Page 54 of Alien's Luck
There had to be a way to reverse the process. It had stages, as Tavat said. Begging him for a cure would be a waste of breath, but there were smart people out there. Money solved a lot of problems, and Carla would happily throw all Ari’s money at this problem until Poppy was fungus -free.
She shoved those thoughts aside. She needed to focus on getting out of here alive. Finding a cure would come later.
“Another time,” Tavat said. He leaned against the table, setting the empty bowl down next to him. His tail came uncomfortably close to Carla’s personal space. Discreetly, she scooted back her chair.
“But why? She beat you at cards. This seems excessive.” Yes, she was well aware that she just signed her death certificate.
“You don’t know?” Tavat laughed, again that brittle sound like an insect rubbing legs together.
Or a spider pulling in prey.
“Dear Popilyn’s father had a terrible credit problem. He fancied himself skilled at business, but his only skill was pissing away perfectly good credits after bad ideas. Oh, how his mate pleaded with him to cease his foolish schemes. How his children cried in hunger.” Tavat crossed one leg over the other, sitting in a jaunty position as if retelling a favorite story. “I, being community -minded and unwilling to see a young family starve, loaned him credits with quite generous terms. When it was time to repay, he couldn’t. He was sent here to work off his debts.”
Carla watched Poppy as Tavat spoke. If she was listening and understanding, it was impossible to see on her face. When Tavat paused, she said, “You’re a loan shark.”
“What a colorful phrase. I’m in the business of making credits, not charity,” he said, his tone cold. “What satisfaction is there in seeing my credits be wasted? None. There’s no profit in a bad investment. I did what I had to do to recoup my losses. It seems someone holds a grudge. Isn’t that right?” His tone shifted from ice cold to affectionate, like talking to a dog, even reaching over to pat Poppy on the head.
Revenge.
That explained Poppy’s fixation on the man and why she wouldn’t back down, even when Carla pleaded. Anger at Poppy’ssingle mindedness replaced sorrow. She loved the determined and steadfast nature of her friend, but she became obsessive.
Tavat was another one of those obsessions. Whether Poppy wanted vengeance or some type of restitution, she’d never be able to say, and wasn’t that just peachy? Poppy got herself turned into a zombie.
“Her father did not last long in the workhouse,” Tavat said, returning to storyteller mode. “Another bad investment on my part. But fortune favored me by sending his spawn my way. Popilyn is going to work off her father’s debt, every last credit, until her brain is nothing but algae and mush. Now, a demonstration.”
Tavat picked up the bowl and swung it at Poppy’s head. The glass shattered but she remained still. A thin trickle of blood at her temple rolled down her face, tinting her red scales a deeper scarlet.
He then took out a small rectangular device from a pocket. “Clean up that mess,” he ordered, pressing a button.
Poppy obeyed, moving slowly as she bent over to pick up the shards.
“How… how are you controlling her?” Carla asked. Things were looking grim all right, but she must be some sort of dumbass optimist; if she knew how this abomination worked, then she could fix it. Somehow.
“A remote-activated implant. It should be operational as long as the brain matter is healthy. Once it’s not…” Tavat’s quills went up and down, finally displaying a genuine emotion: a disgusting joy about rotten, fungus-riddled brains. “She’ll join the others in the island horde. Have you finished your dessert?”
Carla didn’t register that he asked her a question until he repeated it. “No. I mean, yes. I’m done.” The thought of eating anything churned her stomach.
“Then I suggest you run.”
CHAPTER 17
ARI
So. A pit. Very creative.
Ari craned his neck back, squinting into the artificial light above. At his level, the walls were smooth stone but appeared to be rougher farther up. The pit was too narrow to fly out. He could climb.
Flexing his fingers, Ari hardened them, letting the nails elongate into claws. Rock climbing came naturally to his people, almost as naturally as flying. He slammed his claws into the wall, getting a strong enough hold to pull himself up. Concrete crumbled as he climbed upward. His shoulders ached, still not fully healed from the tumble he took two days ago. How was that only two days ago? So much had happened with Carla that it had to have been a lifetime, not a single shared night and a handful of hours.
Bit by bit, he rose out of the shadows into the light. He neared the transition into natural stone. The climb would be easier once he had a proper rock to grip.
From above, the wall sprung a leak. A perfect arc of water splashed down onto his head. His hand slipped, and he fell to the bottom.
A trap triggered by proximity.
“Very creative,” Ari muttered.
Water collected at the bottom of the pit, failing to drain away.
