Sixteen

 

The J’Slik called their starbase some unpronounceable combination of symbols that Zagrando couldn’t quite grasp, even with a phonetic translation. On human-made charts, however, someone had labeled the J’Slik base “Hellhole,” and the name had stuck.

Zagrando had expected some ancient and decaying starbase, dark and dingy and impossible to navigate. Instead, he found a colorful, modern starbase with a docking system so easy that he wondered why places in the Earth Alliance hadn’t adopted it.

When he disembarked, all he had to remove from the stolen Black Fleet ship were his own bag and that bag that Whiteley had been carrying (cleaned of the Emzada goo). He had sent the clothes he had worn to Abbondiado through the airlock long before landing, putting on a pair of black pants and a matching black shirt. The rest of the clothes he had brought with him were in his own bag, along with some weapons he had found in the ship.

Before he took the weapons, he removed all the tracking devices from them.

The docking ring’s exterior was a bright orange. Its interior was an equally shocking kelly green. The door leading into the main part of the base was a neon purple.

All of the colors in the Hellhole were so clearly defined that they hurt his eyes. He was so distracted by the brightness that it took him a moment to realize no one had checked him for weapons, nor had he gone through a decontamination chamber.

Apparently, a person entered Hellhole at his own risk.

He did, however, have to stop in front of a J’Slik guard positioned in front of three ornate gold doors. At least, Zagrando assumed he was looking at a guard. The J’Slik had a pad of Earth Alliance design in one meaty paw and tapped on the surface with a curved claw.

Every J’Slik that Zagrando had ever seen had a triangular head with matching triangular eyes and a nose that was little more than nostrils against a curved mouth. The ears stuck straight up like antennae. J’Slik had very flat feet the length of a human leg, and seemed to get most of their balance from a short tail that touched the ground when they weren’t walking.

They hid their gender under scarves and multicolored markings, although doubted he would recognize what gender they were even if he could see the genitalia. The identification came from the number of hairs in the belly fur—two hundred or more belonged to a female of the species, less than two hundred strands indicated a male.

He supposed if he saw little or no belly fur at all, he would know he was looking at a male. Otherwise, he figured determining gender would be impossible.

The J’Slik could change color at will, and this one had chosen to clothe itself in a muted forest green. It wore a gold scarf that matched the ornate doors.

“State the purpose for your visit,” it said in a flat tone.

“I would like a new ship,” Zagrando said. All of the information he had seen about J’Slik territory warned him to give away as little as possible when being questioned.

“Use the door on the far right,” the J’Slik said.

Zagrando did, and it wasn’t until he went through the door that he realized he had not been asked to identify himself in any way. Nor had his very sophisticated chips told him that surveillance had surreptitiously looked for his identification.

He glanced back to see if he had missed some kind of security, but he hadn’t—at least none visible to the human eye.

He was in a neutral area, like an airlock, between doors. He had to push open a gray door to go farther. He did, stepping into a wide atrium with a design that appeared to show the stars around the base. The ceiling design almost vanished in the shock of the rest of the atrium.

Everything was hot pink, from the floor to the walls to the doorways. The only way he could even see the doors was that they were outlined in a bold, almost clashing, red.

Maybe Hellhole was a more accurate name than he had initially thought. The colors—at first bold and refreshing—had already become unsettling. He could imagine how they might turn nightmarish over time.

At least the smells were better than those in the Emzada Lair. This place had the faint odor of oranges, which also caused a sensory disconnect with that hot pink. Dozens of J’Slik stood before him, gathered in small groups, talking, gesturing with their paws, and tapping on various pads. Some J’Slik sat at tables at what seemed to be the exteriors of restaurants.

He saw no humans at all, and very few aliens of other types.

He took a deep breath and slipped into the crowd. He didn’t read J’Slik, so he had to set his links to translate signs for him. He saw nothing that told him where he could get another ship.

Finally, he found an information booth. A pale yellow J’Slik stood in the center of the booth, resting its chin on its paws.

He stopped in front of the booth, but the J’Slik did not look up. Other J’Slik, however, glanced over at him, and several stopped their nearby conversations.

Rather than speak out loud, Zagrando decided to use his links. That way his query would get translated immediately, and it would be harder for the nearby J’Slik to overhear him.

Excuse me, he sent. I need some information.

The yellow J’Slik did not raise its head. Zagrando wondered if he needed to tap on something or do something to get the J’Slik’s attention. He felt uncomfortable doing so; he had no idea what this culture considered rude—or worse, some kind of legal offense.

Although, if he thought about it, a legal offense seemed a lot less likely, considering how much the J’Slik opposed the Earth Alliance legalities.

Then he realized that the yellow J’Slik’s eyes were open. They were yellow as well, their pupils slitted and dark.

What? it sent back.

The question had arrived in Standard, but Zagrando had no idea if that was a translation or if the J’Slik had actually sent the response in Standard.

I’m in the market for a ship, Zagrando sent. I was sent through the door that led me here. Is there someplace—

The J’Slik actually sighed, shook itself as if it were getting cobwebs off its fur, and then sat up. It extended its right paw and curved all but one of its claws downward. The remaining claw pointed toward the right.

“That way,” it said out loud in Standard. “Talk to H’Jith.”

Then it crossed its paws again, and put its head back down, closing its eyes.

Zagrando sent, Thank you, mostly out of fear. He still didn’t want to seem rude and he figured being on his best human behavior would help.

The J’Slik to his right had parted to form a corridor. They watched him pass. At the end of their makeshift corridor was another J’Slik. Its fur was a patchwork of oranges that clashed with the hot pink around it. Its eyes were blue, and—Zagrando thought—seemed to be twinkling.

But he didn’t dare assume that twinkling eyes meant a kinder, gentler J’Slik, or even an amused one. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here. He had no obvious allies, and no one knew where he was.

“A ship, eh?” the J’Slik said in Standard. “But you just arrived in a cruiser. How can I improve on that?”

Zagrando’s still-sensitive stomach turned. But he had to look at all of this logically. With so few humans here (if there were any others at all), he would be conspicuous. And they would know what he arrived in.

He suspected it would take very little for them to track the ship itself.

The J’Slik tilted its head. Its lips curled upward in what Zagrando would call a smile, even though he wasn’t sure if that was correct either.

“You are Whiteley?” it asked.

So they had checked the ship’s ownership. They probably knew it was a Black Fleet vessel.

“Unfortunately, Whiteley is dead,” Zagrando lied. He figured that the lie was a better explanation than the truth. Besides, the lie kept up with the do-not-over-explain rule. And, all by itself, it gave a reason for Zagrando’s presence here with someone else’s ship.

“That is unfortunate,” the J’Slik said. “I take it that you do not like his ship?”

Games. It was all about games.

“I would like one of my own,” Zagrando said. “I was told to talk with H’Jith about that. Are you H’Jith?”

The J’Slik’s mouth opened just a little, then closed. Its tail twitched, then it bowed its head slightly. “I am. And you were told correctly.”

“I do not know your customs very well,” Zagrando said, “so forgive me if I’m hurrying you, but I am due to meet a friend and have little time.”

He deliberately did not specify where he was meeting that friend. Perhaps H’Jith would believe that he was meeting the friend in Hellhole.

“With paying customers,” H’Jith said, “we follow their timeline. What sort of vessel are you searching for?”

Good question. If he said something fast, it sounded like he was in trouble. If he said something large, it sounded like he had money.

“I would like to see your ship,” Zagrando said, remembering a trick an old trader had once taught him.

H’Jith’s tail twitched again, but the movement was different. Zagrando would like to think that the question surprised it. Perhaps it did.

“I will not sell my own ship,” H’Jith said.

“I understand,” Zagrando said. “But if I see what you consider to be quality, then I can better communicate my needs to you.”

H’Jith’s eyes slitted and it tilted its head toward Zagrando. “Just so. Let us repair to my section of the docking ring then.”

H’Jith had its own section of the docking ring? Either it bought and sold a lot of ships, or something else was going on here.

Or both.

Zagrando had a large knot in his stomach. He always had an acute sense of danger, and this place had more danger than he had expected.

He needed to be smart, and he needed to be quick.

He also had a hunch money might not solve his problems.

But he didn’t want to trade the Black Fleet ship for any old ship that H’Jith gave him. Nor did he want to leave behind a trail.

He needed some kind of plan, and he needed it quickly.