“Thanks.”

And then the door allows me access. I slip inside. As I expected, Vel has molted, but he isn’t growing any new skin as of yet. I’m not sure whether that’s time related, or if he just doesn’t want to wear it.

Funny how different people can take the same suite and turn it into something else. Mine has rumpled bedcovers and dirty dishes while Vel has transformed his room into a command center. Scattered devices, wires, and mechanisms make it look as though he’s been here for weeks, not hours.

“What can I do for you, Sirantha?”

“I was hoping we could talk about your homeworld. I probably should’ve asked long before now.” I leave it there, choosing not to use the excuses that hover at the tip of my tongue. “But if I came at a bad time . . . ?”

“No, I can resume my research later.”

“You’re really doing research?”

That surprises me. I thought he said that to explain his need for solitude. People tend to forgive a lot more eccentricity if they believe the person is of a scholarly bent.

“Yes, actually. I will let you know if I find anything.”

Does that mean it relates to me somehow? For once, I don’t let myself become sidetracked. I just nod.

“May I?”

“Please, have a seat.”

I’m more conscious of his vocalizer now because I can see his mandible moving and hear the brief delay before the signals are translated into human speech. I wonder what it’s like for him, functioning as a mimic in our world but never truly part of it. Maybe that’s where I should begin.

Only the small dining unit isn’t covered with various sensors and monitors, so I sit down there. While I’m at it, I order up some breakfast, or whatever meal this is supposed to be. I’ve completely lost track of time.

I set 245 on the table, power her up, and input my codes. “Okay if I record?”

“Go ahead.”

By some miracle, she doesn’t chide me for our interrupted session last time, just greets me and gets to work. I wonder if that should worry me. I nibble at a sweetbread while trying to decide how to phrase my opening question.

Finally, I decide on, “Is it hard for you?”

“What?”

Duh. He can’t read my mind.

“You have to feel really alone sometimes, separated from . . . other Ithtorians.” I barely manage not to say “people like you,” which would sound prejudicial, even if I don’t feel that way about him. “How do you cope with that?”

Vel sits down across from me, regarding me with glittering, faceted eyes. If I’m learning to gauge his natural expressions at all, I’d say he looks hesitant. “Let me ask a question of you, first.”

“Shoot.” I cram the last of my breakfast into my mouth and immediately wish I had something to wash it down.

“Do you find it difficult to look at me as I am?” Vel indicates his current form with one claw.

Between the claws, mandible, peculiar side-set eyes, chitin shell, and segmented body, there’s no doubt he qualifies as unusual, if not monstrous like the Morgut. While I chew, I consider the question. But if I want honesty from him, I have to give it back. So the answer comes easy.

“At first, yeah. But getting to know you took away the strangeness. And now you’re just you.”

“I see.” He clicks his claws, a habit I’ve come to identify as pensive. “To your question . . . we are, by nature, a solitary people,” he says at last. “We do not form emotional bonds as your species understands them. Our society functions on social obligation, underpinned by self-interest. Temporary alliances may be formed, but not personal attachments. When such an alliance ceases to be profitable or mutually beneficial, the arrangement is terminated.”

“When you say alliance, do you mean business or—” But he just said they don’t do personal relationships. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that. “Give me an example. Please.”

“This could take a while,” he cautions me.

I smile faintly. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Then let’s begin.”

* * *

CHAPTER 45

l spend most of the day with Vel.

Coming from a xenophobic race that possesses the unique ability to pass among other species and chooses not to, the bounty hunter is a walking contradiction. We spent hours talking, and I still don’t have the sense that I know him. Not intimately. I’m not sure whether I can, or if he has the ability to connect as I know it.

By the time I leave his quarters, my head throbs with all the new information. And I don’t know how I can remember everything, particularly the seven hundred sure ways to offend an Ithtorian. My favorite is clicking the same claw three times in rapid succession.

They find that gesture especially insulting in casual conversation because it’s how partners signify they’re finished with one another. Really, it’s an impressively rude way to end a conversation. I wonder if snapping my fingers three times would work on people who bore the shit out of me.

I still don’t entirely understand the hierarchical system Vel laid out for me. I even have diagrams, but they don’t help a lot. Fortunately, 245 promised to go over the entire list with me until I can recite each item by heart.

Joy.

“Thanks for your help,” I tell her, as we head back down the hall.

“That’s why I’m here. Have you given any more thought to our discussion, Sirantha Jax?”

For a moment, I don’t know what she’s talking about, and then it clicks. Back on New Terra, while we were still sequestered, she asked me a favor. “If we land somewhere I can order the work done, you can pick out a body from Pretty Robotics. Since it’s on Chancellor Tarn, price is no object. Have you thought about a name?”

“I am 245,” she says, sounding as puzzled as I’ve ever heard her.

“Yeah, but if you want a humanoid body so you can accompany me to official diplomatic functions, you’ll need something else, won’t you?” This was her idea as well, but I see the merit in it. Then she’ll be my personal assistant in every respect—and she’ll be able to signal me if I’m about to make a dangerous breach in etiquette. Her memory will track that better than a human ever could. “But I guess we could call you according to whatever model you pick out. They have Claudia, Julie, Roberta, Paulette, and I forget who else.”

That’s a Pretty Robotics gimmick since they cater to lonely men who are also fabulously wealthy. If we go this route, 245 will get more attention than the rest of us combined. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“This is important?” she asks.

“I just thought you might want to christen yourself. I mean, how many people get to pick out their own names?”

“Then I will consider all the names in my data banks, but I may need your help in a final decision. I don’t wish to select one that is anachronistic or inappropriate.”

“Sure, narrow down to five or ten favorites, and we’ll go from there.”

I turn down the hall that leads back to my room, and a snippet of conversation reaches me from the other end. “Do you think they know?”

It’s Keller’s goons, Grubb and Boyle, but they haven’t seen me yet. I duck around the corner, heart racing.

“Nah,” Boyle says. “Keller’s the best. They think Jewel really wants to talk.”

Grubb laughs at the very idea, and they pass on by, talking about playing another round of Real Killer. I stand there a moment, wondering at the implications. Whatever this means, I suspect it isn’t good.

Dammit. We should’ve waited for a Conglomerate ship.

Once they’ve passed, I sprint down the hall and into my room. Having the door between me and the Syndicate thugs helps some, but it’s not enough. I need everyone in here now, and we need to figure out a plan of action.

First, I check something for my own peace of mind. I access the terminal, something I should’ve done right away, admittedly, if only I hadn’t been so tired, hungry, and all-around muzzy headed. The workstation powers up readily enough, but when I attempt to access external communications, a big red screen flashes.

“I am sorry,” it tells me, although it doesn’t sound sorry. Machines never do. “You are not authorized to transmit to bounce-relay satellites.”

Shit. We’re officially prisoners then. No access to the outside world. In retrospect, I realize Keller promised us safe passage. He made no guarantees as to what would happen once we arrive.

I could drive myself crazy wondering whether they’ve decided I outlived my usefulness, but that’s a waste of time. Instead I decide to invite the crew to a “party” in Dina’s room. I’d hold the meeting here, but I doubt she’d come, given that she wants my head on a pike at the moment.

I call Vel first. They’re probably logging this conversation, but my paranoia is well documented. In this instance it might even work to my advantage.

“Do you have a white-noise generator or something that scrambles any snooping devices that might be present?”

“Well, that certainly qualifies as one of the odder greetings I have received in my life. As it happens, I do.”

“Good,” I say. “Bring it with you to Dina’s room, ten minutes.”

Silence.

So I ask, “What’s wrong?”

Another hesitation. “This is not a good time, Sirantha.”

Right. Right after I left, he must’ve started fashioning the new skin he’ll wear for the next three days. “When would be?”

We’re both exercising caution now, and I can tell he’s copped to the fact that I’m nervous. I wish I could explain, but that would defeat the purpose. And I suspect he wouldn’t welcome an in-person visit just now.

“Two hours. If it is urgent, I could—”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll let the others know.”

I spend a few hours pacing and arguing with 245 over why nobody would ever take her seriously as my personal assistant if she takes the name Colette. Her alternatives are worse.

“Dreama? Synara? Those are stripper names.”

“Explain.” She sounds confused again.

Four choclaste bars later and six terrible names later, I figure it’s time. By the time I get there, Dina is on the verge of an eruption because her suite is full of people and she doesn’t know why. Her décor looks exactly like mine, but Hit and Jael sit sprawled on her sofa, and Vel is tinkering with some equipment.

The mechanic glowers at me. “You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on? Maybe you just wanted witnesses for when I kick your ass.”

I can tell she’s been putting in hard time with the EMP band and rehab exercises, as she’s visibly stronger today. But I have no intention of brawling. Dina might be able to knock me out one-handed, but she has to catch me first.

“Save it,” I say with a sigh.

To simplify matters, I produce 245 and replay the brief conversation between Grubb and Boyle. It’s handy I still had her in record mode from the long session with Vel. I run it twice to make sure everyone has the gist, and then I take a seat well away from Jael.