A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers #2)(94)

Scales and claws and tentacles surrounded her, all headed to places she could barely imagine. Without much thought at all, she climbed up on a bench, pulling Laurian with her. ‘Good afternoon,’ she called out in Klip. A few heads turned. ‘We are looking for passage off this station. If there’s anyone here could use a skilled tech, I’ll be happy to work in exchange for a trip to seriously anywhere.’

There were a few laughs, a lot of eyes averted. She imagined herself as they must have seen her. Some scrawny bald sickly thing and her silent, hairy friend. Yeah, she wouldn’t come up and talk to them either.

Something approached through the crowd – a Harmagian, heading for them on her (her, right?) wheeled cart. Jane quickly studied the tentacled body coming toward them. Yes, yes, it was a her. Thank you, Owl.

‘How skilled of a tech?’ the Harmagian said, her eyestalks stretching forward.

‘I’ve done nothing else my whole life,’ Jane said. ‘I can fix anything.’

The Harmagian rolled her front dactyli, pierced all over with shimmering jewellery. ‘And you?’ the Harmagian said, speaking to Laurian.

Laurian visibly swallowed. Jane stepped in. ‘He doesn’t know Klip, and he has trouble speaking,’ she said, ‘but he’s smart and hard-working, and can do whatever you need him to.’

‘But what does he do?’ the Harmagian said.

Jane looked at Laurian. ‘He draws,’ she said. ‘He helps. He’s my friend, and he has to come with me.’

Laurian didn’t understand the bulk of it, but he caught friend. He smiled at her. She couldn’t help but smile, too.

The Harmagian laughed. ‘Well, I have no need for someone who draws. And I don’t need a tech, either.’

Jane’s stomach sank. ‘But—’

The Harmagian fanned out her dactyli. Jane didn’t know what the gesture meant, but it shut her up all the same. ‘What I do have,’ the Harmagian said, ‘is a cargo hold full of sintalin. You know what that is? It’s a top-shelf spirit, and they don’t make it in Central space. I’ve got barrels and barrels of it, and every one of them needs to be turned over three times a day, so that the sediment doesn’t harden. I know my crew isn’t looking forward to that task, and neither am I.’ She looked Jane up and down. ‘It’s a lot of heavy lifting. You’d need to be strong to do it.’

‘I can do it,’ Jane said, tugging down her sleeves as nonchalantly as she could. ‘I can absolutely do it.’

‘I don’t have any spare sleeping quarters, and none meant for Humans, anyway,’ she said. ‘You’d have to sleep on the floor in one of the storage compartments.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘I’m headed to Port Coriol. That’s eleven tendays from here.’

Jane relayed that to Laurian. He nodded. ‘That’s also fine,’ she said.

The Harmagian’s eyestalks shifted back and forth. ‘My ship’s the Yo’ton. Docking bay three. We leave at sixteen-half. I won’t wait around.’ She paused. ‘You both look a bit tweaked. Are you modders?’

Jane looked at Laurian, then shook her head. The Harmagian didn’t understand the gesture. ‘No,’ Jane said. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’

‘Mmm,’ the Harmagian said. ‘I think I’ll drop you at the caves anyway.’





SIDRA


How did Blue stay so patient? Sidra had wondered this often. Perhaps it was something in his genes, something his makers had written into his organic code. (Was it less admirable, then, if it was something inbuilt, rather than cultivated by conscious thought and effort? Sidra hoped not.) Whatever the reason, she liked that quality in him. Pepper had been in an excitable mood ever since they’d left Coriol. She ate at odd hours, she slept little, she took apart and reassembled things that didn’t need it. In Pepper’s company, Blue had been his usual self – calm, collected, happy to help. Away from her, though, Sidra had seen the worry in his eyes, the distracted way he stared out the viewscreens. But he never let that bleed into his interactions with his partner, who clearly benefited from the company of someone who wasn’t taking everything apart. Patience. It was a laudable trait, and Sidra had been doing her best to emulate it over the nine days they’d been in transit. Her code was built for patience, too, but their situation was one that bred restlessness. Her situation especially.

She hung out with him and Pepper both as they sat in the cockpit – her chewing on her thumbnail, him sketching on his scrib.

‘Do you hear that?’ Pepper asked.

Blue paused. ‘No.’

Pepper sat forward, listening. She shook her head. ‘I could’ve swore I – there. That little rattle. Hear it?’

Blue strained. ‘No.’ Sidra didn’t hear it, either.

Pepper got to her feet. ‘I’m going to go check the fuel pumps.’

Blue nodded noncommittally. By Sidra’s count, Pepper had checked the fuel pumps four times already. ‘Want any help?’ Blue asked.

‘Nah, keep drawing,’ she said. ‘That’s a much better thing to do.’ She exited the cockpit; Sidra followed.

They didn’t speak, which had been the case since they’d left dock. This wasn’t the plan as Pepper had wanted it, and Sidra understood that, even though the silence was getting unbearable. She counted days, again. A little under two tendays left to Kaathet. Not a long trip, all things considered. They were lucky the shuttle had been found in a museum branch, rather than the main museum on Reskit. Sidra doubted any of this would have fallen into place had it required a standard-long trip.