Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [78]
Inside, they were met in a small, poorly lit room by a handful of others. Kyle recognized a couple of people who he had noticed in the crowd outside, and who must have run here faster-not bothering to wait for him. The other two he had never seen before. One was human, two Hazimotian, and the last barely humanoid but of no species Kyle had seen before. It had what was recognizably a head and what seemed to be legs in the correct places, but that was all he could make out; the rest was a gelatinous blob that seemed to have other life-forms moving about beneath it, like fish swimming in a thick semi-opaque sea.
Michelle clung again to Kyle’s hand. “This is Joe Brady,” she said to the others. “He’s new here.”
“And you brought him with you because…?” one of the Hazimotians asked. She was a female, from either Stindi or Wachivus, Kyle guessed, though without much certainty. Not Cyrian, for sure. Her voice was deep and threatening, and she looked as if she’d as soon shoot Kyle as admit him into whatever inner sanctum this was.
“Because he wasn’t part of what happened out there and I didn’t want to see him die for no reason,” Michelle said. “Besides, I trust him.”
Kyle was surprised by that pronouncement. He liked Michelle, but their relationship was superficial at best. She barely knew him, really. As if she could read his mind, she turned to him and said, “I size people up quickly, Joe, and I have a lot of faith in my own instincts.”
“What… what the hell was all that about?” Kyle asked. He flailed his arm back toward the direction from which they’d come, as if anyone could see the carnage from here. “And what is this place? Who are you all?”
“Easy now, Joe,” Jackdaw said. He was a small man, whip-thin and nasally, and his thick mane of black hair seemed like it should belong to someone else. He talked fast, as if trying to get too many ideas out at once. “One point at a time, okay, and we’ll get all this cleared up. You’re a guest here, you know.”
“I appreciate that,” Kyle said, still agitated from the attack and wondering what was going on. “I’m just not altogether sure that I’m a guest by choice.”
“I had pegged you as a survivor, Joe,” Michelle said with a frown. “If I was wrong, I’ll be disappointed.”
“You have no idea.” Kyle tried on a grin but it didn’t quite work. “I definitely qualify on that count.”
“Well, if you hadn’t come with us, you’d probably be dead,” she said. “So you should just count your blessings and let us explain things to you.”
“Have a seat, all of you,” one of the Hazimotians who had been here from the beginning said. This one, a male sitting cross-legged on the bare tile floor, looked Muftrihan, like Cetra, but much younger, with pale yellow hair and tiny black eyes. “You’re making me nervous, looming around like that.”
The others had been sitting on ramshackle chairs, which were the only furniture in the place. It looked like a meeting room more than a dwelling, but with walls that had been shredded by time and misuse and a rough-hewn floor that squeaked with nearly every movement. The air was close and musty smelling. Jackdaw and Cetra took chairs, while Michelle and Kyle joined the Muftrihan on the floor. Kyle couldn’t bring himself to relax-his heart was racing, epinephrine pumping, and he remained tensed to spring up and run at the slightest provocation. Fight or flight-he recognized the sensation well.
Michelle touched Kyle on the knee. “You’re upset, Joe, and probably scared. I don’t blame you a bit, and I’m sorry we had to run away from there before I could give you any kind of explanation.”
“Obviously there was a certain urgency to it,” Kyle admitted.
“That’s right. But now that we’re here and relatively safe, I can do the right thing. First, introductions are in order. You already know Jackdaw and Cetra ski Toram, I believe. This,” she said, pointing to the Muftrihan