but Talbot was right to be skeptical of them.

  Such healthy skepticism had been inconvenient to Talis when she tried to sell him Lindent Vein’s ring, but he hadn’t been wrong. Not really. And he didn’t want anything to do with the Tempest.

  Talis sipped her coffee at midship the next morning. Sophie and Dug were up, and Tisker had just gone off his watch while the alchemists and Scrimshaw were sleeping in as only the landlocked could.

  With the work by Jones’s crew finished in record time, they were invited to kindly depart the hospitality of his dry dock. Tisker brought Fortune’s Storm around Subrosa, into an assigned bay of the main docks. Dug and Sophie shouldered the loading ramp into place from the lower transom and waited to meet the supplies they’d ordered, a large stack of crates approaching on a tractor-driven cart.

  Dug inspected the previous night’s delivery and waved the waiting workers toward the ship’s access. They grabbed whatever crates were manageable and followed Sophie up the gangway, out of Talis’s sight. The vibration of extra feet and the deposit of heavy boxes traveled up through the wooden hull to where she stood, every sense on high alert.

  The ship was restocked for another cruise around Nexus. Almost done. One more item on her list before they could put Subrosa behind them. Odd, she mused, how a place that felt so much like home could be such a relief to depart again. Then again, it was typical of her to be as relieved to leave any port as she was to arrive.

  As the empty cart trundled away from their berth, a figure at the end of their dock caught her attention. Standing still, dressed in a well-tailored pea coat, wearing the patch Talbot told her to look for: a blue star on an golden field. Hands in pockets, focused on her.

  She felt a sickening drop in her stomach and a pressure building up in her shoulders, neck, and skull. “You’ve got to be gods-rotted kidding me!”

  “Cap?” Tisker, holding his station at the wheelhouse, was near enough to hear the curse.

  She waved a hand, loosely indicating the other end of the dock. “The Tempest sent their spokesperson. And it’s Hankirk.”

  Talis didn’t know whether to be surprised, enraged, sickened, or what. All she knew was she felt like something was going to burst from the pressure building up inside her. Hankirk had been on her mind of late, but as a Veritor and part of Scrimshaw’s unfortunate journey of the last two years. She hadn’t expected him to have rounded up a whole new batch of troubles
ome friends.

  The worst part was the genuine, gods-rotted friendly smile he greeted her with as she stalked toward him—like a long-lost friend he hadn’t seen in forever.

  Before she had narrowed down exactly what she was going to do, she reached the end of the dock where he waited for her. She needed to decide how she was going to play this, or just stand there staring at him all slack-muscled.

  So she slugged him. Laid him out flat. Nearly broke her hand too. Neither of them had been expecting it. He landed with a metallic clank as his replacement hand hit the cheap steel of the catwalks. He gripped the crossbars and pulled himself up.

  Talis grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward her. Forever wasn’t long enough in her opinion, no matter that he’d saved her life and that of her crew when Wind Sabre had gone down. She’d hoped he’d snuck off for the last time, and that was it for his constant entanglement in their lives. But his meddling didn’t stop there. He’d taken their friend straight back to the Yu’Nyun, who’d paraded xin around the streets like a prize before trying to bury xin behind a fog bank of lies.

  She wanted to shake the look off his face. “You motherless son of a cold wind, Hankirk. What the hell are you doing here?”

  He reached out a hand; she thought to try and pry her grip off his collar, but instead, he wrapped it around her in a hug. He squeezed hard, like she was a sibling thought dead. The embrace was a torture devised just for her, made worse because she could feel it was genuine. The man had to be beyond reason.

  “You wanted to see me, Talis, so here I am.” He leaned back and held her out at arm’s length. “I hear you’re back on top. I’m glad of it.”

  Her mind was slow to respond. Stuck on the absurdity of this moment. Him, crowned with a gilded arm, talking to her as though . . . well, as though she wasn’t the one who carved the arm so it needed amputating in the first place.