5. THALIA

Icurled up in the pilot’s chair while Ahane was gone.

First: it was the only place to sit.

Second: it was comfortable and warm.

Third: it gave me a nice view out the windshield (or whatever it was called on a spaceship) so I could watch the intergalactic pirate port, which was one part Atlantic City, one part shitty Oklahoma casino, one part sketchy truck stop, and one part semi-abandoned strip mall.

There were colors. And grime. And mis-matched architectural styles.

The Grey color scheme was shades of white and gray, with nothing more intense than a steely chrome. They had one style, and that style was tube.

I bathed in the chaotic, not-Grey-approved weirdness.

There were people of all shapes and sizes and manner of moving out and about. There were about a dozen ships parked at the slips, and getting from the slip to the main walkway required walking down a fragile-looking metal grate dangling over the nothing of space. Lights danced through a dusty haze, glancing and flickering off all the strange shapes and body parts. Most people seemed to be wearing some combination of out-in-the-not-elements space gear, like face masks and suits.

Ships came and went, aliens moved back and forth, someone got tossed out of a door, stumbled back, their limbs moving more like they were slow-motion swimming and they bounced against the flimsy railing and damn near went over into the darkness. They caught the railing with a tentacle.

There went my plan to sneak out of the ship and find some other ride. Instant eye-popping suffocation sounded like a bad way to go. Or tripping over my own two feet and ending up drifting into the haze.

Time for Plan B. Whatever that was.

Ahane walked down the plank with only a slender breather over his face that made him look like a bad martial arts ninja with his space-leather pants, his boots, his bandoliers, and his big ass tail swinging back and forth.

Wasn’t he cold? Did he get cold?

He was hot as fuck as all the lights washed over his dark red scales and fractured into other colors as the light passed through the tips.

My innards quivered and my fingers twitched while all the little hairs on my arms waved at the colorful parade.

He stomped onto the ship and his voice was too big for the space. His cranberry scent was mingled with something smokey and something greasy. “Thalia.”

His voice made my spine arch. I stuck my head around the chair’s back. “Right where you left me.”

“This is not right where I left you.” His scales rushed with a dozen different shades of smoky ruby and flecks of sunset flames. He filled the entire doorway to the cockpit.

“Don’t take it out on me if they didn’t buy your half-baked cook story, salt-tosser.”

“That is not the problem.”

“Is the problem they did buy your story and you can’t actually cook?”

“I told you I can cook. That is also not the problem. It would seem they were, in fact, in need of and expecting a cook. There is now a new assortment of problems. Given where we are, I should not be surprised.”

“Don’t need to tell me this is the sort of place where the struggle bus makes daily stops. But we can stay, right?” Because I needed to stay to find someone to take me back to Earth. That probably meant I’d have to become an intergalactic lot lizard, but per the plan: bury the trauma deep.

“We can stay,” Ahane said.

“….but….? Spit it out, Prince Red.”

“I am not a Prince,” he said irritably.

I pushed past him into the cargo bay. “We can argue about this outside.”

“We need to discuss it now,” he bit out.

“We can talk on the way.”

“You will die if you are unprepared!” His tail smashed into the door and his claw smashed into the wall close to my head.

My brain braced itself for impact.

His scales rushed like dawn clouds. “I—am sorry. But you will die if you make a single mistake. You cannot breathe the air. You cannot endure the cold. You cannot be uncovered. Do you understand?”

I nodded exactly once.

“And no one can ever discover you are a Human.”

Aside from the obvious that advertising I was the Gestalt’s favorite slug to salt, Ahane’s gravity didn’t make sense. Of course, I wasn’t about to advertise I was a recent escapee because I didn’t want Him to find me. But Ahane said that sentence in a way that chilled my spine. “Why not?”

“Because you are Human.”

“Right. And you’re Gestalt, and I know what the Gestalt does to Humans. The Greys told me.”

“Humans are forbidden in the Gestalt. The Earth system itself is off limits. Being in your presence is a Zero Crime. The Gestalt recognizes Humans are never here of their own free will, and the assumption is that anyone and everyone around you is participating in you being trafficked. Sentient Trafficking is a Zero Crime.”

“But we rescued each other. Hell, take the credit and say you rescued me, because really, you kind of did.”

“There are no exceptions.”

“So, wait, I’m here because I got abducted and flee my abductors, and the Gestalt still does terrible things to me while executing anyone who helps me?”

“Yes. There are no exceptions.”

Bullshit. His voice caught just a tiny amount. There was an exception, but he wasn’t going to tell me what it was. Fine. Whatever. I’d figure it out on my own. “Right. Because murder is so much better than being caught with me.”

“It is.”

“What about the other Humans from the site?” I asked. “What about them? Did you guys just roll up to blow the lid off it and leave everyone to die?”

Ahane’s scales turned a color I hadn’t seen before and never wanted to see again. “We weren’t expecting to find them. I had to separate from the group for my part of the mission, but I know the decision had been made to try to save them. I don’t know if anyone later had second thoughts. They may well have.”

A knot of very unpleasant emotions slithered out from my core to take up residence somewhere in the cradle of my hips.

His voice was low and considered and dry and filled my ears. His scales were still that swirling blood shade, fierce and gloomy but totally devoid of bullshit. “This is not the place anyone would have second thoughts. No one can know you’re Human.”

I shivered. “But this isn’t Gestalt space. We’re at some smuggler’s paradise. What would they care?”

“We’re in the Gestalt. Just not on-beacon.”

Wait, what? “You told me you don’t know where we are!”

He gave me a somewhat quizzical look. “Gestalt space is wherever there are Gestalt denizens, and everyone here is a Gestalt species.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how conquest works.” Then again, the Gestalt sounded like a huge monolith, so maybe I came, I saw, I steamrolled was a valid method of adding to one’s empire on this side of the galaxy.

Ahane’s scales swirled with frustration and impatience. “Gestalt law applies to all Gestalt citizens no matter where they are. Everyone here is from a Gestalt planet. The Site Master is from a Gestalt species. This asteroid is subject to Gestalt law.”

I glared at him.

“…although we are in Gestalt space. Just to be clear.”

“Dick,” I muttered.

“I have one of those,” he ground back. “As you’ve experienced.”

“I’m not looking for more experiences, thanks, so keep the attitude to yourself,” I shot back. “And that word’s got two meanings on Earth. Dick also means asshole.”

Ahane cocked his head to the side with obvious curiosity. “So male Humans have teeth in their assholes, but Human females do not?”

“What? No,” I said, baffled. “Never mind. This just got into a whole weird area.”

Ahane was lying about there being no exceptions about Humans and the Gestalt. There were exceptions, he just wasn’t telling me, so goal one: figure out what the exceptions were. Exploit said exception.

Until then: assume I was next week’s blue plate special.

I stuck out my lower lip. “Fine. So how do we hide what I am?”

He showed me a ninja-mask looking device and two large gloves with three fingers and one thumb apiece. “You also need to wear this breather at all times, and you need to wear these gloves to make it seem like you do not have five digits on each hand. And I have located a cloak for you.”

I took one of the gloves. They were made of a canvas-like material that felt very thin but really sturdy. I put it on and was able to slide my middle and ring finger into the third finger. They were kind of big and clunky, but it was better than getting caught.

Ahane showed me how to put the breather on, and it locked into my translator and provided a little HUD that was just barely visible on the inside right front that showed how much charge it had and if the outside atmosphere was safe for me to breathe, and some other indicators to tell me if I was breathing too much or too little of something.

“It will adjust automatically,” Ahane said. “Or I hope it will.”

“And I don’t need to take it off inside? That’s not going to be strange?”

“No.”

“So what should I say I am if I get asked? Since I can’t say I’m Human?”

“You should not speak any Human languages either,” Ahane said. “The translator will identify your language as Human, and no one speaks those languages in the Gestalt.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Say nothing?”

“Ahane. ‘Never speak again’ isn’t going to work long-term. If I’m going to be your assistant, I’m going to have to deal with customers.”

He let out a breath. “I will teach you my language. No one is going to ask what you are or where you are from if you do not give them a reason to inquire. There are so many worlds in the Gestalt that most do not know every species on sight.”

“But what if I do get asked.” With my luck, I’d get asked.

“Tell them you are a 25XA that was born to a mother who contracted the plague.”

I had no idea what plague he was talking about, but from the way he said plague, everyone would know exactly which plague.

He changed the subject. “I am simply Cook. Do not use my name.”

So he didn’t want anyone to know his name either.

He was somebody, even if he was trying to act like he wasn’t.