Page 40 of Silence Fallen (Mercy Thompson 10)
“Thank you. Both,” Krogoth cuts Garrick off with a raise of his hand.
Passing the guards and exiting the black marble hanger, I can finally see the center of Star City. My senses are overwhelmed by the sight, the sprawling sandy colored paved roads and buildings, stacked high and winding blinking in neon colors as the delicious scent of strange, cooked foods waft in the air amidst the low murmur of streets crowded with many species of aliens.
It’s like I’m on a set of a sci-fi film with all manner of alien species going about their business. I chuckle to myself that even in this part of the universe, aliens have mundane lives too, just like humans! Some are selling, some buying, others conversing with strange colored drinks in their hands. The familiarity is acomfort and eases a pressure on my chest I didn’t realize was there.
Most of the population unsurprisingly appears to be Klendathian men, who are mostly older, many with gray in their hair of various lengths. But what catches my attention is their clothes.
“Krogoth… Do you see those Klendathian over there?” I nod towards a group of them, laughing heartily seated on stone benches over some strange colored drinks.
“Yes, do they give offense?” Krogoth asks, his eyes narrow, suddenly glaring in their direction.
“Oh, nothing like that,” I answer quickly with my hands up. “It’s their clothes. The colorful wool looking kilts, the black or brown leather vests and coats… Do you notice anything missing?” My tone has an accusatory edge, tilting my head.
Krogoth stops abruptly, looking down at me, perhaps sensing the trap enclosing around him. “Missing…? Do you mean armor?” he replies, studying the group again.
“No, not armor, Krogoth. I mean their robes—the big, itchy brown ones we had to wear on the ship,” I blurt out, gesturing toward the colorful attire of the other Klendathians. “Why did we have to wear those if the others wear… um, normal clothes like those?”
“Ah, the robes!” Krogoth nods. “I thought you found them pleasing to wear?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye and a barely contained smile.
“Come on, Krogoth, you know I didn’t like them. Why do you think I cut them up?” I ask, giving him a playful push, which has all the effect of a fly hitting a tank.
“I assumed that was some human custom. Maybe even a female mating signal?” he asks, his hand under his chin.
Please, a ‘female mating signal’… but I did cut that plunging neckline into it…“It wasn’t, well, maybe a little. But I wouldhave preferred something more interesting, like these clothes,” I state, sweeping my hand encompassing the strangely dressed alien passersby.
“They mimic colorful birds and pretty flowers.” He scoffs, looking at the crowd. “What need do you have for such things? It would distract and dilute your beauty,” he asks, purple eyes fixed on me with a surprising intensity. My cheeks heat slightly. “I honored you by giving you a warrior’s robes. A right reserved only for those who have survived the Proving Pilgrimage.”
“I… had no idea. I’m sorry, Krogoth,” I reply hesitantly.
Krogoth’s smile brightens as he guides me towards one of the nearby shops along the bustling sandy pathways alive with activity. The structures lining the roads catch my eye—many crafted from exquisitely carved wood, reminiscent of the intricate furniture aboard our ship. Others boast a more modern design, blending intricate stone with sleek wooden edges.
My gaze dances between the traditional and the contemporary, marveling at the craftsmanship of each building. But it’s the large animated holographic displays that truly capture my attention. Their vivid projections appear almost real, dancing across the shop windows, casting a mesmerizing glow that illuminates the busy streets.
“Here, you can wear anything that pleases you,” Krogoth says, gesturing to the shop front. The sign displays the same broad, runic lettering which identifies it as Klendathian. I fumble over the words, wrecking my brain, trying to recall the symbols I learned on the ship.
“YUKIE… PULSE… Seam puke? That can’t be right,” I slowly speak out before scrunching my face in defeat.
“Not quite.” Krogoth laughs. “It reads ‘Seam Team,’ U-Key-Pools.” He enunciates the words.
The holographic display looks so real as the image swaps to different Klendathian males modeling various strange clothes.Some with colorful woolen kilts, others with leather trousers and vests, and others in furs and cloaks. I run my hand through the holographic projection and watch in wonder as my hand goes through and distorts the image in strange ways before returning to normal.Fascinating. The technology is very impressive. But they only have men’s clothes, and I’m not wearing men’s clothes.Just as I’m about to turn away, a gray furred Jungarian female model appears, wearing a stunning black one-shoulder dress. The fabric flows gracefully, draping elegantly around her figure.That’s more like it.
“High Chieftain!” Xandor’s familiar voice rings out. I turn to see Xandor clad in his armor with his half cloak draped over his right shoulder. His long mossy green hair flows with movement as he hastens towards us. Alongside him is Logarn, with his boyish short blonde hair and emotionless expression, similarly dressed in dull silver armor.
“Finally caught up to you pair,” Xandor says, smiling at both Krogoth and I. “I was late waiting for Felixus. Obviously, I can’t have a Nebian snooping around alone,” he says, nodding his head backwards.
Felixus trails a short distance behind Xandor, his stubby Nebian legs struggling to keep pace. He sports his usual simple attire, with a work belt cinched around his waist and goggles perched atop his head.
Accompanying Felixus are the three beautiful female aliens we rescued from Tensin Naxsus. Farangis attempts to conceal her appearance beneath a large brown robe, but her graceful gliding betrays her uniqueness. Znat, too, wraps her slight frame in a robe, her nervous demeanor evident in her furtive glances. Gums, on the other hand, exudes confidence as she strides alongside them, her muzzled Jungarian head held high, as if challenging passersby.
Our strange party is drawing attention as a few people in the crowd stare openly, muttering amongst themselves.
“Slow down, you blockhead!” Felixus calls out after Xandor, making little headway to catch up with the lanky Klendathian.
Xandor raises his large clawed hands into the air. “We finally made it back home.” Then taking a deep breath, he says, “Gods, it feels good to breathe the fresh Klendathor air again.”
“Smells a little too dirt-like for my liking. The distinct smell of dung catches the nose,” Felixus remarks, finally catching up and sniffing the air.
“Pfft, you’re just used to having your head shoved up a greasy old hyper-drive exhaust,” Xandor says, smiling down at him.