The Shrouds of Ynarr: Part 3
The rest of our journey to the Midnari Thetra quadrant was uneventful, if a bit uncomfortable. Matt’s announcement of our imminent arrival over the ship’s comms was more than welcome. Azo’lah and I couldn’t wait to escape the putrid lounge.
Pext escorted us through the equally malodorous bowels of the ship to the main exit. As we passed a grime-streaked window, I caught sight of a planet. It was jet black, triple-ringed, and so gargantuan it would’ve dwarfed Jupiter.
“Look, ket’li, it’s Cintri,” Azo’lah murmured sweetly, still playing the part of a loving girlfriend for Pext’s benefit. She pointed to a surprisingly small disc of a station suspended above the planet’s rings. Like the planet, it was onyx and would have been impossible to see except for the lights that illuminated every window of its fifteen floors. “We’re going to the mining station there.”
I was beginning to believe Matt wasn’t boasting in the slightest when he claimed he could fly anything. He docked the mammoth Sarl junker with the same finesse as the Gold Dust Wo’man. When we arrived at the door, he was already waiting with the rest of the Sarl crew.
We disembarked the Sarl ship in a hangar labeled in a jagged language. I discreetly turned on my Ran’dyl tracking feature as well as my comms, so Chester, Fleetwood, and Ryan could hear what was happening while also muting my audio feed just in case. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I would’ve missed Azo’lah’s fingers skating across her wristband doing the same thing.
“This is…nice,” I commented into the oppressive silence. I had expected a bustling waystation overflowing with Sarl elbows-deep in illegal shroud trafficking. Instead, I found an empty, moderately-maintained space station with all its lights left on, like someone had forgotten to flip the switch off before leaving for work that morning.
Rulto ignored me. He flicked his wrist at Vrill and Pext. “Unload.” He turned to Matt, Azo’lah, and me. “Follow. Boss is expecting us.”
Wedged between Matt and Azo’lah, I followed Rulto into a dark hallway. We passed no one—Sarl or other. The floors were littered with Sarl scales, and every window, door, and knob we passed had a fine coating of dust. The station's bulky computer terminals and consoles looked outdated, even to my untrained human eyes.
“This is not what I was expecting, my loves,” I whispered under my breath. I added the endearment just in case the Sarl had superior hearing.
Azo’lah trailed her fingers along the wall, only for Rulto to swat her palm down to her side. “What are you doing?” he asked, suspicious.
Azo’lah swallowed her anger at being touched. “Nothing,” she gritted out, “just appreciating the fine metal of Cintri.”
Rulto snarled but said nothing else as he continued leading us forward.
Matt shot us a questioning gaze. We both shook our heads nonchalantly.
He stopped me before I could access the station’s mainframe, Azo’lah answered my unasked question across our mind-link.
Damn it.
I cleared my throat and picked up our conversation once more. “I’m surprised the station is still in such good shape. I expected an abandoned station to be more…”
“The station wasn’t abandoned because it was out of date or falling apart,” Matt inserted. “It was abandoned because they stripped Cintri of all she had to offer.” We walked past what must have been a lounge when the station was operational. Out the panoramic window, Cintri loomed ominously, its atmosphere smog-like and swirling. “They say Cintri was green before the metal mining started, but with all of the pollution...”
“They killed the planet,” I said. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, surrounded by the ghosts of Cintri’s previous inhabitants.
Matt shrugged as we entered an elevator and ascended several floors into an open common area at the center of the station. From the look of it, this had been the central hub of commerce for the station. Hexagonal with a ceiling that soared over eight floors, the space was lined with what were once shops and restaurants if their neglected storefronts were anything to guess by. A highly arched exit was wedged between shops on every wall. Overhead, wrap-around balconies had full view of us from every floor. Like the rest of the station, everything was black; unlike the rest of the ship, the lights, while still on, were dimmed.
In the center of the room stood a Sarl so large that even Vrill, the largest of the crew, looked diminutive. Thick as an ionic column, he leered down at us with liquid venom eyes and a comic book sneer. Unlike his underlings, Boss Sarl’s skin was not green or scaled. Instead, it was velvet-smooth with a distinct lemony glow.
“Boss,” Rulto greeted, raising two of his four legs and waving them about. A gesture of submission, I assumed, since Boss Sarl did not return the motion.
“Rulto,” Boss Sarl said, his voice greasier than an oil slick, “who have you brought me?”
“Matt Majumdar, pilot,” Matt introduced himself. “These are my beloveds, Gretchen and Azo’lah.”
Boss Sarl’s yellow eyes narrowed when they fell on Azo’lah. “Destyrian.” He strolled around us in a meandering circle, inspecting us from head to foot. As he walked behind us, he spat, “Myax.”
“Former,” Azo’lah lied easily.
“There is no such thing as a former Myax,” Boss Sarl growled, coming back around to face us.
Azo’lah shrugged. “There is when your penchant for killing stretches beyond the parameters of the Myax Code.”
“I see.” Boss Sarl’s thin lips tilted upward, impressed. “Majumdar, I’m told you stepped in to fly our transport when our pilot disappeared and, even with leaving later than usual, you arrived early. There aren’t many pilots that could pull that off, especially on a ship they’d never flown before.”
Matt ruffled his hair, the perfect image of the carefree rogue. “Not many pilots are me.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Barely. “That’s our Matty-Matt, best pilot there is,” I said, oozing overenthusiastic pride. “You’d be lucky to have him working for you.” I peered around the hollowed space curiously. “What exactly do you do here? Does this place even work properly? It’s, like, old.”
Boss Sarl laughed, a booming sound that had my hair standing on end. “Your human companion is entertaining, Majumdar, I see why you keep her around. Yes, little one, the station is old and abandoned. And, now that Cintri is no longer of use to anyone, we are two quadrants removed from the nearest inhabited galaxy.” He laughed again, this time more like he was sharing an inside joke. “That suits our purposes just fine.”
Boss Sarl continued, “The message Rulto sent ahead said we owe you a sizable sum for your services, Majumdar? How would you feel about doubling that amount? Tripling it?”
“I’d feel better about quadrupling it,” Matt returned easily, as though he negotiated payment for illegal transportation of goods everyday. My stomach turned as I realized that maybe he did. He had worked for Shockley before. It was possible that he wasn’t playing a part at all. Who he had been with us might be the facade.
“That can be arranged.” Boss Sarl’s gaze caught and held on Azo’lah, “but your Myax will contribute to your earnings. We could use the extra security at J’olpri Market.”
Azo’lah’s eyes widened.
Matt gasped, caught himself, and turned it into a cough. “You sell at J’olpri?
“J’olpri?” I repeated, my curiosity sparking.
“The most exclusive black market in all the known galaxies. Extremely hush-hush,” Matt explained, snaking an arm around my waist. “So, of course, it’s the universe’s worst kept secret. It’s full of the biggest, baddest black market kingpins in space. It’s beyond dangerous; you’d love it.”
My heart toppled with the realization that we were, once again, in way over our heads. If we had any chance of getting the shrouds back to the Ynoom and surviving, then our best bet was to steal them back while they were still on this station.
Myaxi, Chester has informed me their eta is 20 minutes, Azo’lah mind-messaged me. Fulyiti Fleetwood says they have our ass.
I grazed my elbow against her hip in acknowledgment. We were on the same page: keep the Sarl distracted until the cavalry came.
“—sounds as though you are interested in joining our venture,” Boss Sarl was saying, “but first we must discuss terms. Come.” Boss Sarl gestured behind him. From an archway at Boss Sarl’s back, two Sarl built like pick-up trucks emerged.
Matt’s eyebrows rose at the new arrivals. “And they are?”
“My security. You don’t expect me to enter negotiations with a Destyrian Myax without protection, do you?” Boss Sarl said.
“I don’t know, we negotiate privately all the time,” Matt chuckled. It was the low, creeping laugh of a man showing off a conquest to another. Azo’lah’s expression darkened, but she kept her mouth shut, which, at this point, was the most we could ask for.
“Rulto, go check on Vrill and Pext while I speak with our new associates,” Boss Sarl demanded.
If we all went with Boss Sarl, there would be no way to keep an eye on the other Sarl and thereby discover where exactly they were taking the shrouds once they were unloaded from the ship. If we couldn’t secure them before our backup arrived, it might be too late.
“Oh, oh!” I bounced onto the balls of my feet. “Can I go back with Rulto? This meeting, discussion, whatever,” my voice reached a pitch only dogs would recognize, “sounds so boring.” Matt’s arm, still tucked around my waist, tightened. I knocked our feet together, a silent demand for his trust. His arm loosened. “Puh-lease, Matty-Matt?” I pouted. “You and Azo-Zo go talk with Boss Sarl, and Rulto will take me back to Pexty. He’ll entertain me!”
“I do not know if that’s a wise idea,” Azo’lah said, her face twisted into thunderous disapproval. I winced. Yeah, I was definitely going to pay for that nickname later.
“But I’m bored already,” I pressed, shooting an expectant look Azo’lah’s way. The only hope we had of achieving our goal was if we split up. “You don’t want me bored, do you, Azo-Zo?”
Azo’lah’s jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched like she wished she were holding her zali’thir. “No. No, I do not. Boss Sarl, would you be so kind as to allow our human companion to—”
“I don’t care. Rulto take her,” Boss Sarl waved a careless hand in my direction, his focus already returned to business.
“Behave yourself, my love,” Matt instructed fondly, leaning in to kiss both my cheeks. He hissed into my ear, “I do not like this. Don’t do anything stupid—”
“I always behave myself,” I giggled, squeezing his forearm in reassurance. I turned to Azo’lah and said, “Don’t get too lonely without me.”
Azo’lah grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed our foreheads together. “Ket’li, I will miss you.”
Be careful, Myaxi, she instructed from inside my head.
“You too,” I said as she released me. I did not allow myself the luxury of watching them walk away. My heartbeat ramped up as I told myself there was nothing to worry about, we would see each other soon. This was not a goodbye.
I bounded to Rulto’s side, linked our arms together, and channeled Fleetwood Mercury as I attempted to tug him back the way we had arrived. “Let’s go! Do you want to play I Spy on our way down? I’ll go first. Ah, yes! You’ll never get it. I spy with my little eye, something black!”
On the way back to the hangar, I did my best to maintain my one-sided game. It was difficult since my attention was diverted by the technopathic updates Azo’lah was sending.
“Rulto, you have to guess,” I simpered. “Come on! I said I spy something black.” I patted the wall, “It isn’t as though you lack things to guess!”
We were right, Azo’lah’s message scrolled across my mind, they cleared out the tombs of Ynarr at Ilnoor and are moving on to newer sites. I tripped at this news but recovered by turning it into a skip. I told Rulto, “Fine, your turn!”
They are the only supplier of illegal Ynoom shrouds, which means they charge a premium, Azo’lah informed me.
That means this is the only syndicate we need to shut down, I sent back to her, desperate to hold onto one of the only pieces of good news we’d gotten since arriving.
Rulto was spared from spying as we entered the hangar to find Pext and Vrill beside the ship, sitting on one of the three dozen unloaded crates and smoking from pipes. Save for the centrally parked Sarl ship, its unpacked contents, and some scattered pallets, the sprawling hangar was empty. Rulto’s voice echoed as he shouted, “What’s this? Taking a break before the inventory’s been counted?”
Startled, Vrill and Pext dropped their pipes, freckling the deck with dank, half-burned herbs. “If Boss had found you—”
“Pexty!” I cut in, rushing forward. All three Sarl recoiled at the heightened pitch of my voice. “Did you miss me? I missed you!” I spun on the spot before running my hands along the crates. I hoped I looked restlessly active and not over-protective of the shrouds as I asked, “What’s in here?”
Rulto pulled back my hand with a snarl. “Nothing for humans.”
“I’m just curious,” I slipped out of his grip and glanced between Pext and Vrill. “Please tell me our next stop isn’t this lame.”
To my delight, Pext agreed. “Don’t fret, human. J’olpri is much better.”
I pushed my luck. “Then why didn’t we just go straight there?”
Pext said, “The merchandise has to be inspected by the scientist. Make sure that the dye will be effective when burned—”
“Enough sharing,” Rulto interrupted. “The human is not part of the operation.” He slammed a meaty palm against one of the crates. “Quit slacking and get these down to the lab. The faster they’re tested, the faster we get off this damn station. And you,” Rulto rounded on me, “don’t get in their way.”
He stalked out of the loading bay, muttering darkly to himself. I asked, “Where’s Rulto going? Is he doing something fun without us?”
“No. This isn’t a place for fun,” Vrill spat as he pried a crate open and began rummaging through the fabric. I bit my lip to stop myself from yelling at him. “We just use the station to test the dye and to change ships so we can’t be tracked.”
“So what? There are only, like, thirty of you here?” I guessed wildly.
“Less. Us, Scientist, Boss, and his security team. Boss doesn’t go anywhere without his security, and he always leaves two of them to watch the Scientist.”
That was less than twelve Sarl. Twelve wasn’t insurmountable, especially when you had a Myax on your side.
Less than twelve Sarl aboard the station, I sent across the mental canyon between me and Azo’lah.
That is not ideal, but it is manageable, Azo’lah replied. I should have no issues disposing of the Boss and his minions.
“What does the scientist test for?” I asked, my mind reeling with the possibilities of what was released when the shrouds were burned: hallucinogens, a cure for cancer, an incense that elevated Sarl IQ—
Vrill shrugged a mountainous shoulder. “Don’t know. Just know that when the dye burns, it does this.” They both pointed to their throats where their skin, like Boss Sarl’s entire face, was devoid of limey scales. “Noble Sarl pay good money for smooth skin.”
Torn between horror and morbid amusement, I froze.
An exfoliator. They were desecrating tombs, disrespecting an entire culture, and burning ancient, sacred shrouds for an exfoliator.
I wanted to gouge their eyes out. Instead, I asked, “How’d you learn all of this? Did some random Sarl just steal a shro—one of those thingys and burn it for funsies?”
“Funsies? What is funsies?” Vrill asked, his face tightening with suspicion.
“A Sarl architect who helped build the Ynoom capital died in a construction accident. When his body was returned, it was wrapped in one of these.” Pext slapped a crate. “The Sarl who died was one of Boss’ former security guards, so he was burned on the Pyre of Golgicraw, the highest honor a Sarl can receive. The day after, everyone who had attended the pyre had shed.”
My head bobbed as I processed the story. Their exfoliation discovery had been a total accident.
My blood boiled in my veins.
Pext turned to Vrill. “Your turn to take the haul.”
Grumbling and eyeing the pipe back in Pext’s hands, Vrill slumped off to grab a floating barge, hefting six crates atop it. “I get my break next,” he said, directing the full barge in the same direction Rulto had disappeared.
I eyed the thirty crates he left behind and wondered how many were still in the ship’s cargo hold. If I wanted to secure the shrouds Vrill had left behind, I needed to take advantage of Pext being the only Sarl around to watch me. Who knew what chaos would occur when the Gold Dust Wo’man arrived.
Pext rekindled his pipe, and I saw my chance. I took a large, shuddering inhale before I hunched over in an exaggerated coughing fit.
“What is wrong, tiny human?” Pext asked, his mouth curled in disgust.
I stood up, fake-coughing so hard my shoulders shook. “The smoke from your pipe—I have sensitive lungs.” I sagged against one of the remaining crates as another “fit” took hold. I pointed to the furthest corner of the hangar. “Do you think you could smoke over there? Like way over there?”
“That is not—”
Leaving my mouth uncovered, I coughed directly in Pext’s direction and did my best to make it sound extra phlegmy. Recoiling, his four feet, carried him backward at an astonishing speed for his size. “I will be over here, do not do anything you shouldn’t,” Pext instructed, his voice fading as he hustled to stand by the door that led into the station. The spot was not ideal for him or me—the crates and I were no longer in his direct sightline, cut off by the ship, but I also had no means of re-entering the station without drawing his attention.
I crouched down amongst the remaining crates and slapped my Ran’dyl, activating my comms. I would’ve continued to use the technopathic link between our implants, but I wanted to keep Ryan safe. To achieve that, they needed to be as much in the loop as possible. I lowered my voice as I hissed, “Chester, how far out are you?”
“We’ll be gate-crashing in less than one earth minute,” Fleetwood replied. “Your tracker has you in the main port of entry.”
“We’re coming in hot, Gretchen,” Ryan sounded strained. “Get somewhere safe. Fast.”
“How hot?” I demanded.
“The braking mechanism on this ship is very different from the Qu’een,” Chester said defensively.
I scrambled against the crates around me, futilely attempting to push them to safety. “There are shrouds on the dock. If you come crashing in here—”
“Stop worrying about the shrouds, Borowicz, and worry about yourself,” Ryan commanded.
“But—but—”
“Thirty seconds,” Chester warned.
I leaped up and wrenched at the lid of a crate. Miraculously, it opened. Pext and Vrill must have opened the containers to check their contents before taking them to the Scientist. “Guys,” I pleaded, “give me a minute to—”
“Twenty seconds,” Chester said over Fleetwood’s delighted laughter. “Hacking exterior port doors now.”
“Chester, wait!” I wailed, grabbed an armful of shrouds, cradling them close.
“You can’t salvage anything if you’re crushed to death!” Ryan yelled as the exterior doors ground open the sound like a car engine refusing to start.
Pext straightened up, pipe falling from his mouth. “What—”
I shoved the shrouds up my shirt and grabbed more.
“Ten seconds!” Chester shouted as three more shrouds went down my pants. “Gretchen, find cover, I’m decelerating, but the impact is still going to be substantial.”
“Do not hurt my Gret’chen!” Fleetwood shrieked.
“I don’t want to, but I can’t hold it!” Chester yelled, indignant.
“But the shrouds!” I argued, making one last, futile attempt to tug a crate out of the crash path of the Gold Dust Wo’man.
“Borowicz, get to safety. That’s an order!” Ryan commanded over the line. Something about the steely authority lining their words sent me sprinting, excess shrouds flapping out of my shirt as Chester’s countdown ticked to zero. I looked up to see the Gold Dust Wo’man slicing through the darkness like a glitter-splattered knife coming right for me.
I dove behind a stockpile of unused palettes, my shroud-stuffing cushioning my fall. The Gold Dust Wo’man screamed into the loading dock, her hull leaving a thousand-feet long fairy dust trail as she decelerated. The mining station see-sawed with the impact, and Pext, too slow to find cover, was sent careening headfirst into the wall.
The Gold Dust Wo’man slammed into the Sarl ship, the collision bringing her to an abrupt, merciful halt.
“Gretchen! Gretchen, are you okay?” Chester bellowed over my Ran’dyl.
“Borowicz, status report!” Ryan ordered.
I took visual stock of my body, wiggling my extremities for good measure. “I’m okay, I’m okay!”
Fleetwood hollered in jubilant triumph as I jumped up and raced to where the crates of shrouds had been flung forward, some even toppling over. Though spilling out onto the floor and covered in a layer of glitter from the Gold Dust Wo’man’s now peeling paint, they all seemed to still be in order. “The shrouds are okay too,” I said, throwing my arms around the crate in a hug of gratitude. I hastily removed the shrouds from my shirt and pants, gently folding them into an open crate. “Are you guys good?”
“Yeah, we’re good,” Chester replied as, across the hangar, the Wo’man’s gangplank dropped. Chester and Fleetwood came trampling down, weapons raised, Ryan trailing behind them. I raced to my friends and was immediately engulfed in a four-way hug.
As Fleetwood pulled me in for a solo, only somewhat-suffocating embrace, Ryan hit their Ran’dyl and said, “Captain Thorley to Majumdar and Myax. Status report.”
There was a moment of silence followed by a static hiss and then the unmistakable grunts and crunches I’d typically associate with a particularly violent scene in an action movie.
“We’re okay, Captain,” Matt called down the comms as Azo’lah grunted in the background. “But we have a bit of a situation. Requesting back-up. Azo’lah’s sending location now.”
“We’ll be right there.” Ryan grinned. “Come on, let’s go get our crew, and take this fucking station.”
A high pitched klaxon pierced our eardrums. The hangar was suddenly awash with emerald light that pulsed like a beating heart. A belligerent voice announced, “Intruder, Mt’thickwae, Hatobi, Intruder, Intruder…” Apparently, my chip only knew the word for intruder in half of the languages that had been present on Cintri. The massive metal door that led inside of the station began to slide closed.
“I thought this shit just happened in movies,” Ryan muttered, their blue eyes flashing turquoise in the green light. “Fucking rad.”
“You said there were twelve of them? We can’t take twelve of them,” Chester protested.
“Azo’lah currently has three at least,” I said. “And you took Pexty out with your landing.” The Sarl in question currently resembled an overgrown potato bug curled up at the bottom of the hangar wall.
“They won’t send more than four after us,” Ryan posited, as though they regularly stormed abandoned mining-turned-black-market-waystations. “Their priorities will be split between protecting the cargo and their boss.”
“Orders?” Fleetwood asked, handing me the gun that I had appropriated from Nyc’arra during our mission on Vas Roya. I gripped it gingerly. I was not entirely comfortable using it. I wished I had practiced with it during the intervening year.
“Can we scan for life signs with these?” Ryan indicated their Ran’dyl. “Is that even a thing?”
“Only for a ten-foot radius,” Chester said. “It isn’t like I had the time to sync our Ran’dyls with the Gold Dust Woman’s system.”
“Love is blind, and so are we,” Fleetwood sing-songed. “Also, we have corporation.” She pointed to the entrance of the hangar. Beside the closed, mammoth loading doors, a slim access hatch creaked open.
“Seal our ship, take cover,” Ryan commanded, allowing Fleetwood to usher them behind the Sarl’s accordioned ship. Chester tapped his Ran’dyl, and the Gold Dust Wo’man’s gangplank whirred upward. The protective shields hummed as they were brought back online.
I crouched, peering through the gap between the ships. Two rotund Sarl had already forced their way through the slightly too small access door, and the third was struggling to follow suit. I heard a quiet, scraping sound. Fleetwood was scaling the Sarl ship to our right, extending a hand to Ryan to help them up.
Fleetwood winked at me when she caught my eye. Even from inside my head, her voice was barely audible over the racket around me. “Gret’chen, your Ran’dyl, sync the sound to Chester’s. Then remove it, please, and thank you with a cherry on top.”
“Is now the time?” I muttered, glancing to where Ryan and Fleetwood were slowly and quietly advancing across the roof of the Sarl ship toward a fin-like wing which had been bent in the crash, half of it now jutted toward the ceiling.
“Trust is a two-way highway,” Fleetwood explained. Against my better judgment, I nudged Chester with my shoulder. He ducked down, taking over as lookout while I fulfilled Fleetwood’s request. “One more,” Chester said. “Ryan was right, there’s four of them total. Do we have a plan?”
“Gret’chen, you slide yours into home on the right, and I will go left.” I glanced up at Fleetwood, who was also holding her own Ran’dyl. She mimed tossing it. “Chester, on ‘go,’ please provide distraction music. On your mark, get set, GO, MINIONS OF DARKNESS!”
I threw my Ran’dyl as hard as I could along the floor through the gap between the ships while Fleetwood lobbed hers in a graceful diagonal arc. Classic rock burst from the wristbands at top volume. Confused, the Sarl turned to locate the source of the noise. Fleetwood took advantage of their distraction, ducking out from behind the wing and shooting the closest Sarl four times in rapid succession. As he fell to the knees of his stubby legs, it hit me—these guys were going to be tough to take down. Their scaly skin provided them a natural layer of protection.
Chester seemed to be holding down his gun’s trigger, spraying in a repetitive, zig-zag, hoping to hit something. I couldn’t fault the technique as one of the Sarl roared when his foot was hit, only to scream even louder when he could not reach the wounded appendage with his stubby arms. Meanwhile, the remaining Sarl were forced to play a high stakes game of dodge the bullet to avoid the same fate.
“Chester, a boost?” I asked.
“Sure thing,” he replied, offering me his spare hand and shoulder. I grabbed his shoulder to hoist myself upward and gain a foothold in the side of the Sarl ship. I pulled myself up, with no small effort. I laid down on my stomach and took aim at the nearest Sarl. Three out of my seven shots landed, which was sad, considering I had such large target areas.
“What the fuck does it take to get these guys down?” Chester said over the comms.
“Me,” Fleetwood replied. “Captain, catch!”
“She’s not going to do what I think is, is she?” I asked as in true Fleetwood fashion, she already had launched herself off of the ship, her dagger in one hand, an electric magenta shield powering up from a jeweled band on her right forearm.
“Damn the torpedoes!” Fleetwood yelled. She landed on the Sarl that Chester had shot in the foot, knocking the Sarl to the floor. He writhed, belly-up, like an overturned armadillo. “Give him a rumbly tumbly, Captain!” Fleetwood called, pressing the struggling Sarl down with her body weight across his face. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but two shots rang out from above me—
Jesus fucking Christ, Fleetwood had thrown a gun at Ryan, who was, apparently, a crack shot as three more electric-bolts landed right in the Sarl’s fleshy stomach. He let out a pathetic wheezing groan before going limp.
Fleetwood, who had begun moving before Ryan’s last bolt landed, performed some sort of Flashdance era jazz leap into the Sarl that was barrelling toward his fallen comrade. Taking a leaf out of Chester’s book, I aimed for the oncoming Sarl’s feet. He performed a pathetic tuck jump to avoid my bolts but was conveniently midair when Fleetwood descended. Two more shots rang out as they fell.
Ryan’s whoop of victory morphed into alarm. “Shit!” The second remaining Sarl had discovered Ryan’s hiding place and was attempting to climb the ship to get them. Meanwhile, his buddy on the ground was beelining for Chester, who was charging the Sarl pursuing Ryan and bellowing, “Leave them alone! They can’t even vote, you dipshit!”
I rose to my feet, ignoring the burning scratch of metal down my left calf as I stood. “Fleetwood!”
Screaming inarticulately, she catapulted herself, feet-first, at the Sarl in a move I’d only seen in professional wrestling. Grabbing onto a nearby piece of hull, I leaned out from my makeshift cover and shot three times in the Sarl’s direction. Two bolts hit; one went wide and glanced off of Fleetwoods arm. “Shit! I’m so sorry!” I called, horrified.
“To Ryan!” Fleetwood said, utterly unphased by her singed arm. I pulled myself back into a completely upright position, knowing already that my lower back was going to hate me for attempting another physical feat I didn’t possess the upper body strength for. I ran, paralleling Fleetwood’s path below me, albeit much less gracefully, toward where Chester had both arms wrapped around the final Sarl’s legs and was attempting to yank it away from Ryan.
“Incoming!” was all the warning Fleetwood gave before she full-on rugby tackled Chester and the Sarl, taking them all to the metal deck in a pile of limbs.
“Get clear!” Ryan panted, and, as Chester and Fleetwood rolled to safety, I shot two bolts into the Sarl, just as Ryan let loose their own three.
I collapsed to all fours, unable to hear my own labored breathing over the klaxon still blaring, the music from our Ran’dyls and the Sarl’s deep moans of distress. “Is everyone okay?” I called, sitting back on my heels, hissing in pain as it stretched my injured calf.
“Right as rain,” Fleetwood raised her arms and issued two thumbs up. Chester moved just enough to cut the music.
“Did I...did I kill them?” Ryan peered down at the Sarl that had tried to climb the ship.
“Worry not,” Fleetwood soothed, “lethal weapons aren’t our bag. Gret’chen’s weapon is the strongest, and it would still take several shots to a vulnerable area to be fatal. They are merely KO’ed.” Fleetwood crawled over to Chester and, leaning on each other, they rose to their feet. Reassured, I started picking my way down the side of the ship, attempting not to agitate my injury further.
“Allow me, milady!”
I squealed, unexpectedly airborne. Fleetwood twirled me around, then placed me gently on my feet, facing her. She was beaming, looking like she’d just come off an exhilarating roller coaster instead of surviving a firefight.
“You shouldn’t have lifted me with that arm!” I looked at the angry dark brown and yellow crater on her upper left arm. “I’m so sorry, Fleetwood!”
“You did not mean to,” Fleetwood said simply as Chester came to her side. She brushed a strand of my sweat-saturated hair behind my ear. “Are you well?”
“She’s bleeding.” I turned to see Ryan come up behind me. Ryan squatted, peering at my leg. “This is deep. It’s probably going to need stitches.”
Fleetwood looked at me, as serious as I had ever seen her. “Can you continue, or do you need to stay on the ship?”
My good sense thought the ship sounded nice. The other part of me, which realized we hadn’t heard from Azo’lah and Matt for much too long now, knew I wouldn’t be able to sit tight on the ship without knowing their fate.
“I have your asses,” I said, and it was easy to muster up the accompanying smile in response to Fleetwood’s.
Fleetwood found a hole near the hem of my button-up, where the metal of the ship had snagged the fabric. She tore it and handed the strip to Ryan to quickly bandage my leg. “I’ll collect our Ran’dyls. Then we collect our friends.”
“Clear,” I said, as my Ran’dyl’s proximity scan—a technology I didn’t even know it possessed until five minutes ago—showed that we were alone. Well, at least for the first ten feet out the door.
“Move out,” Ryan instructed. We filed through the access hatch like well-armed lemmings. The corridor was illuminated in the same, terrible green light, and I was already over my klaxon-led intergalactic language lesson. Fleetwood Mercury pranced into the lead, glancing at her scanner.
She paused at the end of the corridor and ducked her head around the corner. “Chester, are we hot or cold?” she asked.
“I think we have to go up,” he responded. He tapped his Ran’dyl, which was pinned to his chest, initiating a projection of the station that hovered in front of him. A small, 3-D depiction of the Myax glyph sat centrally. Below it and to the right, a cartoon rendering of Fleetwood, a tiny lion face, and a crossed hammer and brush represented our location relative to Azo’lah. Chester had customized our icons on his Ran’dyl’s tracking function. “Gretchen, does that sound right?”
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to recall my path to the loading dock with Pext. “We used an elevator at the end of the hallway there,” I pointed to the left. “I’m not sure how many floors we came down, though. And it looks like Azo’lah and Matt may have moved.”
“Up it is,” Ryan said and charged toward the lift. The doors hissed open angrily when we approached like it was irritated at being pressed into service. “The elevators on Destyr are cooler,” Ryan noted as Chester, and I puzzled over the controls. While our translator implants worked wonderfully for the spoken word, the only written language they were designed for was modern Destyrian. Which was a problem. Fleetwood’s solution was reaching between us and slamming her hand on the whole panel. Several buttons lit up, and the lift rumbled upward.
Moments later, the doors opened to an empty corridor. Fleetwood waved to it merrily before the door shut, and we were moving again. I glanced over at the projection still in front of Chester. Our icons, stacked on top of each other, were moving steadily closer to Azo’lah. The lift stopped again. Our icons were now level with, but still a ways away from Azo’lah’s glyph. The doors hissed open, revealing two Sarl.
“Hello! This is our stop. Please exit the ride,” Fleetwood said and launched herself at them. She collided with the Sarl on the right, her momentum carrying them both into the wall as she punched him in the throat.
Ryan fired off half a dozen bolts, hitting the second Sarl square in the face. He collapsed to the ground with a snort and a sizzle. Fleetwood’s target dropped shortly after.
Wide-eyed, Chester pressed Ryan’s arm down to their side. “Too much?” Ryan asked, staring at the downed Sarl.
Chester grimaced. “Maybe just a little.”
At the end of the corridor, we turned right and found ourselves back in the open common area where I had first met Boss Sarl. The flashing green light and blaring alarm made the space seem eerily larger. We skidded to a halt at the center of the room.
“Backs together so they can’t sneak up on us,” Ryan ordered, gesturing to all of the entrances. We scurried to obey. Ryan aimed their gun toward the open-air balconies. “Everyone on high alert while Chester checks our bearings.”
“Which way?” I asked as Chester looked over his 3D schematic.
“Fuck, did they move?” I asked. Azo’lah’s glyph was now two floors higher and further to the left.
“Yes,” Chester groaned. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and studied the tiny projection. He pointed in the direction Ryan was facing. “We need to go that way and up.”
“Hustle,” Ryan said, as we raced across the room. The flashing lights and the obnoxious klaxon, which was still screaming, “Intruder, Mt’thickwae, Hatobi, Intruder,” kept time with our steps until we reached the archway that led into yet another, identical black-metal corridor.
I breathed slowly and purposefully against the steadily mounting full-body ache from the injuries I sustained during our hangar showdown.
“There should be stairs, right…” Chester trailed off. In front of us was a door, wedged open by a metal chair.
“What in the hell?” Ryan breathed.
I peered around Chester to find a small room, set-up as though it was an office in its previous life. There were two Sarl on the floor, and another one spread eagle across the desk. A fourth Sarl was hanging upside down from the lighting fixture, a sturdy rope tied to their ankle. They were all unconscious.
A splatter of yellow Destyrian blood decorated a window that overlooked Cintri, and a series of smeared red handprints were stamped beside the door.
There was no sign of Boss Sarl, Azo’lah, or Matt.
“Fuck,” I cursed. “This is where Boss Sarl took them. They must’ve been moved once you guys made your grand entrance.”
Eyes trained on the bloody handprints, Ryan’s gaze hardened. “Let’s go.”
Chester guided us through the hallway to the stairs. I studiously ignored the yellow and red droplets that littered the otherwise pristine floor. As we ascended the stairs, the sounds of blasters going off, shouting Sarl, and heavy thuds broke through the continued klaxon.
It sounded like Azo’lah and Matt were fighting every Sarl left on the station.
Ryan hefted their gun. “Going in hot,” they commanded. Fleetwood took point, leading the charge from the stairs and into...
“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” Ryan commented, lowering their gun.
A string of unconscious Sarl bodies created a pathway to a wide-windowed, monochromatic white laboratory. Through the glass panes, I spied crates of Ynoomian shrouds. Some had holes burned around the edges, others were tightly bundled for distribution. In the middle of the room, Matt sat on a table, smiling cheerfully as he pointed a gun at the smooth-skinned throat of a trembling Sarl, who was smaller than the rest. Next to the table, Azo’lah stood, threateningly, over a kneeling Boss Sarl. They sneered at one another as though they would like nothing better than to rip the other’s arms off.
Fleetwood dropped her attack position, shoulders slouching in disappointment. “But, I wanted to kick names and take assemblies!”
“Azo’lah! Matt!” I pushed past Fleetwood and into the lab, tripping over the Sarl legs in my way.
The door to the lab slid open automatically as Matt called, “Gretchen, my beloved! Chester, I hope you didn’t ruin my ship with that catastrophic landing.”
“Your ship?” Chester sputtered at my back. “Catastrophic landing?”
Matt’s smile widened. “What else could’ve shaken this place like a cocktail?”
“Azo’lah, what—what happened? Are you guys okay?” I asked, my eyes frantically searching between the two of them for the sources of blood we found two floors below.
Matt had a cut on his left forearm. It didn’t look too deep, but it certainly bled profusely. Azo’lah sported a split lip, and her usually sleek ponytail was rather bedraggled. Otherwise, they looked perfectly fine.
“We are well, Myaxi,” Azo’lah replied. Her brilliant eyes stole away from Boss Sarl for a moment to meet mine. “And you?”
I gulped, the fluttering terror that had been threatening to overwhelm me since finding their blood settled at her easy tone. “Good. I’m—we’re good.”
“Rockin’ and a-rollin’, Azo-Zo,” Fleetwood said, merrily skipping to Matt’s side. I cringed at the way Azo’lah’s brow tightened at the nickname.
Framed in the doorway, Ryan folded their arms across their chest. “Majumdar, Myax, report.”
“Yes, Captain,” Matt replied. He hopped off the table, jamming his gun deeper into the Sarl’s fleshy throat. The Sarl whimpered. “We were in contract negotiations with Boss Sarl over there when Chester decided taking out half the station was the best landing tactic—”
Chester interrupted, “The station is completely intact!”
“—which alerted Boss to our less-than-honest intentions,” Matt continued, ignoring Chester. “Boss’s security pulled weapons, Azo’lah was… well, Myax, and took them down within a minute.”
“Majumdar is being modest,” Azo’lah said. “He was nowhere near as weak and useless as I expected. He was even helpful.”
“Thank you?” Matt clearly was not used to Azo’lah’s backhanded compliments like the rest of us. “Anway, the security guys were enough of a handful for Boss Sarl to get a headstart on us. We chased him up here. Had a little difficulty getting into the lab.” He nodded to the Sarl bodies.
If executing that kind of efficient carnage was ‘difficulty’ for Matt and Azo’lah after only a few days of knowing one another, I’d hate to see the outcome once they worked together longer.
“We were just beginning our interrogation when you arrived, Captain,” Matt finished.
“Good work.” Ryan gave them both an approving nod. “What have you found out?”
“That is the scientist who performed the tests that confirmed the ‘viability’ of the shrouds,” Azo’lah said, pointing to Matt’s hostage. “The dye on the shrouds was—”
“We know,” Ryan interrupted smoothly. Instead of glaring at our teenaged captain, Azo’lah went quiet. “Borowicz got all the information about why they were stealing the shrouds from Pext down in the hangar.”
“Are these all the shrouds that you have aboard this station?” I asked the scientist cowering next to Matt.
“This is all that has been brought to me today,” he hissed, his eyes never leaving the weapon pointed at his throat.
Good. That meant this, plus what was left in the hangar, and potentially on the Sarl ship, were all there was.
“We’re taking them all back to Ynoom where they belong,” I said, gesturing to the crates. Chester and Fleetwood crossed to begin packing shrouds up and cataloging our return haul.
“Guys, gloves,” I remind them.
Ryan fingered the half-burned shrouds and asked, “What about these? Should we take them as well? Can they still serve their purpose ruined like this?”
I turned to the scientist. “How could you—how could you do such horrendous things to—”
“I don’t think he had a choice in the matter,” Matt said.
“I did not,” the Sarl agreed, his yellow eyes edging towards where Azo’lah stood over Boss Sarl. Matt lowered his weapon and helped the scientist into a chair where he began sobbing into his scaly hands.
I whirled on the Sarl kingpin, my rage overflowing.
Boss Sarl laughed. “You do not scare me, little human. None of you do.”
Quick as striking lightning, Azo’lah punched Boss Sarl in the face. His head snapped back, gelatinous black blood flowing from all three nostrils.
“You sure about that?” I asked as Boss Sarl shook his head, eyes crossing and refocusing from the force of Azo’lah’s hit.
“Are there any other groups running shrouds out of Ynoom?” Azo’lah asked.
Boss Sarl remained silent.
I gritted my teeth against my frustration; nothing could be easy in space, could it? “Tell us or—”
“Or what?” Boss Sarl’s eyes narrowed. “There is nothing you can do to me that will get you what you want. We all have masters, human, and I can guarantee mine are more terrifying than yours. Take me away to Destyr or to Ynoom to stand trial so that I can live out the rest of my days safely tucked away in a box.”
“Of course!” Ryan said. “The actual boss of this operation would never isolate themselves on an abandoned station orbiting a dead planet. No, at best you’re a lieutenant, working your way up the ranks in your organization, and your boss, the real kingpin, is back on your planet living their best life off of the money you make them.”
Boss Sarl sneered.
“Well, if you don’t want to help us by giving us the information we need, then we won’t help you,” Ryan said. “Chester, can you activate all of the ships and shuttles on board the station and send them off into space?”
Chester stopped his inventorying. “Uh, probably? It may take a few hours, but once I’ve cracked the code, yeah. It’d be pretty simple.”
“Excellent,” Ryan replied, their eyes boring into Boss Sarl’s. “We’ll take the shrouds and the scientist with us back to Ynoom, send all of the ships off station, and leave you here all on your lonesome to wait.”
Boss Sarl’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“Yes, we would,” Fleetwood called from where she and Matt were gently folding the Ynoomian shrouds for transport.
“Everything packed up?” Ryan asked, turning towards the crates.
“Just about, Captain,” Matt said. “Fleetwood, Gretchen, and I can load the Gold Dust Wo’man while Chester does his thing with the other ships, and Azo’lah supervises the prisoners.”
Ryan nodded. “Excellent. Myax, please escort the scientist to the Gold Dust Wo’man and then find a place to lock Boss up. I’m sure he won’t be waiting long.”
“I don’t—” I began. I was all for justice, but leaving another creature to face what was sure to be a brutal end did not sit well with me.
“Wait!” Boss Sarl shouted.
Ryan leaned against the table. “Got something you wanted to say?”
Boss Sarl’s mouth shut tightly. Ryan shook their head in mock disappointment and waved a hand, directing us to carry on.
“What do you want to know? I can… I can tell you everything!” Boss Sarl cried.
“Are there any other crews running shrouds off of Ynoom?” Azo’lah demanded.
“I don’t...I don’t know,” Boss Sarl admitted. He hurriedly added, “But I can get you to J’olpri! I can get you all the black market runners! J’olpri, that’s what you want, isn’t it? You don’t care about these shrouds. You care about getting to J’olpri before that Destyrian piece goes on the market.”
We all froze, even Matt and Ryan.
“What Destyrian piece?” I asked, slowly.
“No one knows, the seller isn’t saying much,” Boss Sarl spoke faster, capitalizing on capturing our attention. “Just said that it’s ancient and priceless tech, thought to be destroyed when the Destyrians lost their first planet—”
“The cloak!” Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Chester, and I said.
“What cloak?” Ryan and Matt asked.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
“An epic saga of defeat and victory, love and loss,” Fleetwood continued.
“We’ll tell you about it on our way back to Ynoom,” Chester added.
Right, Ynoom. The shrouds.
I had forgotten.
“Ynoom. Where you will be taking me, yes? I provided useful information,” Boss Sarl wheedled.
“Give us the exact coordinates of J’olpri, then yes,” Azo’lah answered. She turned to Ryan. “That is, if that is your decision, Captain.”
Ryan nodded. “You are correct, Myax. Boss Sarl, give the coordinates to Matt and Chester. You two can verify the information through contacts and mapping tech, right? Is that real, or is that just TV shit?” Matt and Chester nodded. “If everything checks out, Boss, then you come with us.”
Boss Sarl nodded, shoulders sagging with relief.
“Everyone know what they need to do?” Ryan asked. We all nodded, Fleetwood, Chester, and Matt already working on their assignments.
I saluted Ryan. “Yes, Captain.”
“Here, Captain, Gretchen.” Grinning, Matt handed us each a squat, handle-free mug, adorned with Ynoomi script. “Let us drink the Draught of Boundless Friendship.”
I took the cup, eyeing the brilliant turquoise liquid inside it with suspicion.
“Is this safe to drink?” I said, smelling it. I looked up at Matt from where I was seated on a low, cushioned stool, my injured leg stretched in front of me. I made sure to give him my best suspicious stink eye.
Matt rolled his eyes and selected his mug from the low stone platform to our left. He filled it from the fountain that was carved into one side of the Ynoom’s Sacred Octagon, an open pavilion that was the central meeting and ceremonial site of the Ynoom. Tonight, it was overflowing with Ynoom in various shades of crimson, tentacles tremoring in jubilation as they celebrated the return of the missing shrouds.
Matt took a demonstrative drink. “I think the Captain deserves one drink. I won’t tell if you won’t,” he winked at Ryan before leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry, it’s got the same intoxicant power as a wine cooler, and I’ll make sure it’s just one.”
I fixed him with my sternest look, but it was hard to protest in the face of Ryan’s evident excitement. “Just one,” I reiterated. I raised my glass, “To boundless friendship,” I said. Matt and Ryan clinked their mugs with mine. The Ynoom within hearing range raised their arms in tandem, their warbling voices giving the more formal, traditional wish of “I wish you friendship as boundless as the skies and seas.”
I glanced over to where Fleetwood and Chester had somehow managed to entrap Azo’lah in one of the many set dances required by the feast. Fleetwood wore a flowing dress of dark teal with intricate embroidery and gems, her royal coronet sparkling in the soft golden light of the octagon. Azo’lah was in the formal uniform of the Myax, the ink of her tattoo shining as her braid shifted. Chester was clad in a clean, maroon button-down and matching beanie.
Azo’lah looked up and caught my eye. I lifted my glass, suppressing a smile. She was torn between discomfort and a sliver of enjoyment, her arms linked around tentacles. Cease smirking Myaxi, or I will make you join us, flashed briefly across my mind.
Oh no, I have to take it easy on my injured leg, I thought back. Azo’lah pursed her lip, the split already mostly healed due to Fleetwood’s enthusiastic use of a too-large regenerative patch the day before, which had left Azo’lah looking part mummified from the neck up. Since the cut on my leg had been fairly deep, I had my own regenerative patch—apparently filled with tiny healing nanotech—applied to my calf. It was sore but already much less painful than it had been.
The music ended, and the gathered Ynoom waved their arms in the ecstatic quivering that was their equivalent of applause.
Fleetwood kept her arm looped companionably through one of Sgnorp’s tentacles, while Azo’lah and Chester let themselves be similarly led by Skreb through the crowd to Matt, Ryan, and I. Seated, I was eye-level with the Ynoom leader and struck again with an appreciation for just how adorable the species was.
“Hail, family,” Skreb intoned. The translation of his quivers sounded gregarious. “Are you enjoying the celebration?”
“Absolutely, brother,” Ryan said, grinning when Sgnorp tapped their mug-free hand genially. “This music slaps, and the company can’t be beat.”
“I do not understand—is violence how you show friendship on Earth?” Sgnorp asked, confused.
Matt and I laughed. Chester grinned. “No brother, um, ‘slaps’ is an Earth word for when the music is delightful, and ‘can’t be beat’ is an expression meaning we could wish no better company at the moment.”
“My apologies,” Ryan said, inclining their head diplomatically. “I simply wished to convey my deep appreciation and enjoyment of your culture. I’m still learning that our translators are sometimes very literal.”
Skreb gave a twittering laugh. “We are honored by your enjoyment, family, and are grateful for your help.” He turned to me, taking my face between two tentacles. I tried my best not to squirm at the strange sensation of his suckers. “Sister Gretchen, we are honored by your efforts to return the sacred shrouds of Ynarr. We are in your debt. Should you or the royal family of Fuiq ever call on the Ynoom, we will answer your call.”
“No debt is necessary,” I said, awkwardly patting one tentacle. “The shrouds being back in the right hands is enough.” This was, apparently, the right thing to say.
“I doubted brother Sgnorp when he first told me of whose help he had enlisted. But I am proud to say that my doubts were incorrect. He is a better judge of character than I would have been. I must talk to some of our other leaders. You are among family; please don’t stand on ceremony with us.” Skreb undulated his way to a group Ynoom gathered near the fountain.
“What will you do now?” Sgnorp asked. He slid his arm through Ryan’s, quite taken with our youngest member.
“We have some unfinished business to attend to, I think,” Fleetwood answered. She wore an expression that I didn’t like. I knew what that look meant—Fleetwood sensed a new adventure.
“I thought the plan was to return to Destyr with a brief stop by Earth to get Ryan home,” Chester said.
I met Azo’lah’s gaze, “That was before the Sarl revealed what they knew about the cloak,” Azo’lah said. “And now we know how to get to it.” She raised a questioning silver eyebrow, her navy blue eyes glittering with challenge. “What do you say, Myaxi? Shall we finish what we started?”
I flushed. It was hard not to when I was the sole focus of Azo’lah’s attention. I glanced at my companions, all of whom were looking at me expectantly.
Fleetwood fluttered her eyelashes in a ridiculous impersonation of an old fashioned southern belle and cooed, “You know you want to!”
“Yes,” I blurted, “I do. I really, really do.” I laughed at my gumption—or possible insanity. I was suddenly swept off my stool in a full bridal carry by Fleetwood. Ryan and Matt slapped their palms together, then wiggled their fingers in a new handshake they had been developing.
“Sorry, Chester,” I tilted my head back over Fleetwood’s arm to grin apologetically at him.
Chester shrugged and tugged my hanging ponytail playfully. “Just another day of kicking names and taking assemblies,” he joked.
“That’s the phantom!” Fleetwood crowed. “Tomorrow, this little piggy goes to the black market!” She swung me around before tossing me at Azo’lah. “Azo-Zo, catch!”
I shrieked in surprise, but Azo’lah caught me quickly. She shifted me, so I was seated in her arms, looking down at her. The Destyrian strength was...unfair. Yeah, unfair was definitely the word for it.
“You had me worried there for a moment, Myaxi,” she admitted. “I almost thought you were going to refuse.”
“And let the cloak slip out of our grasp?” I shook my head, punching her shoulder lightly. “No. Myax don’t quit.”
Azo’lah smiled in a way that changed her whole face, and I was most certainly not flushing again. “Indeed, Gretchen,” she said. “Indeed, we don’t.”
Acknowledgements:
We’d like to thank Liz, a true Auhtula, who test read this entire installment for us.