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“Do you still have people there?” I ask.
“Yeah,” they grimace. “Most of them were killed during Lamia’s coup, but I’ve still got some people out there. I can only imagine things are just getting worse.”
I shove my hands in my pockets so no one can see my clenched fists. “I don’t know why, but I always figured space would be…more utopian, I guess? Not like this. It’s really not the ‘where no man has gone before’ that we all dreamed about back on Earth.”
They shrug. “Yeah, that seems to be the case for a lot of more primitive civilizations,” they say. “Interesting, though, that many people believe the same about them. Something about the purity of being untouched by technology.”
“And I assume that has something to do with Elixir not being mined?” I ask. We duck into a grey alleyway with uniform white buildings, the streets narrow and uneven. Every corner of this world is dark, and if it wasn’t for my cybernetic enhancements, I wouldn’t be able to see ahead of me at all.A light snow falls, though it’s oddly dissonant with the humidity and the green spots I saw all over the planet.
Aramis doesn’t seem to have issues navigating this world. They’re light on their feet, like all Merati. Sometimes, if I’m very drunk—whenI’m very drunk—it looks like they’re gliding.
“The Hyperboreans have a pretty thorough understanding of where Elixir is,” they say, their voice dropping to a whisper. We’re out in public, but we still can’t risk being heard by anyone. “And I expect they’ll move to Homeworld before they’re done with extracting all resources from Borealis. It isn’t in their best interest to deplete their world of it entirely. Vehyris is the closest refinery to their world, but they’ll probably set up new ones. Boreans go where Elixir is. Their consumption of it grants them plenty of time. And once they’re done with Homeworld…”
Aramis trails off.
“Then they’ll go wherever else they can,” Aramis says, their voice softer than before. “I would venture a guess that also means planets which have not yet made first contact.”
I’m still processing that information when they stop walking, tilting their head to gesture toward a nearly indistinguishable black door. “Let’s leave the saving the world to The Crown, brother,” Aramis says with a smile. “You and I have more prescient concerns.”
The door swishes open. Unlike the street, the inside of the establishment is buzzing with sound and activity. There’s something about a bar; the format doesn’t matter, there’s one everywhere, and it always feels a little bit like home. It doesn’t matter what species it’s run by or what the planet is going through, everyone’s just here to get drunk.
For me, there’s some solace in that.
And the alcohol. Obviously there’s solace in the alcohol.
I can feel people’s gazes on us as we go up to the bar. They’re still talking, their voices overlapping, but they’re quieter than before. We’re strangers and this is clearly an intrusion.
Aramis orders us drinks while I survey the place. Some of the patrons have clearly been affected by the mining. I note with some interest that none of them appear to be Hyperborean. That makes sense; they probably have way nicer places to drink. Or they use Elixir instead. It’s hard to know. The patrons in this bar would never be able to afford even a sip of the precious liquid.
I lean against the bar, my gaze darting between all of them as Aramis makes conversation. That’s why I only just notice the drinks when someone slams them down behind me. “On the house,” a deep voice says.
I turn around to thank them, my eyes widening when I see a tall male Nyeri’i wearing a dark gray robe. It’s not just that he’s male—from what Gliss told me, male Nyeri’i are exceptionally rare—but also the eyepatch on his left eye, and the way the snakes on his head don’t move quite as quickly as Gliss’ do. I guess I must look for a second too long, because he breaks out in a smile.
“I’ve been on Vehyris a long time,” he says. “It gets to you.”
I nod, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I might’ve lived in space for over a decade at this point, but my mother always taught me not to stare. I don’t like to be rude, not if I can help it. “My apologies,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “It’s been a long journey.”
“Youcan stare at me all you like, human,” he says, leaning forward as he drops his voice. “We heard rumors of the Merati rebellion coming here, but we didn’t dare believe they were true. But now…”
“We’re nobodies,” Aramis says. I nod along. Clearly, we’re both still trying to decide whether this is a trap. “Just passing through.”
The Nyeri’i barkeep shakes his head. “Nobody on Vehyris is just passing through,” he says. “You two need to come up with a better story than that if someone stops to question you. A plausible story might be the difference between a Borean probing your mind and letting you on your way.”
“And how do you know that?” I ask.
He shakes his head, the smile never disappearing from his face. “How do you think I know that?” he asks. “Drink up. You’ll need it.”
Aramis and I exchange a look, but I don’t hesitate to do what I’m told. I need itnow.
“We heard about you,” the barkeep continues, inching closer to us. He’s a natural at this. From the outside, anyone would think we’re having a conversation about anything else. No one would be able to tell what this is about. He probably does this a lot. “They came to me and told tales of your bravery. They spoke of a Terran warrior queen and a rebellion pilot, a thwarted Alamancian assassination attempt, a growing distaste for Queen Lamia. Is any of this true?”
“Like they said,” I say, cocking my head toward Aramis. “We’re just passing by.”
He cocks his head, his one eye narrowing as he does. Our glasses are empty and he refills them without asking.
“I understand the need for discretion,” he says. “Do you know why I stay here?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell us,” I mutter between my teeth.
