Expendable - James Alan Gardner [83]
When we were almost to the edge of the town, Tobit asked softly, “Your partner…who was it?”
“Yarrun Derigha.”
“The kid with the jaw?”
“Without.”
“Same thing.” He walked in silence a few more steps. “Oh well,” Tobit said at last, “that’s what ‘expendable’ means.”
He gave me a sideways glance, as if trying to decide whether to pat my arm reassuringly; but he did nothing.
Welcoming Oar
“This will be the first Eloi I’ve seen down here,” Tobit said as we approached the door to the shark-machine dock.
“Didn’t Jelca and Ullis pass this way?” I asked.
He nodded. “Three years ago.”
“They were traveling with my friend’s sister.”
“Not when the sharks picked them up,” Tobit shrugged. “The sister might have dodged getting caught; but the other two didn’t mention traveling with another person. And they stayed a few days, like they weren’t in a hurry to make a rendezvous.”
I had no chance to pursue the subject—we had reached the door to the dock. Tobit pressed the OPEN button…and I barely managed to pull him from the entranceway before Oar leapt out, her hands bunched into fists.
It was a creditable imitation of my own response to surprise. These people certainly were fast learners.
“Don’t worry, Oar,” I said, “no one’s going to hurt you.”
“I did not like it inside the fish,” she said with an injured tone.
Glancing into the dock area, I said, “No kidding.” Oar’s shark was more of a wreck than the one I’d blasted…except that the glass on hers was cracked from the inside, where she must have tried to punch her way out. “I see you found a way to amuse yourself on the trip.”
Oar ignored me—she had noticed the town and was viewing it with a steely eye. “What is this place?” she asked. “Why is it so stupid?”
“Stupid?” Tobit asked.
“It is stupid to copy someone else’s home,” she sniffed, “and if you must create a copy, it is stupid to make so many mistakes.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It is too big. It has ugly things attached to it.”
“Those are flags!” Tobit said. “My friends hung them to celebrate my birthday.”
“Get smarter friends,” she told him, and turned her back pointedly.
Home-Brew
“What is a birthday?” Oar whispered to me.
“A commemoration,” I replied. “A remembrance of the day a person was born.” I tossed a glance at Tobit. “Phylar remembers his birthday with great regularity.”
“No need to be rude,” Tobit said. “I’ll have you know, this is my real birthday, Ramos…on some pissant planet whose name escapes me. I’ll look it up when I get back to my quarters.”
“You brought your birthday calculator to Melaquin?”
“I knew I’d get marooned here,” he answered. “I made sure to bring everything I need. Speaking of which…” He reached into a tightsuit pocket and withdrew a silver brandy flask. “Want a sip?”
The thought made me shudder. “An Explorer never drinks on planet-down missions.”
“Here’s some news, Ramos—this stopped being a mission as soon as the High Council choked you unconscious. And I stopped being an Explorer long before that.” He raised the flask and took a swig. When he lowered it again, he sighed with pleasure…a sigh that reeked of rotgut alcohol.
“Home-brew?” I asked, trying to control my gag reflex.
“My own recipe,” Tobit answered proudly. “You can’t get booze from the local food synthesizers, but they produce some superbly fermentable fruit juices. The only hard work was programming the maintenance-bots not to throw out what I produced: they thought it was lemonade gone bad.”
He laughed. I didn’t. “What do your skin-faced friends think?” I asked. “Do they like a lord and master