Page 67 of Alien Peacock
“Ah, this is what organics call ‘overthinking’,” Bari says with satisfaction. “Perfectly normal, but usually not helpful.”
“It’s my thing,” I tell her, trying to avoid thinking more about Arelion because I can feel some serious darkness tugging at my mind. “I don’t feel comfortable if I’m not overthinking.”
I wander the little saucer restlessly, repeating everything about my mission. But most of it is pretty useless. My contact on Pranst Station was supposed to know where to go. And because so many things were unknown about Tara’s situation, they and I were supposed to play it by ear and improvise, which was apparently also something the contact was good at. I was mostly needed to identify Tara and to maybe set up some kind of decoy. I sometimes got the feeling that the Resistance only gave me the mission because I pestered them.
“But without the contact, I’m left on my own,” I repeat for the twentieth time. “With Arelion, I might have had a chance.”
Nobody replies. Bari is staying in the control room, and I don’t want to worry her with my anxiety.
It takes an eternity to get to the right solar system. When the ship drops out of hyperspace, I check the displays and try to make sense of them.
“Xap Station is ahead,” Bari says. “I’ll pilot us there, if you want.”
“All right,” I agree. “Do you know anything else about it?”
“No,” she says as she puts a paw on the main console, piloting by some kind of electronic contact without actually pushing buttons or using any of the controls. “It could be anything from a regular, commercial station to a Bululg fortress. My money is on the former. I don’t think the Bululg would bring slaves to their homes.”
Yeah. That’s what this is about. Prisons and slaves and death. And I’m all alone. That felt less scary before I met him. Now I’m used to having that giant peacock by my side, being kept safe even in firefights and battles. Not having him here makes me nervous.
But I’m better equipped now than before. I have some pieces of armor, I have a ray gun and my fighting stick, my Interespeech has improved a great deal, and I have experience with aliens and with fighting them. And with shooting them.
“There it is,” Bari says and nods to the main screen. “Xap Station.”
It’s an oblong, slowly spinning ball in space. If I squint, I can imagine it’s a big, gray football. “How do we get in?”
“We’re flying a Bululg saucer. If the Bululg own this place, I imagine they will talk to us on the comms and absolutely expect to be answered in their own language with a credible explanation of who we are.”
“Do you speak fluent Bululg?” I ask.
“What doyouthink?”
“No, huh? Can you learn it? In, say, ninety seconds or so?”
She doesn’t even answer.
The station grows larger, until it feels like I could reach out and touch it.
“They’re not talking to us at all,” Bari observes. “It’s rare to find a space station this trusting of approaching ships. I see a hangar opening. Should we just fly in?”
I check my gun and my fighting stick. “Is there any other way?”
“No. I’m asking from politeness.”
“Then I guess we just fly in.”
I’m not just nervous — I’mscared. I’m about to enter a space station where there are bound to be enemies. And where Tara may be about to be murdered.
I pat the pockets of my suit, fish out an energy bar laced with drugs to keep me calm and effective, and quickly eat it. It’s not my favorite thing to need a crutch like that, but I’m too shaky to not use all the tools I have.
The black opening into the station’s hangar looks like an ominous gape, as if we’re about to be swallowed by a monster.
“It’s not a Bululg station,” Bari tells me as we slowly fly inside. “Some kind of commercial hub. But I see Bululg ships in here— huh. That’s unusual.”
“What?” I ask, worried.
“They closed the hangar door right after we came in.”
“To trap us?”