The Last Voyage

Not surprisingly, the bartender at the Blue Owl was even more hesitant as he directed her to the Asteroid Cantina. He also gave an ominous warning.

“Sinbad doesn’t like Terrans, especially the women. He’ll eat a little thing like you alive.”

“Be interesting to see how much is left after he gets through with her.” A blue-haired Abydian socializer sat at the bar. She looked Andi up and down with a heavily-painted gaze and snickered into her red beer.

“Shut up, Saydee.” The bartender went back to polishing his glasses, shaking his head.

Andi would have been startled if she could have heard his thoughts.

She’s such a pretty little thing. A lady, a real lady. What does a woman like that want with a Felidan smuggler?

***

Thinking of the bartender’s warning, Andi studied her surroundings. This wasn’t a place she’d like to be in late at night, or any other time, for that matter, not if she didn’t have to be.

How am I supposed to recognize him?

She knew nothing about Old Town and even less about Felidans, not even what they looked like, except that not so long ago, their planet and Terra had been at war.

The history books generously said the Felidans were ferocious fighters. That hadn’t mattered in the end, when Terra cleverly brought the war into the Solar Sector where naval vessels were able to recuperate on the worlds of the Federation while enemy forces, far from home, had no allies to aid them.

In spite of that, they fought a dozen bloody years before surrendering.

The Federation showed no mercy to its conquered enemies. All the adult males of the Royal House, and its commanding officers, were arrested and brought before a military court. Some were executed, some sentenced to life in military prisons scattered throughout the System.

As part of its punishment, the planet was quarantined from outside communication once occupying troops arrived. No missionaries were sent, as per standard occupation protocol. This particular enemy wasn’t allowed the privilege of accepting the official religion of the Federation.

The Federation also committed one act for which the Felidans, and a good many other peoples, never forgave them. As a prelude to its troops’ arrival, it bombarded the planet with thermosoline, commonly called red snow, a chemical producing sterility in anyone exposed to it for more than ten minutes. Because of its potential to completely wipe out a species, its use had been outlawed by the UTF’s Interplanetary Health Organization. Deliberately flouting its own law, the Federation got its revenge by nearly depriving the Felidans of an entire generation.

Bereft of their ruling family, the clans were in chaos when the Pride chiefs stepped in. Within eight years, negotiations with their conquerors brought about the reinstating of a Felidan leader to the throne, though he remained a Terran figurehead for a decade longer. They also brought about the release and pardon of the surviving members of the warrior caste.

Unlike a country conquered in a war on Terra, however, Felida had yet to be admitted into the Federation, and its citizens were still considered second-class, that is…non-human.

…and now, I’m was on my way to meet one of them.

Andi wondered if Sinbad had been an officer in the Felidan Pride. Though the idea of facing someone once a war-leader frightened her, it never occurred to her to abandon her plan. For Tran’s sake, she had to do what she could, even if it meant going into the Thieves’ Quarter of Old Town…and she’d done that.

Come on, Andi. Faint heart never freed imprisoned husband.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the cantina’s doors and stepped inside.

The room was dark and crowded, and there was a bluish haze in the air, mingling with a sweet, smoky smell. Trying to breathe without coughing, she saw the bar and started toward it, only to find her way blocked as a man walked in front of her.

“Excuse me.” Stepping back, she tried to go around him.

“What’s yer hurry?” He got in her way again.

Andi looked up at him. His hair was long and clubbed at the nape of his neck, shipman-style, and he was wearing a uniform with a red insignia on the sleeve. She stiffened, then relaxed as she realized he was merchant marine, or at least someone off a space freighter. Not UTF, anyway, thank goodness.

“I’m looking for someone.” She clutched the strap of the pack tighter, looking past him as if trying to determine which, of all the smoke-blurred faces in the room was the one she wanted.

“Ain’t me, is it?” He raised his tankard, swallowing loudly, and leaned toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

A wave of whiskey-laden breath floated over her. Instead of being frightened, however, Andi became angered by his attempt to intimidate her.

“Not unless you’re Sinbad sh’en Singh,” she snapped, and was startled to see him blink and take a step backward.

“Sinbad? Hell, if he’s the one yer lookin’ fer, he’s here somewhere.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Jake can tell ya.”

He stepped aside.

As Andi brushed past him, he called after her, “Whaddaya want with that Felidan, anyway? Ain’t Terrans good enough fer ya?”

Andi ignored him.

The bar was filled. She wedged herself between two men, ignoring the curious looks they gave her as they reluctantly moved aside. She had to wait several minutes before the bartender neared that end of the bar.

“Excuse me…Sir?”

He looked over at her and stopped, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m here to see Sinbad. The bartender at the Blue Owl sent me.” She wondered if he was Jake.

He gave her a long, assessing stare combined with surprise, before nodding to a table at the far side of the room. Following his glance, Andi saw two figures, one rising from his chair, the other seated in the shadows.

With a smile of thanks, she hurried that way, dodging people, skirting tables and chairs until she was near enough to hear what they were saying.

“I’ll see ya at th’ shuttle dock tomorra, then,” the standing man said. He was dressed in typical dockworker clothing, a black pea jacket and dark jeans.

The seated figure waved an acquiescent hand. The man turned, nearly bumping into Andi who had stopped behind him.

“’Scuse me, Miss.” He stepped aside and hurried to the swinging doors.

Andi took his place, walking up to the table and putting her hands on the back of the chair he’d vacated.

“Hosteen Sh’en Singh?” She peered at the dim shape in the shadows.

“Who’s askin’?” he questioned gruffly.

His voice was hoarse and raspy, as if he were recovering from a bad chest cold. If he was surprised by her use of the Navajo word for “Mister,” he didn’t show it.

“My name’s Andrea Talltrees,” she began. “Al at the Blue Owl sent me…”

“Yer a Milky, ain’t cha?”

“Well, yes, but what’s that…” The question startled as well as insulted her, with its belittling nickname, derived from Terra’s galaxy, the Milky Way.

“Al knows I don’t like Earthers. Sorry, sweets, ya won’t do.”

“I won’t?” Do for what? she wondered, feeling she’d been doubly  insulted, but not really certain how.

He leaned back in the chair, tilting it against the wall so his upper body was further hidden in the shadows, one knee-high boot braced against the edge of the chair opposite.

In the half-light, she could see he wore black leather trousers and a leather vest secured at waist and neck by straps adorned with polished studs. His arms were bare, one hooked over the back of his chair, the other resting against the tabletop, hands encased in short, black gloves. In the hollow of one shoulder was a scarlet slash of a tattoo. There was also a generous amount of bare chest and curly, coppery hair showing in the open front of the vest.

Andi glanced away, studiously trying not to stare. Before she could say anything more, he fished into a vest pocket and produced a coin, flipping it across the table.

“Here’s an Eagle fer yer trouble.” It spun around and came to rest near the edge of the table as the other hand waved imperiously. “Go away.”

Andi stared at the coin. It was a gold piece, very old, with a flying bird engraved on one side. She’d never seen one like it.

“Go back to Al,” he went on, “an’ tell him I want an Androsan.”

“I don’t want your money.” Picking up the coin, she caught one of his hands, carefully placed the Eagle on his palm, and closed the gloved fingers around it. “I came here to talk to you and I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to what I have to say.”

His hand opened. He looked at the coin, then at her, and returned it to his pocket.

“Well, pardon me. By all means. Go ahead.” There was a hint of laughter behind the roughness.

She looked around. “Is there somewhere we can talk…in private?”

The hand gestured. “Step into m’ office, li’l lady.”

“Talltrees,” she told him. “Andrea Talltrees.”

“Mistress Talltrees.” The shadowy head nodded, accepting her correction. “Speak yer piece.”

The room became very warm, the smoke from the fuel lamps on each table combining with customers’ body heat making an uncomfortable contrast to the coolness outside. Tugging open the top two buttons of her jacket, she hesitated, uncertain how to begin.

“You said Al sent you?” he prompted, leaning forward to take a slender black stick out of a holder on the table.

He picked up the little petrocandle centerpiece, a pseudo-relic of an earlier era, and touched the tip of the stick to the tiny flame. As it flared, she had a glimpse of long tawny hair and thick copper brows. The light faded as he replaced the lamp and settled back.

A thick cloud of smoke was blown in her direction. She coughed slightly.

“Is that a cigar?” She couldn’t hide her disbelief.

He took it out of his mouth and looked at it.

“Why, so it is.” There was mock surprise in his rasp. “Chock full o’ nicotine, carcinogens, carbon particles, an’ God knows how many other nasty things.” He shook his head. “My, my.”

“They’re illegal.” She could see the glowing tip reflected in his eyes. That made her uneasy.

Tobacco was on the List of Unlawful Substances issued by the Surgeon General, Number One, in fact. With one hand, Andi flapped at the smoke, trying to fan it away. She felt a little dizzy. The smell of tobacco, whisky, and burning oil from the lamp was overpowering.

“Lady, I’m a smuggler.” His voice was harsh as well as contemptuous. “I bring in fifty cases o’ these a week, an’ at eight hundred credits a box, I can afford to let fifty real dollars’ worth go up in smoke.”

“But they’re bad for your health.”

“Don’t you worry about m’ health, li’l lady,” he snapped. “You say ya got business with me? Then hurry up an’ state it. I came here t’ do some serious drinkin’ an’ yer interferin’ with m’ plans.”

Again she peered into the dimness, trying to see his face. It was like looking at a shadow.

“Can’t we have a little more light? I can hardly see you.”

“You want t’ see me, do you?” That brought a short growl of amusement. “Jake!”

The bartender looked in their direction. So did several others.

“Bring a bigger lamp. Th’ li’l lady can’t see enough o’ me.”

There was a spout of laughter and a gabble of crude remarks as Jake, grinning broadly, hurried over with another lamp. He set it on the table, whisked away the smaller one, and Sinbad tilted the shade so the brightness shone on his face like a spotlight.

“There. That better?”

Andi stared at him. Oh, my God.

Sitting before her was a cat in human form. His hair, the wildest, curliest stuff she’d ever seen, was past shoulder length, a lion’s mane barely tamed by a leather headband, falling around tapered ears tufted with auburn fur, like those of a lynx she’d seen near the chicken pen one spring. From one nearly non-existent lobe dangled a thick gold ring.

Heavy brows hung over jade-green eyes watching her with scornful amusement, slit pupils widened because of the low light in the room. He had high cheekbones and a long straight nose. A coppery Mandarin mustache drooped over a mouth in which the smoking cigar rested.

“I think ya stared long enough.” One of the gloved hands flicked at the shade. “Either shut yer mouth an’ quit gapin’, or open it an’ tell me whatcha want.”

“Please, can’t we go somewhere else to talk?”

With a hiss, he stood, six feet eight inches of irritated Felidan. Andi took a hasty step backward.

“Hey, Jake.” Looking down at her, he took the cigar out of his mouth. “Can I borrow one o’ yer rooms fer a while?”

“Sure…take Number Three.”

“Bring me a pitcher, then.”

Picking up the mug setting on the table, he stalked to a row of doors at the back of the room, leaving her running to keep up with his long-legged stride while the men’s laughter burned her ears. He pushed open a door and went in. Andi followed, closing it behind her.

The little room was furnished with a table, two chairs, and a small bed against one wall, covered with surprisingly white sheets. Sinbad dropped into one of the chairs and motioned her to the other.

“All right, we’re private. Now talk.” When she didn’t answer, he demanded. “Why did Al send you?”

“He didn’t…not exactly.” She dropped the rucksack into the chair. It was as stifling here as in the outer room. She felt dizzy again.

“Then who in th’ name o’ God did? Is this some kinda joke?” He pushed back his chair, slamming both feet onto the table as he stared at her, his scowl turning the heavy brows into a copper vee. “Listen, woman, I ain’t got much patience, an’ I’m fast losing what little I do have.”

With a deep breath, Andi said, in a rush, “George Windrider said you could help me,” and waited for his reaction.

“Indian George?” The harsh expression softened. “Okay…what’s th’ problem George thinks I can fix?”

“I want you to find my husband. He’s…”

“I’m no tracer, lady. Ya need t’ go t’ th’ Federation’s Missing Persons Section fer that.”

“I can’t.” Hands on the table, she leaned forward. “It’s the Federation who’s taken him. You see, he’s an Albegensi, and…”

“You sure know how t’ pick winners.” The cigar had gone out. He relit it from the lamp on the table, and leaned back to regard her, green eyes speculative. In the bright light of Number Three, his pupils were narrow black crescents. “Don’t tell me, let me guess…since th’ whole world’s afraid o’ th’ Big Bad Fed, an’ no one else’ll help, you want me t’ find out where they’re holdin’ him. Right?”

Andi nodded and wiped her forehead with one hand. She was sweating.

“As a member of a group that has…no doubt very foolishly…engaged in a military action against Terra, he’s probably been taken t’ th’ Black Mountain Reservation.”

“Black Mountain? There’s nothing in that region.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks, but I know different.” He thumped his chest with a thumb. “There’s an internment camp there, very secret, an’ very deadly. Few prisoners ever come back from Black Mountain.”

He seemed unconcerned of the effect his words might have on her.

“Can you help me?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“I could find out if he’s there. Is that all you want?” His tone indicated he considered her little short of insane to want to know where her husband was.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Find out where Tran is, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Tran. That his name?”

She nodded. “Tran Day. He’s a farmer. He couldn’t possibly be a spy. The whole thing’s a stupid, stupid mistake.”

“They all say that,” he replied unsympathetically and fell silent.

Andi gripped the back of the chair, squeezing the wood so hard her fingers hurt, waiting for him to go on. The silence grew longer and quieter, until she wanted to scream.

Why don’t you say something? Another minute and I’m going to…

“Are you afraid o’ me?” His nostrils crinkled as if he’d scented something.

“Should I be?” She was, terribly, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“Maybe.” He fell quiet again.

When she was ready to grab her pack and stalk out, he sat up, letting the legs of the chair strike the floor with a loud snap.

“All right, I’ll do it, but it’ll cost.” In the gloved hand, the cigar pointed at her like a dagger as the green eyes regarded her unwaveringly. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll be willin’ t’ pay th’ price.”

“How much?” she asked. “Tell me. I’ll pay it. I love my husband.”

“You might not love him that much.”

“I’ll do anything to free him.” She flung the words recklessly. “What do you want?”

“You.” The cigar stabbed at her again.

“What?” She hadn’t heard correctly, she was certain. “Wh-what did you say?”

“Ya heard me. I want ya as m’ payment.” He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Yer good-looking’ fer a Milky. I like yer scent, even if ya have tried t’ hide it under that nauseatin’ perfume. Here’s m’ offer: Stay with me tonight, an’ if I’m satisfied, I’ll find your mate fer ya.”

Stunned, she stared at him. This isn’t happening. This creature didn’t say that. He didn’t.

“Look on it as a business arrangement. Ya gimme me what I want, I give ya what ya want.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “What say?”

“Hold it right there.” She startled herself by saying exactly what she was thinking. “What’s to stop you from kicking me out after you…get what you want?”

“Good point.” His look indicated he was surprised she’d thought of it. “Okay, we do it, an’ good or bad, ya get th’ location o’ th’ camp. Fair?”

He leaned back again, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar before flicking it to the floor. Confident. Enjoying her indecision.

Andi’s thoughts were frantic. Is this what George was warning me about? Oh, God, Tran, I love you, but I can’t do that. Not even for you.

“Make up yer mind, Talltrees.” His rasp cut into her thoughts. “I ain’t got all day, an’ neither has yer mate.”

What am I going to do? He’s right. No one else is going to help me. They’re all too afraid. Besides, I don’t know where to start. Tran will never know. Her hands clenched into fists. I’ll pretend it never happened.

She forced her hands to relax, took a deep breath and tried to speak. She had to swallow twice before any sound came out. Even then, it was a bare whisper.

“All right.”

“Good!” He stubbed the cigar into the ashtray on the table and straightened eagerly. “Well? Go ahead…strip.”

“What? Here? Now?”

“Right.” He smiled, the light sparkling off long incisors, flashing a fanged leer. “Here. Now. Th’ day ain’t gettin’ any younger, an’ there’s an empty bed yonder just waitin’ t’ be used.”

Mouth set in a determined line, Andi took off her jacket and dropped it into the chair. Her hand-knitted sweater had four buttons at the neck. She got them open and pulled it over her head. Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt. As she began to open the dozen tiny buttons down its front, frowning in concentration, he gave an exasperated growl.

“Good God! How many clothes are ya wearin’? D’ ya think it’s winter?”

“It’s still cold in the valley,” she answered.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. She got the shirt off and heard his groan as he saw the sleeveless undershirt.

He was getting impatient, gloved fingers tapping a loud tattoo on the tabletop. She was afraid he’d walk out if she delayed much longer. Andi pulled the tank top over her head and reached for the catch to her brassiere.

The door opened.

Jake came in carrying a pitcher of beer, a blast of sound following him into the room.

Gasping, Andi snatched at the undershirt and held it against her chest. Her chin quivered.

“Sorry, Sin.” Jake looked from her to Sinbad. “I didn’t think you’d be this far along.”

“Put it here, Jake.” The smuggler tapped the table with a finger.

The bartender did as he was told.

“Thanks. Now, get out.” There was barely controlled anger in the low voice.

Jake hurried to the door.

“An’ Jake…”

He paused and looked back.

“Make certain we’re not bothered again.”

“Right. I’ll put up the Do Not Disturb sign.” He went out, slamming the door.

With a shaky sigh, Andi dropped the undershirt. She was dizzy again but this time she felt the way she had the day her horse ran under a tree and she hit her head on a limb…lightheaded…sick. There was a roaring in her ears, getting louder.

“We’ve wasted enough time, woman.”

He reached for her.

Without a sound, Andi crumpled into a heap at the smuggler’s feet.