The Žeka Tomkoce was a pleasant surprise. Of course, after Riley’s, anyplace with a modicum of cleanliness would be. Kyle didn’t remember what a ‘tomkoce’ was, but the drawing on the bar’s sign resembled a fox and was, indeed, black. Inside, the place was hot and dry. Kyle wondered where they got their power from because it was brightly lit by overheads that produced a steady and distinctly bluish light. And the slightly musky scent that one came to associate with the Anyuvin was mixed with some kind of incense.
Nice place, Kyle thought, if you don’t mind the staring. Still, the Anyuvin governor, Dican, ran Sarvek Dome with an iron fist and had a reputation for coming down hard on troublemakers, so Kyle figured that the suspicious looks were likely the worst that was going to happen.
The bar was at the back, past the low tables around which a small scattering of patrons sat. One of the Anyuvin moved their tail into his path, but Kyle had seen that trick before. With exaggerated care he stepped over it.
The bartender was average height for an Anyuvin – about 200cm – amber-eyed, with tawny fur that had just enough grey around the eyes and muzzle to let Kyle know they were older than you might guess at first glance. Impressive mane, though, Kyle thought.
“L’keza,” Kyle said.
The Anyuvin bartender raised an eyebrow. Score one for the Human, Kyle thought. Not many humans spoke Anyuvin, but Kyle had grown up with a some back on Kazavan and he’d learned Anzedjo, the Anyuvin creole, as well as enough of the pure language to string together basic sentences.
Now the question was, would the bartender accept the offer of peace?
“Keza”, the bartender replied after staring for a few moments and Kyle could feel some of the tension drain away from the room. So, Kyle thought, these guys hold to the old ways. Nice to know.
“Vaš Vazida radje,” Kyle said.
There was more staring.
“Vaš Vazida anyaš nate,” the bartender replied turning away, then continued in Anzedjo, as if Kyle’s Anyuvin had given offence, “You go-see other-where, Terran.”
Kyle sighed. He wasn’t buying that the bartender didn’t know Vazi. Riley wasn’t exactly honest, but he had a reputation to maintain as an info dealer.
“Rašak this-where be?” Kyle asked, following the bartender’s move to Anzedjo.
The bartenders ears twitched. “Ma Rašak know nate.”
Does this one know anybody? Kyle asked himself.
“Ma Vazi tek job give maybe.”
The bartender’s ears twitched again.
“Tek jov shiv on ana? What kind shiv ana?”
Progress at last.
“Salvage Freighter. Ma crew ‘way-go,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “Ma tek need. Date, tech most good must be.”
“I’m Ražak,” the bartender said, switching suddenly to passable Standard and pouring a glass of something for Kyle. “You wait. I go find Vazi.”
Kyle wandered over toward an empty table, stopping to look at some of the pictures on the wall. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble finding pictures of the planet Sandhurst before it had been rebuilt. Before the war. Before we took it, renamed it and made it ours. The Anyuvin had called it Kethovi.
One building he recognized because Kedjo had shown him a picture and he had gone there to see it for himself. Humans called it a ‘temple’, but Kyle knew it was the Djatov Edjora, the biggest Djoncari school on Kethovi. Kyle wondered how anyone could look at the students going through kata and think anything but “dojo”. Then again, maybe they hadn’t seen this picture.
When he reached the table, Kyle sat down crosslegged on one of the mats. The staring had stopped, as if Rašak’s acceptance had swept it from the room. It really is quite a nice place, Kyle thought, looking around and sniffing the contents of the glass. Nyakadj. Well brewed, by the smell of it and with just a little Akonya, the citrus scent of the liquor cutting through the sharp, acidic smell of the Nyakadj. Kyle turned the cup’s spout away from him and took a sip, sighing as he leaned back. Yes, definitely, the good stuff, he thought, but the hot liquid did little to dispel the chill that had come over him.
Thinking about Kedjo had brought back memories. Kyle hated thinking about growing up. He snorted. ‘Orphanage’ my sweet ass, the Good Care Orphanage was a workhouse for kids, plain and simple. The Kylaran Plague had swept across Kazavan with a vengeance, back in ’67, and taken both of Kyle’s parents. Kyle was twelve at the time, just young enough that the bug wasn’t always fatal. He hadn’t been alone. Lots of kids, Human, Anyuvin – even a few Tanith – had wound up on the streets. The lucky ones got taken in by places that didn’t abuse them too badly.
Kedjo had wandered into the orphanage where Kyle was, burning with fever and half dead from starvation. The orphanage had taken them in, but Kedjo had never really been quite right after that. For one thing, they were as silent as a monk, speaking only when they were asked something by an adult. Kyle was one of the few people who could get Kedjo to speak otherwise — and then, only when they were alone.
When they weren’t working, Kedjo would find some clear space and mumble the Eight Virtues over and over while doing Djoncari kata. Kyle had seen how effective Djoncari was and had asked Kedjo to teach him, but Djoncari wasn’t just moves, there was something deeper to it and Kedjo had never been able to explain. Anzedjo couldn’t cut it and Kyle didn’t know enough Anyuvin.
Kyle had been to Kethovi and walked through the great edjora. He hoped Kedjo had never found out that the great school was now little more than a tourist attraction full of tacky propaganda. Then again, Kedjo’s probably dead now, Kyle thought, shaking his head. Life expectancy on Kazavan was abysmally low, especially for aliens. The thought saddened him even more. Kedjo may not have been all there, but he was loyal as hell. To all the kids, Anyuvin or not.
Kyle looked up as Rašak came over and sat across the table from him, thankfully interrupting his grim reminiscence.
“Vazi is not here,” Rašak began, “vut they have questions. I ask. OK?”
“Sure.” Kyle said, mentally adding I’ll answer all the questions you want, if it gets me the help I need.
“Where do you go? What systems?”
“Wherever there’s salvage,” Kyle shrugged. “Here. Sarin a lot. Kali systems when I’m feeling brave.” Which isn’t often, Kyle thought to himself. Sneaking into Kali territory takes more than courage – it takes good intel or very good stealth tech.
Rašak’s ears had twitched again at the sound of Sarin. He has a tell, Kyle thought, hiding a smile.
“Vazi knows of some – salvage,” Rašak said. “You take them to Kethovi?”
“Yeah, I’ve been to Kethovi before,” Kyle said. But humans have picked that place clean of Anyuvin artifacts, he thought. They go for a high price with the collectors. Outside of the museums, the planet had nothing to offer. Still, it was possible someone had found more.
“But, what salvage is there?” Kyle asked, hoping for a clue.
“For you? Nothing.” Rašak said in a voice that was a barely contained growl.
“You will take Vazi to Kethovi. Vazi will get ‘salvage’. Then you take Vazi to Sarin. You will get good money for this. After that, Vazi will work for you. Long time. No questions.”
“Vazi is a good tech? Kyle asked. The ‘no questions’ part had sounded good, but dead weight was dead weight.
Rašak got up and motioned for Kyle to follow. They went around the bar, down a hallway and into a small room that held more computer gear than Kyle would have expected to see in a place like that. A small table held a holographic projector and what had to be one of the most detailed projections of the known universe that Kyle had ever seen. He stuck a finger in it and it moved. He gave a little flick and the whole things spun like a top. There wasn’t a blur or stutter to be seen which implied either some serious computing power or some very elegant programming. Or both.
Taking on Anyuvin crew would mean hassles in some places, but if Vazi held to traditional values, then one trip to Kethovi would get him crew that wouldn’t jump ship. Žara – Vazi’s sense of honor – wouldn’t allow it.
“You tell Vazi, if they want it, the job is theirs.”
Rašak’s ears twitched and Kyle smiled. He had crew.