Rift in the Sky (50 page)

The creature lumbered forward, awkward in the sand. The surrounding pox shifted to face it, trembling in place. Those watching began to shout, as if exhorting some effort.

Their quarry wasn't among them.
Let's look over there,
Aryl sent. She tried to turn away, only to find a solid wall of beings behind them. Enris, his other arm encrusted with Human female, half shrugged.

Aryl shared her
frustration
.

The shouts intensified. The fluff on the pox flattened against their bodies, revealing them to be long and thin, with small eyes, heavy jaws, and protruding yellow teeth. The symbols glittered above each, like bizarre decorations. Suddenly, the pox were in motion. As one, they scurried at the creature, kicking up little clumps of sand in their haste. Almost too quickly to see, they were on it, climbing, biting, eating.

Aryl watched in horror as the bigger creature bawled its torment. It reared and struggled, but any pox it dislodged jumped back. Tufts of fur filled the air like snow. Blue blood streamed from each bite.

Some pox weren't biting, but instead climbed the creature's back and sides, their target the eyes. They bickered as they climbed, snapping and pushing. Often they'd lock jaws and fall to roll in the sand. When one of those went limp, its symbol disappeared and someone among the spectators would cry out with disappointment.

The creature threw itself against the walls, tried to shake off its tormentors, but the pox gripped with their teeth. It wouldn't last long.

Nothing should have to face the swarm.

Aryl didn't stop to think. She threw herself over the rail, her longknife finding targets before her feet hit the bloody sand. The pox were slow to react, intent on their prey. They died with a little squeal, as if surprised, their symbols winking out. She slashed one way, then used the side of the blade to send a pox against the wall with a most satisfying crack.

They were slow to react, but more and more began to notice her, reoriented, scurried her way. Making it easier to smack them. Aryl bared her teeth.

Enris landed beside her, his boots squashing several pox. “This is not—” he said calmly, stomping another, “—one of your better ideas. The people up there aren't happy.”

“I noticed.” Raised fists and shouts. Objects thrown at them—though most of those hit pox. She shouldn't feel satisfied, Aryl told herself with a smidge of guilt. Haxel would doubtless have something to say about such behavior. “I don't like them,” she finished, taking out a clump with a sweep of her longknife. She didn't bother clarifying which she didn't like; her Chosen didn't bother to ask.

Abruptly, the symbols over the remaining pox disappeared. Red light shone from the holes in the walls. It was a summons; the pox stopped, fluffed out their fur, and scurried back inside.

Their prey, half stripped of its fur and bleeding from innumerable small bites, leaned against the door through which it had come and heaved a sigh.

A sigh she could hear, Aryl realized, because all other sounds had ceased.

Except for an approaching thunder of clanking metal, as if several someones fought with empty pots.

The spectators melted away from the railing where they'd been standing, to be replaced by a looming black shape.

Dozens of shining black eyes on stalks stared down at them.

Aryl and Enris stared up at the eyes.

Just as she wondered if she should say something, the silence ended in a deafening bellow.

“WHAT IN THE SEVENTEENTH SANDY ARMPIT OF URGA LARGE ARE YOU DOING IN THE POX PIT!!?”

They were now the entertainment, Aryl thought glumly as she followed the huge black being through the crowd, a passage made easy by the space granted the creature. Its lower immense pair of claws might have been the reason, though it was equally likely the creature's imposing air of “move or I'll run you down” was responsible.

It did give her a better view of the place. She looked around for their quarry, knowing Enris did the same, but also marked possible escape routes, should they have to give up the chase.

There were several doors, like the one they'd come through, both on this floor and the one above. Interestingly, there was a lit dais, shaped like a licking tongue, filling the midst of this floor. No railing separated viewers from whatever they watched there, but tables with chairs were pulled up all around it. At the moment, the dais was empty. The air around it swirled with white smoke, though there was no open fire in sight.

More tables and chairs, most in use, filled the shadowy edges. The exception was a long curved counter that jutted out from one wall, its outer surface reflecting the legs and feet of those who sat on stools beside it. This turned out to be their destination. The giant creature used one of its smaller, more flexible upper claws to lift part of the counter, then snapped a lower impatiently when they hesitated to go through. “Inside.”

Aryl obeyed, Enris behind her. The creature barely fit. It dropped the counter back in place with a bang: a signal to someone, for the loud drumming and singing resumed, and those who'd been watching turned away as if disappointed.

She didn't know why she believed it, only that she did. The other scouts still hadn't reported success; Imi's group had retreated to the Buried Theater, after being chased by some kind of authority. Or a cook. The sending had been confused.

The floor directly behind the counter was at the same level as the larger room. Three of the multi-armed beings stood there, busy wiping, filling drink containers, or taking away empty ones. They ignored the new arrivals.

The inner portion sank to form a ramp leading down to the back wall. A wall, Aryl saw with interest, covered with weapons displayed behind metal grids. She walked over to it, impressed. “Are these yours?”

Several eyes bent to look at her. “Their owners left them with me.” Its voice was a deep rumble. “I suggest you do the same.”

A hand slapped the counter before she had to answer. “Gurdo! Whaddabout our refund!?”

The tone wasn't one she'd use, given one of “Gurdo's” claws would span the Human's ample torso. But its reply was mild. “You'll have to take that up with Louli. I can call her for you.”

The florid-faced Human lost all color. “No,” he said quickly. “That's not necessary. 'S was only a little bet. Some fun. That's all.”

“Generous of you. Yirs? Beer for this fine Grandie. On the house.”

Once the Human was mollified, Gurdo tipped its big head back to Aryl. “Ordinary knives—no one cares. But any constable will seize that,” a gesture to the longknife still out in her hand, “and throw you in jail for the privilege, first chance they get. Which will be when you leave the
'Dive
. You see, locals call this Tax Free Layer, but that's only because few here can afford to pay them, not that we don't get interfered with by the powers above. There's always a couple here. Yirs?”

One of the servers spoke without turning around. “End of the stage, as usual. Waiting for Brocheuse.”

Aryl tightened her hand on the hilt. “They can try.”

Enris coughed.
Leaving?

“I do enjoy your grist!” The Carasian made a sound like rain on metal. Amusement, she guessed. Having bellowed them out of the pit, it had become a jovial host, its rage apparently a show for the disappointed spectators. Now it opened one of the metal grids and selected a disappointingly plain, stubby cylinder. “Try this. Force blade,” it told her. “Has a number of advantages. Hides. Intimidates,” it announced as it pressed the fine tip of a claw into a depression, producing a thin glowing line that extended from the cylinder about the length of Aryl's arm, a line that hissed as it moved through the air. “With no inconvenient residue to worry about, if you get my meaning.” It pulled a piece of white cloth from a stack behind the counter, tossing it into the air so it passed through the glowing line. Two halves fluttered to the floor. The Carasian turned it off. “Give me your pretty pox-sticker. I'll let you have this for twenty
rimmies
.”

“A trade,” Enris nodded.

“A fair one,” as if her Chosen had protested. “Either way, you can't take that with you.”

She certainly could, but Aryl didn't see the value in arguing. What she did see was the value in what it offered. “We'll need more of those,” she said firmly. “Many more.”

The eyestalks went in several directions at once. “I'm no dealer, friend. Just a bartender keeping the peace.” With a little more volume than required, as if speaking for other ears.

Enris leaned forward, eyes aglow with interest, but not in the remarkable weapon. “What are ‘rimmies'?”

“More force blades and a place for our people to live,” Aryl interjected before Gurdo could answer. “A safe place.”

Let me do this.
“We're offworlders,” Enris explained smoothly. “Arrived today. We could use some guidance.”

It wasn't a lie.

Leaving most of its eyes on Aryl, the Carasian spared a few for her Chosen. Who looked, she thought, remarkably smug.

“You talk like Grandies,” Gurdo observed after a moment. “Look like you can't afford a beer. Guidance is expensive. Especially the good kind.”

Enris smiled. “Oh, I wouldn't judge us by appearance.”

What was he doing? Aryl kept her mouth closed and shields tight. Her hair, however, writhed up and over her shoulders, reaching for her Chosen. Who lifted a finger to let a tendril wind itself around like a ring.

She did her best to smile and not grab it back.

“Amazing grist,” the Carasian muttered. It shifted on its rounded feet, producing a muted clank, then came to a decision. “Can't talk here. Come with me. No promises, though.”

A tap on a panel opened a door in the wall, splitting the weapon display into sections. The air wafting through was warm and damp. “But first.” An upper claw opened and waited.

Impossible to read a face composed of what looked like polished metal bowls separated by a dark gap filled with restless stalked eyes.

She frowned, but gave the Carasian her longknife. Leaving her hand extended.

All eyes came to rest on her. Aryl didn't budge.

“Call it a sample,” Gurdo grumbled, dropping the force blade in her palm. “Do not,” with emphasis “use it here.” Her longknife went on the wall, the grid replaced over it.

Aryl tucked the cylinder in a pocket, satisfied.

“This way.”

It wasn't, she discovered, an ordinary door. No sooner had Aryl stepped through than sprays of bitter water struck her from all sides. Sputtering, she hurried forward to get away from them, Enris doing the same.

The Carasian followed more slowly. While it appeared to enjoy the spray, the door wasn't wide enough for it, so it leaned to one side and pulled itself through by force, claws grabbing the door edge for purchase. From the deep scars in the door-frame, this was its usual practice.

Aryl spat out the bitter stuff and glared at the glistening Gurdo. “What was that for?”

“You were covered in sand.” As if she should have realized. “I can't have sand in my home.”

And as if the blue blood staining that sand didn't matter in the least.

As homes went, this wasn't much: a square room no more than five long strides wide in either direction, though two levels high. Quiet, dimly lit, its furnishings were four large polished rocks, speckled with gray, set into the floor. In the midst of the rocks, a small pool of dark water gurgled busily to itself. A set of stairs against a side wall led to the only other door, at the next level. There were no windows, but the wall straight ahead featured a framed image of water sliding over black rocks. Rocks with small black eyes. Eyes that disturbingly followed any movement, Aryl noticed.

The Carasian lowered itself over one of the chair-rocks, resting its pair of big claws on the floor. “Let me guess,” it said briskly once the two M'hiray had sat. “You need idents. Certificates. For how many?”

Aryl pushed an impatient lock of wet hair back. “Everyone.”

A flash of
caution.

She understood Enris' concern; she had no time for it. Not while the M'hiray waited beneath their feet, trusting them to find the way out. “There are seven hundred and thirty of us. We need a place to live. Now.” Aryl thought of the crowded roofs and buildings outside and shuddered inwardly. “Better than this. Private. Away from Humans.”