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“How do you kill them?” D’Rasma’s toothy grin had disappeared.
At the same time, Sisip said, “We’ll need to locate those entry and exit points.”
I could almost see the gears spinning in her head, imagining all the havoc they could wreak upon Tern and how she would prevent it. At one time, those same worries had belonged to me.
“I can’t believe there might be five of those big bastards?” D’Argon growled.
Sisip’s wristport pinged, and she accepted an incoming com.
An image of D’irk—deep brown Boola skin shining, sharp teeth bared in a smile—projected over the pool before the audio came through. “The hellsna has been diverted to the west of Starry Mountain. Unfortunately, YimYim’s toy will need to be replaced. That fat bastard moves faster than blaster fire.”
Sisip tipped her chin at the projection. “Thank you, D’irk. Tell the remainder of your team I am pleased with the outcome.” The corners of her split-lipped mouth turned up. “And where did you last see that big, fat bastard?”
“Headed back to the mountain.”
“All enforcers will be debriefed tomorrow at seven suns. Watch your backs on the return trip.”
D’irk nodded before he closed the com on his wristport, and the image dissolved.
Sisip turned back to me. “Carry on, JayJay.”
“Bloodroot fungus kills them.” I’d already had this conversation with Mayor Yurst, but judging by how Sisip leaned forward in her chair, he hadn’t shared the information. “To be effective, they must eat it.” I polished my head with my palm.“Bonic is currently in talks with my replacement on Yagras, however, my understanding is they are at a standstill. Mayor Yurst is reluctant to pay.”
“He won’t pay?” Sisip scowled.
“I explained the extreme risk of damage and potential for lives lost, but he brushed off my concerns.”
D’Rasma growled, “That self-righteous statue-of-himself-loving, worthless dung heap.”
Tight-lipped, Sisip typed a rapid com. “Mayor Yurst will attend our debrief tomorrow. I’ve informed him it’s not optional.” She stood and gathered her tea container. “You must be tired, JayJay.”
I nodded to the three enforcers. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”
“You can thank us at the cantina, my friend.” D’Rasma lifted his tea container as if giving a toast, and I chuckled.
Ginger, Geo and Makir remained huddled around the long concrete table in the kitchen as the enforcers departed. The excitement of the rescue had worn off, but Ginger had enough energy to level me with a glare as I returned the tray. Her illness had exacerbated the shadows under her eyes. The dogs rested on top of all the feet under the table, and even their moods were somber.
“I’ll let you know Sisip’s plans, boss man.” I slung my bag carefully over my shoulder. “Get some rest, Ginger.” Ginger’s head lay on Geo’s shoulder, and Makir fussed with the linobee blanket covering her lap. But her glare softened, and she lifted her hand in a weak wave goodbye.
The weight in the bag slung over my back shifted, and the presence of my new friend buried inside cut through the gloom. The bunk beds in the Rock Dweller’s sono didn’t appeal to me as much as a night spent in a dim, warm cave with Ginger.
But she was no longer my responsibility. Instead of the lightness I expected, each step I took away from her dragged like hypergravity.
10
JayJay had thrown meunder a flashing neon bus.
After revealing my poor health, Geo and Makir’s relentless mothering hadn’t stopped until I’d agreed to an appointment with Dr. Ten. Which was how I found myself in a sterile office the next day, covered in sweat. The more I looked around the room, the more I regretted telling them about my rare blood disease. Strange instruments of torture lined the shelves of a white wall, and a very large egg-like chair loomed in one corner.
A Nacer, his wings tucked into an impressive stair-step pattern down his back, beckoned me in with a dip of white feathers.“Welcome, welcome.” He turned to face me, his arm stuck out in front of him. “Geo has informed me shaking hands is a customary Earth greeting. I’m Dr. Ten.”
His wings would be amazing to study for costume design. I yearned for my sketch pad.
Dr. Ten cleared his throat, refocusing me. His hand was still stuck out awkwardly. My attention span was shit these days.
I clasped his warm hand with mine and shook it. “Yes, a lot of human cultures shake hands. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ginger.”
His short beak gave the impression of a wise old owl. “Now, if you have a seat right here.” He gestured toward the compact torture chamber. “Nurse Claice will scan you, and the report yielded will tell me everything I need to fix you up.”
