Tag: TheUndoing

Prologue

His leg is broken. He can feel the ends of the splintered bones grinding against each other when he tries to move, bringing fresh waves of pain. Sitting, manacled with to the wall with a metal collar tight around his neck, there is nothing he can do. He can’t recall the last time he ate food or drank water, or how long he’s been held captive in this bare room of metal walls splashed with rusty red stains and no windows. The room is too bright, the air too full of the scent of his suffering, the body wastes he sits in, his clothing stiff and dry now.

He tries to recall her face, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, to give him strength as he had done in the beginning. But now the attempts fade, the pain of his torture rinses it away. The only images etched on the back of his closed lids are his hands: all the fingernails of his left hand torn out, on his left hand, his fingertips are bubbled stumps of flesh, seared and cauterized by the fire weapon used. Still he hadn’t talked. He’d kept her secrets as he’d kept her love.

When they removed his blindfold, he knew they intended to kill him. He didn’t care. Death would end the pain and seal his lips forever.

Through half-opened eyes, he sees them huddled by the door, discussing him in their harsh foreign language, hearing anger and frustration in their tones. He chuckles softly, the sound barely a whisper from his parched throat. They hear it.

One waddles over and stands before him, the leader who commands the torture.

“Ah? Does your pain delight you so, hab-shi? “ his captor says in the Inter-stell language, so he can understand.

Hab-shi, an insult word, a racial slur for him and his kind. He wants to spit in this aliens’ face but he hasn’t the strength or liquid to spare.  He simply looks up and lets his eyes convey his disdain, his hatred, his wish to kill him.

The alien smiles, its abnormally-wide, lip-less mouth exposing sharp, jagged teeth. It lifts its hand and beckons to the other alien. This holds a weapon, the fire weapon.

He looks back at his captor and summons the last of his strength to smile and wheeze out croaked words through his cracked, dry lips. “Never tell…kill me…”

The alien’s smile gets horribly wider, yellow triangular teeth edged in red, too many teeth for any mouth.

“Kill you? Oh, no, no, no, hab-shi! I understand you too well. You know you will never leave this room alive. You see death as your welcome release, do you not? No, death is far away for you. Pain is much closer. Enjoy it.”

The alien steps back and speaks Inter-stell to the other. “Burn him, but don’t kill him. We’ll see how great his resolve after we remove parts of him, limb by limb.”

He closes his eyes against the coming fire.

Then, he screams.

Chapter 1: Cold Front

Coleed is the fifth planet in the Grenya Starsystem. Grey and white, it hangs starkly beautiful against the star-splattered blackness of space. On its surface, snow covers the largest continent, a flat plain with mountains bisecting the roughly ovoid mass. Snow drifts in high piles. The sky is thick with grey clouds that make high noon look more like twilight. It is very cold.

         Great. Just great, Toak thought, looking out the small square of plastic glass that separates her from the outside weather. It’s already so cold my spit freezes before it hits ground; now there’s a blizzard coming.

         Not unusual weather for a Coleedian winter, but she’d been hoping for a break. With two long strides, she crosses the 10 by 10 space of the traveler’s hut and looks out the other glass square.

        A spaceship is landing, its engines spewing an electric-blue energy backwash that turns the snow into swirling blue diamonds. It settles into place, its engines stop, and it disappears into the whiteness of the blizzard.

         Sudden nerves make her heart pound as she turns from the window to gather up her belongings. Not much, a travelsak and her fur coat. She looks around the simply-furnished hut and wonders when she’ll see it again. Not for a while, if all goes well. Still, she hated job interviews.

         “Great Goddess, bless me with luck,” she mutters as she dons the heavy, pale fur coat that reaches past her knees. She pulls the hood over her head, grips her travelsak firmly, and then opens the door to the waiting storm.

         Solar energy panels kept the hard black plastic of the landing field free of snow, but the wind pulls at her coat and threatens to rip the bag from her already numb fingers. She sucks in icy breaths that leave her gasping as she trots a drunken-line to the hidden spaceship. Mid-sized, it sits somewhere in the middle of the ½ mile wide landing field and she has a jog of at least ¼ mile to it.

         Time passes.

         Where is it? No marking lights! No sound I can hear over this wind! Is the pilot some idiot? Thinks I can see in this mess!???

         She prays she’s close. She can’t feel her feet or her hands. Hard ice covers the strip of cloth protecting her lips and nose, making it even harder to breathe the cutting air. She feels like she’s running in circles. Getting tired.

The freedom, the adventure, new places, new races, the thrill of setting the Starwind down in a bustling, ultra-modern city, or anchoring on a rocky planetoid deep in the Outer Consolidates. How special it had been! How she’d loved it!

         I’d better find this Starwind craft soon or I won’t live to find a way back to the hut…

         A flash of red light slices past her, comes back, and steadies on her. A guide beam, finally. She picks up her leaden feet and thuds off along the red path.

         The light leads her to a ramp.  Gratefully, she stumbles up its sharply-angled length, her boots mysteriously sticking to the silver metal. She almost collides against the hull of the craft. Where was the door?

         A hole appears. Like a camera shutter, it dilates open, bright white light and steam pouring out around her. She bends her head and leaps through the opening that starts immediately closing behind her. Her two steps over the metal threshold bring a second surprise. She feels as though she’s moving through water, her descent to the gray metal floor slow and measured. Her stomach tilts with sudden nausea, and she swallows hard.

         Grenian craft! How could I have forgotten about the lighter gravity, she thinks, annoyed with herself.

         The artificial gravity  of the alien vessel reminds her of military duty on G-3. She’d need a bit of time to get her “gravity legs” under her again, but at least she was warm! She pushes her furry hood off her head, broadening her view and just catches herself from starting in surprise. A tall cloaked figure stands five feet away. Grenians are a multi-gender species, and Toak can’t tell which this one is, but the hard green gaze commands obedience

         “You are the job applicant?” the Grenian says in a throaty voice. “You’re late.”

         Toak blinks; stunned for a second, then she pulls the wet cloth away from her mouth.

         “I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t see. The storm…”

          She stops, feeling she’s babbling. Sweat breaks out on her upper lip as she looks down at the face studying her own.

         All Grenians are golden-skinned and black-haired; this one was no exception. Unusually tall, with an oval-shaped face and the dark hair parted in the middle, pulled back and contained. Regular features, pleasantly arranged, two eyes, a slender nose and full lips, copper-colored and vivid against the golden skin. The deep green eyes were also unusual. Grenians usually had brown or golden colored eyes.  The sight tickles a distant memory in the back of her mind.

         She realizes she’d being rude the same time she realizes this Grenian has asked her a question and was still waiting for the answer. She drops her travelsak and shrugs out of the fur coat. It hits the floor with a sodden thud as she answers.

         “Yes, I am here about the job. I am Toak ab Medee and—”

         “What do you know about engines?” Repair and maintenance?”

         “I have two staryears experience—“

        “Commercial?”

         “Military,” Toak says, and wonders if she’ll get to finish an entire sentence, “S.S.C.”

         “Stellar Space Corps?” the Grenian says with large disbelief. “You’ve finished a two staryear tour of duty? You’re kidding! You look like an overgrown child!”

         Vah? Toak wonders who the alien sees, remembering her image in the mirror this morning: two gray eyes in the standard Coleedian slot-shaped eye sockets and pale blue skin. Her nose, a little on the long side, her lips a little on the thin side, she’s proud of her high cheekbones, but her stick-straight, shoulder-length grey hair cut with thick bangs was nothing special. She wore one of her old military uniforms.  It did fit a little on the tight side with her winter weight gain and all.  But, ‘overgrown’? A prod about her seven foot height?

Goddess, she hated job interviews!

         “I am nineteen staryears old, Maktus,” she says, careful to add the Grenian word for addressing an elder or superior, her tone polite and neutral. “I have been in the military.”

         The alien waves its hand in airy dismissal.

         “Never mind. If you’ve gotten this far the company has already checked you out and verified your information.”

          The person shrugs and Toak notices a corresponding bobble of shoulders and humped back and remembers this alien species also has wings.

         “You ever do any piloting?” the smaller alien asks.

         “Yes…a little. But mainly I was an engine mechanic. Level Two.”

         The alien frowns, black eyebrows converging over the slender nose, and Toak feels her employment chances dropping.

        “There was no mention of piloting when I read—“

The green gaze takes on a pitying cast. Toak makes herself stop babbling by taking a deep calming breath.

         “Here are my credential and military records, Maktus,” she says, offering the shiny metal disk she plucks from her uniform’s breast pocket. The alien purses full lips, plucks the disk from her grasp and taps it thoughtfully on the knuckles of its other hand.

         “A Level Two Engine Mechanic in the corp. That means you were ground-duty only. I wanted someone with travel experience. Still, you must hold some promise…”

         The alien shrugs again with the same double bobble of shoulders and back.

         “I’m in a hurry; I have a business appointment within this starhour so my time is limited. Since you are so late you can either come with me to discuss your prospects, or you can leave. Decision?”

         Toak tries not to look too shocked as she replies: “I’ll come along, Maktus.”

         “One more thing; unlike your planet’s heavy gravity, this space-glydder is regulated for the lighter gravity of my homeworld. Since your body is accustomed to resisting a heavier gravity, you do realize you are stronger in here than you are outside? I don’t want you destroying any company property in some clumsy accident.”

         Stern green eyes pin Toak’s own as she fights feelings of insult. She would have to have been brain-dead not to notice the gravity shift when she came onboard.

         “Yes. I am very aware of my increased strength, Maktus. The same thing happened on G-3 when I served in the military,” she says, keeping her expression pleasantly blank.

         The alien turns to one side and sweeps out an arm. Finally, Toak notices she’s in the vessel’s control room. Three padded, T-backed chairs sit before three different stations within the inner circle of the horse-shoe shaped controlpanel jutting from the wall. Eighteen feet of wraparound plastic glass presents a panoramic view of the blizzard raging outside.

         “Sit then. Second chair to the pilot’s,” the Grenian says.

         Vah, this is the pilot, then. Toak’s body relaxes a little.

         “Will the Commander be joining us soon?” she asks, wondering of a polite way to ask the alien what gender it is.

         The alien walks over to the pilot’s chair and sits, its wing now clear bulges on either side of the T-shaped backrest. Toak moves to the Second’s chair and sits. She finds the oddly-shaped seat more comfortable than trying to squeeze into a conventional, smaller chair. She watches as the pilot leans over the controlpanel. Hands, slender hands, touch controls, tap buttons and pull levers. The spaceship starts to vibrate and Toak hears the low frequency sounds of the engines starting. Her heart pounds and she gasps as the vehicle, the Starwind, blasts off, pulling serious gravities as it takes a slanting, vertical ascent through the storm. In an eye blink, they burst through the ceiling of the blizzard. Her eyes squint against the sudden bright glare of the sun, a pale eye in the mustard-colored heavens. Below them, a tranquil sea of cotton ball clouds gives no indication of the blizzard’s fury beneath. The ship gains altitude in seconds. At the hazy margin where the yellow sky merges with the darkness of true outer space, the pilot levels the craft off and speeds westward. The pilot enters a coded destination into the computer and automatic navigation takes over.

         “Great Goddess,” Toak says softly, in awe. The pilot swivels the chair to face her. “Either you’re a great pilot, or this is an amazing machine! I’d love to see the engines!”

         The pilot smiles, white teeth agleam in the dusky skin. “I like you, Coleedian! You have good taste and a keen eye. You’re right both times!”

         Toak grins and shakes her head; typical pilot-type, all brag and bluff. She sat back, feeling relaxed for the first time since she got word of this interview.

        “Where are we going? Will the Commander be there?”

         Again, the arrogant, white/toothy grin. “You don’t know have a clue about anything at all, do you? You really live back there in that

middle of nowhere?”

         “No, I live in a village about fifty land-lengths away,” Toak says stiffly, a rush of lavender blood coloring her face in annoyance.

“If I could speak to the Commander—“

         “Coleedian, I am the Commander—“

         Sweat breaks out under Toak’s thick bangs.

         “—Commander Zy-Karr. “

         Toak’s stomach drops in a sickening lurch. Grenian, green eyes, tall. She looks closer and sees the face seen on SkannerNews just a few starweeks ago. “Commander Aura Zy-Karr,” she says softly.

         “You seem surprised,” the alien woman says, one ebony eyebrow lifts high in delicate puzzlement.

 “It was my company that placed the job announcement.”

         At loss for words, Toak simply nods, her mind racing. The notorious Aura Zy-Karr of Zy-Karr Industries! The scandalous behavior, big money, wild parties, extravagancies on a cosmic scale. She had been officially announced as the Richest Citizen of the Consolidated Stellar Systems after acquiring the sky-glydder monopoly. The Zy-Karr family had a hand in any machine that flew in air or outer space in any Starsystem. Aura Zy-Karr; her arrogance was legend, her quick temper now a thing of mythic status.

         Thank Goddess, I didn’t quiz her about what gender she was!

         “I didn’t—expect you to be piloting your own glydder—or personally come to pick me up…”

         Zy-Karr swings her chair back to face the controls. “You’re flattered, honored. Fine.” Her hand waves the air again. “We’re on the way to your planet’s only decent city for morlakk furs.”

         Toak glances over at her own pale morlakk fur heaped near the hatchway; her parents still told the story of hunting the huge bear-like carnivore that furnished it.

         “Oh,” she says because she has to say something. An actual intelligent thought burbles up from her brain. “I didn’t know the ban on trapping and selling morlakk furs had been lifted.”

         “Oh, it hasn’t.”

         “Has—hasn’t?” Toak pauses. The alien woman glances at her, one black eyebrow raised, an amused look in her eyes. “But, but poached furs?” It hits her. “Poached furs?! Our morlakks were almost hunted to extinction by off-worlders barely fifty staryears ago! They’re just starting to come back–!”

         “Spare me the conservation lecture,” the woman interrupts. “I am very aware of the present morlakk situation. It makes them even more rare and profitable. I expect to get a very good trade for these. All you have to do is keep your eyes open, your mouth closed and obey me. Consider this your test.”

         “Test?” Toak repeats.

         “Trial run, if you will,” Another green glance comes her way as the alien woman does something with the controls.
“Wasn’t expecting you exactly—an Only.”

         The word makes Toak grit her teeth; she hated the slang term for the people of her world. Still, it was more polite than the ruder slang term of ‘sin-gen’, single-gender.

         “We ‘Onlys’ live here. Why wouldn’t you expect me?” she says, a hair more sharper than she means to say.

         The Grenian woman looks up, her black eyebrows coming together in a frown.

         “I don’t get you people—you have only one city on the entire planet, its spaced cold here, and your people seldom want to leave. Then you have this attitude you’re better than the rest of the Consolidate just because you’re a single-gender race. I often thought it odd to live on a planet of only one gender as you Coleedians do. “

         “I often thought it odd to live on a planet with two genders as you Grenians do,” Toak says, hiding her outrage behind a mask of calmness. She watches the Grenian’s eyebrows rise high on her forehead.

         “Odd? From a simple pleasure viewpoint, you women are cheating yourselves out of half the fun!”

         “Seems like we’re avoiding twice the trouble.”

         The Grenian looks at her quizzically, intently. Silently, Toak curses her snapping retort. She needs to backtrack quickly if she wanted this job.

         “Maktus, I speak only for myself. I mean no insult or disrespect.

 There are Coleedians who bed males, but I am not one of them. I love my people and my planet as I’m sure you do yours.”

         “On my homeworld, one’s gender makes no difference when it comes to sentiment and desire. We believe good, honest emotions should take precedence over some simple-minded theory of sexual segregation. It’s the most advanced and civilized way to behave and the rest of the Consolidate agrees with us.”

         The green eyes dared an argument. Toak doesn’t oblige her. “Yes, I know,” she agrees quietly. “The rest of the Consolidate thinks we are an ‘oddity’, that we’re ‘backward’ because we choose to live off the land in small villages as we have always done; we can’t be too intelligent if we choose to live this way, on our cold planet, happy to be ‘singens’.”

         Surprise; a copper-tinted flush colors the alien woman’s golden cheeks. The green gaze falters, drops and looks away.

         “Nonsense,” she says briskly. “No need to apologize. I’m sure neither of us meant any offense with our words.”

         Smooth. Must be how the rich say they’re sorry, Toak thinks. A short buzz captures the Grenian’s attention.

         “We’re almost to Thandor City.”

         Toak watches carefully as the woman switches off the auto-pilot and takes control of the vessel again.

         “Computer,” Zy-Karr says, “Contact Thandor Spacepatch Control for entry channel and time.”

         Almost immediately, the Spacepatch and Starwind’s computers confer and deliver information. Zy-Karr angles the spaceship into a sharp dive. Seconds pass as they slash through the deep cloud cover, then burst out the other side.

         The skies are calm. Ashen daylight almost merges with the endless snow-covered plains. They fast approach the domed city of Thandor rising up from the snow like a giant, translucent bubble filled with shadows and lights.

         Toak was happy to see Zy-Karr was letting the computer handle the entry; she’d never entered the dome in a vessel this small before and it was a little unnerving. But it’s over in a flash and the Grenian takes the controls again to soar over the wide sprawl of buildings, vehicles and people. The most open land is the space field and Toak admires Zy-Karr’s skill as the alien lands neatly on the assigned spot. From the middle of the Baklands to Thandor City; the sudden shift of realities almost makes Toak’s head swim.

         If I’m still in the travelers hut, asleep and this is all a dream–! she thinks, not sure if she’d be disappointed or not.

         Zy-Karr shuts down the ship’s engines, retracts her seat belt and stands up.

         “I’m assuming you know how to use a standard communicator; order me a rental sky-glydder. Be sure it’s here in fifteen kronons. Better mention my name or the idiots will take all day with it.”

         Before Toak can speak, Zy-Karr turns and walks out through the only other door in the room. It lets in a glare of light, and then snaps close on her departure.

         “Wow!” Toak whispers and wonders if she’s the only one who’d consider this whole thing weird. She’d expected to interview for a mechanic’s job: engine maintenance and repair, working in a glydder company Zy-Karr owned located in Thandor. True, the pay had been higher than was normal for her skill levels, but Zy-Karr Industries was a rich bunch—good jobs, good pay—a sought-after company to work for. But this? Toak looks around her. If the engines were as sweet and clean as the controlroom–! This was unexpected, but was it luck? The head of Zy-Karr Industries and everything good or bad (mostly bad) she’d ever heard about her, coming personally all the way from Grenya to interview her? True she had no prior knowledge or contact with the super-rich, highly-bred Grenian Blood Nobles, but she doubts this is how they hire crew for their spaceships. Then again, its obvious Aura Zy-Karr has no prior knowledge or contact with Coleedians either.

         I wonder what the other crew-mems think about her; she thinks and wonders where they are.

       “Great Goddess! Poached furs! Blood Nobles! What next?” she mutters. Vah! Better call for that rental!

         She has a pleasant conversation with the rental place, arranges for the best sky-glydder they have—“It’s for Aura Zy-Karr. Money is no problem. The best you’ve got.”—and after promises of promptness, Toak says goodbye and looks around the controlroom.

         The brightest lights concentrate on the control stations, leaving the rest of the chamber dim. She can’t see too well in the uncertain light and she has no idea how to brighten the place. She sees the dull gleam of metal, objects familiar and not. Obviously, a very advanced design. Sleek and sweet. The thought of the engines almost makes her drool.

         She’s bent over, peering at the controls of the third station, when a shower of bright light falls on her. She turns and sees Zy-Karr re-enter the room.

         “Lights,” the alien woman commands, and white light fills the room.

         Toak’s eyes adjust in seconds; her mouth gapes. Gone was the cloak Zy-Karr had worn. She stands tall in a form-fitting black bodysuit. Full, round breasts strain against the elastic give of the material as it clings to the curves of waist and hips and endlessly long legs. And there, the wings, bigger than Toak thought they’d be. Very much bigger. Almost the length of the alien’s six foot height. An attractive woman, if a bit too thin.

         “Maktus—“ she begins.

         “Commander will do. Take this.”

Toak catches the bundle Zy-Karr tosses. It’s silky soft, like liquid in her hands.

         “Wear that. Can’t have you looking like some Baklands Barbarian in that smelly fur coat of yours when you’re out with me.”

         Toak feels her face getting warm. She glances at the sillem cloak in her hands and sees Zy-Karr putting on its twin, draping her exotic body into anonymity again. Toak bows her head and tosses the light cloak over her shoulders. It’s whisper-thin as it settles along her body.

         “The glydder’s here,” Zy-Karr announces. Toak looks up and Zy-Karr pins her with a sudden, intense gaze. “Listen to me; I repeat: say nothing. Keep alert. If I take off this cloak, it means we are in big trouble. Do you understand?”

         This was starting to feel less and less like a harmless job interview. Toak acknowledged the bad feeling she’d been having.

         “Will none of the other crew members go with us, Commander?” The woman barks a short laugh.

         “You and I are the crew, Coleedian.” The green eyes, now emerald in the bright white lighting, bores into Toak’s. “Are you deciding you’d rather not accept this ‘trial run’?”

         “Poached furs are illegal.”

         “That’s not an answer to my question. If you are afraid of arrest and prosecution, I can assure you we’ll never get caught, and if by some far-fetched chance we are caught, I will promise you will not be arrested and charged. You have no legal worries about that. As for the animals…they’re already dead. Their furs will help save lives.”

         “Lives? Furs will save lives?” The alien woman nods firmly.

         “I don’t see how—“

         “I don’t have time to explain. You are free to go. I’ll arrange transport back to—wherever that was. Just go to the—“

         “I’ll do it.” Zy-Karr frowns; apparently people didn’t interrupt this Blood Noble on a regular basis. “I mean, yes, Commander. I want this trial run. Please.”

         This Grenian possesses a killer stare, Toak sees. It studies her with a laser-like intensity, crossing the border to rudeness as she ceases it. She picks out the color-code combination on the hatchway controlpanel and jerks her head for Toak to follow. The doorway dilates wide and Toak follows her through the exit into the ashen light of the city.

Chapter 2: Dealer’s Choice

         Thandor, Coleed’s only Consolidate-standard city, was a fairly busy spaceport. Built under a dome, it sheltered off-worlders from the planet’s frigid weather and heavy gravity.

         It embarrasses Toak to think this is only her third visit here; the brief time spent leaving and returning home from military service, not withstanding. With a tourist-like curiosity, she takes it all in.

         Around them sprawls a colony of space ships in many imaginative shapes, sizes and colors: elegant luxury crafts of the rich, practical ship-liners for the masses, the ugly but sturdy cargo vessels of industry. She spots a few recycled military ships, relics from a bygone era kept operational by the independent traders who called it home.

         Her feet touch lightly on the black, plastic surface of the landing field. Her stomach tilts a bit. She swallows the brief nausea and looks over her shoulder to see what she’d just stepped out of.

         The Starwind looms two stories tall. Like a dull, grey arrowhead, it squats low on three tensile metal legs, looking very modest compared of the rainbow hues of the other luxury ships.

A whisper of movement behind her. She turns her head in time to see Zy-Karr pull a sonic-key off her belt and press the end of the pencil-thin device with her thumb. A high-pitched whine hunches Toak’s shoulders to her ears. The tuneless keening stabs her eardrums and teeters on the extreme edge of her hearing range. She’s ready to clap her hands over her ears, but it stops in mid-note, jumping to sonic levels even she can’t detect.

         Starwind obeys the silent command; the ramp retracts into the gray hull,  the hatchway dilates closed, then vanishes, leaving a smooth surface. Toak purses her lips in a silent whistle of awe.

         “This is the best skyglydder they had?” a now-familiar voice says, sounding a bit aggrieved. Toak turns to face her and the object of inquiry: a luxury-sized, disc-shaped, bubbletop skyglydder. Aside from its cherry red color, it looks fine. “You did say it was Commander Zy-Karr, didn’t you?”

         “Yes, Commander. I called the best rental place in Thandor and got their best glydder—top of the line. It’s Zy-Karr made—“

         “I can see that,” came the snapping interruption that shuts Toak up. “I can recognize my own work. That thing was “top-of-the line” five staryears ago.”

         Zy-Karr mutters something using her native language instead of Interstell, the common language of the Consolidated Stellar Systems, and Toak wonders if she’s being cussed. Zy-Karr slaps the key back on her belt and waves for her to get into the glydder.

         For Toak, the vehicle is a luxury seen only in Tri-Dem movies. T-shaped seats covered with genuine erx-hide leather tanned buttery-soft and dyed red, are comfortable, big and adjustable enough to accommodate her height and long legs. It has an adequate control system for a commercial, consumer-designed machine; ideally it was designed for computer navigation, but it also had the free-hand operating mode. The backseat is wide, horseshoe-shaped leather.

         Big enough to do a lot of things in, Toak smirks to herself, and wonders what Zy-Karr is used to traveling in if she considers this an antiquated heap.

         Zy-Karr slides behind the controls and activates the machine. Toak is again impressed when the alien darkens the plexi-glass  bubbletop to opaquity, feeling much like the Baklands hick Zy-Karr thinks she is. She feigns nonchalance as she watches Zy-Karr’s golden, five-fingered hand tap in the destination for the navigation computer. The machine takes a few seconds to digest the information, then lifts silently into the air, flying off to join the orderly flowlanes of skyglydder traffic above.

         Careful not to gawk, Toak enjoys the ride from Thandor’s downtown to its industrial district where the streets bustle with activity of people, factories and machines. Leisurely, their glydder takes a left turn and leaves the main flowlanes.

         Now they travel over a quieter section of storehouses. She sees big cargo transports being unloaded, the pace is slower, the people fewer. Their glydder begins to descend. The destination is a warehouse much like others around it. But this one is surrounded by a high metal fence and deserted of people or activity. The skyglydder lands on the bare concrete ground.

         Toak sneaks a look at Zy-Karr. She sits staring at the front door of the warehouse. She frowns as though she’s expecting someone to meet her. Toak looks at the door, too. It doesn’t open. Zy-Karr gets out of the glydder and marches up to the door. Toak scrambles to follow her. She’s at the Grenian’s side when the alien pounds the door, the hollow booms loud in the silence of the area.

         A square peephole slides back. Slot-shaped blue eyes inspect them. Toak hears a grunt of recognition and the door swings wide. A tall mean-looking Coleedian stands aside. Her hard gaze and doorway-filling girth puts Toak on guard as their eyes briefly meet. The strange Coleedian’s smile is more of a leer as they pass, and Toak can feel the stony gaze between her shoulder blades as she follows Zy-Karr’s swiftly striding form down the dim corridor. They turn a corner.

         Ahead, warm light pours from an open doorway. She follows Zy-Karr across the threshold, jumping slightly when the door closes behind her with a soft thump.

         Great Goddess, calm down, she tells herself.  

         “My dear Commander Zy-Karr! Greetings! So good to see you again,” exclaims an older Coleedian. Stepping out from behind a plexi-glass desk, she gives Zy-Karr a deep bow from the waist. She’s older and  city-thin.

          A vest of white fur covers her from shoulders to ankles; underneath she wears a pale sillem tunic and suede erx-hide pants and shoes. Her short hair is snow-white. Expensively cut and elegant, it sweeps back, a perfect frame for her weathered features. Her pale-blue skin creases deeply at the corners of her eyes as she smiles a toothy grin.

         “Hello, Jad. How are you?” Zy-Karr says, walking past Jad as though it were her office.

         “Excellent, Commander.” Jad meets Toak’s gaze. “And this is—?”  Toak wets her lips, readying to return Jad’s greetings.

         “No one,” Zy-Karr finishes, not even turning around. Toak’s mouth goes dry. Jad raises one white eyebrow in a pitying glance. “And nothing for you to worry about,” the alien woman continues. “You have the merchandise I requested?”

         Jad turns away and swoops to Zy-Karr’s side. “Of course, Maktus. And the furs are the finest I’ve seen in sometime. This way, please. You can see for yourself.”

         They walk down another gloomy corridor to another section of the warehouse. Through another door to a larger room filled with crates and packages and two suspicious-looking characters.

         Floaters, Toak thinks, recognizing the sight and scent of a somaal addict. This was definitely not good. Either unaware or unmindful of the dubious company, Zy-Karr goes to a table heaped with glossy white furs. Toak hurries to follow her, standing where she can see the floaters. Jad trails behind.

         Zy-Karr runs her hand over the furs as she studies them, looking like she knows what she’s doing.

         “You.” The throaty voice in her direction. Toak stops eye-balling the floaters and looks the Grenian’s way. “Get me a fur from the middle of the stack.”

         Toak complies. Jad gives a thin, forced laugh.

         “Commander! As if I’d attempt such a deceit! That you would even think it—! Your dear, departed grandfather—may the Goddess eternally embrace him—never doubted my—-!”

         “My dear Jad, of course I trust you, and I know nothing is further from your mind than trying to deceive me,” Zy-Karr interrupts as she takes the fur Toak offers, inspecting it as closely as she did the others. “Your integrity is known and revered throughout the C.S.S.”

         Toak sees lavender color stain Jad’s wrinkled cheeks and wonders if Zy-Karr’s slick words will soothe the old Coleedian.

         “Commander, such praise,” Jad gives another bow. “You are too kind.”  Toak suppresses the urge to make a face.

         “The furs are excellent,” Zy-Karr agrees, tossing the pelt back onto the pile. Jad’s smile widens.

         “You know I deal in only the best, Maktus, and these are all winter prime! You’ll—“

         “How much?” Zy-Karr asks. Toak sees her turn that laser-green gaze on Jad, noticing the two women are of equal height. Jad wets her lips before she speaks.

         “Commander, you understand these furs are very rare and their acquisition very dangerous and very expensive—“

         “Spare me the sales pitch. I know what the capture of morlaak entails. How much?”

        “Two million.”

        “Two million?” Zy-Karr’s black eyebrows jump high. “Your risks are tiny compared to mine! Receiving illegal goods! Transporting it over stellar boundaries! Outrageous bribes! This eats away at the profits! I’ll give you 500,000.”

         “Commander! You call that a decent bid? On the open market you could name your own price for these magnificent furs! I-I couldn’t possibly let them go for less than 1.9.”

         “Jad, you conveniently forget it’s illegal to sell morlaak on the open market. 600,000.”

         The two move off a bit to haggle in private. Toak feels her mouth hanging open and closes it; millions for a pile of furs.

         A hand clamps on her shoulder. She nearly jumps out of skin as she spins around. One of the floaters had approached so quietly, she hadn’t noticed.

         “Didn’t know these fancy munkles even spoke to regular Coleedians. You new?” the floater asks in a gargled rasp, speaking Coleedian to keep the conversation private.

         Toak eyes the shabby, patched tunic, the stained erx-hide pants wonders how anyone who reeks of vomit and stale somaal could have snuck up on her unawares.  She tries not to breathe too deeply and nods in reply.

         “I hear she’s a real lozo to work for, but she’s such a fine looker!” The floater gives her a gap-toothed leer. “She wouldn’t be so high and mighty if I had fifteen kronons in a bed with her! Grenya girls: cold on the outside and hot on the inside! I hear this one beds anything that still breathes!”

         Toak knows Zy-Karr wouldn’t care to be referred to as either a lozo or munkles, or to have her sex life discussed with such abandon, but somaal addicts are an unpredictable bunch, prone to sudden, insane rages that sometimes left death in its wake, and she certainly didn’t want to offend this  battle-scarred street veteran.

         “Ummm, she is…attractive,” Toak says for lack of anything better, wishing this floater would leave her alone. The woman gives her a playful punch on the shoulder. It stings.

         “You lucky gix,” the addict says. “I’d like to have your job for just—“

         “YOU!”

         The single word echoes in the large room and the floater departs with a haste unseemly for her menacing exterior. Toak turns around.

         Jad is gone. Zy-Karr is walking towards her in stiff-legged strides, her footfalls thumping the metal floor, her golden face a scowl. Was Zy-Karr speaking to her?

         “Commander?”

         The Grenian stops in front of her. The green eyes appear to glint with unseen fire.

         “Can’t you follow orders or did you just decide to ignore them?” Zy-Karr says loudly.

         “Commander?” Toak says again, in a puzzle. She wonders why Zy-Karr is speaking so loudly. They are barely three feet apart.

         “Ah? You’ve decided on brain-loss? My order?! To keep your mouth shut? Remember now?”

         Toak’s stomach clenches; yes, she does remember. Now. “Uh, yes, I do, but—“  Zy-Karr interrupts, her voice suddenly quieter.

         “Listen to me, you Bakland buffoon, you are very much out of your depth here. You haven’t a clue about anything—much less this business deal. When I say: no talking, I mean NO talking! Is that clear?”

         Toak wonders how words spoken so quietly could contain so much anger. From the corner of her eye, she sees the two floaters elbowing each other as they try to contain their laughter.

         “But, Commander I barely said two words to her! I wouldn’t! She’s a fl—-”

         “IS THAT CLEAR?!”  Zy-Karr’s shout echoes about the room.

         Toak goes rigid with humiliation, wishing she could sink through the floor and disappear. Not really possible, so she does the next best thing: she sets her face in an expressionless mask and hides behind that.

         “Yes, Commander. It is very clear,” she says, her voice as blank of emotion as her face.

         “Excellent,” Zy-Karr says, her tone sharp enough to cut diamonds. “Try and retain that in your Coleedian brain this time.” The green eyes look past her and catches the floaters, and their quiet chortles instantly stop. “You two! Crate those furs. They’re mine now!” Zy-Karr barks, then turns and strides out of the room.

         Raucous laughter bursts out.

         “’Yes, Commander, yes commander!” one floater mocks, mimicking Toak’s voice with an accuracy that makes her want to cringe. “That munkles leading her around like a pet erx!” she roars in her normal voice.

         “And the idiot lets the Grenian do it,” the other squeals. They both double over with whoops of laughter.

         Toak walks out of the room and re-traces her way back to Jad’s office. This whole thing is moving way too fast, she thinks. Ruthless Blood Nobles, poached furs, somaal addicts; this wasn’t exactly a engine mechanic’s job. And she calls me “Coleedian” all the time. I bet she doesn’t even know my name—

         The opening of Jad’s office door brings her up short and Zy-Karr walks out.

         “What are you doing here?” the Grenian says, her eyes narrowing. “Why aren’t you overseeing the crating of those furs? Must I tell you everything?”

         “I didn’t think—I mean, I’m sorry, Commander! I—“

         “Go watch my furs, you fool!”

         Toak instantly turns and runs back the way she’s just came, her teeth gritting, wondering with whom she was more angry: Zy-Karr, the floaters, or herself.

         She’s breathing hard as she hits the room’s threshold. She sees the floater who spoke to her start, then quickly turn to face her and sees the other floater hauling a big crate away.

         “Goddess’ Breasts, Kid! You scared me running up like that! Is your munkles chasing you?” the remaining floater says.

         “Where’s Zy-Karr’s furs?”

         “Right here and ready to go,” the floater says patting the crate beside her.

         Toak walks over and looks at the crate. “That was quick work; twelve furs crated and sealed in five kronons.”

         “Yeah, we’re professionals. We work quick,” The floater preens a little.

         “Seals don’t look fresh, though…” Her calm remark earns a frown from the floater.

         “What are you, some kinda crate expert? Hey, Tep! We got some kid out here calling us dis-honest!”

         Tep steps out from behind a wall of crates much too quietly and close for Toak’s happiness.

         “The lozo is talking? Thought she’d be too worried about her Grenian munkles punishing her to say peep!” Tep declares from Toak’s other side, sandwiching her between her floater buddy.

         “Maybe Zy-Karr gave her pet permission to talk,” the nameless floater says and the two burst out laughing again.

         Toak frowns. “Open it.”

         “There is about as much a chance of that happening as me flapping my arms and flying,” Tep says, suddenly serious.

         “Yeah,” the other one says, her frown and bunched fists appearing simultaneously as she takes a step forward.

         “What is going on here?” It’s Jad’s voice and Toak almost faints in relief. She steps away from the floaters–who now look meek, small and very non-threatening, hanging their heads and saying nothing—to approach Jad and Zy-Karr as they enter the room.

         “I asked to look inside the crate and they refused!” Toak says answering Jad’s question when it was clear the floaters weren’t.

         “Look inside? But whatever for, child?” Jad asks, genuinely puzzled. Then her pale blue gaze turns icy with sudden comprehension. “Are you implying there is something wrong? Some trickery? You?”

         Well, no help there. She turns to Zy-Karr and finds the Grenian looking…amused?

         “Commander, I think you should check—“

         “Nonsense,” Zy-Karr says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve known Jad too long. She’s honest. Didn’t you hear me say that earlier?”

         Toak feels her jaw drop open a bit. She snaps it shut. “But, Commander! I saw—!”

         “I said: drop it, Coleedian! Or are you deaf as well as stupid?”

The recent blizzard had more warmth than Zy-Karr’s voice, and Goddess, how does she make her green eyes look so mean and lethal? This is probably the end of any job offer, Toak thinks; aloud she says: “No, Commander.”

         Zy-Karr likes hearing that. Her face looks normal again. She pulls the sonic key off her belt and tosses it for Toak to catch.

        ‘Here’s the key to the Starwind. Use that rental to get these furs back to the spacepatch—you can find your way back?”

         Toak nods, a little stiffly.

          “Good. DON’T get stopped by City Security; I won’t be very happy if I have to buy you and my merchandise out of Thandor jail. I’ll be around later.” Zy-Karr ends her orders and waves Jad over to talk. Toak feels dismissed.

         She sighs, looks at the crate, looks at the grinning floaters, and looks back at Jad and Zy-Karr. Every instinct she has says something is wrong with that crate. How can she just pick it up and walk out? It’s her fault now; she should have stayed, but she’d been so embarrassed and humiliated before—-

         Just like they planned? She thinks, looking at Tep and her pal again. Could a couple of somaal addicts come up with this on their own? The two floaters watch her carefully; see her thinking, waiting for her next move. She glances at Zy-Karr and Jad, talking and laughing. No way these two came up with this idea, she thinks.

         “Commander Zy-Karr, please! You must hear me out!”

Bad move. The scary Zy-Karr reappears, the anger hot this time.

         “You have your orders! Now carry them out!” Her snarls’ worse than the floaters’ had been. Her black sillem cloak spins about her as she turns to leave. Toak could almost feel the heat of her anger rolling off her as she strides to the door and out. The echo of her angry steps thumps back to them. Toak drops her head and sighs. She tried.

         “I want you out of here now!” Jad’s voice nearly in her ear startles. Her head jerks up and meets Jad’s icy gaze. “And a piece of advice: annoying Zy-Karr will guarantee you a short stay under her employ. She expects subordinates to obey her, not question her at every turn.” Jad’s thin lip curls in a sneer. “This isn’t your homevillage, Baklander; this is the city and you are seriously out of your depth here. Go home while you still can,” she ends frostily, then turns to trail Zy-Karr out.

         Unhappy, Toak grabs the crates handle and heaves the package on her back to follow Jad out, leaving the floaters muttering and growling behind her.

         Space you then, Zy-Karr! So don’t listen to me! It’s not my gazillion million at stake here! I tried!

         Back at the Starwind, she gives into her curiosity and sudden doubt; maybe she was mistaken about the whole thing. With easy, heavy-gravity strength, fingers gouge into thick plastic, seals pop and she peels back the lid. The odor of mildew makes her sneeze.

          I knew it! She pulls out a fur and inspects it. The black smudges on the inner skin looks like it could be dirt, but her nose tells her different. They did switch furs! This stuff is worthless! Honest merchant!

          She gloats. This is too good! She imagines showing this stuff to Zy-Karr and Jad, the honest merchant as they sit laughing and drinking some horribly expensive drink, so smug and happy with themselves. She drops the damp pelt, jams the lid down hard and heads back to the exit.

                                ************************

          It’s twilight when Toak returns to the industrial district. The workers and equipment are gone. The streets are empty and silent as the vehicle re-traces its route and lands as it has before.

          Toak drags the crate to the warehouse door and knocks. Nothing. She knocks a little harder, hammering the door with heavy gravity strength. It’s built to defend against such strength and it holds very nicely. Toak scowls at the thick metal door as she massages the ache in her left hand. No one home? The place is built like a fortress. No windows. Only this door. She’d made quite a racket pounding the door. She looks over her shoulder. Not a soul. It suddenly occurs to her this might be a bad place to be caught alone and defenseless with a crate of illegal pelts riding in a obscenely- expensive airglydder. Quickly and quietly, she grabs the crate, stuffs it in the back seat and hops in the glydder. She jabs the “re-do” button and she lifts up and away.

                                     *************************

          The hatchway of the Starwind dilates open and Toak tosses the crate through. It lands with a satisfying thump, relieving her frustration a bit. She follows the crate through the hatch.  

          What’s that smell? she thinks.  Zy-Karr is back.

          She follows the strange, sweet scent to the doors of the controlroom. They open for her. A bright, straight avenue seems to run the length of the ship. She hesitates, feeling like an intruder. Was she still on this “test run”? Was this still a job interview? Did she have the job?  If not, I will after this, she decides.

          Following the scent, she walks down the cream-colored corridor until she comes to two doors opposite each other; one colored gold, the other silver. She leans nearer the gold door. The scent is stronger and is there…? She puts her ear to the door. Music? She taps the door.

          Nothing happens. She taps it again, with a heavier hand; the door rattles in its slot.

          “COMMANDER!” she yells in a voice meant to carry over miles of open plains.

          The door parts in the middle, whooshing open so suddenly she stumbles, almost falling into the room as music blasts out at her and clouds of scented smoke stings her eyes. She steadies herself with a hand to the warm metal lip of the door and tries to make sense of the chaos.

          Lights falls from behind her, illuminating waves of blue smoke drifting past, a kaleide-light ripples rainbow colors in short, disorienting bursts. Her slot-shaped eyes, better suited to handling the glare of sunlight on snow, didn’t help much.

          “Commander,” she calls stepping forward two steps. The door closes behind her, leaving her as good as blind in the color-washed dimness. “Commander!” she pitches her voice too be heard over the loud music. The music drops a few decibels.

          “You’re late, Coleedian. I do hope you have my furs with you—“

          Impossible to pinpoint the slurred voice in the confusion of sound, sight and smell.

          “It’s about the furs! Jad’s switched them on you! They’re not the ones we saw!”

          The music and lightshow abruptly end, and Toak is lost in a hot, black pit of silence.

          “What? What are you babbling about?” Zy-Karr’s disembodied voice says to Toak’s left. A manic giggle erupts from the same spot. Toak nearly jumps out of her skin.

          Across the room, light flares. Toak squints as flash burn afterimages dance in front of her eyes.

          “I came back as you ordered—then I looked into the crate to double check the furs. I’m sorry, Commander, but they are not the same ones you saw in Jad’s warehouse. She’s tricked you—“

          As she speaks, her vision clears, the room takes on proper color and form. She looks to the left, a bed where Zy-Karr is, and her words stop, leaving her mouth hanging open.

          Zy-Karr’s unbound hair is a tangle of black waves cascading over her naked body. Her eyes narrow in a squint of puzzlement, while behind her, the bed covers quiver with movement.

          “Jad could not have done that,” the golden alien says, looking confused and expectant.

          Toak is also confused. She hadn’t been confused when she knocked on the door and she didn’t know why she feels so now. She only knew she was no longer as hotly indignant as she had been. Feeling deflated, she tells Zy-Karr everything, the floaters, the crate switching, going back to the warehouse and now—she ends her story and just stands there, quiet, watching Zy-Karr watch her. The alien is so still she looks like a statue, a puzzled statue. Then the confusion clears. She frowns.

          “I can’t believe Jad would dare something like that! She hasn’t the brains or the guts!”

          Ah! That got Toak’s indignation sparking again. She succeeds in keeping a frown from her face. “Well, you can check for yourself, Commander.”

          “I intend to. Leave me.”

                                        ****************************

          By the time Zy-Karr comes, 30 kronons later, Toak’s indignation has cooled to common sense. The Grenian looks like herself again, hair scraped back in a long braid, her face a scowling mask, her narrowed eyes like chips of green ice as she sniffs, then curses.

          “Space Jad to a cold death! I can’t believe this!”  She runs to face Toak. “Haul this crate back to the rental! Time we visit Jad.”

          Early evening in Thandor. The opaque ceiling of the dome blocks the familiar stars from Toak’s view, leaving her feeling claustrophobic and anxious. That anxiety probably has a lot to do with the amount of anger radiating from the silent Grenian.

Toak has many questions she’s dying to ask, but this hardly seems the moment. Instead, she looks out the bubbletop at the landscape below, and sees they’re in a better part of the city. There are fewer, bigger houses surrounded by good bits of open land, separated by fencing.

 They land on the front lawn of one such house. Zy-Karr leaves the rental and Toak knows she’s to follow along with the crate. She gets to the opened front door in time to hear Zy-Karr demand the servant get Jad “at once”. Zy-Karr walks through the door and Toak follows. She door closes behind her.

The entryway is opulent with thick carpeting underfoot and imported furniture, soft lighting and cool air. From a nearby doorway, Jad appears, dressed informally for comfort. Toak sees her eye the crate curiously, but the older woman smiles and greets them cordially, even happily.

          “Commander! What a happy surprise! Welcome to my home! You honor me! What can I do for you?”

          “You can give me my furs, Jad. The real ones,” Zy-Karr says and suddenly she’s pointing a hand-rayer at Jad’s boney chest. The older Coleedian loses her wide smile.

          “Commander? Maktus! I-I don’t understand! What’s going on? Is this some kind of a joke?”

          Zy-Karr jerks her chin at the crate. “You look at those furs, then tell me about the joke,” she growls.

          Jad’s eyes flicker from Zy-Karr’s face to the weapon aimed at her chest. She’s frightened. Toak feels a guilty pity as she pulls out a pelt and puts it in Jad’s trembling hands.

          “This isn’t the merchandise I sold you; this is worthless junk!” the old Coleedian says in surprise as she examines the pelt.

          “Jad, are you suggesting I am a liar? That I’d take time out of my busy schedule to extort more furs out of you?” Zy-Karr says with icy calm. Jad looks even more worried.

          “No! No, Maktus! Of course not! You would have no need–!”

          “Correct. I could buy and sell you—space that! I could buy and sell this city many times over and not have it make a slight dent in my wealth. Now, the question of my honesty is settled; yours remains unclear. I repeat: I want my real furs now.” Zy-Karr says the last six words carefully, almost separately.

          Jad’s fists clutch the pelt and Toak can see her knuckles whiten from the pressure of her grip.

          “Maktus Zy-Karr, I swear by the great Goddess Voada, that I know nothing of this,” she says firmly. “I can’t imagine how it could have happened.”

          “Can’t you?” Zy-Karr says, her voice cool as her thumb flicks a tiny switch on the butt of the hand rayer, and it hums into activation. “Perhaps you can imagine yourself with no head.”

          Toak freezes. Only her eyes move from one woman to another. This had to be a bluff; surely Zy-Karr wasn’t going to ray Jad’s head off?

          The older Coleedian appears to have less doubts. She gasps. The pelt falls from her hands as she drops to one knee and clasps both hands to her bosom.

          “NO! MAKTUS! I’m innocent! I swear! I swear on my mother’s eyes!” With a face free of mercy or compassion, Zy-Karr steps forward and puts the barrel of the rayer to Jad’s forehead. “Please believe me! I DIDN’T DO THIS!”

          “Who did? WHO DID IT?! Zy-Karr yells, making Toak jump.

          “It has to be those workers! It has to be! Please, Maktus, let me prove it to you! Goddess rest your sweet, departed Grandfather! I could never cheat the kin of my dearest lover! Maktus, I’ve known you since before you were born! I’d sooner cheat my own family than cheat you…please….please…”

          Anxious seconds pass. Toak stays frozen.

          Zy-Karr speaks.

          “I think I’ll choose to believe you, Jad. You’re not brave enough to lie to an activated rayer.” She switches off the weapon and it disappears as suddenly as it came. “But let’s see the proof of your innocence, and let’s see it quickly.”

          Zy-Karr turns and walks off to disappear into the room Jad had exited. Toak watches her go, cognizant that her mouth is again hanging open. A deep sigh and sudden movement remind her of Jad, now slumped on both knees, her white head hanging low.

          “E’rah?” Toak says in Coleedian, using the formal address. Jad doesn’t answer, her shoulders heave up and down. “E’rah—let me help you up…”

          Gently, she helps the old woman up, surprised to find the tall, big-boned merchant frail and feather light. She looks into Jad’s haggard face, feeling ashamed she’d ever suspected the old woman.

          “Thank you, child,” Jad says. “Forgive my rudeness earlier. If I had listened to you then—“

          Toak wonders why she feels so bad when she should be feeling good. She’d shown them, shoved it under their noses like she wanted.

I just pictured a different outcome, not Zy-Karr looking like she was ready to ray someone’s head off, and Jad looking like—this, she thinks. She shakes her head at Jad.

          “No, I—don’t thank me. I’m just glad you’re all right. Is there anything I can do to help?”

          “No, no—yes! Yes, you can! Keep Zy-Karr busy while I go and find out who would do this to me”

          Remembering the Grenian’s eyes when she’d held that weapon to Jad’s head, Toak would not have picked “keep Zy-Karr busy” as the next thing she wanted to do. But, she nods and Jad hurries off down the corridor into another doorway. Toak looks at the door Zy-Karr had entered and sighs.

          This’ll be good, she thinks, walking toward it and quietly enters. The room is brightly lit and comfortably furnished with a lived-in look.

         Zy-Karr paces before a glass wall that shows off the garden. Her movements seem both nervous and impatient. She’s so consumed by thought she sees nothing else.

          “Commander?” Toak says softly.      

          “What?” the Grenian snaps out, her strides never pausing

          “I-I’m not sure I know what’s going on—“

          “What are you jabbering about?”

          How about: am I hired or fired? Is this still the job interview? Do I have a shot at this job? Were you really going to ray Jad’s head off?

          These were the questions she really wanted to ask. Instead, she says: “Am I still needed here?”

          Zy-Karr stops pacing and turns fully around to look at her. The look in her eyes is not pleasant. Toak wonders if Jad had seen this same gaze over the barrel of that rayer.

          “Have I said you were not needed? You’re the reason I’m here now. Is this all too much for you?”

          “I-I, no! I am just unsure—“

          “Yes, I’m sure you are; this is all new and strange to you. Don’t worry. No harm will come to you.”

          Toak shakes her head. “That’s not—I was mistaken about Jad. I didn’t want to get her into trouble—“

          “You didn’t. You probably saved her. If I had discovered this switch later—“ The woman shook her head. “It would have been very inconvenient. I would have been very unhappy.”

          Toak had to ask. She had to know. “Would you have really hurt Jad—back then?”

          The alien woman stares at her, the pretty golden face as blank as a statue; only the eyes alive with a green glitter that speaks its own language. The statue parts its lips and speaks.

          “Of course not. That would have been illegal.”

          “Commander!” Jad’s voice calls from beyond Toak’s back. She’s happy to step aside and let the excited woman in. “I’ve found them!”

          Zy-Karr turns her glittering gaze on Jad. “Have you? Jad, either you impress me or, or—you knew where they were all along,” she says in a quiet voice that makes Jad go pale.

          “Oh, no, Maktus! I swear it! My excellent security force quickly gathered the information and they are ready to retrieve your merchandise. I beg you to accompany me so I can prove my innocence and restore your faith in me!”

          “I wouldn’t miss it,” Zy-Karr says and gives a smile that makes Toak want to shudder.

                        ******************************************

          Hard to believe I started this day in the Traveler’s Hut in the Baklands,” Toak thinks. She sits in the back seat of a very speedy skyglydder, Jad piloting, and Zy-Karr silent.

          Toak is hot in the protective thermal suit Jad had supplied her. Still she had to be more comfortable that Zy-Karr stuffed in a special extreme artic-wear survivalsuit, Jad had given the Grenian; all very necessary for their trip outside the dome and Thandor’s safety. Now they traveled out into the snowplains, the daytime cloud cover gone. Millions of bright stars twinkle in the clear black heavens, and light the many snow drifts that rise up and down like hills on the flat land. Nice as it was to see the stars, Toak wishes it were still cloudy; it would have made the winter night much warmer. Tonight would give the phrase: “colder than a Coleedian night” new meaning.

          The tension in the glydder is intense. She keeps hearing Zy-Karr’s words:  “don’t worry, no harm will come to you” over and over in her mind.

          “There it is!” Jad says suddenly, pointing off to the left. Toak sees a small ring of orange lights growing larger as the glydder descends. She pulls her dry tongue off the roof of her mouth and swallows dryly as the skyglydder lands just outside the lighted circle, settling on packed snow.

Letting in a burst of icy air, Jad opens the door and leaves, her boots scrunching in the snow. Toak hops out the back door. Zy-Karr hops out the other front door, surprising Toak.

          “Commander, it’s very, very cold out here. You’d be safer—“

Zy-Karr shoots her a look icier than the night air, then turns away to follow Jad. Toak blows out a long, exasperated sigh of white vapor, and brings up the rear.

        She watches ice crystals form angular patterns on Zy-Karr’s exposed cheeks, forehead and chin as they stand with the circle of Jad’s security force, listening to the merchant give her orders.

          “—-so your first priority will be a large crate inside the building. See that it doesn’t get damaged. Any questions?”

          The group of six Coleedians wear traditional winter furs, their faces in shadow from the pulled-low hoods. One spoke.

          “What about the people inside? Should we be careful with them, too?”

          “I want this to be a warning for others who think they might want to steal from me. Just get me that crate.”

          Almost as one, the groups nods and pulls weapons from under their furs before they split into groups of twos and disappear among the towering snow drifts. Their departure leaves Toak shivering with more than the cold.

          Jad’s “security force” has the look of trained professionals; more than likely they are ex-military, now turned mercenaries-for-hire.           “There’s nothing to worry about now, Commander,” Jad says to Zy-Karr. “These people are highly-skilled professionals. They have never failed me. You’ll have your merchandise back very soon.”

          “I hope so, for your sake,” Zy-Karr says, then turns to follow in the direction of the mercenaries.

          “Commander!” Jad calls softly. “What are you doing? You should stay here! You’ll be safer with us!”

          The Grenian pauses to look back and gives a low laugh that contains no amusement. “I make it my business to be safe anywhere. You’d be better off praying to your woman-god those furs aren’t damages than worrying about me,” she whispers back, then turns to hurry off into the cold night.

          Jad looks at Toak with truly frightened eyes.

          “Don’t just stand there! Go after her! She doesn’t know what she’s getting into!”

          “According to her, she knows everything including the secrets of life and death,” Toak finds herself saying, “Anyway if she wanted me to come, believe me, she would have told me.”

          Jad grabs Toak’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

          “She is a rich, spoiled child. Do you want her death on your conscience simply because she was rude to you?”

          Child! Child? How can she be a child? She must be 35 or 40 staryears! Great Goddess, Jad calls me child! What does she know?  

Her thoughts and feet stop at the same time. She hears—noises. Squeaks? Carefully, she follows Zy-Karr’s clumsy tracks around a drift.

          She sees Zy-Karr trapped and struggling in a chest high mound of snow, the squeaking noise resulting from her efforts to free herself. Her tracks say she’d either tripped or jostled a precariously-perched overhang of snow, causing it to dump on her; a common mistake off-worlders made. Sometimes it was a lethal mistake and they were found in the spring thaw some time later.

          Toak makes sure they’re alone, then approaches the alien woman. Her movement catch Zy-Karr’s attention, and she stops struggling.

          “Requesting permission to accompany you, Commander,” she says quietly, reaching for Zy-Karr’s out-stretched hand. She pulls Zy-Karr out with a quick jerk that bounces the Grenian off her chest; a whoosh of white steam gushing from the alien’s lungs as their bodies collide.

          “Be careful! I’m not some crate you can toss around!” Zy-Karr snarls as she struggles to regain her footing.

          “Sorry, Commander. You’ll do better if you use the gravity snowshoes. This snow’s very deep,” Toak says, looking down at her as the Grenian looks up, her face a dark blob under the hood of the thermal cloak. Zy-Karr’s hand feels small, small and cold; even through the thermalgloves she wears. Zy-Karr notices.

          “Seven Moons! Your bare hand is so hot I can feel it through my glove! Aren’t you cold?” The tone of her voice is of wonder as she pulls her hand free.

          “Yes, I am, so I know you must be feeling the cold even more.” She puts both hands on Zy-Karr’s cheeks to warm them. Your face is nearly frozen. You should go back to the glydder and wait.”

          Zy-Karr steps back from the touch, stumbling again. “Space these things! They won’t work!”

          “I can fix the setting—“

          “Do it!”  Zy-Karr offers her right-sleeve controlpanel. Toak corrects the balance of the anti-grav snowshoes; perfect ovals appear under Zy-Karr’s arctic boots. “I have to be there when the furs are recovered so I can see if Jad has anything to do with this. Come along if you like, but don’t get in the way. Do you have a weapon?”

          “Umm, no.”

          Zy-Karr sighs a steamy breath and reaches under her thermal cloak. “Here; take mine.”

          Toak eyes the offered handrayer. “Commander, I don’t think—“

          “No! No time to argue! Two choices: take this rayer and follow me or go back and wait with Jad. Chose!” the Grenian hisses impatiently.

Toak takes the rayer. “All right. Just follow me and we’ll get there quicker,” she says, surprised when Zy-Karr nods acceptance.

The trail they follow lead to a small, semi-cylindrical hut hidden in a shallow valley among the snowdrifts. The mercenary leader eyes them briefly, but says nothing as she and Zy-Karr hide behind an icy snow ridge.

They watch as the six mercenaries, so very silently disperse and creep close to the windowless structure. They fan out before the front entrance, two women backed against the wall on opposite sides of the door, and four more ready to charge in, big weapons at the ready.

There’s a moment of silence so perfect, she can hear Zy-Karr’s short breaths. The stars sparkle. A wisp of icy winds blows across her cheeks. Then the lead commando gives a signal and the two closest to the door, face it and fire their weapons at it.

The snow, the entire world turns purple as twin beams of violet plasma energy flash out, blinding in the night. Toak blinks. The door of the structure is gone, and the six mercenaries charge into the opening.

Screams, shouts, and the crackle of rayer plasma split the night. A feeling of being in a nightmare comes over Toak; she half-thought Jad had wanted the ‘warning’ to her former employees to be a permanent one, but this—-? She looks to Zy-Karr. The Grenian only stares at the building in some single-minded concentration. Then, abruptly it is quiet.

Toak sees five mercenaries and two stumbling captives, exit the hut and march by them. Toak holds her breath, expecting them to be the floaters from Jad’s warehouse, but these two—not dressed for the cold and lumpy-looking—are strangers to her.

Then Zy-Karr is standing up and scrambling over the lip of the ridge; Toak’s attention turns to her as she hurries to follow. She catches up with her at the shattered doorway. The mercenary leader steps through and greets them.

“Mission accomplished,” she says and trails her companions into the night.

“Yes!” Zy-Karr hisses and rushes into the building. Toak follows her inside.

The long, single room stinks of the burnt-rubber smell of the plasmarayers and a metallic smell she recognizes along with the smell of singed flesh. Her stomach tilts, flips and flops, and she’s swallowing the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth. Purple Coleedian blood looks black in the low lighting. Blue bodies lay twisted on the floor in a tangled smear of death.

She turns back to the open doorway and breathes deep of the clean, icy air.

Great Goddess! They really did it! I can’t believe–! All these people…dead–!”

She hears a gasp and spins around. She sees Zy-Karr stepping into splotches of black blood and tracking it around scorched bodies as she weaves a path to a crate at the back of the room. She tilts the open lid and looks inside.

“My furs!” Toak hears her cry out, happy. She wonders if the Grenian even sees the death around her. Toak feels sick again. She’s turning away, looking for a place to vomit, when she sees one of the ‘dead’ bodies lift an arm and aim a handrayer at Zy-Karr’s back.

“Commander!” she yells, takes two steps and leaps at the shooter. Time appears to slow to a crawl.

The thief fires her weapon. Toak hears the sharp crackle of plasma energy, sees the lethal purple beam spreading sluggishly toward its turning target, Zy-Karr. And Zy-Karr moving ever so slowly, lifting the crate lid, throwing herself sideways, attempting to dodge death. The crawling beam slams into the lid and rips it out of the Grenian’s hand as the blast ricochets off the rayer resistant polymer and splatters against the far wall of the hut, eating a hole through the metal. Toak sees this happening as she’s floating through the air. She lands on the thief’s back with a thud, flattening her.

 Time resumes its normal pace. The rayer goes flying when her left hand connects to a solid and familiar jaw.

With heaving chest, she stands over an unconscious Tep, the floater from Jad’s warehouse. A small groan commands her attention and her head spins around to pinpoint the source.

Zy-Karr picks herself up from the floor, grimacing a little.

“Commander, are you all right?” Toak calls, trying to keep an eye on everything at once. Apparently so. The Grenian steps quickly over to where Toak stands guard and prods the unconscious Tep with the toe of her boot.

“Blood-sucking thief; just missed hitting my furs,” Zy-Karr growls with no lost of composure. Toak feels far less calm.

“She-she tried to kill you!” she says, her shaky voice rising an octave.

“Tried, yes. Good thing I had that lid in my hand.” She looks up at Toak with cool eyes. “Why did you waste time yelling at me? You had a weapon; why didn’t you use it?”

Toak looks down at her right hand and the forgotten rayer she still clutches. “I-I didn’t think of it…”

The green eyes narrow. “Have you ever rayed anyone?” Zy-Karr asks.

Images of dead Coleedians scream at her from every side. She sighs deeply. “No.”

Zy-Karr appraises her for a few seconds. Toak wonders what she thinks. She takes the rayer from Toak’s hand.

“This must be very upsetting for you. Why don’t you bring the crate and come outside now,” Zy-Karr says, then turns and walks out.

Toak gapes after her, watching her leave. She never says what I think she will, she thinks, shaking her head.

“Never a ‘thank you for saving my life, Toak’ or ‘Thanks for spotting those junk pelts after I insulted you in public, Toak,’” she mutters in Coleedian as she collects the crate of morlaak furs. Was there really that much of a difference between the customs and cultures of Grenya and Coleed?

Outside she sees Zy-Karr and Jad talking while two mercenaries seem to be standing guard. Toak drops the crate in the snow and breathes deep of the cold clean air.

“—sorry I even considered you’d have anything to do with this,” Zy-Karr says. Jad bows graciously in the Grenian manner.

“It’s already forgotten, Maktus. Leave with an easy mind. I’ll finish up here.”

Zy-Karr dismisses Jad with a nod, and beckons Toak over.

“Load the crate into the glydder and take it back to the Starwind. I have other business in Thandor, so I’ll be there later.

You did well today. You are young and inexperienced, but you proved yourself. You saved me more time and trouble than you can imagine, and I am grateful; so grateful, I will welcome you aboard as the new Second-in-Command of the Starwind.”

Great Goddess, Zy-Karr smiling? And telling her—she had the job? A second on a starglydder? Her starglydder?

“You—do want the position?” Zy-Karr says, her smile fading. Toak opens her mouth to speak and shuts it again. She stands looking down at Zy-Karr’s questioning face, with rapidly-blinking eyes.

“I said—! Do you realize the opportunity I offer you? Do you want this job?”

“Do things like this—“ Toak motions a hand toward the hut. “—happen a lot to you?” She asks as politely as she can, but not politely enough it seems. Zy-Karr loses any signs of a smile and puffs up at the offense.

“Happen? To me? A lot?” Zy-Karr scowls. “I’ve never had this kind of trouble on such a routine run; no one dares! I can’t say much for Jad’s hired help though! Or her judgment! Hiring floaters! Even for grunt labor!” The Grenian shakes her head. “She’s getting too old for the business.”

“I am—not very—comfortable about those Coleedians being killed—“

“That rabble? They would have slit your throat for your fur boots!”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t excuse what happened! You could have stopped it—!

“Me? Do I look like your Naked Goddess? Am I now suppose to tell Jad how to handle her affairs? Listen, I’m no killer, but I do believe in protecting myself. May I assume you feel the same way?”

Even through the sarcasm, Zy-Karr’s words carry a strange logic. Toak’s mouth tastes of bile. “I guess so,” she admits.

Zy-Karr’s nod of agreement declares the incident over. “So? Are you taking the job or not?” she prods again.

Second-in-command on a private skyglydder was a dream job. More than she’d ever hoped, the pay more than she ever dreamed. She’d have to be a fool to pass this up.

          “Of course,“ Zy-Karr continues, “What you’ve done tonight earns you a bonus—say 20,000—“ Toak wonders if Zy-Karr heard her gasp. “—and a Second’s salary also. You proved yourself worthy of it: 300,000 a semi staryear.” The Grenian stops talking and looks expectantly at her, one black eyebrow raised high.

“Yes,” Toak says quickly. “I accept the position, Commander.”

Zy-Karr smiles pleasantly, her white teeth glimmer in the darkness of her hood. She is genuinely glad, Toak sees, and her own face crinkles in a return grin.

“Good!” Zy-Karr says.” Glad to have you aboard, Tock!”

Toak’s smile falls off her face.

“Toak,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“My name is Toak, not Tock, Commander.”

Zy-Karr’s smile vanishes. She hugs herself and shivers. “Seven Moons of Grenya! It’s colder than a Coleedian’s nose out here,” she says to no one in particular, and walks off, leaving Toak standing alone in the night.

                      ******************************

Toak’s ride back to Thandor goes quickly. The first sighting of the Starwind now looks like home to her. It’s quiet onboard as she walks down the cream-colored corridor running down the center of the ship. She passes the gold door, Zy-Karr’s room, a peek inside the silver door opposite shows her room: the crew’s quarters. Further down the hall she finds Medical behind a green door, recreation and food behind a blue door. The gun-metal gray double doors at the end of the corridor has to be the engine room, but they are locked.

That’s different.

She follows the narrow alley angling to the right of the engine room and finds the cargo hold. Zy-Karr’s packing crates and crates of some thing all marked in some alien language she can’t read or identify. She sighs, feeling tired. She secures the crate of furs and re-traces her steps up the corridor to fetch her travelsak. She stands at her silver door and stops.

 Heard something?

She bends her knees to set the travelsak quietly on the floor and turns to face Zy-Karr’s door. Silently, she tips to the door and puts her ear to the cool metal. Movement, quiet and stealthy. She silently curses her weaponless state, then remembers on board this vessel, she is a weapon. She taps the door control and leaps through the opening.

It’s light in the room. Her eyes circle the space and instantly lock on a strange creature next to the bed.

It’s a third her height with smoky gray skin, donkey-like ears, an impish face and pink owlish eyes, it stands on two round flat feet. Naked and unarmed.

“What are you doing here?” Toak asks gruffly.

A large toothy grin splits the creature’s face. “The Commander bringsss me! Forgot about me now! Left alone! Couldn’t get out!”

It speaks Interstell with a high-pitched hissing voice. Toak relaxes a bit; physically this being is no threat to her.

“What, I mean, who are you?” she asks.

“Ah? Never you sssee my kind before? I am Rantnor, good friend to Commander!” it says and giggles manically. The same giggle-sound Toak heard earlier. In Zy-Karr’s bed.

“You—are a friend of Commander Zy-Karr?” It was hard to imagine Zy-Karr treating this little creature as a friend, much less a sex partner. Her skepticism  didn’t appear to offend Rantnor.

“Oh, yesss! Very good friendsss! I make Commander very happy! Ssshe gives me food, money and sssomaal!”

“What do you do to make her happy?”

Rantnor opens its mouth and unrolls its tongue at her. It’s pearl gray, long as her forearm and half as thick. Amazed, she gapes as the tongue’s pointy tip wiggles at her, then snaps back into Rantnor’s impish face. It looks at her with an air of expectancy and Toak wonders if she’s suppose to applaud? Rantnor shakes its naked little head.

“Densse, are you not? Enough! Ask Commander anymore! She says wait! I wait!” Rantnor declares and hops up to burrow under the covers of the rumpled bed.

Puzzled, tired and knowing less than she had before, Toak shakes her head and leaves for her quarters, and the sanity of a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 3: Wild Card

Toak awakens with a gasp, jack-knifing upright in a strange bed. In her nightmare, Tep’s rayer bolt hit Zy-Karr, melting her to a liquid.

It’s horribly hot. Sweat makes her bangs cling to her forehead. The room is completely black and smells foreign. She flops back on sweat-dampened sheets and wipes the perspiration from her forehead. She feels groggy and heavy-headed, as though last night had been about drinking and fun.

“Not death and disaster,” she mutters and again–as she had countless times last night before sleep took her—she re-lives yesterday’s events, looking for something she could have said or done that would have spared the lives of those floaters. And again she finds no answers, only anguish and guilt.

Yes, Zy-Karr was right; they were floaters, they probably would have killed her for her boots if they’d met in some dark alley and the floaters needed a fix…

“But still! But still!” she burst out, her clenched fist striking the wall in sheer frustration. The wall squeals in protest as her fist sinks into it, leaving a knuckled crater on the metal’s gray matte surface. She swipes her hand over the hole, groans and scrubs her face with her other hand. She forgot about the gravity.

That was stupid. Can’t go around destroying the place because I feel bad. I can’t change what happened yesterday or even understand why it happened. Let Voada’s Will be done.

It provides comfort of a sort, to return to the religious teachings of her youth. How could such an unworthy as she, ever hope to understand the plans of the Most Sublime Goddess Voada? It will have to do. The only other alternative was a mental torment that would rip her apart.

She closes her eyes. Was there a positive side to this? Could she really be so callous as to be excited about where she was right now? She has her dearest wish realized; a job on a spaceship with a boss who traveled through the star systems like her people trekked from village to village, this incredible ship of which she was second-in-command. She would have been ecstatic getting the mechanic’s job in a glydder factory, but this!

Shouldn’t I be happy? How come I’m not happy? She wonders. Her dream job has the cast of a nightmare.

“You think too much,” she tells herself. Maybe she’d be less gloomy if she ate something. Her last meal was breakfast yesterday morning and her stomach is reminding her acutely.

So, trying not to think of anything at all, Toak gets up, cleans herself under the sanitizing green lights of the bathroom’s cleansing capsule, then dresses in a fresh uniform she pulls from her travelsak. She runs a quick hand through her hair and leaves for the recreation room.

The corridor is so quiet she wonders if she’s the only one aboard. In the recreation room, machines dispense only spiced vegetables and grains, and she wonders how the vegetarian Grenians survive on such meager fare. She sorely misses the meat she usually eats and it takes a triple helping of the stuff to fill her two stomachs and quiet her hunger pangs. It had been the same in the military, but there one could go into a restaurant and still eat meat. Toak wonders how she will survive on spiced vegetables and grains. She leaves the rec room full, but her appetite curiously unsatisfied, and makes her way down to the long corridor to the controlroom.

The door’s electric eye allows her entry. It’s empty, the three chairs and stations waiting expectantly. She feels her tight shoulder muscles relax, her body relaxes in here. She takes the Second’s chair and it seems to fit her better than it did yesterday. She looks at the communicator, the urge to call home strong. She hears the doors whoosh open, and spins her chair around quickly. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yes, me!” Rantnor declares cheerfully, hopping into the room. The door closes behind it.

“Is Commander Zy-Karr coming?” she asks the little alien. Rantnor nods and holds up a small black and gold travelsak.

“Very well thiss time I have done! Sssee?” Black and gold, the Zy-Karr Family colors.

“Great,” Toak mutters, turning back to the controls. Rantnor joins her, lounging against the first command chair and staring. Rudely. At her. Toak can only bear a few kronons of the intense gaze before meeting Rantnor’s pink, owlish eyes. “Yes?”

“Very nice wass I to Commander. Very nice. And nice she wass to me.” The little face screws itself into a smile that displays ashen, flat-edged teeth. “Nice to you I could be.”

“Uhhh—no thanks,” Toak declines, unsure what the alien offered. The wide smile fades and it sighs.

“Too bad, too bad,” it croons, then looks at the controlpanel as it beeps three times softly, the monitor snapping on. “My sskyglydder here!” It points to the image of the waiting glydder-taxi on the monitor. “Open! Open door! Open!”

Obligingly, Toak gets up and taps the code that opens the dilating hatchway. She watches Rantnor skip down the ramp and into the taxi before she shuts the doorway again.

“Great Goddess, what was that?” she wonders aloud. Back at her controlpanel, she accesses the computer for some needed information.

Rantnor is a planet in the Khibani System, its people also called Rantnors. The rest was the usual data: history, politic, industry, major cities, all very normal except for the very last line: ‘Because of their long, sensitive tongues, Rantnors are in great demand as pleasure-units’.

Pleasure-units? Great Mother! No wonder Rantnor called me dense! Toak sits back in her chair. She knew Rantnors by their slang name: tonguers and they were a rare sighting anywhere, especially Coleed. Her people were too well-equipped to need the gratifications of a ‘tonguer’, but the alien prostitute was very popular with many other Consolidate races—if one could pay the astronomical fees, that is. Zy-Karr certainly could. That explained the Rantnor’s presence in Zy-Karr’s bed.

Toak shakes her head in pity; someone so incredibly rich needing to buy sexual companionship. How sad. She hears the sound of the controlroom doors opening and closing—

Commander Zy-Karr is surprised to see the Coleedian already at the controls, engrossed in some information/data supplied by the computer, when she enters her controlroom. Without thought, her slumping posture straightens and she ignores her sore knees.

“Keeping yourself amused?” she asks as she strides across the small room to take her seat. The Coleedian quickly turns off the computer monitor.

“Yes, Commander,” the alien says in quiet tones. Zy-Karr looks at her and sees a splash of lavender color on her round cheeks. That, and the curious brightness of her slotted gray eyes, belie the serenity of her voice.

“What’s going on? You look excited,” Zy-Karr asks as her gaze sweeps over her controlpanel in a visual check.

“It’s been a long time since I was off-world.”

“That’s it? How thrilling can it be when you don’t even know where we’re going? It could be someplace you’ll hate,” Zy-Karr says looking back at her new Second.

“Impossible. I’m glad to be going anywhere as long as it involves traveling to another world.”

The small slot-shaped eyes ooze a naïve sincerity Zy-Karr’s never seen in anyone over ten staryears of age. The child-like enthusiasm turns her thoughts to the time when she had been so excited about space travel.

But nowadays, space was nothing more than a time-consuming obstacle between her and her goals. Did this alien realize how terribly lucky she was? For this brief time in her barbarian life she’d be taken from her dour, isolationistic people and be shown the wonders of the Consolidate.

“Something she could tell her children about.”  

“Commander? I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Grenian—“

Zy-Karr blinks and finds she’s still looking at the alien.

And babbling out loud, she thinks, frowning at her own inattention.

“I said, I was surprised when I saw a Coleedian had applied for this job,” she says in Interstell.

“I don’t understand,” the Coleedian says, looking worried. Zy-Karr elaborates.

“Most of your kind never want to leave this whirling ball of ice and misery. One would think you people would want to leave it as soon as possible.”

“I left to join the military and so did my bodymother. Lots of Coleedians join the forces,” the alien points out in a quiet voice.

Zy-Karr waves her hand dismissively.

“Yes, you people will leave for the military, then come back and bury yourselves here forever. And only one Consolidate-standard city on the entire planet? And you needed our help to manage that! I hear even the Bians in the Outer Consolidates have at least four Consolidate-standard cities and we consider them barely civilized. I could never understand why you hadn’t done more in over 50 staryears! My grandfather said it was because you liked it this way, but I think you’re all just not that smar—! I mean— well, Jad agrees with me, but now that you’re here I can finally ask one of the common Coleedians: what’s the matter with you people? Don’t you want to advance your planet’s society? Get in step with the rest of the Consolidate?”

As she speaks, Zy-Karr watches the alien’s face go from pale blue to vivid streaks of lavender slashes across her cheekbones, and her bright eyes go flat and dull. The alien hesitates for a few seconds, then speaks.

“Yes, of course we want to advance as a society. I believe we do that. The reason so many of us stay here is because we are so susceptible to the higher temperatures of other planets. Here, the hottest it gets is 50 degrees; that’s considered a heat wave.”

Heat wave?  Zy-Karr shakes her head in amazement. “I’ll lower Starwind’s temperature to 50, but that’s the absolute minimum for my comfort.” She taps the new data into the computer as she speaks. “I trust it’ll be sufficient for you.”

“Tolerable,” the Coleedian answers. Her voice carries an edge not reflected in her expressionless face and curiously neutral gaze.

She looks as cool as ice—except for that purple color across her cheeks. “Are you all right?” Zy-Karr asks, making her voice softer, her gaze concerned. “This is all new for you. Maybe it’s a bit too much for you–?”

“No! No, Commander, it’s different but it’s not too much for me. Leaving Coleed has been my wish for a long time, and it’s not because it’s a bad place. I love my planet and my people, but I just want more…”

“Oh? You actually want to get off this planet! What makes you so different?”

“I am different, but I don’t know why. Ever since I can remember I’ve looked up at the stars and wanted to be out there, to visit other worlds. That’s why I joined the military. But a Level 2 Coleedian mechanic didn’t have a chance of being assigned to space duty—“ The slotted eyes narrow further as she frowns. “—I tried to tell them I wanted to serve on a space glydder, but High Command wouldn’t listen. They said the standard ‘planetside duty’ was proven to be ‘familiar and stable’ for all Coleedian members and they had no intention of changing anything for me, some strange, rogue Coleedian–!” She stops abruptly.

Zy-Karr sees more emotions in the now-vivid gray gaze, but the Coleedian reins herself in.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Zy-Karr says, not mentioning High Command didn’t even have accommodations for Coleedians onboard a military vessel. There was no way this ‘rogue’ Coleedian would have ever served in space.

“It’s too bad the old jeaks in High Command couldn’t deal with someone so different from the norm. I’ve heard my grandfather tell stories about Coleedians serving on space-vessels during the Interstellar War.”

The Coleedian looks at her with—respect? “Yes, that’s right! We fought alongside your people in space. I didn’t think any off-worlder remembered that.”

Off-worlder?  Zy-Karr thinks, amused. She even smiles. “They do teach us ‘off-worlders’ history from 100 staryears ago.”

The smile does it. The color fades from the Coleedians cheeks and her icy exterior curiously ‘melts’ in a way Zy-Karr can’t pinpoint, but it’s nice to see expression on the alien’s face again.

“Guess I’m a genetic throw-back to those space-loving Coleedians,” the alien says with a wry grin.

“After the military no-space duty you returned home. So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

The Coleedian’s grin stays; good, a sense of humor.

“I’d like to own a spacetransport company.”

Zy-Karr arches her left eyebrow. “Space Commerce? Ah, you were lucky to meet me then. I can teach you a lot.”

“Yes, Commander, I know.”

“This should all work out very well then,” Zy-Karr says. “I’m going to assume you found the proper places to eat and sleep. Come with me and I’ll show you the engine room.”

In the corridor, Zy-Karr notices the Coleedian shortens her long-legged stride to match hers, and they walk quickly down the length of the spaceship until they reach the gray double doors of the engine room.

“Are these doors always locked?” the Coleedian asks.

“That’s standard.”

“Yes, everyone knows the doors to the engine room automatically close and lock when the Interstellar Drive engine are engaged because of the strong electro-magnetic field, but why is this door locked all the time?”

Zy-Karr’s hand, poised to tap in the lock code, hangs in the air as she gives the alien a long, searching look. From her taller height, the Coleedian’s hair falls forward, cloaking most of her face in shadow, revealing nothing but the tones of curiosity in her voice. Zy-Karr turns away to look at the door’s control pad, her fingers stabbing the touchscreen pad harder than is needed as she taps in the coded numbers. “I’ll give you the code,” she only says.

With a gasp of pressurized air, the doors open. They enter. Massive machinery almost touches the ceiling. The ship’s engine takes up ¾ of the room, a sprawling tangle of red conduits and high technology. In the middle of the room is a five foot high box of burnished blue plastic. They approach it.

“This is the relay matrix,” Zy-Karr announces, beckoning the Coleedian closer as she activates the computer and begins an engine simulation program. “What do you make of it?” she asks, stepping aside. The Coleedian takes her place and studies the program intently

“Opinion?” Zy-Karr prods after a minute or two.

“Spaceglydders of this size usually have three relay links; this has five. A very powerful engine. I think the extra links are not original; they were added later and this matrix station was built to accommodate the new five link configuration.” She looks up at the engine and points a rounded arm. “That section of engine over there; I’ve never seen anything like it. It must be new. What does it do?”

Zy-Karr’s first impulse is to back away and gape in amazement, but many years in business has taught her how to keep her true feelings hidden. She stands her ground and meets the alien’s slotted gray gaze.

“You got all that from the simulation and a quick look around?” she asks casually. Mild surprise replaces curiosity in the Coleedian’s gaze.

“Of course. How else could I have known? I try to keep up with recent engine technology, but such things are sometimes slow making its way to the Coleedian Baklands. I honestly don’t recognize the new section, but I learn very quickly! I was the best engine mechanic at my base.”

“Of course you will. No need to sell me; the job’s yours,” Zy-Karr says with relief. This Coleedian was exactly as she seemed, no more, no less. She was bright and brave and eager to learn.

And trusting, she thinks and smiles at the alien. “Come,” she says.

Once back in the controlroom, they take their seats and Zy-Karr activates the ship’s engines. They respond with a throbbing that echoes the beat of a living heart, the steady pulsations quivering the craft.

“We’re going to the Substra System. It’ll be a long trip, even at

Interstellar Drive speeds. Space travel can become monotonous; very boring,” she warns the Coleedian.

“I’d have to be space traveling for as many staryears as I’ve been alive for it to even start to be boring,” the Coleedian says, her face bright with excitement and that naïve but honest sincerity.

Were all common Coleedians so? Zy-Karr only knew Jad, and honest sincerity was not that Coleedian’s strength. This ‘Backland Barbarian’ was a find, untouched and innocent to the ways of life, and an instinctive mechanical whizz. She smiles at the thought and sees the Coleedian return a big grin.

“Since we’ll be traveling non-stop, we’ll have to share the pilot duty. Let’s see what you can do. Take us out.”

The slotted gray eyes blink and the grin fades from the Coleedian’s lips.  “You mean–? You want me to fly the Starwind? Now?”

“Affirmative. I scanned your military records this morning and your piloting scores were impressive; the top ten. With numbers like that, if you were a Grenian they would have made you a pilot—“ The Coleedian’s jaw drops open slightly.  “—but luckily for you, they left your training to me.” Zy-Karr gestures to their controlpanels. “They are similar. You can do almost anything I can do here at my station. And the similarity to a S.S.C. battleglydder–?”

The Coleedian nods, recovering from the sudden request. Zy-Karr notices the excitement of her gaze has increased.

“Yes, correct. It was my controlpanel design that got my company its first military contract for what’s now the standard design for a battleglydder. We built the battleglydders you trained in, so this should be no problem. Re-acquaint yourself with it while I get exit clearance.”

Clearance came almost before she ends her request, not giving the Coleedian a lot of time.

“Channel five in seven kronons,” Zy-Karr announces. “It’s all yours.”

She watches the Coleedian casually, but carefully. She is excellent! She knows how to handle the controls and she’s not nervous, even with me here watching. With practice and my teaching her, she’ll become an excellent pilot! And mechanic–! Zy-Karr gloats, congratulating herself for hiring this rough gem.

But, all things considered, it would have been foolish not to, especially after yesterday’s debacle. The Coleedian had probably saved her head and certainly saved her untold time and trouble by spotting the junk furs. So what if she’s fat, stinks of flesh food, and is seriously un-cultured?

“True loyalty is a gift that you take anytime it’s offered to you, “ Grandfather always told her, “no matter what the package looks like.”

This piloting of her personal craft is the Coleedian’s reward. Before this, only Zy-Karr’s hands had ever touched its controls. Still basking in the warmth of her benevolence, she leans back, scrutinizing the Coleedian’s every move.

At exactly seven kronons, the Coleedian executes an almost perfect lift-off; the G-force presses them into their padded chairs as the Starwind roars though channel five and upwards at an 45 degree angle. The ship’s computer equalizes the pressure as they pull away from the gravity well of the planet. A very quick take-off and ascent; a bit quicker than Zy-Karr preferred.

“Very good,” she starts off, “if you had been piloting a battleglydder, it would have been perfect. Use a little less acceleration next time. After all, we’re not fleeing the planet! Don’t worry!”  She chuckles at the sudden, stricken look the Coleedian gives her.

 “You made a reasonable assumption and a logical mistake. The controls of the two glydders are similar, but not exact. Starwind is a prototype, far advanced over a mere battleglydder. It’s the fastest, most advanced vessel in the Consolidate, and it will always respond a bit faster and with a bit more power.”

She keeps her voice kind and smiles encouragingly when the Coleedian glances at her; her lavender blush fades from her round, blue cheeks, and she smiles back weakly.

What an innocent! Zy-Karr enters their destination into navigation. “We are on course and locked. You seem to be handling things well enough. You’ve got first shift. Call me if something happens.” She disengages her seat belt and stands up.

“Commander?”

The Coleedian looks up at her. Finally taller, Zy-Karr notices the alien looks different from this viewpoint; the squareness of her jaw line is accentuated and her high cheekbones jut sharp angles under the pale blue skin.

“Yes?”

“I want to thank you for trusting me with the Starwind. I won’t let you down.”

So, the Coleedian did realize the honor done. This perception pleases Zy-Karr. How sweet–!

She lifts her hand and touches the Coleedian’s cheek. The hot softness of her skin is again a pleasant surprise and her hand lingers as she soaks up the sensuous contact….something’s happening? She senses a stiffening of the Coleedian’s body as she notices the alien’s discomfort in the changed gray gaze. Her hand drops and she steps back. Has she offended the alien?

                           ********************************                           

It’s one surprise after the next, this day, but this–! Zy-Karr’s action is unexpected, her touch thrilling, her flesh so cool in the heat of the room—Toak just wants to lay her head against it, close her eyes and dream of snow. But the green eyes looking down into hers forbids looking away. Mesmerized, Toak’s not even sure Zy-Karr is actually aware of her. There’s a contemplative languor in the emerald green gaze, a dreamy banked heat behind a chill exterior. It makes her nervous. She feels like something about to be devoured. Her body stiffens as she wonders how to pull away gracefully without hurting Zy-Karr’s feelings and her job prospects.

Abruptly, Zy-Karr’s hand drops away and the green gaze is sharp and cold again.

“Be very sure you don’t let me down, Second. I have no patience with incompetence,” Zy-Karr says briskly, and leaves.

*******************************

“Ah! Now this is more like it,” Zy-Karr says aloud. Seductive music plays. The kaleide-light ripples rainbows over the walls of her room. Her bed is rumpled but comfortable, and the full bottle of somaal nearby pleases her most of all. Yesterday had been exhausting. She was due for some rest and relaxation.

She breathed a deep breath of musky incense as she covers her bare breasts with a green sillem robe; Lysen’s favorite. Lysen. Still no word when she checked with her company this morning.

Why doesn’t he call? Where could he be?

She pours another glass of amber-colored somaal, raises it in a silent toast to Lysen, then drinks deeply. It’s the only thing that calms her worry enough to sleep. It helps suppress the little voice inside her that questioned if Lysen was even still alive.

Of course he’s alive! He has to be! Her fierce thought. She drains the somaal in one long gulp. Her second glass. Or was it the third or fourth? No matter. Anxiety slips away as her world glazes over into a euphoric dream, all her nagging thought, aches and pains quiet and forgotten. She smiles as she reclines on a fat sillem pillow.

Soon, my brave Lysen! Stay safe for me and I’ll see you very soon! 

Soon came the awakening, the morning that finds her prone on the bed. Groggy, she blinks open heavy lids and squints at the flashing colors painting her room in nausea-inducing flickers. The music thuds in her head. Gritting teeth, she gropes for the headboard control switch and after a few tries, succeeds in switching everything off. The black silence is a blessing.

“Lights! 25% power,” she calls out to the room and dim lights fade on. She sighs in relief as she sits up. Two empty somaal bottles clink against her thigh. Two? She can’t remember opening the second bottle. Where had the time gone? Time?

Seven Moons! The second! I was to relieve her for the second shift!

She looks across the room to the kronos and gasps; she is 15 starhours late for her shift!

She springs from the bed and hits the floor with a thump. Pain shoots up her legs, her knees creak and buckle. She flings herself back on the bed rather than fall.

Seven Moons of Grenya! What was in that somaal? I never felt this bad before!

Much more carefully, she gets off the bed. Her knees protest with pain, but hold her up. Grimacing with every step, she totters across the room to her bathroom. Inside, she pulls a pre-filled hypodermic from a drawer and injects the pressurized contents into the side of her neck.

 In the ten kronons it’d take fore the antidote to purge the last traces of somaal from her body, she’ll clean up, dress, then go check on the Second.

The Coleedian rises from her chair and stands in a rigid military stance when Zy-Karr enters the controlroom. Her face looks relieved.

“Commander! I’m glad to see you’re ok. I thought you would be! I wasn’t a bit worried!”

This Coleedian lies badly, Zy-Karr notes as she waves the alien to sit. She claims her seat with a barely-contained grunt; the somaal antidote hadn’t cured her sore knees and walking was an effort.

“Still,” She says as her eyes check the controlpanel’s readings, “I must have given you a bit of a scare when I didn’t show up for the second shift—“ She pauses, wondering what story could explain her absence.

“Not exactly,” the Coleedian says, very cheerful now, “I know Grenian’s need time to recover after being outside Thandor’s dome. You took extreme cold and heavy gravity. I was surprised to see you up and around so soon yesterday—are you sure you’re ok? You look a little pale now. There’s a certain medicine—“

Zy-Karr tunes the rest out. Of course! Heavy gravity! She hadn’t worn a gravitysuit when she’d gone outside the dome to get her stolen merchandise; she’d assumed the anti-grav snowshoes would be sufficient. It hadn’t been, and that explained her aching joints and muscles, and yesterday she’d been so pre-occupied with starting this trip, she’d ignored the twinges of pain and somaal blotted out the rest. Lots of somaal.

Lucky for me my bones are a little thicker than the average Grenian or I’d be in real pain. Or dead. That’s why I was so slow in avoiding that rayer blast. She frowns. It was a stupid mistake to make. She’d been lucky.

“Luck is for incompetents and fools. We Zy-Karrs are neither.” She could hear  her grandfather’s voice in her head like it had been yesterday, not three staryears ago.

I won’t make such a stupid mistake again, she thinks and notices it’s quiet; the Coleedian is silent. Hoping there was no question she’d been asked that would reveal her inattention; she replaces her frown with a smile and looks at the Coleedian.

“Thank you, Second, but I am very well. You have just pulled a double shift. Get some rest. Take the next 30 starhours off. You’ve earned it.”

The Coleedian smiles back, but uncertainty lingers in her eyes. “I don’t need 30—“

“That’s an order, Second. I’m used to space travel, you’re not. I need you rested and alert,” Zy-Karr keeps smiling, but puts a note of firmness in her voice. The Coleedian nods and rises. She walks to the exit door. She stops.

“Commander?”

Oh now what?  “Yes?”

Silence. Zy-Karr looks over the hump of her left wing and sees the Coleedian standing at the exit. At seven feet tall, the ceiling hangs inches away from the top of her head, making the small room seem even tinier.

“What is it, Second?” she asks curtly. The Coleedian dips her gaze to her furry boots.

“I was thinking that later—since we’ll be in space for so long—that we could—I mean, maybe we might—uhhh—“

Zy-Karr swivels her chair completely around. The stammering Coleedian’s voice and head are low, but is the alien asking her to have sex? The thought of bedding this beefy and smelly alien alarmed.

“—I was thinking—that maybe we could talk?”

“Talk?” Zy-Karr repeats, going from relief to wariness in a heartbeat. “Talk about what?”

The Coleedian studies her boots like she’s never seen them before as she shrugs plump shoulders. “Just—talk.”

Zy-Karr scrutinizes the alien, wishing she could see inside her big blue head. Logically, this Coleedian was no threat. She’d been specifically chosen because she was a nobody from nowhere. Anyone’s last, if ever choice she’d possibly pick as a crewmember for  her personal vessel. This alien had no connection to anything Grenian or Zy-Karr, and to be even more certain of the alien’s anonymity, Zy-Karr had officially sent word to her company that’s she’d rejected this Coleedian applicant. As far as anyone knew, she was traveling alone.

The Coleedian was naïve and without artifice. She was simply what she appeared to be: a Bakland barbarian of the flesh-eaters of Coleed.

“Second, we will talk,” she promises. “Now get some rest.”

******************************

The Coleedian’s mouth is moving, but Zy-Karr tunes her out while still maintaining a polite listening face. It didn’t make any difference what the alien was saying; it was all the same story.

Why did I ever agree to talk with her? she wonders for the tenth time.

The Coleedian started arriving early for her shift and Zy-Karr was a captive audience. Captive, not captivated. Fascinated in a horrible way.

With her calm face and pleasant voice, the Coleedian spun bone-chilling tales of a life Zy-Karr never knew existed. Long icy winters where starving morlaak roamed freely, eager to make a meal of anything or anyone; even the starving Coleedian people. Summers, short and fierce, the sun drying up rivers and streams and baking the loam into brick. Thirsty animals dying by the dozens and some people also.

It was like listening to a lesson on pre-historic times, not something that happens in her ultra-modern world. Zy-Karr prided herself on her ability to assimilate any information—no matter how bizarre—but this was tough. This wasn’t an entertainment tri-vid and the Coleedians spoken of were not actors in a part. This world, where people died of starvation, drought and predation was real. Inconceivable to her, but real nonetheless. She wondered with so much tragedy touching her life, how could it have left this Coleedian so curiously innocent and untouched? So honest and open? So trusting?

Toak stops speaking. Sometimes she’s not sure Zy-Karr’s really listening to her.

“We’ll be on Substra-3 tomorrow,” Zy-Karr announces without missing a beat. But that’s obvious from the image of the planet itself, big and tawny as it hangs in the main monitor.

“And about time! I get so tired of poking around in space when I’m in a hurry,” Zy-Karr finishes.

“I’m grateful. 100 staryears ago it took staryears to go from planet to planet in the same starsystem! This didn’t seem so bad. We did talk. Course, I probably bored you to death,” Toak says with a chuckle, her last words meant to amuse.

Zy-Karr smiles absently and says nothing. Toak lets out a silent sigh and sits back in her chair.

She’d told her life story in hopes of Zy-Karr doing the same. That never happened. Zy-Karr only spoke of business. Her best deals, her power struggles, so much money to be made here and even more to made there.

It was frustrating. Toak had wanted to make some kind of real and personal contact with Zy-Karr, but they were no closer today than they had been a starmonth ago, and Zy-Karr called her ‘second’ so often, Toak wonders if she even remembered her name.

Okay, I exaggerate, she confesses to herself, but even Zy-Karr’s bragging had made for some social interaction. For the last few days, the closer they got to S-3, the more silent, nervous and tense Zy-Karr became. Obviously, something of great importance was set to happen on this backwater planet, but Toak had no clue as to what it might be. Zy-Karr was no help; she was being as closed-mouthed as a Ji-dinian.

“I think we’re ready for something different to relax us,” Zy-Karr says, bringing Toak’s attention back. “I’ve made plans; a first-rate meal on one of the finest eateries on S-3. It’ll be a nice change from all this glydder-board stuff.”

She stands from her chair and stretches. Her golden wings sweep out, brushing the walls of the compartment. “Second, you’ve got command,” she says.

Toak looks from the 12 foot display of wings to Zy-Karr’s face.

“You’re leaving now? It’s early; we didn’t have our talk—“

“We’ll talk tomorrow, at our meal, huh?” Zy-Karr says with a false but sincere brightness. “Right now I’ve important work waiting and I must finish it before we go planetside. Keep Starwind on course, and I’ll see you in 15.”

Alone and in perfect silence, Toak and Zy-Karr ride the lift-tube to the Spacepatch’s main concourse. Toak can’t decide what’s more distracting: her first mission on an alien world, or Zy-Karr’s appearance.

Dressed in the usual skintight black and gold uniform of the Zy-Karr Company, her commander insignia just above her left breast, she had loosened her usual braid to let her hair down, reminding Toak of the last time she’d seen it freed. The tube shudders to a halt and the doors open.

A blast of noise and smells smite Toak and she struggles to maintain as calm a façade as the Grenian woman she follows through the crowd.

A group of Grenians glide past in a cloud of sophistication and perfume; a set of dark eyes catches Toak’s and winks. Toak swivels her head around in time to skirt an R-ly, a very short, round alien with a lemon-shaped head and alligator hide for skin. Zy-Karr walks surprisingly quick and Toak nimbly dodges a half dozen insectoid Bians; six foot praying mantises with pincer claws and waving antennae, and catches up to the Grenian’s side.

Toak expects a reprimand, but the Grenian seems more concerned about the heavy-footed Isaarian thudding their way. There is a pocket of space around the giant amphibian. Perhaps it was the shark-like teeth or the three inch claws, or the alien’s reputation for being short-tempered and deadly, but Toak thinks it’s best to change course slightly. She switches to Zy-Karr’s left side, smiles politely at the Isaarian as she and Zy-Karr scrape by the alien’s pocket of space, avoiding the sweep of the Isaarian’s long tapered tail.

“What? That thing worries you? On this light-gravity planet, you could tear it apart with your bare hands,” Zy-Karr says in a voice below the cacophony of growls, squeaks, clicks and chirps of the aliens speaking their native languages and the computer-created pan-language called Interstell.

Bare hands against the deadliest unarmed fighter in the Consolidate? Toak is amused. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one who’d been watching adventure tri-vids!

“This way!” Zy-Karr says, heading for the exit.

Toak takes in the four-eyed, four-armed Khibani alien hovering by in its mechanized transportation. Their great divided brains made the Khibani great inventors and thinkers, but somehow they found it impossible to coordinate only two spindly legs to walk. This one has one set of eyes on Zy-Karr and another on the last public skyglydder just beyond the concourse doors and kicked his hover-transport up a notch.

Toak breaks into a run and surprises herself. Unused to such explosive activity on a light-gravity world, she almost sprints too fast for the doors to open. Just as she fears a collision, she slips through the opening sideways and claims the prize.

Not even breathing fast, she turns and sees the Khibani give her a dirty look with both sets of eyes as it hovers through the fully open doors. Behind comes Zy-Karr, a sparkle of amusement in her green eyes.

“Commander,” Toak says, holding open the door of the glydder.

“Well done, Second!”

Toak grins as she slides in next to her. Maybe she could take on an Isaarian bare-handed!

They land on a non-descript roof and enter a tube-lift. The doors open onto an extravagantly lush surroundings, and from the servants greetings, Toak quickly gathers it is an exclusive inn for visiting Grenian Blood Nobles. They are led through hushed corridors to a room. It is decorated with Grenian sensibilities in mind; a table laden with food and drink in the dinning area and a huge bed making up the rest of the room.

Toak’s boots sink inches deep into the carpets, expensive and Khibani-made, as she follows Zy-Karr and the servant to the table. They sit; waited upon by silent, ghost-like servants who appear only to be bring food or take empty dishes away.

Now this is like something from an adventure tri-vid, Toak thinks, amused and amazed.

                         ****************************                            

Zy-Karr is well pleased. The room is perfect, and after a satisfying gourmet meal, her belly is comfortably full. She leans back in her cushioned chair feeling more relaxed than she has in days. Delicate and soothing music, a string quartet plays a popular Grenian tune. The low lighting is easy on her eyes. The only thing missing is an equally satisfying sexual experience. It’d been a long time since she’d shared sexual release. Hopefully, she’ll have that from Lysen.

But that is then and this is now, she thinks. She looks from her wine cup to the Coleedian. She has a handsome face—for a Coleedian.

 Zy-Karr notices the high cheekbones jutting like cliff edges, the cheeks flushed lavender against the pale blue skin—hot skin as she remembered it. Of course, she was horribly fat, as were most Bakland Coleedians, but still the alien cut a pleasing figure. Her ample flesh was solid and shapely; except for her small high breasts encased in the elastic stretch of her old military uniform, nothing else jiggled on this tall alien’s frame.

Lifting her gaze from Toak’s breasts, she meets the steel-gray gaze and notices how the low light gleams on the dark gray gloss of her hair. And her lips! The small, soft-looking lips—!

 Zy-Karr smiles.

                        **********************                                       

Politely, Toak returns Zy-Karr’s smile, wondering when this torturous meal will end. It was dark in the room; she could barely find her strange food; or strange vegetables rather. She’d been hoping for meat of some kind, but the fare was the usual grains and vegetable medley even more spicy than the stuff on Starwind. Still, it was food and she had hungered for strange experiences on alien worlds.

Great Goddess, must it be so hot in here? she thinks as sweat trickles down the trough of her spine. The heat and food made her drowsy, but the high-pitched keen of what was passing for music kept her from napping.

Zy-Karr appeared to be done, maybe they would leave soon. A breathy sigh snags her attention and she looks up to see Zy-Karr staring at her.

“Done eating?” the Grenian asks politely, “are you certain you won’t have more?”

“No thank you. I really couldn’t eat another bite.”

I’d be amazed if you could, Zy-Karr thinks She’d never seen anyone eat so much food at one sitting.

“Why don’t we leave the table so the servants can clear it?” Zy Karr stands and walks to the other room, to the bed. She turns and finds the Coleedian still at the table. Maybe she didn’t understand. She sits on the bed. “Second?” she says in her ‘commander’ voice. The Coleedian bounces up.

“Yes, Commander? Are we leaving?”

“Not just yet. Let’s let our food settle while we—relax. Come sit with me.”

The Coleedian moves slowly and sits on the edge of the bed as thought it may break. It suddenly occurs to Zy-Karr that this alien’s sex-making—under these light gravity conditions—might be deadly. The thought sends a tremor of delicious anticipation through her. She slides closer to the Coleedian and put a hand on a thigh that tenses under its fleshy padding.

“Relax,” Zy-Karr whispers, her mouth close to Toak’s ear. Soft hair caresses her cheek and she breathes deep of the citrus-y scent. Moistness collects in her groin.

“Commander—” Toak says, leaning away to look at her.

 “Oh, don’t call me that now,” Zy-Karr interrupts in a throaty purr, bringing her face closer to Toak’s—her lips. “You call me Aura, and I’ll call you—ah—“ Her mind is absolutely blank. What’s her name again?

The gray eyes, so close to hers, flood with disbelief, then humiliation, then pain. Her hot hands lifts Aura’s off her lap and drop it back into its owners.

“Toak,” she says with stiff dignity. “My name is Toak ab Meedee.”

“Well of course it is! My—beloved is what I was going to say!” Aura watches the Coleedian’s face close up in that curious ‘mask’ look. She gets up from the bed, streaks of lavender color across her high cheekbones, and crosses the room to look out of the window.

“Lying doesn’t make it better, or spare my feelings. You want to share love with me and you can’t even remember my name? Am I such a faceless commodity to you? Less costly than a Rantnor? Look, I know you Grenians think of sex as a way to pass the time, but Coleedians feel much differently!”

Great Moons of Grenya, how stupid can I be? I knew she was smart! Space it!

“Sec—uh, Toak, you’ve got it all wrong! I just got a little confused with all the wine I drank. I apologize—“

The Coleedian turns to look at her. There is pain in her eyes.

“You’re saying you didn’t forget my name? That what you want to share with me is love and not just ‘having sex’?”

“What?” Aura stands up from the bed. “Love? I barely know you! I love Lysen–!” She halts abruptly, cursing her loose tongue.

“Who’s Lysen?”

“He’s my second. My real second.”

“Why isn’t he here with you? Where is he?”

“He’s—here. In Mataloth City.”

“Is that your business here? To get him?”

“Somewhat.”

The big Coleedian shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand. Why would you want me if you love him so much?” The small gray gaze grew intense. “Do you really love this Lysen?”

Aliens were so tiresome! Having sex doesn’t mean locked together for a lifetime!

“Of course I love him! He’s a good obedient second. My friend, and I trust him with my life.”

“Sounds serious. When’s the mating ceremony?”

Aura throws up her hands.

“It’s just sex! Physical interaction! It’s not ‘forever’! We are not ‘slated to be mated’ ! Why can’t you aliens understand—“ She stops. It suddenly occurs to her that even with her social gaffe, this is not the reaction she expected. It dawns on her slowly but inexorably: this Coleedian didn’t want to bed her!

Who does this flesh-eater think she is? Was she too backward to realize no one refused Aura Zy-Karr’s bed? The honor? The experience? How dare it! She closes the distance between them in four long strides.

“Listen you!” she says, inches from the Coleedian, “I was just trying to be nice! Don’t think you’re doing me any favors! I thought we’d spend a few pleasant starhours before attending to business! Sorry! Is that a crime on your world? I actually thought it’d be a treat for you! I needed a little physical release, and I’ve never had a Coleedian before! Don’t flatter yourself! It was nothing more than that!”

“No,” she hears Toak say softly, “I didn’t think it was more than that.” Words uttered from a mask that reveals nothing—except—was that gray glint of eye pity? Aura wants to slap her.

“I’m wasting my time here,” she growls and turns away to thump towards the exit.

“Wait!” calls the Coleedian, her sudden running shaking the floor. Too late for apologies! “Aura, wait!”

Aura stops and spins around so quickly the Coleedian almost collides with her.

“You will address me as Commander, Second!”

The mask is gone; only puzzlement remains. “But a kronon ago you told me—“

“A kronon ago I was offering you pleasure. You refused! Now we are back to business and you will address me as Commander!”

Finally, the Coleedian looks contrite. “Yes, Commander.”

Aura nods curtly and turns to lead them out and on their way.

                      **************************                                     

I wish I could turn back time,” Toak thinks. To turn back to the first time she and Aura rode in this airglydder. If she’d had some inkling, some warning, or vague idea that this Grenian Blood Noble wanted her, her body—!

So what if she had known? What would have been her answer? Could she have handled feeling like a paid pleasure-unit? Another body in another bed? A new thrill to titillate the aristocrat’s jaded palate? Would that have been better than this icy green, distant way Aura now looks at her?

Now she hates me! Goddess, she’d so mad! Toak cuts a glance to the figure guiding the airglydder.

A starhour later, and with her braid and Commander persona firmly in place, Aura Zy-Karr is taking them—and surprisingly—the morlaak furs to somewhere. Her profile is lovely and grim at the same time and she’s as tightly drawn as a drumhead.

“Listen carefully,” she says suddenly, her voice cool, calm and impersonal. “This transaction is very important to me. The citizen we’re about to visit may be dealing honestly, or he may not. Since he’s an R-ly, I doubt his integrity. Have you a rayer?”

“No, I didn’t think—“

“There’s one under your seat. Keep it with you. I hope you can bring yourself to use it this time.”

Monster anxiety chomps on Toak’s stomach. “But on Coleed, you said you rarely did dangerous things.”

“This is one of those ‘rare’ occasions. I did warn you this job could be perilous at times.”

“So far it’s been ‘perilous’ all the time,” Toak says and wonders—for the umpteenth time—what she’s gotten herself into. Aura chooses not to hear her comment and continues in the same spooky-calm manner.

“These morlaak furs will be my bargaining chip. Right now it’s the most precious illegal item around. I’ve yet to see the idiot who hasn’t slobbered with greed at the very sight. Keep alert. If things go—badly and I’m—detained you are to return to Starwind. Wait as long as you safely can. If I haven’t returned in 30 starhours you’re to go to Grenya System, G-4 and V’yoll City at top speed. Contact Ili Zy-Karr, and tell her what’s happened. She’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Why wouldn’t you return?”

Aura turns and gives her a humorless grin.

“Because I might be dead.”