Resurgence

“For God’s sake, At, I wish you wouldn’t come crawling in quiet like that.” Nenda swung his boots to the deck, stood, and turned. “You give a man the creeps. It shouldn’t be too hard to let me know you’re on the way.”

“I did exactly that.” Atvar H’sial’s message wafted across to Nenda as a complex interplay of pheromonal molecules. They carried more subtle information than any human language ever could—mild irritation, admonition, amusement, and a hint of something else. “You were too busy daydreaming and gloating to take notice.”

What was that other message? A touch of alarm, maybe? Nenda concentrated. The Karelian augment on his chest was a dark array of pits and nodules, sufficient to permit him to understand and to speak the Cecropian language natural to Atvar H’sial. However, no augment could ever provide the fine distinctions of meaning available to Cecropians, or to their Lo’tfian slaves and interpreters.

“What’s up, At? We got trouble?” He spoke both pheromonally and using human speech.

“Not on Xerarchos. Everything here is quiet, and payments to us were made this morning. But this came to the ship’s message center a few minutes ago.”

Atvar H’sial held a brown flimsy in one bristled paw. The fine pattern on it was designed for ultrasonic scan by a Cecropian reader.

“You know I can’t read that stuff, At. What’s it say?”

“It is the highest level of command from the Cecropia Federation’s Central Council, an order I cannot disobey. I am told to report to Miranda, in the Fourth Alliance, with all possible speed.”

Nenda took the output and stared at it. “You sure you’re reading this right? I thought all charges against us were dropped after the Builder artifacts disappeared, and we helped everybody get out of Labyrinth.”

“They were dropped. This is not an accusation of criminal actions. It appears to involve some entirely new matter.”

“And you feel you have to go?”

“I must, for reasons I will not specify. More than that, Louis Nenda, I suspect that there may be similar orders waiting for you. When this directive arrived, a separate message came to the ship’s communications center in human output format. At the time, Glenna Omar was giving me another lesson in human speech, which she interrupted in order to take the message. She read it, gasped, and hurried off aft. She carried the message with her, and I suspect that she was seeking you.”

“Heading in the wrong direction. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I did. I told her exactly where you could be found. However, I continued to employ human speech, which may have been a mistake. I spoke this.” The Cecropian folded its proboscis into the pleated region on its chin and inflated the thin tube. After a wheezing like a leaky bellows, sounds emerged: “ ’lusnnda ’sn ’sfrd k-kbn.’ ”

“ ‘Louis Nenda is in the forward cabin’? Yeah, that’s very good, At. But with all due respect, those sounds could just as well have come out of either end of you. I better go see what’s happening.”

Nenda marched off along the corridor. Somehow he felt more resigned than surprised. Things had been going far too well for far too long. Just when you thought you had the universe by the tail, it turned round and bit you on the ass.

He came on Glenna drifting back in his direction. If he hadn’t known that Atvar H’sial was female, and that the Cecropian found all humans repulsive in appearance, he might have wondered what kind of lessons Glenna had been providing. It was not yet midday, but her makeup was perfect. Her pale blue negligee showed off her long, graceful neck and upswept blond hair. As usual, the very sight of her made him gulp.

They were by the entrance to one of the Have-It-All’s comfortable observation lounges. Glenna moved into it and sank onto a long, soft bench. She gave Nenda a worried smile and waved the paper that she was holding. “This came for you, sweetheart, from somebody called Julian Graves. He says he’s a Council member for the Fourth Alliance.”

“I know him. He’s part of the Ethical Council.”

“But just look at this.” She pointed to the sheet. “He says he’s ordering you to travel as quickly as possible to Miranda. He can’t make you do that, can he?”

“I don’t think so. Let me take a look.”

Nenda ran his eye down the sheet. A group of words close to the bottom of the page sprang out at him. . . . to reach Miranda in at most twelve days. Otherwise, I will re-open the old investigation into the plundering of a medical-supply capsule en route to Lascia Four. . . .

“Julian Graves can. Order me, I mean. The son of a bitch. I’ll have to go.”

“But what does he want you for?”

“I’ve no idea. Nothing pleasant, you can bet on that. Something dangerous and dirty and desperate. We’d better get on our way as soon as we can.”

“We?”

“Yeah. Atvar H’sial got the same sort of message, though she didn’t give details. And of course, J’merlia and Kallik wouldn’t let us go without them, even if we wanted to.”

“But J’merlia and Kallik are your slaves. They’re supposed to do whatever you tell them to.”