Page 69 of Needed in the Night
“I must reimburse you for damage to your furniture, however,” I added, with an apologetic bow. “Please let me know the cost of replacing the bed and bedding.”
Atlath’s burbly chuckle made Isla’s smile grow. “I am not concerned,” he said.
“We certainly have to pay someone back for all this.” Isla gestured at our travel cases. “Everyone has been so kind to us.”
“These are gifts.” Atlath burbled again. “A traditional Prylothian blessing on your mating.”
Isla’s blush melted my hearts and forced me to smother a chuckle.
“Isla and I want to immigrate to Jakora,” I informed our host. “We will need passage on transports to at least one or two major transit hubs to make it difficult for anyone who attempts to track us. I have made arrangements for new identities for us, which will be ready soon. With those, we should be able to travel incognito.”
Isla blinked up at me. “Just since last night?” she asked, frowning. “I didn’t know you did that. When did you have time?”
Unlike my beautiful mate, I could not blush, but my face suddenly became warmer than usual. “I am sorry I forgot to tell you. I began making arrangements a few days ago.”
I worried she would be troubled by this news or find myactions presumptuous, but she slipped her hand into mine and squeezed.
“I can help with travel.” Atlath waddled to a counter near the rear of the shop and patted a small case—the kind often used by couriers. “I contacted my homeworld and arranged diplomatic credentials for both of you.”
My breath caught. Isla gasped.
Atlath opened a second case and showed us a pair of hexagonal medallions bearing an official seal. “These identify you as my emissaries. You will travel protected by Prylothian and interplanetary law.”
“Atlath, this is too much,” Isla protested.
“It is not.” He grunted and shut the lid of the second case. “You are now my employees. Your task is to deliver this case to the Prylothian embassy on whatever planet you choose as your new home.”
“What is in the case?” I asked.
“Nothing dangerous, or even top-secret.” Atlath burbled in the way I had learned was the equivalent of a laugh. “It contains sand from a Fortusian beach. A traditional gesture of mutual respect between ambassadors living on different worlds.”
“All this because you liked my singing and Mikas’s bartending?” Isla asked, her eyes shimmering. “We’re so grateful for everything you’ve done, but?—”
“I have been lonely since my mate died,” Atlath croaked. “Mikas’s hospitality at Zaa’ga gave me solace. And when you sang, I rediscovered happiness.”
My mate’s tears spilled over. I squeezed her hand and stroked it with my thumb to comfort her with my strength and love.
“I grieve because you are leaving,” Atlath continued, “but your love reminds me of my early days with my mate. You should live happily, away from Nubo Wex.” He burbled. “I will find another bar.”
For three years I had served Atlath and cleaned the pool in which he sat and had no inkling of his heartache or what drew him to Zaa’ga several nights a week. I certainly had not realized fulfilling the duties of my job had provided comfort. He had never tipped me for my service, but leapt at the opportunity to repay us with a gift with value far beyond any amount of money he might have put in my tip jar.
Evil acts caused great pain. Like ripples in a pond, that pain affected more than the victims of those acts. Isla and I knew that harsh truth very well.
But it was also true that acts of selflessness and kindness created ripples too, even when we were not aware of it. Those ripples were at least as strong as those made by evil acts and had just as much to do with the facts Isla’s hand was now in mine and we had the means to travel in what I hoped would be relative safety—especially if we had new identities and took sensible precautions.
My wristcomm signaled I had a message from my friend from the Corps.
“Our identification kits are nearly complete,” I told Isla after I read the short transmission. “We must choose our pseudonyms from this list or allow my contact to select for us.”
“Let me look.” She scrolled through the names my friend had offered as options.
With every moment, the sour note of her unhappiness grew. Given our earlier conversation about her past, I suspected the reason for her gloom.
I rested my free hand on her lower back. “You are always Isla,” I reminded her. “I am always your Mikas. Whatever our official identification states, we know each other’s hearts.”
She rested her head against my chest. “Efre Vorda,” she said softly, looking up from the screen of my wristcomm. “I like how that sounds.”
“Would you like to choose my name?” I kissed her hair. “I have no preference.”
