by S. J. Madill
No sooner were they seated than Tal was exchanging a mix of hand signals and charades with Keith at the bar.
"Okay then," said Lil. She had cleared away enough empty glasses to discover her datapad. The device came to life, the glow from its screen lighting Lil's face. "You're late," she announced. "But I don't charge extra for that." She leaned conspiratorially toward Yaella. "Unlike some people."
Yaella smiled. "Much obliged?"
"That you are," said the woman. Her red-rimmed eyes struggled to focus on the datapad in front of her. "So… where was I flying you again? Just, y'know, to confirm… and stuff."
"You aren't," said Yaella. "We haven't met." She watched the contortions on Lil's face, as the woman struggled to make sense of things. It was funny to watch drunk people trying to think, but it was one of the main reasons why she didn't drink to excess. Even when she was sober, she sometimes didn't trust herself to think things through.
"Wait a sec," said Lil. "You're not my clients. You're just people."
Yaella nodded. "Yeah. Just people."
Lil put down her datapad, and wiped her face with both hands. "Oh, thank Christ," she muttered.
Keith had arrived at the table, and was unloading a pitcher of beer and a stack of clean glasses. He smiled at Lil. "Isn't your meeting tomorrow, Miss DeWinter?" With a wink at Yaella, he turned and headed back toward the bar.
Tal started pouring; Yaella pointed at the halfway mark of her glass. "You okay, Lil?"
Lil sat back in her chair, blowing out a deep breath through puffed cheeks. "Yeah," she said at last. "Yeah. I'm good." She rubbed her face again. "I gotta stop meeting clients when I've had a few."
At the far end of the table, Dr. Munshaw seemed to be enjoying this. "Maybe," he said, lifting a full glass to his lips, "you could not drink so much in the morning."
"Valid point," she said. "Also: screw you." Lil turned toward Yaella. The woman's eyes studied her face, as if unsure what to make of her. She then stared at Yaella's hair for a while, before her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, shit," she whispered. "You're the blue-haired kid."
Yaella didn't like the sound of that. "We've never met, Lil. I don't—"
Lil raised one hand, pointing a wavering finger at her. "Tom. The old bar." Her eyes narrowed. "You ever been to the old bar? The one before this one? The other one?" She waggled her finger toward the door. "Over that way. Across the street."
Yaella wasn't sure she should answer that. "I don't—"
The woman stared intently into Yaella's eyes. "Six months ago? A year? A girl got kidnapped from there. A blue-haired girl."
Yaella put her glass down. "Oh?" she said, as noncommittally as she could manage. She doubted she fooled anyone. "What happened?"
"I was there," said Lil. She leaned in closer, her breath reeking of beer. "It was a week or so after the girl went missing." She nodded for emphasis.
"Yes?"
"I was there," she repeated. "Like now. Waiting for a client. These three come in. Or four. Tough bunch. Beat-up armour. Face masks. Old Palani carbines: the good ones. They shot Brett outside, then shot Jacob on their way in. The boss of 'em was a woman; voice sounded like a Palani. Comes in like she owns the place, says the blue-haired girl is her daughter…"
Yaella's heart sank. Mom hadn't said anything about this. She'd never mentioned how she followed the trail to come find her—
Lil leaned even closer. "So this woman, right, she tells old Tom, if she doesn't find her daughter she's gonna kill everyone. Tom, the dumbass, lies through his teeth. Turns out he was in on it all along." Lil nodded, raising her eyebrows. "I know, right? So the Palani woman, she kicks everyone out of the bar."
"Then what happened? Did—"
Lil sat back upright, a look of satisfaction on her face. "Me? I went home. Because I—" she pointed at herself with a flourish, "—am not an idiot." She noticed the half-full pitcher in the middle of the table, and stared at it.
"Go ahead," said Yaella. "Help yourself."
Lil was already reaching past the regiment of glasses in front of her. "Much obliged." It took her a moment to negotiate with the pitcher, pulling it toward her and pouring some into a glass. "Heard later, the bar burned down. They found Tom in it, burned to a crisp, two big holes in his chest." She turned toward Yaella, dribbling beer across the tabletop. "So that wasn't you? I mean, how many blue-haired kids—"
"No," interrupted Yaella. "It wasn't me." She glanced sideways at Bucky; he looked wide-eyed back at her.
"Shame," said Lil. She put the pitcher back down on the table.
Yaella stared at her. "Shame?"
"Yeah." Lil licked her lips as she reached for her mostly-full glass. "That woman scared the piss out of me, but we could sure use her right now. Bet she'd clear out these merc assholes." She raised her glass to her lips in one smooth motion, draining the glass down her throat.
When Yaella's eyes met the Doctor's, he grinned at her over the top of his glass. He tilted his head, nodding meaningfully in Lil's direction.
Yaella understood what he meant. What better person to press for information than a chatty drunk? "So, uh, Lil…" She took a swig of beer. It wasn't great beer — it wasn't even mediocre — but it was wet. "When did all the mercenaries get here?"
Lil perked up at that, quietly scanning the room with her eyes before she spoke. "They don't come in here. Locals don't like 'em. Spacers don't either." She lowered her voice to a too-loud whisper. "Guild don't like 'em either, but can't resist their credits, you know?"
Yaella tried again. "When did they get here?"
"Oh." That sent Lil into a few moments of introspection. She examined the pint glass in her hand like it had all the answers. Maybe it did. "That Planet-Killer thing, it was only here a few days. A bunch of local spacers decided to have a go at it, see if they could board it. They were gonna be rich if they did." She brought her glass closer to her face, and peered down into the thin yellow beer. "I guess they thought it couldn't kill 'em all, you know?" She took a long drink, dribbling some down her chin. "Turns out, it totally could."
Lil put the empty glass back down, and her eyes returned to the pitcher. Tal silently reached forward and slid the pitcher closer to her. "Obliged," she muttered, then started filling her glass again.
"So… any idea where the Planet-Killer went?"
"Nope." Lil took another drink. She wiped her sleeve across her chin. "Not a goddamned clue. But…" She made a face, and started rubbing her tongue along her teeth.
"You okay?"
Lil scraped a fingernail across her tongue, then squinted at the hair she pulled out. "Ugh. Is this mine? Am I losing my hair?" She looked at Yaella. "What?"
"You were going to—"
"Oh yeah," she nodded. "When the Planet-Killer left, it left behind a… thing. Dropped it in space like it was taking a crap. A droid or something." She stretched her arms apart. "Like, yay big. A metre or so. Couple hundred kilos."
"Oh? So, this droid thing. What'd they do with it?"
Lil's focus was still on the hair pinched between her fingers. "Some spacer brought it down. Guild bought it from him… like he had a choice, you know? Now I heard they're trying to take it apart. Open it up or something. It's some weird metal."
"So--"
Lil wiped her fingers across the tabletop, trying to dislodge the hair. "Word got out about this droid thing, right? Next thing you know, mercs start showing up. Red goddamned Castles everywhere." She looked at the forest of glasses in front of her, licking her lips.
"Do the Red Castle mercs want the droid?"
"Hell yeah," said Lil. She paused to belch into the back of her hand. "Pardon me. Everyone knows where the thing is. Everyone knows Red Castle wants it so they can give it to their bosses at McLean-Irvine." She shook her head. "Corporate types think us spacers can't figure this shit out, y'know?"
Keith arrived with another full tray. He cast a concerned look at Lil, but said nothing as he swapped pitchers and retreated to the bar.
"Ooo," cooed Lil, reaching for the full pitcher. "You met Keith? He's a great guy. Cute, too."
"Uh…" Yaella glanced at Keith before looking back at Lil. "Wait. So why doesn't Red Castle just take the droid?"
Lil shook her head, and the pitcher in her hand shook with it. "Nope. Can't. It'd be an even fight, and corporate mercs don't like even fights. But…" she belched again, "…more mercs are coming every few days. If they keep coming, in another week or two Red Castle will be able to do whatever they want around here." Lil scowled at the dripping pitcher, and set it down on the table in front of Yaella. "Hey, y'do me a favour? Something's wrong with this thing…"
"Sure," said Yaella. She picked up the pitcher — the handle was slick with spilled beer — and poured a pint into one of Lil's many glasses. "There you go."
"Much obliged," said Lil, reaching for the glass. "You're a great bunch of friends, you know that?" She looked around the table. "Whoever the hell you are."
"Thanks, Lil." Yaella leaned in closer, braving the smell of beer on the woman's breath. "Just between you and me, where's the droid being kept?"
Lil turned unsteadily in her seat, pointing her glass in the direction of the door. "The Guild's garage, you know? Out back of their big building thing. Bunch of guards. Can't miss it." She paused, staring at Yaella. "You wanna go see? I'll come with." She tried to stand up.
"No need. We're good. You stay here."
"Oh." Lil plopped back down into her chair. Beer splashed out of her glass, landing on her hand and arm. "Man. I gotta lay off the morning drinking. Can I buy you a round?"
"Sure," said Yaella. She scanned her companions, but their faces were hard to read in the dim light. "Just one, Lil. Then we gotta get back to the ship."
"Wait," said Lil, her eyes going wide. "Ship? Am I supposed to be flying you somewhere?"
Yaella shook her head. "No, Lil. That's tomorrow."
"Oh." She downed her pint. "Well, thank Christ for that, then."
Chapter Eight
Field density is generated by the longitudinal interaction of unipolar magneto-reluctance matrices. The variable-phase plasma maintains bi-radial alignment through the x and z axes due to the spontaneous rotation of the second-order capacitance flux surrounding the beryllium-vaned mazal-ceramic core.
Bucky frowned at his datapad, scrolling back a few pages. This is the translated version?
In front of him, the gleaming white FTL drive was still and silent. According to its display, it wanted someone to run diagnostics. He'd been hoping the procedure would be obvious; that there'd be a big red button that said 'push here to run diagnostics'. But of course not.
The drive stretched half the length of the starboard engine bay. It was a fraction of the size of the Blue Guardian's original FTL drive, used less power, and moved them much faster. Plus — and he still had trouble wrapping his head around this — it had no moving parts, no coolant, and no plumbing of any kind. The smooth, angular sides of the drive had a display screen, some lights, and an access panel. When he'd finally figured out how to open the access panel, he'd expected to see some pipes or ductwork or even some screws or bolts. But no, just more smooth white ceramic-alloy panels, probably the casing for whatever weird Palani engineering went on inside.
He poked at his datapad again. He'd have to find a way to get all these technical terms translated. Or, he thought, he could just concentrate on getting the diagnostic to run. If the drive said everything was okay, then he didn't need to know the details, did he?
Bucky heard the sound of slippers on the deck just before Tal stepped through the hatch into the engine bay. He was nursing another mug of shrubbery: bits of twigs and leaves stuck out the top. "Hey," he said. "How's it going?"
Bucky shook his head. "This thing… it's gonna take longer than I expected. Of course."
"Of course," nodded Tal, blowing across the top of his mug before taking a sip. He stood there a moment, staring at the FTL drive.
Bucky was pretty sure Tal was leading up to something, but decided to wait and see. "Where's the boss?"
"Huh?" Tal looked up. "Oh. Last I saw her, she was headed to her cabin. Going to call her mom, I guess." He shrugged. "I don't think she knows what to do."
"Oh." He'd had that impression, too. They'd come out here to find the Planet-Killer, but it hadn't gone as well as they'd hoped. "What about the others?"
Tal took another sip. Bucky once tried one of Tal's 'herbal teas'; it tasted like compost soup in a cup. "Ocean's in his pod, obviously," said Tal. "Lanari's doing her water-park ritual in the head, and I thought I saw the professor headed to the galley."
"Ah," said Bucky, nodding.
"So, uh…" Tal met his eyes. "Can we talk a sec?"
Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You stoned?"
"Not yet, no."
"Okay, so this is serious, then." He put the datapad down on top of the drive. "What's up?"
"It's this place." Tal licked his lips a few times, like he was trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. "Canteen. There's too many guns."
"Yeah. A lot of mercenaries and guards and spacers."
Tal nodded. "Remember when we went with Yaella's mom to that planet where Yaella was being held captive? What was it called? Burvid?"
"Sure, I remember. You did a great job." Tal had pretended to be a slave buyer, so they could get closer to the slavers. Yaella's mom and her soldiers had done the rest. It had been over pretty quickly.
"People got killed," Tal said quietly. "A man died just a couple metres away from me. He fell to the ground, and his face was turned toward me." Tal had a faraway look. "I think I saw the life go out of his eyes. I really think I saw it."
Bucky ran his fingers along the smooth edge of the engine's casing. This was a new mood for Tal. "So, uh… are you okay?"
Tal's eyebrows drew together, his lips pursed. "They just kill people and keep going, you know? Sure, those people were dealing in slaves, and that had to be stopped. But, I mean…" The twig in his mouth twitched as he chewed on it. "They had moms too, right?"
Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. It's part of life out here, you know?"
"Does it have to be? Aren't we better than 'might makes right'? I always thought that was the hallmark of civilisation, you know?"
"Yeah." Bucky rolled his eyes. "Civilisation."
"Exactly." Tal gestured with his mug. "I think civilisation starts when it's no longer 'might makes right', but the other way round. I don't like it out here. I want to live somewhere better. Somewhere where peoples' lives mean something to each other, you know?" He thought a moment. "Somewhere with art, too."
It hadn't occurred to Bucky before. "There's no art in a place like this, is there?"
"None," said Tal. He held up two fingers. "So, that's two hallmarks of civilisation."
"You're starting a shopping list? How about indoor plumbing?"
Tal held up a third finger. "Three."
Bucky leaned against the bulkhead, crossing his arms over his chest. "So let's keep an eye out for a good place. You ready to go your own way?"
Tal rocked his head from side to side, making a face. "Yes and no, I guess. It's got me thinking about my future a bit."
Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Wait. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Tal?"
He laughed at that. "Nah, I'm not going to leave yet. Not here, anyway. I don't stand for much, but I'm going to keep my promise to Yaella." His smile slowly spread to his eyes. "What about you?"
"Me?" Bucky looked away. "I don't…" He hadn't really thought about it. Not recently. "I don't like it out here either — the might-makes-right attitude — but I feel like I understand it. If I'm gonna stand for something, I think that means being ready to take a swing at someone who's trying to ruin it."
"I've told you, all that hockey desensitized you to violence—"
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Yeah. And cold arenas, too. But I think I want to stand for something. I want to be part of something bigger tha
n just me."
Tal glanced over his shoulder at the open hatchway door. "Still thinking about the Navy?"
"Yeah." Bucky held a finger to his lips. "Not a word, but—"
Tal mimicked the gesture. "Got it."
"The Pentarch Yenaara promised me a personal reference if we do this thing and get back successfully. She said she'd sponsor me to the Academy—"
Tal's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Sponsor? No shit?"
"No shit."
"But not so sure now?"
"Ten years, man." Bucky frowned. "I'd have to commit for ten years. Almost all of it far from home. And I mean, the Navy doesn't really get to just wander the stars as they please."
"Uh huh. Always someone telling you where to go and what to do."
"Yeah. And if I go into engineering, like I was thinking—" he gestured at the FTL drive beside him, "—I'd rarely see anything outside an engine room."
"I hear you," said Tal, nodding slowly. He used his mug to point at the drive. "So, Mister Future Engineer, how are the diagnostics going? Is the drive happy and smiling?"
"Jesus, you should see this…" Bucky picked up the datapad, turning its screen toward Tal. "This is the translated version, but it's still full of Palani technical jargon. I'm going to have to decipher it all—"
"How about the Handmaiden?"
Bucky blinked. "How about the Handmaiden what?"
Tal indicated the datapad. "You could ask her to help you translate some of it." He waggled his eyebrows. "You know… over dinner or something?"
Bucky felt himself blush. "What? Are you nuts? I couldn't—"
"Couldn't you?" Tal had that grin again, the one that lit up his eyes and spoke of mischief. "I've seen the way you look at her."
Bucky wished he didn't blush so easily all the time. If Tal could see it, maybe others did, too. "I shouldn't. That's just—"
"'Should' implies judgement," said Tal. He peered down into his mug.
Bucky didn't like where this was going, or how quickly Tal had taken it there. "She's a Palani," he whispered.
