Dark Beneath the Moon by Sherry D. Ramsey Read Free Book Online Page A

planet Renata. A sky-blue shirt wrapped her upper body and cowled around the point where her head sloped gradually out to her shoulders; Lobors had no neck to speak of. An intricately patterned, wide fabric sash encircled her waist, dangling long, tasselled ties. Billowy chocolate brown trousers, embroidered in blue at the hems, completed the outfit. Lobors as a rule wore no shoes, the rough, callous-like pads on their feet making them redundant except in the worst terrain or harsh weather. I’d never learned or heard of any easy or obvious way to determine Lobor gender—the females didn’t have obvious breasts, like humans and Vilisians did—so I was glad that Lanar had told me she was female.
    I helped her load a couple of duffel-type bags into a dock scooter and she climbed in beside me. The Tane Ikai was docked in the outer ring since we weren’t planning on being here more than six hours, too far to walk from the passenger lounge.
    “I have never been further from home than this system,” she remarked as we drove along wide, domed corridors to the outer ring. High glass ceilings arched overhead, displaying a cloudless swath of sky that tended a little more to green than Earth’s clear blue. Tall potted trees and low greenery studded the route, contributing to the impression of being outdoors. We passed busy kiosks offering food, drink, supplies, and trinkets, teased by scents of spices and hot oil, baking fruit breads, and the aromas of caff and chai and cazitta. Tall lighted boards displayed docking information, tourist advice, departures, and arrivals. I was glad the scooters had designated travel lanes; the walkways were filled with travellers, businesspeople, and sightseers, shopping and strolling and jostling each other.
    Cerevare’s Esper was excellent, accented in an odd way and slightly lisping on the -s sounds, but perfectly understandable.
    “Do you mind space travel?” I asked.
    “No, it has no adverse physical effects on me, if that is what you mean.” She flashed a toothy grin. “But as a Chron historian, my work is more concerned with travelling mentally into the past than travelling physically around in Nearspace.”
    I grinned back. “I can understand that. The Chron didn’t leave much for you to study.”
    “No, it is not like archaeology. Nothing to dig up, at least not in Nearspace. If we ever found out where they came from . . .”
    She trailed off, staring at the crowds of travellers hurrying this way and that in the pedestrian lanes. “Well, I hope you’ll find the accommodations acceptable,” I told her. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but we’re nothing fancy.”
    “When one spends long periods of time hunched over datascreens or historical transcripts, surroundings become a somewhat secondary concern. I am certain I shall be quite comfortable.” She watched the corridor curving away ahead of us in silence, then added, “This is very strange for me, to be working in secrecy.”
    “The circumstances are unusual,” I agreed, steering the cart around a couple who had stopped theirs and were apparently arguing over directions.
    Cerevare shook her head ruefully. “It is usually more a problem of trying to attract any notice of what I am doing, than to keep it quiet.”
    “It’s not a popular field of inquiry, I take it.”
    “Not for many years now,” she said. She had high-set, lightly-furred ears with delicate vestigial points, and one twitched a little as she spoke. Two small gold rings pierced one side of it, tinkling softly with the twitch. She gestured with an elegant hand, and when her sleeve fell away, I noticed a tattoo on the inside of her wrist, where the hair became fine and disappeared below her smooth palm—a line of symbols I didn’t recognize. “For me,” she continued, “there is always the question of why. Why did the war start? Why did it end? My ancestors suffered great losses in the war, as did yours, I’m sure.”
    She must have seen me