“Phantom’s,” Ferrok says. “If we need to talk to them, I’d rather be close by.”
Phantom doesn’t question it when we come in through the front, though a few of the aliens waiting in line out front grumble when we skip ahead.
“Anne hasn’t come back, has she?”
“No. But she will be back in two weeks. She has decided to try out the booth.”
“Okay.” If she was on the station, they would know.
“I would like a private room, please.”
“All I can offer you right now is a broken rule.”
“What’s that?”
“Clients aren’t allowed in your locker room.”
“But you’ll make an exception?”
“They’re not clients right now, are they?”
“No.”
They wave us through and as I lead the way, I know that both of them spend the walk looking at anything and everything they can see.
The door to the locker rooms opens as we approach, connecting us directly to mine.
“This is nice,” Mooralan says when we’re inside and the sounds of the club have gone silent.
I wave them toward the bench where I usually sit to lotion my legs before a booth session.
“Phantom doesn’t skimp on our comforts.”
“Good. Should we have told them what was going on when we got here?”
“They’ll know.” I point at the ceiling. “The bot will tell them, but that’s something I accepted before we got here.”
If we say the wrong thing, I have a feeling they’ll join us without being explicitly invited.
“The Trulavian and his friend had seventeen vials.” I tell them, “And they seemed to check to make sure they didn’t already have you.”
“There are seventeen Sovians on the station, so I can assume the other sixteen belong to them.”
“How do you know there are seventeen of you?”
“Most of us know how many there are,” Mooralan says. “Even though we like others…”
“Clearly,” Ferrok says.
“…having that community is important. At the very least, it’s helpful to know who is who, who you can count on. Like your Peach and Cherry. We assumed you also knew how many humans were on station.”
“I don’t, but Phantom cycles a lot of them in and out. I did that for a long time.” I touch the bandage on his arm.
Seventeen Sovians. Seventeen vials of blood and… other things.
“He’s looking for someone.”
They look at me, and I try to sort through everything I remember that Ferrok said, and then… “Could he be looking for a bastard prince?”
