her instruments 02 - rose point (10 page)

What would have taken far too long had she done it alone was the work of moments when the group converged on her. She was lifted off the stallion, Hirianthial borne away to a flat patch of ground where the healers that had come along could assess him, and someone else led the very valuable horse away to be brushed and fed and whatever else it was horses needed.

“So you’re not being followed,” Reese said to the Kesh as she sat by the firepit.

“Not by that group, anyway,” he said. “I’ve left most of our people behind to lead the prisoners back to the town. The rest of us came looking for you.”

“Me... and the horse,” Reese guessed, wry.

“And the horse,” he agreed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He offered her a mug, which she accepted. “He’s worth a great deal of money. It would be a little like you abandoning your ship somewhere, not caring where it had gone.”

Reese grimaced. “All right, I can see that.” She glanced at him. “You have any idea how bad this situation is?”

He pressed the wall of his mug to his brow. “Since the Colony Bureau can revoke our charter if we’re found engaged in a civil war... yes, Captain. I have some notion of how bad it is.” He sighed and returned the mug to his knees, cupping it. “But my counterpart is dead in that camp. I’m hoping that without a leader, things will calm down.”

“Just one man?” Reese asked.

“One charismatic man can cause a great deal of trouble,” the Kesh said. “Or woman, of course.” He tipped his head to her before continuing. “I should have seen it. Jaram was brilliant but impatient, and never forthcoming. He was obviously hiding something, an agenda of his own—”

“I’ll say,” Reese said. “What with the receiver he smuggled out here.” At the Kesh’s startled glance, she said, “I’m guessing you didn’t know about that. But he’s set up to get offworld transmissions. I’m assuming he wasn’t setting it up to contact Fleet to ask for help.”

“No,” the Kesh breathed.

“You have a house to clean,” Reese said. “And I don’t really want to stick around for that. If you don’t mind, I’ll borrow your clinic to get Hirianthial back on his feet and be on my way before any pirates show up in orbit.”

He flinched. “Yes, of course. Anything we can do for your man, we will. We are, as I said, quite capable doctors, and our clinic is state of the art.”

“Good,” Reese said. The Kesh was staring at the fire, his expression so rueful she couldn’t leave it alone. “But you know, once you get things settled... we might come back.”

“For what?” He looked at her, the firelight bright on half his face. “You aren’t interested in horses. In fact... I don’t know why you came at all. What brought you here, Captain Eddings?”

“You’ll laugh,” Reese said.

“Good. I could use a laugh.”

“I heard from some Fleet officers that you made some kind of good alcohol,” Reese said. “It was a comment in passing, but you learn to listen for those things when you trade.”

“Alcohol?” he said, bemused.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “But the alcohol market is pretty intense. People like to collect alcohols specific to different worlds. They claim they taste different.” She shrugged. “The stuff you served me, though...it didn’t seem ‘cross several sectors for it’ good.”

“That was wine from Earth!” he said with a laugh. “I brought it out for you as a way to show respect. We have local alcohols; perhaps while your crewman’s in the clinic you can sample them.”

A way to turn this trip around? Well, no. There was no turning this trip around. But to at least get something back for the pain and suffering... “Deal,” Reese said.

“He’ll be all right,” the Kesh added, gentler. “A few cracked ribs and slices and bruises. A few hours under a halo-arch and he’ll be on his feet again.”

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured.

The ride back to town took far too long for Reese’s tastes, particularly since the healer overseeing Hirianthial’s care kept him sedated. Why, she didn’t know; when she asked, she got back an earful of jargon, and the only thing she picked out of it was concern. “But he’ll be all right,” she asked the woman, who waved a hand.

“Yes, yes. Fine.”

Reese wasn’t so certain, but there wasn’t much she could do except follow, once again mounted on her properly saddled horse. Hirianthial got a travois, which looked suspicious to Reese, but they assured her he would be comfortable in it; it floated a little off the ground, so she guessed these people hadn’t eschewed all technology. They’d just used up all their money on medical equipment. Nevertheless, the tension didn’t start leaving her shoulders until they’d brought him to the clinic and she’d seen him safely installed beneath a halo-arch. They even treated her for her aches and pains, and they were numerous after her first adventure on horseback. All her romances had made riding horses seem easy. This was not the first time they’d been wrong.

She left the clinic as Sascha was entering it and found herself with an armful of furry. Sascha’s embrace was rigorous enough that she was grateful she’d allowed the healers to deal with her friction burns and aching limbs. “I am so glad to see you,” she said, and surprised herself by meaning it with her whole heart.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” Reese said, and pulled him away from the clinic. “Come on, you might as well walk me to my wine tasting.”

“Wine tas—all right then, whatever you say, Boss. Hirianthial?”

“They say he’ll be ready for release in a few hours,” Reese said. “He broke a few ribs, nothing extreme. And had a few cuts and a lot of bruises.” She rubbed her arm. “I’m... pretty sure there were other injuries.” Sascha glanced at her but she kept her eyes straight ahead. “Maybe you have some advice on how to handle those.”

“Advice on...” His ears slicked back to his skull and he bared his fangs, and all the fur visible on his neck and shoulders bristled. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t you tell me that.”

Reese said, “His mental state is pretty bad.” She sighed. “All this and possible pirates too. I know how to pick them, don’t I.” She handled him the telegem. “Here. We’re lifting off the moment he gets out. You’re in charge of pre-flight prep.”

Sascha closed his fingers around the jewel. “As soon as you two show up, we’ll kick the dust of this place off our boots so hard the world’ll spin out from under us.”

“Sounds good to me,” Reese said. Sascha touched her shoulder and started jogging away. She watched him recede, then called, “Sascha!” He paused. “Bring Allacazam to the clinic, okay? He shouldn’t be alone when he wakes.”

“Good idea.”

The alcohol the Kesh poured for her was white. Reese eyed it. “And this is?”

“Kumiss,” he said. “What we named the horse after. Try it.”

Wary, she took up the cup and sipped, and found it sour and mild. “That’s it?”

“Now this,” the Kesh said, pouring her a second cup, “is what those officers of yours drank.”

She glanced at him, then took a sip from the second cup—and got punched in the sinuses. Sweet and sour and spiced and milky and very, very strong. She coughed and said, “What is this?”

“Arkhi,” the Kesh said, smiling. “The distillation of kumiss.” At her scowl, he said, “It is fermented mare’s milk, captain. What else?”

“That came out of a horse?” Reese asked, staring at the cup.

“Absolutely.”

“Maybe they’re not so bad after all.”

He laughed and began to pour more into her cup. “So you are interested in a few crates? We have some.”

She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “I am, yes. You’re going to give them to me, aren’t you?”

The Kesh paused.

“Because we’ve gotten off to a bad start, haven’t we?” She took up the cup again but didn’t drink. “Wouldn’t want to damage a potential business relationship. Particularly when you might need all the friends you can get.”

“That presumes you’re coming back.”

It did. She sipped more carefully of the arkhi, her skin prickling as she swallowed. Running out to Kerayle for alcohol was crazy, particularly if the place was lousy with pirates. But she remembered Hirianthial’s intense interest in the horses. Maybe the Eldritch would want some; maybe they’d want a lot more than some. Being powerless to refuse the Queen’s requests had gotten Reese into several worlds of trouble; it would be nice to have something material to offer in lieu of her running all over the known universe rescuing helpless Eldritch.

She also thought of Hirianthial’s head resting against the horse’s, and the soft straggles of white mane falling over long white fingers.

“Well, you know… horses. Maybe not so bad after all.”

He studied her, then began to smile. Offering his cup, he said, “To possibilities.”

“If you clean up your backyard.”

“Assuming we survive the rumor of pirates and diffuse our potential civil war,” the Kesh said wryly.

“I’ll drink to that.” Reese tapped her cup against his.

There was water flowing over him: in that way of dreams, it was running over his heart, a musical beck without force or drama. It sang to him of ordinary joys, the contentments that stitched a life together. That sense of quiet healing was so powerful that he knew it to be external; his own heart was nowhere near so clean. When he woke, then, he was not surprised to find Allacazam cradled against his arm. The Flitzbe responded to his attention by streaking warm red over the cool blues and whites of his neural fur.

Before he could answer, a stranger appeared at the halo-arch. “How are we feeling?”

Hirianthial’s eyes flicked up toward the readings. “I’m mended.”

“So the arch says, anyway,” the healer said. “But that’s no substitute for patient report.” He held out a hand over the arch, waiting.

“I’m mended,” Hirianthial said again. “It will do. Let me up, please.”

The healer tapped the arch. As it withdrew, he said, “Your captain left clothes here for you. I’ll let you dress. You can come out when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he said, and rubbed his throat. His voice still felt raw, but it was the only part of him that didn’t feel normal again...that, and his soul, of course.

God and Lady, had he killed half a dozen men and knocked another half dozen over without lifting a hand? He looked at his palm and flexed the fingers. It could not be possible, and yet he had seen the evidence.

Allacazam pressed against his hip when he started shaking again. He rested his hand on the Flitzbe’s fur and struggled with his composure. All the violence that had been done to him paled in compare with the violence he appeared to be capable of wreaking, and against people who had no defense against his attacks. What was he becoming, that he was able to do such a thing? And as an escalation of the abilities he’d already noticed growing stronger and more varied, it was terrifying. What would he discover he could do next? And would it once again be all out of proportion to the insult done him?

He couldn’t decide whether what he needed was a priest... or an executioner.

Allacazam turned a lurid shade of purple, and in his mind he heard a howl of protest, like an abandoned dog. He grimaced and said, “I will apologize for distressing you, but not the sentiment.” Sliding off the biobed, he pulled the clothing on. When he bent to manage the boots, the dangle slid forward, bouncing against his ribcage with a muffled chime. He froze.

The Rekesh’s hand in his hair. That had been the moment: the implication that his captor was prepared to take away the one thing that mattered to him, the memories of the friendship of the
Earthrise’s
crew. As an Eldritch, he knew too well that memories would be all he had of them soon enough, and that knowledge invested a significance in the gift that he would have been hard-pressed to describe to one of the shorter-lived races.

And his outrage at that had killed six people.

He would fear for his soul, but he honestly couldn’t conceive that it was salvageable after such an act.

One thing was certain: he didn’t want to be here. He scooped Allacazam from the bed and left.

Reese was waiting for him outside on a bench, leaning forward with her hands clasping the edge of the seat; with all her braided hair shrouding her face, and the bead-capped ends an eye-watering blue in Kerayle’s strong sun. At the sound of his footsteps she looked up. Even without the grayish pall hanging over her aura he could see the worry in her face. She had never been good at hiding her thoughts, which was just as well, given how difficult she found expressing them.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Past ready.”

“Good,” she said. “Kis’eh’t and Bryer are loading the ship now, they should be done by the time we get there.”

“Did we buy something?” he asked, disoriented. They had come here to trade, hadn’t they? He’d forgotten entirely.

“Nothing,” Reese said, and her aura crackled with fierce bright sparks. “They gave us goodwill gifts. One of which was some kind of special horse ordering set-up.”

“A horse… ordering… set-up,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Solidigraphs that represent different horses they’re willing to breed, and then you can order their offspring.” She wrinkled her nose. “It seems kind of first century to me. ‘Hi, I’d like to reserve the children of your next goat pairing.’ But he told me that if I decided I wanted to ship horses, it would be done in vats or something. I’m guessing we could manage that in the cargo hold.”

“You? Trade horses?” He smiled a little, which he thought a victory. “I cannot imagine it.”

“Me neither,” Reese admitted. “But do you know they make amazing alcohol?”

Since she was willing to talk, he let her: about the kumiss and the arkhi and the Kesh’s explanation of the distillation process. He mostly felt the sun on his head and the worried brush of her aura, and Allacazam’s concern, which warred poorly with the alien’s pleasure at the light. Did the Flitzbe perceive different suns to give light of different flavors, he wondered? And who would ever be able to ask in terms the Flitzbe could understand?

Kis’eh’t was waiting for them at the airlock, hanging half-out of it. “You’re finally here! We’re ready to be gone. Sascha’s hovering over the board.”