Chapter 4

4

- Arelion -

I look down on Maeve. I can smell her fear. It speaks to my ancient instincts, the way prey behavior always does. Her eyes are wide, her fingers tremble, her breath is quick and shallow.

It's satisfying to arouse such terror in a female like this. My crotch swells in my pants.

I look around the lounge, already knowing nothing is out of place because I've kept an eye on the screen. "Something sneaky, no doubt."

"Earthlings are not sneaky," Maeve says. "That's just something the Bululg want you to think."

"Stowing away on a spaceship and trying to hijack it with a toy gun seems to qualify for being untrustworthy," I point out. "What is this custom you spoke of?"

"I can't show you inside a ship. It has to be on a station or a planet." She speaks so fast her tongue almost trips over the words.

She's very scared. Despite myself, I take pity on her. "Not much surprises me, little female. Except maybe my own leniency. I've decided to not flush you out into space after all."

Still she looks up at me, not convinced. "Then what will you do?"

I reach into the gravity discontinuity with one arm and grab her stick. "I will take your money and then set you two off at the station we're approaching."

"That is wonderful," Maeve says with less enthusiasm than I would have expected. "We will not get in your way anymore. May I have my stick back?"

I examine the little stick, making it telescope out to a more useful length. "This is quite a valuable thing. And it's interesting. But not much of a weapon. You can have it back when we've left the ship."

Maeve unwinds her thick bundle of fabrics. "If you have a better one to lend me or sell to me, I'm sure I would be grateful."

"I rarely have much need of weapons inside my ship," I tell her. "I'm sure you'll be fine." I'm puzzled. She's not showing much signs of relief that she's not going to die after all. Did she know all along that I wouldn't go through with it? Perhaps. I have other things to concern myself with.

Cerak comes trundling into the lounge. "We're docked at Maranar Labs. Oh, are they still here? You didn't flush them like you said?"

"We will let them go on this station, on the condition that they don't interfere with us again."

"What's that?" Maeve asks, staring at Cerak.

"That's Cerak, another rogue robot," I tell her as I hit the hatch release. "If you have trash to get rid of, just drop it into him. I'm sure he would have made great friends with your little furball. All right, out you get."

I hit the button, and the inner door of the airlock hisses open.

Maeve hesitates. "We're not in space?"

"We're docked," I tell her. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't be this sneaky about it. I know that must be a hard thing for an Earthling to understand."

To my astonishment, the little female takes two steps towards me and stares up at me with eyes that shoot lightning. "Listen, Arelion. I have had it with your constant accusations about Earth people being untrustworthy. On Earth, we built a whole civilization on trust! When we make a deal, we just shake hands. Sure, we navigate life with our eyes open. But we're no less trustworthy than anyone else. That's all made up by the evil aliens that invaded and enslaved us! I'm surprised that a man as smart as you didn't understand that right away. We may not have fancy starships and beautiful wings that change color. But we know how to be worthy of trust. And some would say that's more important. Thanks for the transport. Here's the payment." She grabs my hand and presses two credit crystals into my palm. "See? It was safe to trust me to pay for the ride. And now I trust you to give me my stick back, like you said."

I feebly hold the metal stick out to her, stunned by her outburst.

"Thank you. See how that works?" She snatches the stick out of my hand, spins in place, and marches out of the ship and into the station.

The furry robot follows. "Sincere thanks from me too. Uh, which station is this?"

"Maranar Labs," Cerak tells her. "The perfect place for you and your squeaky circuits to get the void out of our ship."

The robot trots out, head held high. "They're not squeaky, just cheap. Hey, we don't choose what components we're made from."

"All right," I finally manage when they're both gone. " That was unexpected."

"A fiery female," Cerak muses. "I've never seen any of them go off on you like that. They usually just flutter their tentacles or stroke their scales seductively."

"She's crazy," I mutter. "What if she'd made me mad?"

"She didn't," Cerak points out. "She just turned you on. Yeah, I know what that movement in your pants means."

"Never talk about my pants," I growl in annoyance, mostly because he's right. Seeing that Maeve had the bravery to stand up for her planet and lecture me like that just made her all the more alluring. My pants are creaking with barely contained pressure. That wasn't prey behavior. That was… something else. And suddenly I wish she hadn't left.

"Enough about that. We have work to do," I state, mostly to myself. "Let's get going."

The station is dark and even less clean than the previous one. There's a constant grinding noise from a life support system that's in desperate need of maintenance, and the air is thick with ammonia. That doesn't surprise me — this area of space is home to several species that breathe exotic gasses.

"What would Archmagus Yomeran be doing in a place like this?" Cerak asks, rolling along beside me. "Is he making a tour of the worst stations in space?"

"The Fire Mages are known for being strange," I tell him as we make our way into the station proper and I look around. To my annoyance I realize I'm looking for Maeve, even hoping to spot her. "It's usually not worth it to ask them why they do things."

There's a lot of aliens here, of many species and configurations. These are stranger than the ones in Pranst Station, and they smell worse, milling around and carrying out their business.

"This station is owned by a criminal gang," I remind Cerak. "It's not just an anarchy free-for-all, like Pranst. It's someone's fortress. We should be discreet."

Cerak snorts. "I don't think you could be discreet even if you tried. Those wings tend to attract attention."

He's right. As always, all eyes and various other sensory organs are on me, and the noise of the hustle and bustle is reduced to a whisper when I'm spotted.

"Might as well make use of it," I mutter. "Greetings, good people!" I roar. "I am looking for someone who has been here or might still be. He looks like me, but without the wings. And where I am blue, he is orange! I will pay for any information about him. Thank you."

They all stare at me for a short moment, then return to their activities. The noise returns to its original level.

"That's one way to do it," Cerak says. "Of course, now the whole galaxy knows you're looking for him, and everyone on Eo will understand why."

"Let them understand," I growl as we walk through the crowd. "I want my enemies to know I'm coming for them." Maeve's bravery in defending the reputation of her people has inspired me to be less timid about my task.

"Conventional wisdom would suggest it's better to surprise one's enemies than to warn them," the metal cylinder says in his tinny voice. "And it's not what you said just a while ago. But I'm sure you know what you're doing. Shall we search the station?"

I make my way around a strange, many-armed creature that has some trouble moving along the smooth floor. "I don't expect him to be in the most crowded place of the station. There must be other sections."

"Oh, there are," Cerak says. "Do you know why it's called Maranar Labs, and not Maranar Station or Maranar Base or something like that?"

"Not really."

We find a random corridor that leads away from the main market space. I walk slowly on purpose — if someone from that crowd actually has information about the archmagus, they may not want to give it to me in full view of everyone else. If for no other reason that this is a place where being known as an informer could be a major problem.

"This place was built as a science laboratory, way back," Cerak tells me. "Crazy scientists from all over this region of space came here to do all kinds of experiments that were outlawed on their own planets. Most of them died, of course. There was usually a really good reason why their projects were banned, usually that they were either deadly or stupid. Or, most commonly, both. Still many parts of this base are closed off because some of those experiments are still running. They can't be shut off, and trying to do so will probably kill you. This station was for sale for the longest time with nobody interested."

"And so the criminal gang moved in and took it over," I muse. "At least there's some commerce taking place here now."

We're halfway along the corridor when someone approaches from behind. I turn slowly, ready to defend myself but not wanting to alarm an innocent being.

It's an alien, short and bony and pale green. It has two arms, two legs and one head, and so must count as highly exotic by most inhabitants of this station.

"Thir," it lisps in Interspeech, the words barely understandable because the alien has three long tongues that seem to get in the way. "You wanted information."

"That's right," I say slowly. Perhaps my accent sounds as thick to the alien as its own does to me. "About someone who may have been here. A man like me, but orange. Show him the holo, Cerak."

The hologram of the archmagus hovers in space in front of the robot.

"Yeth," the alien says. "I heard. I thaw it."

"You saw that man?"

"How much you pay?"

I take out the credit crystals Maeve gave me. I had no intention of actually taking her money, but she surprised me with her speech, and I didn't have the presence of mind to give it back. "This much. What do you know?"

The alien reaches out with a seven-fingered hand, and I drop the crystals into his small, green palm.

"I thaw the man. Orange. Jutht today. Thome hourth ago."

I raise my eyebrows. "Today? Where?"

"Pathing through market," the alien lisps, tongues waving. "That way." It points down the corridor with two fingers.

"Was he alone?"

"Alone." The alien turns and hurries away, clutching the credit crystals.

"He was seen here only hours ago," Cerak sums up. "He may well still be around."

Cautious excitement spreads in me. "Indeed he may. If he is, we're that much closer to triumph."

We walk on, faster now. The corridor is dimly lit, with several of the light points only flashing intermittently. The ventilation system makes more of a noise here, rattling and groaning like a dying uariol . Wide doors lead off to the sides, but they don't react when Cerak tries to open them. At the end of the corridor it opens up into an octagonal junction, with seven other corridors leading out of it.

"Now we just take our pick," Cerak says. "Such a pity our informer didn't tell us which one we should choose."

I peer down each of the hallways in turn. Five of them are dark and probably not in use, with loose trash and debris littering the ground. The two others are much like the one we came from, with flickering lights and a moderately clean floor. There are many faded informational graphics on the walls, but the text isn't Interspeech and I can't decipher any of it. "Is that the way to the restrooms?"

Cerak turns his rotund body. "Looks like some kind of machinery room. Or possibly a farm?"

"A farm in a space station?" I stride into the nearest lit corridor. "I doubt it. Let's not waste time. We'll check them all until we find him."

The corridor turns and then ends in a big door. It doesn't open when I touch the panel. "Can you open this?"

Cerak rolls over to the panel. "Yes, but I don't want to. It would likely set off all kinds of alarms, and as has been pointed out, robots are not strictly allowed to use their tech to open doors that an organic wishes to keep closed."

I glance back down the corridor. There's nobody there. "Is that a derogatory term? ‘Organic'?"

"It's an accurate term, that's all. We robots enjoy accuracy a great deal."

The door won't budge. "Nobody's watching, Cerak. And we could just say it was me."

"There could be all kinds of cameras and microphones around," the robot says. "So this door will remain closed. I want to point out that if it won't open for us , then it probably also didn't open for the man we seek."

"I don't think any doors are ever closed for an archmagus. But all right." I turn and stride back to the junction, choosing the other corridor.

The door at the end of this one slides up well before we reach it, revealing a space lit in red. As Cerak and I pass into it, I hear voices.

"Looks like an old security area," Cerak says softly. "This is where the station police would hang out. There may be detention cells."

I tense up. In among all the unpleasant smells, including the ammonia, I get a tiny whiff of something cleaner and more alluring. I identify it immediately: Maeve.

I walk quietly towards the voices. It sounds like a heated argument.

"Let's not get involved in anything," Cerak whispers. "We're here for a purpose."

I don't reply, focusing on the familiar scent among all the others. Maeve has definitely been here. She may still be close.

I stride confidently towards the sounds. Turning a corner, I almost walk straight into a group of aliens in black garments. They're stocky and powerful, their skin a mottled gray and their faces mostly featureless except for droopy red eyes.

"Fus aliens," Cerak says quickly. "That must be the gang that owns this station."

They turn and stare at me.

I spread my wings a little to make myself properly eye-catching. "Greetings! I am Arelion, of the planet Eo. I am looking for a friend! Have you seen him?"

"Leave," one of the Fus aliens crackles with a wide, thin-lipped mouth. "Private area."

I quickly take in the situation. This is the station's prison, with several cells along a hallway. The light is dim and red, the cells all made from thick metal bars.

There are five of the aliens, and I strongly suspect that Cerak is right and these are members of the gang that runs the station.

On the other side of them, clearly in conflict with them, is an Earth female dressed in long strips of drab fabric, holding a long fighting stick. It looks like she's ready to fight, but I suspect she will lose. And I also suspect she will be thrown into a cell when she does.

"Ah! You have found my friend!" I impulsively beam. "Come along now, Maeve. This is a private area! We must not intrude."

"You know this female?" another gang member asks in barely understandable Interspeech. "She ours now. Leave. Private area."

"Of course we shall leave," I tell them, grinning widely and wanting to kick myself. Why the void am I getting involved in this? I told Maeve I wouldn't save her again, and she promptly goes and gets herself into much worse trouble than before. These guys own the station, and I struggle to see much of an upside for me. Damn my charitable impulses! "Come now, Maeve."

"The female stays," the chief alien clarifies. "You leave, Feathers. Go now ." Shiny weapons appear in the hands of the aliens.

This keeps getting worse. The Krunku could be intimidated by sheer bravado and a single sharp punch to the chin. But these Fus aliens are grim and gritty criminals who are used to being obeyed on their own turf. I have to decide how much I want to get Maeve out of this, because this confrontation could easily end with both of us in a cell. Or dead.

I glance behind me. Cerak is probably no good in a fight, and he has retreated back into the corridor.

I slam my knee into the face of the chief alien. He's sent flying backwards, but I don't wait for him to land before I punch another of the gang members and kick a third.

I grab Maeve by the hand and yank her to me, so that we're both on the same side of the gang.

There's a loud bang, and something tugs at my wingtip.

They're shooting now, and that makes my next move easier to decide. I grab one gang member, lift him over my head, and throw him at the others. Then I throw Maeve over my shoulder and run back the way I came, zigzagging wildly to hopefully throw the gang's aim off. Behind me, the hallway erupts in bangs and urgent exclamations.

I turn the corner and sprint out of the door and into the corridor we came from. If the gang comes after us and they spot us before we reach the end of this hallway, they have a clear shot. The only reason I'm still alive is that they were completely shocked with how fast I moved. That will not surprise them again. And while Maeve is quite light, I can't run right with her on my shoulder. She gets between me and my wings, and that ruins my balance.

A shrill alarm starts to wail, echoing painfully from the walls.

"Are you alive?" I ask her as I storm down the corridor.

"I'm fine," comes the muffled reply from behind my lower back. "You can let me down."

I run to the junction before I follow Maeve's suggestion and let her drop to the ground. Of the eight corridors that lead away, six of them have been closed with heavy metal doors. Only the one we just came from is open, as well as the one straight ahead. It's one of the dark ones, and the door is stuck halfway shut. I can hear the mechanism strain to close it fully, but there's so much debris and old trash in the way that it can't. It's our only possibility for escape.

"Come here!" I yell to Maeve as I clear the door's tracks of pieces of metal and garbage.

She gets the point and runs in behind me.

The Fus gang members turn the corner in the other corridor and start shooting. Projectiles zip past us, whanging into the walls.

I yank loose a twisted piece of an old steel beam, and the door slams shut.

With the howling alarm suddenly gone, it's very dark and quiet, except for the distant pings of bullets hitting the other side of the door.

"Where are we?" comes Maeve's voice in the darkness. "Where does this corridor lead?"