The Shrouds of Ynarr Part 1
“Brace yourself,” I warned, stepping protectively in front of the transport cart carrying recently acquired Destyrian antiquities. Sav’asa, my research assistant, shot me a concerned look. I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Chester approached the door, a tentative hand held out to activate its dematerialization mechanism.
“Chester! Gret’chen! You’re home,” Fleetwood Mercury, the planet Destyr’s most eccentric princess, shrieked. She cartwheeled across the rainbow-tiled foyer of her suite. The many layers of her sparkling skirt swirled like the waves of the jade green sea that winked at us through her floor-to-ceiling windows as she traversed toward us.
Chester stumbled inside, balancing the heavy container he’d carried from the docking bay. Sava’asa and I followed, the transport cart bumping against our shins.
“FleetMerc, careful,” Chester said as she landed before us, arms already extended. “Fragile tech, remember? What was so important that we couldn’t unload our stuff in Gretchen’s lair first?”
Fleetwood glanced at the cart, her eyes narrowing as she noticed it for the first time. “I missed you! That’s important. You were gone for ages!”
“Barely a week,” I reminded her, simultaneously exasperated and charmed. I helped Chester gingerly set down his container, which housed his latest project—a replica cylinder, like those found in the Temple of Aluthua. Chester returned to Vas Roya with me biweekly as I attempted to salvage as many artifacts from the Temple as possible. Auhtula Ty’uria had hired Sav’asa as my aide and provided a team of engineers to keep the temple from crumbling further. Chester spent his time attempting to duplicate the technology of the Ancients. Hopefully, his replica would allow us to read the bounty of record spheres we had brought back with us without risking potential damage to the original cylinder-technology.
Chester allowed Fleetwood to scoop him up into a hug. “We missed you, too,” he said, tightening his arms around her as she nuzzled the top of his beanie. “But since this detour was your doing, you get to help us cart all of this where it belongs after dinner.”
“Where’s Azo’lah?” I asked as Fleetwood released Chester and pulled me close. Since I permanently moved into the palace three months ago, she had gotten much better about not embracing us simultaneously, which usually resulted in our heads colliding painfully.
“She had an intelligence briefing. She will be done in time for dinner,” Fleetwood explained, turning her attention to Sav’asa. “Greetings, Sav’asa.”
Sav’asa, timid at the best of times, shrank beneath Fleetwood’s attention. She bowed deeply. “Greetings, Fulyiti Kezira. May the seven stars light your path.”
“Please call me, Fleetwood Mercury. Will you be joining us for dinner?” Fleetwood asked brightly, pressing her forehead to Sav’asa’s in friendly greeting.
Sav’asa’s nervous gaze skirted to me as she toyed with the end of her dark braid.
“You’re welcome to stay,” I said hurriedly. I was still learning the nuances of Destyrian culture, so I wasn’t exactly sure why Sav’asa was always so tongue-tied around me. I assumed that my alien-ness made her somewhat uncomfortable.
Sav’asa’s chin dipped, her mouth ticking up slightly. “I am honored by the invitation, Fulyiti, but I wish not to impose. I will take the orbs down to storage,” Sav’asa laid a six-fingered hand atop the crates, “and return home for my evening meal.”
“Are you sure?” I asked but was distracted from her answer as a black ball of fluff darted toward me. “Bash!” I scooped my cat into my arms and pressed my cheek against his head. I knew Fleetwood spoiled him rotten while I was away, but it didn’t stop me from missing him.
“Hey, Sebastian,” Chester greeted, scratching Sebastian under his chin. “How was your week, buddy?”
“It was splendiferous!” Fleetwood proclaimed, bouncing on her heels. “We played, and we napped, and he was gifted the napkit—”
“Catnip,” Chester corrected softly.
I turned to reiterate the invitation to dinner, only to find Sav’asa, the cart, and the crates already gone. In the time it took me to greet Sebastian, she had performed the Destyrian rendition of an Irish goodbye.
Before I could ask why no one had stopped her, the door to Fleetwood’s suite dematerialized again.
“We have found him,” Azo’lah announced, striding into the room. She had not changed out of her ceremonial uniform, a pearlescent, long sleeve tunic, and pants embroidered with the Myax oath. Her hair, recently unbound from the look of it, caught the light as it fell over her shoulders.
Sebastian leaped from my arms to wind his way between Azo’lah’s ankles in welcome.
“Hello to you too, favorite cousin!” Fleetwood drawled sarcastically. “Greetings, Gret’chen Myaxi and Favored Chester. How was your day, my dearest doves? I missed you ever so greatly.”
“It’s only been two hours, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah argued as she pressed her forehead against her cousin's.
“For us, yes,” Fleetwood agreed, pulling back and shoving Azo’lah toward Chester and me, “but it has been years since we have seen Gret’chen and Chester.”
“A week,” Chester said as Azo’lah perfunctorily repeated the greeting for both of us. I blushed as she drew away, still not quite used to the intimacy of everyday interactions on Destyr. Destyrian’s were exceptionally tactile. Touch was not limited to significant others or family members. While most Destyrians were still hesitant around me, the longer I stayed, the more they treated me as one of their own.
“Is dinner almost ready?” Chester led the way into the private dining room. The cranberry wood table with mosaic inlays was just big enough for the four of us, plus an occasional guest, or Sebastian, who commandeered the extra seat if it was unoccupied.
“Soon, my love,” Fleetwood promised as she skipped to the bar cart and began pouring a decanted bottle of quapir wine into four glasses. The early autumn breeze, heavy with minerals from the sea, slipped through the open windows and lazily stirred Fleetwood’s feathered bangs as she asked, “How are the Ancients? Did you tell them I missed them?”
I accepted the generously full glass she presented me and took my usual seat at the table. “The Ancients aren’t—”
“I said, we found him,” Azo’lah repeated from where she stood, framed by the dining room entryway. Her eyes were narrowed, her mouth twisted downward. She was clearly expecting more of a response to her statement. I eyed her over the rim of my glass, hiding a smile. There was little to tease Azo’lah about, so we always took advantage of any opportunity to do so when it presented itself.
“I didn’t know you were interested in men, let alone actively looking for one,” Chester said as he shuffled behind Fleetwood to take the seat across from mine. Wine leaked from the corner of my mouth as I tried, and failed, to stifle laughter at the look of revulsion that contorted Azo’lah’s face.
“Perhaps she found your future spouse, Chester?” Fleetwood joked, passing Chester his wine.
Azo’lah’s eyebrow arched. “Unless Chester is planning to bind himself to Maximillian Danger Shockley, I do not think so.”
That got my attention.
“I use tools in my lab, I refuse to date them,” Chester retorted.
I asked, “Shockley? You found Shockley?”
Azo’lah nodded, beaming with triumph.
“Do we know if he has the cloak? Hey!” I protested as Azo’lah snatched my wine. She sat in her chair, staring at us imperiously. I was sharply reminded of the regal bearing of the statued sarcophagus of the first Auhtula, Azo’lah’s ancestor from whom she’d inherited her technopathic powers. Powers only she and I knew about.
“He was spotted in the pleasure district of Ketheno.” If the words pleasure district hadn’t set off an internal red alert, the way Fleetwood Mercury’s whole body suddenly illuminated with excitement certainly did. “Since there has been no alternative lead since eight star-cycles ago,” Azo’lah continued, “which was only Makosh smugglers with a tapestry—”
“It was a precious ceremonial artifact to the Makoshi people!” I interjected.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Chester grabbed Fleetwood’s hands.
“Wait, what does this mean?” I asked over Fleetwood and Chester’s outbreak of excited squealing.
“That it is time for us to question the Dangerous Ones ourselves,” Azo’lah leaned back, stretching out her long legs. “Auhtula Ty’uria has already given her consent.”
“OFFWORLD INTERROGATION NATION ROAD TRIP!” Fleetwood crowed. She jumped to her feet, pulling Chester with her. The two began an impromptu victory dance, a bastardization of renaissance country dancing and salsa to the repeated chant of “Off-world roooaaaad trip, off-world roooaaad trip, off-world ro—”
I looked at Azo’lah. “When you say pleasure district...what kind of pleasure are we talking about?”
Azo’lah smirked at me and took a deliberately goading sip of my wine. “What kind of pleasure do you think, Gretchen?”
My cheeks burned as the kitchen porter entered the dining room, balancing platters of roasted meat and vegetables on his hands and forearms. “Guys, dinner,” I called to distract from my embarrassment. Chester and Fleetwood disentangled themselves and resumed their seats while Azo’lah began serving herself.
Once our plates were full, I asked, “So, when are we heading to whatsitsname—”
“Ketheno,” Azo’lah supplied, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “We will leave in the morning for an evening arrival. Since the Killer Qu’een is not equipped with a fusion drive, I’ve requested the Gold Dust Wo’man be readied.”
Cheeks bulging with vegetables, Chester’s attention alighted on Azo’lah. His eyes glistened with excitement. “Please tell me I get to fly her!”
“I suppose,” Azo’lah agreed begrudgingly, “though you must promise not to attempt to use the fusion drive and the thrusters simultaneously. Last time you did that, we were all nauseated for an entire star-cycle.”
My stomach clenched at the memory.
“You guys were fine,” Chester bristled. “Plus, there are no speed limits in space.” Beneath our triplicate glare, he gave in. “Fine. No thrusters and fusion drive.”
“I am sorry, favored one, but it still promises to be an excellent adventure,” Fleetwood said, leaning over to kiss Chester’s cheek and pile his plate with more meat. “Chester will get us there, and Azo’lah will make the plan for interrogating the Shockley. That means I shall spend this evening outfitting Gretchen’s wardrobe for the occasion.”
My fork clattered against the tabletop as I choked on my half masticated mouthful of half masticated dinner. I pounded on my chest and took a sip from my wine glass. “Fleetwood, no.” Fleetwood pointed her three-prong meat fork at me, her gold-lined eyes dancing with merriment. “Fleetwood, yes.”
Chester’s laughter bounced off the smooth, dove gray walls of The Gold Dust Wo’man, a self-made maniacal chorus that followed us down the corridor.
Deep in the throes of mirth, he tripped over his own feet and, to avoid face-planting, caught himself on one of my heavily padded shoulders. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he huffed, straightening up. Catching another head-on glimpse of my Fleetwood-styled ensemble, he bit his lip.
“It is not that bad,” I argued, adjusting the squashed shoulder pad in my heinous lime green blazer. The rest of the outfit wasn’t much better—silver hot pants, opaque tights decorated with dinosaurs, and a tie-dyed Allman Brothers Band t-shirt.
Chester, unfairly dressed in dress pants and a button-down, cupped my cheek and said, “Oh, sweet, naive Gretchen, it’s so, so very bad.”
I flicked a finger at the brim of his fedora—the only Fleetwood-selected accessory adorning his body—and hissed, “At least I’m completely covered. And I won the hair and makeup battle.”
The original outfit presented to me had involved a bralette, high heels, no tights, and an unholy amount of glitter body.
“I would’ve taken the body glitter over a blazer with shoulder pads,” Chester snorted.
I tapped his Ran’dyl. Usually attached to his beanie, it was now affixed to the fedora. I called, “Oh, Fleetwood!”
Chester slapped the pin. He hissed, “Comms off,” curtailing Fleetwood’s enthusiastic reply. Even though we could communicate through our implants due to the modifications made at the Temple of Aluthua, we had decided, for secrecy’s sake, only to use that ability when we were on missions or in grave danger.
Chester smoothed the shoulders of my blazer and straightened the hem of my t-shirt. He cleared his throat and said, solemnly, “I apologize for my callous laughter. This outfit is fine and normal, and any sane human would be happy to wear it. The sparkly T-rex tights really set off the fringe on the back of the blazer.”
“That’s what I thought,” I replied. I looped our arms and tugged Chester down the cavernous corridor.
Traversing across several galaxies to Ketheno had, considering the distance, taken much less time than I’d anticipated. Chester had directed us through the stars as he listened to an audio-book he had translated and recorded for himself on Destyrian quantum mechanics with Azo’lah napping in the co-pilot’s seat. I attempted to organize the research I had been doing on the temple orbs but spent most of the trip being Fleetwood’s fashion guinea pig.
I felt winded by the time we reached the ship’s door. The Gold Dust Wo’man was much larger than the Killer Qu’een, and I had already gotten turned around twice. The interior walls were curved, the ceilings high, and every room was constructed to be acoustically perfect. She could carry a crew of over fifty and, according to Chester’s obsessive research, an unfathomably high payload. The ship was shaped like a golden, hollow ice cream cone, its fusion reactor suspended in the center.
“Took you long enough,” Azo’lah called as we approached. Her smirk promised imminent teasing as she peered down at me. The foot-and-a-half disparity between our heights still disoriented me at times. Yes, I told myself, my current state was due to our height difference and not the fact that Azo’lah was clad in a sleek, black one-piece that accented her sculpted musculature.
“I like that color on you, Myaxi.” She trailed her fingers down my sleeve. “Perhaps Fulyiti Fleetwood can commission a seamstress to make your entire work wardrobe in this exact shade.”
I scoffed. It was hard to tell sometimes whether or not Azo’lah was joking. “I will stab you in the eye if you suggest it.”
Azo’lah patted my head patronizingly, mussing my ponytail. “No, you won’t.”
“Maybe I won’t,” I agreed, as Chester lowered the gangway. “But, I will keep Sebastian from you.”
“You don’t have that kind of cruelty in you,” Azo’lah said, but she looked momentarily crushed by the mere idea of no more Sebastian.
Upon my return to Destyr, I had expected Fleetwood to be taken with my cat. But Azo’lah’s earnest exuberance for Sebastian had been an endearing surprise.
“Don’t test me,” I threatened as we deboarded. I thumbed my Ran’dyl. “Fleetwood, we’re leaving with or without you, so get down here—”
“The party has arrived,” Fleetwood shouted as she strutted down the gangplank like it was a Fashion Week runway.
“Oh, my ancient alien gods,” Chester said, mouth gaping, as we took in the spectacle that was Fleetwood Mercury. She wore zebra-striped lycra leggings and a ripped Ramones shirt that revealed her belly-buttonless stomach. Her arms were weighed down with stacks of silver bangles that matched the band of body paint framing her navy eyes.
Chester tilted his head and scrutinized her from overly-teased hair to her platformed shoes. “I hate that you’re making this work.”
“Right?” I agreed.
“Would you like to change, Gret’chen?” Fleetwood offered. “I have a pair of giraffe print leggings!”
Giraffe leggings were the only thing that could make my current ensemble worse. “No, thank you. I’m rather attached to the T. Rex tights.”
“Are we all done needlessly staring at each other now?” Azo’lah demanded, turning to leave. “We are here to do a job.”
Fleetwood stuck her tongue out at Azo’lah’s back. “Celebration defecator.”
I met Chester’s eyes, but he shook his head. “Choosing my battles.”
We had landed on the fringe of Ketheno, the only city on the ocean planet of Juthar. Ketheno sat on the largest island in a planet-wide archipelago. The city propped up the entire planet’s economy with a booming illegal market of drugs harvested from the scales, bones, and ink of the creatures unique to Juthar’s infinite seas.
My boots dug into black sand as the gangplank rose behind us. We trekked away from the churning, algae-stained ocean and into the city proper, ferried along by strong gusts at our backs. The buildings were short, round, and stout with domed roofs and few windows. From our research, I knew that the city was divided into four sectors: the fisheries, the manufacturing quarter, residential neighborhoods, and the pleasure district. The architecture’s homogenous nature made it impossible to distinguish the districts from one another, and eerily, the streets were empty.
“Why are all the buildings so similar?” I asked.
“The nightly gales,” Azo’lah replied. “The winds get so strong that anything higher would collapse.”
Chester asked, “Is the wind also why no one’s outside?”
Fleetwood wrapped her arm around Chester’s shoulders and leered. “The life is inside in Ketheno.”
Azo’lah stopped outside a building and consulted her Ran’dyl. “This is the establishment The Dangerous Ones are most known to frequent. This place is known for its depravity. Some have said they lost everything but their souls here.”
Chester released a low whistle. “Shit. Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Unimpressed, or still not quite understanding American sarcasm, Azo’lah continued, “Try to remain together, but if we are separated, remember, do not engage the Dangerous Ones alone. Fulyiti?”
Azo’lah waited for Fleetwood’s grudging agreement before knocking. The door ascended into the ceiling with a hiss like a leaking tire.
The building’s interior was a stark contrast to its dull facade, the perfect marriage of space-age and art deco. Richly pigmented fabrics upholstered the many booths and couches that were all arranged around a central bar. Chevron wall sconces illuminated the space with diffused light. A wide catwalk was suspended from the ceiling, where patrons were mingling while looking down at the small stage where a performer with mottled yellow skin, two mouths, and a dozen arms was playing a strange, complex-looking instrument.
“Oh my god, it’s a Speakeasy,” Chester gasped between wheezing laughs.
“Like in the periodic dramas,” Fleetwood confirmed.
I clutched at Chester’s wrist and checked the inner-pocket of my blazer for my meds. Having lived among only Destyrians for the last three months, I was excited to encounter other alien life forms. I thought I was ready. My rapidly escalating anxiety was telling me that I was not. I inhaled deeply, counting slowly as I got my breathing under control, my eyes scouring the room.
At a high-top table, sipping from highball glasses that held a viscous gray liquid, stood three aliens that would have passed as human men were it not for the extra set of arms that extended from their hips. Noseless, serpentine aliens with six legs claimed the far side of the bar. Their necks bulged like bullfrogs as they drank.
From my readings, I recognized a group of Liopals at a circular table near the musician. They were barely a foot tall with giraffe-like horns that protruded from the apexes of their green cheeks. I also spotted a large gathering of Xxoli—amorphous, blob-shaped aliens with no discernible features outside of their iridescent rainbow shine.
The catwalk tables were populated with a variety of winged aliens. Some were so miniscule they were only visible when they flit directly in front of a light source, their tiny silhouettes bounding across the walls like shadow puppets.
But the thing that truly drew my eye was the surprising number of humans present. A somber man downed jet-black shots at the bar. A pair of women wearing t-shirts emblazoned with ‘Nama-stay In Bed’ were sipping alcohol through bendy straws from an astronaut’s helmet.
In front of the stage, a group of heavily intoxicated humans was dancing terribly. One wore a chrome sash declaring her status as the bride-to-be.
Chester followed my gaze. “Oh, yeah, humans get sloppy no matter where they’re partying. Though,” he winced as the musician attempted to imitate a saxophone riff, “I wish it did not have to be to this soundtrack.”
“The Uli musicians are usually quite skilled, but this bard is terrible,” Azo’lah commented.
“Hella bad,” Chester said miserably. “Though I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on his slupna—” I turned my laughter into a sneeze. Chester rolled his eyes.“The slupna is the instrument he’s playing. They don’t make it on Destyr, and it is one of the only known instruments with a scale range—”
“Has anyone spotted Shockley?” Azo’lah interrupted.
I shook my head. “No, but in this crowd, with this many humans...”
Fleetwood perked up at my side. “Does that mean drinks?”
Azo’lah groaned. “I suppose while we look for The Dangerous Ones, it would not hurt to blend in and get one drink.”
Fleetwood latched onto my blazer and Chester’s shirt and beelined to the bar, crashing into it in her eagerness. The bartender, utterly human in appearance save for his single eye and triple-nostril nose, gazed up at her, unimpressed. The backlighting of the bar glinted ominously off the bar pierced through both of his septums.
Fleetwood held up four long fingers. “Befar, please.”
The bartender blinked slowly, his mouth quirked as he retrieved four glasses from below and filled them with clear, carbonated liquid from a metal bottle. He accepted Fleetwood’s payment by tapping her Ran’dyl against a pay station without telling her the total and disappeared down the bar to serve more customers.
I picked up my glass. “What is this?”
“Bad news,” an accented voice said before the glass was pulled out of my hand. Offended, I looked to my right. I got a glimpse of a human with a squarish face and a layer of black stubble before Azo’lah stepped in front of me. Doubly offended now, I stuck my head around Azo’lah’s back to glare at the man. I had been able to scare off men with my awkwardness since I could legally drink. I didn’t need extra help, thank you very much.
The man in question wore a royal blue button-down, which complemented his brown skin and brought out his dark brown eyes. Noticing that he was on the wrong end of Azo’lah’s glower, he held out the glass to her. She accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “Befar is toxic to humans,” the man explained. “It shuts down our kidneys within minutes of ingestion.”
He smiled as Fleetwood held up a glass to Chester’s mouth. Chester promptly spit out the swig he’d just taken into it. The stranger added, “I wasn’t trying anything with your friend, I swear.”
At Azo’lah’s unwavering silence, he tilted his head to match mine, jet black hair flopping over his forehead in round curls that mimicked the gentle lilt of his vowels when he spoke. “Let’s start over? I’m Matthew Majumdar. Matt,” he went to offer me a handshake around Azo’lah’s back but reconsidered. “Sorry for the confusion. I can recommend a few safe alternatives?”
Azo’lah glanced down at me. I nodded. She moved backward, downing my befar in one gulp. Fleetwood surged into the vacated space, a befar in each fist. She curtsied and said, “Fleetwood Mercury. What’s a sweet thing like you doing in a gin joint like this?”
“Looking for a no-good double-crossing thief I have business with,” Matt replied quickly, beckoning the bartender our way. I met Chester’s eyes, and we grinned. It seemed Matt, like most people, was not immune to Fleetwood’s unique charms.
“What a coincidence,” Chester said. “Us too.”
Matt ordered a round of non-toxic drinks and chasers, which resulted in four smoking shots being presented to us.
“What did your lying scoundrel do?” Fleetwood asked, eyes wide as she cradled her new drink close.
“Didn’t pay me for a mission I piloted. He even promised me double my usual rate,” Matt responded. “And like a fool, I believed him.”
Chester perked up. “You’re a pilot?”
“For hire, yeah,” Matt confirmed, as the bartender slid another line of drinks in front of us. “Well, I’d better keep looking for my thief.” He slid off of his stool, paying the bartender for our drinks. “It was lovely meeting you all. Enjoy your night.”
“Aw,” Fleetwood whined as she watched Matt disappear into the crowd. “I thought we’d made a new friend.”
“You just liked his British accent,” Chester said.
“We are not here to make friends,” Azo’lah reminded them. “We are here to find Shockley.”
“But first,” Fleetwood said, “a friendship blast.”
“Friendship shot,” I corrected, eyeing the smoking glass.
Fleetwood held her glass high. “To the highest-scoring intergalactic friendship squad!”
I was glad that I waited the moment it took me to translate Fleetwood’s toast because by the time I realized she meant ‘friendship goals,’ I was chuckling. Chester was less lucky and ended up laughing while downing his shot.
He slapped the empty glass onto the counter. Smoke exited his nose. He opened his mouth to speak but instead released a hacking cough.
“Chester, my Chester, are you well?” Fleetwood stooped to place her face in front of his, her hands gripping his shoulders. Chester turned so that he wouldn’t cough directly into Fleetwood’s face, covering his mouth with his elbow. His eyes widened, and his free arm flailed, slapping Azo’lah.
“Do you require medical attention?” she asked.
Still unable to speak, Chester pointed to the back of the Speakeasy. I followed the line of his arm to a rambunctious group of revelers that was cheering an arm-wrestling match. At their fore was a human man in tight black jeans and a leather jacket sipping leisurely from a tumbler.
Shockley.
Since I last saw him, I had forgotten how simultaneously douchey and heart-stoppingly handsome he was.
I took my smoking shot, cringing at the burn. I wiped my mouth and cracked my neck. “You guys ready?”
Fleetwood replied, “Born ready, baby.”
Chester nodded, attempting stoic, but still coughing horrifically.
I turned to our Myax. “Azo’lah?”
She smiled in a wolfish way that would’ve made me nervous for Shockley if I weren’t so interested in ripping him apart myself. Azo’lah waded through the crowd, her imposing height parting it easily.
Shockley missed our approach. His attention was so diverted by the arm wrestling match that Azo’lah had to tap him on the shoulder three times to get his attention.
“Myax,” he greeted Azo’lah, his grin tight. He brightened upon seeing Fleetwood.
At his back, the cheers became deafening as one of the arm wrestlers—a curly-haired woman wearing a denim jacket and a victorious smile—summited the table, arms thrust skyward, to the repetitive chant of “Carm the Arm!” I saw Tyler Bautista clapping his hands wildly and offering to purchase a drink for the winner.
Shockley, so enraptured by the festivities only a moment ago, stared intently at Fleetwood. “Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, what a wonderful surprise to see my most beloved Fulyiti so soon.” He winked. “Now tell me, why are you and your friends coincidentally in the same establishment as us on this most auspicious night?” It occurred to me then that Shockley had focused on Fleetwood because he thought she was the easiest mark. Clearly, being locked in a room with me had taught him nothing.
Fleetwood held out one elegant hand. Only the momentary widening of Shockley’s eyes betrayed his surprise before he brought it to his lips. Fleetwood smiled serenely and said, “I think you know why we’re here.”
“I haven’t the faintest,” Shockley returned. Fleetwood’s fingers, still resting in his palm, twisted, pulling him tight against her. Azo’lah immediately stepped up against Shockley’s back, caging him between the two tall Destyrians. He smirked. “Really, ladies, if this is what you’re interested in—”
“We know you swapped the real cloak with a fake,” Azo’lah said, her eyes ablaze with righteous fury. “And I’ll break your free hand if you even think of touching her.”
Shockley turned to look at me, supplicating, “Want to tell me what she’s talking about, Name Police?”
“The cloak of the first Auhtula!” I nearly shouted. “During our fight on top of the temple, you stole it! Swapped it out for a fake!” At his continued incredulous stare, I continued, “We know you didn’t take it to Pola like you were supposed to. For one, your ship’s signature never entered Destyrian airspace, and for another, Pola wouldn’t have kept her possession of the cloak secret for so long.”
Shockley’s eyes narrowed. “What in the name of all the gods of Fhakt are you talking about, Borowicz?”
“Shockley,” Chester said amiably. “You’re dumb in many ways, but I know you don’t have subpar comprehension skills.”
Shockley snorted and held up his free hand to stop us from flinging more accusations his way. “Let me see if I’ve got this,” he said. “You think that my team and I somehow distracted you with a fight on the top of that crumbling death-trap temple in a bid to trade out the cloak of the first Auhtula for a fake? A fake so good that none of you noticed a difference until much later? How would I have known what the cloak even looked like before that day?”
“There are many depictions of the first Auhtula,” Azo’lah argued, though her mouth’s stubborn set was softening. “You could’ve seen any of those and used them as a reference.”
“Even in surviving Ancient Destyrian art, the first Autula is depicted wearing several cloaks,” Shockley retorted, “No one knew what her supposedly super special one looked like before you somehow managed to get in that completely doorless room.” Shockley leaned back into Azo’lah’s chest and craned his neck to look up at her. “And if you ask me, that’s also an intriguing mystery.” I forced myself not to look at Azo’lah, praying Shockley wouldn’t notice the heat rising in my cheeks.
Fleetwood sang, “Liar, liar, pantaloons on fire!”
“Hanging from a tempestuous livewire!” Tyler Bautista finished for her as he finally spotted us. Like Shockley, he was dressed in all black except for a new, red snapback worn backwards. He had a drink in each hand. “There’s my favorite Destyrian princess. Yo, guys, what up? It’s been so long!” Tyler looked genuinely pleased to see us, his boyish smile was a beam of purest sunshine in the enshadowed Speakeasy. He held out his drinks to Fleetwood and me. “You need drinks?”
I held up my hand. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Please,” Fleetwood cried, accepting one.
“Tyler,” Shockley groaned.
“Oh,” Tyler said, noticing Shockley’s position sandwiched between Azo’lah and Fleetwood. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Not like you think,” Chester amended.
Azo’lah reached over Shockley’s shoulder, wrenching Tyler’s glass from Fleetwood’s mouth. “You do not accept drinks from our enemy!”
“Tyler’s my friend,” Fleetwood pouted.
“None of The Dangerous Ones can be trusted, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah hissed. “Or do you not remember the events of twenty binary cycles ago?”
“A minor disagreement,” Tyler said, finishing off his remaining cocktail.
“A minor...” I shook my head. “We all almost died.”
“But, we didn’t!” Tyler shrugged. “So, we’re allowed to be friends now, right?”
Shockley glared at us. “Frenemies at best. And only if they stop accusing us of stealing the first Auhtula’s cloak.”
Tyler squinted at Shockley, clearly confused. “Why would we steal that? We already failed. Oh, is that the new mission? To try again?”
Shockley gestured grandly at Tyler. “See! We don’t have it. We never did,”
Azo’lah grit her teeth. “That’s—”
“Think about it, Myax. Would we be here at the ass-end of the universe, in this shithole bar, drinking alcohol so toxic it can’t be sold on any other planet if we had Auhtula cloak money?”
“That’s true,” Tyler agreed emphatically. “If we had hella money like that, we’d be making it rain on Caspian.”
“What’s Caspian?” I asked.
“Caspian’s a space station in Messier 81. Shit is lit,” Chester explained.
Azo’lah pinched the bridge of her nose and valiantly attempted to regain control of the conversation. “If you didn’t steal the cloak and one we took home was a fake, that means…”
“Someone got to the Temple of Aluthua before any of us,” I finished. If someone got to the temple before us, then that someone was an Iz’waij with technopathic powers like Azo’lah. “But who?”
The furrows along Azo’lah’s forehead deepened. Our gazes locked for a moment. She murmured, “The likelihood of that...”
“Is insanely low,” Chester said. “But the temple was abandoned over nine thousand years ago. That’s a lot of time for a lot of beings to come along. It could’ve been taken right after the Ancients evacuated Vas Roya or the week before we got there.”
My stomach knotted up. “Oh, God, that means it could be anywhere. But why take one artifact and not the others?”
Shockley shrugged as Fleetwood finally released him. He sauntered over to me and tilted his down, so his lips brushed my ear when he said, “Who cares?”
I recoiled in outrage. “Who cares? The cloak is a priceless…” I trailed off when I took in his smug expression. “You asshole!”
“Oh, shit, it’s my song!” Tyler shouted. “This guy’s playing so many bangers tonight.”
The current overriding sound issuing from the Uli bard and his slupna was reminiscent of a harpooned moose. My taste in space music clearly was not on-trend.
Tyler grabbed Fleetwood’s and Chester’s hands. “Let’s dance!”
“Yes!” Fleetwood roared.
Chester blushed and stammered, “I mean...that’s...yeah.”
“Fulyiti, Chester, I don’t think...” Azo’lah called to their retreating backs. But it was useless as the trio were already joining the very welcoming bachelorette party on the makeshift dance floor.
Azo’lah scowled at their backs, then at me. “I cannot just entrust that she will be safe, especially in a place like this,” Azo’lah said, as she turned back to where Tyler and Chester were teaching Fleetwood the Electric Slide. She looked torn. “I must—”
“Go.” I pushed her gently. “I’ll be fine here.”
“I do not trust Shockley,” she hissed.
“Neither do I,” Shockley agreed blithely. I punched him in the bicep for his stupidity. “Dammit, Borowicz.”
I smiled, self-satisfied. “I’ll be fine, Azo’lah. Go.” She left, though she looked thoroughly displeased about it.
Shockley waved after her. “Shall we join them on the dance floor, Borowicz?”
I snorted. I had never wanted to dance publicly in my life. Ever. “Hell no.”
“Alright.” He picked up his empty glass. “How ‘bout a drink instead?”
“So,” Shockley sagged into the cushioned bench and swung a leg up onto our circular table, “how’s the dig on Vas Roya coming?”
My grip on my drink slipped. “How do you know about that?”
He steadied my glass, his eyes catching the dim lighting. The effect on his already handsome face was distressing. “I have my sources.”
“Let me guess, Nyc’arra found out from Auhtula Pola.”
Shockley clinked his recently refilled tumbler against mine. “Got it in one,” he confirmed. He slung an arm over the back of the small booth we were encased in, which gave us a view of Tyler, Fleetwood, and Chester executing a comical gyrating dance to the disturbing sounds of the slupna. “Man, I’d love to see your Myax cut loose.” I looked to where Azo’lah was stationed, sipping a drink while leaning against the wall, her eyes trained on our dancing friends. Sensing our attention, she turned to us for a moment, her glare scathing as Shockley saluted her.
“Speaking of Myax, where is Nyc’arra?” I asked.
“Making a very lucky someone’s night, I presume,” he replied.
“Are you into Nyc’arra?” I exclaimed. Now there was a pairing I never would’ve guessed.
Shockley raised an eyebrow. “No. She’s very attractive but I have a strict policy about not sleeping with my crew. Also, I’m pretty sure she’s still hung up on Azo’lah. Or consumed with murderous intent towards her...it’s hard to tell with Nyc’arra sometimes.” He smirked over the rim of his glass. “Besides, how can I look anywhere else when I’m next to a cutie rocking sparkly dinosaur tights?”
I kicked at his shin. “You’re such a dick, Shockley.”
“Never claimed not to be,” he conceded. “So, are you going to tell me about that dig or no?”
I looked over as he took a long, too studied drink. He was the perfect picture of nonchalance. Too perfect. “You’re secretly dying to know, aren’t you?”
Shockley shifted, removing his foot from the table and turning bodily to face me. “Yes, alright!” he admitted. His carefully cultivated persona abruptly fell away, replaced by the man I had been trapped within the Healing Chamber. His bright-eyed sincerity was contagious as he leaned into my space. “The Temple of Aluthua is an archaeologist's wet dream, and you get unlimited access. I need to know how you’re sitting next to me and not trapped dying beneath the weight of a collapsed ceiling bearing the image of the first Auhtula.”
“I...I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you anything,” I said after a long moment. Shockley flopped back with a groan. “You did try to raid the place. You may try to do it again. Which, I wouldn’t advise since they’ve tightened security.”
“Tell me you’re going to publish your findings,” Shockley insisted, “on Destyr at the very least.”
“Of course. It’s their history,” I said defensively, as the slupna’s melody reached an ear-piercing decibel. “They deserve to know it. Like I’d do any—what in the hell is this guy playing?”
Shockley winked. “You don’t recognize it?”
What I assumed was the chorus arrived in a screaming crescendo, something reminiscent of an electric guitar and piano in the notes of the slupna. “Is he playing Alone by Heart?” I asked, equally shocked and amused by this turn of events. “Is 80s rock really that popular in space?”
“No, your Fulyiti’s penchant for our music is not a common one up here,” Shockley replied, drolly. “I specifically requested and dedicated this song to you.”
“Liar,” I spat automatically. His eyebrows contracted. If he were someone else, I’d say I had hurt his feelings with my accusation. I winced at my social faux pas. Just because Shockley wasn’t my favorite person didn’t mean I wanted to be rude. “Sorry. It’s just, you haven’t been anywhere near the Uli bard, so that’s impossible.”
Shockley sighed dramatically. “Caught me red-handed. Though,” his voice dipped into the realm of overly smarmy, as he leaned in ever closer, “the sentiment of the song still stands.”
I shoved his shoulder, scoffing, “You won’t seduce information on the Temple of Aluthua out of me.”
“You wound me, Borowicz,” Shockley said. His grin slipped from his face at the sound of tapping from the opposite side of our table.
An alien was staring inquisitively at us. Crimson in color, it had a large round head/body and six thick, tentacle-like legs arranged in a skirtlike fashion that supported it. Two similarly shaped arms sprouted from low on its body, one of which was poised above our table. It had two huge, bulbous black eyes that took up most of its face, with two tiny slit-like nostrils and no mouth. It was adorable as it peered expectantly at us.
“Hail the Shockley?” my implant translated in a voice that mimicked the small, quivering motions of its tapping tentacles.
Slipping back into his mercenary persona like it was one of his well-worn jackets, Shockley focused in on the new arrival. “You’re hailing him. And you are?”
“I am brother Sgnorp of the Ynoom. I am sent by my brethren to request your aid and offer compensation in return for it.”
“Compensation?” Shockley perked up at that. “I’m listening.”
“May I join you?” Sgnorp gestured to the empty section of our semicircular booth.
Shockley nodded. Sgnorp bobbed up onto the bench, his many legs twisting like an animated ballerina.
I shifted uncomfortably. Caged in on both sides, I had no way to exit a situation I was not invited to attend. I stood, searching for an escape route that wasn’t climbing across Shockley’s lap. “If this is business, I should go.”
Shockley’s gripped my wrist. “Stay,” he whispered, tugging me back into my seat. “Something tells me this won’t take long.”
Sgnorp placed his tentacled arms on the table, folding his mitten-shaped hands around each other. His legs danced across the garish, metallic throw pillows as he spoke. “Brother Shockley, my brethren understand that you are good at retrieving items that have been lost or stolen—”
“I’m the best,” Shockley interjected sharply.
“Retrieving items?” I said incredulously. “More like he’s the one stealing them.”
Shockley frowned. “Maybe you should go.”
“No,” I shook my head, “now I’m interested.”
Sgnorp shuddered, out of nerves incited by our bickering or something else, I wasn’t sure. “Our holy sites, which have remained undisturbed for three millennia, have recently been vandalized.” Sgnorp’s translated voice wavered. “Only the burial places of our most honored dead have been subject to theft. The bandits consistently abscond with the same items: the sacred shrouds of Ynarr.”
“Burial shrouds?” I asked as Shockley’s slack posture got a lot less relaxed.
His jaw clenched to match the severe tilt of his lips. “The graves of your honored dead have been robbed, and the thieves didn’t take any of the crystals or other expensive shit entombed with the bodies? Why?”
“That is unknown to us also. We had hoped that you would know what might render the fabric of the shrouds valuable amongst miscreants,” Sgnorp replied, eyes downcast at discovering that Shockley seemed as stupified by the situation as he did.
“What do they look like?” I asked. Sgnorp unclipped two round chips attached underneath one of his front legs and placed them on the table. One he slid to Shockley. The other, he prodded one with his thumb, and it produced a holographic image of a circular cloth, made of tightly spun bronze fibers. Besides the crimson characters woven into the middle, it seemed to be no more than fabric, valuable historically and culturally. Still, without an up-close inspection, I couldn’t see why anyone would want to take it since its nonmaterial value was only known to the Ynoom.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Shockley tossed the chip he had been surveying across the table. “But I’m the best, and I don’t come cheap. That doesn’t even cover half of my fee.”
“It is all I have been authorized to offer,” Sgnorp protested weakly, his many legs drumming nervously against the booth. “Please, without the shrouds, those who have not yet completed the rejoining ceremony will not pass into the sacred realms, nor will their descendants be able to reap the wisdom of their shrouds—” “I’m sorry for that loss, truly I am, but I’m a mercenary. I can’t afford to be a bleeding heart,” Shockley said. His face was a mask of neutrality, his tone cold, but for some reason, I believed that he was sorry for the Ynoom. “I have a crew to feed and pay, a ship to fuel. But, Borowicz here may be willing...her heart bleeds generosity, and she has royal patrons.”
“What?” I hissed, glaring at Shockley. I may have been interested in the missing shrouds, but that didn’t mean I knew the first thing about finding thieves and bringing them to justice. “You can’t just volunteer me for bounty hunter bullshit without asking me.”
Infuriatingly, he chuffed me under the chin with a curved knuckle. “But that bounty hunter bullshit comes with a mystery involving three-thousand-year-old burial shrouds of massive cultural significance to an alien race of cartoon octopi—”
“Octopedes.”
“Octopuses,” Shockley snarked back. “And you’ve already looked over toward your crew three times, so clearly, you’re not not considering it.”
“That’s terrible grammar,” I seethed, dropping my head into my palms. I wasn’t sure which I hated more: how easily he read me or the warmth bubbling up in my stomach that he could read me that easily.
“Are you well, Myaxi?” I started, almost knocking Sgnorp out of the booth and into Azo’lah. She stood at the edge of the table, holding a drink. She spoke to me but looked down at Shockley with disdain. “This is safe for your consumption, should you care to share.” I took the glass from Azo’lah’s out-stretched hand and took an oversized gulp.
Shockley raised an impressed eyebrow. “You are full of surprises tonight, Azo’lah Myax.” Azo’lah returned his gaze blankly. I had the distinct impression I was missing something. Azo’lah raised a hand and gestured toward the dance floor. Fleetwood, Tyler, and Chester, who had been watching us while doing a strange three-person salsa, immediately disentangled themselves and made their way over.
“Hail, family!” Sgnorp warbled as they approached our table.
To my surprise, upon spotting Sgnorp, Fleetwood curled her left arm up to her side as if she was about to perform the “and here is my spout” choreography to I’m a Little Teapot. “Hail, brother of the Ynoom!” she crowed. “Clear paths, I wish for you.”
“The same and merry tidings, I wish unto you, sister,” Sgnorp replied, returning the teapot salute. “Will you honor me with your name?”
“I am honored by your request, brother,” Fleetwood returned as she came to a stop at Azo’lah’s side, Chester and Tyler at her back. “I am Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, second heir of the royal house of Fuiq of Destyr. Please address me familiarly as Fleetwood Mercury. And may I present my favored human and chosen blood, Chester Leon of Earth. You have met our chosen blood, sister Gret’chen, also of Earth, and my most loved cousin, Azo’lah Myax. And this is our dearest frenemy, Tyler Bautista.”
Sgnorp studied Tyler. “I am unfamiliar with this term ‘frenemy,’ sister Fleetwood Mercury.”
“What’s up, octopus emoji, my dude?” Tyler tilted his head genially in the Ynoom’s direction.
Sgnorp’s tentacles began to thrash. “I do not know this term of address...”
“Forgive frenemy Tyler, brother,” Fleetwood explained kindly. “He finds your shape similar to a holy pictograph on his birth planet and thus meant it as a compliment.” Azo’lah grabbed a chair from a neighboring table for Fleetwood to sit in. She dropped gracefully into it as she said, “Forgive my intrusive question, brother, but you are far from your home planet.”
“He came looking for Shockley’s help,” I explained. “And, like the compassionate soul he is, Shockley refused.”
“Here, here!” Shockley sipped his drink, unmoved by my sarcasm.
“Only desperation would drive an honorable Ynoom such as yourself to seek the aid of a dishonorable wretch like this one,” Azo’lah assured Sgnorp.
“Indeed,” Sgnorp agreed before repeating his story. Azo’lah brushed my hand as I passed our shared drink back to her. There was a spark before I had the stark mental image of Destyrian characters, which morphed into words, Do you wish to do this? I blinked at Azo’lah. She raised one frosty eyebrow, a small smirk teasing at her lips. Had she just...texted my brain?
Yes? I thought back. How the hell are you doing this?
Iz’waij, came the quick response. It was a neat but mostly terrifying development in our brain bond thing.
I asked, Can you see inside my head?
I can only see the messages you intend to send to me, she assured me. You have not answered my question.
I want to help. I’ll come back to Destyr when I’m done.
Azo’lah gave me a pointed look over Fleetwood’s head. For having known the Fulyiti for so many months, you are terrible at anticipating her behavior.
“As the Ynoom assisted the Myax in their mission to find a cure for the doalin outbreak, we are honored to return the generosity now,” Fleetwood Mercury announced with pride.
“Wasn’t that two millennia ago?” Shockley asked, his expression intensely amused.
“And we are delighted to have the opportunity to return the favor now,” Fleetwood replied breezily. “Brother Sgnorp, we must return to Destyr to gather supplies. Is it acceptable for us to travel to you as swiftly as possible afterward?”
“The Ynoom will prepare for your most welcome arrival,” Sgnorp slunk off the bench and gave a quivering teapot salute, which Fleetwood mirrored. “Thank you, sister Fleetwood Mercury, for your compassion. May your path be clear.” And with that, he bobbed away.
“You’re too predictable, Borowicz,” Shockley said, slinging an arm over my shoulders, his hand brushing against my collarbone. He was clearly settling in for an extended bout of jackassery. “And you, Fulyiti, are an adventure junkie.”
“Uh, doy, Captain Obvious,” Fleetwood retorted. I was surprised she didn’t finish the sentence by sticking out her tongue.
“That’s a—” Shockley’s face paled as his eyes caught on something behind Fleetwood. His entire body went rigid. “Shit, shit, shit. Bautista, let’s haul some ass outta here.”
“Seriously?” Tyler pouted. “But the night’s just getting started. Chester and I were about to go order another round.”
“No, the night’s definitely over.” Keeping his head low, Shockley slithered from the booth. He grabbed Tyler’s arm and began pulling.
“Shockley, what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” Shockley replied. “See you around, Borowicz. Fulyiti Fleetwood, always a pleasure.” He tugged hard on the collar of Tyler’s shirt. “Bautista, let’s go!”
Tyler waved glumly at us as Shockley hauled him bodily away. “See you next time, fam! Hit me up, Fleetwood!”
“Bye, Tyler!” Fleetwood called as they disappeared into the mosh pit the dance floor had become.
I turned to Azo’lah and Chester, who looked as bewildered as I felt. “What the hell was that about?”
“I believe that inelegant escape was about me,” said Matt. Our friend from earlier in the night strode over.to join us.
“Shockley is the guy who owes you money?” I asked.
Matt nodded. “It appears we were after the same lying scoundrel.”
“Sorry you didn’t get a chance to try and get your money for the flying you did,” Chester apologized.
“I’m sure my path will cross with Shockley’s soon enough,” Matt said, running a hand through his wild curls. “I’ll get another chance to collect.”
Azo’lah slid into Shockley’s vacated seat and asked, “Matt Majumdar, you are a deep space pilot, yes?”
Matt nodded. “I’m former RAF. But, after flying out here, well...everything else seems boring.”
“Would you like to fly us from Destyr to Ynoom?” Azo’lah asked. “We need a pilot who experienced in handling a fusion drive.”
“No, we don’t!” Chester argued, indignant. “I can fly us! I got us here, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” Azo’lah corrected. At Chester’s crestfallen expression, she added, “I trust no one more with technology, engineering, or our Fulyiti. But perhaps, we can admit that when it comes to the Gold Dust Wo’man a more skilled hand in the pilot’s seat is needed.”
“Can I still run experiments with the thrusters?” Chester asked.
“Of course,” Azo’lah replied. “Just not when we’re on the ship with you.”
“Okay, then, yeah,” Chester said, accepting Fleetwood’s consoling hug.
“We just took a mission,” I told Matt. “I’m sure you’re already busy.”
“I’m free, but it depends on what you’re flying,” Matt said. “My fee is non-negotiable, half upfront.” He pointed to where Shockley and Tyler had disappeared. “No offense, but I’m learning space is full of cheap asshats.”
“Preach,” Fleetwood said, holding her glass up. “Chester, show him the Gold Dust Wo’man.”
“Are we seriously going to hire a man we just met in an illegal space bar?” I whispered to Fleetwood Mercury. Sure, Matt seemed nice, but so did Tyler, and he was a ruthless space mercenary when it came down to it.
“I like to listen to him talk,” Fleetwood hissed back. I couldn’t argue with that point. “Besides, Azo’lah will give him critical hits if he does anything sketchy ficus.”
“I believe the term is shady palm tree.”
“Oh, you gorgeous lady,” Matt exclaimed. I moved my head around the puff of Fleetwood’s hair to see Matt staring longingly at the hologram of the Gold Dust Wo’man projecting from Chester’s Ran’dyl pin. His eyes sparkled like the golden hull of the ship. “I’m in.”
“We haven’t even agreed to your fee,” Azo’lah reminded him.
“I trust Fleetwood. But more importantly,” Matt’s handsome face transformed with childlike excitement, “I’ve got to fly that. When did you say we leave again?”
A hand on my shoulder shook me awake. “Gretchen, you need to wake up!”
“Wha’?” I groaned as the intruder cruelly ripped my curtains aside and set my room ablaze with the light of Destyr’s twin suns. I clamped my eyes tightly shut and whined, “Why?”
“Gretchen!” I was distantly aware that the owner of the voice was Chester and that he sounded distressed, but I was too exhausted to truly process that information. I curled into the warmth of Sebastian at my hip as Chester firmly stated, “Girl, we have a situation.”
I was unapologetically not a morning person, something Chester usually had the good grace to respect. After returning to Destyr yesterday morning from our sojourn to Ketheno, I had spent all day preparing for our new mission, staying up late into the night writing up instructions for Sav’asa, who was taking care of Sebastian while we were gone. I had earned a morning to sleep in before we left for Ynoom. “Can the situation wait for another...three hours?” I asked groggily.
He jiggled my shoulders. “Considering we leave for Ynoom in an hour: no.”
When I did nothing more than burrow deeper into my sheets, he ripped my pillow from beneath my head and whapped me with it.
“Chester!” I yelled, fending off his half-assed assault as Sebastian vacated the bed with a hiss.
“Sorry, Bash.” Chester relented, dropping my pillow to the side. “Gretch, get up, I need your help.”
“Why can’t Fleetwood or Azo’lah help? What could I possibly do for you that—ahh!” My perfectly reasoned argument devolved into a yelp as Chester hoisted me into a seated position.
“Chester, seriously, what the hell?”
He grabbed my chin and directed my blurry attention to my bedroom door, where a person I had never seen before stood. Small and wiry, with short dirty-blonde hair styled in a jagged undercut, the stranger was baby-faced and wearing a black space suit and scuffed sneakers.
I blinked. “Uh, hi.”
“Gretchen, this is Ryan,” Chester introduced the newcomer, his voice facetiously jovial. “They will be joining our crew along with Matt on our trip to Ynoom.”
My body may have been responding to Chester’s wake up call, but my brain was not. I did not yet have the energy to figure out why Chester was performing this introduction before my alarm went off or why he was doing it so rudely.
“Welcome,” I said, waving half-heartedly. “I like your suit.”
Ryan smiled brilliantly. “Thanks! I had it made specifically for Deep Space Con.”
“Yes, Ryan had it made for Deep Space Con, which happens back on Earth,” Chester said, laughing mirthlessly, “where Fleetwood and I just picked them up from. They were in attendance with a group of boarding school friends.”
“Boarding school friends,” I repeated, my sluggish brain almost understanding why that phrase was worrisome.
“Yes, boarding school friends,” Chester reiterated angrily, “because Ryan is seventeen.”
“Seventeen?” I screeched. Fleetwood had gone back to Earth to get us another crew member and had brought back a teenager?
Shit.