33: Cabin Evening
TOO close. I closed the door, sealing Evan outside, and turned to my web-kin. “Isn’t there anywhere else on the ship you can stay?” Did starships have a bilge?
“Don’t fuss, Youngest. We’ll be gone in the morning.”
I eyed the bundle on her bed, doubtless obtained during the so-convenient wanderings of the ship’s prisoners. “And that’s going to slip you past security.”
“Not at all.” Skalet’s lips stretched. “Leave my exit with me. What have you done about the shrine?”
My third stomach protested, so I shifted contents from the second to placate it. “There’s nothing I can do about the shrine,” I said testily, “until this business with the Elves is over. That’s why the Humans brought us along.” Because she tended to overlook such things.
She did not overlook my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“I have you in my room?”
“You told him, didn’t you.”
I waggled my ears at her. “I didn’t have to—Paul knows you, too.”
Her faintly satisfied “Hmm” was not a comfort. “Then he can help us reach the shrine.”
“I haven’t told him—” I stuffed my mouth with—yuck, Human e-rations—from the table to prevent worse than a rumble, not bothering to remove the wrapper, then mumbled, “—’bout Lesy.”
“Finally, a sign of prudence. No others need know about Lesy, thank Ersh. We will eradicate her leavings and be done.”
I would never erase her laughter from my flesh. One of those thoughts best kept to myself. Prudence, that was. “We are not using the imploder on a Dokeci shrine.”
“Of course not. I’m using it.”
“We. You. No one. Not using it.”
Skalet shifted her ill-gotten bundle to make room and lay down, closing her eyes. “Don’t be tedious, Youngest. There’s no other option.”
“I’ll find one.”
“I suggest you find the shrine first.”
Refusing to dignify that with an answer, I pried the wrapper from between my teeth and went in search of a full meal.
And better company.
I might be Lishcyn, and so less able to pick out the finer nuances of Human behavior than, say my Lanivarian-self, but even this me could see something had changed between Paul and Evan.
Frustratingly, I couldn’t tell what. Asking was out of the question, at least until I had one or the other to myself, so I contented myself, more or less, with observing.
And eating, it being the responsibility of a polite guest to appreciate what was offered.
“We’ve passage home when our business is done here,” Paul told Evan, “including accommodations on the Largas Regal throughout our stay.”
I perked up. Largas Freight was run by friends and allies—not to mention Joel and his family kept their ships in fine order. Paul must have been glad to find the Regal fins down.
Unless he’d planned it, not that I could see how, but my friend had surprised me before now. I gave him a look.
Paul responded with a tiny shake of his head.
A fortunate coincidence then, Dokeci-Na a busy and profitable hub for freight coming and going to multiple systems. Call it luck, I told myself.
“The embassy will cover your costs,” Evan said. He looked relaxed, if drained. Perhaps a little melancholy. Until he caught Paul looking at him, then he’d smile.
Humans. If they’d become lovers, I’d need my other nose to tell, not that it was, as Paul would say, any of my business.
But it was, if only to reassure me our friendship wasn’t costing him his own, Human, relationships. Tactful questions remained a work in progress.
We were lingering over dessert, always a favorite of this me, when I dared to broach one. “So will we be seeing more of you, Evan, in future?” I wagged my ears. “When you visit the Library, I mean.” Tactful Esen.
The younger Human appeared to gag on his mouthful.
Paul smiled. “You are always welcome,” he assured Evan, then gave me a quelling look.
Meaning I shouldn’t ask questions when someone had a mouthful or don’t ask questions about seeing Evan again? Or both? None of which actually settled matters, to my annoyed confusion, since Paul might be trying to convey I shouldn’t ask prying questions about this relationship at all. Also likely.
I curled a lip brightly and, having learned long ago it was the safer course, changed the subject. “Evan, have you visited the Dokeci Shrine to Teganersha-ki? Esen told me you carry her likeness.”
“I do.” Looking as though he, too, appreciated a new topic, Evan pulled the bust from inside his jacket and set it on the table.
Ersh. I tilted my head to bring one eye to bear, having not truly looked at it before. The likeness was—well, the beads didn’t help. The taste . . .
A foot tapped mine, snapping me out of it.
“There are shrines all over Dokeci-Na, Esolesy,” Evan told me. “Is there one in particular?”
I pointed a thick finger at the bust. “I was told of a new project. One involving personal works?”
His face lightened. “Oh, yes. It’s not that new. You mean Riosolesy-ki’s Shrine to Teganersha-ki. It’s in the capital—not far from Embassy Row.” A hand cupped the statue possessively. “Only Dokeci were permitted to contribute.”
“‘Riosolesy-ki,’” Paul echoed, eyes locked on me. “Wasn’t she one of the Dokeci artists killed on Portula Colony?”
He knew she was and who she’d been. Paul now knew Lesy was involved. Next, I told myself dolefully, my intelligent friend would deduce Skalet had snuck herself on board not to help the Mareepavlovax, but because she and I had some kind of unhealthy-to-others fixation on the work of our web-kin.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
Rudy had a saying: when in doubt, rush straight in. Not the sanest advice, but I chose to take it. “A particular favorite of mine,” I said truthfully. “I was hoping we could see her work.”
Paul looked worried.
At least he didn’t know about the imploder.
“It’s quite the—” Evan seemed to search for the right word, “—sight. I don’t believe there’ll be time before we have to leave for the valley. Unless this is important to your endeavor, Esolesy,” not only stressed, but with a lift of eyebrows I assumed he thought meaningful.
So I turned to Paul for an interpretation.
He winked at me.
Winking could be a good sign. When it meant we know something no one else does. Especially if it involved hidden presents or frozen treats about to be given to our mystified but deserving staff.
Winking, I reminded myself grimly, could be the opposite. When it meant someone else knows what we know.
They might not be lovers, but I’d reason to believe Paul and Evan had shared more than they should. About me?
With an effort, I curled my lip. “The shrine can wait, thank you. After all, I’m representing my kind here,” that for Paul. “All Lishcyn must reinforce Dokecian recognition of the maturity of our younger members. Playing the tourist—under these circumstances—would undermine those efforts.”
Evan nodded, well aware, I was sure, of similar problems faced by younger Humans on this world. The Dokeci did their best to grasp that, for most other species, youth didn’t equate to sturdy, if nonverbal and barely intelligent, slave. Credit for that belonged to the Lishcyn, whose precocious, rapidly growing young worked as “adults” by their third year.
A significant plus to this form. If initially troubling to the Dokeci who found they’d opened into serious negotiations with “children.”
Evan tucked away his statue. “Afterward, then, and with gratitude,” with a disturbingly knowing bow of his curly-haired head.
This time I glared at Paul, who gave a little shrug and mouthed later.
Humans.
Tomorrow would be momentous. And possibly involve the extinction of a sentient species, risk the exposure of my own kind, and let us not forget the wanton destruction of art along with slagging most of the core of the Dokeci planetary capital.
I groaned and buried my head in synth-grass, an eye near my glowing lantern.
“Sleep,” Skalet ordered. “That form needs rest, as does mine.”
“I can’t sleep if you keep talking to me.” If Paul were here, he’d hum me a lullaby and rub my chin to help me sleep. I sighed very quietly. As well compare the imploder to a fystia flower.
Though I wasn’t convinced I wanted Paul here at the moment. Before we’d parted for the night, he’d told me what he’d told Evan—that I’d the means to contact a Mareepavlovax and invite them to the meeting—if not why.
I could guess. Our earnest diplomat had lost hope; Paul, tenderhearted, had restored it. The problem was now Evan, in no sense a fool, would be on the alert, watching eagerly for this mysterious new being to arrive. My close-to-impossible task of cycling without being noticed had become impossible.
I still had to do it. I’d someone nearby who’d be delighted to turn on the lights and plan strategy till breakfast, all while chastising me for not having my own plan. If I had one, of course, Skalet would dismember it with glee then resume planning—there was no winning either way.
Or sleep. I sighed again.
“Youngest.” Suspicion in her tone. “Is there something else you haven’t told me?”
I pretended to snore.
And shortly thereafter, fell asleep after all.