The Betwixt Book One Page 4

  Chapter 4

  I woke up the following morning with a pronounced ominous feeling. It took a moment for the previous day’s antics to flood back and drawn me completely. I had never wanted to get out of bed less than at that moment. So I did the only logical thing and pulled the covers over my head.

  I didn’t have to work that afternoon, thankfully, though waitressing at a diner was the last thing on my mind right now. I had to find a gun, I reminded myself. A gun.

  I became aware of the sharp distinction between my bed and the rest of the galaxy at that point, no matter how strange it sounded. I realized that at this moment the rest of the galaxy was everything outside of my mattress and blanket, and it was all screwed.

  I heard the patter of feet that usually heralded Hipop jumping on my bed in his morning dance of: “You’re up! Oh well, you will be in a moment! Let me help by dancing all over your covers and licking your face.” I braced myself for the impact that didn’t come.

  “Why is it that you have blankets over your inspiration orifices?”

  I groaned at the voice and the questionable description of my mouth and nose. He was right, though – it was kind of hard to breathe under here, but the alternative was to die at the hands of the Twixts out there.

  I didn’t answer, hoping he would give up and go away.

  “You must rise from your slumber so that we can buy a gun. I do not know much about how the sale of personal weaponry works, but I imagine, like other economies, you are rewarded for being the first in line.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. This guy had perfect English but would say the strangest things. Did he honestly think the black-market weapons industry worked like the canteen line at school? You didn’t get the best guns for showing up first with clean hands and a neat uniform – you got what you paid for, either in blood or money.

  “Child,” he called loudly, as if I were far away, “Child, you must rise—”

  “Mini,” I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed too quickly, “My name is Mini. What the hell is yours while we’re on the topic?”

  The monk, who was standing in the center of the room, hands primly patting at his robes, looked fresh-faced and calm. “Name?”

  I rolled my eyes. “If I were to address you in a room of similar, small, red alien monks, what arrangement of sounds would I use to distinguish you from the rest?” I was surprised at my own sarcasm. Sarcasm was usually something I didn’t employ – only smiles and polite chitchat made it through the application process of my thoughts. But I was in a mood, if you could put it that way. I was in the kind of mood a girl gets after a rough night of hitting Twixts on the head with frying pans.

  “Ah, we do not have names. For your ease, should you face the situation you described—”

  I tried to block out the mental image of going into a room packed full of tiny crimson monks all wanting to grab my hair and shanghai me into saving the galaxy.

  “You can call me Od.”

  “Od? You know what, I think that kind of suits you. Od it is.”

  He bowed demurely as if I’d given him a gold star for creativity.

  “So, what now, Od? Do I clear all the Central Credits out of my bank account and buy the only gun I can afford, which will be a pea shooter considering my current funds, and a rusty pea shooter at that?”

  “I am unfamiliar with a peashooter, but if you believe this will be an appropriate choice of weaponry to use against the Twixt, this is what we shall do.”

  I let that one slide and headed off to grab a supplement bar from the cupboard. You couldn’t call them food – they provided the exact balance of nutrients you needed without the chocolate and cream. It would have to do. Sitting down for eggs and toast was not an option right now. I started chewing on the vaguely tasty mass while I ran a hand over my torso, searching out the bruises from last night.

  I had healed remarkably well, I realized. It had something to do with the strange draft Od had given me before I’d conked out in bed. It had tasted like rocket fuel avec la grease, but it had obviously worked wonders.

  “So,” I said between bites, “I don’t suppose you know where there are guns on this station?” I had a vague idea, but it was likely to be the kind of sketchy impression that would get me thrown into prison for asking the wrong kind of guy to “See his goods.”

  He looked thoughtful, his crimson head tilting toward the ceiling. “In a GAM ship.”

  I let my jaw drop open, mid-chew. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Yes, of course there would be guns on GAM ships; they were pretty big into those things. I wasn’t about to go up to the Commander, wink, and offer him a packet of cash for his rifle.

  “Also, I believe Station Security hold firearms.”

  This was getting me nowhere. If I wanted to get this done, I was going to have to do this myself. I’d have to go down to the lower decks, I figured as I patted my hands free of crumbs and concentrated on my last bite of vaguely vanilla-flavored sustenance. That was where the riffraff hung out – sometimes off railings held by their feet, from the stories I’d heard. You would hear things working as a waitress, and most of them ended up with some kind of bloody altercation between Crags and Mercenaries on the decks below.

  Which is where I, the ditsy waitress, now had to go. I had to take all my money from the bank, put on my most intimidating outfit (which left the skirt with the cute embroidered bunny rabbits right out), and secure the proverbial daggers behind my eyes. I had to harden the hell up and go and buy a goddamn gun.

  I grabbed my hair and pulled it in front of my eyes like curtains. I didn’t want to play this game anymore. No, scratch that. At no point had I ever indicated any wish to participate in this ridiculous situation. Shadow monsters, galactic peril, and black market forays would never have had me putting my hand up for seconds.

  By the time I had decided what to wear and cuddled Hipop to death on the likely probability I would never see him again, it was already mid-morning. Od was starting to get anxious, twisting his hands like a tiny propeller spinning back and forth. “We don’t have the time to dally,” he said for literally the tenth time.

  I ignored him as I walked two steps ahead. I didn’t want to be spotted with Od, not after he’d been dragged off to the brig for supposedly assaulting me the other day. What would the Commander think if he saw the two of us together? That I’d forgiven my attacker and had found the heart to converse about apocalyptic scenarios with the guy as we strolled the promenade? Yeah.

  Commander Cole, what would he think in general? He didn’t believe in Twixts. In fact, he didn’t believe in Twixts with bells on, if that made any sense. He’d been unduly frustrated by the Crag’s insistence that the denizens of the in-between were behind the ghost ship. So how would he react if I were to walk up to him and casually assert that I’d been behind the frying-pan-rescue yesterday? Would he glare at me, act indifferent, laugh out loud, or shoot me on the spot? Or maybe a mixture of all four?

  To be honest, I didn’t want to think about that right now. I was off to buy illegal weaponry from the lower decks – which was something the Commander would have a definite and easily predictable opinion on. He would throw me in prison because Commander Jason Cole played by the book.

  I had a definite icky feeling in my stomach by the time Od and I had traveled the lift down to the right deck. It felt like someone had crammed me into an old-style cocktail mixer and shaken me until my insides had turned to jelly. I tried not to hold my stomach as we walked through the crowd. It was hard, for more reasons than one. Not only did I feel like death, but the deck looked even worse. It was in the same drab, mechanical style as the docking bay – all bare metal and scratched aged paint. There were packing crates dotting the large open space, with aliens of various sizes, descriptions, and levels of menacing sitting or leaning on them. Everyone seemed to be wearing the same colors – grays, dirt browns, and blacks. There wasn’t a baby blue to be seen.

  I tried not to double up, compact my shoulder
s, and hide behind my hair like the frightened child I was. I had to stand tall, right? Walk proud with my shoulders jutting out like they had caps with wicked spikes on them. I had to flare my nostrils and blink in slow motion. Otherwise, I was dead meat. Or more likely, dead disintegrated particles by the look of some of the hardcore particle rifles some of the aliens carried.

  Though I was trying hard to keep my cool, I was starting to sweat, my hands jittering in my pockets. What if I ran into a GAM? What if I ran into Cole?! It wasn’t impossible, was it? In fact, it was a darn certainty. This would be the kind of place the Commander came in his spare time to continue his life’s work of cleaning up the galaxy. He was probably in the lift right now preparing his sack to bag me with – ready to chalk me off as another chunk of litter scraped off the pavement.

  I clutched my stomach tighter, trying my utmost not to look anyone in the eyes as we passed all shapes and sizes of galactic scum.

  “Now, where to start?” Od said softly to himself, his voice as chirpy and unperturbed as ever. If he’d noticed we’d entered a den of illegality, he hadn’t shown it. He didn’t look frightened at the group of Crags who passed us by, holstered guns at their sides and rifles strapped to their backs. He smiled vaguely as I tried not to whimper when one ran into my arm.

  “What color do you think you might like? I say, that positively homicidal looking Krip’tal over there has a nice white-looking long gun. Smart, though it might get scuffed easily.”

  The Krip’tal in question, a tall race with a face that resembled a carnivorous plant, hissed at us, the flaps of his mouth blowing wide. I yelped and scurried along after Od.

  “I don’t actually care what the color is,” I whispered because I was still uncomfortable discussing weaponry in public, even when the public appeared well versed in that topic.

  “Oh. Ah, well that leaves shape I suppose. Would you prefer a long one or a short one? Are you sure color doesn’t matter?”

  A long one, a short one, a colorful one – this wasn’t how you chose firearms! I was supposed to be fighting the Twixts for heaven’s sake, and the only assistance my supposed mentor could provide was the “Fashionista’s guide to accessorizing with your plasma particle rifle.”

  “Human,” something boomed from behind me.

  I didn’t instantly turn. There were other humans dotted around this dump.

  “Human.” A huge hand settled on my shoulder and twisted me on the spot.

  I stared straight up into the huge lizard-skin face of the Crag who’d first told me about the Twixts.

  “Lost,” he rumbled in his monotone.

  “You are?” I squeaked. “Well, if you take the elevators over there—”

  “Human is lost, not Crag’tal.”

  Most Crags had names that began with Crag. For some reason, they thought it would avoid confusion – as if anyone in their right mind would ever fail to pick a Crag out of a line up.

  It took me a short while to realize what he meant. “Oh, I—”

  “Human, take the elevator and go back to the deck above – this not a good deck for her.”

  Now, I would never go gooey over a Crag – they didn’t engender warm feelings. But I realized this guy was actually looking out for me. In another time, another place, I would have smiled at that and offered him a Tika tea on the house.

  “No, my good Crag’tal, we are not lost,” Od piped up from somewhere around the Crag’s ankles. “We are in search of weaponry.”

  I could have shot him if I’d had the foresight to bring along a gun on a gun-buying mission. Od had the subtlety of a Crag. Did he have to announce our mission so blithely?

  I flinched, waiting for Crag’tal to pick me up in his gigantic arms and carry me to the brig. The big guy looked down at me. “Joke.”

  I couldn’t figure out if he was asking whether it was a joke or he thought it was funny – or both. “N… no. I, well, it’s hard to explain.” I blushed.

  “I have a large amount of rare Eluvian Platonium ore,” Od reached under his robe, “And we plan to trade this, plus Mini’s live savings, for a gun. Or two, if we can afford it.”

  My eyes widened like someone had pumped air into them. I had never even seen Eluvian Platonium ore – it was one of the rarest and most valuable substances in the galaxy. Never mind buying one gun with that – Od could afford to equip an army and retire on his own planet.

  Crag’tal placed out a hand and covered Od’s tiny one. It was an oddly slow and gentle move for the titan. “Put back in robes – dangerous to show around here.”

  Yes, yes it bloody was! I was surprised every thief in the place hadn’t jumped on us the moment Od had brought the glittering goods out. I was betting no one here would have ever seen a fortune like that, let alone been this close to it.

  I peered around nervously and was horrified to see more than a few scraggly aliens peering our way.

  “Oh, I suppose you are right.” Od stowed the goods quickly.

  He’d made me withdraw all my life’s savings while he’d been carrying around more money than I could earn in 1000 lifetimes. This was impossible.

  “Human and small one should go.”

  I agreed with that, in principle. In practice, it would mean we would have to come back later.

  “Not without a gun, I’m afraid.” Od pushed onto his toes and rolled back like an excited child doing calisthenics.

  Crag’tal heaved his shoulders up and gave what I assumed was a sigh. “Small one is strange. Human is strange too. Dangerous – yet you want gun.”

  “Could you,” I bit my lip. I was abundantly aware of the fact Od and I couldn’t do this on our own. “Well, could you possible help us…?” I trailed off weakly.

  Crag’tal didn’t move or speak, just heaved his shoulders again. “Like human. Small one makes Crag’tal laugh. Crag’tal will help.”

  I could have hugged the guy, or at least managed to wrap my arms around one of his mammoth legs and given it an appreciative squeeze.

  As we moved off, I stuck to Crag’tal like a satellite to a moon. Or, which wasn’t a good analogy these days, his shadow.

  Od would walk off on tangents occasionally, drawing the greedy eyes of those who fancied a palm-full of Eluvian Platonium ore. Crag’tal would always catch up to him and menace away the onlookers before escorting the lost, crimson lamb back into place.

  Crag’tal took us down a short set of steps to another part of the deck I hadn’t seen. This area looked more like a depot – there were stalls set up with all sorts milling around them. Packing crates were stacked by the walls, some open, with Crags, humans, and various aliens going through their contents. A human pulled out a huge jet-black rifle and checked the scope, while at a different crate, a Crag pulled out a massive shoulder cannon and remarked on the color, which drew a smile from me.

  Crag’tal walked to a quiet stall off to one side. It had a Hantari serving behind it – a creature that resembled a biped stick insect with the same huge reflective eyes. He wore an actual uniform, from what I could tell. It was a light shade of navy blue and appeared to have some kind of company logo on it. It was a holo-badge that blinked out the name of Tech Industries. I’d vaguely heard of them. They were one of the major weapons companies that supplied the GAM. But why would an official rep, like the Hantari, be down here amongst the space bums and mercenary scum?

  Crag’tal went and answered my question. “Got legit licenses?” He nodded at the Hantari.

  The Hantari didn’t answer, just grabbed something from his pocket and flicked it open. It was a data pad that showed an assortment of different holographic symbols.

  Crag’tal nodded. “More expensive,” he turned to me, “But don’t go to jail.”

  I nodded quickly as if I understood what he was saying. I mean, I understood parts of it – like it would cost more and I wouldn’t end up rotting on a moon prison somewhere. But how could you buy a gun license? Didn’t you have to… I don’t know, sit some kind of safety examina
tion? Not that anyone down on this deck would pass, but wouldn’t they demand more than a couple of Central Credits before they gave you a lethal weapon?

  I felt uncomfortable, itchy, and hot all over. I didn’t want to be here. At least Crag’tal and Od were with me, but the prospect of actually buying a gun – it was getting real for me.

  “Who’s buying?” the Hantari asked, voice like a chimney full of mosquitoes.

  Crag’tal nodded my way.

  The Hantari didn’t laugh. He looked me over. “Money?”

  “Enough,” Crag’tal growled.

  The Hantari looked at me longer then shrugged. “Bio scans.” He nodded my way, appearing to want something.

  I looked back, with a pained but thoroughly unhelpful expression.

  “Give him your arm.” Crag’tal nudged me softly with his shoulder.

  I acquiesced, though I couldn’t stop blinking while I offered my shaking arm, certain something painful was about to occur.

  The Hantari, a notoriously quick race, jabbed a device into the skin below my elbow, which made me yelp in surprise. Both he and Crag’tal looked at me and did the equivalent of an alien roll-of-the-eyes.

  The Hantari gave me my arm back, and I rubbed the injury concertedly.

  “Now registered.” The Hantari stepped back and picked out a much bigger data pad from under the table. “Now pick.”

  He slapped the pad on the table and turned on the holo-function, which sent a perfect revolving 3D picture of a gun above the table.

  “What type?” The Hantari didn’t even bother to look at me; he looked straight at Crag’tal.

  “Why do you need it, human?” Crag’tal bent down to me.

  I sucked in my lips. As if I could tell them the truth. “I…” I cleared my throat, “Need something that will work against—”

  “Non-corporeal, non-substantial entities from the in-between dimensions,” Od piped up, voice hearty, obviously happy to help.

  Crag’tal’s ridged brow knotted together. “What, small one?”

  “Alright, something with a thermal buffer, pictonian insulation, inbuilt particle accelerator, and preferably,” Od put up a red finger, “No blast filters.”

  The Hantari had already begun flipping through the guns in his holo catalog – obviously capable of following Od’s complex description.

  “Going to be bright,” Crag’tal said.

  “Precisely.” Od slapped his hands together lightly.

  I felt like an audience member with nothing at all to do with the show. I must have had the blankest look on my face.

  “Expensive – 4000CC.” The Hantari brought up the picture of the gun. “Comes in duel pistol and rifle form. The rifle has secondary function—”

  “We’ll take both kinds – and maybe two rifles,” Od jumped in.

  The Hantari looked up and directly at Od. He obviously wanted to know if the monk was playing a game. “Have to be ordered in, don’t stock these – too expensive, too rare.”

  “Well, how long will it take? We are,” Od looked at me, “Short for time, I’m afraid.”

  “Tomorrow.” The Hantari was clicking his claws together quickly. He wanted to see the color of our Central Credits, I could tell. “Pay now.”

  Crag’tal started to growl, and I stopped myself from jumping at the unexpected rumble. “Only if payment is registered.”

  “Of course.” Now the Hantari straightened up, his claws drawing to a rest. Perhaps he thought we weren’t joking anymore.

  “Splendid.” Od drew a hand into his robe, and soon the transaction was complete.

  I didn’t know much about the physiology of the Hantari, but I could bet my still existent life savings that he was surprised when Od brought out the Eluvian Platonium ore. If his race had eyebrows, they would have jumped off and done a merry dance.

  It was agreed that the guns would be delivered to my quarters tomorrow, and soon we left the lower decks, transaction complete.

  Crag’tal followed us all the way up as our more than appreciated bodyguard. When he reached the promenade, he left with a grunt.

  “Hold on,” I called after him, “Can’t I say thank you for all your help? I could buy you a meal? Sea bass?”

  He slowed down. “Getting off this station,” he rumbled, “First the ghost ship, now the GAM cruiser – not safe.”

  “Sorry?” I caught up with him, face plastered with confusion. “What GAM cruiser?”

  “Big one. Crag’tal heard the rumors – trouble in the engine core.”

  I shook my head quickly, not following at all. Why would engine trouble in a GAM cruiser cause a Crag, of all creatures, to leave the station? “I don’t understand. I’m sure their engineers will fix it – it would take more than that to make it go nuclear—”

  “Not destroyed, not nuclear. Something in engine core. GAMs don’t believe it – Crag’tal does. They closed off whole deck – lost a GAM. Heard them talking in diner—”

  Od leaned up on the tips of his alien toes. His face had that same stretched, almost manic surprise it had had the day we’d first met. “Unexplained engine fluctuations, disappearing crewman…” he trailed off, eyes big.

  “Crag’tal knows. Crag’tal told you yesterday – Twixts. Got off the ghost ship, to cruiser.”

  A chill spread across my back as if a man with icy fingers was tracing the line of my spine. “Twixts,” I croaked. “Got off the ghost ship?”

  Oh no.

  I put a hand up to my mouth, my eyes practically welded-open in horror. There had been two, there had been two Twixts on that ship! The one I’d felt in engineering and the one in the cargo bay. I had – I had left without finishing the job.

  I felt like doubling over and collapsing into a ball right here in the center of the promenade. My brief victory at managing to secure weaponry had burnt away at this news. Crag’tal had said they’d lost a GAM. Someone had died… died because I hadn’t finished the job.

  Tears started to well at the corners of my eyes.

  Crag’tal looked at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and I didn’t care. I was crying in the middle of the promenade because I had… I had….

  “Non-corporeal, non-substantial entities from the in-between dimensions,” he said, actually speaking in a full sentence.

  I managed to look at him, eyes full of tears now, his image reflected and distorted by my sorrow. He’d said word-for-word what Od had told the Hantari. That was the thing about Crags – they didn’t always speak in staccato, caveman English. They could form grammatically accurate sentences when they wanted to. Why they chose to speak the way they did, I didn’t know. It was obvious Crag’tal was trying to make a point.

  “Crag’tal only knows of one creature – Twixts.”

  I shivered.

  “Crag’tal doesn’t want to know why you bought the guns. Your business. Crag’tal wishes you happy hunting.”

  With that, he turned away and walked off through the crowd, his lumbering mass clearly visible towering over the heads of most of the other people and aliens.

  Happy hunting….

  I turned to Od, who was nodding at the retreating form of Crag’tal, expression appreciative. “There are few we can trust, Mini—”

  Bur Crag’tal seems to be one of them, I finished off his sentence in my head.

  “We must now go back to your quarters to plan.” Od turned and disappeared into the crowd like only a two-foot creature could.

  I stood there, not bothering to wipe the tears from my eyes as they trickled down my cheeks.

  When I looked up, the crowd had thinned, and a familiar face was staring at me from across the room. Commander Jason Cole. He appeared to be talking to a security detachment but was ignoring the person he spoke to and glancing over their shoulder at me. His brow was sunk with confusion, mouth pressed into a commiserating smile. It wasn’t one side of his mouth – it was both.

  I smiled, beside myself. One of those sad smiles where your chin dimples in and
only the tiniest corners of your lips rise.

  My life was changing – distorting before my eyes into the strangest, most incomprehensible of shapes. I was changing, too – fighting Twixts, making friends with Crags, and buying expensive guns. But at least I could still remember how to smile.