The Shrouds of Ynarr: Part 2
“Fleetwood, what were you thinking?” I demanded, pouring my second mug of vyt’al. The Destyrian equivalent of coffee was more robust than what I was used to, and I usually limited myself to a cup a morning. Twenty minutes into this day and I felt I had already earned an IV of it directly into my bloodstream.
“We need a larger crew for the Gold Dust Wo’man!” Fleetwood replied plaintively, from across the dining table in her quarters. Beside me, Chester shook his head in disbelief. Azo’lah’s only conversational contribution so far had been a myriad of apathetic sighs. “We have Matt to pilot, but we still needed a captain—all good crews have captains! I found us one.”
“Hell yeah, you did!” Ryan added from where they stood at the end of the table, enthusiastically bouncing on the balls of their feet. The gem of their freshly installed implant winked at me when it caught the sunlight.
“This cannot be happening,” I muttered, massaging my temples. The anxiety attack I was staving off was currently manifesting itself as a throbbing migraine. “Fleetwood, I know you have your reasons for thinking Ryan is a captain, but they are a high school senior, barely old enough to drive a car on Earth, let alone captain a spaceship.”
“If Captain Thorley is not a captain, then why were they already dressed for the mission when we approached them?” Fleetwood gestured to Ryan’s spacesuit.
“Because they were at a convention!” Chester said for the fifth time since he had ripped me from the loving embrace of my bed. He looked as haggard as he sounded, having gotten very little sleep as the trip to retrieve Ryan had taken all night. Chester had spent the entirety of their return flight fighting Fleetwood on her decision to recruit a teenager. “People on Earth go to conventions and dress up as their favorite characters. It’s called cosplaying. Ryan is dressed as a captain from some sci-fi show—”
“Excuse you,” Ryan said, offended. They lovingly placed their hand against their suit. “I am dressed as Captain Ajax Bendelham from the greatest show known to man: Cosmic Conquerors. I pre-ordered the suit months ago, even got my last name embroidered onto the nameplate.”
Azo’lah exhaled noisily and asked, “Do I really need to be here as you repeat yourselves, or can I join Majumdar in preparing the ship?”
“Can I come with you?” Ryan asked, excitedly.
“No,” Chester and I said in unison.
“But Captain Thorley—” Fleetwood began.
“In the United States, where they are from, they aren’t considered an adult yet,” I explained. “We have to return Ryan to their parents.”
“What if I got my parent’s permission to be here?” Ryan asked, their eyes narrowing in thought. “Chester said you have the ability to communicate with Earth up here, right?” They pulled their cell phone from a pocket on their thigh. “What if I called, and they gave their permission for me to be up here? Would you let me stay then?”
“You want to call your parents and ask for their blessing to go on an outer space adventure?” Chester said incredulously.
Ryan scoffed, flopping into the extra seat beside Fleetwood. “I’d obviously have to do some creative omitting and truth-telling.” They stared off into the middle distance as they said, “Replace ‘outer space’ with Los Angeles and ‘alien princess’ with writing mentor...I can tell them I submitted my fan work to a contest at the con and won. I have the chance to do a workshop with the writers of Cosmic Conquerors. They know it’s my dream to write for a sci-fi show. Plus, it’s the beginning of the school year, missing a week of class won’t be a big deal.”
Though that all sounded highly improbable, the conviction with which Ryan spoke had me half-believing them.
“Yeah, I’ll have to tweak some stuff, but still.” They turned to us, eyes blazing with determination and hope. “If I can get my mom and dad to agree to me missing school for this once in a lifetime opportunity—come on, we’re in space! Will you guys stop being such buzzkills?” Ryan leaned awkwardly across the table. “Come on, you both chose to live here. You have to understand how unlikely and how amazing this is.”
“We...” Chester looked at me. Ugh. We did get it.
I drained my mug of vyt’al. So much for a relatively low-pressure adventure. “If you get your parents’ permission to miss school, and you promise to listen to us if things get dangerous,” I conceded. “And this is it, just this one mission!”
“Then it’s back to Earth until you’re graduated and of age. At least,” Chester added firmly, glaring pointedly at Fleetwood.
Ryan ignored this, clapping their hands together and springing to their feet. “I can work with that! Does that mean I get to see the ship now?”
“Come, new human,” Azo’lah said. She stood, beckoning Ryan to follow her. “I shall show you the Gold Dust Wo’man.”
Ryan tripped over their sneakers as they raced to follow. “Hell yes!”
“Stop by the comms room so they can call their parents for permission!” I shouted at their retreating backs. “What the hell just happened?”
“A seventeen-year-old was just appointed captain of our ship,” Chester said. He pushed his beanie up and scrubbed tiredly at his forehead.
Mollified, Fleetwood stood and sauntered towards the door. “Never fear, my loves. Captain Thorley will serve with honor.”
“They better,” Chester groused. “The last thing we need is to babysit while figuring out who’s stealing all the shrouds.”
“I’m going to shower and then drop Sebastian off with Sav’asa. Meet you on the ship in thirty?” I squeezed his shoulder sympathetically as I rounded the table.
Chester sagged against the back of his chair. “As long as FleetMerc doesn’t decide to head back to Earth and collect more crew members.”
Like the rest of the ship, the bridge of the Gold Dust Wo’man was something straight out of a Swedish architectural magazine. Conically shaped, it was three levels high with an observation deck below and a balcony up top that housed the weapons controls and escape pods. The major ship functions were performed at a solitary console at the front of the central level. The title of each position was woven in Destyrian on the back of each seat. The clean, minimalist set up which could have felt austere, was somehow comfortably inviting.
In contrast to the ship’s calming interior, our crew was a flurry of noise and activity and had been from the moment Matt powered up the fusion reactor. Fleetwood uploaded her extensive music collection from her Ran’dyl, while Chester ran a last-minute diagnostic on the fusion drive, and Azo’lah made sure our defensive shields were all online if necessary. Throughout it all, Ryan barely contained their excitement.
“This is so cool,” Ryan said for the thirtieth time from the high-backed captain’s chair set in the middle of the bridge, like a throne whose carpet runner was the inky blackness of space.
“Majumdar, time to conquer the stars!” Ryan cried.
“Yes, Captain,” Matt replied from Ryan’s left, pushing a lever forward that turned the stars into a drunken blur. I clutched at the edges of my seat, but the Gold Dust Wo’man didn’t so much as waver. I privately decided I much preferred Matt’s flying to Chester’s. I also decided I would never inform Chester of that preference.
Now dressed in the same navy blue space suit as the rest of our crew with their nameplate from their cosplay hastily sewn onto the left chest, Ryan’s bright eyes were wide and mesmerized. “So cool.”
“Is the new human broken?” Azo’lah asked from her seat on Ryan’s right. “They have not said much outside of that same phrase since I brought them to the ship—”
“Because this is the freaking coolest thing ever!” Ryan exclaimed, gesturing expansively as if their arms could encompass the enormity of the situation. Turning to me, they demanded, “How are you not freaking out about this?”
While I had not initially come to space of my own free will and my first adventure with my friends had been more near-death-experience than thrill-ride, I smiled in understanding of their exuberance. “I am, a little bit,” I said, not admitting that any freaking out on my part was more due to anxiety about interacting with our new crew members than exhilaration. I settled deeper into my plushly cushioned seat. With a view fit for an Auhtula, the bridge of the Gold Dust Wo’man was quickly becoming my new favorite place.
Matt folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat, his eyes falling serenely closed. “Now, we settle in for the long hall.”
“If you’re just going to sit there and nap, why did we need you to pilot?” Chester asked, tartly. He was still bitter about being ousted from the pilot’s seat by a professional.
“What? No!” Ryan bellowed. “Let’s punch it! Do a timed-test around a moon or an obstacle course through a meteor field!”
Azo’lah snorted as Matt cracked an eye open. “You need me to pilot because a ship this large with a reactor that powerful requires someone with a delicate touch. Unless you’d rather be launched directly into a star. And let’s not even get into what that shift into dyahede-speed would have felt like beneath the guidance of someone with less experience.”
“Like riding a rollercoaster in the middle of an earthquake,” I supplied, my stomach churning at the memory of our ride to Ketheno.
“It was not that bad,” Chester argued weakly.
“As for doing a timed-test around a moon or going through a meteor field,” Matt turned to Ryan, “you’d want a racer—something the size of this cockpit that will give you the aerodynamics and agility to make tight turns while maintaining peak speed.”
“A racer? Where do I get one of those?” Ryan demanded, hands falling to the console.
Matt carefully pushed Ryan’s scrabbling fingers away from the Captain’s control access panel. “I’m sure Fulyiti Fleetwood’s family has one.”
“The closest thing I have is the Killer Qu’een,” Fleetwood replied. “She is below deck. Maybe we can take her for a turn later.”
I asked, “Matt, what’s our ETA for landing on Ynoom?”
Matt caught my eye and smirked. “Seven hours, forty-three minutes, Royal Archaeologist.”
Ryan’s gaze reflected the light of a hundred thousand stars as they looked out on the whole of the universe and said, “Alright, crew, let’s go kick some interstellar graverobber ass.”
Azo’lah emerged from the hallway that led to the small armory, my custom-made bandolier in her hands. It was equipped with a complete set of archeological brushes and tools. “Here you are, Myaxi.”
“You’re packing light,” I noted as I slung the belt over my shoulder and secured it under the epaulet sewn into my button-down. Azo’lah was unarmed, except for the metal band on her upper left bicep and right wrist, which produced a shield and javelin. She wore a delicate circlet out of blue-black metal that contrasted beautifully with her silver-white hair. “What’s with the headpiece?”
“The Ynoom are a peaceful people,” Azo’lah remarked, nodding to Chester and Fleetwood as they entered the corridor closest to the exit hatch. “It is a diplomatic mission, and, as I am a By’sett of the royal house of Fuiq, custom dictates, I represent my family.”
“A what?” I asked.
“A By’sett. It is my official title.”
Chester dropped his voice to a giddy whisper. “It means she’s a duchess.”
Shit, I thought, wondering if I had been committing social faux pas’s the entire time I had known her. I always forgot that Azo’lah was actual royalty.
Azo’lah appeared supremely unhappy to be sporting the headgear. I cleared my throat and said, “Oh. Well, what if the people stealing the shrouds aren’t. Peaceful, that is,” I clarified.
“That is why my zali’thir is concealed on my person,” Azo’lah smirked, referring to the deadly stiletto dagger that was unique to the Myax order.
The tinkling bell that signified a ship-wide communique cut off my response. “All hands, this is Captain Thorley. We are entering atmo over Ynoom. Diplomatic team, brace for landing. I’ll be with you shortly. Captain out.” I caught Chester’s eye and grinned as I followed the instructions, supporting myself with a hand against the corridor wall. Ryan was clearly living their best life, as was Fleetwood, smiling toothily, clearly pleased with her selection.
The landing was so smooth that only the engine’s vibrations indicated that we were no longer flying.
I met Chester’s gaze and tilted my chin in inquiry. Chester inhaled bracingly. “Fine. I admit hiring the trained pilot was a good idea.”
I squeezed his elbow in solidarity. “You’re still my favorite.”
“Azo’lah, king me,” Fleetwood instructed, ducking her head. Azo’lah placed another circlet onto it, this one golden and woven with scarlet and amber gems. Fleetwood was securing it into her buns as Ryan and Matt joined us.
“Everyone prepared?” Ryan asked, the wonderment that had laced their tone replaced with confidence and authority. I felt my back straighten, as we all nodded.
“Once more into my breeches, dear friends!” Fleetwood declared as Azo’lah triggered the release for the door.
Unused to Fleetwood’s unique brand of English, Ryan and Matt laughed. Azo’lah took up a protective stance directly behind and slightly to the right of Fleetwood.
The gangplank lowered, glittering like something Tinkerbell had shat out in the brilliance of the Ynoom’s sun. Below us, on the aquamarine grass, Sgnorp awaited us, along with another Ynoom. This one was larger, its coloring a shade darker than Sgnorp’s bright crimson. In the distance, I spied octagonal buildings with flat, painted roofs rising from the water with a network of docks jutting out into the ocean. “Hail sister, Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, and family,” Sgnorp warbled. He issued the teapot salute with one tentacled limb.
I returned the salute, along with the others.
“Family, welcome, I am brother Skreb, selected leader of the Ynoom,” said the second Ynoom, a tentacle raised in greeting. “Gretchen of Earth, your help is most welcome, and the generosity of our Destyrian family deeply felt, for our people’s need is dire.”
I stilled, surprised that I was singled out in the salutation, Fleetwood, however, did not seem to be. She clapped a hand on my back, pushing me to the front of the delegation.
“Hail, brothers,” I said lamely. “Um, could we see the site of the theft to get started?”
The Ynoom exchanged a brief look. “You do not require rest after your long journey? We have prepared a Feast of Good Fortune at high moons tonight.” I had no idea what a Feast of Good Fortune was or the time of the high moons, for that matter. I turned, panicked, to Fleetwood.
“Humans are a hardy species,” Fleetwood said breezily. “Gret’chen Myaxi cannot rest until she has assessed the situation. The plight of your departed Ynoom weighs on her heart.” “Such strength and compassion,” Skreb intoned, tentacles quivering. “Brother Sgnorp, you have chosen our aid well. May I have the names of the rest of the family that travels with you? Then Sgnorp will escort you to the resting place of the Ynarr and, later, the feast.”
I tried not to blanch as Fleetwood carried out the rest of the introductions. While a Feast of Good Fortune probably sounded like a pleasant thing to most people, to me, it sounded like a grand opportunity for me to accidentally cause a diplomatic catastrophe just by attempting to be polite. I reached for my pocket, where my pills were kept.
We are with you, Gretchen.
The message flashed across my brain as sudden and unexpected as a roll of thunder on a sunny day. I glanced to the side. Azo’lah was still facing the Ynoom, her face pleasantly impassive. I thought you couldn’t read my mind, I thought back and saw Azo’lah suppress a smirk.
I only need to read your face to know your darkness is whispering to you, came the reply. I flushed, alarmed that my expressions were so transparent to someone, and inexplicably pleased that Azo’lah had taken the time to care. This human blushing of yours still perplexes me. You have yet to let me know how far it extends. Currently, you resemble the Ynoom.
I held up my middle fingers behind Sgnorp’s back as he led us through the lush grass.
Looking confused, Azo’lah merely held up the two middle fingers of her right hand in response.
It turns out that the Ynoom were an amphibious society and that the tombs of the Ynarr were actually underwater.
“Um, how deep do we have to swim to reach the tombs?” I asked, trying not to sound as trepidatious about drowning as I absolutely was. I was an average swimmer, hardly prepared for off-world scuba diving. I hadn’t even brought the proper gear to wear. I didn’t even own the appropriate gear. Shit, Fleetwood would never let me have control over my own wardrobe again.
I stared down the smooth ramp that led into the royal blue water, perfect for a Ynoom to slide into the depths. Not so much for graceless humans.
“20,000 fathoms,” Fleetwood quipped, hooking two fingers into my utility belt and tugging me toward the surf.
“That better be a joke,” I said, refusing to fall prey to Fleetwood’s sunny smile.
“It is not far, sister Gretchen,” Sgnorp said, “even young ones make the distance with ease.” That wasn’t precisely comforting since I figured tentacles helped the process immensely.
“Fear not, Gret’chen, I will go with you,” Fleetwood sing-songed.
“You will most certainly not,” Azo’lah snapped, stepping forward. “I cannot protect you both at once. As second heir to the throne of the central continent of Destyr, you will remain safely on shore.” Ryan and Matt turned to look at her in surprise, unused to Azo’lah’s dedication to her position as a Myax.
“Hey, friends, we only have three breathing-things,” Chester pointed out, lifting the small case he had brought with him from the ship. “And, not to make myself a big deal, but I think Gretchen needs me to take the scans.”
“I do,” I confirmed.
“I’ll go too,” Ryan volunteered, unable to hide their excitement beneath their air of authority. “As captain, I’m ordering myself on this excursion.”
I gaped, horrified. “I don’t think—”
“I did activities of similar danger when I was their age,” Azo’lah said, which was not what I wanted to hear. It also raised a lot of questions about Myax training.
“Can you swim, Captain?” Matt asked, just this side of too loud when I made a noise of dissent.
“I’m a certified beachfront lifeguard, Majumdar,” Ryan fist-bumped Matt when he whistled in appreciation.
“Ryan is one who watches the bay?” Fleetwood clasped her hands under her chin.
“No,” I said.
“Sort of,” Chester amended.
Ryan bounced on the balls of their feet. “So, time to tomb dive?”
I squished my face beneath both of my hands and resisted the urge to scream. I was not prepared to investigate an underground water burial site, let alone keep a teenager wrangled while I did so. I was definitely going to mess this up.
“We will watch your feeds, my darlings,” Fleetwood said, tapping something on her Ran’dyl before knocking it gently against Chester’s. Fleetwood’s Ran’dly emitted a roughly three-dimensional live feed from Chester’s wristband that she and Azo’lah would monitor from land. Chester opened the small case he had brought from the ship. Inside were small, square devices with two clear prongs. Chester activated a button on the side and then inserted the device into his nose. Doing the same thing, he carefully slid the device in Ryan’s nose, turning their head from side to side to check that it was correctly installed.
“Ready?” Chester asked, sounding congested. I tilted my head back and allowed him to slide it up my nostrils, resisting the urge to sneeze. The tubes in my nose expanded slightly as I inhaled, sticking to the sides of my nostrils like suction cups. I found myself breathing unattractively out of my mouth.
“Keep your mouth closed when we’re in the water, okay?” he instructed, the words so heavily distorted by his breathing device they were almost impossible to understand.
I nodded and divested myself of my utility belt, button-up, shoes, and socks. Ryan removed their boots and socks. Chester moved his Ran’dyl from his ever-present beanie, affixing it to his t-shirt before passing his hat to Fleetwood, who carefully hung it off of one of her buns for safekeeping. Azo’lah clipped a pod light to my wrist and handed me a pair of clear goggles, her lips pressed into a thin line. I wasn’t quite sure why she was upset. I was the one about to do a deep-dive without any preparation.
Double-checking the seal on my breathing device, I walked down to the ramp where Sgnorp was precariously balanced. “Come family,” he said. Ryan slipped into the water with the patented brand of stupid, invincible fearlessness that belonged solely to teenagers. Sgnorp and Chester followed.
“It’s warm!” Ryan crowed. I stood at the edge of the ramp and tentatively stepped into the water. It was pleasantly warm—like a pool that had sat in sunlight all day. Sgnorp bobbed gracefully atop the gentle waves as I paddled over to my friends.
“Follow, family,” Sgnorp said, disappearing beneath the surface. Ryan slicked their hair out of their eyes and followed Sgnorp with smooth, strong strokes. I took a deep breath through my mouth and dove down.
I found it surprisingly easy to breathe through the small device in my nose, significantly easier in fact than seeing. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the rapidly increasing darkness underwater. Against the backdrop of the deep water, my blue-tinged light pod cast my companions in impressionist sweeps of indigo. I kicked downward, swimming faster to catch up to Chester. Ryan knocked my shoulder with one hand and pointed downward, their eyes wide behind their tempered goggles.
Below us, a riotous reef erupted, spilling sea flowers, corals, and weeds of every color, into the darkness. Small, baubles of light hovered, suspended over protruding anemones and leafy fronds, illuminating the steep drop to the unseeable ocean floor. We swam along behind our host, who was lazily propelling himself through the water down, down, further down still to the base of the underwater cliff where a lone, arched doorway waited.
Sgnorp swam through the door, and I went after, my ears protesting the pressure change by popping painfully. We emerged into a large, square chamber that was unadorned except for the same eerie lights in the corners of the room. The four of us swam upward until we broke the water’s surface. I gulped grateful lungfuls of air through my mouth as I spotted a stone ramp rising out of the water. Sgnorp bobbed up it, transitioning seamlessly from swimming to rippling across land. We followed, slipping, struggling, and in Ryan’s case, laughing. I pulled off my goggles and ran a hand across my eyes to clear the excess water from them. We all removed our breathing devices. Chester tucked our goggles and breathing devices away into his pockets for safe-keeping.
Ryan poked at their recently freed nostrils. “I need one of those breathing-things back on Earth.”
“I doubt you’d be able to explain away that tech,” Chester said as we squelched across the muddy bank.
Ryan shook the water out of their hair, laughing. “Who cares? I could just—” They stilled, their wide eyes staring at the ground. “Look!” they shouted, pointing at where the stone ramp met mud-swirled earth.
I directed my light downward to find a large, half-formed footprint embedded in the mud. A print no Ynoom—a footless people—could make.
“Is that what I think it is?” Ryan‘s elated voice echoed off the cave walls. “Did I just find our first clue?”
Ran’dyl activated, snapping multiple pictures from every angle, Chester conceded, “I think you did.”
Ryan fist-pumped. “Hell yes!”
Once Chester was happy that he had gotten enough evidence of the footprint as well as a soil sample, we continued deeper into the cave.
We were in the base of a round chamber, lined with concentric levels carved out of the rock. They circled above us, all the way into impenetrable darkness. About every few yards, there was a mound, covered by a round, woven shroud.
“The thefts were discovered up here,” Sgnorp said, as we climbed the slick incline after him, one massive circle, then two, then three and—
“Oh, that’s just…” Chester murmured, going a little green.
“Awesome,” Ryan muttered under their breath. I sincerely hoped that Sgnorp didn’t hear that our newest crew member was enchanted with the impressively preserved corpse of the Ynoom in front of us. Along with whatever embalming process they used, death had turned it the color of a good merlot. Its eyes stared at us blankly, its tentacles were artfully arranged in a swirled design along the stone. There was something unsettlingly beautiful about it.
“This is where the oldest Ynarr rest,” Sgnorp explained, tentacles twitching nervously. “When a new Ynarr passes, they are laid to rest here, and the Watchers of Ynarr shift everyone to the next position downwards. Had a new Ynarr not recently joined the resting, and the shift occurred, it is possible the thefts would’ve gone unnoticed for some time.”
“Who are the Ynarr anyway?” Ryan asked.
Sgnorp said, “The Ynarr are our most highly revered scholars. They take it upon themselves to collect wisdom from throughout the galaxy, returning it here, where it may be of use to us and all those we encounter.”
I crouched down, raising my light higher to get a better look at the uncovered Ynarr before us. “What happens when a Ynarr reaches the bottom?”
I scanned the floor, the walls, the body, but besides the lack of shroud saw nothing out of place.
“By then, the body has generally disintegrated, and the soul passed on to the Sacred Realms. What is left is spread into the water below, along with their memories. Their shroud is then folded and put into the Chamber of Sacred Passage under the water.”
“And have any shrouds been stolen from the Chamber of Sacred Passage?” Chester asked, activating his Ran’dyl. “Ryan, can you go stand across from Gretchen so I can get this rendered from multiple—oh, thanks,” he said distractedly, as Ryan moved out of the shot. He triangulated three silver orbs around the dead Ynoom and, from his Ran’dyl, initiated an in-depth 3-D scan.
“No, none from the Chamber of Sacred Passage,” Sgnorp said.
I stood and gently asked, “Can you take us to a fallen family member with an intact shroud?”
“Of course.” Sgnorp led us upward past two more uncovered corpses until we came to a stop before a shroud-covered corpse. The shrouds metallic thread flickered like sparking embers as I passed my light above it. From what I could see, there was nothing different between this Ynarr burial site and the ones whose shrouds were missing.
“And how long have these Ynarr been departed?” Ryan asked from Sgnorp’s left as Chester began taking video and setting out his scanning orbs.
“Seven generations back,” Sgnorp replied, “approximately 15,000 of your Destyrian binary cycles.”
I glanced at Chester, who mouthed, “739 Earth years,” at me.
“Is there any difference between shrouds made in this generation and those made at any other point in your history? Something to make them more valuable?” I used my Ran’dyl to take my own pictures. More photos and information to help us unravel this mystery wouldn’t be a bad thing, right?
“No, they are the same,” Sgnop said with a note of pride. “We have woven the shrouds of Ynarr in the same fashion with identical materials for time immemorial.”
“Brother, I know it may be a great request, but could Chester and I borrow a shroud to analyze it? I would never normally ask—” That was a lie, I would totally respectfully ask, “—but as of right now, I don’t see why thieves would be interested in stealing the shrouds.”
Sgnorp shuddered uncertainly. “I will go upward and speak to the Watchers. Only they can give permission. Please wait here.” He disappeared into the darkness, and I took the opportunity to snap some up-close pictures of the shroud.
“So,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Is this like a normal day for you guys? Amateur detective-archaeologist, deep diving. Mysteries and mummified octopi—” “Octopodes,” I corrected.
“Octopuses, girl,” Chester said, studying his most recent scan. “And it isn’t, but I’ve got a feeling we’re starting a new trend.”
Ryan leaned against the cave wall and sighed. “Epic.”
Sgnorp was able to provide us with a shroud to analyze, but due to its sacred nature, we could only do so in a Ynoom lab where our work could be monitored through glass walls. The lab was, thankfully, above ground. Chester and I, though grateful for the Ynoom’s generosity in accommodating us, were unable to use anything provided due to our lack of tentacles. The technology—as well as the tables, chairs, and floor—was built for someone with six long limbs working in perfect coordination. Our first order of business was outfitting the lab with equipment we could actually use.
The next couple hours saw Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt—under Chester’s supervision—unloading half of the Gold Dust Wom’an’s lab equipment for his use while I grabbed my tools and got up close and personal with the shroud. Spread out across a clear table to its full twenty-foot diameter, the metallic bronze cloth was as beautifully woven as I initially thought. Sgnorp informed me that the crimson characters decorating the center of the cloth were particular to each Ynarr—prayers and wisdom to guide the departed’s way to the Sacred Realms. I doubted that information was pertinent to why the shrouds were being stolen, but I added it to the Ynoom Shroud file on my Ran’dyl anyway, just in case.
I picked up a metallic probe with ivory pincers at the end and asked, “What’s this do?”
“Don’t touch that!” Chester hissed, carefully plucking the instrument from my grasp. “It’s insanely sensitive, and when the charge is over-balanced, it can burn through flesh upon direct contact.”
“Sick,” Ryan said, sounding more intrigued than horrified by the prospect. They and Fleetwood settled at a table with Matt, who was busting out a deck of cards from his spacesuit’s inside pocket.
“Did you find anything from your examination?” Chester asked as he held up his Ran’dyl to a triple monitor system that Fleetwood had lugged in single-handedly. The monitors flickered to life, displaying all of the photos he had taken in the subterranean tomb.
I shook my head. “Nothing unexpected or that explains why anyone would want them outside of their intended purpose.”
Chester hummed thoughtfully as his fingers danced across a nearby console, bringing multiple instruments to life. He cracked his neck and held up the flesh-burning probe, clearly in his element. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Hours later, we had found nothing. An analysis had proven that the fabric was woven with extraordinarily resilient water-resistant thread but was otherwise unextraordinary. One of Chester’s many probe-things had found no concealed or rare chemicals hidden in the material. The most remarkable thing was the red dye, which was unique to Ynoom and made solely for the shrouds. And even that wasn’t interesting to anyone but me, and of course, the Ynoom. Hardly a motivation for grave-robbing.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Chester rubbed the back of his neck as he read through his latest test results from a tablet connected to his Ran’dyl.
“You performed admirably, Chester,” Azo’lah consoled him, from where she now stood before the monitors. While Chester conducted his tests, she had analyzed every square inch of the photos, video, and 3-D rendering of the tombs, especially the half-footprint Ryan had found. “I have been studying the images you collected and—”
From the corner table where the rest of our crew had stayed out of the way while waiting, Fleetwood cheered, “Yahtzee!” She laid out the hand of cards she had been holding with a magician’s flair.
“Wrong game,” Matt said, eyeing her twin Queens and multiple eights, “but you do have a full house, so...”
“I vote we switch to Go Fish,” Ryan suggested, tossing their cards into a messy heap. “I’ll at least have a hope of winning Go Fish.”
“That is doubtful,” Fleetwood said, sweeping the cards to the edge of the table and stacking them neatly. She shuffled like a pro. “I am an excellent fisher, during trips to Golyn I…”
I turned away from their game, fearing the day Fleetwood discovered Earth casinos, and asked, “Azo’lah, what do you think of the footprint?”
“As they do not have feet, it is not of the Ynoom,” she replied. Using the monitor’s touchscreen, she enlarged the image and traced the edges of the print. “But due to time and deterioration, Chester’s soil tests did not find anything of use. I cannot fully make out the shape, and as there is only one print, we cannot know if our thieves are mono-, bi-, or polypedal.”
I groaned. “So, we’re exactly where we were before we arrived here.”
Chester squeezed my shoulder. “Not necessarily. We now have proof that we’re looking for perpetrators outside of the Ynoom—that eliminates the majority of the living beings on this planet.”
“Leaving who?” I asked. “From what I read during our trip, this planet is extremely welcoming. There could be millions of suspects on-world. Or off-world.” The possibilities sprawled before me like the many legs of the Ynoom. “There’s nothing saying they’d stick around after their robbery.”
Chester laid a calming hand on my forearm. “You’re right, the Ynoom are kind and welcoming, but you’re forgetting something significant. They’re amphibious. Half of their world is underwater, which makes living here extremely difficult for off-worlders.”
“Absolute nightmare,” Matt called from the corner table as he fished for a nine from the sea of cards. “My mate Ovlas pilots for one of the big trading companies out of Messier-63, and Ynoom was his route a couple of years back. He said if you can’t breathe underwater, then there’s no way to have a good time on this planet if you know what I mean.”
“So, what? The number of off-worlders residing here is limited?” I clarified.
“Holy shit, Matt, are you talking about underwater brothels?” Ryan asked, blue eyes sparking with mischief.
“Do not answer that! Stop corrupting Ryan!” I directed a threatening finger at Matt’s smile as he nodded, winking conspiratorially.
“Yes, Matt is right. The number of off-worlders is limited,” Azo’lah said, forcing the conversation back on track. “Extremely limited. Diplomats, traders, and specialty workers.”
“According to the Destyrian Royal Archives, there are three other alien species that are amphibious and have regular contact with the Ynoom. So they could potentially live here, no problem,” Chester said, unclipping his Ran’dyl from the tablet and tapped it against the monitors. The images of the footprint were replaced with translated texts from the Archives and photos of aliens I’d never seen before. “But none of them have feet, so we can eliminate them.”
I nodded. “So that leaves us the rest of the diplomats, traders, and specialty workers.”
“We should investigate the port where the traders come in,” Ryan said, laying down a pair of aces. “Majumdar can ask around, pretend he’s looking for an under the table job, so he doesn’t draw too much attention.”
We all stared at Ryan with varying degrees of surprise.
“That’s—that’s a really good idea,” Chester said.
“We can’t all go though,” Azo’lah said. “It will look suspicious if we are all loitering about the docks.”
Ryan ran their hand through their now dry hair, sending it standing every which way. “Then we split up. Half go to the port, the other half to investigate the diplomats and stuff.”
“But what about Sgnorp’s cabal?” Fleetwood asked, accepting the seven of clubs from Matt.
“What cabal?” I asked.
“The Feast of Good Fortune being thrown in our honor,” Azo’lah reminded me, sounding as horrified as I felt by the prospect of a party full of strangers. “Sgnorp, Skreb, and most of the Ynoom elite will be in attendance. As well as,” she tilted her head, meaningfully, “many foreign delegates.”
“That’s perfect!” I said, latching onto the out Azo’lah was providing me. Any excuse to avoid making an ass of myself in a room stuffed full of people I didn’t know. “Half of us go to the party, half of us to the port, do some digging around,” I restrained myself from chuckling at my archaeology joke, “see what we turn up.”
“The Fulyiti should attend the party,” Azo’lah said, ignoring my humor. “Her absence would be well-noted if she did not.”
“But, I want to investigate the port!” Fleetwood protested, throwing down two fives. She was learning quite quickly for someone who had never played a card game before today; she had more pairs before her than Matt and Ryan combined.
“Nah, FleetMerc, you don’t. It’ll be more fun to go undercover at the party,” Chester intervened smoothly. My eyebrows rose at his ingenuity as he continued. “Think about it, you’ll be like a spy, asking questions and collecting information in plain sight. You’ll have to be super sneaky about it, though.” His smile widened as he sweetened the deal. “You’ll even have to get dressed up.”
Fleetwood’s eyes shone like half-dollars at the bottom of a fountain as she contemplated arguing further. “Like an Earth spy?”
“Of course,” Chester promised.
Fleetwood threw down her hand and stood. “Then, I shall perform my duty honorably.”
Palm facing out, Matt saluted her. “Your service is commendable, Fulyiti Fleetwood.”
“Chester, as her favored, you will accompany the Fulyiti,” Azo’lah instructed. Chester nodded, his brow furrowing as he heard the implicit ‘and keep Fleetwood in line’ in Azo’lah’s command. “Captain, you should also attend the party. It may be seen as a slight if someone of your rank does not attend. Also, your keen observation skills will be needed if the Fulyiti gets… distracted.”
“Normally, I’d fight you on trying to sideline me,” Ryan said, following Fleetwood’s lead and abandoning the card game, “but going to this party means I get to meet multiple alien races. I’ll let it slide, just this once.”
“I assume that means you two will be joining me,” Matt gestured between me and Azo’lah. “Like a seven-foot-tall Destyrian isn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb—”
“I am Myax. I am trained to blend in with my surroundings,” Azo’lah argued. “I will not stand out in the least.” I looked at her, and though I believed in her skills as a Myax, I couldn’t picture any scenario where Azo’lah wouldn’t stand out. “And Gretchen Myaxi is small and visually unstimulating enough that most beings’ gazes will pass over her without note.”
“Hey!” I protested. “I can be visually stimulating!”
Matt shook his head incredulously. “This is going to end horribly.”
“Never fear, Majumdar,” Fleetwood said, grabbing Ryan’s and Chester’s hands to lead them back to the ship in search of attire for the feast. “Gretchen and Azo’lah will have your ass.”
“Stop following so closely,” Matt hissed over his shoulder, as we entered the main port in Albasin, Ynoom’s capital city. Azo’lah had just stepped onto his heels for the third time in as many minutes. “You aren’t my shadow. Quit acting like one.”
“Apologies,” Azo’lah said, purposely running into Matt’s back. “I continually forget how your stunted human anatomy makes your strides much shorter than even the average Destyrian male.”
The Ynoomian port was ten levels of barnacle-encrusted metal open to the elements. Below the docked spaceships—seemingly hanging out in open-air but held up by gravitational fields—the pristine ocean sprawled towards the horizon where the distant quadruplet moons were perched. A balmy breeze carried the salty scent of the sea upwards, softening the stench of burning fuel and the clouds of smoke unfurling from pipes and cigarettes hanging from almost every mouth.
“Just back off, please?” Matt begged. He undid the cuffs of his spacesuit and rolled them up his forearms. He mussed his thick, dark curls into a disheveled heap. He activated the comms on his wristband then said, “Stay close but out of sight, and when the time comes, if I need you to play along, play along.”
“What do you mean when the time comes?” I tucked myself closer to Azo’lah as a disgruntled alien with peeling, waxy skin barreled past us. “You’re just supposed to be getting us information. Azo’lah and I are only here for moral support.”
Matt gave my forearm a sympathetic squeeze. “Moral support usually means back-up.”
I shook my head firmly. “I’m not qualified to be anyone’s back-up.”
“I am,” Azo’lah offered.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Matt said. “On the off chance that we find our perpetrators and I somehow get an in with them, they’ll most likely want me to prove my loyalty before spilling their guts. That usually means a small job and a secondary location.”
I swallowed audibly. No one had said anything about extra missions or secondary locations when we’d been planning in the lab. “But, I—”
“Gretchen, it will all work out.” Matt pointed to a stack of barrels waiting to be loaded onto a transport ship. “Find stuff like that to stand behind, and act like you’re supposed to be here.” He held up his Ran’dyl. “Listen for your cue. You’ll know it when you hear it.”
“Wait, Matt,” I began, but he was already gone, tucking himself amongst a group of Ynoom with a colossal crate floating in their wake.
Azo’lah grabbed my elbow and towed me along, careful to maintain our distance from Matt as he wove toward a congregation of chattering aliens.
Over our comms, I heard him greet them and ask where to find the ships with high payloads and low moral discretion. Azo’lah and I pretended to read bulletins in languages I didn’t recognize, let alone understand as the traders directed Matt down three levels. They told him to hurry as the port was closing within the hour, and those scheduled to leave the planet that day would be taking off soon.
Staying twenty steps behind Matt, we proceeded down three floors, on an oddly Earth-like escalator to a level teeming with aliens hurrying to leave Ynoom before the end of the trading day. Azo’lah and I wove through the throng, the abundant shouts were in so many languages my translator could not keep up. I struggled to maintain focus on Matt’s progress. Instead, I was distracted by a pair of floating aliens shaped like frisbees, who communicated by bumping against one another. And by the group of cylindrical beings that rolled dangerously around the loading dock, knocking more than a few others onto their asses.
Azo’lah snatched me by the collar and hid me behind a precarious stack of crates.
“What the—”
Azo’lah silenced me by lifting my Ran’dyl to my face. Matt’s smooth voice was saying, “—wouldn’t happen to know anyone in need of a pilot?”
A voice like chirping birds responded, “A few. As long as you don’t mind low pay and low chance of survival.”
Matt laughed. “I don’t care about survival rate. But I need this much.”
“No one’s going to pay you that if they’ve never heard of you.”
There were the sounds of a scuffle followed by the clanking of metal against metal. Azo’lah peeked out around our hiding place and made a small noise of approval.
“What’s happening?” I asked, straining to see. Azo’lah held me fast, carefully shielded within our chosen hiding spot. “Azo’lah—”
The same trilling voice came through our comms, somehow higher-pitched than before. “Ah, Majumdar. Ovlas always spoke highly of you. Got him out of that tight spot with the Covlax, didn’t you? And you never turned him in, even though it got you cut loose from your cushy contract running supplies for the Subutex Corps.”
Azo’lah’s midnight eyes widened, her elegant brows rising. She was impressed.
“The Covlax?” I asked quietly.
“A very volatile race. Fierce, highly-skilled warriors. If Majumdar got on their bad side and escaped—”
She cut herself off as Matt’s quarry hummed thoughtfully. “You said you want big pay?”
“I need it.” The way Matt said it made him sound unquestionably desperate, a man willing to do anything for a good pay day. Matt could act. I wondered what other skills he was hiding.
“Go down five slips. They should still be here,” the voice directed Matt. “I don’t know if they still need a pilot, and I don’t know what they’re running—” the rise in cadence made me certain they knew exactly what was being run, “—but if you can keep your mouth shut like you did for Ovlas, then you’ll never worry about money ever again.”
“Thanks for the tip, friend,” came Matt’s silky reply. Azo’lah popped her head out, grabbed my shoulder, and we were on the move again. We dodged hovering palettes and ducked around amassing groups of laughing traders that smelled worse than the toxic alcohol on Ketheno.
Matt stopped beside a platinum ship no larger than a private jet. Its crew stood in its door, smoke billowing from the spiral pipes they held. One of them met my eyes. I turned to the side and began enthusiastically counting a box full of packets that reeked of fish and excrement.
“It seems to all be here,” I told Azo’lah, who looked down at me as though genuinely concerned for my mental state. I prodded her in the ribs and murmured, “Play along.”
“Oh, yes, it is all here,” Azo’lah agreed, smoothly. “We should inventory our other stock before take off.”
I nodded over-enthusiastically. “Excellent idea.”
By the time we were situated beside a pile of fuel drums, Matt was already walking away from the slip, waving at the cloud of smoke the traders were hidden beneath.
“No!” I screeched into my comms. Azo’lah looped an arm around me to prevent me from chasing after him. “Matt, what are you doing? We need—”
“It isn’t them,” Matt interrupted, “and stop screaming!”
“What do you mean it isn’t them?” Azo’lah asked. “The trader upstairs implied their movements were illegal, surely—”
Matt snorted. “They are. They transport Ynoomian coral. Smoke that shit, and you’ll be so high, you’ll think you have tentacles and can breathe underwater. Not our guys, but they knew who I needed to talk to.”
We traipsed after Matt. More ships were gliding from their moors and disappearing into the inky night sky, leaving only three crews for Matt to interview. Maybe one of them was our perpetrators, but my hope was dying fast.
“How’d they know?” I asked as Matt approached a behemoth of a ship, its shape reminiscent of a blue whale.
“The vice lords know everything when it comes to the underground market. Plus, they were scavenging a reef outside the tomb of Ynarr and saw someone acquiring some profitable material. Said I should ask them for a pilot’s seat. Now, let me work,” Matt returned before turning on the charm. “Evening, friends. Need a pilot?”
The three aliens he approached were humanoid in appearance, but their barrel-like torsos were attached to four legs. Their lime-tinted skin had a scaly-quality to it, and instead of noses, they had three horizontal holes in the center of their faces. I noted their feet and knew in my gut that, if I were to take a mold, they would match the incomplete print we found in the tomb of Ynarr.
Azo’lah and I shuffled to the shadows, attempting to look as though we were exactly where we were meant to be, which was difficult, as the port was emptying quickly, and we had nothing to hide behind.
I turned to Azo’lah. “Pretend you’re talking to me.”
“Why must I pretend when we are speaking with one another?” she asked.
I groaned as Matt received the gruff response, “Don’t need a pilot. Move along.”
“You sure about that?” Matt gestured to the barren dock. “You look loaded up and, with the encroaching curfew,” he emphasized the point by tapping his Ran’dyl, “you need to be pulling out of station soon.”
“Our pilot is coming,” the alien replied, his voice like rocks in a blender. “And even if he were not, we do not take on strangers.”
Matt bumped their wristbands together, transferring his information. “Matt Majumdar, pilot. I can fly anything, and I don’t have a moral compass, meaning I also don’t care about what else is on board.”
The tallest of the aliens pushed into Matt’s space, his considerable bulk shoving Matt back a few feet. “Back off.”
“Hey, now,” Matt held up his palms in surrender as Azo’lah tensed beside me, her hand snaking down to her hidden zali’thir. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I had no idea what to do if an actual altercation erupted. “I’m only offering to help.”
“And we said,” the tallest alien gritted, grabbing Matt by the collar, “that we don’t need your help.”
Azo’lah prepared to strike in Matt’s defense. I stepped out of her way, figuring it best for me to leave the fighting to the trained professionals.
“Vrill, leave the human be,” the roundest of their cohort lazily instructed. “Don’t you know who he is? His story is legendary. This is the one who has had the Covlax chasing their many tails looking for him the last few years.”
Vrill, mouth turned down in begrudging respect, released Matt. Azo’lah’s entire body relaxed. I spied their pilot across the port—or at least another of their species—stumbling drunkenly down the escalators. I tapped Azo’lah’s elbow and pointed to the alien descending the escalator. If Matt’s ploy was going to work, that pilot could not reach his destination. “Think you can get rid of him?”
Azo’lah’s eyes rolled so aggressively I felt it in my own sockets. “Easily.”
“Then do it. I have an idea,” I said, pushing her towards him. I had what could be generously called half an idea, but I was quickly learning to work on the fly. “Get rid of him fast.” As an afterthought, I added, “Don’t actually kill him!”
Azo’lah sprinted the length of the dock, silent as a ghost as I mustered up all my courage and revealed myself to Matt and the perpetrators.
“Matty-Matt,” I called, dragging out his name in a whine. I rushed towards him, my arms reaching. Up close, the aliens were even wider than I originally estimated, and their eyes—all of them yellow and sans pupils—were uncannily knowing, as though they could see through you into your soul. I pushed on, my voice going shrill as I cried, “There you are! Did you find someone who will get us off this stupid planet? I want to go.”
Matt stared at me like a deer in headlights. Then his face transitioned to one of coddling indulgence as he got on-board with my Hail Mary play. He wrapped his arm around my waist, fitting me neatly against his body. “Baby, I’m trying. I told you to wait with—where’d Azo’lah go?”
I nuzzled Matt’s shoulder and pointed in the opposite direction of Azo’lah’s true location. “She went looking for you. You know how she gets when she’s bored.”
Matt chuckled fondly, so believably affectionate and amused that, for a moment, even I thought he knew Azo’lah completely. “She’ll turn up shortly, I’m sure,” Matt said.
Over his shoulder, I watched Azo’lah spin the drunken alien into a headlock and lull him to incapacitation. Her muscles flexed as she lowered his considerable girth quietly to the floor.
“Gentlemen,” Matt said, “may I present my beloved, Gretchen. Gretchen, this is Vrill, Rulto, and Pext.” He indicated first the tallest, then the roundest, and finally the silent one. “They are Sarl.” Matt lowered his voice as he leaned closer to the Sarl, “Gretchen’s a little new to space. She’s still learning.”
Rulto eyed me and asked, “What does this Gretchen do?” Across the deck, Azo’lah stuffed the unconscious Sarl pilot into a cargo locker with a resounding clang.
I raised my voice to an annoying falsetto, trying to keep the Sarl’s attention on me. “I keep Matty-Matt company.” Matt tugged me closer and pinched my side in response to the horrifying nickname. Overly-sweet, I asked the Sarl, “What do you do?”
They laughed creepily in tandem, throwing their heads back to display very short but pristinely smooth necks. Unlike the rest of their visible skin, it lacked any scales. “Don’t worry yourself about that,” Rulto replied. His attention turned to where Azo’lah approached, and his yellow eyes narrowed. “Destyrian.”
“What is taking so long?” Azo’lah called. “Are we leaving?”
Matt grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her close. “Working out the details, dearest.”
Azo’lah’s jaw clenched as she stared down at him.
Before she could blow our cover, I said, “Yes, Azo’lah, honey, our dearest Matty-Matt,” another pinch to my side, “is working a deal with these nice Sarl.”
Rulto said, “We already have a pilot.”
Matt tapped his Ran’dyl. “The curfew takes hold in less than five minutes, friend. If you aren’t out of port by then, you’re trapped for the night. I don’t think your boss will be thrilled.”
Vrill’s three nostrils flared. “How do you know our boss?”
“I don’t,” Matt said, “but anyone with half a brain knows that what you’re moving is extremely illegal, and therefore extremely profitable. But that’s only if you get it off-planet. If you can’t get it to your boss, then you’re of no use. Let me help you be useful to your boss.”
The Sarl turned to one another. Pext spoke for the first time. “He is right. Boss will not be happy, and we only have a few minutes—”
“But what about our pilot?” Vrill asked. “He has never been late before.”
That’s because a Myax has never knocked him out cold and shoved him into a locker before, I thought.
Rulto held up a hand. “Majumdar is correct. We need to get off Ynoom now. We’ll pick up our pilot on our return trip.” He eyed Matt, equal parts skeptical and hopeful. “You said you fly anything?”
“Hell yes,” Matt replied eagerly. “Only stipulation is that my ladies come along.”
“The human is fine,” Rulto said, not even looking at me. “But the Destyrian—”
“Doesn’t matter to me if I pilot your bird. But you need me to fly her.” Matt shrugged as though he hadn’t been lying his ass off for the last five minutes to get on the ship. He wrapped his spare arm around Azo’lah’s waist, their height difference, making it more awkward than suave. Azo’lah smiled like she was biting her tongue in an effort to stop herself from ripping his arm off. “I don’t fly unless I have Gretchen and Azo’lah.”
Rulto frowned, displeased. “Fine. Get on the ship.”
Disbelief flooded me. Had our gambit actually worked?
A door in the center of the hull opened, and Rulto ushered us forward. “We’ll discuss payment on our way.”
“Works for us,” Matt smiled winningly. I was uncomfortably reminded of Shockley.
As we boarded the Sarl ship, I reached out with my mind for Azo’lah—like knocking on the door of her brain.
Gretchen? What’s wrong? she replied, the words flashing across my mind.
Can you do the mind-texting thing with Chester? Tell him to get Ryan and Fleetwood and follow us? I asked.
Azo’lah nodded.
We were herded down a dark corridor—not only were the walls black, but the lighting was so dim I could barely see. Too long passed without a response, and I was beginning to worry, we were truly on our own.
They’re coming, Azo’lah sent. I swallowed my relieved sigh.
“Come, Majumdar,” Vrill ordered.
Matt half-hugged me in reassurance before allowing himself to be quickly escorted by Vrill and Rulto down the double-wide halls to the cockpit.
As we rounded a corner and Pext walked farther ahead of us, I whispered, “I cannot believe that worked.”
Azo’lah shook her head. “Neither can I. You are an awful actress.”
Pext escorted us through a round opening and down a mangled, metal ladder that was missing multiple rungs. We emerged into the ship’s common area. It was...
“Disgusting,” Azo’lah sneered. The space was part galley, part lounge. It was furnished with rusting boxy chairs, cushioned with dingy fabric that had clearly demarcated indents from Sarl butts. Food bits, cups, bottles, and what looked like large flakes of key-lime scales were scattered across every surface. It smelled like the reptile house at a zoo mixed with the first, overwhelming whiff of a shitty vodka.
“It’s, uhm...cozy,” I said to Pext in the same airy tone, attempting not to gag as the rank odor accumulated in the back of my throat.
“That is good. I was told domesticated females are difficult to please,” Pext said. I patted Azo’lah’s leg in a minor attempt at placating her. She looked ready to whip out her zali’thir and skewer the Sarl through his middle nostril at the notion of domesticated women.
“Oh no, we’re easy to please. Just so long as we can be with our Matt-Matt-Matty-Matt,” I smiled in what I hoped was a besotted way.
“Yes, our Matty-Matt,” Azo’lah mimicked, her voice reaching an octave I had never heard before. “So...pleasant.”
Pext didn’t notice anything was amiss. He gestured to the closest chair, which was probably meant for one Sarl but was wide enough to fit both Azo’lah and me. I perched gingerly on the sweat-stain colored cushion. Azo’lah did likewise, her hand casually draped over her knee, in range of her hidden stiletto.
Pext walked behind us to grab a bottle off the galley’s table. I tried not to shiver in repugnance as I felt him eyeing our backs.
“What did you do to be branded?” he asked Azo’lah as he crossed back around. “Whatever it is, you should not have let them mar that pretty back.” I inferred that, as a species, backs had something to do with mating for the Sarl. Azo’lah seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
“Azo’lah was a Myax,” I said cheerfully. Pext suddenly looked terrified.
“Was?” Pext asked, all three nostrils flaring.
“I killed a diplomat who dared to touch me without permission in front of a room full of witnesses. He also liked my back,” Azo’lah responded smoothly. Having seen the Myax in action during our altercation with Shockley’s crew at the Temple of Aluthua, I knew she was fast and dangerous. Watching her lie to this alien without flinching while simultaneously trolling him made me wonder exactly what all Myax training entailed.
I gave a fake giggle and placed my hand on her knee. “Well, you do have a lovely back.”
“Thank you, ket’li ,” Azo’lah’s grin widened as she turned to me. I had a feeling that whatever she had just called me in ancient Destyrian was most likely an insult instead of an endearment.
Pext took a long drink of whatever fetid moonshine filled his bottle and stared at us.
“Say, Pexty.” I leaned toward him. I noticed his eyes stray to my cleavage. “Where exactly is Matty-Matt flying us this time?”
Pext grunted and itched his face, dislodging a verdant patch of skin. The scale floated to the floor unnoticed. Disgusting, flashed across my mind like a neon sign.
“Midnari Thetra quadrant,” Pext finally answered.
“Has not that area been abandoned for over 200 years since they exhausted the Cintri mines?” Azo’lah prodded.
“Yeah,” Pext drawled, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the point.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “How dull. Has Matty-Matt lied to us again? He promised our next stop would be somewhere exciting and illegal.”
“This is just a waystop, ket’li,” Azo’lah murmured loud enough for Pext to hear. She stroked my hair concillatorially. “Otherwise, we will have to teach him a lesson.” Pext’s eyes widened as if he would very much like to watch us do so. I was learning way more about Sarl mating habits than I ever wanted to.
We were running out of ways to get information without arousing suspicion, and I was running out of ways to stop myself from dry-heaving from the room’s stench.
I shifted sheepishly on the edge of the seat. “Say Pext, how long is this flight? I gotta use the little human’s room.”
“There is no such room on this ship,” he replied, mystified.
“The restroom,” Azo’lah translated.
“Ah, the flight will only take five hours.”
“Oooh, plenty of time then,” I rose, pulling Azo’lah up with me. “Where’s the head?”
“Both of you do not need to go,” Pext said.
“It’s human custom,” Azo’lah said.
“Yeah!” I pulled up a clip from a terrible teenage movie from Earth on my Ran’dyl. Why do they always have to go to the bathroom in pairs? The nerdy male protagonist asked as the two cheerleaders giggled and made for the restroom. I gestured grandly at the holographic clip. “See?”
“It is down that hallway, on the right,” Pext said.
I jumped to my feet. “It may take a while.”
“We’re going to have sex,” Azo’lah added as she stood. I tripped, and she caught me swiftly. “Human females are insatiable. The last time we were interrupted before we reached a satisfactory ending, I rendered the intruder unable to ever have one again. Come, ket’li.” I found myself half-dragged, half-carried down the corridor by Azo’lah, grateful that Pext couldn’t see my beet-red face.
“What the hell, Azo’lah?” I whispered as she deposited me a minute later by the door to the bathroom. She moved, in that impressively soundless way toward the edge of the corridor.
“I had to give us an excuse not to return for some time, and a threat to keep him away,” Azo’lah explained. “You obviously wanted to get out of there.”
“I wanted to investigate the cargo hold. See if we could find any more information about why they’re taking the shrouds and how many of them they have.” I joined her at the end of the hallway, ducking around her. In an alcove halfway down the currently empty corridor was a computer terminal. “But since you’re here, maybe you could, uhm, have a nice chat with the ship’s computers while we’re at it?”
Azo’lah grinned. “It would be my pleasure, ket’li.” She drew out the last word, clearly teasing me.
“Alright, what does that mean?” I caved.
“It is bar’vrah root in the ancient language.”
“You’ve been calling me a space potato?” I hissed.
Azo’lah shrugged. “As the Fulyiti would say, if the shoe sits…”
“It’s fits,” I corrected but followed her down the grimy corridor toward the terminal.
“One moment,” Azo’lah wrapped one long-fingered hand around the base of the computer terminal. The controls were in the indecipherable written language of the Sarl, but Azo’lah was unphased. Characters flew across the screen.
Watching Azo’lah use her well-guarded Iz’waij abilities was always a bit mind-blowing. I had no idea really how technopathy worked, but it never ceased to impress. She withdrew from the terminal and tapped her Ran’dyl. It produced a three-dimensional map of the ship. After a quick perusal, she pointed to the bottom left corner of the ship. “The cargo hold is this way.”
“Damn,” I said, following her lead through the maze of the ship. “Why weren’t you around when all I had was dial-up?”
“What?” Azo’lah asked. She threw an arm out, pressing me into a nearby alcove as Vrill entered the corridor, stomping in the direction of the galley.
“Never mind,” I hissed. We crept along the corridor and down another ladder to a wide metal door with rotting metal cross beams.
“X marks the spot,” Azo’lah murmured. She placed one hand on the keypad.
“Did you just make an Earth pirate reference?” I grinned.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Azo’lah said primly.
“I think Fleetwood’s rubbing off on you,” I teased.
“Focus, Myaxi.”
“Alright, Captain Azo’lah the Awful.” I grinned as the door slid sideways. We stepped into the pitch black cargo hold. Azo’lah’s finger tapped against the door jamb, activating the lights. “Oh, fucking hell,” I breathed.
The cargo hold was lined with floor to ceiling shelves, stocked with bulky crates. It looked like bootlegger Costco.
I went to the closest crate, frowning when I noticed it’s keypad. I glanced at Azo’lah. She caressed the keypad. It let out a mournful warble and, with a wheeze, the top of the crate released. I pushed the hinged lid backward.
“There’s so many,” I gasped. I pulled my gloves from my utility belt and gently lifted the fabric of the top-most shroud. There, neatly folded and tightly packed, like something out of Marie Kondo’s most ecstatic tidying up fantasy, were what had to be at least fifty shrouds of Ynarr. “You don’t think all of these are shrouds?”
Azo’lah frowned and walked down the row. She popped open another crate. “Unfortunately, I do,” she held up a shroud that looked much more weathered than the one Chester and I had examined in the lab. The tomb that Sgnorp had taken us to was missing less than a dozen shrouds. There had be hundreds, if not thousands, in this cargo hold alone. Exactly how large was this Sarl operation?
“Not without gloves, Azo’lah!” I exclaimed. One frosty eyebrow arched, but she carefully released the shrouds. I came to stand next to her, and not wanting to explain our internal comms to Ryan, I tapped my Ran’dyl to call the Gold Dust Wo’man. “Chester.”
“Gretchen! We’re coming,” Chester’s relieved voice said. I could hear Ryan’s voice in the background. “Is that my away team? Tell them we’re on their trail.”
“Gret’chen!” Fleetwood’s voice joined in. “Where are Azo’lah and Matt?”
“I am here, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah reassured her. “Matt is currently piloting this ship. We are in the cargo hold.”
“Chester, if I scan this shroud, could you carbon date it for me or something similar?” I asked, already starting the process on my Ran’dyl.
“Or something similar,” Chester replied. “FleetMerc, pilot for a few, would you?”
“I do not like driving this beast,” Fleetwood complained, but I heard the telltale shifting of fabric. “I will be glad when Matt is back. It has been a humpy ride.” Ryan laughed, delighted.
“Emergency helm training when we are back in home port,” Ryan announced. “In case this ever happens again.” It was, I thought begrudgingly, an excellent suggestion. Despite the fact that Ryan would be returned to Earth.
I sent the scan to Chester. There was a minute where Fleetwood hummed along to the classic rock that was no doubt playing, as always, through the ship’s comms. “How did you get the Sarl off your back long enough to get away?” Chester asked.
“Uhmm…’ I hummed.
“They believe that Gretchen and I are copulating copiously in a bathroom to fulfill her voracious sexual appetite,” Azo’lah explained with no hint of shame.
There was a moment of complete silence followed by Chester’s unrestrained laughter. “Fucking amazing.”
“Language Chester!” I chastised, thinking of Ryan, but they simply said faintly, “That’s so fucking funny.”
“And what exhibits of evidence did you present to the Sarl jury to convince them of your relationship status, your honors?” Fleetwood asked, sounding unduly concerned.
“It was nothing, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah assured her. “Gretchen merely giggled insipidly.”
“Without going to the lab, I can only give you a rough estimate, but that shroud is roughly 2,000 years old, give or take a decade.”
“What?” I gasped. “Chester, what’s the oldest tomb on Ynoom?”
“The tombs of their old capital, Ilnoor, on the other side of the planet are roughly 4,000 years old. We know the fabric is a lot more durable than it appears, but it does deteriorate with time. My guess is any shroud older than 3,000 years is probably toast by now.”
“They probably raided the oldest tombs first,” Ryan pitched in, closer to Chester.
“And then moved closer to the current capital when they had exhausted their supply,” Azo’lah agreed.
“Fucking desecraters,” I fumed.
“Oh shiz, Gret’chen is fired up and ready to throw shrimp on the barbie,” Fleetwood said.
“Fleetwood, could you send a message to Sgnorp and have him send a party to check the tombs at Ilnoor,” I instructed as Azo’lah shut the lid of the crate. “And if they haven’t already, place sentries outside all existing tombs, new and old, and let no outworlders near, especially Sarl.”
“Ten-four, babe,” Fleetwood said.
“We should get back before they see through our excuse,” Azo’lah said. “We are heading to the Midnari Thetra quadrant, most likely near Cintri.”
“We’ve got it,” Chester confirmed.
“Except for maybe the landing portion of the evening’s program,” Fleetwood admitted, sounding alarmingly unconcerned by the idea.
“We will keep in touch,” Azo’lah said and severed the connection. “Come, we must get back.” She pulled my hair out of its ponytail, ruffling it mercilessly.
“What the hell?” I pushed her away.
“Myaxi,” she said sternly, “we must look like we—”
“Were copiously copulating?” I sighed, untucking my shirt and undoing buttons. The things I did for archaeology.