7. AHANE

Ahane stalked out of the tight room and kitchen without a word, fuming at himself and the anger seared through his scales while the scent of the Human suffocated him.

And not because she was dirty. She was dirty. And he was filthy. Under it, she smelled so much like fine salt. It made everything swirl and confusing, and thank the void his own cock was so confused it hadn’t gotten hard again, but his balls churned and it was just a matter of time.

Why wouldn’t he leave her behind? It was a question he couldn’t answer with words. The thought of abandoning her filled him with a core-deep revulsion and shame that was impossible to verbalize. The fact that she clearly expected him to abandon her sickened him even further. That she believed he could and would.

He stopped in the grimy dining area and caught his breath, his stupid tail lashing back and forth and the tip tingling with the sensation of the brief caress against her thigh. He needed to get his tail under control.

Taidc would have tied his tail in a knot by now.

Where the fuck even was the shower? It offended him that he was bathing before she did, but it was too dangerous for her to move freely, and he needed to be cautious about his movements and being seen until he understood this place better.

He clamped his hands over his face and raked down. His claws scratched at his scales. “Focus, plain brother. Focus.”

He’d have to be careful with that here—most 25XA spoke High Dialect to some degree of proficiency. But a 25XA that had cosmic breath on their scales from high-trinket matings spoke High Dialect with an accent, and that accent varied depending on how many generations of high-trinket matings were behind a 25XA, as well as if they had grown up speaking and exposed to it. The “gleam accent” (as it was called) was distinctive and most people could spot it, but for anyone who had studied the accents and attuned their listening, they could tell a great deal about a 25XA when they spoke High Dialect. Someone with the knowledge would not only make him for a High House 25XA, but specifically House 8.

Thalia’s life depended on him remaining an obscure 25XA not worth any ransom or bounty. There was no logical reason for him to believe his brother and house-sister had survived the trip back to 25XA, or that they had and were now rotting in a Gestalt prison.

The Site Master had spotted him as a High House 25XA, but he’d spotted the Site Master for being the equivalent. And his scales could bloom into washes of distinctive highbred color and patterns, although he was not nearly as beautiful as his brothers. Keiron was called the Twilight Scion for a reason.

Taidc, in whispered circles, was called a name that translated as Void Emerald Scythe. Not exactly a pleasant name, but Taidc had said damn right I am.

Focus.

Thalia would get restless and start prowling around and Humans had less common sense than worms and infants. Chess had, in the entire vast farm, managed to find trouble in a worm bin.

There was one way out of the diner area—a door to his right that was not an airlock. It had a battered sign on it that, through the chipped paint and rust, read CONCOURSE.

Or at least it might have read CONCOURSE. It was written in that variation of Trader Common that his translator didn’t know all that well. It might have been TRASH. Or CONTAMINATE BIN.

The door was airtight, but did not appear to be an airlock. He grabbed the handle and opened it. A short, narrow corridor on the other side opened up onto?—

“Must have been concourse,” Ahane said. Because it opened up onto a large central domed concourse. This must have been the primary structure that he had seen from the ship. The open floor was metal grate over another material, probably the actual foundation of the structure bolted into the asteroid’s dusty surface.

There were numerous people moving about under the lights. Tables had been set up in various areas marked with yellow bars on the floor, and merchants hawked assorted wares and services. At the very farthest end was a dark room illuminated with many bright lights and even from here, the sound carried. On raised platforms outside, two dancers—one a 3271B and another a taproot type he didn’t recognize—swayed and danced to the sounds of gaming.

There were not enough ships docked to explain all the people here.

And how long had the Site Master been without a Cook? It appeared that some enterprising merchants had set up shop hawking food, but nothing fresh or hot. Just deep-space transit paste and bars in various compositions to suit assorted dietary needs.

He strode down the center path. One of the food-vendors gave him a look with his one large central eye. Ahane stopped and deliberately sized up the clearly stolen military transit-bars. Then he kept moving.

Three large tunnels led to other structures. One of them advertised WASH. Or something similar. Ahane turned down the darker pathway, and it led to a smaller concourse that provided the facilities. Toileting on one side, and bathing on the other. More bodies moved around and there was a distinctive muggy scent that clung to everything.

There was a line of bodies waiting for the WATER facilities. There were no lines for the other two types, which were an ultrasonic light facility and a sandblast facility. No surprise—most Gestalt species did prefer to bathe with water, and most taproot were obligated to. If you were paying for it, like here, and all were the same price, you went with what you would enjoy for the brief time you were granted it.

And most of the bodies waiting in line were holding toiletry kits.

He was wearing too many clothes as well. They were all in various states of undress. Genitals covered in all cases, as per etiquette, at a minimum.

He had absolutely nothing to bathe with. No towels. No soap. No toiletries of any kind.

And it was communal showers.

This was going from bad to worse.

With purpose, he headed down the main concourse in the direction of the Site Master”s office, which was not—as it turned out—accessible from inside the facility itself. He had to exit the airlock using his claw to identify himself, then walk to the next door down. He badged himself in.

“Cook,” the Site Master”s plates trilled the greeting. “You are dissatisfied with something.”

The Site Master had known he was coming. Ahane put on his best affronted High House 25XA tone. “The accommodations are unsatisfactory.”

“They are as advertised. That you cannot make use of the vertical space in your room does not make me dishonest.”

“I am referring to the shower facilities. You expect me to use communal showers?”

“Yes. You have surely bathed with others, despite the shine on your scales. Pride is not something I pay for.”

“I take pride in my food and I will not give it up for you.”

Chittering plates. [Laughter] The Site Master tapped the tips of his forelegs together. “If you require additional items, such as soap, those are available.” He elegantly gestured with one feeler towards the concourse. “I will provide an advance on your first payment.”

The elegant gesture with the feeler indicated the Site Master had been in—or was a member of—a very powerful female’s court. And had come from such a court as a pupa. Graceful movements were famous among his species, and especially elegant males were highly prized collectibles.

“Of course,” Ahane said dryly. Of course soap would not be provided. “Will you be deducting cleaning supplies for the kitchen from my pay as well, or should I just let the grime continue to build?”

The Site Master”s reply wasn’t immediate. Then, another graceful motion of the feelers—it seemed quite deliberate and a bit exaggerated—followed by, “You will find more than adequate cleaning and bathing supplies beyond the gaming parlor. Tell the Floor Boss to show you the location. I will add your biometrics to the door, and the cost to your first payment.”

The Site Master twirled his middle two forelegs, his scales making a soft chittering noise. [SUPPRESSED LAUGHTER.]