36. THALIA

The spaceport was strapped to a re-purposed asteroid like our previous haunt, and that’s where the similarities ended. No flashing lights. No neon signs with arrows. No sketchy metal grates bolted to the surface. No junkyard out back.

Half a dozen massive slips extended out into the abyss from each of the asteroid’s long sides. Tube-shaped structures snaked the surface, but there were no windows, and only a few obvious exterior doors. All the walkways had railings and were well-illuminated. Massive network towers rose off the two short ends, and bright lights were bolted to the bottom and various places on the top so everything was well lit. There was no graveyard, but there was a large hangar behind the tubes. The ships docked were a variety of grind-haulers like ours and much larger, fancier, sleeker ships in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

Hot damn. We’d arrived at the respectable part of the Gestalt.

A little ping chime and a professional-sounding voice welcomed us to Outpost 37459, informed us of the docking fees depending on slip placement, and asked how we’d like to set up payment. The docking fees seemed like they’d add up fast. Not that I’d planned on hanging around a Gestalt space station, but it would have been nice to grab a proper shower or something.

“So I guess our transponder thingy hasn’t been flagged,” I told Ahane.

“One hurdle cleared,” he agreed.

I plunked myself down in his lap and wriggled my ass on his crotch while he typed in payment information and requested a middle tier dock.

“We could park further out,” I said. “It’d be cheaper and I don’t mind the walk.”

“It’s too cold.” He kissed the back of my neck. “You will freeze and I cannot risk taking you to the infirmary.”

“Oh, hey, this place has medical care, really?” I craned my neck. “The lack of tacky signs is throwing me.”

“More than likely there is a basic stabilization unit, yes. There may even be a navigation kiosk.”

I had no idea what a navigation kiosk was, but it sounded useful. Ahane reached around for a quick fondle.

“Hey, focus,” I said, even though I squirmed against his hardening cock.

“Stop squirming.” His whisper said he wasn’t too upset about my wriggling and I should, in fact, keep wriggling.

“Maybe I will and then you’ll really need to do laundry.” We probably stank. Eight days in the smuggle-shuttle with only the equivalent of wet naps. It didn’t merit thinking about further. Thank goodness both our species apparently went nose-blind.

The pleasant voice acknowledged payment accepted, and the ping changed.

The AI jerked the ship onto a flight path that led us around to the far side of the facility to join a bunch of other smaller shuttles crammed along those slips. The AI did most of the work while I tried not to distract Ahane further and he tried to finalize docking.

I proceeded to wrap myself up while Ahane made a small bag of shower supplies and towels (just in case) and pulled on his own cloak that he’d won off the sad, biblically accurate angel guy who didn’t know how to stay away from the tables and was lucky all Ahane wanted had been that cloak.

Ahane scooped me up and tossed me behind his back.

I wrapped myself in my cloak and gave him some little heel kicks. “Forward! Forward to pants!”

“This is going to be cold,” he warned me.

“So run fast. Let’s go! Let’s go!” boot boot boot.

He snorted and threw the airlock.

Holy shit: it was cold. And dead silent. The only sound was Ahane’s boots as he sprinted down the slip, and even that was very, very muffled.

My eyes watered from the cold. The tears froze on my cheeks. I tucked my face down into his shoulders.

Sounds got louder until they were a noisy din and a blast of warmth made me look up. The lights dazzled. Ahane dipped sideways and slid us through a triple-wide door and a press of people going in and out. Most people were wearing cloaks, breathers, exo suits, and other attire against the cold. I turned my head and saw a few other people running up and down the slips. Bigger people carried smaller people.

Ahane and I attracted exactly no attention.

I shivered as I thawed out and Ahane went with the crowds until we ended up in a massive gallery.

Whoa.

It was like an old-fashioned shopping mall crossed with a massive international airport during the holiday rush. All sorts of signs and kiosks and lines and people. Voices over the intercom repeated messages about docking fee charges and special discounts at various shops and that communication with some section of the Gestalt was hampered for low-priority messages due to quasar activity or something.

I wasn’t even the only person riding on top of another person. I even saw some other 25XA, and a huge parade of species I’d never seen before. It also didn’t reek of the same kind of sad, grinding desperation. Although there was plenty of fuck, this sucks, I need to just get where I’m going already.

Typical terminal.

I kept my hood as far over my face as I could manage and my face tucked against Ahane’s neck, peeking out as he carted me down the main terminal.

Fuck.

Some security guards patrolled around and stood guard at various hallways that led to other places. They were easy to identify from their matching attire and the badges they wore around their upper limbs and the cattle-prod-looking weapons they carried across their bodies, and the various cuff-looking restraints on their belts.

Were they just rent-a-cops, or were they actual Gestalt Enforcement? Or Special Enforcement?

Ahane didn’t seem overly concerned or startled as we moved past the first pair. I kept my attention somewhere else, but I still felt them watching me.

I thought about a shower. A nice, hot, wonderful shower. Not in a soup pot. A fabulous shower. With nice soap. And a loofah. And steam. And cookies.

Man. I needed cookies. Did chocolate exist in the Gestalt? Sugar? Butter? Because I wasn’t much of a chocolate fiend, but I needed sugar cookies in my life.

My stomach growled. Cookies.

The next pair of guards didn’t seem to notice me.

We’d come in on the shopping section of the terminal—all sorts of things for sale. Everything from what was probably clothing to outdoor gear to footwear to tentacle-wear. Infinite variations of food. Paste pouches, ration packs, giant drums, sacks of pellets, bars upon bars. Hardware, tools, probably parts for ships. Ahane pressed his way to the large directory plastered on the wall while I thought about sugar cookies.

Ahane consulted the directory for a few minutes. A couple of people bumped my legs. No apologies or acknowledgement. Suited me fine. I tucked in as tight as I could get.

There didn’t appear to be any children or youngsters—there were only adults, and everyone had somewhere to fucking be. We were more or less at the last big outpost before you ended up at the edge of the beacon field, so stood to reason there weren’t any vacationing hotspots out this way.

Ahane headed back down the shopping mall section, through a busy hallway that passed toilet facilities (which were not pay-only, but did have long lines) and into a slightly less jam-packed area covered in massive screens displaying assorted star charts and long strings of text that my translator informed me I could not possibly understand and it was basically interstellar weather advisories. Active stars and traversing black holes and shit.

Off against one wall was a counter being manned by three individuals. There were no lines. Just one gel-form gesturing with their tentacles as they consulted a few screens with one of the employees. The sign above them was written in six different languages and my translator knew one of them. [NAVIGATION CONCIERGE]

Concierge, eh? Sounded fancy. Also sounded expensive.

There were also several kiosks with some folks standing around to use those, but mostly everyone here was plugging little dongle-thingies into slots under the big screens and moving on. The sign over those said [CHART PURCHASES UPDATES]. The advertised prices varied depending on the recency and detail of the update you wanted.

The kiosks were [PRE-PLANNED ROUTES].

Ahane waited for one of the kiosk terminals to be free. I pushed myself higher to peer over his shoulder. I didn’t dare speak—someone might overhear me, and there was some security hanging around looking bored.

The kiosk looked like what we needed: it supplied stock routes from the station to other major points of interest. Just plug in your planned speed, ship “ability” (whatever that meant), ship navigation software, and desired destination. It generated a route for you, navigating you around the current known hazards or concerns.

The price, given 25XA was a hike from where we were, meant I probably wasn’t getting that shower. Since we still needed to re-stock our water and food rations. At least the smuggle-shuttle got great gas mileage.

Ahane, though, instead of buying it, walked away.

What the heck?

I gave his hair fronds a tug, but he tilted his head and gave me a smack on the ass with his tail. I sighed, and he totted me back to the hallway and down yet another narrow concourse, and this one opened up onto a huge well… bookstore.

Except there were no books. There were just rows and rows and rows of illuminated, narrow screens each advertising a feed. There were also self-serve kiosks [FREE AND DISCOUNTED FEEDS] and a [SPECIAL REQUEST CONCIERGE].

Ahane went to one of the kiosks and browsed through the offerings. There was a long, long list of titles which mostly read like an auto parts catalog. But there was one from 25XA. There was a massive archive of back issues available, each one increasingly cheap the older you went, with little summaries and snippets of the big stories.

The feed was in 25XA Utilitarian.

I pointed to one article. “There.”

I had no idea what the date meant, but the feed was heavily discounted given its age. Ahane pulled that one and several others of the cheap ones at random. The kiosk asked if he wanted a loaner device or to load onto his own, he chose loaner, and it spit out a filament thin piece of something like plastic. He moved off to the side with half a dozen other people also reading on loaners. Nobody paid us any attention. Because 25XA wearing smaller sentients like backpacks was apparently normal.

I read over his shoulder. The feed was nothing but text. No pictures or anything. Bare-bones. The articles had no table of contents or search index, but we didn’t need those, because buried-so-it-wasn’t-front-page news was a headline that read HUMANS AT THE TEMPLE.

25XA prose style was not what I was used to, but the gist was more or less what we had heard: that an estimated six Humans had been rescued and brought to 25XA. The Temple intervened, and the Humans were given the choice of going with the Temple or going with the 25XA officials who typically looked after Humans. All the Humans were in varying states of health, but none had suffered “excessive” mental trauma and seemed in reasonably full control of their facilities at the time of their arrival. There were unconfirmed reports one Human had attempted to kill herself, but had been stopped. There were also unconfirmed reports that the rescue had not been by GSE but by “private individuals” and that Prime Scion Keiron of House 8 and Lady-Scion Francesca had been involved. All such details were officially unconfirmed.

Francesca. So her actual full name was Francesca.

There were also a few articles reassuring people that the “cat at large” had been recovered and there were no further concerns. A few subsequent articles had other brief mentions of the Temple confirming there were several Humans in residence, but they would not be commenting further. There was no mention of mates or trinkets or anything like that. There were several articles that the Gestalt itself was pissed about the Human situation and demanding explanations from 25XA leadership, that there had been some protests on 25XA itself, and that 25XA could not become a haven for Humans and must uphold Gestalt law.

Yikes.

Ahane flipped through the other feeds and read a few articles on the weather (probably just to throw anyone who might be monitoring the loaner device) and then tossed the loaner into a bin full of other loaners.

“That’s as good a news as I could hope for,” Ahane said.

It did beat Human Scourge Defeated! Or other similar nightmare headlines.

What more evidence did they need? Stop the fucking Greys already.

We headed back to the navigation area, and he bought a flight path back to 25XA.

Not like either of us had a better idea.