TRICK MAN’S TRICKS

1563 4D

The noises above them slowly faded to an occasional scuffle and murmur. Grendel picked up the label he had dropped. The trapdoor above them thumped four times, then once. “Look at this.” He showed Jeddin the label. “Neuroactive? What do you think this was? A stunner?”

Jeddin took the label and smelled it. “I don’t know. Maybe that, but something more. I pick up viral protein on it, more than the usual. Best to let my chems work on it.” He shrugged, then freed the latch and raised the door.

They climbed back into the bar, now quieter, its mood darkened by the fading presence of the corpos. Nearly all the humans had left. Grendel took a long, relieved breath.

The hiss and stutter of anjive now filled the room with compressed and complex andro conversation. “We got rid of them,” Jeddin said, still in human voice, “except for that one.” With a nod he indicated Ezzar sitting alone at a side table near the barroom’s most ornate doorway.

“That one’s my lady,” Grendel said. “Come meet her. She’ll buy you a drink.” He hoped Ezzar hadn’t been waiting long. Her bath usually made her take longer than this.

“Not me,” Jeddin said, “I’m headed out desertside to the mines. When will you be back this way?”

“Ten days, maybe sooner. I’ll leave word.”

Now Jeddin shifted to anjive. “About this lady of yours. I can read her from here.” His words carried a cold tension.

“What?”

“She may be a gem to you, but she might crack. She’s human.”

“Everybody cracks if you hit them right.”

“Not always when things are worst. Watch it.” Jeddin walked to a table where two other andros sat enskerrishing, communing in innerspace, their hands locked together, their eyes closed. Sitting down, Jeddin placed his hands over theirs, and all three of their heads rose and fell in a somnolent nod.

Grendel looked after him. Trick Man, this time you’re tricking yourself.