Captivate (Alien Cadets Book 2) Page 21

  After she showered (still amazed and grateful that she got to do that every day), she went down to make herself breakfast in the kitchen.

  Francois opened the restaurant to guests every night for dinner, but served a mid-day meal only twice a week. He said it drove up demand to keep down the supply, and it also meant that they could have a somewhat lazy morning before helping out in the afternoon and evening.

  She helped herself to a can of corn (the food selection was still rather eclectic) and added water to some powdered milk. Amazingly, this was still way better than she’d eaten in the zoo.

  Sage, Juliet, Old Twin, and Diva were eating breakfast at the little table in the kitchen, very silent. Claire felt awkward as they watched her open the can and dump it in a bowl. She wondered if they’d all seen Sage by her bed last night.

  “Did you guys sleep okay?” she finally said to fill the awkward silence and distract them from the fact that she was blushing.

  “Yes. I suppose. What does bad sleep feel like?” Diva asked.

  “Um. When you wake up a lot, I guess.”

  “Ah. Then I slept badly. Do humans usually talk about their sleep? We usually talk about what we do when we're conscious,” Diva said.

  “But if we should talk about sleep, we will talk about sleep!” Juliet said with enthusiasm.

  Claire laughed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about anything, not all humans are talkative in the morning.”

  “But what would they talk about if they were?” Juliet asked. “I think I may be talkative.”

  “You? No!” Old Twin said sarcastically. “I never would have guessed.”

  Juliet rolled her eyes, “You’re a grump.”

  Claire came to the table with her corn, feeling less embarrassed. “Let’s see, my dad always talked about weather, which is kind of an empty topic here. My mom would talk about her dreams, and I would talk about my friends...” She had a sudden moment of nostalgia, picturing her mom standing by the stove, frying eggs and talking about her latest dream, to which her dad listened with half an ear while checking the news on his phone.

  Sage almost put his hand over hers, but stopped an inch away and put it back in his lap. “Are you okay?”

  “Um. Yes, sorry. Fine.” Claire shook it off, and started her corn.

  Francois came in the back door just then, and the room suddenly came to life. Three cabinets opened and closed, the empty chair by the table scooted itself in, and the tins on the counter began restacking themselves.

  “Good morning, my fine friends and servitors. We received another shipment today!”

  Thee large crates rolled in the door after Francois, and soon Claire and the others were excitedly unpacking the contents, surrounded by bags of rice and potatoes, canned food, McCormick spices, and princess birthday napkins.

  Claire could practically see the grocery aisles that had been pillaged to get this assortment.

  “And what are these?” Francois said next, levitating a small plastic package in the air. “Some sort of food preparation item?”

  Claire usually tried to let the others have a chance to identify things, (Sage really enjoyed trying to match items with various commercials he’d seen), but these made her laugh.

  “No, those are razors. They’re for shaving your legs.”

  Juliet immediately pulled her pants leg up. “The Tergre sometimes shave their noses and paws, but I didn’t know humans did.” She rubbed her leg which was, by Claire’s high school standards, very hairy. “Other humans must be much more hairy than me, I suppose? How odd, I never noticed.”

  “Well... in some countries they don’t shave,” Claire hedged.

  They were all examining their legs now.

  “You certainly need to shave,” Juliet said to Sage and Athlete, looking at their hairy calves.

  “No – um, only girls shave. Well, sometimes athletes do, I guess.” Claire laughed again at their confused expressions.

  “Ah, another gender specific culturalization,” Sage said. “And why –”

  “Never mind,” Old Twin cut him off. “What else is in that box?”

  That afternoon, Francois gave them another lesson in food additives, so that they could put the final touches on the food themselves.

  He lifted something that looked like the offspring of a pepper grinder and a clarinet, showing them the different compartments and how to open and close them.

  “Of course, you could do each individually, but where’s the art in that?” Francois asked. “Much better to mix the supplements in the main chamber first, say a prostaglandin-damper with a protein-acid, and then dispense at once... like this.” A silvery blue dust wafted out the bottom and onto the floor. “And what would that mixture be appropriate for?”

  There was silence for a second.

  Claire’s glasses printed:

  Nut protein. Spo additive.

  “Oh, right,” Claire said. “We did that one yesterday... um, peanut butter for a ... Spo?”

  “Ding! Ding! Ding! Correct," Francois said. "Any kind of nut would require this.” Somewhere Francois had seen a human game show, and now he liked to make his own sound effects.

  As he continued, the dust on the floor silently collected itself and flew to the trash, and Claire couldn’t help but watch. It was like living in a Mary Poppins movie. She looked at Francois, with his translucent skin and fiery orange body paint. He was smiling, and his big, flat molars reflected wetly in the light.

  Well, this would be the PG-rated, comic horror version of Mary Poppins, Claire amended.

  Now Sage was holding the pepper grinder and struggling to open the right valves.

  “Just think,” Sage said. “In a thousand years, we’ll have evolved to tolerate each other’s food. Won’t that be... nice.” He twisted the release and an orange powder wafted out the bottom and exploded on the floor with a small, but emphatic pop!

  Francois laughed. “From your mouth to the Speaker’s ears. It may need some help.” He passed the grinder to Juliet, who took her turn with a determined look in her eye.

  Sage rolled his eyes. “Seven of the ten species on the Council accept the lack of a creative deity, Francois.”

  “There’s twelve species, now,” Francois said, shifting the grinder to Claire. “What with the Melifleurs and the humans. What story do humans have for their existence?”

  Claire placed her fingers carefully on the grinder, depressing the thumb piece, pointer, and pinkie on the side... blue dust, just right. She smiled. “I don’t know. Evolution, I guess. I mean, here you all are...” She handed the grinder to Old Twin and gestured at them. “Some people believe we were created by God... but I thought that was something only humans fought about. What do the Crosspoint think?”

  Francois wriggled his thick, fleshy body. “We are giant slugs - with no hands, flippers, or cilia. Did we simply slither into intelligence? Ridiculous. And look at the Tergre, they seem to be merely giant ferrets – but no! They’re sentient. You cannot tell me that happened on its own."

  Sage groaned, and Francois laughed at him before dismissing him. “You all go rest before the guests arrive, shoo!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Basher couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned and finally went to his office, letting the lemur ride on his shoulder.

  “Hey Akemi, you awake?” he said.

  There was no response on his computer.

  He opened some paperwork he needed to complete for the other Rik he’d caught recently, and also opened a connection to Akemi.

  “I’m up if you want to talk,” he typed.

  Okay Mom.

  “Sorry what?”

  No, it’s okay. I feel good today.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  A huge chunk of text followed that looked like gibberish.

  Basher suddenly realized what was going on. Akemi must be asleep. She’d mentioned that sometimes she accidentally did stuff in her sleep (the mental equivalent of sleepwalking),
but he hadn’t really thought about it.

  He saw that the gibberish Akemi had sent actually contained several things she’d said to him earlier that day. It was mixed with snippets of their research about the dead Rik and their separate research about Faal. Akemi had been combing the public archives for references to him or his zoo. He caught the phrases, ‘underground zoological atmosphere,’ and ‘Velvidian enclave,’ among others.

  The last coherent bit of the jumble seemed to be from something else she’d been reading. He caught the phrase, ‘who are now dead,’ repeated several times. Then he saw where the phrase had come from:

  “That is why the good news was preached to those who are now dead – so although they were destined to die like all people, they now live forever with God in the Spirit.”

  Basher wondered what that meant to her – did she consider herself as someone now dead? She was so alive to him, though he’d never met her.

  She didn’t moan about her situation, but he would be a fool to assume that it didn’t prey on her mind. Basher would have closed the connection then, but Akemi started to send video. Or at least, maybe it was video, there was no sound.

  Nat was in it. Basher recognized her, though she looked younger and healthier and had no tattoo on her face. She was riding down an escalator in a huge mall, and all the signs were in Japanese. Near the bottom of the escalator she jumped off the last two steps and ran to hug another Japanese girl.

  This girl looked like Nat, but slightly different. Her black hair had light brown highlights and her eyes were more almond shaped. She had on sparkly blue eye shadow, pink lipstick, and designer sunglasses holding back her hair.

  The two girls held hands and began to walk past the shops, swinging their arms and smiling non-stop.

  That must be Akemi, Basher thought, rather stunned. He wondered if this was her memory of something that really happened, or just a dream.

  He had his answer when the mall suddenly began to shake. A huge crack split the floor and Nat slid toward it, grasping desperately for her sister’s hand.

  He could feel Akemi’s horror as Nat’s fingers slipped and she disappeared into the void. Akemi’s mouth opened in a soundless cry. She ran forward and threw herself into the crack. She managed to grab Nat’s hand as they both fell.

  At some point Basher had read that people who dream of falling never actually hit the ground, but apparently Akemi hadn’t read that. She landed on a beach in a bone-shaking, concussion-inducing heap. It reminded him of what Nat said when she first saw Claire, “Sometimes the terrible story is true.”

  Akemi’s life certainly hadn’t taught her that you get rescued at the last moment, or wake up from the dream when it starts to hurt.

  The scene melted away into a new view: a small, cramped office. At first it was empty, but then the door opened and a guy came in. He was tall and dark with a scrubby five-o-clock shadow.

  The guy in the image came and sat down at a computer and Basher laughed. It was supposed to be him. Basher usually did have a persistent five o-clock shadow. Probably because he only got motivated to shave every few days. This guy looked taller and younger and a lot more like a Bollywood actor than Basher had ever looked, but it was clearly him.

  On screen the door opened once again, and this time Akemi came in. He recognized her from the first dream. She pulled up a chair and settled in next to him, watching the computer. They were pointing and talking about something. It was such a friendly, chummy little scene.

  Poor girl. If that last dream was a nightmare, then this must be one of the good dreams. He was surprised that he ranked up there with Nat in people she dreamed of.

  Suddenly Basher realized what he was doing – spying on a teenage girl’s dreams. He closed the connection immediately.

  She deserved what privacy she had, though he was glad to have a mental image to put with her.

  Basher was surprised when Nat wandered in his office a few minutes later. It was nearly three in the morning.

  Basher wasn’t usually one to notice, but she had dark circles under her eyes and she was extremely pale. If anything, she looked more exhausted than when she’d arrived at the embassy two weeks ago.

  “Are you alright Nat? Can I help you with something?”

  She shook her head with an attempted smile. “No, I just can’t sleep, and I saw that you’d opened a connection with Akemi so I knew you were awake.”

  “I didn’t mean to watch her dream,” Basher explained. “I thought she was awake for a moment.”

  “It’s okay, I didn’t think that. I was just surprised to see you in her dream.”

  “I was too.”

  Nat sat in his partner’s chair. “I know she’s lonely, with only us to talk to. I’m glad you’ve become friends with her.”

  Basher felt vaguely uncomfortable. “It’s not hard. She’s a fun girl, and she certainly is great with the research.”

  “The research...” Nat said vaguely. “Right.”

  “We’ve uncovered a decent bit about the eight Rik in the apartment. Nothing would indicate that they had particular terrorist leanings, but there were a few interesting things.”

  Nat didn’t say anything.

  “Apparently they bought entirely new wardrobes and personal items when they got here. Akemi found the records. Looks like they were concerned that their clothes might be evidence, which would be the case if they had those explosives with them for any length of time. They also paid for Vel deep cleaning, which Akemi says would be really unpleasant, but would effectively destroy the top layer of skin that might also hold trace elements or even burns from when they wired the bombs.

  “Akemi also says that she was lucky in the way they set the bombs. Even if you hadn’t been able to get to her, she probably would have survived the explosion. The engine room was nearly untouched, though of course without breathable air. You probably would have been able to retrieve her from the wreckage if you hadn’t been able to get to her before you evacuated.”

  That finally got a little reaction out of Nat, who smiled. “Please don’t tell Sam that. He’ll never let me live it down if it turns out I dragged him through all that fire for nothing.”

  “No problem... You should probably go back to bed though. We should rest up for Faal’s visit tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Early the next morning, Basher stood squarely in front of the Merith entourage surrounding Faal. They were bigger than him, but he’d dealt with people bigger than him on Earth. It was all about confidence; aggressive confidence, if need be.

  And a weapon.

  And backup.

  Okay, so confidence was maybe half of it, but it all added up to him standing in this door, refusing to admit the five Merith bodyguards until they submitted to a search. They didn’t appreciate it.

  Faal was richly dressed, with a deep orange robe hanging from his heavy shoulders. He was short, by Merith standards, and very... still. Basher had the feeling that Faal was in complete control of his facial expressions this morning. Heck, he was probably in control of the traffic in the tunnel behind him as well. From what Basher and Akemi had uncovered about this guy, he’d been something like a crime lord in Merith mainspace, but he'd turned his considerable resources toward politics, and now he was one of the richest, most powerful Merith in the galaxy.

  “I don’t doubt your intentions,” Basher said, which was a total lie, “but we’ve had several security episodes in recent days and must be extra cautious. We cannot allow any weapons into the embassy in case they should fall into the wrong hands.”

  “We are not armed,” said one of the bodyguards. “We were instructed of the requirements.”

  Basher smiled and then lunged forward a step.

  Faal’s bodyguards shifted in a lightning fast blur, ending with three weapons pointed at Basher’ neck.

  Before he’d finished the movement, Basher had shifted his weight and retreated a step. He held out empty hands.

  Faal’s soldiers
growled low in their throats at the insult and Basher laughed.

  “’No harm, no foul,’ we say on Earth.” Basher tapped the closest gun with one finger. “We can hang onto that for you.”

  Then he nodded carefully to Faal, not wanting to push him over the edge.

  “Welcome to the Spo embassy. I shall meet you shortly in the reception hall.”

  Out of sight, Basher leaned against the wall for a moment, his heart racing. That was a trick he’d learned from his mentor, back when they’d worked security for Spo events a couple times. If you think a diplomat’s entourage is overly armed, and you can’t throw them in jail, give them a low-grade threat before they get inside. They show their weapons, you confiscate them, they go on in... minimal danger, and you've avoided a possible incident.

  Except for the possibility that they freak out and shoot you. And for just a second there, Basher had thought perhaps he'd gone too far. But his mentor always said that the more professional the help, the better your chance of walking away. And the more money the politician had, the more professional their help usually was.

  Basher had wagered that Faal was rich enough to have extremely professional guards, who wouldn’t kill without being sure of the situation, and he’d won his gamble.

  He was certain they had other weapons, but he was satisfied to see them removed of their most obvious ones. He’d wanted to make it clear to Faal that he was not free to do as he wished at the embassy.

  Now Faal had been slightly humbled, but not embarrassed, before they even started. He was clearly an alien used to dominating his inferiors, and that reminder couldn’t hurt.

  Sam, Nat, and Shara joined him in the reception hall, along with his partner and the director of the embassy, who formally welcomed Faal to this outpost of Spo territory.

  When the director had gone, Faal surveyed them with satisfaction. He seemed to take particular note of Sam and Nat, who sat close together, their glasses occasionally winking in the light.