The Galaxy, and the Ground Within (Wayfarers #4)(3)
‘Quelin, singular, even if it’s a group, and yes, correct.’
Tupo was visibly excited. ‘We haven’t had any Quelin people in a long time.’
‘Well, there aren’t many of them who travel in common space. You remember not to be nosy with them about why they’re out here, right?’
‘Yeah. Their legs are so weird, Mom.’
Ouloo frowned. ‘What have we talked about?’
Tupo huffed, making the fur below xyr nose shiver. ‘Not weird, just different.’
‘That’s right.’
Tupo rolled xyr eyes, then turned xyr attention to the list once more. ‘Who’s the second one?’
‘Could be anyone,’ Ouloo said, as was true for a ship with a Klip name. ‘Probably a mixed crew.’
‘You could loooook,’ Tupo wheedled.
Ouloo gestured at the list, bringing up the details filed with the Transport Authority.
Melody
Ship category: Family shuttle
Associated orbital ship (if applicable): Harmony
Length of planetside layover: Two hours
Pilot: Speaker
‘What kind of a name is Speaker?’ Tupo said. ‘That’s not a name.’
‘It’s clearly xyr name,’ Ouloo said, but now she was curious, too. A modder, most likely. Modders always had funny names like that. She pulled up the pilot licence that had been submitted with the docking request. The file appeared on screen, complete with a photo of the pilot in question.
Ouloo gasped.
Tupo was fully awake now. ‘What is that?’ xe cried, pushing xyr face in close. ‘Mom, what is that?’
Ouloo stared. That … that couldn’t be right.
Day 236, GC Standard 307
COURSE ADJUSTMENTS
SPEAKER
When Speaker awoke, Tracker was nowhere in sight. This was to be expected. Tracker was always the first to be up and about. As egglings, Tracker had been nearly free of her shell by the time Speaker had started to crack through her own – a fact neither twin remembered, but one their relatives relayed time and again. Speaker had never known a life without Tracker in it, nor a morning when she’d awoken with her sister still in their bed. As such, it was not the sound of a busy sibling which roused Speaker that morning, but instead, the loud chime of a message alert.
‘Can you get that?’ Speaker called, reluctant to let go of the cushion she was curled around.
The message alert continued, which gave Speaker her answer.
Reluctantly, Speaker crawled to the edge of the hanging bed. She reached out a forearm, using the large keratin hook at the end of her much-smaller hand to anchor herself to the nearest ambulation pole. She then swung her body out to grab the next pole with the opposing hook, and so on, and so forth. As was the case on any Akarak ship, every room in the Harmony was filled with lattices of floor-to-ceiling poles, each a constructed course designed to mimic the arboreal byways her ancestors had used. Speaker had never moved about using a real tree, nor, she imagined, did she move as dexterously as her predecessors had. Like many, Speaker had been born with what her people called Irirek syndrome – an environmentally triggered genetic condition that limited the use of her legs. The two short limbs that hung below her as she swung across the room could grasp and passively support, but nothing beyond that. Her arms were what carried her, and these were strong and tireless, even on a morning when she’d been awoken rudely.
Speaker reached the comms panel embedded in the wall, and settled herself into one of the woven seating hammocks that hung before it. She gestured to the panel, and looked at the incoming call data. A local transmission, not an ansible call. Speaker took a breath and willed herself into a state of calm. Who knew? Maybe it would go well this time.
A Laru appeared on screen – her destination’s ground host, Speaker assumed, for the vowel-heavy name she’d previously noted when requesting a docking slot at the Five-Hop could be nothing but Laru. Most Akaraks found this species difficult to read, what with their thick fur obscuring so much of their facial musculature, but Speaker could interpret Laru expression and body language both, just as she could with most GC species. She had doggedly practised at this, and knew her skills in this regard to be sharp.
In any case, this particular Laru was nervous, a fact which made Speaker feel both exhausted and utterly unsurprised.
The Laru addressed her in laborious Hanto. ‘I am Ouloo, the ground host. Please state your business here.’ The lack of polite greeting or welcome was unmissable, especially in the flowery colonial tongue. One might have chalked that up to Ouloo’s obvious difficulty with speaking the language, but experience had taught its recipient better.
Speaker adopted a posture that she knew worked well on Laru: slumped shoulders, head extended farther forward than was natural for her. To a Laru, this would hit the approximate visual markers for a person at ease. ‘Hello, Ouloo,’ Speaker responded in polished Klip. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Speaker. You should have our shuttle reservation on file – the Melody.’
Ouloo’s clay-red fur fluffed in surprise, and Speaker didn’t have to guess at why. Akaraks were not known for conversing easily in Klip. ‘Oh, I, um …’ The Laru scrambled on her end, entering commands with her shaggy paws. ‘The …?’