“One hard Tarklian cider, one warm Vare-lin wine, and something strong for the gentleman in the corner,” Mish said, sliding drinks across the bar without looking up. “Holly, do we have more of the honey syrup?”
“Cabinet above the sink.”
“Thank you.” Mish swung into the kitchen for the syrup and poked Holly’s arm. She sent a glance toward the Lokrian female sipping a blue and green drink while surrounded by four enthralled travelers. “That female sings soprano for the High Council on Outetta-5. She’s aFrolicking with Fungifollower.Can you believe it?”
Holly didn’t get to say that at this point, she could believe just about anything, because the lounge door swung open and Luv rolled in, followed by fourteen small, orange-haired children in two neat rows.
Thirty-Seven
The room went briefly, noticeably quieter. Mish’s children had that effect on people.
“They were very well-behaved,” Luv announced, almost grudgingly. She had clearly expected otherwise and was maybe a bit disappointed to be wrong. “I did not need to restrain or punish any of them.”
“That’s…good, Luv,” Holly said. “Thank you.”
“I think they were considering taking apart my manifold with a dining utensil, but I talked them out of it.”
Mish sighed. “I should have warned you about that.”
Luv’s optical sensors blinked. “Yes. You should have. I had to remove the utensils from your home and store them in my frame.”
“I’m sorry, Luv.” Mish regarded her children with narrowed eyes. “Wedidtalk about this,” she chided in a stern voice.
“I’ll return your property tomorrow,” Luv said, unruffled by her near-possible dismantlement. “I’m going home to my charging station.” She rolled off to the exit.
Mish watched her go, then stared intensely at her fourteen identical children, talking to them in their private telepathic language. Whatever she communicated spread through thegroup like a ripple. They moved to the open space at the far end of the lounge, the area that had been designed for performances, and arranged themselves in a formation.
Then they began to move.
It started as a simple pattern: synchronized steps, arms raised and lowered in unison. But it evolved. The children moved through a series of formations that shifted and re-formed with a precision that was not quite dance and not quite anything else Holly had seen. Their movements were fluid and connected, each child responding to the others through their shared consciousness, creating shapes and patterns that emerged from their single mind.
The lounge went quiet. Visitors stopped eating. Conversations trailed off.
It was equal parts unsettling and mesmerizing. The children’s faces were blank, focused inward, and their movements had a quality that was too perfect, too synchronized, to be entirely comfortable. But there was something beautiful about it, too. They shared a connection and unity that most couldn’t understand, and that was on display.
When they finished, there was a pause. Then someone started clapping, and the rest of the room followed. Holly felt her eyes sting and wasn’t entirely sure why.
Mish looked at her children with an expression Holly recognized. It was the look of a mother who knew her children were strange and loved them ferociously for it.
Holly scanned the room. The lounge was full, warm, and noisy with conversation and music. Harry had set up his sound system to play Ytolian ceremonial music, which sounded to Holly like medieval tavern music but with instruments calledbulnarsinstead of fiddles. It was lively and festive and exactly right for the mood.
Harry himself sat at the far end of the bar, and he was not alone. Beside him was a male Holly had not seen before: tall, narrow-shouldered, with long hands and stripes that fanned over his face and hands. He wore simple, practical clothing, and his eyes crinkled deeply when he laughed, which he was doing now, at something Harry had just said.
Vittor. The culinary mushroom buyer from Centura-Vox.
Harry was leaning toward him with the incandescent glow of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be. His white hair was wild, his hands were moving as he talked, and his eyes sparkled with a light Holly had never seen in them before. This was different, private, and entirely new.
Holly smiled and looked away. Even if getting to meet Vittor was a big reason why Harry was so intent on making the festival happen, she didn’t care. Everyone deserved some happiness.
She was refilling the cupcake tray when Sam pushed through the lounge door. He was still in his work jumpsuit, hands freshly wiped but not fully clean. He surveyed the room, took in the crowd, and made his way to the counter.
“Pie?” Holly asked, cutting him a slice before he answered.
He accepted it with a nod and ate standing up, watching the room with quiet vigilance. He was a man who always considered himself partly on duty. “Good turnout,” he said between bites.
“Twenty-eight visitors. Plus, hotel guests.”
“I heard.” He finished the pie and set the plate on the counter. “Not bad for a station nobody went to until a few weeks ago.”
