Chapter 13

The landing gears glided into one of the spaces, and came to rest on an indoor landing strip. A viewing screen was suspended from the ceiling. A line of symbols occupied the center of the screen.

“Landing Bay 1,” Relda read aloud.

“You can read Progor?” Raylay demanded.

Relda’s defenses went up, hearing the sharpness in Raylay’s tone.

“It’s the trade language, Rude,” she fired back.

He threw his hands up, mouthing something indeterminate.

“I guess,” he said.

Beyond the landing bay lay a stretch of hallway. Raylay kept his viewing screen tucked under his armpit, pressed tightly against his side. Relda absorbed the peace and the stillness for a few moments before the hall gave way to the trading port.

“So, this is the trading port,” Raylay explained. “Pretty much only creatures from the highest class of the economy do business here.”

He smoothed his garment.

“Not really a place for people like us,” he admitted, “but Aks knows us here.”

“These creatures are worth a lot of money,” Ty added. “The jewelry alone is usually worth three years’ worth of wages.”

“If you’re middle class,” Raylay offered clarification. “If you’re poor it’s six years. If you’re like them, pretty much it’s no problem.”

On a larger scale, the trading port brought back memories of Scy’s Tavern back on Anmer. Relda’s gut ached for home as she took in the sights and clamor.

“Reminds me of Scy’s Tavern,” she remarked, “except these creatures have a lot more decency.”

Creatures and beings crammed shoulder to shoulder for yards. Some had horns. Some had crests. Some had two legs. Some had eight. Some had smooth skin; some scaly.

They weren’t all like the tavern patrons, though. Most of them had much more class. They wore fine garments of silk and expensive materials, and jeweled bands decorated their fingers and their wrists.

“I can see what you mean about the highest class,” Relda said, dropping her jaw as a flap of silk brushed past her.

An orange, horned creature with stubby green horns and a shapely figure passed her to join a group of others. A jeweled metal band dangled from the creature’s wrist, held in place by a clasp.

Memories pieced together in Relda’s mind:

Ty, saying: “The jewelry alone is usually worth three years’ worth of wages.”

Scy, before him: “Cloning in the other three quadrants is highly illegal, and usually a small fortune. Usually takes three years wages if you’re middle class.”

Relda glanced at Ty and at Raylay, and before anyone could respond or look in her direction, she unhooked the clasp and pocketed the band.

Raylay gave an emphatic wave into the distance.

“Aks!” He shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Over here!”