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Chapter Fifteen




“Did you know about this?” Nathan asked Joshua under his breath, kneeling on a long, padded cushion along one side of a long, low table decorated with gigatuna hunting mosaics. Vessani and King D’Miir S’Kaari sat opposite them and spoke excitedly to each other, dipping in and out of that growling local language, Vessani regaling her father with tales of her travels.

“I did,” Joshua replied quietly.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“She asked me not to.”

“She should have said something!” Nathan whispered.

“She didn’t think you’d believe her.”

“They’ve got you there!” Aiko chortled, nudging Nathan with her elbow.

Nathan let out a frustrated exhalation.

“Be honest with me.” Joshua leaned in. “What would you have said if Vess told you the truth? That she’d been born into low-tech royalty?”

“I’d . . . probably have scoffed at the idea and said something like ‘So what?’”

“Exactly. Hence, why she rarely shares that part of her past. It’s not relevant anymore. Most of the time, anyway.”

Nathan grimaced as one of the nekoans handed him a large piece of stiff paper.

“What’s this?”

“I believe it’s tonight’s menu,” Joshua said, receiving his.

Nathan glanced over the selection of watercolor pictures, each titled with elegant, flowing script.

“Tuna sashimi,” he read. “Tuna steak. Six different kinds of tuna salad. I’m sensing a pattern here.”

“I believe they’re eager to show off the local specialty,” Joshua whispered.

“Hey, Rufus,” Nathan exclaimed. “Check it out! They have tuna burgers!”

“I saw,” the cleric replied dryly and set down his menu. “And before you ask, yes, I already know what I’m ordering.”

“I’ll have to try and get their recipe for you.” Aiko handed her menu back. “Sorry, but I’m not eating.”

“Are you sure . . .” The waiter paused and frowned at the Jovian’s androgynous machine body. “Sir?”

“Yeah.” She pointed to her head. “In case you haven’t noticed, this face didn’t come with a mouth. If you insist on bringing me something, go right ahead. I’ll sniff it for a while, but don’t expect me to do more than that.”

“Look here.” Joshua tapped his menu. “They have tuna alcohol, too. Something called ‘colonche.’”

Nathan made a sour face.

“Suit yourself, Captain, but I’m trying it.”

The waiter took Joshua’s order, then stepped over to Nathan.

“And for you, sir?”

“Ah, yes.” Nathan consulted the menu once more, his finger trailing down to the bottom of the sheet. “I’ll have the tuna . . . surprise.”

“An excellent choice, sir. How would you like that prepared?”

“Surprise me.”

“Very good, sir.” The waiter took his menu, bowed, and disappeared through a side curtain.

“Is that so?” D’Miir laughed heartily at part of Vessani’s tale, then gestured to the others. “Yes, you’re right! They do look lonely! We should fix that!”

Ret’Su called out something in the local tongue, and soon a group of nine young men and woman filed out and posed before the table. Nathan wasn’t sure what to make of the group’s attire, which consisted of layers of colorful gauze and not much else. One of the females winked at him.

“Well, go ahead,” D’Miir said.

“Go ahead . . . what?” Nathan asked, unsure of what was being asked of him.

“Why, pick one, of course!” the king replied, then laughed again.

“Pick one? Oh, no. No, thank you!” Nathan held up his hands. “That’s quite all right. I appreciate the hospitality, but you don’t have to go that far!”

“They’re not to your liking?” the king asked, sounding puzzled. “None of them?”

“It’s . . .” Nathan looked back at the assembled, virile youths. One of the men winked at him this time. “Can we just skip this and move on to business?”

“Would you pull your brain out of the gutter?” Vessani snapped. “It’s not what you think!”

“It’s not?”

“No!”

Nathan inspected the scantily clad cat people once more. “Then what is it?”

“They’re gren g’liffi.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“They’re . . . oh, what would be a good translation?” Vessani pondered the question for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Right. Think of them as snuggle buddies.”

“Is that what you call them over here?”

“Listen to me,” Vessani stressed, her voice rising. “This is an important part of my culture, and you’re disrespecting it!”

“I’m not disrespecting anything. I’m just confused.”

“They’re not whores! All they do is snuggle up with you and keep you company during the meal!”

He regarded the fertile youths once more. “Is that all?”

“Yes!”

One of the females, a short white-hair with bright blue eyes, waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Fine,” he sighed.

“When on Jupiter . . .” Aiko intoned.

“Right, right. I’ll give it a shot.” Nathan pointed to the white-haired girl. “You. What’s your name?”

“It’s Mi’ili, good sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Mi’ili. Come on over.”

The nekoan let out a quick yelp of excitement and hurried to his side. Nathan froze in place while the young nekoan draped her arms around him and nestled her head against his shoulder. She pressed her body against his—

—and then she started purring.

Nathan wasn’t sure what happened next or how it came to be, but by some ethereal force, he found all the stress and worries oozing out of his body, as if the young woman were syphoning all the negative energy from his soul.

“Oh, wow,” he breathed. “This is nice.”

“I know.” Joshua flashed a crooked smile.


“We’ve entertained the occasional high-tech visits for some time now,” D’Miir began after dinner. “Travelers from other habitats come to trade with us, often for the goods our deifactory produces as it enters a period of awakening. Normally, these dealings proceed smoothly. And when the deifactory returns to its slumber, we’re left more or less alone by outsiders.”

“But that’s changed recently?” Nathan ventured, then suppressed a quiet burp. The tuna surprise had been filling, and surprising in an odd sort of way. Of all the things he’d expected to find within the pockets of thinly sliced tuna meat, he never would have guessed the locals would fill it with more tuna. Granted, it had been deliciously seasoned minced tuna and vegetables stuffed within each meat pocket, but upon reflection, he concluded he should’ve seen it coming.

Most of the royal attendants and snuggle buddies left after dinner, though the king’s guards and the old dire puma remained in the room, off to the side but attentive with one eye open.

“The situation has indeed changed,” D’Miir continued, nodding gravely. “Besides your ship, the visits have stopped.” He held up a finger. “All except one vessel. A ghastly, pale ship with a grotesque crew of flesh and machinery.”

“How long has it been since anyone else came here?” Nathan asked.

“About half a year.”

“And how many times has this pale ship appeared during that period?”

“They’ve raided us five times.” The king scowled at the dregs in his glass. “And the frequency of the attacks is increasing.”

“Do you know who they are or where they’re from?”

“No. We interrogated one of their wounded but found him completely unresponsive to questioning.” The king shook his head grimly. “Not even when we took more forceful measures to extract information from him. As far as we can tell, these people don’t speak and can’t feel pain.”

“Lovely,” Nathan groaned. “What are they after?”

“We’re not sure. They’ve taken prisoners, mostly. And they’ve hit the deifactory a few times. We’re not sure what their overall goal is.”

“It’s possible they’re here for the Black Egg,” Rufus said. “If the raiders are cybernetic, then they might be responding to the same signal we’re trying to track down.”

“But why would that bring them here?” Nathan asked. “From what we know, the Black Egg responds to the signal. It doesn’t create its own. You said yourself you couldn’t connect to it outside the habitat.”

“I know. Just speculating why they’re interested in the deifactory.”

“Have they gone after any of the other deifactories here?” Nathan asked D’Miir.

“Not that we’ve seen. Just ours. We’ve kept an eye on the airlocks ever since the first attack, so we would have seen them land on the other islands if they had.”

“If nothing else,” Rufus said, “it seems likely these raiders put the code on the airlock.”

“Probably.” Nathan turned back to D’Miir. “I know you’re looking for help where you can find it, but I’m not sure what it is you expect we can do for you. We’re not exactly a fighting force.”

“You may have no choice in the matter.”

“Why do you say that?”

D’Miir sat up. “Because you’re here for the Black Egg, correct?”

“That’s right. We’d like your permission to study it.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re too late. The raiders took it during their third attack.”

“They did what?”

“I’m afraid so,” D’Miir replied, his tone almost apologetic.

“But the raiders keep coming?” Joshua asked.

“Twice more since they stole the Egg.”

“What for?”

“Prisoners, it seems.”

Nathan let out a long, groaning sigh.

“This complicates matters,” Joshua said.

“It seems to me,” D’Miir began carefully, “that our interests are aligned. You want the Black Egg, and we want it back from the raiders.”

“That may be so.” Nathan placed his elbow on the table and head in his hand. “But I don’t see how either of us can get what we want from this.”

“Then allow me to propose a solution.” D’Miir slid closer. “We still have the raider we captured.”

“Alive?”

“I’m afraid not. He refused to eat or drink and eventually died from dehydration. But I suspect that won’t be a problem for you. While our questioning proved fruitless, you have techniques at your disposal we lack.”

“He’s right,” Rufus said. “Dead or alive, I can try communing with his implants.”

“And there’s also the deifactory itself,” Joshua said. “It might help if we took a hard look at where the Black Egg was stored.”

“You could be right. Both of you.” Nathan rubbed his chin, his earlier frustration subsiding. They’d hit a snag, sure, but perhaps there was a path forward after all.

“What do you say, then, Captain?” D’Miir asked. “We can help each other here. We give you the body and access to the deifactory, which, if your companions have guessed correctly, will lead you to the raiders and the stolen Black Egg. You then wrest it from their clutches, use it as you will, and return it to us when you’re done.”

“Sounds like we get what we want now, and you might receive your share later. Why would you agree to that? Why trust us?”

“It’s not like I have many options. Besides”—D’Miir flashed a toothy grin and pulled Vessani close—“I have her thoughts on what kind of captain you are. She may be the wild one in the family, but I’d trust her with my life.”

“Aww,” Vessani cooed. “You say the nicest things.”

“Give me your word, Captain,” the king declared, “and that will be good enough for now.”

Nathan crossed his arms. He knew Vessani’s father—with his nation being raided and their prized artifact stolen—was looking for what little good he could squeeze out of a bad situation. He also knew he’d accept the offer, since they needed access to the Black Egg in order to proceed. They either made an attempt to retrieve it, accepting whatever perils that entailed, or slinked back home to Neptune. All that made sense in his mind, but he also couldn’t escape the feeling he was taking advantage of the low-tech royal. If he could return the Black Egg to T’Ohai when all of this was over, he’d do it, but that was a huge “if,” which left the locals without any compensation for the help they now offered.

And that, in his mind, wasn’t fair and proper.

Nathan’s parents had always strived to conduct business in an honest and upstanding manner. Even if they didn’t need to. Even if, realistically, they’d never again see the people on the other side of the table. Liars and cheats littered the solar system, but the Kades weren’t among them, and Nathan intended to keep it that way.

“I appreciate your offer,” he said at last. “Give us some time to consider it.”

He glanced around the table. Vessani and Joshua seemed confused by his hesitation, but Rufus’s expression told a different story. He’d been around Nathan long enough to at least have a sense for what bothered the captain.

“If I may,” the cleric offered. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to make this deal a little more . . . balanced?” He raised an eyebrow to Nathan.


“With your permission?”

Rufus knelt beside the king and retrieved a folded leather pouch from a belt pocket. He set it on the table, released the clasp, and unrolled it to reveal a selection of medical instruments, vials, and a prayer book.

“What’s all this?” D’Miir asked, ears flattening.

“Tools of my trade,” Rufus said. “I couldn’t help but observe your limp from earlier, and as such, I’d like to offer my services to you as a healer.”

“Healers!” the king scoffed. “Charlatans, all of them! I’m tempted to arrest every last one of those frauds.”

“Then you never met one with the right knowledge and tools.”

“What makes your tools so special?” D’Miir passed a hand over the unrolled pouch.

“Simply put, they’re some of the best in the solar system.” Rufus retrieved a vial filled with silvery fluid and held it up for the king to see. “Do you know what this is?”

The king took the vial, inspected it, held it up to the light, then set it down on the table.

“No.”

“This vial contains silver panacea, one of the many inventions of Divergence. The fluid suspends a host of tiny machines specialized for work within the human body. Baseline or divergent, it doesn’t matter. The panacea will treat most injuries automatically, though its healing powers can be enhanced even further. As a trained cleric, I can commune with the injection while it works, providing direction to the healing process.”

“I don’t know . . .” D’Miir gave Vessani a doubtful look, but she smiled brightly at her father.

“Panacea’s great stuff. I received a shot after a nasty hamstring pull, and it had me good as new in a day!”

“You think this stuff can fix my knees?” D’Miir asked the cleric.

“No. I’m certain it will.” Rufus took the vial and slotted it into a syringe. “May I proceed?”

D’Miir grumbled something under his breath in the local language. He turned to Vessani once more, who nodded her encouragement.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Where do you want to stick me? In the knee?”

“Anywhere you’re comfortable with. The arm, perhaps? The panacea will travel through your bloodstream to the injury site.”

D’Miir muttered something else, then rolled up his sleeve and stuck out his arm, which was surprisingly muscular despite the girth of his stomach.

“Make a fist, please. Yes, like that.” Rufus tapped the bulging vein in the crook of D’Miir’s elbow. He swabbed the spot with alcohol, then injected a third of the vial’s contents.

“There.” He applied a square bandage to the injection point. “It’ll take about a minute for the panacea to circulate through your body.”

“And once it has?”

“I’ll provide guidance to the healing.” He slotted the vial and syringe back into his kit and pulled out his prayer book. The relevant passage was already bookmarked.

“What if you weren’t here to do this?” D’Miir asked.

“It would eventually find the injury, but my efforts will speed the process along.”

He opened the prayer book and silently recited one of the many prayers for healing. The words served to clear his mind, and when he finished the third prayer, he could sense a nearby juncture unfolding, ready and willing to commune with his will.

“I believe it’s ready.” He set the prayer book down, closed his eyes, and placed a splayed hand over his heart. A translucent visual of the king’s body appeared in his mind’s eye, accompanied by pointers and descriptive text. “The cartilage in both knees shows signs of wear, and there’s a great deal of scar tissue in and around your left knee. Were you injured there?”

“I . . . yes.” D’Miir sounded both surprised and impressed. “I had a bad tumble off my puma and twisted it when I hit the ground. The knee’s never been the same since.”

“Yes, that would make sense,” Rufus replied, his eyes still closed. “If I were to guess, the scar tissue plus the worn-down cartilage is what’s causing most of your pain. I’ll direct the panacea to clean up both joints, giving special attention to your left knee.” He bowed his head and concentrated.

“Oh?” D’Miir shivered. “My left knee is tingling.”

“That’s normal.” Rufus opened his eyes and sat back. “You may also feel tingling in other areas. Sometimes the panacea needs to acquire resources for its repairs from another part of the body. As long as you’re well-nourished, this won’t be a problem.”

“I see.” D’Miir slapped his belly and laughed. “No problem indeed!”

“Just you wait!” Vessani said. “You’ll be up and about in no time!”

“Avoid strenuous activity for two days,” Rufus cautioned, “just to be safe. I’ll also leave a small supply of panacea with you, to use and distribute as you see fit, as well as literature on its many uses.”


The habitat’s rotation proved troublesome, but Xormun resigned himself to watching and waiting through the minor annoyance, lest he risk alerting their quarry to the corvette’s presence.

WC-9003 completed a full rotation once every four minutes and forty-four seconds. The habitat’s angled mirrors and the bulk of the other landmasses obscured the Neptune Belle for most of each cycle, and his crew could only catch staggered, incomplete glimpses of events on the surface.

Locals had met the Belle’s crew at an obvious landing pad. After that, several crew members departed the ship in a ground vehicle and followed the locals into a city nestled between the sea and the deifactory, eventually entering the largest local structure. A government complex, perhaps?

And now . . . nothing.

The back of the complex butted up against the deifactory, which meant Kade and his crew now had access to the factory interior without needing to step outside and into view of the corvette’s telescope. That left Xormun bereft of useful information. At least for the moment.

Xormun didn’t mind the wait. He disliked his lack of eyes on the ground, but he also appreciated that every second brought his support closer.

He checked a vlass listing inbound flights. Six other corvettes and the Leviathan of Io were on their way to WC-9003. The first corvette would arrive within the next few hours, while the Leviathan was still over a day out.

<Apex, we have a new contact!> reported one of the analysts. <Unknown vessel approaching the cylinder!>

Xormun looked up from the vlass. <Show me.>

<Here, sir.> The analyst enlarged the live feed from the telescope. <We caught sight of it the moment it executed turnaround.>

The image showed a pale, ugly ellipse with a trio of thrusters burning bright, decelerating its approach to the habitat. Numerous lumps and blisters covered the hull and several long, metallic beams protruded from the surface at odd, disorderly angles.

<Analysis?>

<Ship is an unknown pattern, slightly larger than our corvette. We’ll have more exact measurements for you shortly. Deceleration rate is one-point-two gees. The vessel executed turnaround unusually close to WC-9003, indicating it may have launched from a nearby habitat. Possibly from within the local cluster.>

<How soon will it arrive at the habitat?>

<Twenty-seven minutes from now if it maintains its course and thrust.>

Xormun took another look at the craft, its image growing clearer by the second. The pale irregular hull conjured up images of cold, bloodless flesh with spikes jammed through it and engines stuck to the back. It was one of the ugliest spacecraft he’d ever seen.

<What are you?>


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