Talis stepped off the ramp from Wind Sabre, and there was a small cheer from a crowd of onlookers. Something snake-like moved its coils within her stomach, unsettled at the celebratory sound.
Meran stepped down off the ship behind her. Talis could not manage to convince the woman that she needed clothing, and had finally resorted to exerting her will over the woman via the ring. Through Meran’s selection of clothes, Talis felt something like a personality was starting to emerge. She chose a pair of Dug’s pants, which were large on her, the crotch low. She bound the legs at the calf to keep them from dragging, so they billowed above the knee, and tied the waist low on her hips. She wore one of Sophie’s undershirts, which came down only to her midriff. Sophie had tried to offer her a clean one, but the simula had insisted on Sophie’s oldest, softened from use and irrevocably stained with engine grease. Over that, Tisker’s jacket, its bloody sleeve only half-dried. One of Talis’s favorite scarves wrapped around her hair, pulling it up and back, a winding pile almost as high as one of the alien skulls. She remained barefoot.
She wore their most familiar things. Unremarkable upon their owners, yet wholly foreign, and breathtakingly exotic, on this strange woman who still glowed blue along the stripes and swirls on her warm brown skin. It took her only moments to dress, as though she knew exactly which articles of clothing she wanted, and where they were stowed.
Talis took a deep breath, and the wrappings Sophie’d done last minute helped to keep her rib from shifting as she did so. She hadn’t bothered to change the pants and boots she’d worn onto the alien ship, which were still covered in the soot that she couldn’t brush off. But she put on a fresh tank top over the bindings, and her jacket. Gave her face a quick swipe with a wet cloth to remove the worst of the smudged ash, and shook out her hair so that it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back.
She would go in politely at first. But she had a scarf around her neck that could quickly tie her hair up and out of her face if things went sour. Which they likely would.
She squared her shoulders, gave Meran a nod, and made a steady, quick pace for the gates of Talonpoint, doing her best to ignore the crowd of onlookers who murmured as they passed.
Things in town had already gone sour before they arrived. There was smoke in the air, along with the cheers and jeers of a well-liquored mob. Below that, the dull thrum of hundreds of voices talking over one another vibrated through the hard-packed earth below her feet.
Talis and Meran followed the sounds of the crowd, past the empty shops and offices that lined the main entrance beyond the high stone walls of Talonpoint. The thoroughfare opened up to either side, and the businesses, municipal offices, and apartment complexes formed a ring around the central green. It was an open-air market most days, but the kiosk owners with any sense had packed up early today. Talis stopped at the perimeter of the activity, frozen in dismay.
The walls surrounding the city proper kept the driving sand from filling in the cracks and crevices as it could on the docks, in the rural district, and beyond. Otherwise the eight alien heads mounted on pikes around the stage in the center of the green might have been indistinguishable sandy shapes. Even so, there was a good bit of sand adhering to the drying blue blood that dripped down the length of the pikes.
That was fine by Talis. Made things easier, really, to not have to concern herself with the interference of the invaders. It was the sight of Dug tied by the wrists and ankles to intersecting X-shaped pillars in the center of the stage that stopped her mid-stride. He was the centerpiece of the alien carnage. His limbs were slack, and his chin rested on his chest, which hung forward under his weight. Blood was dried where it had run down his face, onto his stomach and pant legs.
And then there was only movement. She pushed her way forward through the crowd, Meran running ahead of her. The blue markings across her skin bounced as she moved and even in daylight made her easy to follow, as did the angry murmur of the crowd as she shoved them aside, clearing a path for Talis.
Strong arms grasped Talis’s shoulders as she reached the platform. She shrugged them off with a quick duck and got one foot up. The hands seized her again, less negotiable this time. She brought her heel down on one sandaled foot, and managed to get that arm free.
Meran dodged the grips of other guards, gained the platform, and reached Dug’s side before she was grappled and forced to the wooden planks of the stage. But Talis wanted to get Dug free, make sure he was okay, and Meran was tuned to her will. She threw off her attackers, and they stumbled backward, tripped, and fell back into the crowd below.
Talis struggled as two guards, both women, wrestled her to the ground. Ignored the sparks that flared behind her eyes as one of them shoved the handle of a spear against her injured side in the tussle. Her breath was stolen from her. The sound of the mob overwhelmed her, like a pressure on the inside of her skull, as she instinctively curled her arms over her ears to protect herself. Tears squeezed out from tightly shut eyes. The press of the crowd was coming toward her, and the guards were going to hold her down and let them take her.
Like they’d taken Dug. She opened her eyes, saw
