Sin Beyond Redemption: Chapter 02

ZAI’AL’S FEET HURT. After eating, she, Kohakú, and Vikram traipsed across the starbase for hours to explore the promenade. The young woman ached to fly above the crowds—the high ceiling provided plenty of space—but Kohakú only laughed and pointedly asked how Zai’al expected to land again amidst the crush of people, who would be unlikely to step aside just for them. No, it was more polite to walk as others did.

Off the promenade, the crowds were thinner, the station quieter, the corridors smaller, but no less fascinating to Zai’al. One entire deck in one of the tall terminals was dedicated to games of chance, race books and sport pools, and drinking. Another deck housed body care and self-help facilities, including the brothels. Several more decks had been given over to business parks housing regional offices for all manner of corporations eager to expand their reach into the freeport’s generous and lucrative economy.

The farther they traveled from the promenade, the more segmented the starbase became. Themed districts took over, each one attracting crowds of shoppers and traders interested solely in the products or services they offered.

“Jita has everything,” Kohakú explained as they boarded a shuttle train that could take them to yet more terminals. “Ore refinement, chemical production, shipping, hydroponics and space agriculture, even used ships and ship refurbishment.”

Zai’al sagged from the overhead safety handle and looked out the shuttle’s viewports at the sprawling starbase as the train left their terminal and headed toward another. “It will take forever for us to see the entire station. I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in my life.”

“Not to worry. We can’t see the entire starbase; there are whole sections of habitats dedicated to peoples who don’t live in oxygen atmospheres like we do. And, they don’t allow visitors into the residential areas without prior permission from one of the starbase inhabitants.”

“Oh, thank Årdra.”

Kohakú smiled. “For now, we’ll start heading back to our ship to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we’ll visit the vendors I usually see, and then, if need be, go to the textile district in terminal three.”

Zai’al’s frill lifted. “There’s a textile district?”

“It’s one of the most extensive districts Jita offers. Fashion, leather, footwear… The textile needs of different species is nigh-infinite and highly personal. Yåsví such as myself thrive there, especially for species who have no wetware, or no desire to use such technologies.”

“Why don’t you design clothing for other species?”

“I’m content to serve the zhiska and the temple.”

Zai’al frowned inwardly. The grandmaster stood beside her in traditional clothes she had designed and sewn herself. Resplendent clothes, dyed in the rich berry tones of Clan Nåwåtílí, with charcoal and sand-colored accents that set off Kohakú’s light purple skin, darker purple frill mask, and wings. She never used wetware clothing—but really, she had no need. She was a grandmaster at her designs, and those designs were greatly desired by Zhiska Dreeka. But…

But there were only so many robes and other regalia that the senior temple clergy required. How much more fame and honor and respect would the yåsví earn if she leant her talents beyond the temple?

Zai’al looked down at her acolyte’s robe. Grey, simple… The only spot of color was the brilliantly dyed clan sash hanging at her waist bearing Nåwåtílí’s emblem, made to resemble a simple stylized crown with the goddess’s triquetra threaded through it. The robe was a wetware garment, much cheaper to distribute among the numerous acolytes across the empire. Comfortable, functional… But beside Kohakú, in the plain garment Zai’al felt… invisible.

Kohakú’s frill fanned forward, but the grandmaster’s mild smile didn’t change. If she sensed Zai’al’s discontent, she chose not to show it.

A chime sounded over the intercom as the train pulled into a station and the doors opened to allow passengers to disembark.

“This is us,” Kohakú said, ushering Zai’al and Vikram out.

Vikram looked warily around as they stepped onto the station platform and the train pulled away behind them.

“Are you certain, Grandmaster?” he asked. “This isn’t terminal one.”

“Well. I thought we could make a quick detour on our way back to the ship, since we were close by to this place.”

Zai’al looked around. The station platform was deserted except for their group of three. No one else had gotten off at this station. Overhead, a light flickered, and several more were out completely. Graffiti marred the walls, which were pockmarked with blemishes in the concrete.

“Where are we?”

Kohakú walked confidently toward the platform’s exit. “The Underdecks.”

“Grandmaster!”

Vikram’s sharp cry brought Kohakú up short. She looked back, her frill cocked expectantly.

“Yes, Vikram?”

He approached Kohakú and leaned close, as if to speak privately, but Zai’al overheard him anyway.

“The zhiska bade me to protect her daughter from any ills that might be encountered on this starbase, and I was briefed quite thoroughly about areas we should avoid. The Underdecks are no place for a respectable woman such as yourself, and certainly no place for Zai’al.”

The grandmaster’s frill cocked up even further; her face took on an incredulous look.

“Young man, I wouldn’t have lived as long as I have if I were careless. The Underdecks may sometimes have problems with petty theft and the occasional murder, but by and large, the people who frequent this area are simply the unlucky and the downtrodden who are doing their best to get by. They pour their hearts and souls into the wares they sell, and often what they sell is just as high in quality as much of what we’ll find elsewhere. There is nothing here to be afraid of, so long as we keep our heads. Now, let’s go.”

Zai’al shot Vikram a look and a shrug, then followed obediently behind. Her heart fluttered as she heard the temple guardian mutter under his breath, but the telltale tapping of the halberd’s shaft against the deck plating made it clear he was following, too.

The platform’s exit rumbled open at their approach. On the other side, station security turned expectantly and asked for their IDs. After that, they were let through.

Zai’al glanced back. “Why are they on the inside of the doors?”

It was Vikram who answered, his voice low. “They’re not really worried about who comes in. It’s about keeping the people already in here from getting out.”

“Why?”

“For the sake of appearances, no doubt.”

“Will… Will we be able to leave?”

“Yes, dear,” Kohakú said. “Just make sure you don’t lose your ID or have it lifted from you. We’d have a real problem then.”

Gulping, Zai’al clutched her hand around the plastic card in her pocket. Her robe didn’t have anywhere more secure to stash it.

Vikram touched her shoulder. “Let me carry it for you.”

“Thank you.”

The guardian nodded and slipped the card into one of the compartments on his armor, which Zai’al knew would seal securely afterward. No pickpocket could get into wetware armor.

She turned her gaze onto the surroundings as Kohakú led the way forward. Compared to the promenade and other areas they had visited, the Underdecks were dimly lit. Shadows stretched in every direction, and instead of a holoceiling above and art on the walls, she saw only exposed metal beams, pipes, and stained concrete. A faint smell of grease and garbage made her sniff uncomfortably. Somewhere, she heard water dripping. People shuffled to and fro, and Zai’al noticed most of them seemed unshaven or rumpled, as if they had slept in their clothes. But they were not idle; most carried worn boxes, brooms, and other items, and though they turned curious eyes upon the three årdrakin in their midst, no one said anything beyond polite greetings as they passed by.

“I wish I’d known we were coming here,” Zai’al murmured. “I would have arranged for aid from the temple.” She mused to herself. “Perhaps a mission…”

“There already is aid,” Kohakú said. “For as long as I have been coming here, the zhiska ensures a generous donation is made to assist the people of the Underdecks. I have seen the improvement over time with my own eyes.”

“But these people are still destitute.”

“Indeed they are. Which is why I continue to shop here as well. Donations of food and blankets and clothing go a long way toward helping, but buying directly from the merchants does more than just inject money into the economy down here. It promotes morale, helping to bring meaning to the work these people do. They all have immense pride, as does anyone. Their wares and talents shouldn’t be valued any less than the wares and talents of those on the decks above. Ah, here we are.”

The walkway emptied into what would have been a large, empty area, had it not been for the numerous tables and other makeshift displays that were crammed into its space. They were arranged in orderly rows that stretched into the distance, and as Zai’al had seen on the promenade, vendors and merchants of all species called out to potential patrons as they milled about, moving from one display to another.

“It’s busier than I expected,” Zai’al said as she looked over the space.

“It’s not a popular destination on the station by any means, but enough traders make it down here to keep the market buzzing at most times of the year.” Kohakú turned her gaze on Zai’al. “Everyone down here earns their keep in one way or another. They’re just not as wealthy and successful as the traders who can frequent the decks above.”

“But everyone down here hopes to one day make it up there?” Zai’al guessed.

“You’re not wrong. Now, help me find the vendor I’m looking for. His name is Mazaul, and he produces some of the finest silks in the sector.”

Confused, Zai’al asked, “If the silk is so good, why is he down here?”

“Mazaul comes from one of the fringe worlds. He spent his life savings to travel here, and has had to start over. Right now there’s little money available for marketing.”

“Still hoping for my lucky break,” a gravelly voice said from behind. “Though I am forever privileged to serve the great grandmaster of the Årdrakin Empire.”

Zai’al caught the pleased flush that rose to the skin around Kohakú’s eyes. Her eyepads were grey, like the membranes on her frill, but the blush gave them a rosy tint.

Behind them stood a stocky alien, as wide as he was tall, dressed in loose clothing that left most of his shaggy rust red fur exposed. A great, unshorn beard covered the lower half of his face, just an extension of the fur on his body, but it couldn’t obscure the broad smile he wore as he greeted Kohakú, even though the smile exposed a row of uneven, razor-sharp teeth. As he gathered her in his bulky arms, he had to lean down, bringing his bald head and the giant set of horns curving out of the sides of his skull closer to her already tall height.

“Mazaul! So great to see you!” Kohakú’s voice was muffled by the hug.

Mazaul let her go. “And you. It has been a long few months since we last spoke.” He patted his abdomen. “My glands are nearly full again. Soon I will have to seclude myself to spin. It’s fortunate you didn’t arrive any later.” His black eyes flitted to Zai’al and Vikram. His smile broadened. “And who are these? Apprentices to your skillful talents?”

Zai’al found Mazaul’s smile to be contagious. “My name is Zai’al.”

“Alas, not an apprentice,” Kohakú sighed with a wink in Zai’al’s direction. “She is a temple acolyte, accompanying me for… educational reasons. And this is Vikram, her guardian.”

“Very good! Always worthwhile to get a practical education.”

Zai’al felt her eyepads flush. Her mother had warned her against identifying herself as the zhiska’s daughter, for it would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention, but being referred to simply as an acolyte felt so… dismissive.

“Where is your table?” Kohakú was asking. “I’m looking for something specific…”

Mazaul led them down the row of vendors. Zai’al’s eyes slid over the other displays, studiously trying to avoid the hopeful gazes of their attendants. One table caught her eye as they went past: the wooden crates set up on their sides were full of colorful yarns. But Mazaul and Kohakú continued on, and Zai’al was forced to keep up or be left behind.

They reached the end of the row, arriving at a table heaped with brilliantly dyed silk bolts in every color imaginable, and even some Zai’al had never seen. The fabric glistened in the dim light of the Underdecks and she yearned to reach out to run the pads of her fingers over them.

Kohakú and Mazaul launched into intense study over what was available on the table, Mazaul eagerly showing off what he felt was his best work. Zai’al quickly grew bored; even though the silk was beautiful, fashion design was not one of her interests.

Her eyes strayed to the end of the row, then to the dim shadows beyond. A steel framework rimmed the market, and some of its bars had been draped with dingy tarps, creating a tent of sorts. What caught her eye was the flickering glow from within one of those tents.

Curious, Zai’al stepped closer.

“Yes, come, please, come see,” a voice said in broken Zakímí. “Wares. If you have coin, skarastaja has wares.”

Lifting the edge of the tarp to get a better look, Zai’al peered into the gloom. There, sitting on a stool at a low table, was a small, furred alien not much larger than a newling. The silver speckles on his brown fur caught the flickering light from the objects on the table.

“Pretty necklace. Pretty necklace for pretty lady.” The skarastaja’s breath made a snckk sound as he inhaled through a small device covering the nostrils on the fuzzy rounded bump of his nose. The device glowed blue and seemed to be installed directly into his skin. “You buy, yes?”

Vikram hissed disapprovingly. “Skarastaja. Seems we can’t escape them even out here. Zai’al, come away from it.”

But the necklace the little alien held in his hand kept Zai’al’s eyes transfixed. She took it from him: a gold chain, rather finely made, with a single pendant hanging from it. The pendant was an elegant wire cage with small gems set in it, but to Zai’al they paled in comparison to the pendant’s centerpiece: a glasslike crystal that flickered softly from within with its own light in every color of the rainbow.

She displayed the necklace to Vikram. “Look!”

At first, the temple guardian barely glanced at the jewelry, but then did a double-take as what it was registered. His fist closed over the pendant as he took the necklace from Zai’al.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded of the skarastaja.

“Made myself! Crafty, very crafty.” The alien gestured at his small table. “More here, you can see. All made by skarastaja. Will you buy?”

“That’s not what he meant,” Zai’al said gently, and tapped a pendant on the table. “Where did you get these crystals?”

The skarastaja’s six black eyes glittered as he grinned widely. “Home. We find many like these, all over our world. I take good small ones and make pretty necklaces, even for skydemons.”

A chill gripped Zai’al. All over the skarastaja’s world? No, it couldn’t be. She shared a look with Vikram, who looked as shocked as she felt.

“Grandmaster,” Zai’al called out.

There must have been something in the tone of her voice, for Kohakú immediately put down the bolt she was examining and came to Zai’al’s side.

“What is it?”

Zai’al picked up a second necklace and held it out for the grandmaster to examine. Kohakú’s eyes lit up with confusion and then concern as she noted the jewelry and the skarastaja staring up at them.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Zai’al nodded gravely. “Yes. Senecíní.”