Their quarters are in a room in the rear of the club next to the kitchen. It is nothing more than a cot in the corner of a storage area. Next to the cot, sitting on a case of toilet cleaner, is an elderly Drac. When we enter, the Drac gets to its feet and points to two backracks completely packed and standing together like two soldiers on parade. In Drac it says, "I have them packed, Sally. You will not find a spot of dirt or a strap out of place. No one stole anything. I stood guard."
Sally pats its face with her hand. "You did well, Toack. I’m proud of you,"
The old Drac blinks its eyes at Reaper for a moment then turns to the cot. "I made this up. No wrinkles. See, no wrinkles at all."
Sally takes off her dress, folds it into a flimsy white box, and begins putting on tan trousers, soft brown boots, and a brown jacket. "Toack, the cot is yours again, and I’m leaving you the dress. You ought to be able to sell it for a good price. Cudak and I are leaving on a mission."
Toack frowns and says, "A mission; can you tell me about it?"
"I know very little; only that it is on Amadeen and the object is peace."
Cudak puts on its backrack as Toack slowly shakes its head. "Lost. Ask the masters. They know. Amadeen is lost." The old Drac looks up at Reaper and seems to study him closely. "You are one of my human children, aren’t you?"
I look at Reaper and I see tears in the big man’s eyes. "Yes, Jetah. Ernst Brandt, Seventh Officer, Ilcheve."
"Ernst," says Toack, the name apparently unfamiliar to it. "I apologize, but I should know you. I know all my children. I can’t remember their faces, though. So many things gone." Toack sits on the cot and keeps repeating, "All my children. All my children."
Reaper stands with his feet apart, his left hand hooked into his belt, and his right hand open and placed over the center of his chest; the salute of the Tsien Denvedah. After a moment the old Drac notices, struggles to its feet, and returns the salute.
As the four of us work our way through the crowd to the entrance, Reaper is deadly silent, his attention on his own shadows. Cudak and Sally are ahead of us and keep going as a hairy five-fingered hand reaches out of the crowd, plants itself in my chest, and stops me. The hand is soon followed by a human face with a jaw that looks capable of gnawing the stones out of the Talman Kovah. "Excuse me, squid," he says, "but the last time you streaked through here, you picked up a drink that was meant for me and didn’t pay for it."
I remember a drink, but the details are fuzzy. Since I want no trouble, I reach for my moneyfold as I say, "I apologize if I have taken something that is not―"
Reaper interrupts by pushing me aside, a curiously calm expression on his face. "Do you have a problem, comrade?" he asks almost politely.
The fellow with the prominent jaw eyes Reaper and says, "This is between me and the Drac, kizlode. Piss off."
Sally reaches out a hand between me and the jaw and pokes Reaper. "You don’t have to do this, you know."
"Nag, nag, nag," says Reaper. "It’s always nag, nag, nag."
"Do you think―" Cudak attempts to interject, but the jaw reaches out a hand and shoves it in the face, sending Sally’s lover into a rather large Drac, knocking it to the floor. Before I can see the resolution of that little drama, Reaper hauls back and punches the jaw’s nose, and suddenly personages, Drac, human, and Vikaan, that I have never before seen, met, or harmed, are throwing punches in my direction. I swing back, land a number of significant blows, when a shadow appears above me. As it smashes into my face I realize it is the top of a table. As my consciousness evaporates, I see Reaper, smiling through a prolific nosebleed, smashing someone’s head against a deck support as Sally and Cudak remove their backracks to join in.
THIRTY-SIX
Days and stitches later, Amadeen is a tiny white disk visible among the stars. Still we work as though preparing for a test upon which the fate of the world depends, which it does. The swelling from my fractured cheekbone down, Cudak and Sally continue their studies as we hurtle toward the destiny fashioned by our talma.
Sally Redfeather is an assassin and investigator, having once been partners with Reaper. Cudak is an interrogator. It will be Cudak’s task to screen applicants and see if they are capable of being trained, becoming either spy, assassin investigator, additional interrogator, or sleeper. The sleepers will be members who will go back to their own villages, homes, or units and function normally until the call comes either to obtain information, make an identification, or hit an identified target near them, either neighbor, associate, friend, comrade, or family member.
While we train on the computers and rework our plans, Gay Cudak remains reading and apparently memorizing everything he can about everything and everybody. All of the worthless information the USE-DC Quarantine Force academics collected about Amadeen, Cudak devours. Long after the rest of us quit to get some rest, Cudak is before its computer studying.
Davidge and I work on plans, backup plans, contingency plans, necessary supplies, weapons, training, logistics, and so on until I am hardly able to keep my eyes open. Leaning back in my seat, I see Davidge once again staring off into the distance. "Is there something else?" I ask.
The human glances at me and smiles. "Momentary enlightenment, Ro. It suddenly occurs to me that, of our current numbers, the one who is the least qualified to be running this crew is me."
"It is your talma," I protest.
"It’s our talma, Ro." He shrugs and shakes his head. "Which still leaves me mystified. I’ve never led anyone, organized anything, or did any of the kind of work this talma seems to call for. You have experience in combat on Amadeen; Moss and Beneres have more recent combat flight experience, as well as smuggling skills. Ghazi knows computers; Reaper and Sally have actual experience as investigators, and Cudak as an interrogator. On top of that, all of you have youth while my skills concern living isolated in a cave trying to keep little Dracs from cutting off their own fingers before they reach adulthood. I can’t understand why any part of this talma depends on me."
I throw up a weary hand and say with a smile, "If you knew the path, Uncle Willy, it would no longer be the path."
Davidge laughs, stretches, and cocks his head toward the passenger quarters. Through a yawn, he says, "Maybe my real job is to find the person who is supposed to run this outfit. Anyway, we’re beat. In another twenty hours we should either be on Amadeen or a trillion ionized particles floating around in space. Let’s knock it off for awhile."
I head for my quarters marveling at the things that separate persons and the things that bring them together in love, friendship, business, and war. As I reach my quarters, I look opposite my door and see that Cudak’s door is open. Cudak is sitting at its small desk, one of the tiny hand-portable computers before him. "Cudak, why don’t you get some rest?"
It glances at me, grins, and stretches its arms. "You may be right, Ro." It lifts and shakes an insulated flask. "I have some hot tea left. Would you care to share a cup?"
"That would be good." I enter the room and sit in the chair next to the desk. Cudak stretches again, pours the tea into two cups, and offers me one. I sip at it, my mouth filling with the taste of warm rains and Khama flowers, "This is delicious tea, Cudak. Thank you."
"It’s nothing. Here. Have a candy." It holds out a small box containing a few wrapped gum fruits. I look at them and cannot imagine from where they must have come.
"You only have a few."