Nophek Gloss Page 6

  Still imagining the bloody mist, Caiden asked, “How are you sure I’ll get through safely?”

  “The newer, outer universes are the wild ones. Changes are usually minuscule this close to Unity. When we get to the Den, the Cartographers’ll be able to sequence you and get a better profile of what universes are safe for you and which aren’t.”

  Caiden curled his arms around his belly, recalling the sick punch he’d felt during crossover through his ship’s rind— and that bubble had been tiny in comparison to the colossal surface they jetted toward at frightening speed. The approaching universe filled the view with oily hues in constant motion, snagging into a prickly, scintillating mess.

  Air heaved against Caiden’s ribs, pumped by stress. He backed up, right into En, who grabbed ahold of him. “It won’t be so bad.”

  Brilliant, rumpled haze swallowed the cockpit. Taitn and Laythan’s figures blurred and squished, unraveling into light. Then the rind engulfed the ship. Colors thrashed. Space boiled, and Caiden felt like his cells all squiggled in revolt, becoming a tingling fog, until the ship passed fully through into the new universe. The edge of the rind swept away behind them, and Caiden’s sense of his body slammed back into place, solid again. The air in his lungs grew humid and his insides foamed, but the nausea was tolerable this time.

  “Well done,” En said, freeing Caiden from his arms. “Like I said, brave kid.”

  Brave. Caiden frowned and smoothed his hands over his body, ensuring he was all there. A flux of temperatures prickled his skin.

  Taitn sighed contentedly. “Not a single complaint from the ship. Like silk.”

  Brave of you. Caiden snapped and unsnapped the magnetic seam of his pilot’s coat. The click of his frustration. “The slavers,” he said tightly, and the crew fell silent. “Who are they? You said that ship chasing us— that Glasliq— was Casthen?”

  For a long moment, Laythan’s piercing gaze assessed Caiden, judging what to say. “I know all this newness is frustrating, but we need more intelligence at a Cartographer Den before we jump to conclusions. That’s where we’re headed. You’ll understand soon.”

  Soon. Caiden hated that word.

  Laythan continued, “There, the Cartographers can find you a new home. A planet where you can get education and therapy.”

  Masked Ksiñe straightened sharply from his work in one corner of the bay. “You, rehoming?” He raised a gloved hand and made an exaggerated show of counting on his slender fingers; one, two, three … four … The number of crew members.

  Laythan bristled, a hint of color flushing above his thick white beard. He rounded on Caiden again. “That’s the deal. We all see your open wounds, boy. Each of us have lost things. We’re not casting you out for having lost or for being different. We’re taking you to the help we never had.”

  Caiden fidgeted with his coat seam. He didn’t want a new home, he wanted the overseers to pay for all they had destroyed. How many others were in the same situation he’d been in, in a multiverse this vast where a large operation could be concealed for countless generations of slavery?

  “At this … Den. Is there anyone who can track someone down in the multiverse?”

  A last flicker of hope that Leta or his father had survived.

  Laythan gave him another penetrative stare while warming up words or some other admonishment like that fact that they’d know more soon. In the end, the captain simply turned away, lighting the map back up. “We need to get there first. Crossover is safe but a stellar egress is another matter, and we’re far from the nearest Den.” He tapped lines on the display and drew purple hues from place to place. Taitn made a suggestion, which Laythan paved over, and they swiftly switched to a guttural language that escalated into an argument.

  En whistled from the bay and motioned Caiden over.

  “Best stay out of that, especially once Laythan’s riled up.” En twisted his black hair up into a weave. Metal specks trimmed each exposed ear. The venous black lines in his skin flushed into contrast for a moment before fading. He caught Caiden’s curious gaze and chuckled, then yanked up one sleeve and flexed: the skin on his forearm turned translucent, revealing bundles of fat ribbons, wires, and porous metallic rods. Rapidly the whole construct deflated, muscles relaxed and shrank, and skin clouded back darker. By the time En pulled the sleeve back down, his arm and hand were slender.

  Caiden looked up at En— but it was a feminine face, similar to but jarringly different from his features before. Finer bone structure, darker skin, smoky eye sockets, and wispy black bangs. The smile, tied hair, and slate iris color were the same.

  “There’s a lot you’ve never seen, isn’t there, Winn?” En’s voice was still husky but higher in pitch, smoother.

  Caiden stammered sounds.

  “Call me ‘she,’ or whatever you’re comfortable with for now, I don’t mind. You’ve had a huge dose of new lately, so don’t overthink it, but get used to fluidity and choice. Those rule the multiverse, if anything does.” En laughed and laid an arm around Caiden’s shoulders but withdrew when she noticed his trembling. “You’re exhausted. This ordeal’s a lot to absorb. And when was the last time you ate? Growing kids need to eat all the time. Ksiñe!”

  In the corner of the bay, bent over his work, the Andalvian flinched. His masked face tilted her way, and the furry body around his neck stirred.

  “Make us food?” En gave him a dazzling smile, then whirled and swept Caiden away.

  Caiden’s stomach did groan at the thought of food.

  “Come on,” En said, “Panca got the scour working. You need it. Did you have baths? Shed? Pristines? It’s like that.”

  He thought of a bath, then the cold scrub he’d endured before Appraisal at ten years old— and he ejected that image fast. Dazed, he let En tug him down the bay ramp to the short lower hall, and whether it was the soft firmness of her touch, or the confidence of her lead, or her musical cadence, he wanted to lean closer, be led, assured, and comforted, because he was exhausted, and he flushed with gratitude at her care.

  She pressed on the wall near one of the two sleeping chambers. A door slid back in a circular motion, revealing a cylindrical space. The glassy walls were dotted with bubbles and shiny textures. It smelled like peroxide and honeysuckle.

  “Strip off your clothes, step in. Hold your breath.”

  Caiden blinked. His mind stuck on the very first thing.

  “Look, kid, any part you could possibly have— human or xenid— I’ve seen it. Get in.”

  “Xenid?” He shrugged his pilot’s jacket off and peeled away his grimy, sweat-damp standard-issue clothes.

  “Good.” En shoved Caiden’s back so he stumbled inside, covering himself. “You’ll enjoy it.”

  The door shut. The tube’s radiant walls faded to lavender then black.

  As cramped and void-dark as the transport cube had been.

  The stale air, familiar.

  Vibration filled his soles.

  “En!” Caiden shrieked.

  CHAPTER 7

  FAMILY

  The hiss of the “scour” tube devoured Caiden’s alarmed shout. He held his breath, lungs burning, and squeezed his eyes closed. Light blazed red through his eyelids.

  Like the transport cube when it had finally opened. Brilliance cracked the void.

  Heat flushed from the center of Caiden’s body outward. Chill shocked him in its wake, and he was instantly lightweight and emptied. A churning wave of density rolled down his body like a dump of feathers, a warmth that washed away the chill.

  The breath he was holding burst from him, the chamber brightened, and he felt definitively strange.

  The door rotated open to En, wearing a smirk.

  Caiden fell to his knees.

  En’s mirth dissolved as she helped him up. “What’s wrong? Too new? Scours work on all biology, it can’t hurt you.”

  Caiden nodded vigorously. Words didn’t come. How much of him was still back in that transport? How much still in the d
esert?

  Irrational. Keep it together. He straightened and anchored himself in the present moment, where genuine amazement took over. The scrapes and bruises on his arms were gone. His skin was velvet-soft, his dark tan had vanished, and more freckles grew visible. He ran one hand through waves of pale hair and another over his belly. His bowels and bladder felt lighter. “It … How?”

  “Takes care of dirt, elimination, parasites, and minor medical problems. Works for almost every species. We’re all built of misshapen pieces shoved into a mismatched multiverse. On our homeworlds, our biology fit the environment, but now no passager’s functions fit anywhere. With so much variety, species haven’t homogenized, but technology has. Anyway. Stand back.” En kept the pilot’s coat and kicked the rest of Caiden’s bloodstained clothes into the tube. After a scour, they came out stain-free, weave tightened, cream and green colors brighter. Caiden picked them up and dressed, relishing the warmth.

  “Hold still.” En sprayed something on the back of Caiden’s neck and smeared it. “Can’t have you showing a slave brand until you’re old enough to fight.”

  Slave brand. It was almost funny … how far the brand was from the sign of merit he’d once thought it symbolized. “I can fight. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Your heart’s tough, I’ll give you that.” En examined the coat. “Can’t scour this, needs polarizing.” Ksiñe stalked by from the engine room, and En tossed the garment his way. “Hey, fix this morphcoat.”

  The scientist caught it, expression unreadable behind his mask but his posture all venom. “Needs jump start.” He raised a tool with a snapping electric tip, and plunged it into the coat’s material. Electric tendrils spidered across the leathery fabric and puckered it up, then slim feathers ruffled across the entire material as it transformed. The little plumes shrank to spiny points, then flattened into scales, finally melting back together into a shiny textured leather. A transforming material.

  “Yeah, thanks.” En snatched it back and handed it to a wide-eyed Caiden. “Good find. This morphcoat’s whatever temperature, material, and resilience you need it to be.”

  Caiden put it on, better-fitting than before and steadily hugging him tighter. After the scour, he was warm and unburdened, soft and dressed in softness, but his fatigue welled up even stronger. “It’s … incredible.”

  “Get ready for a lot of things to be, kid.”

  “Food!” Taitn shouted from the bay.

  “Speaking of …” En led the way up the ramp.

  The crew gathered on the floor around a spread of gourmet items. Caiden marveled at the meal’s textures and colors, reminding him of the assortment of treasures Leta had collected on her shelves: colorful glass, shells, pressed flowers, feathers.

  He pinched his fingernails in and out of his palm to drive the memory away. It didn’t feel right to forget, but his open wounds— as Laythan said— carved deeper each time he recalled what he’d lost.

  En tried unsuccessfully to sit and arrange her muscular legs beneath her. “There’s nothing soft in this heap. First stop, we’ll get you pillows.”

  “Enough already with the ‘heap,’” Taitn grumbled.

  Caiden sat comfortably on his heels, as he was used to doing when repairing the duster undersides. He was across the table from Ksiñe, whose hateful words from earlier still stung. The Andalvian’s hands were ungloved for the first time, skin dark with speckles and striped rings.

  “Where’s Panca?” Caiden asked. The mechanic was the last crew member he needed to get to know. Did she want him gone as well?

  “Pan rarely eats,” Taitn said. “Saisn have a very efficient metabolism. She drinks fluids and feeds on vibration, mostly. The dark and quiet is nourishment and medicine for her.”

  “She is too thin,” Ksiñe muttered. He stretched out a dense rubbery tube and flapped it in the air. Caiden watched transfixed as it puffed with steaming air pockets and expanded into a fluffy lattice. Ksiñe tore this into five pieces and laid them around a bowl of burgundy powder, the source of a heady, nutty aroma.

  Taitn tore a chunk off. It attracted the powder when held close, and didn’t seem to need chewing once consumed. Caiden’s brow pinched as he watched. A plant or fungus, quickly grown? No food behaved this way.

  The bare skin around Ksiñe’s neck, beneath the straps and gills of his mask, paled and fluttered with peach-hued speckles. Happy speckles?

  “You can …” Caiden wasn’t sure how to ask. “Transform? Like En?”

  “Not like En.” Ksiñe ripped off his mask. His face had human features, in different proportions and shape, feline or piscine in a way. His skin was translucent and matte smooth over shifting patterns of spots that congealed into stripes across the bridge of his nose, peach above cream. His round eyes stretched to points at his temples. There the spots in his skin angled into black chevrons, the creamy hues reddening into a venomous glare. And his pupils and irises resembled an animal’s eyes at night: disks of textured brightness in pools of black.

  “Andalvians emote through their skin,” En explained. “I’m augmented and can change skin, muscles, hair, and face, but I do so on command. Andalvians”— she lowered her voice and leaned close to Caiden—“are very blunt. They wear their feelings on the outside.”

  Ksiñe felt only vexation, if the oblique patterns and dark colors on his face were any indication. Slim chance of making a friend. At least there wasn’t any ambiguity.

  Caiden reminded himself of the patience it had taken to break through Leta’s abuse-built shell. After a year of stumbling through unreciprocated small talk, he’d realized she needed depth, and that she understood a richness of unspoken things. Maybe Ksiñe’s shell was just as tough.

  The Andalvian plated a chunk of something so vibrant and purple it couldn’t really be meat. The white marbling dissolved as he twisted it, and flakes of flesh-stuff crumbled onto a plate, furring up like velvet.

  “Pakra,” Laythan explained happily while snatching a chunk. “A delicacy. There’s only one known universe with the right microgravity to support them. Try it.”

  Caiden popped a small piece into his mouth. Sweet, sooty, so buttery it melted on his tongue. He moaned in startled delight. En giggled.

  “I’ve never … Wow.”

  Flavor. Who knew flavors could be as strong as scents?

  As Ksiñe kept plating things, the happy pink sparkles around his jaw returned and the hate paled out of his face. He picked up one of the spongy fluffs and passed it over.

  Caiden dipped it in the fragrant, electric powder, and paused with it halfway to his mouth— he scowled at En and Taitn’s amused expressions as they watched him experience newness.

  Caiden bit: flaky and chewy at the same time, coating his mouth in a hot, sweet spice. It warmed his stomach and expanded. He wolfed the rest down, filled with pure comfort and the realization that he’d never truly been full before in his life.

  “So …” He fumbled the words over his tongue where the flavor lingered and a laugh bubbled. “So much better than the … the ration blocks.” Those gray, tasteless things.

  Darkness oozed over Ksiñe’s collarbones across his strange skin, and he fretted his fingers together.

  Caiden said, “Thank you, it’s … all of it’s really delicious. Ksiñe.” He mangled the name somewhat but tried his best.

  The Andalvian met his gaze with stiff shoulders, but a purple bloom around his neck slimmed into tight rings.

  “He says you’re welcome,” En whispered loudly.

  Ksiñe’s stripes darkened with bale as he flashed En a withering look, and muttered, “Would not wish ration slab on even enemy.”

  Caiden stifled a smile.

  Ksiñe picked up a flake of pakra and held it up to the mass of fur draped over his shoulder. The pelt uncurled into an animal, nose rooting in the air. Nictitating membranes slid drowsily over huge round eyes, which dilated immensely as the creature spotted the meat. Barbed teeth in gummy jaws snatched the pakra in one
bite.

  “She is whipkin,” Ksiñe said when he caught Caiden gaping.

  The mammal was forearm-length, white body marbled in black with an indigo sheen. Spiral ears flicked on a leaf-shaped head as she crawled over Ksiñe’s shoulders and arm, using webbed, long-fingered paws. Her body stretched long and sleek, then flattened out— with webbing rippling between her limbs— as she cuddled next to Ksiñe’s plate of pakra to feast.

  Caiden grinned. Ksiñe couldn’t be all bad if he liked animals. “Leta would have adored her,” Caiden said before catching himself.

  He shut up as a tense silence hummed between the crew. En passed around a bottle with vapor in a bottom chamber and water on the top, which never emptied. Laythan and Taitn passed a chemical-smelling flask back and forth to each other.

  The captain took a long swig, then said in the tone of trouble, “Earlier … you asked if a person could be tracked down in the multiverse.”

  Caiden ate another piece of buttery pakra. It tasted ashy this time.

  There were no survivors to find. They were meat. All of them.

  “Winn?” En prodded.

  Ksiñe cut in impatiently. “He left someone.”

  More silence, abrasive.

  “Family?” Taitn whispered, and the tight spaces in the word reminded Caiden that Laythan had said the crew all had wounds too. Taitn peered over, his bearded face kind, eyes crinkled with warmth. Caiden’s poise frayed. “People you cared for?” the pilot asked. “I bet they knew how strong and brave you were to survive.”

  “I didn’t feel brave,” Caiden muttered. All the lovely tastes fled his tongue, the warmth grew hot, but under hunger and exhaustion and embarrassment, the crew grazed a part of him so thirsty for comfort, it seared.

  Leta had asked him once, “Why do you help me?”