The J’olpri Black Market: Part 2
“How are we supposed to see when it’s this dark?” I complained as we wound our way through the claustrophobically packed “underlings” bar in the bowels of J’olpri. Honestly, part of me appreciated the lack of lighting; I had no wish to see how dirty this place was.
“Pretty sure that’s the point, Gretch,” Ryan returned gleefully over the heartbeat bass emanating from an unseen speaker system.
“Keep your eyes peeled for our bellboy, anyway,” Matt instructed, drawing stares as we wended through the crowd. Dressed in a suit that matched Ryan’s, Matt had opted to wear his jacket, which showcased his broad shoulders.
We approached one of the scattered drink stations. The smell of whatever alcohol they were serving was so potent I could practically taste it yards before we drew level with the counter. “Alright, mate,” Matt addressed the reedy alien serving drinks from a rusted keg. “What’s the contraband?”
The pale gray alien blinked its bauble-like pink eyes, its crown of nine antennas twitching in our direction. “Keltaryn. For underlings only.”
Apparently, the class divide between the haves and have nots, purchasers and laborers, on J’olpri was starker than it first appeared.
Matt whistled low and impressed. “Keltaryn? Real bloody contraband, then. I could use it after being on inventory all day. Oh,” Matt added as an afterthought, “these are my new contacts, two hired ambassadors for the Covlax Vicerenne. They’ve had a day.”
“Rich people, am I right?” Ryan shot a beleaguered look at the alien.
“Assholes,” I added emphatically.
“Don’t look much like Covlax ambassadors,” the bartender commented. But, before we could argue the veracity of our lie, she handed us each a cup that might have once been part of a ship. I took a sip. It burned worse than a mouthful of hot sauce but finished with a burst of unexpected sweetness.
When the bartender refused payment, Matt asked, “A gift? From who?”
Five of the alien’s antennas pointed to a man lounging on the only stool at the counter with his back to us. Had this guy brought his own stool to a bar?
“My captain,” the stranger said, without turning around.
Matt lifted his glass in salute. “Well, to your captain’s health and yours.”
The man turned around, pushing up his square-framed glasses as he did so. “I’ll send Sadrilla your good wishes.” I swallowed a cough of surprise. It was Anders, Sadrilla’s con man. “Your friends don’t like Keltaryn? They don’t look like they can handle much.”
“The Vicerenne begs to differ,” Ryan said mildly and took a deep gulp of the spicy beverage.
“Thanks for the drink.” I tipped my cup in the conman’s direction and downed it. As the drink scalded my throat, Anders tilted his head in an adorably dorky way, which was at odds with the wicked smile tugging at his lips—like he was enjoying watching me pretend not to suffer. Which I was, valiantly. I slammed my cup on the bar. The bartender interpreted this as a request for a refill, which I reluctantly accepted.
“Won’t you join me?” Anders asked politely. “I don’t often get a chance to meet humans outside of my crew this far from Earth.”
“Maybe later.” Matt sounded genuinely sorry. “We came to check out the Nafteis games. Heard there were some big scores for skilled players.”
“Ah, well. Maybe later. Don’t let your young friend drink too much. You never know what could happen in the seedy underbelly here.” Anders winked before swiveling around on his stool and striking up a conversation with the alien who had served us the Keltaryn.
Ryan and I followed Matt as he skillfully navigated through the crowd, sipping his noxious beverage. With how easily Matt had adapted to being part of our crew, it was disturbing to see him do likewise in this less than savory atmosphere. It reminded me strongly of Shockley, but with much less bravado.
Matt paused on the outskirts of a small crowd gathered around a DIY table, created by a metal sheet laid across two large crates. Four aliens were playing a complicated-looking game involving holographic figures emanating from small, black squares in front of each player.
“Nafteis,” Matt explained. “You can quickly lose everything you're wearing if you’re not careful.”
“Sounds like you know from experience, flyboy,” Ryan snorted, then looked a little horrified.
“Flyboy?” I repeated, caught between horror and the urge to laugh along with Matt.
“I’ve always wanted to say that. That’s what Captain Bendelham calls his pilot, Cason Thorne-Beaumont, on Cosmic Conquerors. They’re secretly in love. Everyone knows it but the showrunners. I’m not in love with you, though,” Ryan informed Matt, “you’re hella old for me.” They glanced mournfully into their cup, which I realized was alarmingly empty. “Should we get another round of drinks? You know, to maintain our cover?”
“Oh, shit,” Matt said, tapping the bottom of Ryan’s cup. “Poindexter back there was right. This stuff is lethal to an experienced drinker. No more for you, Captain.”
“Matt,” I hissed. “Did we seriously let our underage charge get drunk on a mission?”
“I’m not your charge,” Ryan refuted, “I’m in charge. I’m the captain! Wait—” They smacked my arm, jostling my drink. I quickly stepped back to avoid the resulting splash. “There’s our mark.” The blue-skinned bellboy we had encountered earlier was on the opposite side of the Nafteis table. He was attempting to talk to a green alien with impressively coiffed hair and a low-cut work shirt displaying equally impressive cleavage. She was not interested in his advances.
Matt nudged me forward. “You’re up, Gretchen.”
“For what?” I asked, nonplussed.
“Seduction ploy,” Ryan said with far too much relish. “Good one, Majumdar.” Ryan squinted, studiously scanning the outskirts of the room. “There,” they pointed to the left back corner of the room, where two massive, metal shipping containers formed an alcove. “Lure him there.”
“Lure him there? You want me to, what? Seduce him?” At their protracted silence, I protested, “But I’m as attractive as...” I searched for a word, ”spaghetti, or something.”
“Spaghetti is a tasty dish, and so are you!” Ryan pushed me in the direction of the bellboy, who was now trying his luck with the busty alien’s similarly well-endowed friend.
“Matt, you go,” I hissed, “you’re hotter.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Gretchen,” Matt grinned. “Ryan and I lack the assets for this particular strategy.” He took a slow sip of his beverage and looked pointedly at my chest.
“The bellboy likes boob bearing beings.” Ryan paused, then giggled. “Say that five times fast.” They grabbed a fistful of Matt’s jacket and towed him toward the agreed-upon alcove. “We’ll be waiting to ambush him for interrogation and all that jazz.”
Matt allowed himself to be drawn away, but not before he mouthed, “And all that jazz,” with a thoroughly annoying hand flourish straight out of a Fosse musical. I flipped him off to make myself feel better, flushing as I made eye contact with a three-eyed alien, whose mottled skin resembled a melted crayon box.
“Sorry,” I said, “they’re drunk. Can’t hold their liquor. Not like us true lowlifes.” I hastily retreated when all three eyes just blinked at me like I was crazy, which I might be...because I could not believe I was going to attempt this.
I worked my way around the enthusiastic crowd until I was behind the boob-loving blue bellboy. I tugged my neckline down as far as it would go, inwardly hating both myself and, at this moment, my friends. It’s just a part, I told myself, just like the last mission. I took a deep breath and tried to summon my inner femme fatale.
“Oh no,” I emptied half of my cup onto the back of the bellboy’s uniform. Belatedly, I remembered to bump into him.
The bellboy whirled, his gold-rimmed, jet black eyes narrowed. I squeezed my arms into my sides and thrust my chest upward, making the most of my modest cleavage. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I cocked one hip, hoping for sexy, but feeling more like a poorly posed mannequin. “I haven’t broken in these new boots yet, and silly me, I tripped and spilled my drink all over you...and me.” I trailed a hand between my breasts and brought it to my lips, licking up a nonexistent trail of alcohol.
The bellboy watched it all happen, the gold ring around his eyes expanding. “Don’t even worry about it.”
“Oh, but I got your uniform so dirty,” I drew out the last word. I was abruptly very, very, grateful that Azo’lah wasn’t here to witness this absurdity. “But it’s so crowded here. Come with me, and I can take it off...to help you clean it, of course.”
I held out a hand. The bellboy forewent it in favor of wrapping his arm around my waist. “Of course.”
“Amazeballs!” My companion didn’t seem to notice the nonsensical, heightened pitch of my voice. He was more preoccupied with gradually sliding his fingers lower as if he went slowly enough, I wouldn’t realize he was grabbing my ass.
I grabbed his hand as we neared the first shipping container, covering up my distaste at his touch by using our linked hands to lead him playfully. “Just a little bit further.”
“Is it true what they say about human women?” the bellboy questioned eagerly. “I heard from a Sarl the other day that human women have sex nonstop for hours.”
I laughed at that. I couldn’t wait to tell Chester and Azo’lah. Later, once I got this vile alien man-child off of me. I tugged him into the alley between the two containers. “Well, the truth is—”
“The truth is that was so pathetic that I can’t believe it worked.” There was a burst of blue-gold light which illuminated Ryan’s face. “Borowicz, how do you have less game than a seventeen-year-old? I cannot wait to tell the rest of the crew about this.”
“What the—” The bellboy was knocked into the metal wall by Matt, who had one arm across his throat and a hand clapped over his mouth.
“I told you not to send me,” I said, embarrassed. Ryan patted my shoulder, accidentally flashing me in the eye with the light from their Ran’dyl.
“It was nevertheless effective. Good job.” Ryan leaned against the shipping container and crossed their arms in a movement that was just a little too careful to be fully sober. “Well, are you going to proceed with interrogation, flyboy, or do you expect me to wait around all day?”
“Are you ever gonna be quiet, Captain?” Matt bit back. His expression shifted from exasperated mirth to one of affected neutral pleasantness as his attention returned to the bellboy.
Matt’s palm muffled the bellboy’s terrified protest. I took a long draw of my drink, hoping the caustic liquid could somehow burn away the dregs of adrenaline and mortification still coursing through my system.
“We need information on an item that is or will be at your auction house,” Matt began. “If you answer the questions, quietly, calmly, and to my satisfaction, then promptly forget this exchange occurred, I can guarantee your well-being. Should you fail to do even one of those things, you won’t be safe in any corner of the known universe.”
The alien nodded. Matt removed his hand. The bellboy gulped great, heaving lungfuls of air. Matt said, “The item in question is a Destyrian antiquity. Have you heard of it?”
The bellboy nodded.
“Use your big boy words,” Ryan said. They reached for my cup, which I sloppily spilled on my hand as I dodged them.
“You heard the Captain,” Matt smiled a twisted, ugly thing that looked out of place on his handsome face. “Use your words.”
“I-I know what you’re talking about,” the alien stammered, so quickly it was hard to distinguish his words. “The thirteenth floor is all excited about it since Destyrian pieces are rare. I…”
“Yes?” Matt prodded.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Myax, does it?” The bellboy’s eyes were wide and black, the golden ring swallowed by pure terror. “I’ve heard rumors that the piece was stolen recently, and the Myax are looking for it.” The bellboy shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want to get involved with them.”
“We’re here as ambassadors on behalf of the Vicerenne,” I said firmly. If the bellboy failed to keep his promised silence, the last thing we wanted was for it to get back to Sadrilla that the Myax were involved.
My statement only served to terrify the blue alien further. He squeaked, “Vicerenne Tov-ri of the Covlax?”
“So you’ve heard of her?” Ryan asked.
The bellboy inspected us and frowned. “Don’t look much like Covlax ambassadors. Where are your hoods?”
Matt jostled him roughly against the wall.
There was a faint, trickling sound. Matt somehow managed to move sideways while simultaneously shoving the alien up the wall so that his feet dangled inches above the floor. A slow stream of pink dripped from the bellboy’s shoes. “Did he just…?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan confirmed, eyeing the front of the bellboy’s sodden pants. I envied their ability to enjoy everything from Ynoomian festivals to black market interrogations. It was no wonder they got along so well with Fleetwood.
Matt glared at the pink puddle gathering beneath the bellboy. “Your flesh-eating urine won’t save you. So, why don’t you tell us everything you know.”
The bellboy bit his lip and sighed. “The Destyrian piece is up for auction in two days at The Zyssal. No one but potential buyers know exactly what it is, only that it’s drawing major attention, even from those who usually avoid Jol’pri.”
My breath caught in my throat; finally, a real lead on the cloak. I asked, “Is it already on the station?”
The bellboy shook his head. “Nothing’s safe for that long here, and they know it. It’s not set to arrive until the day of the auction, exactly two rotations of the station before bidding begins so potential buyers can inspect the wares. Impartial guards will be present.”
“And they’re going to randomize the arrival port that day,” Matt surmised. “So no one will know which empty hangar it’s arriving in until just before…”
“Making it virtually impossible to steal except for an impossibly small time window,” the bellboy confirmed, some of his swagger from before returning. “You have no idea who you’re up against, even if you do have a horde of Covlax backing you. This thing is so hot that even the worst mercenaries are afraid to go after it. I’ve worked this shithole for five sun cycles, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Matt released the alien, allowing him to drop into the pool of his own urine. Matt leaned in, intimidatingly close. “Do you remember our bargain?”
“Yes,” the bellboy whispered, his eyes darting toward the narrow exit between the containers.
“Good. Let’s drink on it,” Matt held out his free hand. I scurried over to scoop his cup from where he had left it near Ryan. “May you keep our bargain and your life.” He took a swig before raising the drink and an expectant eyebrow at the alien.
“Both are kept,” the alien said and lifted the cup to his lips. Matt grabbed the bottom of the cup and forced it upward, emptying its contents down the alien’s throat. The bellboy coughed roughly as Matt released him, shoving him toward the exit.
As the bellboy scurried out of sight, Matt spit onto the floor. “Ew. Don’t be a gross cis man,” Ryan chastized. They pushed away from the shipping container, slightly unsteady.
Matt crossed to us, holding out a hand to balance Ryan. He explained, “It was drugged.”
“Oh, God, are they all drugged?” I tipped my cup. “How did you know?”
Matt snatched my cup before I could dump it out. He took a long drink, swirled, and spit that out too.
“Because I drugged it,” Matt said. “You can’t trust anyone here. The threat of the Covlax will help, but there’s no way to know if he’s a hired mole or just a dumbass. Don’t worry,” Matt said when catching the shocked look on my face, “it’ll only give him a temporary bad trip, mess up his memory of recent events. When he looks back, if he can remember, he won’t be sure if we were hallucinations or not.”
“That’s cold,” Ryan commented, but it sounded more like an endorsement than a rebuke. “I don’t like that he brought up the Myax. Even with all of our precautions, it’s like they know we’re here.”
“Our ship is hardly subtle,” I said. “But we should alert the others and form a plan.”
“We can’t go back to the Gold Dust Wo’man,” Ryan said. “They’ll start to notice that the Covlax ambassadors came in a Destyrian ship. But we don’t know who could be listening in over comms.”
“I have an idea,” Matt said, leading us out from the shipping container. “Call Chester on the secure line and have him get the two ladies and meet us on the third floor, south wing. And, er, assure the tall one it’s not what it seems.”
Jarred that we were already speaking in code, I followed his directions, pretending to call Chester on my Ran’dyl but secretly using our most secure line, which was open only to the four of us on Vas Roya—our internal comms.
“Gretchen,” Chester seemed much too entertained for our current, potentially deadly circumstances, “do you know what’s on the third floor, south wing of the station?”
“No,” I trotted to keep up with Ryan and Matt as we skirted the periphery of the room, heading for the exit.
“Oh, baby girl,” Chester snorted, “this is going to be so good.”
“This is the best day ever,” Ryan rhapsodized as they flopped onto the bed, arms spread wide, “so many bucket list items getting checked off.”
Matt chuckled. His footsteps were silent against the cream carpet as he crossed the small, luxurious room to the bar cart. He uncorked a bottle of wine. “You’ve been in outer space for less than a week, and black market brothel made your bucket list? I’m impressed, Captain.” Matt brought the bottle to his lips and began to drink.
“Get up! You don’t know what bodily fluids are on there,” I hoisted Ryan off the mattress. I spun towards Matt, “And stop drinking that! We’re leaving!”
Ryan grumbled their disappointment, but Matt ignored me, continuing to drain the bottle lazily as he leaned against the wall. His brown eyes were pitched in shadow as they met mine. There was something hollow in his gaze I had never seen before. His interrogation of the bellboy had brought up bad memories. I reminded myself that my curiosity about Matt’s past had to take a backseat to my current mission.
Which was getting a minor out of a brothel.
“I cannot believe you thought this was an appropriate place for us to meet! Matt, come on, we’re—”
The door to the room slid open with a soft hiss. A gorgeous alien, dressed in a crimson robe that matched the velvet walls and sheets, entered. He was slender-hipped and golden-skinned, with facial features sharp enough to cut diamonds and eyes as luminous as headlights cutting through the rain. A tail like a whipcord trailed out from the hem of his robe. “Ah, humans, excellent. I love humans,” he said, his voice seductively low and slow.
Matt straightened from his slouch as the door closed. “Sorry, mate, not that kind of party.”
The alien tilted his head. “Have I done something wrong? My appreciation of your species is genuine. I meant no offense—”
“It’s not that,” Matt said, the vacant darkness I had spied moments earlier replaced with a gentle charm. “We’re just more interested in the privacy of your quarters than in other potential services.”
“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” the alien continued, prowling towards Matt with such clear intent I almost fanned myself.
The door slid open again, and Chester, accompanied by two exceptionally tall, strange human men, entered. They were all dressed in remarkably boring brown suits. Chester had a messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. It was odd looking at two utterly forgettable faces and knowing that it was Azo’lah and Fleetwood, wearing their perception distorters, standing before me.
“Like I said,” Matt’s smile widened as he gestured toward the new arrivals, “not that kind of party.”
“Party?” asked the shorter of the strange men in Fleetwood’s voice. “But I did not dress properly for that!”
The golden alien’s mask of seduction fell, replaced with blatant curiosity as he studied the new arrivals. “I’ve never seen this many humans in one place before.”
Azo’lah stepped forward, holding out a bag that jangled the sweet tune of J’olpri credits. “I don’t think you saw this many humans here. In fact, I don’t think you saw anyone here at all. Did you?”
He contemplated Azo’lah’s words for a moment before snaking the bag from her grasp and tucking it into a hidden pocket in his robe. “It’s such a shame when a client gets cold feet before you arrive at your chambers.” He sighed wistfully, “Whatever shall I do with the next hour before my next client?”
“It was lovely to meet you!” Fleetwood waved with both hands as the sex worker exited the chambers. He returned Fleetwood’s wave with a cheeky wink and flick of his tail before the door slid shut, leaving just the six of us awkwardly clustered around the bed.
“Interesting choice for a meeting space,” Chester remarked as Azo’lah and Fleetwood deactivated their perception distorters. Human men disappeared at the drop of a hat leaving Destyrian women in ugly brown suits.
“It was the best choice on a staggeringly short list of not great options,” Matt defended, taking another glug from the wine bottle.
“Not knocking it,” Chester said as he gingerly sat on the very edge of the bed and removed a modified tablet from his bag. He touched his Ran’dyl to the tablet, establishing a connection, and began tapping away. “Just never thought I’d partake in a mission briefing in a brothel.”
“Isn’t it awesome?” Ryan plopped down on Chester’s left. I fought the urge to yank them both to their feet. Why was I the only one concerned with the cleanliness of the mattress?
“How was the interrogation? You all look unharmed,” Azo’lah said brusquely as she scanned all three of us.
“We’re fine,” I replied with a tight smile as I moved to stand on Chester’s right. “Matt got us the information we need.”
“Tell us everything,” Fleetwood requested, mimicking Ryan from earlier and tossing herself across the bed.
Matt quickly relayed the bellboy’s information, conveniently skipping over the threats of violence and the drugging. I felt a brief nudge at the front of my mind and met Azo’lah’s eyes across the room. Gretchen? she asked. I quickly rearranged my features to something more neutral. My stomach knotted at the mere thought of talking about my concerns for Matt with Azo’lah.
Later, I promised her, refocusing on the 3D schematic of J’olpri now projecting from Chester’s Ran’dyl. God only knew where he’d unearthed that from.
“You are correct in your assessment that our ship is too conspicuous, Captain,” Azo’lah said. “We should dock and secure the Gold Dust Wo’man on a station on the other side of the moon and use a more inconspicuous shuttle to go back and forth.”
Ryan nodded. “It isn’t ideal, but we will make do.”
“None of this is ideal,” Chester scratched at his neck, “even though it makes perfect sense to have the cloak on J’olpri for the shortest amount of time possible.”
“Oh, you don’t trust all of these upstanding criminals not to attempt to snatch it?” Matt asked mockingly.
Ryan said, “We’re the most upstanding ones here, and we’re the ones planning on snatching it.”
Fleetwood held up her hand, which Ryan immediately slapped.
Azo’lah began to pace. “Only two station rotations before the auction is set to take place. That is not much time to act.”
“It’s less than two hours. But the only real window of time we’ll have to take the cloak is in between when it arrives and when it gets to the auction house, which’ll be about fifteen minutes. Otherwise, it’ll be not only guarded but on display, which means too many eyes,” Chester mused, his fingers tapping away at his tablet. “We’d have to fight our way out.”
Azo’lah perked up at that possibility.
“So we take it on the loading dock,” Ryan reasoned, their eyes dangerously distant.
“What are you thinking, Captain?” Matt asked.
Ryan tapped a rapid tattoo against their knees. “I’m thinking the best way to get the cloak is to let people know we want the cloak.”
“You want people to know? Then they’ll just be watching us closer—oh!” Chester bit his lip in understanding. “It’s a distraction, like a magician.”
“Abracadabra,” Fleetwood agreed.
“Exactly,” Ryan stood and traced Azo’lah’s well-paced path. “Gretchen and I will maintain our covers as ambassadors of Vicerenne Tov-ri, make a lot of noise about our interest in the cloak, keep all eyes on us while you all actually take back the damn thing!”
Azo’lah tilted her head back and forth. “It is a good idea, but does it not feel a bit obvious? Let’s not forget we’re attempting to steal from a bunch of thieves.”
“It’s a pretty basic grift, sure,” Ryan conceded.
I pressed the heel of my palms against my closed eyes. Maybe, if I pressed hard enough, I could suppress my guilt at all of the morally gray things I’d allowed my seventeen-year-old Captain to partake in today. I asked, “How do you even know what a grift is?”
“TV,” Ryan replied. “Plus, we can make it better. There are six of us, which means we can break into three teams, do a grift within the grift.”
Chester’s brows rose playfully. “A grift-ception.”
“A grift within a grift?” I asked. Even with our crew’s considerable skills, this was starting to feel like more than we could handle.
“As the Captain says,” Azo’lah continued, “you will maintain your Covlax covers and, when the auctioneers become suspicious, we give them what they’re looking for.”
“Crooked crooks,” Fleetwood said.
Matt smiled. “What about a tech genius and a pilot for hire?”
Fleetwood solemnly surveyed Matt, then Chester. “I guess you’ll do.”
“Perfect,” Ryan said, “but before any of this has happened, the cloak will already be in the possession of two non-descript dockhands, who happened to come in for some extra work that day.”
“Dockhands?” I asked.
Azo’lah wordlessly activated her perception distorter, the bland human man appearing before us once more.
I pointed at her disguise. “That guy works in the loading dock?”
“No,” Chester said, tapping away at his tablet furiously, “but if I can get access to the mainframe, I’ll have lists of who works where. It’ll be easy to upload the likeness of anyone we want into the distorters for Azo’lah and Fleetwood.”
Fleetwood hopped off the bed. “Undercover motherfudger!”
“Hold up a minute,” Chester interrupted Fleetwood’s celebration, his typing becoming more aggressive as multiple windows of code popped up beside the holographic J’olpri. “This all hinges on me having access to the mainframe, which I can’t get because J’olpri’s mainframe doesn’t allow for remote access, which means I need to hack it physically.”
“Smart,” Ryan said.
“Even smarter, it isn’t located on the station,” Chester continued. “And no one knows where they ke—”
“I know where it is,” Matt interrupted.
Chester’s furious typing halted, as did Ryan’s pacing.
Fleetwood skipped over to him and grabbed his hands. “Truly, bluely?”
He smirked. “Truly bluely.”
“How?” Chester asked.
“Let’s just say I flew some blokes out here while being chased by some other bastards, and we ended up taking cover in...you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Matt ran a hand through his curls. “I just know where it is. Chester, would you mind pulling up a map that also includes the moon and the surrounding docking stations.”
Chester nodded. The hologram of J’olpri station shrank into the shadow of its moon. Around J’olpri, ships ferrying criminals, and questionable goods, swarmed like bees to a hive. Nearby were multiple docking stations for the ships too large to dock at J’olpri or, for crews like us, who were trying to cover their tracks. From what I understood, the docking stations housed their own smaller, slightly less seedy markets.
Matt walked up to the projection. He poked his index finger through a medium-sized station. “Figos.”
“Figos?” Chester said dubiously. “Really?”
“Yes, Figos.”
“Will someone please tell me what the hell Figos is before the word loses all meaning?” I asked.
Fleetwood thrust her fists high, “It’s where jacks hit you twenty-one times, and you take craps! I want to go!”
“Figos is a casino?” I guessed. “Seems like a strange place to keep the controls of the universe’s most prolific black markets.”
“Not when you consider the security they have in place to protect the monetary assets on-board,” Matt refuted. “Chester, if I can get you into the same room as the mainframe, can you get us whatever it is we need?”
“Security access, port entry lists, door codes,” Azo’lah listed off. “Names of who all is here to bid on the cloak—”
“Who these mysterious impartial guards are,” Ryan added.
Chester nodded at Matt. “If you can get me in, I should be able to hack it. And once I’m in the system, we should have access to everything.”
“Azo’lah should go with you guys.” I looked pointedly at Azo’lah, somewhat surprised she hadn’t volunteered herself already. Her secret technopathy made her ideal for this mini-mission. Not to mention that after our interrogation of the bellboy, I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable sending Chester off on his own with Matt.
“No,” Ryan waved off my suggestion. “Even with the perception distorter, Azo’lah draws too much attention. If we want Matt and Chester to slip in and out of Figos undetected, it’s best if it’s just them.” They clapped their hands together. “Alright, everybody, pack up. Let’s go and move the Gold Dust Wo’man.”
“Wait, wait.” I held up my hands in the Earth gesture for ‘time-out.’ “So we’re moving ahead with this? Even though we know Sadrilla has eyes on us? This plan feels…it doesn’t feel like a whole plan yet.”
“So pretty on-brand for us?” Chester returned his tablet to his bag as Fleetwood and Azo’lah donned their distorters.
Ryan and Matt led the way out of the room, with Chester and Fleetwood following closely behind. Azo’lah stood by the door, waiting for me. “Myaxi?”
I shook out my shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the dread smothering me. “Sorry,” I apologized and stood, “I’m coming.”
“You do not need to apologize for being concerned about our safety,” Azo’lah said. “But remember, we will all take care of each other.”
That did make me feel better.
“We will take care of each other,” I said as I exited into the hallway, “and we’ll get the cloak back.”
Azo’lah’s smug smile would have made Shockley proud.
“This is weird.” I glanced up at Azo’lah and cringed. “I don’t think it’s ever going to get less weird.”
Azo’lah was once again disguised by her perception distorter as a nondescript man. She asked, “Is this disguise not suited to your taste?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I get it. All humans are ugly in your sight.” I would not give Azo’lah the satisfaction of knowing her normal appearance was vastly preferable to this one. I adjusted my newly acquired Covlaxi hood. Upon hearing about Ryan’s hastily concocted cover-story for us, Fleetwood dove into her closet and produced two dark cowls, which were close approximations to what diplomats from Covlax wore.
I attempted to survey the dock we were on with an air of disinterested superiority.
You are not— Azo’lah’s thought flashed across my mind but went unfinished. I dislike this, she sent.
What? I feigned stretching my back so I could look at her. She pressed her hand to the wall of the dock, her brow wrinkled in consternation that would have looked fierce on Azo’lah’s face but looked comical on her distorter’s.
This station was made and maintained by so many different species that the technology is varied and forced together in most cases. It is hard to connect with and—
The roar of engines overpowered all noise in the hangar. Dockworkers, all dressed in bland work coveralls, swarmed into the space, preparing to unload the latest cargo. Azo’lah shrunk back into the shadows of crates stacked behind and to the left of me. I activated the 3D camera on my Ran’dyl and propped my forearm on the crate next to me as casually as possible.
Despite not knowing what dock the cloak would arrive on, Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Ryan, and I were staking out a couple of cargo unloadings. We were trying to get a better idea of the procedure so that Fleetwood and Azo’lah could more easily blend in tomorrow. It was an errand that Ryan and I could have handled. The cousins’ insistence that they accompany us was clearly based on boredom rather than necessity.
I felt the transitory sparking twinge, which indicated that my internal communications had been activated. Gretchen. Azo’lah’s technopathic message was jagged with distress.
“You have no business here,” a high-pitched voice remarked. Ah, I thought as goosebumps broke out down my arms. There was the reason for Azo’lah’s alarm.
Sadrilla was beside me, uncomfortably close. The dock’s landing lights played off the tattoo that climbed like ivy up her neck and throat, making it shine like fresh ink on pink parchment. I inhaled, fighting the bone-deep urge to run, and imagined this was how gazelles swarmed by a pride of lions felt.
I slowly turned to the most recently landed ship, trying to look for Azo’lah without being obvious about it. “Is this your shipment that just came in?”
“No,” she said, her voice like the tinkling of bells. For all my crewmates’ descriptions of Sadrilla’s murderous escapades, I hadn’t expected her to sound like a cartoon princess.
“Then you have no business here either.”
Don’t antagonize her, Azo’lah cautioned.
“Let me be frank,” Sadrilla toyed with the tails of her turquoise braids, her lavender eyes trained on me, “I am well aware of who you are and what reasons you may have to be here.”
“I wasn’t aware I had a reputation to precede me, but okay.” I tugged demonstratively on my hood. “I’m here representing the Covlax—”
“You are here, Gretchen Borowicz, archaeologist of Earth, for two reasons. Neither of which accommodates my needs.”
“Sorry about it.” I blanched, having not meant to say that at all. But Sadrilla was so, so close, leaning into my side, one strong hand wrapping around my neck. Her thumb dug into my pulse point.
Azo’lah! I sent across our mental link.
I see you, I’m here, Azo’lah replied.
“You’re here with Fulyiti Kezira, which means at least one Myax, most likely Azo’lah,” Sadrilla’s lip curled into a vicious snarl, “is somewhere on this station.” I swallowed, aware of the tendons in my neck in a way I’d never been before. Sadrilla’s gaze danced over my shoulder as she continued, “Or maybe in this hangar. Perception distorter, probably.”
“And?” I prompted, trying to figure out how she knew so much.
“You’re either here to steal the cloak or bring me in. Both actions have consequences.”
“Which are deadly, I’m assuming?” I choked out with a wheezing, awkward, terrified laugh. I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth. Sadrilla’s hand tightened and twisted me around, forcing me up against the crate. The movement was so fast, it painfully pinned the arm that I had been resting on behind me as Sadrilla pressed in. I bit back the sound that attempted to claw its way out of my throat as agony shot through my elbow.
I’m coming, Azo’lah said.
No, I shot back frantically. You can’t blow your cover.
Sadrilla was only a few inches taller than me, which made it far too easy to stare into her cold, hardened gaze. “Of course,” she confirmed, her lips ghosting along my cheek. For an insane moment, I thought she was going to kiss me, and my lungs contracted around too little air. “Rumor is you’re smart, Gretchen. So, I hope you’ll live up to the hype and listen when I tell you to get the hell off this station. Because if not, you’ll resemble a Covlax victim instead of an ambassador.”
I jerked as the unexpected, rough, wet drag of her tongue ran across my skin. “I forgot how much I liked the taste of human fear,” she murmured. She drew back with a smile that made me want to scrub myself raw. She released me. “Farewell, Myaxi.”
Despite the terror-spiked adrenaline surging through me, I bristled at the way she sneered the title. I let her walk away without saying anything because I wasn’t quite sure I was capable of speech anymore. Once she’d left through the docking bay’s mammoth doors, I yanked the sleeve of my shirt over my hand and used it to wipe my cheek, trying to ignore how my whole body shook.
A palm skimmed my back as someone passed by, and I jumped, clapping my hands over my mouth to muffle my strangled shriek. I whirled, finding only the nondescript man Azo’lah was disguised as, staring disinterestedly at the sand-colored ship in front of us.
Are you alright, Myaxi? Azo’lah looked briefly but pointedly at the hands I had twined, white-knuckled in the excess fabric of my hood.
Would you be after being treated like a human tootsie pop? I shot back.
No, I would not. Let’s go back to the ship. Azo’lah turned to leave the hanger, and I, at a careful distance, followed.
I scrubbed furiously at my face with a soapy washcloth. In the mirror, my skin reddened further. I could still feel Sadrilla’s hot breath wafting across my skin, her coarse tongue lapping at my cheek.
I rinsed the washcloth and returned it to my face.
There was a sharp rap against my bathroom door. “Myaxi,” Azo’lah called gently.
“I’ll...I’ll be out in a minute,” I replied, pressing the washcloth to my cheek. It covered half of my reflection, just like Sadrilla’s tattoo-covered her face. I dropped the cloth as though scalded.
“Myaxi,” Azo’lah reiterated a strange edge to her voice. “I have been waiting in your room for half an hour.”
“Fuck.” I was not ready to interact with anyone yet. Knowing I needed to be somewhere I felt safe, Azo’lah had shuttled me back to the Gold Dust Wo’man following my confrontation with Sadrilla. I had isolated myself in my quarters since. Even though I had taken my meds and employed all of my coping mechanisms, I still felt too big for my body, like my bones would expand and rupture their fragile casing.
My breaths were too short, my skin too hot, and Sadrilla still lingered, like a physical presence.
“Gretchen,” Azo’lah said, “has your darkness not relented?”
“No,” I gripped the edge of the mosaic-lined sink. I hated how easily she pried honesty from me.
“May I come in?” Her voice was tight with a concern I’d only ever heard in dire situations.
“Yeah, sure. I guess. I’m fine, though.”
The door dematerialized. Azo’lah walked in, skillfully navigating around where I had abandoned my Covlaxi cowl in a pool of black fabric. She stopped with two feet left between us, her navy eyes scrutinizing me. Dressed in her crew spacesuit, her posture straight and sure, she stood out, sharp and refreshing, against the soft gray of the bathroom tiles and walls—like the only spot of color in a black and white movie.
“Don’t-don’t look at me like that,” I managed. “I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but I’ll be fine. It’s just my anxiety.”
“How is your arm?” she asked, gesturing to my elbow.
I cradled it to my body automatically. It had bruised nastily from Sadrilla’s man-handling, but there was no lasting damage. “No, I’m good.”
“Is there any way I can assist you?”
I shook my head. Azo’lah’s lips thinned. She surveyed my messy sink. My prescription bottle sat between a half-drunk glass of water and my toothbrush holder. The washcloth and soap were abandoned in the deep, curved basin.
Azo’lah shuffled her feet nervously. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No,” I blurted, faster than I could think. I wasn’t ready to be around other people because I didn’t want the pressure, however well-intended, to be alright. But just now, Azo’lah didn’t feel like pressure, nor like a safe harbor in a storm—instead, she was another ship out on the seas, riding out the roiling waves with me.
“Would you like for me to speak about something that brings you joy?” she offered. “We can discuss old, buried things or Sebastian? I believe Fulyiti Fleetwood uploaded videos of him onto my Ran’dyl.”
I smirked, stilling her hand as it moved to activate the device. “No, that’s okay. I appreciate the offer, though.”
“Would you feel better if I told you Chester and Matt have returned from Figos? Their mission was a success.”
My hand tightened around her wrist. “Why didn’t you start with that? When did they get back? Are they—”
“They are well, Myaxi,” she cut me off. “They were undetected. With Majumdar’s knowledge of its location, Chester successfully hacked J’olpri’s mainframe.”
“So we have access? To everything?” I asked, my heart lightening for the first time since my encounter with Sadrilla.
“Access codes, employee work schedules, security, dock entry lists,” Azolah listed. “We have all of it.”
I removed my hand from her wrist to gnaw at my thumb nail. “What about the impartial third party hired to guard the cloak?”
Azo’lah’s brow furrowed. “So far, nothing has been found in the system logs to indicate who will be bringing the cloak to J’olpri, but Chester is still running searches.”
“So the plan for tomorrow,” I said, “we’re still following through with it?”
“Captain Thorley, Fleetwood, Chester, and Matt are finalizing details in the conference room,” Azo’lah confirmed.
I reached for my washcloth, weaving the soft, damp material between my fingers. “Even knowing that Sadrilla and her team are here for the cloak, too?”
“She will not get close to you again,” Azo’lah reassured me, “and if she does, you will be with Captain Thorley. You won’t be alone. As long as we are smart and don’t take unnecessary risks, you will be safe tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I whispered, running my hand across my throat where Sadrilla had so casually gripped earlier. “I’m worried that I’ll lock up again around her. That, that I’ll see her, and choke. That I’ll just fail you guys again like I did today.”
“You did not fail us.” Azo’lah’s eyes blazed. “Without divulging any of our plans, you got Sadrilla to admit what she knew of us and of her own desire for the cloak.”
“That’s more because she was cocky than because of my awesome interrogation skills.”
Azo’lah set her hands on my shoulders. “No matter what your darkness tells you, Myaxi, you did not fail us today.”
The earnest understanding in her voice made me feel raw and vulnerable, seen in a way I was so often not. Any response felt insufficient, so I swallowed them all and nodded my appreciation.
“Do you wish to take more time here?” Azo’lah asked. Through the thin material of my shirt, I could feel the warmth of her fingers as they flexed against my upper arms. “You don’t need to join the crew in planning until you are ready. They understand.”
I cleared my throat and inhaled, filling my lungs to absolute capacity. I held the breath, counting down from seven, then exhaled slowly and deliberately. I was still anxious but more in control. “A couple more minutes, then I’ll be ready.”
Azo’lah nodded, released her hold on me, and stepped back. She gestured toward my room with a shoulder. “Would you like me to wait for you outside?”
“No.” I unthreaded the washcloth from between my fingers and set it at the edge of my sink. “You can stay with me.”
I fiddled with my Covlaxi cowl, adjusting the way the heavy hood fell across my shoulders. For a species renowned as warriors, it was unfathomable to me why the Covlax chose to wear such fussy garments.
Ryan stilled my hand. “Quit fidgeting.”
Their eyes skirted around the gilded, low-ceilinged showroom of The Zyssal auction house. Step one, entering the auction room, had been executed with ease. With Chester’s access to J’olpri’s mainframe, we had been added to the auction house’s invite list for the cloak’s authentication showing this morning. The moment Ryan and I had entered, every eye had fallen on us, and more importantly, on our cowls.
Whispers accompanied us as we regally strode to the refreshment table at the back of the room. We both grabbed crystal glasses filled with golden liquid but only pretended to drink from them as we eyed the aliens congregating along the fringes of the room, gossiping. More aliens interested in bidding on the cloak filtered inside, everyone avoiding the six rows of cushioned seating in the center of the room.
Ryan squeezed my shoulder, reassuringly. “We’ve got this.”
I wasn’t so sure they were right, but their confidence was a steadying force. We certainly looked the part in our understated dark clothes—Ryan had even slicked back their hair for the day, the look aging them considerably. In a bid to look more sophisticated, I had left my hair unbound for the occasion, and I was desperate to pull it back with the hair tie around my wrist. I reminded myself that it would be worth it when the cloak of the First Auhtula was back on Destyr, where it belonged.
I worried my hands together as I considered what came next. Step two: mingling and planting seeds of worry about potential thieves in the dock.
I wasn’t thinking too heavily about all of the ways step three, ditching our cowls and reconvening at our rendezvous point when everyone’s attention was diverted, could go wrong.
Ryan inconspicuously tapped at their wrist, activating their comms. I followed suit. My miniscule ear-piece tinkled to life.
“Everyone in position?” Ryan asked quietly.
“Ready and waiting, Captain,” Matt replied.
“We are hot to trot,” Fleetwood said. The thought of Azo’lah’s grimace, even while wearing a perception distorter, at that phrase made me smirk.
“We have confirmation of the cloak incoming,” Chester added. “T-minus three minutes.”
“Still no word on who’s aboard that ship?” Azo’lah asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Chester said. “They're insanely careful, sending comms through random back channels that I can’t trace and hack until after they’ve been sent and deleted. But, hey, at least I was able to figure out the right docking port!”
I flexed and clenched my empty hand, reminding myself that there was nothing to be worried about because, for the next half hour, I was not Gretchen Borowicz, Earth Archaeologist in space, but Gretchen, a dangerous and intimidating ambassador of the vicious Covlax Vicerenne. I raised my chin imperiously. “We’re going to start spreading rumors.”
Good luck, Myaxi, scrolled across my thoughts. I bit back my smile.
“Everyone stay on comms,” Ryan instructed, before projecting their voice, “The Vicerenne will not be pleased if these rumors are true.”
“Not pleased at all, Ambassador,” I agreed, matching their volume and nodding solemnly. “If the item is stolen before she even has a chance to bid on it—”
“Her wrath will be inescapable,” Ryan finished, sipping their drink. The group of aliens to our left edged closer to us, their conversation forgotten as Ryan continued haughtily, “One would expect these auctioneers to take extra precautions with such a priceless piece. Naturally, thieves will be tempted…” They trailed off enigmatically, draining their glass.
I winced. So much for pretending to drink the alcohol.
“Thieves?” asked a voluptuous, fuschia alien with a pulsating collar like a frill-necked lizard.
I rolled my eyes, forcing condescension into my voice as I said, “Have you not heard the rumors? Apparently, a human hacker and pilot-mercenary have plans to steal the cloak.”
The fuschia alien gasped, her frill fanning out. Her friends began chattering amongst themselves, one of them—a tall, pencil-thin being with tangerine skin practically ran across the room to inform those who were not close enough to eavesdrop.
“Bloody hell, Gretchen,” Matt said, “why not just give them my and Chester’s names while you’re at it?”
While they reached over the refreshment table for another glass, Ryan whispered, “The point is for them to go after you, Majumdar.”
“We have a ship incoming,” Chester interjected before Matt could continue to complain. “I repeat: we have confirmed ship incoming! Azo’lah, FleetMerc, you in place?”
“Thighs on the prize,” Fleetwood replied excitedly.
“We see it. The ship is a standard arms ferrier, no indication of her origin or occupants,” Azo’lah clarified.
Ryan continued to speak smoothly with the aliens who were still gathered around us, giving no indication that an entirely different conversation was happening in one ear. “We will be demanding a closer inspection when the cloak arrives on station. If these burglars are bold enough to attempt a robbery on J’olpri, who knows what attempts were made before it got here.”
Our job was to keep everyone in this room as distracted, confused, and outraged as possible. If we got the other potential buyers worked up enough, the auction house would have even more to deal with than the threat of thieves.
“You are quite correct, Ambassador,” I said, tilting my glass toward Ryan. “How do we know the cloak was not switched out for a fake in transit?”
Tension swept across the room as everyone assembled stopped pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.
In my right ear, Fleetwood announced, “Anchors away!”
“Who even decided upon these third-party guards?” Ryan asked, practically yelling at the room now abuzz with excitement. “Who knows if they can be trusted!”
“Here they come,” Azo’lah said. “They are—”
“Rat bastards!” Fleetwood huffed.
“Gretchen, Captain Thorley, get out of the auction house immediately,” Azo’lah said. Her tone sent ice down my spine.
“Holy shit, no,” Chester whispered. “Please, tell me the feed I’m watching is glitching.”
I flinched when Matt yelled, “Gretchen, Ryan, run!”
I lifted my glass to obscure my mouth as I hissed, “Guys, what’s wrong?”
“Get out now, Myaxi!” Azo’lah commanded. “The third-party guarding the cloak is the Covlax.”
My glass slipped from my numb fingers, spilling golden liquid all down the front of my counterfeit Covlaxi cowl.
The outrage of the aliens we had gathered around us died as my glass fell to the floor. It didn't break but emitted a crystalline tone akin to someone playing the water glasses very loudly.
“Forgive me,” I said into the ringing silence, “it’s been quite some time since I’ve tasted something so vile.”
An alien with snow-white skin that sparkled in the light murmured, “Since when is uloc from the Fourth Quadrant vile? Is it not one of the rarest vintages?”
Ryan took a measured sip from their glass. I hadn’t tried it, so I wasn't sure if it tasted as bad as the face they pulled indicated. “It is when you’re regularly served better by the Vicerenne,” they said, seemingly forgetting that the group around us had already watched them drink a full glass. Ryan dramatically overturned their glass. The golden liquid streamed, not onto the polished floor, but an equally shiny pair of dark brown loafers.
The alien wearing them was disturbing. He looked utterly human except for the fact that his skin was the yellowish-white color of aged parchment. His short, delicate silver hair was combed to the side. Bulging, watery eyes blinked slowly at us, and a second, inner eyelid followed the outer eyelid with a severe delay.
His face, though, looked like it was slowly melting as if his life force was a flame slowly burning away at his flesh. In his otherwise impeccable earth suit and red tie, he reminded me strongly of someone, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who.
He was known to the buyers, whose attention all snapped to him. “Director Glorp,” a glittering alien acknowledged the newcomer with an aristocratic nod of her expertly coiffed head. “Are we set to begin the inspection?”
“Very shortly now,” Director Glorp returned with a smile that was like an oil slick. It matched his drawling voice. “I just have to speak with the Covlax ambassadors for a moment.”
The aliens around us dispersed begrudgingly. We were immediately flanked by two guards wearing monochromatic black suits and carrying guns that, I’m pretty sure, were lethal. These guards were human-sized and nowhere near as large as the boulders that blocked the entrance.
“I’m Director Glorp, the head of auctions here at this fine, unparalleled establishment. But of course, ambassadors, you already knew that.” I was amazed that a part of my brain could even be distracted by the way his dripping skin wobbled when he talked, as the rest of it was consumed with the terrifying certainty that we’d been found out.
I glanced at Ryan for guidance or reassurance and hated myself for looking to a teenager to lead us out of this mess. They tilted a judgmental eyebrow and said, “And?”
“And it is unusual for your mistress to allow her soldiers to be hired as impartial guards for items that she is interested in acquiring,” Glorp replied. “So unusual that it has, indeed, never before happened. You must see that it’s incongruity has…drawn our attention.”
“Are you implying it is not the Vicerenne’s prerogative to change her mind?” I asked, forcing myself to look right into Glorp’s toilet-bowl-cleaner-blue irises.
“She may certainly do so.” Glorp reached beneath his chins to adjust the knot of his tie. “However, we must verify that this is indeed the case. The Covlax Vic is the head guard protecting the item. I am sure he will graciously illuminate us as to his mother’s thoughts. Until then,” he gestured with a gnarled, angular hand.
The guards closed in, one meaty hand wrapping around my bicep.
Gretchen, Azo’lah’s message flashed across my mind. We’re tracking the Covlax, they are almost to you. You must leave.
I’m sort of being held prisoner, I thought back. A glyph flashed across my mind. Probably, an ancient Destyrian curse. They said the Covlax Vic is coming? Who the hell is he?
He is Vicerenne Tov-ri’s heir, Azo’lah replied.
Shit. I wasn’t sure how long Ryan’s and my lies would survive when confronted by the Covlax’s equivalent to a prince.
We’re coming, Azo’lah promised.
My stomach sank with the knowledge that whenever back-up came, it would be too little too late.
The metal door slid open, and through it stepped a tall, humanoid alien. His lithe, powerful muscles were covered by studded, leather-like armor that fit so well it looked like it had been painted on. His features were as sharp as the knife strapped to his arm and highlighted by his glossy black undercut. Over his shoulders, he wore a cowl like ours, but the fabric shimmered like black water. He was handsome if you were into the color teal and someone who looked like a weapon personified. Which, I was beginning to realize, might be my type.
Behind him were three Covlax women and a metal crate that held the cloak suspended between them. They were the first alien women I’d seen who surpassed Azo’lah’s musculature. Covlax women were built like broad, impenetrable brick shithouses. Like their prince, they had the same angular features and dark undercuts. As they moved towards us, I realized the Covlax had tails. The prince only one, but the women had five—long with forked stingers at the end.
“Kinky,” Ryan breathed next to me. I smacked the back of my palm against their arm in reprimand.
“Director Glorp,” the Vic greeted as he drew level with us. He blocked my view of the other Covlax, who were guiding the gleaming box to the center-front of the room where it would be displayed. To be this close to the cloak…
Azo’lah—
No, came the immediate reply.
“Your highness. It is an unspeakable honor.” Glorp bobbed his head sycophantically, jowls swaying.
The Vic barely moved his hand, but the guards released us and took several steps back. One of the Vic’s thick eyebrows ticked upward. “What’s this?” His voice was poisoned coffee—rich, dark, and deadly. “Mother said nothing about dispatching ambassadors here.”
Welp. Fuck.
“That’s what I thought—” Director Glorp’s next words were nothing but a choked gurgle. Ryan had both hands wrapped around his tie and pulled.
The Vic looked on, mildly impressed. “Perhaps you are our ambassadors after all.”
“No such luck,” I said and pushed the flailing auctioneer into the Covlax Vic right as Ryan let go. The odd pair toppled to the floor.
“Run!” Ryan cried over the flurry of gasps, and startled screams as one of the Covlax women came towards us.
Ryan darted under her outstretched arms, while I dove left, right behind the two remaining guards. The cloak was there in the unlidded crate between them. Impulsively I lunged for it. A forked-stinger buried itself deep in my arm. I stumbled backward, a shocked scream ripping out of my throat at the sudden agony. Not to mention the horror of seeing two, four-inch stingers stuck in my skin. The Covlax were still facing forward, expressions impassive. They didn’t even need to move to protect the cloak. But, if I could just reach—
“Gretchen!’ Ryan shouted as they paused right in front of the rows of chairs, ripping off their cowl.
“Duck!” I shouted, abandoning the crate and running toward Ryan as one of the security guards threw a punch. I picked up a chair and swung it into the security guard. I tried to release it, but my injured arm was inexplicably numb.
“The venom is triggered by movement.” The Vic had emerged from under the gasping flesh pile that was Director Glorp. He slid into a fighting stance, drawing the very thick knife from his forearm sheath. He spun it in his hand so that the blade pointed downward.
I wanted no part of whatever horror-show he could inflict with that weapon.
“Absolutely not,” I said, tearing the cowl from my shoulders with my left hand, doing my best to look defeated. Ryan closed in on my right side.
The Vic straightened, his hold on his knife loosening. “It is a shame. You are exactly the kind of humans my mother loves to work with.” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was amused by everything.
“Sorry, but we’re not in the job market.” I hurled my cowl in his face. Ryan dove forward, jamming a stinger into the Vic’s shoulder. I looked down to find that my paralyzed arm was now bleeding profusely from a deep stinger-less hole.
Ryan grabbed me, and we both sprinted for the door. I yanked the other stinger free and lobbed it at the final security guard who had moved to block the entrance. He dove to avoid it, and the door slid sideways. I heard the Vic yelling, summoning reinforcements as Ryan and I dodged the boulder guards and sprinted down the corridor.
“Holy shit, that was awesome!” Ryan whooped as they caught me around the waist. “Don’t slip in your own blood, Gretchen!”