Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kolchin said. "Though even if we hadn't left the group three days ago, we would have had to do so now. Moo Sab Stymer has hurt his arm, and we need to seek out medical attention."

"Truly?" Piltariab said. "How so?"

"Oh, I just twisted my wrist," Cavanagh improvised, holding up his left arm. "Silly accident; but Moo Sab Plex insists it be taken care of."

"Hmm," Piltariab said, stepping close to Cavanagh for a better look, a musky aroma wafting along with him. "I see nothing."

"It's in the wrist joint, beneath the skin," Cavanagh told him, wincing for effect as he turned the wrist slightly. "Human skin doesn't change texture over internal injuries."

"Oh, of course," Piltariab said, stepping back again. "I hope you will find healing, Moo Sab Stymer."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Kolchin assured him. "So you'll be selling your sap and buying edibles and then heading back here?"

"Yes," Piltariab said. "But I will also have enough time to show you to Moo Sab Bokamba's home, if you wish."

Cavanagh glanced around them. As near as he could tell, none of the other miners in the area were paying attention to their conversation. "Thank you for the offer," he said to Piltariab. "But we can manage."

"If we even go see him, that is," Kolchin added. "We're really only going across to get Moo Sab Stymer's arm treated."

"Moo Sab Bokamba seemed very interested in seeing you," Piltariab persisted. "I think he would be most disappointed if you did not visit him."

"Really," Kolchin said, sending a leisurely gaze of his own around the dock area. "Did he tell you to tell us that?"

Piltariab recoiled with a gush of burned vanilla. "Of course not, Moo Sab Plex. If he had given me any such message for you, I would truly have told you when we last met. I wish only to offer my services, for the sake of our short acquaintanceship."

Kolchin cocked his head slightly. "Is that the only reason?" he asked pointedly.

"To be fully honest"—Piltariab blushed the odor of freshly cut grass—"I had privately hoped for a fit and proper reason to visit Moo Sab Bokamba again. The aromas in his house were most, most intriguing. There is also an excellent spice market near to Moo Sab Bokamba's home, so I may also make some of my purchases there."

Cavanagh looked at Kolchin, caught the other's microscopic shrug. If the Avuire was lying or up to something devious, Kolchin apparently couldn't smell it in his odor, either. "In that case, Moo Sab Piltariab, we would be delighted to have you show us the way."

"I am truly indebted to you, Moo Sab Plex," Piltariab said, his aroma switching to the overly fermented soy sauce of Avuirlian eagerness. "Come, let us board the ship."

Cavanagh looked at the ferry. The fantail crane had shifted now to bringing aboard the cargo bound for the island, and the outbound passengers were beginning to file aboard. "Yes," he murmured. "Let us."

It took just over thirty minutes to cross the thirteen kilometers of Sereno Strait. Cavanagh had expected Piltariab to stay with him and Kolchin the whole trip, but they were barely away from the dock when the sap miner went forward to join two of his fellow Avuirli standing near the bow. Cavanagh couldn't make out any of their conversation over the rumble of the ferry's engines, but an occasional whiff of smoked fish or peppermint pine drifted back to them on the wind.

The ferry reached the island and found space at the fifty-year-old starburst-shaped docking system built by the original Mexican colonists in their initial burst of optimism for Granparra's future. Cavanagh found his muscles tensing as the gangways slapped down, his eyes darting across the structures and shadows of the docks, which were only marginally better lit than the one they'd just left on the mainland. If Bronski had somehow learned he and Kolchin were here and had laid a trap for them, here was where it would be sprung. Trapped on the ferry, their backs to the sea, there was nowhere to run.

But there were no groups of Peacekeepers waiting in the shadows as they filed off the ferry with the rest of the passengers and headed down the rickety walkways toward the lights and sounds of the island. "Looks like Bokamba didn't turn us in," Kolchin murmured as they reached the faded archway that welcomed all and sundry to Puerto Simone Island.

Cavanagh frowned. "Were you expecting him to?"

"Not really," Kolchin said. "I was only giving him odds of one in three."

"Only one in three," Cavanagh echoed, staring at the bodyguard. "And you didn't think this worth mentioning to me?"

"Not with odds that low," Kolchin shook his head. "You'd just have worried. Now, where did Piltariab—oh, there he is."

"Ah—Moo Sab Plex," Piltariab said, hurrying toward them, his two fellow Avuirli close behind. "I feared I had lost track of you. These are two of our fellow sap miners: Moo Sab Mitliriab and Moo Sab Brislimab. They will be accompanying us to Moo Sab Bokamba's home."

"Oh?" Kolchin said, his forehead creasing slightly. "Why?"

"Mu Sab Piltariab tuld us abuut the udurs at Mu Sab Bukamba's hume," Mitliriab said, his voice quiet and measured and with a noticeable Avuirlian accent. "He urged us tu cume smell them urselves."

"And you had nothing better to do?" Kolchin asked.

Mitliriab's eyes flicked to Piltariab, back to Kolchin. A very measured gaze, in Cavanagh's estimation, with a heavy weight of years and life experience behind it. "We were intrigued," he said simply.

"You feel the same way, Moo Sab Brislimab?" Cavanagh put in.

The third Avuire stirred. "I too wish to smell these odors," he said. Like Mitliriab's, his voice, too, carried both age and experience, though not the heavy accent.

But there was something more than just experience in their voices and faces. Something was seriously wrong....

Kolchin had obviously picked up on it, too. "Sir?" he murmured.

Cavanagh took a deep breath, trying to detect and sort out the mixture of Avuirlian odors emanating from the group. Piltariab's were easy: the flashes of peppermint pine added to the fermented soy sauce, a growing edge of impatience melding with his eagerness to be on their way. But the aroma hanging around the other two was a complete mystery to him. In all his years of dealing with Avuirli, he had never smelled aromotional cues like these.

But whatever was going on here, one thing was clear: short of hauling out their flechette pistols, there really wasn't any way to stop the three Avuirli from tagging along with them to Bokamba's house. Even with the flechette guns the point was problematic.

And besides, if he and Kolchin were the target of this unknown Avuirlian emotion, chasing Mitliriab and Brislimab away would be only a temporary solution. "Sure, why not?" he said, beckoning them along. "I'm rather curious to see what these interesting odors are, too. Lead the way, Moo Sab Piltariab."

"It is this way," Piltariab said, heading eagerly forward. His broad shoulders brushed past Cavanagh, trailing soy-sauce aroma in their wake. Either he had completely missed his own companions' aromotional cues, or else he was just as completely ignoring them. Offhand, Cavanagh wasn't sure which possibility bothered him more.

Considering the lateness of the hour, Puerto Simone's streets were still surprisingly crowded with pedestrians. The large NorCoord cities Cavanagh was familiar with were similarly active, of course, but in those places most of the traffic was vehicular, with the majority of pedestrians merely making the short trek from mart or restaurant to their parked ground- or aircars. Perhaps in the island's more tightly knit community and culture, nighttime crime wasn't as big a problem as it was on some of the Commonwealth's more advanced worlds.

Or perhaps the island's narrow streets simply discouraged groundcar traffic. The Parra vine, of course, discouraged anything else.