A Familiar Face
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Sharon was relieved when the sense of the ghouls’ furtive watchfulness faded as they approached the docks through the ever-branching and coalescing passages. There was a gradient of diminishing fear, from watchful, suspicious eyes peering from alcoves and doorways, to hushed voices speaking cheerfully, to women with children walking openly through relatively well-lit passages.
Sharon was fascinated at the dwellings they passed. The architecture consisted of a short stretch of side corridor, blocked off two or three meters from the main corridor. She was at first revolted at what appeared to be bright and strangely colored fungal growths in front of some of them, but then she began to realize they had been planted on purpose.
The goblins were vigilant, but the trio’s bearing was such that they were suffered to pass with only dark looks. Sharon got the sense that the goblins knew nothing good came from the depths of the tumor. The three of them were no ghouls to be driven off, but something with a hidden dread. One that might pass them over, to fall on someone else.
This reaction faded as well, as the taint from the inner passages was insulated by their paths through the outer dwellings. The looks they received were now curious. They did not have the look of those who came from the outskirts.
Finally they were in the midst of the bustle of the docks. Goblins scurrying to and fro, hauling crates of goods through the corridors as supplies were unloaded from a metastasis. Probably the one they had recently left, Sharon mused. Sure enough, she caught sight of a group of crewmen who fastidiously avoided her gaze.
“Well, where do we find an in-system transport?” Sharon said, stopping at the edge of a busy market in a broad, spherical area where several corridors converged. There were quite a few little stalls set up all around the interior of the sphere, and she was grateful that aromas from a nearby spice seller somewhat offset the dizzying change in perspective.
“I think a tavern would be the appropriate cliche,” Richard ventured.
“Do they even have taverns?” Sharon asked.
Amy breathed in deeply, “The smell of yeast and jaundice comes from somewhere,” she asserted, skipping ahead through the crowd.
Sharon and Richard followed, not noticing a number of eyes following them from among the little stalls.
They soon found a tavern occupying a wide repurposed side corridor. They stepped through the low door into the loud cacophony within. They made their way slowly over to the bar.
“What should we order here? (What is money (query))” Sharon inquired with subtext, looking at the short handwritten scrap of parchment.
“I want some milk, please, Mommy! (Pouch on (your) belt)” replied Olivia.
“What’s milk?” the scowling barkeep said.
“I’m not so sure they would have any milk here, (No bad (foolish) talk. Values (enumerated))” It was a little sloppy. She really needed a longer sentence or less restrictive situation to get the idea across.
“Not eating then! (Dunno (shrug (unkind smile)))” was Amy’s less than helpful response.
“You need to choose something! (replace: choose, observe/figure)”
“No! (Give all (bag of leaves (falsehood/deception)))”, and Amy skipped off to hover near a table where a number of goblins were playing some sort of card game.
“Well, what do you want Richard? (Money custom (query idea/knowledge))” Maybe Richard would know how to handle the transaction.
“Um, the protein gel, I think,” he said. Sharon’s eye twitched. He didn’t understand.
“Okay, you order for us,” she said, handing over the pouch of money that had mysteriously appeared on her belt. “I will just go get Amy.”
Richard’s eyes widened briefly as he took the pouch, but he said nothing. Sharon strode over to the game where Amy stood watching attentively.
“Come back over here with us, Amy. Leave these people alone. (value denomination currency (query success))” Sharon asked.
“I wanna watch the game though, (enum: 1, 5, 10, 20, 100 (differentiator: diameter))” which was a far more helpful and cooperative response than Sharon had expected.
She grabbed Amy by the arm and brought her back just as Richard was finishing paying. “Five of these for the food and two drinks. Always appreciate you outlanders,” the barkeep was just saying.
“Oh, you already finished paying,” Sharon said, with a hint of strained surprise.
“Well, yeah. You asked me to,” he said, a bit confused.
“I’m still not eating! (multiply: 5, 20 ((very) good tip))” informed Amy gleefully.
The food came out quickly. It consisted of bowls of cold, off-colored cubes of gelatinous protein broth and two plastic mugs filled with a clear liquid that smelled like acetone. Sharon and Richard didn’t touch it, but Amy devoured the protein cubes and started on one of the mugs.
“This has more methanol than is healthy,” she noted after a second drink.
“Stop that,” admonished Sharon, taking the mug away. “I don’t want to be arrested for feeding this to a child.”
“I don’t think they…” Amy’s voice trailed off, and she stared off towards the entrance.
Sharon turned around to see what Olivia was looking at. There at the entrance was Michael, accompanied by a young man and young woman with a cat perched on her shoulder. Michael had said that he couldn’t come. What about the conflict of interest?
Richard turned around, “Huh. What is he doing here?”
End Part 2
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