Chapter Eight
Regi opened the doorto the converted storeroom where the slaves had been held. Dante perched on the edge of the cot, his long fingers wrapped around a threadbare covering. Regi had asked one of the security team to bring additional bedding, but that had not happened before they’d discovered their intruder. Tracking a potential pirate took precedence over new bedding, but Regi was still irrationally annoyed.
Dante looked up, the edges of his lips rising so his mouth developed an attractive curve. “There you are. Did you have fun at your meeting?”
Regi suspected that Dante either did not understand the meaning of meeting or his people had a perverse definition of fun. “No.”
Dante nodded, and once again Regi found himself stymied by an unfamiliar gesture.
“We have evidence that a pirate may still be on board the ship,” Regi said.
In the span of one heartbeat, Dante's loose-limbed sprawl turned into something coiled and tense. He pulled his legs up so close that the knees were above his hips, a gesture Regi associated with children. He yearned to offer some comfort. “We already have security teams working to secure the ship. But I was hoping you could tell me how many pirates were on the ship when we arrived.”
Dante took several breaths and then lowered his feet to the deck. “I can't say for sure.”
Can’t was an odd verb choice. “Do you have a moral objection to sharing information?”
Dante blinked at him, his eyes larger than normal. “No,” he said so slowly that the translation program tingled in the back of Regi's head as it struggled to cope with the unfamiliar pronunciation of the common word. “I suppose I'm just trying to say that I don't know how many were on the ship. Most of the time there were between two and four of the bastards.”
The comment surprised Regi. “Did the pirates have family on the ship other than their mothers?”
Dante turned toward Regi, some of the tension in his body easing. “Their mothers? When did we start talking about anyone's mother?”
“You said they were bastards so I had assumed that the relationship between the pirates and their mothers was therefore clear. Have I misunderstood?” Considering that the huuman had the translation matrix implanted, Regi was finding communication surprisingly difficult.
Dante huffed. “I suppose you have, but I think that's more my fault for not speaking clearly. My people tend to call anyone a bastard if we don't have a high opinion of them.”
That was a useful piece of information. He wondered why the relationship between the individual’s genetic parents reflected on the individual, but language was odd in all species. The translation matrix simply lacked the database to counteract the particular brand of oddness huumans brought to communication, especially since they used words so creatively. The words were powerful, though. Right now, Regi was tempted to call his own god a bastard because she did appear to be aspiring to the position, although Regi had no idea whether gods were born or not. Other races had origin stories for their gods, but Regi suspected other races invented their pantheons out of fear and ambition, with no input from any higher powers.
“What can you tell me about the pirates who would normally be on the ship?” Regi moved to the bunk and sat on the far end.
“One of them looked a whole lot like that doctor you have.”
“The Efhtee species is nearly ubiquitous.” Regi would be surprised if there was a corner of the universe where the Efhtee had not settled. They got bored easily and did seem to think that exploring new frontiers was the best cure. The Empire had ejected them numerous times and had shot down an Efhtee settlement ship once before they’d given up setting their sights on Kowri worlds. “Who else did you see?”
“The bossiest one was a bit taller than you, but he was a darker yellowy gray.”
Regi nodded. “I killed that pirate when I came on board.”
“Good. He needed killing.” Dante clenched his teeth until the muscle along his jaw bulged. Then he nodded and his face underwent another transformation. “There was a real small alien with three or four joints on his arms.”
Regi was surprised. “That sounds like an Etrat’ticl. They’re excellent mechanics, but they usually avoid danger. Their joints make them vulnerable.”
