Melinda Snodgrass - Double solitaire

“The deal they struck with the Master Trader provided them with a ship, a ship handler, and bodies more suitable for exploration,” Zabb said.

“And what are they exploring for?” Meadows asked.

“A planet with more useful body partners, so the Viand can build a true interstellar culture. They possess the brains. What they require is brawn.” Zabb suddenly cocked his head to the side in a parody of a man having an idea. “I should have thought of it; Earth would be perfect.”

Jay tensed, took one stiff-legged step forward. Tachyon laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. His brains reasserted control over his testosterone levels.

“Oh, man, then the Network are slave traders.” Meadows’s voice throbbed with grief.

It was sort of depressing, Jay reflected, to discover that all the aliens in the universe seemed to be assholes.

Zabb shrugged. “They’re business beings. Profit is the driving force in their culture.”

The Takisian touched a panel, and the cameras on the exterior hull of the ship threw the image of Takis up on the screen. If Earth was sea green and white, a beryl, this world was an opal. Large polar ice caps, seas of shimmering aquamarine, and those clouds. A riot of color.

“That’s it? Really it?” Meadows breathed.

“That’s it, groundling. Magnification factor three. We’re about a million kilometers out,” Zabb said.

Knowing this was the real McCoy brought Jay’s attention back to the screen. The clarity of the picture made it look like an astronomical rendition at a planetarium – flat, lifeless fantasy. But there were people living beneath those iridescent clouds that banded the equator.

“How far?” Meadows asked.

“From what? Relative to what?” There was a little sneer lurking in the words. Jay wanted to clout Zabb.

“Sol,” said Trips.

“Twenty-three light-years, and change.” Zabb flashed a quick smile at Jay, and for the first time the human realized just how grotesquely handsome he was. Son of a bitch, thought Jay. “As Mr. Ackroyd would say. Interesting human phrase… I like it.”

“I know a lot of others. Like, ‘kiss my ass,’ and ‘up yours.’ Too bad you won’t be staying around to let me coach you in the subtleties.”

Zabb seated himself at one of the computer stations and entered a numerical code. There was a soft pressure through the soles of their feet as the ship’s engines fired, braking and adjusting their course. Takis seemed to be swimming away from them like an iridescent crystal globe in the ink sea of space.

A large moon crept coyly into view like a child peeping around a doorjamb. As they passed low over its crater-pocked surface, Jay saw low domes hugging the feet of craggy mountains. It looked as if a school of soap bubbles had broken free from a child’s bath and deposited themselves on this harsh and unwelcoming surface.

Jay indicated the lunar settlement with a jerk of the chin. “Ilkazam?”

“No,” said Tachyon. “Alaa.”

“Who are they?” asked Mark.

“Enemies,” was Zabb’s laconic reply.

“Don’t Takisians have any friends?”

“No,” said Tach simply, and left it at that.

Jay felt a little queasy.

They passed over the edge of the curving horizon and were once again in the blackness of space. Takis was much closer now. As was a second, smaller moon – a moonlette really – which raced slightly behind its larger companion like a greyhound running at the flank of a charger. What seemed like hundreds of points of winking light banded the planet. Jay frowned, trying to fathom the twinkling display.

He was trying to decide if satisfying his curiosity was worth looking like a dumb shit. He’d just about decided it was when Mark took the idiot’s lead. “What are those?”

Tachyon looked momentarily confused. Jay pointed, amplified. “Over there, looks like somebody lost a string of Christmas lights.”

“Sunlight reflecting off platforms, satellites, weapons.” The words dried up. It didn’t seem as if she were trying to snub the humans, it was more as if she’d forgotten how to talk. Unblinking, she stared at the screen. Jay would have given a lot to know what was going on in that little head. Again, it was Meadows who dared to voice what Jay was only thinking.

He held out both hands closed into fists. “Pick a feeling.”

Tachyon studied the backs of Mark’s hands. They were ropy with blue veins, and a few age spots were starting to show. Tach reached out and delicately tapped the left one. Jay noticed that her nails were carefully maintained in that look known as the French manicure. It was strange that he hadn’t noticed before now. Strange that Tachyon would take such care with this borrowed body. Then he thought about Tachyon’s personality, and suddenly it made perfect sense.

“You really are one vain little son of a bitch,” murmured Jay to himself.

Mark’s hand was now extended palm up. Tach lightly brushed her fingers across the soft skin. “Happy.” She paused, then some internal spur set the words flowing again. “When I left all those long years ago, I thought I’d be returning in a matter of weeks. Then I thought I’d never see home again. And now…” The sentence trailed off.

Mark opened the other hand. “And this one?”

Again that featherlike brush. “Fear… because now I’m afraid I’ll never see home again.” The smile was crooked.

“We’ll get you back, Doc.”

The keying on a console brought Jay’s head around in time to see Zabb place a communication headset over his gilt hair, pull the thread-thin mike to his lips. In Sham’al he said, “This is Network *** amp;$%#@* number nine two seven five seven wanting…” (No, that couldn’t be right, thought Jay. Ah, requesting!) “Standard ** amp;%^ $#’.”

There’s something very frustrating about hearing a language with which you have a passing acquaintance. You want to understand, you ought to understand, ultimately you don’t understand. Comprehending one word in three was driving Jay nuts. He stepped in and tapped Tachyon on the shoulder. She jumped like a scalded cat. Turned to look at him with a blank, fixed stare that seemed to communicate that she couldn’t recall who he was or why he was there.

“Hello, translation please.”

There was a leitmotiv of Takisian broadcasting on an open channel. Tach listened, shook her head.

“It’s just standard landing protocols -”

“I want to hear it.”

She shrugged. “Okay. We read you – I can’t translate the Network word. I think it’s the ship’s name – you are cleared for docking at hangar bay twenty-three.” Zabb warbled back. Tachyon repeated in English. “Transferring computer control to station beacon.”

More singing from the station, and Tachyon gave a short gurgle of laughter, then translated, “Your accent is passable, shopkeeper, I congratulate you.”

Zabb glared, and the words came in a sudden glissando. “It’s better than passable, you childless, motherless ass. What a diplomat you’d make.”

Jay realized that Tach had added the final remark as a sarcastic commentary on Zabb’s social skills. It had the expected result – Zabb’s glare shifted to Tachyon.

“Get off my bridge,” Zabb ordered, but Tachyon wasn’t listening.

Her expression held all the joy of a Bernadette the first time she saw the virgin. “Listen!”

Jay listened. Meadows was listening so hard, he held his breath. Jay heard himself breathing, the subtle humming of the equipment.

“What?” he whispered. “Am I listening to?”

“Ships… singing… telling stories… Ancestors, I really am home.” Joy rang in the words, but then she swayed like a stalk of blowing wheat. Jay got an arm around her, supported her until the faintness passed. She drew a thumb across her hairline – so disconcerting, it was a Tachyon gesture – nodded thanks, and scuttled out of the circle of his arm.