Imminent Danger: And How to Fly Straight Into It (11 page)

A tiny glowing ball of light floated past them. “A Triila,” Miguri whispered to Eris, “from the planet Triilax.”

As they walked, Eris considered grabbing Miguri and making a run for it.
Maybe we can lose ourselves in the crowd?
But Varrin anticipated her. He touched the barrel of his striker to her back and said, “I suggest you don’t try to make a scene.”

“Yeah, we know how you hate being the center of attention,” Eris retorted.

The Rakorsian ignored the taunt and urged them onward. They left the main thoroughfare, and Varrin led them on a weaving trail down increasingly narrow and dingy streets. He stopped in front of a nondescript storefront with a tattered awning. “This is the place,” he said.

They filed through the door into a small, dark room. A few chairs were stacked against one wall, and a small table lay upturned in the corner. At the back of the room was a dilapidated staircase.
This place smells weird,
Eris thought, trying to place the scent.
Almost like … Dijon mustard?

“Stay here,” Varrin commanded. He fiddled with their binder controls for a moment and then turned and disappeared up the stairs.

Eris blinked. “Uh …”

“Do not try it,” Miguri warned.

“Miguri,” Eris whispered as she edged toward the door, “we can make a break for it while he’s upstairs.”

“No, he locked the binders’ signatures onto this locale,” the Claktill said. “If you try to leave the building—”

One foot from the door, Eris yelped as an electric current surged through the binders, stinging her hands painfully.

“—you will be shocked,” Miguri concluded. “I am actually surprised our captor left the binders on the lowest pain setting. That was surprisingly civilized of him. Perhaps he is growing attached to us.”

“Like hell he is,” Eris muttered.

Just then, Varrin came bounding down the stairs. He was accompanied by a tall, slim, bald alien with rose-hued skin, two huge, blank white eyes, and no mouth. It was swathed in gossamer robes, and its limbs looked almost too long and thin to be viable. A lamri hung from a fine chain around its neck.

“Still here?” Varrin beamed, eyeing his captives. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to …” He chuckled when he noticed Eris’s frazzled appearance.

The tall alien blinked its pale violet eyelids. A tinkling melody drifted through the air.

“Is it talking?” Eris whispered to Miguri.

“She. And yes, she is,” he replied.

The alien continued to emit a soft, undulating melody from her blinking eyelids. Eris was amazed at the richness of the music.
She sounds like she’s got a whole little orchestra behind those weird white eyes.

“What’s she saying?”

“I do not know. My lamri is not attuned to the Psilosian language.”

“That’s a Psilosian?” Eris asked.

Varrin snapped his fingers to get their attention. “Are you two listening?” Eris was surprised to see he used all three central fingers to create a staccato of snapping.

The Psilosian blinked her strange musical language.

“Did you get all that?” Varrin asked Miguri.

“No.”

“You may want to upgrade their lamri,” Varrin informed the Psilosian. “It looks like the Ssrisk erased all civilized languages from them.”

“Why’s a Psilosian involved in the slave trade, anyway?” Eris demanded. “I thought they were the good guys!”

“There are always black sheep,” Varrin said. “Most Psilosians are hopeless do-gooders, but some wisely tread the righteous path of self-interest.” He winked at the tall alien. “Like my friend here.”

The Psilosian began a new melody. When she finished, Varrin offered her a casual salute and said, “Yes, here’s the remote control to their binders.” He placed a small sphere in the Psilosian’s abnormally long fingers. “They’ll probably appreciate it if you disengage the location lock before you leave. And my finder’s fee?”

She handed him a small, flat, metallic hexagon.

“Good doing business with you, Alyra,” Varrin said, tucking the chip in his pocket.

Alyra nodded gracefully. Then she blinked a long, sprightly, complicated melody, during which Varrin looked increasingly confused.

When the Psilosian finished her song, Varrin stared at her for a long moment and then turned to Eris. “This is really for the best, you know,” he said, scratching the nape of his neck.

Is he trying to apologize?
Eris wondered.

“I get my money,” he continued, “and you end up better off than you would’ve been if I’d left you with the Ssrisk. So no hard feelings?”

Eris glowered at him. “Oh, some hard feelings, I assure you.”

Shrugging, Varrin nodded curtly to Alyra and then left the building.

Good riddance,
Eris thought.

12

T
he Psilosian stood silently, staring at Eris and Miguri with her eerily blank eyes. Eris leaned down to Miguri and whispered, “Why isn’t she saying—uh, singing anything?”

Before he could reply, Alyra held up one long finger in a gesture that clearly meant, “Wait one moment.” She removed her necklace, stepped forward, bent down, and pressed her lamri to Eris and Miguri’s in turn. When the Psilosian straightened and began to blink a new melody, Eris heard the music as words.

“You are now the property of Chakra Corporation,” Alyra announced. “I am deactivating the binders’ location lock.” She adjusted the controls on the remote. “Follow me now, and do not attempt to escape.”

The Psilosian led them up several flights of stairs to a flat rooftop on which several small vehicles were parked. She brought them to the nearest ship, which looked like a cross between a sports convertible and a bullet.

Hampered by the binders on their wrists, the two captives clambered awkwardly into the backseat. Alyra folded herself into the front seat and sank her hand into a basin of glowing gel.
That gel must be some kind of interface,
Eris realized.
Like the stuff they used on the Ssrisk ship to open doors.
Ha, does that make it a GUI—a Goopy User Interface?
She shook her head.
Wow. I’m starting to crack from stress.

Alyra flexed her fingers. The ship lifted into the air and rocketed toward one of the gleaming silver spires. Within minutes, they drew level with a large door on the side of the tower at least fifty stories above street level. Eris could see large lettering stenciled on the door in blocky, indecipherable script. She nudged Miguri and indicated the writing.

“It says ‘Chakra Corporation—Research and Development Department,’” he said.

“You can read it?

“Yes. It is written in Galactic Common.”

The door slid open to reveal a shallow docking bay. Their vehicle glided inside and then nearly crashed into the wall before settling on the bay floor.
And I thought
I
parked badly
, Eris thought.

The Psilosian ushered them out of the car, through a sliding portal, and down an empty hall. They passed countless closed doors before finally stopping in front of one. Eris spotted the standard bowl of gel beside the door, but Alyra didn’t use it. “Open. Authorization Alyra,” she said.

The door slid open to reveal a gigantic room bustling with activity. Several species of aliens clad in white lab coats and carrying clipboards scrambled about. The room was cluttered with various sorts of high-tech equipment and metal tables covered with test tubes and beakers.

A glowing orb floated toward them.
That’s a—What did Miguri call it? A Triila?

“This is the human we sent you for?” the Triila asked Alyra.

Eris was surprised. She hadn’t realized such a strange-looking creature could speak.

“Correct,” the Psilosian said, nodding her smooth pink head.

“It took you long enough,” the Triila grumped. “Psilosians are entirely too methodical, even by Triila standards.”

“There was an unavoidable delay,” Alyra replied serenely. “As you will read in my report, the Rakorsian also had this Claktill on board.” She indicated Miguri. “He requested that we take this creature in addition to the terrestrial.”

The orb twirled in midair. “That is acceptable. Remove the captives’ binders and depart. I will take them from here.”

Alyra removed their binders and then glided away.

“I am Tttrisklimysls,” the Triila told its captives sternly, whizzing close to Eris’s face. “You may not call me Tris, nor may you call me Sklim. I do not stand for barbarically terrestrial nicknames. If your primitive tongue is too underdeveloped to pronounce my name, you may call me Doctor T.” It whirred back a few feet. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, Doctor T,” they chorused.

“And do not think just because you are not wearing restraints that you are the brighter photon. If you are so misinformed about Triila, you are even more ignorant than I thought.”

Eris wasn’t sure what the Triila could do to her but decided she didn’t want to find out.

“Come with me.” The creature bobbed away.

“Triila are not merciful creatures,” Miguri whispered to Eris. “Literally. They do not possess the psychological elements required for pity. Do not cross it.”

They followed the Triila as it wove through the busy laboratory. It paused every few seconds to snarl an order at some unfortunate underling. They went through a door, down a corridor, through another door, and ended up in a long hallway lined on both sides with glass holding cells.
Fantastic,
Eris thought dismally.
Another cell block. I could write a travel guide for the galaxy,
Seventy-Three Cell Blocks for the Intrepid Traveler.

Each square cell had three solid walls and was separated from the hallway by a thin pane of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling.

“Do not be a fool,” the Triila said to Eris as she reached out to touch the glass. “The cell doors are embedded with an electric current that will severely shock you. I do not doubt it will hurt immensely.”

Eris quickly withdrew her hand.

The luminous globe directed its two captives toward identical cells on opposite sides of the hall. “Open 32 and 33. Authorization Tttrisklimysls,” it said. The two cell doors opened. “Human, you are in 32. Claktill, 33.”

Once Eris and Miguri were inside their cells, Doctor T shut the doors and floated off without another word.

“So now what? We wait?” Eris paced restlessly behind the electrified glass barrier.

“It would seem so,” Miguri said, settling to the floor. His voice was a bit muffled by the panes of glass between them, but Eris could still understand him well enough. “Until we are taken out for experiments,” he continued. “Or killed. Or rescued. Although I cannot say that rescue would be any better an outcome than the other two possibilities.”

“You don’t want to be rescued?”

“With our track record for rescues? We are as likely to be rescued by a Glorgishen hunter as a legitimate IFTAP retriever.”

“It isn’t fair,” Eris said bitterly. “No one should have the right to treat people like this. The next time I see Doctor T, I’m going to—”

“You will do nothing,” Miguri said, suddenly fierce. “I understand you are upset, my friend. But taking out your frustration on Doctor T will accomplish nothing—in fact, it may worsen the situation.”

Eris wanted to start shouting as she had her first night on the Ssrisk ship, or maybe slam her fists against the transparent cell door. But no one except Miguri would hear, and hitting the door would only electrocute her.

“Fine,” she huffed, sinking down to the hard floor. “I’ll do nothing. For now.”

The next morning, a three-eyed, pebbly-skinned Chakra Corporation scientist came around to start the first day of what Eris soon dubbed “lab-ratting.” She and Miguri had not been fed since they arrived and had spent the night lying on the floor under bright fluorescent lights.

Hungry and exhausted, Eris was ready to do whatever their new captors demanded. She meekly shuffled out of her cell when the scientist slid the door open and did not protest when it clapped binders on her wrists. Miguri, however, responded to the situation by curling up into a ball in the corner of his cell.

“Out!” the scientist ordered Miguri. When the Claktill didn’t move, the pebbly-skinned alien growled in annoyance, entered the cell, and reached a hand toward Miguri as if to grab him.

“You don’t know an awful lot about Claktills, do you?” Eris said to the scientist. After weeks of being surrounded by self-assured, knowledgeable extraterrestrials, she was pleased she actually knew more than someone else for a change.

The scientist paused. “Small. Furry head and tail. Home planet destroyed by Rakorsians. Comical appearance. Completely pacifist.” It poked Miguri with its clipboard. “Come now, Claktill. There are tests to be run.”

“I like my genetic make-up in its current arrangement, thank you very much,” Miguri snapped.

“Come on, get up!”

“Make me!”

The scientist grabbed the Claktill’s arm. Miguri opened his mouth and sank his pointy teeth into the alien’s hand.

“Yahhh!” the scientist bellowed, leaping away. “You little monster!”