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Her headgear and cloak in place, Irene followed Sherv and Jemi at a distance as they wove through the station toward the docking bays. Rusp was behind her. He watched for anyone who might suspect she wasn’t an Odeergin and confront her.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.Irene wondered at her audacity, but the truth was, she was thrilled. She felt as if she were taking a stand for herself. She was doing what she wanted, resisting a regime that had snatched her from her childhood home and dictated her life since the age of sixteen.
It was late, creeping into the station’s early morning hours when a handful of the clubs remained open. Keeping Sherv and Jemi’s broad backs in sight…they’d finally thrown on shirts and pants prior to leaving the venue where they’d performed…she skirted past darkened shops and restaurants and inns.
She noted Jemi’s slight limp and wondered if he’d injured himself recently. He’d shown no sign of pain in her presence, however.
It didn’t take long to reach the vast bay circling the level. There weren’t many beings walking about or sitting in chairs in the arrival and departure area. Those who noticed Irene cringed, even from distances too far for poisonous breath to reach. They looked away, as if the mere sight of an Odeergin could kill them.
The clan’s ship was in an area that appeared abandoned. “Extension stay,” Sherv had called the section, obviously meaning “extended stay.” The band had been signed to play for three weeks, of which they’d completed half their contract. They were off to an Adraf station afterward, where they had gigs scheduled in various clubs for a month.
Sherv and Jemi paused at a large doorway, big enough to send the largest hover carts through. They glanced at Irene, then went in. Irene’s experience with touring had taught her they’d gone in an umbilical corridor, at the end of which would be their ship’s hatch.
Instinctively glancing at her surroundings, Irene noted no one nearby. Undoubtedly, Rusp was in sight behind her, but looking in his direction would have been obvious to anyone observing her passage. Moments later, she passed through the doorway Sherv and Jemi had disappeared within.
The hall was bright, almost blinding after the dimmer environs of the bay’s arrival and departure section. Irene squinted at a couple of dark shapes a few feet ahead.
“Good walk? You not scared?” Jemi’s voice came to her as the details of his and Sherv’s figures swam into focus.
“You were right no one would notice us taking the direct route instead of the service corridors. The station is dead at this hour.” She’d never been out so late.
“Rusp watching for you.” Sherv’s expression was warm. Caring, even. “No one bother you. We keep safe. Come in.”
All that was visible of their ship from the short hallway was the brushed silver sheen of its hatch. It opened, and ushered by the two Kalquorians, Irene stepped in.
Thick brown carpeting, rumpled in spots as if it had been thrown loose instead of properly anchored to the floor, stretched from the door on Irene’s left to the door on the right. It was stained and worn particularly where foot traffic was most prevalent, especially around a table and chairs that apparently served as the dining area. A long lounger seat, looking as if it had seen better days in the far distant past, took up the entirety of the wall on her right.
“Sorry.” She turned to Jemi, who’d spoken. His gaze scanned the cabin, taking in its untidy appearance. “Not know you visit. Will have cleaned if I know.”
“It’s all right. In my culture, young men aren’t known for being terribly neat.” Older men too. Mrs. Hoffman had mentioned her late husband’s propensity for leaving dirty dishes, clothes, and clutter in his wake, relying on her to clean up.
On Clan Sherv’s ship, there was a little disorder. Overall, it wasn’t awful. It brought up a question she hadn’t considered before. “How old are you?”
Jemi began counting on his fingers again. As Rusp entered the ship, Sherv pulled a handheld device from his belt pouch and barked in Kalquorian.
It answered in English. “In Earth years, Dramok Sherv is thirty-two, Imdiko Jemi is thirty-one, and Nobek Rusp is thirty-five.”
“We’re pretty close,” Irene said, pleased for some reason. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“Baby,” Rusp teased. “I am the old one.”
“Barely.” Her research on Kalquorians had disclosed their average lifespan, aided by free basic medical care, was two hundred fifty years. Rich Earthers who could afford the best medical care usually clocked out at one hundred thirty. The poor majority, unable to afford any medical care at all, did well to live to eighty.
Thinking about health, she was reminded of Jemi’s limp. “What happened to your leg? Did you hurt it?”
“Sickness,” he muttered. “Had since child.”
“Nerve issue,” Sherv supplied. “Incurable. Left side of his body weaker than right. No hurting.”
“Oh. I’m glad it doesn’t hurt. It certainly doesn’t keep you from playing the trasbu perfectly.” Noting Jemi appeared sensitive over the issue, she eyed Sherv. “I read that your medical care is usually free. It doesn’t cover the surgery required to heal your voice?”
He shrugged. “I can speak, so not needed. Special surgery to fix right for singing, so is charged money.”
“Ah. Is it expensive?”
He nodded. “Delicate work. Mistake can paralyze vocal cords and throat. Danger of trouble swallowing, breathing if done wrong.”
As similar as their species were, it sounded as if Kalquorian vocal cords and the surrounding tissue might be more complicated or delicate than a human’s.
