Chapter 82: By Every Wind
The lobby opened before him beyond the large automatic doors, his two escorts fanning out on either side as he walked into the building. The ceilings were just a touch too low, a very corporate theme still somehow worn on the pale greens and blues that the slug-like inhabitants tended to favour. The floors were laden with coloured lines directing people to places unknown, the proper signage expected to be gleaned and viewed from personal terminals or implants, instead of placed in open view. The upper half of the walls doubled as drone tracks, the mechanical assistants ferrying physical mediums to and fro, books—their most recent addition from human culture—were stacked high on their carriages, whisked away to be digitized and immortalized within the cavernous library below.
Everywhere he looked, he noticed traces of other species, though they were scant and drowned in the cacophony of controlled chaos that the owners of the building preferred. That was what one got when establishing a Galactic Union headquarters near one of the founding member’s homeworlds—as disastrous as the result may seem on the surface.
He didn’t like Quotol space, but it was where he wanted to be right now.
Why did he want to be there? Easy.
His fiancee worked there, and he had pulled a lot of strings to make the time to see her today.
The people parted around him like water, though not for any conscious effort on their part. He was in the way, and so they adjusted course. Even his escorts were afforded the same treatment as long as they returned the courtesy for those who had the need of changing direction suddenly. And they did, because not doing so would cause an incident, and incidents would screw up months of planning.
Planning that he had done to make these next steps flow as easily as possible, his approach to the tired-looking Quotol receptionist controlled and purposely hurried. He displayed his visitation rights as soon as he was close, a quick check of the time showing that he was perfectly punctual; not a second early, nor late. Just as they liked their clientele.
“Mr. Sabot?” a garbled sound originated from the odd reception desk, his translator taking a moment to parse that it was directed to him before it would provide the result in English.
“Correct,” he replied, keeping his answer short as he impatiently glanced around. Quotol preferred their information quickly and concisely, thus why they felt the urge to catalogue all information in the Union themselves so that they needn’t seek it from others who would embellish it or taint it with anecdotes. Luckily for him, they cared more about expediency than validity when it came to mundane affairs, so the pseudonym wasn’t questioned, nor his act scrutinized.
The receptionist manipulated their terminal with several appendages that receded and extended as required, the height of the owner matching his shoulder meaning the rounded protrusions were fairly large, yet still odd and spindly. It used to be unsettling—until he had gotten used to dealing with them, anyway. They were one of his favourite species to form contracts with now; they would rather take a small hit on profits than deliberate terms over the same course of time he was used to humans tollerating. For all the patience they had for knowledge, they had none for the finer aspects of business.
It didn’t forgive their cold and clinical interest in whatever caught their fancy, but he tried not to blindly assign the characteristic to all that he met. It only took one poor opinion to ruin a deal before it could be made.
The Quotol slid a rectangular badge across the table, a soft scraping sound of plastic washing off the surface despite the fact that both were likely smooth enough to be functionally devoid of texture.
“Your pass will expire when the moisture dries,” they explained, not bothering to mention what moisture they were referring to, nor how he could track it. He accepted it regardless, not planning on being there long enough for it to matter. Considering it was usually given to visiting scholars, it could be anywhere from a day to several months, the target demographic passing the time with their noses buried between pages or in monitors.
“Understood,” he replied, passing it discreetly to one of his escorts. Their equipment tampered with the tracker to report his presence in the catacombs on a set delay. Hearing the subtle confirmation, he slid it into the breast pocket of his blazer, a tug of his suit covering the secondary device he had in his belt to discourage translators from parsing his speech when he wanted the privacy a crowd provided.
He turned on his heels and headed towards the storage elevator designed for species of his size, disinterested glances through the labels and occupants matching what one might expect from someone who perceived their time being worth too much to actually read or acknowledge that which did not pertain to the knowledge they sought to pursue. As soon as he entered an elevator, the expression of haughty self-importance was replaced with a deep sigh of exhaustion. An escort handed him a small thermos as he ran his fingers through his dyed salt-and-pepper hair.
“Thanks, Steve.” He nodded his appreciation and cracked the seal, frowning when the scent of his favourite blend remained trapped within the thin membrane covering the top. They didn’t allow beverages to be brought in for various reasons, but caffeine was a strict no-no, and one he had no issues disregarding. His love of the stimulant was only matched by his brother, though the younger of the two preferred his toxin of choice to hiss and crackle from a can when opened.
Mentally accepting that the absent aroma was a necessary sacrifice, he pressed the gossamer material to his lips and drank slowly, the heat of the regrettably-filtered brew filling his tired eyes with some semblance of life. He let out a satisfied huff and passed the container back after sealing it again, doing so before he ended up downing it all in one go. He had more, but that could quickly change if he let himself take what his body demanded to make up for the trip.
Using a modified tag, he ordered the elevator to go much lower than his provided pass would allow, the interface beeping to inform him that his clearance was sufficient. Four red lights flickered in sequence before glowing green, a slight lurch telling of the movement.
For all the things for the Quotol to fall in love with, human culture was one of the lesser approved. It beat simply walking, but copying everything down to questionable maintenance found in Sitcoms was something he was trying not to lose his shit over any time one of the slimy—
They may have been part of the reason that Joseph’s pod was in such a state when it landed. Well, some of their more involved engineers insisting that their adjustments would improve the acceptance of the human occupants, was. The review board didn’t see the problem at the time—everyone was too excited to expand their market to question it. It was a shame that he wasn’t aware of the modifications until well after the reported loss of the ship, because he would have had some nice places arranged for those engineers.
Probably at the bottom of one of his foundries, where they could learn all about metal.
Like how hot it could get in a vacuum. Or how it interacted when its molten form was forcibly injected into the body of a slug.
Another ding signified the arrival, his pass triggering the spoofed location to match his own for a short time, but several levels up. If all went well, he would look to have been absolutely enraptured by several historical texts and wouldn’t move for the better part of the day. It didn’t matter that he would rather be in the ‘fantasy’ section—if he had to go there at all—but they didn’t need to know the preferences of a man who technically didn’t exist.
He was very careful to ensure that no one besides the absolute minimum would even know he was planning on visiting, and no one this side of the universe would ever think he had so much as moved from his home. A fake name, several days without a shave, and his overly-proper attire made short work of visually distancing himself from the man behind his metal ventures.
The doors opened, the hallways extending upwards much higher to accommodate species that would rarely enter the confines, but was modified to fit anyway. Personally, the stark fluctuation between ‘claustrophobic’ and ‘agoraphobic’ was one that he could do without, but it beat having to hunch the entire time he was here just to feel like he wasn’t going to bang his head with every step.
His escorts stayed near the elevator, too many humans at once would raise suspicions this far down. Accepting that he just needed to keep looking like he had his soul drained by years of bureaucracy to blend in, he let the majority of his psyche that just wanted a nap to take over. It wasn’t a hard battle to lose.
As he passed by droves of the emotionally dead—some Trilaxin, some Hurrdroge, a Gensei or two, and a slew of Quotol—he ran over what he needed to work on when he got back. It had taken longer than he would have liked to get out this far, longer still to do it unnoticed, but he really did have plenty of things to occupy his time when he finally sat behind his desk again. Not least of all was contacting Joe and making sure he hadn’t managed to get himself killed.
Or somehow ending up in a relationship with half his ‘pack’… Or the Atmo.
Not that he’d judge, his brother deserved better than he had gotten in life, but there were limits to how much brain power Robert could dedicate to figuring out the ever-growing web of events surrounding the stranded man.
Offices and doorways passed, the windowless prisons of paperwork normally being a sign of some dystopian nightmare, but made sense when you considered that the Quotol lacked visual organs. Sure, they could ‘see’ in a way, but a window might as well have been a solid wall, and at least a solid wall was load-bearing. It wasn’t something he was exactly thrilled for his significant other to be working in, but part of the reason he was here was to change that.
His ruminations assisted his walk, the inert expression mixed with his purposeful stride dissuaded questioning glances rather well, and soon he found himself passing more lively rooms. Those of the ‘corrupted’, as much as he hated the term.
Due to human influence, or simply interaction with those who had spent any significant time with them, some of the Union workers were more open to friendly relations beyond their own species. They tended to make for a less…suffocating workspace when large groups of mixed origins were involved. Some of the issue was alleviated by simply dividing them by floor, but some sections were simply better suited to be manned by an amalgam, such as this one.
The part he was here to deal with was what would happen when the Union pinned the source of their most recent corruption. That being what was behind the thick door he reached out to, his thumb gliding over the lock and his modified pass relaying the request for entry.
Several crashes, and what sounded like a knocked over cup, sounded through the entryway. Impressive, considering the sheer girth of material between him and the room. Before he could decide if he wanted to be worried or amused, the door slid open noisily, several bags of mixed nuts dragging along with it.
He decided. He wanted to look like he was a teenager in love.
Though majority of it was tucked away beneath a tailored dress-shirt and skirt, the Trilaxin’s baby-blue feathers shimmered in the artificial light, her colours shifting to one of fresh cream under her neck, fading gently between white and blue on the edges of her chest and stomach. The slits in the sleeves allowed her beautiful wings to cascade outwards, a joint most of the length through acting as a thumb while the rest of her digits were where the wing terminated. Most striking was the sapphire blue irises that gazed at him, the pupils widened in shock, and her black beak slightly open, the edges dusted with spices from the trail-mix she had no doubt been eating.
“Surprised?” he suggested with a smirk. A hand tugged on his cuff casually, if only to downplay how light he felt just seeing her again. His eyes flicked to the necklace supporting the ring that he had given her, neatly hiding the token underneath her clothing. He absently ran his thumb over the ring on his finger as he waited the heartbeats it would take for her to process what she was looking at.
Given that Trilaxin hearts ran about twice as fast as a human’s, it didn’t take long.
“Rob! You’re here!” She practically beamed joy, her feathers glimmering in the light as they vibrated with her excitement. She drew a sharp breath, her expression faltering. “Wait. You’re here. You can’t be here, I would have heard about it.”
Robert raised a brow. “Did I miss a message? I wanted to surprise you. Should I not?”
She clamped her beak closed, peering past him into the hallway. “Oh, Rob, it’s not that! I’m really happy you came all the way out here. I am! It’s just that…” Her eyes widened. “In. We can’t have everyone seeing you talk to me.”
“What?”
“In. In. In. In.” She pulled his arm and forced him into her office. Well, he let her force him. She weighed about a fifth of what he did. He could have happily stood there all day and let her tire herself out, but—as amusing as it would be—he figured he should listen to her for the moment.
The door closed behind them just in time for a low rumble to pass through the hallway, a long stretch of sheer vibration dominating any attempt to speak until it passed again and eventually died down. Though the Hurrdroge were still massive bovine-like bipeds, their voices tended to shake the surroundings in an unexpected way. Luckily, the one that passed by seemed more interested in a report from a neighbouring office than the human that was just pulled aside.
“Sil, what’s wrong?” he asked, lightly placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her from pacing. He knew from experience that she would get worked up until she decided to find a high place and jump off. The first time had scared the absolute shit out of him, but it quickly became a semi-regular occurrence and he just had to accept that she tended to glide when she was stressed. Something about feeling the wind in her wings helped her sort her thoughts.
The Trilaxin paused her nervous bouncing from foot to foot, the slight clicking sounds of talon on hard surface abating. Her eyes tore from the door to look at him, a mixture of bliss and worry gleaming from her in a conflicting way. Without a word, she fired herself into him, the subconscious shift of his foot to support the weight being largely unneeded.
He waited for her wings to wrap fully around him, thankful that she remembered to turn her head before spearing him in the chest. He was wearing a vest, but it would hurt her more than him, and he would rather not ruin their moment by having to help her tend to it. He returned the embrace, patting down the rustled feathers with long soothing strokes. It really had been too long since they had the chance to meet.
“Rob,” she started before shrinking into herself, her hold tightening. “I know what happened with the Lilhuns.”
His brow furrowed. This wasn’t the happy reunion he was expecting, but the mention of something to do with his brother shifted the tone dramatically. “When?”
“Just before you got here,” she answered, separating to gaze up at him. “It’s… It’s sick, Rob. Real sick.”
“Another doomed species?” he asked as she walked past him, turning to see the entirety of her office for the first time. His displeasure grew, but for a different reason.
It was tiny. A sparsely furnished space with none of the comforts her species typically required or took solace in. There were no perches so she could rest her legs properly, no fans to fight off the mild claustrophobia that arose from extended time inside. Not even a basin of water to properly clean her feathers between longer baths. It was just a plain desk and a metal stump of a chair that was too heavy for her to move, several terminal monitors haphazardly placed along the surface of the table with no consideration for the ergonomics of the user. A desaturated white confine that crushed all sense of self.
Oh, how kind. They included a tiny trash can. How generous.
Either unperturbed or simply used to the abysmal accommodations, Silva hurried to her desk, a slightly awkward lurch required to sit down on the hunk of sterile steel, her legs cocked off uncomfortably to compensate for the position.
“Thankfully not,” she answered with relief in her tone, though it was still very much strained. She offered a small smile and a trill of encouragement to ease his displeasure. As much as he wanted to be fuming mad with everything going on, the sound of her melodic voice always drew a smile on his face. It lacked the genuine contentment it would have had if this wasn’t the venue to hear what was shaping up to be discouraging news, but it was something.
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He nodded his agreement, walking up to her side while trying not to focus on how badly he wanted to kick down her door and stomp out of the building with her in his arms while siccing every branch of OSHA he could reach on this place. He would, if it came to that, but he’d rather the power plays be saved for now. He ‘wasn’t here,’ and it needed to stay that way.
Her monitor quickly became a blur of access codes and identification checks, her secondary system booting up while her main one ran subroutines to fake an active user. Pretty easy to do when you’ve been relegated to tasks that any basic set of macros could accomplish.
“I received the packet from a friend of a friend…after calling in far too many favours,” she added with a deflated slouch. Her legs flicked uselessly out of habit to search for a grip. “It’s a series of reports. That’s it.”
“Just reports?”
“Well…” She turned her head to look at him, her eyes not quite committing to the action. “I’ll copy it over to portable storage for you. Just wait until you leave to open it.”
His gaze hardened, his knuckles cracking until he leaned against the wall behind her and crossed his arms. “Bad?”
“Bad,” she agreed weakly with a nod. “I was going to call you to ask if we should send any of it to your brother, but since you’re here.” She leaned to the side and waved with her wing to beckon him forward. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he scanned the text.
At first, he raised his brow at the formatting. Subjects, authorized parties, long codes instead of names. Every mark of a clinical trial. After that, it quickly broke down into descriptions of the subjects and the testing boundaries, followed by results.
No drugs, no medicines, no cruel tests…
Until far later into the document.
It was Sil’s whimper that reminded him he had been resting his hand on her, his reactive rage causing it to tense.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he asked quickly, pulling his arm far away from her. She nodded and gave him a soft whistle.
“It’s fine. No damage done.”
His face contorted to regret. “I’m sorry.”
“Rob, you’re fine,” she insisted, a little more life given to the words. Her tilted head and loving expression eased his guilt a bit.
“Send it to Joe,” he decided with a breath. “But make it quick. We need to get out of here.”
She nodded, rapidly navigating the backdoors and false credentials she had accrued over the years, her screen a flurry of information and protocols. She was useless off a Union system, but she had gleaned enough from random contacts to make this sort of ‘unintended behaviour’ relatively simple.
“I can have it to him…” Her wingtips paused mid-stroke. “We?”
“Unless you want to get married in a cubicle?” he asked casually, a brow raised as he inspected the space as if he was actually considering it. Though his heart wasn’t in it, the comfortable joke took some of the seething out of his anger.
“Wait.” She stared at him, her eyes flicking down to the ring on his finger as a wing curled to grasp at her own hidden against her breast. “Wait, now? But…I thought…Joseph—”
“—Will either be home sometime soon, or more than happy to sit down and watch a recording of the event,” he answered her building questions smugly, enjoying the disbelief on her face.
They had gotten engaged around the time that Joseph started his vacation, and planned to have the whole event when he returned. Sort of a way to introduce his little brother to just how wide the universe actually was after the shit-show that was Emma, and how deeply he retreated into himself when other humans failed to fill the void she left behind.
The abrupt disruption—and subsequent discovery that his brother was still alive, but trapped—had waylaid any progress on that front. Silva, being the absolute angel she was, did nothing but yell at him for worrying about trivial things like their wedding when he could be doing more productive things like trying to save Joseph. It was an odd experience for him. More so, when he felt stuck trying to introduce his fiancee to the man who was stranded alone on a planet god-knows-where.
But, after seeing Joe adapt so well—and pick up some rather alarming views on mortality—Robert finally felt comfortable enough to actually wear his ring in daily life. It didn’t feel like a reminder of him living his idealistic life while his family suffered.
Not again. Not anymore. He had already learned what happened when one became too focused on their goals; what they missed passing them by as their gaze remained forward.
Now, Joe even had himself a daughter and a wife. Two even—assuming he understood what was going on properly—and a group of people who would rather breathe their last than see real harm come to him. Not that it stopped the man from finding new and exciting ways to test it.
He finally had everything that he had talked about wanting during their calls. Though this time, it wasn’t some hypothetical taking place back on Earth.
“Rob,” Sil started, uncertainty clear in her eyes. “Are you sure? I know I have the last of the blacklist information we need for our case, but we can’t just give up on finding him.”
“We’re not giving up on anything, Sil,” he assured her with a gentle smile. “I had the boys rig up access to these systems from Mars. It’ll be slower than here, but that tech you had installed into your terminal won’t be picked up by them—and if it is, they won’t be able to tell it apart from storage. All you need to do is say ‘yes.’”
“I…”
She looked absolutely torn, and he knew exactly why. Silva had lost her own siblings as soon as she hatched, so getting the chance to meet Joseph face-to-face was something she had been rather excited about. Him effectively being her new sibling, thanks to how humans managed marriage legally, meant that she was basically searching for every scrap of information she could so that she could finally meet her own brother, as different as the two were.
It was one of the many things that he fell in love with in Sil. Her piercing blue eyes could look right into the soul of even the grumpiest old bastard and find five delightful things to say about them. Her general disposition towards the world was one of wonder and joy, and she made no attempts to hide her love of puns or dry jokes. She understood exactly how important Joseph was to him, because, in a way, he was just as important to her.
Every moment spent with her felt like a breath of fresh air, even her casual lounging on the company couches having an adorably captivating quality as she splayed over the cushions, a wingtip flipping through catalogues while she whistled whatever melody her mind had conceived or heard recently.
When he had met her in Trilaxin space during one of his more secretive diplomatic ventures, she had caught his eye instantly, though only because she seemed so unnaturally stiff. Once he had the time alone with her, they had spent the better part of an evening simply talking to fill the void, conversations slipping between more business-like topics to personal ones. The longing and anticipation she held at hearing what Robert had to say about his own family eventually turned to an adorable pout when he brought Joe up for the first time, her narrowed eyelids still allowing the radiant sapphire gaze to seem so inviting.
Not having any particular interest in romance before then, he invited her out to dinner, silently chastising himself for trying to pick up chicks while on business.
As it turned out, Joseph’s habit of speaking to himself ran in the family somewhat, because Silva took about eight minutes composing herself at the unintentional pun he had unwittingly muttered aloud before fondly accepting his offer. Dinner turned into several, which turned into more reasons fabricated just to spend time together. Eventually, he had used a gap in their respective schedules to reserve the restaurant where they first had a meal together and popped the question.
At first, it was a ‘no;’ she had just been reassigned to Quotol space and didn’t want to limit his life to a partner that he would likely rarely see. When he confidently explained that he would come and carry her away from it all when she was ready, she hesitated. Well, he wore her down, and she said yes, her watery tears offering rippling waves to the ocean of her eyes. At that moment, he knew that he was screwed.
Nothing would ever beat how beautiful she was to him, body and soul, and how much hell he would raise to bring her home.
So, here he was, and he brought hell, just in case it needed the increase in elevation.
“I don’t know, Rob,” she voiced softly, a song of sorrow underneath the melody of elation. “They’ll know if I disappear now.”
“They stopped caring about you when you started seeing me,” he discounted casually.
“What about the Trilaxin? They’ll be furious if one of theirs disappears while they’re supposed to be under Union care.”
“I let them know,” he replied smugly. “Actually, I think they sent a gift basket to congratulate you.”
Her eyes widened. “You told them of our…”
“Got their blessing,” he answered the question with a nod. “Once they drew the parallels between our flavours of monogamy, they were more than happy to have someone like me interested in a member of their species. There was an entire speech and song about the future of our peoples because of us.”
Her eyes watered, her wings hiding all but the deep blue behind them. “You didn’t come here to hear ‘no’ did you?”
He closed the few paces between them, kneeling on one knee to rest a hand on her thigh. “Say it, Sil, and I’ll go right back to Mars to wait for you. But, right now? Now, you’re doing a lot of dangerous work. I can’t sleep at night knowing that what you’re doing for me—doing for my brother, my family…our family—could end up with you getting swept under a rug and reported as some accident.”
He ran his hand up her leg to her waist as he stood, leaning forward to wrap her with his body tenderly.
“I want to give you the world, Sil, but that’s a lot harder to do when you’re not there to receive it.”
She cried into his chest, even her conflicted song of tearing emotions beautiful. “Yes. Yes, Rob. By every wind, yes.”
He cooed softly as he rubbed her back, her fragile form yielding to his touch as she melted into his embrace. “Let’s get everything you need and get out of here. Don’t worry about clothing or non-essentials, I have extras of everything for you on my ship.”
She blinked, backing away enough to look up at him. “You have a ship now?”
He winked. “Can’t be the richest man on Mars and not have some toys, now can i?”
“One of,” she corrected with a playful headbutt to his chest, his arms releasing her as she cleared her eyes and returned to her tasks on her terminal.
“Top spot now, actually. Once rumours began circulating of a new naturally occurring alloy on an untapped planet, my stock skyrocketed,” he commented casually, a smirk waiting for Silva as she turned.
“You told people about that!? What about the Atmo? Lilhuns?”
He held his hands up. “I mentioned, a little off-handedly, that I was interested in a new natural alloy that was recently discovered.” He paused to shift his eyes away, the grin never fading. “Might have done it around people known to have loose lips.”
“Rob!”
“That’s it, I swear,” he defused with a chuckle. “We both know that greedy bastards will search for the place. Atmo and Lilhun? No, that will get to the Union before we can even think about doing anything with the support.” He shook his head. “No quicker way to have a planet-cracker parked over Joe’s head.”
She glared at him before the tension eased from her shoulders, a sigh given in defeated fashion. “What’s stopping whoever finds the place from getting caught in the warp-interference and getting stranded? What’s stopping them from just landing a mining crew and never telling anyone?”
He smiled. “That, my beautiful blue jay, is why I have a ship.”
Her wry grin faltered. “You don’t mean to…”
He held up a hand. “Not yet. I have more eyes and ears everywhere than people would ever suspect. If there’s a fart in Joe’s direction, I’ll know what it sounded like.” He furrowed his brow, his smirk drew thin. “Could have used a better metaphor.”
Silva laughed, the last of her hesitation fading. “Yes, you could have, but I know for a fact that you didn’t on purpose.”
“Of course.”
She glared at him, the smile in her eyes taking any edge off of it. “I’ll send this to Joseph and get my things ready. As you can see,” she waved a wing through the small room. “There's not much to get.”
He grunted, a frown forming. “Yeah. Noticed. You’ll be happy to know I had an entire area retrofitted for you on the ship. None of this ‘one-size-fits-none’ bullshit.”
“I already said yes, Rob,” she trilled in amusement.
“Would it hurt to keep convincing you?” He slid behind her to run his hands over her back. Her feathers shimmered in a wave from his touch under the thin fabric, her shifting on the seat telling of how much she was trying to fight back the underlying delight her body was experiencing in being with its chosen one again.
“Rob. Busy.”
“I’m just saying.”
She glanced over her shoulder to glower at him, an amused whistle ruining the effect. “Later.”
He backed off, his hands held wide. “Later it is.”
Satisfied that she had either won, or at least made her point, she turned her attention back to her work and set about what needed to be done. Robert left her to it, picking up the odd bit of garbage and placing it in the tiny trash can as he waited. He wasn’t in a rush—he was fine for at least eight hours, even if his escorts would rather not stand there that long.
“Okay,” she announced after a few minutes, her secondary system entering its idle state. “I’ve sent most of it to Joe, save for the…pictures.” She deflated slightly as she displayed a small portable storage. “Everything on here will be wiped over the course of the next day or so, any faster and it would alert them to me going missing.”
“Setting your subroutines to keep doing your job?”
“I doubt they’ll even notice,” she confirmed with a nod, a breath taken as she stood. “So, is my prince ready to sweep me off my feet?”
The cheesy smile turned into a delighted look of shock as he knelt to do just that, her melodic laughter and ineffectual batting of her wing eventually convincing him to let her down again.
“Come on.” He opened the door and casually entered the hallway again, Silva following behind. He didn’t bother with the ‘zombie’ act this time, it would have failed anyway. She made him feel too alive to pull it off.
The disinterested glances he garnered before had shifted to curious gazes as the Trilaxin walked by his side, her stunningly vibrant blue reflecting the ambient light and washing the surroundings in tints of her hue. It was a subtle effect, but it felt like he was particularly lucky to have her colour shine for him.
The two escorts nodded to him, calling the elevator while offering greetings to Sil. She lit up when one of them offered her some coconut, an odd favourite of hers. It took no time at all for their companionable silence to be filled with the packaging ripping open and her munching on it with quiet trills of contentment.
The elevator doors opened, they got on, and he swiped his pass again, motioning for one of his guys to deactivate the trackers on Silva’s badge while they released the tracking spoof on his. It would show her escorting someone to the lift before returning to her office, then run an emulated routine that matched her normal work day. Unless someone felt the need to personally verify it, she was going to be working and resting like always.
A thermos was presented again, Robert cracking the seal and taking a longer drink. Silva rolled her eyes. She knew how much he loved the bitter beverage, but she also couldn’t share in the habit due to incompatibility. As amusing as it would be to see her hopped up on the stuff, there was a very fine line between ‘caffeinated’ and ‘ill’ for the Trilaxin, and neither of them wanted to walk it.
The elevator dinged open. Robert’s escorts took point and kept close so as to force the crowd to disperse in a wider area as they passed through. Sil stuck close, her nervous fidgeting subdued, but present. Rob placed a hand to her back to help her along, otherwise she might end up teetering back and forth on the spot.
“Here,” he offered quietly, handing her a personal terminal. “Use this to contact your parents.”
“Should we really be doing this now?” she asked, a shifty glance given to the parting herd of workers as they neared the exit.
“Well, signal sucks on the ship. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and none of it will be tethered to Union networks.” He gave her a wink. “I’m not here, after all.”
She frowned at him before eyeing the device he handed her. It had been scrubbed of all personal data and tracking information, and only one contact populated the list. It would be used for a single call, then broken and discarded before they left. It was technically riskier than not affording her any communication with her parents, but he wasn’t going to even humour the idea.
“Am I going to see this ship?” she asked teasingly, the edge of nervousness still present.
“Look for yourself.” He grinned, allowing the doors to open as he flourished a broad wave. Prominently displayed in priority parking was his recent pride and joy.
Sleek, mean, and viciously red. An angular design with black accents, aggressive lines, and everything else that screamed ‘I will plow through your blockade and not even worry about scratched paint.’
Ample ablative plating, several hidden weapon systems, shielding to make a Gensei frigate blush, and more illegal modifications to the design than any Union checkpoint would think possible.
It held an insectoid-looking bridge and a wider body to support the luxury accommodations the base design was made for—though a lot of it had been modified to support long-range travel. The thrusters were replaced with both highly efficient ones for sustained speed, as well as burst variants for quick acceleration in a jam. Nimble and quick. Armoured and powerful.
It was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.
“Rob,” Silva paused in her step, eyes wide. “I didn’t take you for someone who would be so interested in Ji’kril’ex shipwrights.”
He laughed, motioning for them to continue. “Won it at an auction. Some idiot thought it would be a good idea to modify a pleasure cruiser to be a war machine. Sol confiscated it when he didn’t have the credentials to have that much hardware.”
“So you changed it back?”
“No. God no. Far too many useful modifications.” He chuckled. “I hid the changes better. As far as anyone cares, this is just a brightly coloured hobby project.”
“I see,” she replied a little absently, her gaze wandering the craft in awe. “You’re not going to get in trouble for it, are you?”
He smirked. “Not if they don’t catch me.”
She patted his arm sternly, but the grin and amused whistle gave it away. “Does it have a name?”
Rob took a few steps forward, an arm raised to gesture to the veritable war-machine.
“The Spirit of Freedom,” he answered fondly. “Just like dad’s old mustang. Let’s go enjoy it, Sil.”
She trilled warmly. “After you, my husband.”
He snorted as he placed a hand to her back and escorted her to the ship. “Soon. Hopefully, Joe can be there to make fun of us.”
The Trilaxin leaned into him. “We’ll find him.”
“I know, Sil. You’re gonna love him.”