Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the café proprietor. He was a rotund middle-aged man with pasty skin, greasy black hair and an apron to match, who having served his patrons on the neighbouring table now approached with a menu in his hand. She recognised him as a fellow refugee from the Dandridge Cole but could not recall his name, so was a little embarrassed when he greeted her like an old friend.

“Ostara Lee!” he cried, speaking with a pronounced Italian lilt. “The great detective from our dear hollow moon! What would be your pleasure on this fine summer morning?”

“Is it summer?” she asked. “Or even morning? It’s hard to tell on this planet.”

“It is both in Naples,” he reassured her. “And that is where my heart will always be.”

He waited while Ostara cautiously perused the offered menu. The only thing she recognised were spanner crabs, primitive sea creatures native to the Tatrill that looked like rat-sized centipedes with claws at either end, albeit swathed in batter and pierced with a wooden skewer. She had never tasted one herself but had it on good authority that the lobster-like smell of a cooked specimen was sadly deceptive.

“The sign says ‘Fresh Fish Sold Here’,” she said, pointing to the wavering hologram outside the squat cabin. “That’s a silly thing to say.”

The man looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I assume you’re not dealing in mouldy food,” she pointed out. “So it must be fresh. And it wouldn’t be much of a business if you gave it away, so it must be sold.”

“You want me to change it to ‘Fish Here’?” the man suggested.

Ostara shrugged. “Why say it is here? Where else would it be?”

“And I suppose it’s obvious that I am selling fish,” the man said cautiously. “Many a person has told me you can smell it from the other side of the dome.”

“That’s the most deceiving part of your sign,” she teased, adopting a mock scolding tone. “I’ve seen what swims in the Tatrill Sea and it’s nothing like any fish I remember from Earth. Is it all sea food? Inside the batter, I mean. I’m vegetarian.”

“I heartily recommend the aubergine cannelloni,” he said, with the air of someone relieved to be back on firmer ground. “Freshly made by my dear wife. My cousin works in the greenhouses,” he added slyly, as if to hint that the ingredients had bypassed the usual routes of commerce and surreptitiously arrived faster and fresher to his wife’s kitchen.

“That does sound nice,” she admitted. “Only I haven’t any credit. Is that a problem?”

The man’s face fell. Ostara’s hopeful expression followed suit, then became a cringe as her stomach rumbled again. Whatever was cooking in the cafeteria kitchen smelt delicious.

“My treat!” came a sudden voice from behind her.

Ostara twisted in her seat and smiled as a loose-limbed Endymion sauntered over to her table and dropped into a vacant seat. She was vaguely mystified by how he could look so fresh at this time in the morning, but he often did weird shifts at the spaceport and for all she knew this could be his lunch break.

“Endymion!” she greeted. “I was hoping to run into you.”

“So what will it be, my friends?” asked the man.

“Two veggie breakfasts,” declared Endymion. “Give us the works. I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby camel. Coffee for me, a pot of tea for Ostara. Is that okay?”

His last question was directed at Ostara, who nodded hungrily. The man gave a bow, relieved her of the menu and retreated to the café. Ostara grinned.

“How did you know I’d be here?” asked Endymion.

“Oh, I followed my nose,” she said airily. “You’re becoming a very confident young man, Endymion. Getting a place of your own has obviously done you a world of good. But there was no need to buy me breakfast, you know.”

“Yes there was. You have no food at your office,” he pointed out. “I noticed the empty cupboards when I tripped over the mattress in the kitchenette. Are you living there?”

“I have nowhere else to sleep,” she said defensively. “And it’s one way of getting to work on time. Thanks for bringing the furniture earlier, by the way. It is much appreciated.”

Endymion shrugged. “The guy who runs the baggage robots has a sideline in imports and exports, if you know what I mean.”

“Black market?”

“Amongst other things. A lot of it is second-hand goods he picks up cheap and stores until he finds a buyer,” he said. “He bought the spaceport’s old runway-laying rig and sold it for ten times the price to some desperate idiot in the Tau Ceti system. Funnily enough, Philyra contacted me earlier, asking about him. Do you remember Philyra?”

“Talks too much and obsessed with Gods of Avalon and other rubbish?” asked Ostara. “Yes, I remember Philyra. I always thought you had a crush on her.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Endymion, feigning surprise.

Ostara’s mind was elsewhere and she did not see him blush. “Can this friend of yours get me a cheap holovid unit?” she asked. Endymion’s indignant expression settled into a puzzled frown. “There’s this BBC report on the Dhusarian Church I’d like to watch.”

“Can’t you use your slate?”

“I don’t have it anymore. If you’re thinking of the one I gained whilst hobnobbing with the rebels on Yuanshi, I gave it to Ravana for her university work.”

Endymion did not reply. Ostara saw he had been distracted and followed his gaze to a distant figure loitering suspiciously outside one of the lodgings. With a curse, he was abruptly on his feet and running towards the now-open door. Ostara caught a glimpse of a familiar face as the figure slipped furtively into the cabin. Leaving her seat, she hurriedly followed.

“Bellona?” she murmured.

By the time Ostara reached the open door, Endymion had cornered his sister and was holding Bellona down by twisting the girl’s arm behind her back, forcing her to sit rigid upon one of the room’s narrow bunks. Bellona refused to meet her brother’s stare and looked sulky yet defiant. The room was barely the size of Ostara’s office, but somehow managed to contain three beds, a tatty wardrobe and a tiny wall-mounted holovid unit. Ostara looked at the jumble of clothes, empty food cartons and other miscellaneous objects scattered across the floor and turned to Endymion in alarm.

“Has this place been burgled?”

“Not yet,” retorted Endymion. “But it was about to be.”

“I haven’t done anything!” cried Bellona.

“It looks like it has been ransacked,” Ostara said, sounding uncertain, then with a start realised the cabin was the one Quirinus shared with Ravana and Zotz. “It just goes to show it was Ravana who kept the place tidy,” she mused. She felt sorry for any girl who had to share such an incredibly small space with two boys.

“Endymion’s room is worse than this, the messy pig,” Bellona muttered.

“Oh, have you burgled my place as well?”

“No, I haven’t!”

“So what are you doing here?” he asked angrily. When Bellona did not reply, he tightened his grip upon her arm, causing her to wince.

“Endymion!” scolded Ostara. “Let go of your sister! You’re hurting her!”

Endymion mumbled something under his breath and released Bellona’s arm. With a glare, she immediately shuffled away to the end of the bed, keeping her arms firmly crossed. Ostara had never seen the two of them squabble like this before, but remembered all too well how her own elder brothers had bullied her when she was young. Endymion retreated to the doorway, leaned against the open door and gave his sister a questioning glare. Bellona dropped her gaze to the floor and sighed.