Atlanta pinged Talon several times. When he didn’t answer the third time, she checked his location and made her way there. The location turned out to indeed be something that could be described as a bar and he, still in full human form, was half slumped in a seat, head resting on his hands as he stared at the table, an empty chair beside him as though someone had just left. The air here was damp and had a tinge of acrid smoke to it, as well as fiery wafts of alcohol.
He blinked blearily at her when she said his name.
“Time to go, I guess,” he said and gave her a halfhearted sneer, as though feeling that he needed to keep up his attitude.
“Past time,” she said, annoyed. “I pinged you three times! Did you even do any of your errands?”
He shrugged at her, not even bothering with excuses. “I was talking with a friend.”
“Who?”
He shrugged even more nonchalantly. “Some guy from another ship.”
She didn’t pay it much mind. Who cared if Talon struck up friendships? That sort of thing seemed easy for him.
The thing that irritated her was that he was sitting on his ass while she worked. How long was everyone going to continue tiptoeing around him, acting as though he might break at too loud a noise?
Yes, what had happened was terrible, but he couldn’t coast on it all his days. She’d been doing something new and hard and he could have made it so much easier. He knew how these matters worked, knew all the trading protocols that she kept having to look up.
She didn’t speak to him again all the way back, and he didn’t care. He’d had some leave coming, who cared if he’d used it? They had all been pushing and pushing him to do things and here he was doing something and getting handed a whole bunch of attitude from the newest, most useless crew member as a result.
Anyhow, he wanted to think. Gnarl’s words burned in his mind.
You could have him back.
No one was happy with Talon upon arrival, but to Atlanta’s continued irritation, not much happened. Niko sent him to his cabin—and shower, mind you, you stink, she told him, but left it at that. She’d pay a courier to bring over the rest of the stuff and if they had to double- or triple-check it, well then, she knew a young were-lion that could be given that task.
“You are being very easy on him,” Dabry said. “And I believe it was you yourself who told me that being too easy was just as bad as being too hard.”
“It is difficult, often to the point of usually, to avoid treading into either territory,” she said. “But admit it, Dabry, no matter what small thing or things he may have done—and given that he reeked of booze, we know something of what they were—what harm could he have wrought, after all? No, he indulged himself a little, and played at rebellion, and most importantly, he did it by himself, as himself. Not someone accompanied by a vast hole in their life that they must constantly accommodate. You’ve grown as tired as I of that. Besides, we have other things to worry about. It will take Last a little while to recover himself. But then he will go after Petalia—”
“You continue to ignore the fact that they may be deeper in his plans than you would like to believe.”
“They hated him and wanted to escape him,” Niko said. “They’re angry that I took too long to do that, not that I came. I saw it in their eyes. But he won’t just seek them out for the sake of revenge, but because they might prove a weakness. They may know something that would bring him down. So, we must find them before he does.”
“Do you think you will find them if they do not wish it?”
Niko looked intently at the wall as though admiring its surface, but her mind was galaxies away.
“I’m hoping they will realize it is to their advantage to be found,” she said softly. “Last sent us a message, and I think they may have heard something of it themselves, and know that to be alone and facing Last is worse than facing him with others, even if they are … unpalatable in some regards.”
“I notice that your hope is not that they will realize that they wish to be found.”
Niko’s gaze snapped around to meet his. “Don’t press me overfar, Sergeant,” she said softly. “Not even in the name of friendship.”
“Very well,” he said tightly, and said nothing more at this time.
To the smug satisfaction of both Dabry and Milly, the Second Last Chance and Velcoran food was proving a huge success. Location, location, location. Niko had always heard the saying, but she’d never entirely understood it before. Now, running the only unique food business in the area with a bunch of ships waiting on various things, she did.
They’d even spawned a few imitators, but those relied on offering something other than food: gambling. You Sexy Thing was the only establishment offering more than basic rations; introducing dice or cards or whatever into the mix was totally unnecessary, in Niko’s opinion.
“So it turned out not to be such a bad thing, all that Velcoran stuff,” Milly said, not for the first time, coming up beside Niko where she stood looking at the crowded warball room, full of spacers from other ships.
Niko looked sidelong. “You got lucky, that’s all.”
Milly shrugged. “Some people are luckier than others, that’s a given.”
“Dunno,” Niko said. “I’ve never bought that whole luck being tied to magic thing.”
“Don’t they teach the officers all about magic in the Holy Hive Mind?”
Niko shook her head. “Enough to work the mind link apparatus and that’s about it. Magical aptitude isn’t something that you grow into or get better at. You are what you are, with it.”
“Maybe,” Milly said dubiously. She sighed.
“What is it?” Niko snapped.
“Things have never been the same,” Milly said.
“Since you tried to take the Thing and leave the pirate haven we were trapped in without the rest of us?” Niko snapped. “Are you really surprised?”
Milly shrugged. “It seemed like the smartest thing to do at the time.”
“It might have been,” Niko said. “But it also told us you didn’t mind leaving the rest of us behind to die. You’ll excuse me if I don’t think you’ve changed much since an incident that was only a few months ago.”
“Fair enough,” Milly said, but her tone was still mournful.
Gio appeared at Niko’s elbow.
“Is there a problem in the kitchen?” she asked.
He shook his head and signed, “Just wanted to look things over.” His eyes flicked over the tables with a satisfied expression.
The ship felt pleased by its interior. It had coordinated with Gio and Skidoo and while it did not understand aesthetics, despite various attempts to explain it, it knew that the room had pieces that were connected by color or pattern and its understanding was that this was an artful effect.
The choices had been somewhat neutral—there was a wide variety of species in the ships surrounding the portal, and it was so easy to offend or upset someone with a texture or symbol that one would have sworn was inoffensive and abstract.
The colors were deep purples and umbral darks, a subdued effect that gave the room an air of somber elegance at odds with its makeshift nature. Gio and Skidoo had experimented freely with the Thing’s ability to create objects and materials from itself, and they had drawn deeply on its reserves, to the point where it would need to refresh them soon.
But all in all, it did not regret that. For once, it thought that it might have achieved the sort of elegance that it had always yearned after. It thought to itself that it had a proper cook, someone so skilled that for once they were worthy of it (a thrill of pride and ego accompanied that and was filed away to be examined later in order to determine how to best recreate such a pleasurable sensation).
Six round tables, each surrounded by seats, formed a larger round, and in the center was a slightly higher table, meant to hold a buffet that diners could help themselves from, covered with a slick grayish cloth worked with the Thing’s symbol in a slightly paler shade of gray, a pattern that had to be examined closely to see its components.
“Restaurants have music, do they not?” it asked Gio.
Gio shrugged. “Some do,” he signed. “It’s often considered pleasant, but you have to take into account the tastes of all the races in the room and sometimes that is a difficult juggling act.” He grimaced, then hesitantly asked, “You were thinking of supplying some?”
The tentativeness of that signing seemed to the Thing to perhaps convey dubiousness at whether it could accomplish such a task. It experienced a prickle of indignation that was perhaps related to that same little thrill of pride and ego that had occurred to it earlier. Certainly, it seemed to have some common elements.
It said, “But what do the best restaurants do?”
“Live music, usually,” Gio signed. “But better musicians than any of us.”
“Music that is alive?” The ship was intrigued.
“We could play something together,” Milly suggested to Gio. “You have your little hand drums, and I could sing. Remember when we’d do that after closing, back on TwiceFar?”
She paused for answer, but Gio made none.
“Well,” Niko said into the awkward silence. “I must go over the receipts.”
After the door had slid closed after her, Gio looked away from Milly and began clearing up.
“Gio,” she began, but he was busy with his hands. She started to touch his arm, then drew away, feeling awkward and stiff.
Well, he could be that way if he wanted to be, she told herself, not admitting that her real fear was that she would reach out and he would step away.
“You’re a genius, Dabry,” Niko said in a satisfied tone, counting through the basket that held credit-chips, a scattering of gems and precious metal circles, a tiny flask of violet perfume from Alouette, and a small clay figure she had been assured was currency and well, what the hell, she’d figured. Sometimes such things panned out. “It was gimmicky, mind you. People were space-dulled, bored off their heads, and any novelty would have done, probably.”
Dabry wrinkled his nose. “That last part of your statement would seem to diminish my genius.”
“No, the genius part is how you adapted it to so many species. And now we have a hold full of decent trade goods of a variety that any Free Trader would approve. We may have our route decided for us, but that route won’t be a loss unless we’re very unlucky. And for once, Lassite is not wandering around prophesying doom if we make a misstep.”
“He’s seemed off lately,” Dabry said. “He does what he should, but he doesn’t talk about things the way he used to.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
He shook his head. “He’s more likely to tell you, sir. He’s always been yours, first and foremost.”
But in all the hustle of closing, it slipped Niko’s mind.