The Drapsk freighter, I soon realized, was so huge the Fox herself could have been tractored into one of her main cargo bays, three of which I found in my journey. Worse, I couldn’t begin to remember my way around the featureless place.
“I give up,” I said at last, turning to look at my comet’s tail of Drapsk. I’d passed several, each identical to the others, and each immediately putting down tools or packages in favor of a new, apparently engrossing pastime—following the Mystic One. Unlike the med, these were too shy to talk to me or answer questions; their shyness was an assumption I made to reassure myself as I listened to the soft pad-pad-pad of the disconcerting and increasing number of Drapsk feet behind me.
I’d tried telling them about the med’s condition, which occasioned a synchronized series of low hoots but no alarm I could detect. I’d tried asking directions to the Captain, only to have the entire group flutter antennae at me each time. I was buffeted by the resulting breeze until I had to move to escape.
Now, weary and truly beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t try to ’port to the Fox after all, in spite of my weakness and the chance of having Rael follow, I leaned against the nearest bulkhead. “Will one of you please, please, show me the way to your Captain?” I asked again, without much hope.
“But we have, O Mystic One,” came the unexpected answer from several Drapsk, tentacles proudly ringing their mouths. “Oh, we have. There.”
I swiveled my head around, very slowly. Not an arm’s length from me was another in the interminable bulges in the corridor wall, this one almost as large as those leading into the cargo bays, and at the moment curtained by a fringe of purple-pink Drapsk plumes pointing in my direction.
When I turned to thank my entourage, I found myself looking at their retreating backs, as though the Drapsk had done their duty and were now returning in haste to their neglected tasks. I shrugged philosophically, quite sure if I were wiser, I might have just learned something important about the small beings.
One thing I already knew—too well—was their enthusiasm for my presence. “I appreciate all you and your crew have done for me, Captain Maka,” I said sincerely, if with mounting exasperation; forced to cut abruptly into the Drapsk Captain’s passionate and lengthy welcoming speech. “Allow me to offer some form of compensation—”
“Absolutely not, O Mystic One,” Maka said with what appeared to be agitation, sucking in several of the red tentacles ringing his mouth.
“As you wish.” Somewhere along the line, I’d lost most of my social graces, traded for being tired, sore, and short of breath. “I do have a request.”
“Anything, O Mystic One. The Makmora is yours—” He spread his short, chubby arms as wide apart as they could go, presumably to indicate his ship’s bridge. I looked around obediently, trying to get my bearings.
Having spent most of my life isolated both by choice and the dictates of the Clan Council, I’d only recently been exposed to the realities and economics of a spacer’s life. That brief exposure had, through Morgan’s insistence and my own curiosity, included a thorough apprenticeship in the operation of commercial shipping. So I found I recognized much of what I saw behind Captain Maka and around me on two sides.
We could be standing on the bridge of any large, long-haul freighter, her operations crew of a dozen or so Drapsk intent on reasonably familiar control panels. There were, however, some distinctions which made it quite plain to me that this was not a ship designed for Humans or similar beings. The doorless corridors were only the first and most obvious.
The next distinction was invisible. As Maka began extolling the virtues of his ship to me, I was distracted by a tickle on my forehead. I reached up my hand and discovered the cause. I’d stepped into a breeze. Now that I thought about it, everywhere I’d been on the Makmora had been drafty. This was more than just powerful ventilators clearing the air. Intrigued, I raised my hand higher, discovering a variety of currents crossing over my head.
“Please refrain, O Mystic One.”
I looked down at the Drapsk who had spoken. “Pardon?”
“You are influencing the com system. Please refrain, O Mystic One.”
“That’s all right, Makoisa,” Captain Maka said quickly. “The filters can cope.”
Com system? I surveyed the crew, paying more attention this time. All their antennae were erect, plumes widespread. Directly above each station, there seemed to be a separate air intake. I sniffed experimentally. If they were relying on odor for communication, it was nothing I could detect.
“Now, your request, O Mystic One?” Maka, trader-fashion, came right back to the point, his plumes restlessly twitching with what I hoped was eagerness to serve and not some preparation to argue.
“I’d like to visit one of your neighboring ships, Captain. It’s a matter of some urgency—”
There was an unexpected pause. The Drapsk all turned to face their Captain. He shuffled his feet twice then said in a very determined tone, “I do not presume to know what your magical nature may inform you, Mystic One, but our scans indicate we are quite alone in this region. Should we check this again?”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but found myself fighting a novel tendency to tip to the left before I could utter a word. If they hadn’t turned down the lights, I decided, then this dimming of my vision was likely a prelude to a faint. I truly didn’t want to land on one or more of my small hosts.
There hadn’t been chairs, I told myself a moment later. I’d seen the bucketlike contraptions the Drapsk used at their stations, but I knew the chair I found myself sitting on had not been there when my surroundings started to fade. I peered at the circle of concerned Drapsk suspiciously. Either they were more magical than I’d ever claimed, or something was wrong with me.
“I don’t feel quite myself,” I decided.
Crimson tentacles writhed in nauseating harmony at this announcement. “Our Med, Makairi, assures me you will make a full recovery, O Mystic One. He believes you should not be moving around so soon after your magical exertion to reach the safety of our ship. We would have rushed to your aid had we known you were in danger.” This last very sternly, as though he reluctantly found some fault in me. “You must take better care, Mystic One. A good thing you came to us at last. We will care for you.”
All of this sounded reassuring on one hand, and a bit too final on the other. I focused on Maka, at least I thought the Drapsk speaking was the Captain. I’d have to tie ribbons on them to tell them apart. Dear little Drapsk. Where to fasten them was an interesting question. Some wore tool belts; most did not.
I noticed but oddly wasn’t perturbed by this novel tendency of my mind to drift aimlessly from thought to thought. I remembered Morgan falling asleep abruptly after leaving the healing cocoon and hoped they’d understand if I followed suit and toppled off the stool. Did Drapsk sleep or did they curl up into little balls at night? Had I wondered this before?
“Back to the med unit, O Mystic One,” a second Drapsk insisted, the mere concept encouraging me to close my eyes. Several of them took hold of my arms, very gently, tugging me to my feet. I struggled to stay alert. Here I was, being sent to bed by hopefully well-meaning aliens, while at any moment Morgan could be leaving me behind on Pocular, going who knew where—
I must have said it out loud.
“Oh, we are not on Pocular, O Mystic One,” this with distinct, unmistakable amusement. “Why would we delay there when the Contest is about to begin?”
I found myself suddenly very wide awake, staring down at the chorus of Drapsk holding me upright as though they were about to bite. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded.
An agitated fluttering of antennae, then a single voice announced triumphantly: “Why, home, O Mystic One. We are taking you home to Drapskii.”
“Please come back to the cocoon, O Mystic One.” The med, Makairi, had arrived—my best guess, given the Drapsk circling around me carried a scope in one tentacle. I didn’t bother asking what had happened to him earlier. I had enough to worry about.
“What I want is this ship to return to Pocular.” Unfortunately, repeating this was having no effect whatsoever. Well, almost none.
They weren’t happy. Even given species’ differences, I could read that much. “But, Mystic One,” Captain Maka approached closely, reaching out as if to touch me, but refraining. “We’ve informed the Makii of your Candidacy. You have a Place in the Ceremony, assured by guarantees from our Tribe, though this forced a delay. We travel at our best speed.”
“We warehoused our cargo,” said one Drapsk so quietly I barely heard.
Another, behind me, whispered: “Is the Mystic One deserting us?”
What had been deserted was Pocular, and my best chance to catch up to Morgan. I shook my head, then added: “No,” aloud in case they couldn’t detect the gesture—though in my experience the Drapsk managed very well without obvious eyes and experienced traders such as these probably read humanoids better than humanoids read them. “No,” I repeated firmly. I thought it quite likely I owed these beings my life; I didn’t owe them Morgan’s. “I’m not deserting you. But I have something I must do on Pocular first. Surely there will be other Contests if I don’t make this one. You have my promise.”
A hush deadlier than the last one as those Drapsk previously occupied in operating equipment turned to add their antennae to the veritable forest aimed at me. “Mystic One,” the tone of authority assuring me this was likely Captain Maka speaking—that and the now-familiar agitated hand waving. “Mystic One, I cannot emphasize too strongly how vital your appearing at this Contest is for the Makii. If you do not, there may be other Contests, but there will be no Makii on the Makmora to have the honor of supporting you as Candidate.”
“I don’t understand, Captain,” I countered, although privately I was afraid I was beginning to see the trap I’d entered without a thought. “This Contest of yours—you say it’s about magic? I have none. I can’t be a contestant!”
This brought antennae up. “Have no doubt of your abilities, Mystic One,” Maka said, suddenly cheerful. “We believe in you. All on this ship have witnessed your feats on Pocular.”
“Parlor tricks. Fancy tech.”
“True magic, such as you performed for me earlier today, O Mystic One.” This earnest statement from Med Makairi. I looked askance at him. What did he mean? I wondered, ready to doubt the stability of a being who curled up into a ball in the middle of a medical examination. Or had he somehow detected my effort to reach Morgan through the M’hir? I shrugged away the uncomfortable notion.
“Then may I send a message on your com system?”
“Your presence on our Tribe’s ship must be kept secret.” This from one of the unnamed Drapsk.
Captain Maka, I think, hastened to add: “The Heerii mustn’t find out about you, Mystic One. They mustn’t!”
I closed my eyes tightly, then opened them. “Why, Captain?” I asked with what I thought remarkable calmness.
“If other Tribes learn the Makii are bringing such a wondrous Mystic One as yourself, they might resist any delay in the Competition. If they succeeded, we would not make it to Drapskii in time. It is a tactic the Heerii have used before.” Maka rubbed his little hands together, a parody of the Human gesture I callously decided he used on purpose to convince me of his stress. “And secrecy will be to your advantage in the Competition, O Mystic One; much better to be a surprise to the others. Please accept my assurance on this matter. And please accept our total joy at your willingness to help us fulfill our quest. Your kindness, your generosity, your—”
Maka had sucked in sufficient air before answering my question—which I noticed he hadn’t actually done—to continue in this vein for some time.
“Captain Maka,” I said as sternly as I could, given my present state of imminent collapse. “My generosity does not extend to allowing you to being-nap me. Now, either get me a comlink, return me to Pocular, or—” I hesitated. “Take me to Ettler’s Planet.”
Ettler’s Planet was Morgan’s fallback plan. He’d insisted we set a rendezvous, insisted the day might come when we were separated and pursued—and would need a safe place to wait for one another. I’d gone along with him to end the uncomfortable discussion, quite sure nothing would make me leave his side. I didn’t actually know where Ettler’s Planet was from the Makmora’s current location, or from Pocular. It hadn’t seemed important to know. But now, I said to myself, breathing in carefully light gasps, it might be the best of several poor alternatives.
Apparently, the Drapsk weren’t about to agree with me. Five of the bridge crew curled up into little white balls, one rolling until it lodged against the base of a console. This solved one mystery: I saw how the plumes of their antennae flattened and the entire structure folded within the curve of their bodies.
The rest of the Drapsk stood absolutely still, antennae drooping until they hung like purple capes over nonexistent shoulders. There wasn’t a word.
After a very long moment, a delicate breeze traveled across my forehead, teasing at my hair before it went on to ruffle the plumes of the nearest Drapsk. I assumed someone elsewhere on the Makmora was getting worried about the lack of hands on the ship’s controls.
When even this didn’t rouse my hosts, I decided it was time I worried as well.
INTERLUDE
Consorting with Humans was bad enough, Barac sniffed disdainfully. One could, in time, get used to them. But this, this conglomeration of aliens was infinitely worse. At least Humans and Clan shared a similar body plan. Here? There were more sizes, shapes, and colors of eyeballs watching him through the smoky haze than he’d imagined in his wildest nightmares. How had he let Sira talk him into running this place?
“The credit limit for the Auordian Ambassador, Lord Warlock?” Hastho’tha’s oily voice intruded. A pause, then an impatient cough. “Lord?”