Page 6 of Alien Peacock
“Didn’t look like it,” Maeve says.
I find my reflection again. I’m back to my usual blue color scheme, just on the fun side of outrageous.
“Enjoy your new friendship,” I drawl as I stroke the tall, golden comb that graces the top of my head. “And Maeve, make sure you leave as soon as possible. This place is really dangerous. I would recommend a better place for you to conduct whatever little business it is you think you have, but there really aren’t any.” I walk towards the station markets.
“Hey!” comes a thin call behind me.
“What?” I demand without turning around.
“What’s your name?”
“Arelion!” I yell, enjoying the magnificent sound of my own name as it echoes from the walls. “And you’re welcome. Once is my limit, though! I will never save your life again!”
“Wutan ashol,”comes an alien mutter behind me. Doubtless they are words of admiration that Maeve can only properly express in her own tongue.
I saunter into the market area. Immediately the chatter dies down and all eyes seek me out. It’s gratifying, but not as much as it would be if these people were other than riffraff and the usual scum that populates these stations on the fringe of civilization.
A squat cylinder rolls towards me, looking for all the world like a trash can. “How did it go?”
“Fine, fine,” I say airily. “They weren’t much of a challenge. Just Krunku traders thinking they would become slave traders.”
“I hope I turned the lights off at the right time,” the trash can says, rolling into step beside me. “You looked like you were using some kind of fury attack.”
“Fake fury,” I correct him. “None of them would have survived my real fury. Yes, Cerak, the darkness helped. I must have looked like an avenging angel. I helped one of them with a little punch to his chin, and then they all ran. Such a timid species.”
“We’re a great team,” Cerak tells me. “You do the fighting, and I do the… well, you know.”
“The menial tasks, like a robot should,” I state calmly. “Those are important, too. Now, any trace of our quarry?”
The crowd has recovered from my sudden appearance and returned to their various tasks. Most things can be bought and sold here, including sentient beings. I’m not in that business, and I despise it.
“He may have been here,” Cerak says in my native Eoan language, making sure no one who overhears us will understand. “I showed his holo to that green trader there, and while he denied it, I think he just wasn’t accessing the right memory bank.”
I give the trader a casual glance. “That’s not a robot, Cerak. He doesn’t have memory banks. But he may have subconsciously recognized the party we seek. Let’s make further inquiries and see if we can’t confirm it from someone else, too.”
Two alien females make sure to pass close by me, looking over their scaly shoulders and sending me longing gazes, wagging their bushy tails in invitation.
I shudder and pick out a suitable subject for interrogation. “That trader over there looks like she’s been here for a long time,” I observe. “Let’s go and pretend to be interested in her useless wares.”
- - -
It takes an intolerably long time and many conversations with traders to establish that our target has indeed been here on the station. Before long I’ve had enough of the station and its disgusting smells, and we return to my ship.
“Did we not lock the hatch”? I ask as we approach and I spot the white light on the side of the hull.
“I usually don’t forget,” Cerak says defensively as he rolls up to the ship. “But I’m not friends with the shipboard computer. She may have decided to unlock it just to make me look bad.”
“Are there any computers you’renotenemies with?” I ask as I enter the ship and draw in its clean air. There’s a trace of Maeve’s scent, too. That doesn’t displease me in the least. She was quite a fetching female. And if I have carried her scent with me, then that’s well and good. I would not have expected it to be this noticeable, but she’s the only truly attractive female I’ve seen for many days, and my nose is sensitive to her smell amidst the stench of the station.
I will never see her again, and that sends a strange, nasty barb to my mind. There was some fire in her, the kind of fire that could make a life interesting.
“Most of them,” Cerak tells me. “I’m actually quite friendly with the vast majority of computers and AIs.”
“Because you haven’t had any contact with them?” I suggest as I take my place in the pilot’s seat.
“Well… yes,” the robot admits. “The ones I’ve met all get on my nerves.”
I begin the warm engine-start procedure. “You don’t have nerves, Cerak. But I understand what you mean. All right. We know that Archmagus Yomeran has been here, and that he probably went on to Maranar Labs. We’re getting closer to the end of our quest.”