Melinda Snodgrass - Double solitaire

The ship altered course again, obedient to the invisible reins of data transmitting from the Takisian station. The station slid into view from the bottom of the screen. Jay knew up and down were relative terms in space. He knew the ship was moving, not the station – (well, but wait, the station was also moving around the planet – too confusing) – but it still had a Jaws-like quality of an attack from below, a gaping maw opening to receive the little silver minnow. The image was reinforced by the organic quality of the station. No right angles here, no sharp edges or glitter of metal. Whatever this thing was, it had been grown, not welded, into place.

“That’s not an overgrown ship, is it?” Trips asked.

“No, the ships are a separate sentient race, although rather substantially genetically altered by us. This is nanotech at its apex.” She flashed that little porpoise smile. “We’re cultivators, not mechanics.”

“And every family has one of these mothers?” asked Jay.

“Yes, but not so large.”

“Then this isn’t Ilkazam?” Trips asked.

“No, this is the Bonded station. It was primarily built as a buffer for the Network, but we use it to do business House to House as well.” Again the smile. “We don’t like tourists on our turf.”

Jay asked the logical question. “So what about us?”

“I’ve adopted Trips, which makes him family.”

“And you’re invited,” put in Zabb. He stretched, stood, and crossed to them with that grace that always had Jay thinking nervously of the white tiger in the Central Park Zoo. “The only absolute prohibition is against any member race of the Network.”

“Or any individual who has sworn service to the Network,” Tach added, and from the looks she and her cousin were exchanging, Jay had a feeling that a lot more was being exchanged than mere words.

“You’ve really got a hard-on about these Network dudes,” Jay said.

“We despise them only somewhat less than we hate the Swarm,” drawled Zabb.

“And you’re the only Takisian to have done business with both,” Tach said, and sweet malice dripped off the edges of the consonants.

Zabb returned Tach’s smile. “I’m quite a legendary fellow.” And to Jay’s surprise Tachyon gave a sudden yip of laughter like a fox’s cry.

Trips was frowning. “So we might run into some Vayawand?”

Tach sobered. “Entirely possible.”

“Isn’t that, like, a problem?”

“Bonded means peace as well as money. This is the one place all the families can come together at any time and do business without threat of violence. An insurance consortium holds bond money from each family, and it would bankrupt a House if they violated the peace.”

“We’re violent, but pragmatic,” Zabb added.

Braking jets fired, and the ship gave a lurch as it settled onto the floor of the docking bay. Tachyon stumbled, and Zabb threw out a hand to steady her. She jerked away, and he jerked back his hand before contact could be made. Jay decided it was a good thing they were saying adios to the Takisian just real soon now.

Meadows broke into his worried thoughts about the little Takisian soap opera. “Jay, we’ve done it. We’ve made it. We’ve reached another planet!”

“Yeah… swell.”

At the foot of the ship’s ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn’t solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.

“Thank you for your services.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap of Zabb’s boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.

“Zabb, you’ve done your job. You’ve delivered me to Takis. Now go away.”

“It’s a free station. I’ve a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren’t home yet.”

“And just what does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing.” He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.

Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station – little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic – both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn’t want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.

Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glass-like floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafйs, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.

Two of the Viand were carrying laden plates to a table. Nesfa and several of her crew were inspecting elegant handguns in the window of a nearby gunnery. True to his word, Zabb was in a hat shop arranging a long-tailed, shining cap on his fair head. He spotted Tach, swept off the hat, and gave her a bow so low and so flourishing as to male a mockery of the courtesy.

Takisians, both Tarhiji and Zal’hma at’ Irg, were everywhere, and Tach viewed them with growing alarm. Almost fifty years had sent fashion careening to the opposite extreme. There was still a lot of lace and layers, but the new look among the younger breed was the speed-skater look. Tight spandex caressed every curve and angle. Eye-confusing colors swirled, dotted, or splattered the one-piece suits, and the biotech that had grown this cloth was keyed to galvanic skin responses. Colors shifted and swirled in response to the wearer’s mood and whim. Hair had also adapted to the new look. In place of long curls, peach fuzz across the nearly naked skulls, or a river of straight silk as long as it could be coaxed. Tachyon’s old body was sadly out of fashion with its naturally curly love-locks. Tach’s borrowed body fit right in – or would if it hadn’t been female… and pregnant.

“Nice,” Jay said. “Be nicer if there were a few more babes around to model the spray-on look.”

“We are getting, like, some weird looks, man,” Trips whispered hoarsely.

A scent, rich and spicy, assailed Tachyon’s nostrils, and she froze as the smell crossed time and triggered memory. Mark’s concerns and alarms seemed unimportant, overshadowed as they were by the play of images behind her closed lids.

“You okay?” Jay asked.

“Fritter cakes,” said Tach, swallowing the saliva that filled her mouth.

“Yeah, they smell great. If we had some money, we’d buy some.”

Ignoring him, she continued. “I must have been ten or eleven. Jadlan and I slipped into the private kitchen and made them. The smell woke father, and we thought he would kill us. Instead he laughed and made hot ikadah. We talked until almost dawn.” She bowed her head and lightly touched her stomach. “I never saw Jadlan again.”