Rather than attempt the third dance, Marcus led Alys to a table with a cauldron of some beverage. He cautiously tasted his cup before passing the second to Alys. Mixed fruit juice with just a hint of alcohol. Perfectly safe. He handed her the cup.
As she drank he said, “Want to let one of these boys dance with you?”
“Trying to ditch me?”
“It’s a business event. We’re supposed to mingle.”
“I barely have their accent right. How can I handle a real conversation?”
“Make that your hook. Tell him you need help with pronunciation. Any guy would be happy to explain how to say it right.”
“I’ll bet,” she said sourly.
“Marcus! Are you enjoying the party?” asked a twenty-something Goch snagging a cup of the punch. He was a couple of inches shorter than Marcus with a neat goatee.
“Very much, Dilwyn. I’d like you to meet my shipmate Alys.”
Dilwyn cheerfully chatted up Alys. She held up her end of the conversation and acquiesced to joining the next dance.
“Smoothly managed,” said Wynny, stepping into the void.
Marcus answered, “She’s a bit shy. Just needed a nudge.”
“Of course.” Without any nudge or request Marcus found himself on the dance floor again. He reached out to Wynny’s waiting hands and they joined the other couples.
This one hadn’t been covered in the lessons, but it was similar to the waltz Marcus learned back on Fiera so he followed it well enough.
“Is your cousin enjoying her evening?” he asked. “She’s been going from partner to partner without a break.”
“Oh, she’ll have rests,” said Wynny. “Her mother will make sure of it. But this is work for Nia, not play.” She tilted her head. “Which is it for you?”
“Both. I’m learning about your world and your culture. And enjoying meeting people.” Marcus tried an experimental twirl, which brought a giggle from her.
After the waltz, the music paused while the dancers sorted themselves into circles of six.
Wynny poked at a pin on Marcus’ chest. “Is that a shipping container?”
“Yes. I’m a certified cargomaster.”
She sniffed. “Everyone in the family learns to use a crane, but we don’t give them medals for it.”
“Does a warehouse tip over and kill everyone inside if you put all the containers on one side?”
“Um, no.”
“It’s more complicated on a spaceship.”
Then the circle started spinning and there was no time to chat.
Niko Landry and Vychan Goch noticed their children dancing together. Landry seized the chance to turn the conversation from business. Complimenting Wynny’s grace brought forth a description of her abilities as a researcher and hard bargainer. It reminded him of the speech the Goch patriarch had made describing Nia.
Landry realized this hadn’t stopped being a business conversation. He found himself laying out Marcus’ education and certifications in response to Vychan’s questions. Should I be having this conversation? he asked himself. I’ll be damned if I’ll trade my son off as part of some deal.
The PSI certifications impressed Vychan. “Is he qualified to command a ship, then?”
“Not yet.” Landry nibbled on a fishball-on-a-stick. “He needs more time serving as a bridge officer. Right now he’s working the hold mostly. I want him to qualify as a supercargo for larger ships in case he needs to get a job elsewhere.”
Vychan refilled his punch cup. “So he can marry out?”
“Yes and no. Most of our businesses aren’t families. But when he wants to marry it’ll be easier if he’s working a ship with a scheduled run instead of an irregular one where he’d rarely see home.”
“His wife would not be on his ship?”
Landry cast a fond glance at Lane, immersed in a gaggle of matrons. “It’s a rare woman who’s willing to raise a family someplace as uncomfortable as a spaceship.”
Vychan let out a mild harrumph. “No daughter or niece of mine would put her comfort over her husband’s business.”
“On Fiera, it’s the children we try to make comfortable.”
Landry tried to think of a way to change the subject. Vychan did it for him.
“This dance is ending,” said the broker. “Let’s meet them.”
The two men moved through the groups chatting by the wall, meeting Wynny and Marcus as they arrived at the punch bowl. Vychan let the boy have one cup before saying, “It’s time.” He turned to Wynny. “If anyone asks, you’re still dancing with him.”
She nodded.
Vychan led the two Landrys toward the hall between the kitchen and the storage rooms. He talked up the virtues of a new wine he’d discovered.
Landry was puzzled. This hallway didn’t go to Vychan’s private office.
The door Vychan opened revealed a utility room. Pipes lined the ceiling and walls. A locker produced three garments. “Put these on,” said Vychan, unfolding his own.
Marcus gave his father an inquiring look. Landry shrugged. I don’t know what’s going on either. They donned the ponchos.
Vychan tugged each one’s hood until the edge was level with their noses. “From here on, make no noise until I say it’s safe. Do you understand?”
Both Landrys nodded.
Vychan turned to a wall covered with pipes and conduits. A panel indistinguishable from the others popped out of position. He pushed it ahead of him as he passed through the hole, waving for the others to follow.
The ponchos would have made sense if this took them outside into the storm. Instead Landry found himself in an infrastructure volume. A massive I-beam sloped diagonally through it, supporting the upper layer of the archology. Cables and pipes travelled inside it. The whole collection was wrapped in a pipe, its interior lined with more pipes. A set of narrow steps followed the edge of the beam.
Vychan fit the panel back into place and started down the steps.
Landry followed, glancing back to make sure Marcus was staying with them. It was a good thing they were going down. That was the only direction he could see with the damn poncho on.
They continued down past the bottom of the ardal. This had to be basement or sub-basement level. Tunnels met at odd angles. Vychan chose branches without hesitation.
Going back to the party—or even the ship—was tempting Landry more and more. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the simple trade of books he’d asked for. But it might already be too late to back out. Vychan would object if they turned around. An argument could attract cops. An arrest for trespassing could draw Censorial attention. Hell, Vychan could report them to the Censorate himself if he was pissed enough. Visitors from outside Censorial territory probably carried a bounty. No, whatever was going on, Landry would have to see it through.
The lower levels were noisier. Water rushed through pipes. Pumps thumped. Electrical motors hummed. Distant noises, impossible to separate, made a background buzz.
Then they were walking on bedrock. It was smooth enough to not trip on but the signs of construction machinery could still be seen in the grooves in the rock. Puddles glittered in the safety lights.
Tunnel became chamber. Thirty-foot steel tanks formed a circle. In the center stood a pumping station. The pipes connecting it to the tanks stood ten feet above the bedrock. Under them more than two dozen people were gathered. They turned to face the trio as they arrived. Everyone was in black ponchos, hoods covering their faces.
Vychan stopped ten yards from the pumping station. Landry stood on his right and felt Marcus come up on his other side.
The waiting people approached, spreading out in a semicircle around the trio. One stepped forward in the center.
Vychan bowed to him. “Nyrath, I bring friends wishing to trade knowledge.”
Nyrath lifted his hood high enough to see the trio clearly, though his face was still shadowed. “What do they offer for trade?”
Marcus stepped forward at Vychan’s w
ave. He lifted the poncho to reach his big thigh pocket. His palms were slippery with sweat. He needed both hands to hold up the digital book.
“This is the textbook for my history class. It’s called The History of Humanity. It covers history from the beginning to when my ancestors fled from a war into the Fieran Bubble, and the nine-hundred-some years since then.”
“The beginning?” Nyrath’s voice cut through the whispers of the others. “Where does it begin?”
“On Earth. When true humans separated from the other hominoid species. It’s just an overview of that period. The Paleolithic and Neolithic only get a chapter each.”
Nyrath stepped forward, hands reaching out for the book. “This history is continuous? No gaps?”
“It only discusses the major events. But it has the whole timeline from pre-history to a constitutional crisis forty years ago.”
One poncho-clad figure dropped to his knees. Another swayed, was grabbed by the men beside him, and was lowered to the bedrock.
Nyrath walked forward. Marcus met him halfway, placing the book in his hands.
“To think I let you in my house,” muttered Vychan.
Landry asked, “What’s the matter?”
“The things we don’t know that we don’t know. My friend, do you have any idea what would happen if the Censorate discovered that book?”
“They’d confiscate it?”
Nyrath quickly learned the interface to the book with Marcus’ help and began exploring the contents.
The broker burst into laughter. “They’d kill all of us. Kill your crew and melt your ship into slag. Kill Clan Goch and all our party guests. Burn the ardal. Investigate everyone we talked to. Without saying why.”
“Oh.” Now Landry wanted to run back to the party, grab his crew, and take off from this horrible planet tonight.
Except Azure Tarn wasn’t maneuverable enough to fly through a hurricane. They might not get clear of the hangar.
“Fortunately for us all the Censorate is too complacent to go around checking,” said Vychan. “But if they were to hear a hint of this book’s existence . . .”
“Damn.” That wasn’t enough to relieve Landry’s feelings, but what could?
Nyrath found how to reset the timeline reference from the Fieran calendar to any of sixteen alternatives. He turned to face the others. “My brothers and sisters in truth. By the Gregorian calendar it is now the year 3756.”
The announcement drove some back in shock. One struck her head on a pumping station valve. Others bellowed laughter. The man at the right end of the semicircle cried, “Million year Censorate my sopping wet arse!”
Marcus retreated back to his father.
Nyrath turned to the Landrys. “My friends. We accept what you offer. And we shall repay you with anything in our power. Our secret knowledge, our wealth, our lives, our families. What you wish shall be yours.”
A scene from a movie flashed into Landry’s mind. A conqueror demanding the natives fill a room with gold to the height of his head. A full hold of gold jewelry would make this a profitable trip.
And make Censorial Customs wonder what the other side of the deal was. No. He needed to keep a low profile.
Landry’s throat caught his first attempt to answer. He coughed, and said, “Thank you. We’d like to see what you have of your history. But what we need most is for this to stay secret. My crew did not intend to risk execution by coming here.”
“The Censorate executes people for far less truth than this,” said Nyrath dryly. “My brothers and sisters will keep the secrets safe.”
The man at the end of the line blurted, “Where did you come from that you don’t fear holding a history book?”
Landry sighed. “We’re from Fiera. It was trapped in a hyperspace bubble. The shoals finally shifted enough to make a hole. We’re the first ship through. We didn’t know anything about your Censorate.”
“That, Brother Afan, is something we did not need to know,” said Nyrath sternly. “We shall all hold it more closely than the existence of the book.”
Afan demanded, “Have you come here to free us from the Censorate?”
“No, no,” said Landry. “We’re merchants. We came here to trade. We didn’t know your Censorate existed.”
Marcus stepped forward. “Once we’re back home we’ll tell everyone about it. I’m sure they’ll want to help.”
Landry grabbed his son’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “We cannot speak for our government. We don’t know what they’ll do.”
Whispers among the others became full voiced conversations. When a couple started shouting, Nyrath broke in again.
“Brothers and sisters, we must not speculate. Our business is facts. Truth. Not guesses or hunches. Brother Vychan may give our new friends copies of the history he has. All of us shall give what favors we can. Now we shall disperse. Do not go home until you have calmed.”
Vychan hustled his guests away before anyone else could buttonhole them.
Glancing back Landry saw the group break into loud conversations.
The ponchos were more of a problem going upstairs. Landry held the front of it up so he wouldn’t trip on it. He pulled the hood back so he could see more than Vychan’s feet ahead of him.
Rushing water was louder in the pipes. Was that normal, or was the hurricane causing leaks? He decided to ask Vychan once they could talk safely.
Marcus let out a half-voiced “sorry” as he bumped into his father.
Landry didn’t waste breath on a response. Naturally the boy wasn’t slowing down. The older ones were feeling the climb. Landry knew he wasn’t keeping up the pace he had. Even so he sometimes had to pause not to run into Vychan.
The poncho made the exercise heat him up even more. He felt cool air on his face and around his ankles. The rest of him was sweating. One advantage of the fancy uniform. It was thick enough to hide sweat stains.
Before he had to worry about heat stroke, they reached the secret door into Goch Home. Vychan popped out the panel, hurried them through, and replaced it.
The ponchos went back into their locker. A water bottle was passed around.
“Right,” said Vychan. “Let’s go back in and hope no one missed us.”
The hallway was empty until they reached the kitchen. Wynny emerged and swept Marcus away. They reached the dance floor as another of the waltz-like dances began.
“Perfect,” she said. “Stay to the outside where we’ll be seen.”
He took her hand, put his other on her waist, and began moving to the music.
Wynny slid close. “You’re holding me as if it’s our third dance,” she whispered. “It’s our eleventh. Act it.”
She pressed her thigh against his and leaned against his chest.
Marcus gulped. When she let go of his hand he slid his arms around her back. She matched the embrace firmly.
“Better.”
Her ear was just below his mouth. Very quietly Marcus said, “So you know?”
“Only that everyone should think you’ve been dancing with me all night.” Wynny lifted her head, stared at his eyes, and leaned into him again. “I think I’m happier this way.”
They made it three quarters of the way around the dance floor before the music stopped. Marcus promptly led Wynny to the nearest punchbowl. His throat was still parched from the climb up from bedrock.
As he finished the first cup Alys appeared on his left. “Dance, sir?” she said with a bright smile.
Wynny stepped back and nodded.
Marcus went to the dance floor with Alys, keeping up with her brisk pace so he wouldn’t be dragged. They took a place in one of the circles of eight forming up.
“Where the hell have you been?” whispered Alys as the circle moved left.
Marcus protested, “It’s not what you think.”
Then the woman on his other side took his hand and they twirled two rotations before returning to their partners.
“I know it’s not what I thought,”
hissed Alys. “I found her helping her grandmother in the kitchen.”
The circle squeezed to the center and went out again.
“It was business.”
“So, tell me. I work in the business.”
Now they circled to the right.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Don’t be telling me that. I’m part of the crew.”
He embraced her for a tight spin.
“I am the supercargo.”
“Oh, you’re playing the officer card now?”
“Yes. Stop asking. That’s an order.”
Marcus released her as the spin ended. Alys turned and ran from the dance floor.
The other woman seized his hand, pulling him into the twirl. As he came around he could see the man on the other side glaring at Marcus as if it was his fault the man had no one to twirl.
It probably was.
As the twirl ended, a plump matron hurried into Alys’ empty spot, taking Marcus’ hand as the circle moved left.
“Thank you. Sorry,” he said.
She smiled. “Happy to sneak my way into a dance. I’d never have one with a handsome boy like you.”
Next, he embraced her for a spin. She moved more easily than Alys despite her age.
“Don’t feel bad about it, boy,” she whispered. “It’s better to find out she’s like that before you marry her.”
Marcus mumbled a polite acknowledgement and focused on the dance.
When he stumbled off the dance floor, Wynny waited with a cup of punch.
“Did you see . . . that?” Marcus said once he’d downed it.
“Oh, yes. Father will be thrilled.”
“Huh? Why?”
“There’s nothing like a jealous girlfriend throwing a fit to convince people we actually were dancing together all night.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell her.” Then Wynny had mercy on him and found him a seat by the munchies table.
Two plates of high protein snacks and plenty of drinks restored Marcus to where he wanted to dance again. Alys pretended not to hear when he asked her to dance. He wound up on the floor with a series of Goch cousins, and a couple of guests who were curious about the spacer.
Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor Page 9
