I did not realize at the time that the alien who met us at the landing pad—Maia—was the same kind of species as Kybit, despite the two sharing similar plasteel bodies. The Nekomata are a strange kind of alien. They were genetically uplifted from sea sponges by the Dalfaen. Their actual forms are little more than a long bundles of neural tissue, but this allows them to be fully integrated into malleable constructs. They are then sold as indentured servants across the spiral arm, given contracts of usually fifty to seventy-five years before they gain their freedom.

  “Maia” was patterned after a strange, artistic hybrid between a Dalfaen and a human. She had no nose to speak of, instead only having two artificial slits that drew no breath. Her hair was a bundle of cables tied back into a short braid, accentuated by metallic, finned ears. Two blank silver orbs watched us from a round, porcelain face.

  Though some Nekomata are designed to wear dresses and what can pass as clothes for other alien species, most were like Maia, rather skeletal, with wires and tubes expertly woven to look like exposed muscle tissue. I am informed it is Dalfaen humor to provoke the eye with both beauty and disgust at once.

  In that sense, Kybit was unlike her distant sister, as Amon had ordered her with a white jumpsuit.

  Amon approached the silver Nekomata with Rykar pushing the stasis pod behind. They walked down the boarding ramp and across the landing pad to meet the new alien.

  Maia nodded her head at the bounty hunter. “Adjudicator Laerad sends his peace.” Her hollow, feminine voice rang with a trill.

  Amon stiffened. “Laerad? What happened to Feya?”

  “Suffragan Feya was convicted of corruption two years ago. He has been recycled and his gene lineage put under supervision. His contracts were taken over by the excellency Laerad.”

  Although we were a distance away, Ingrish could translate even the slight movements in Amon’s frame. I would’ve never noticed the curling of his hand into a fist or how his towering figure was suddenly another few centimeters taller. In Amon, I would come to associate those slight changes with the death of a close friend.

  “That’s not true. I worked with Feya for twenty years.”

  A wry smile tugged at Maia’s porcelain mouth. “It is not for me to comment on the pronouncements of the water-courts.”

  It was clear Amon didn’t want to leave it at that, but there was no helping it. He raised an arm towards the stasis pod, and Maia stepped over and peered through the frosted glass, inspecting the prize. She ran her delicate fingers along the pod as lights blinked at her fingertips. She stopped at the stump that had been the alien’s leg. “The contract was to bring Jorra back unharmed.”

  “Tough. Grow him a new leg.” Amon crossed his arms.

  Maia clicked in disappointment. “That will be docked from your pay.” She circled around the pod, taking further readings before going round to Amon again. “The Adjudicator thanks you for the return of the artisan. Here is your payment.” The fingertips of the Nekomata opened, revealing tiny projectors. A blue holographic screen appeared in front of Maia with the specifications of the pay.

  Amon took a moment to read through it, and then he scowled. “This is less than half of what I was promised.”

  “After Suffragan Feya was convicted, his contracts were re-evaluated by the Adjudicator. The one for your bounty was downgraded to a class two—lower priority.”

  The bounty hunter slammed his gauntleted hand on the stasis pod. The force made the capsule wobble in the air as Amon pushed it away from Maia. “I don’t get my payment—in full—you don’t get your torturer back.”

  I flinched as Ingrish translated that word. She had been translating automatically, and just as Amon spoke that word, her mind snapped shut the connection. However, it was too late, and I understood at once this alien was a trained professional whose sole purpose was to dispense pain. I looked at Ingrish questioningly, but for the first time, Ingrish refused to answer.

  I glanced back at the pod—at the alien who had unknowingly set everything that had happened in motion. I confess, I occasionally wondered of the creature’s story, but I had never imagined something like this.The very idea of a being whose purpose was to inflict suffering was unthinkable for the Mantza, equally as it was unthinkable for me.

  Maia tilted her head, a slim motion. “If you refuse to hand over the prisoner, then you would be harboring a fugitive under Dalfaen law. Shall I call the patrols?”

  Amon barked a laugh in her face. “Call them. I’ll tell them you’re trying to cheat me out of my pay. I’ll take my case to the other water-courts.”

  Maia smirked. She reached back to her webbed ears and clicked the lights off. “Fully off the record? It would be in your best interest not to make an enemy of an Adjudicator. Do you think the other water-courts will be sympathetic to an alien? On this world you are no one. You will either take your payment from Laerad, or he will fall upon you with the full wrath of the law. You will be dragged through the courts, forced to spend every credit you have. If you make this difficult, we will take everything from you. Accept your payment and leave.”

  The bounty hunter snorted. “Your Adjudicator Laerad is sloppy. That, or he sent an exceedingly stupid Nekomata. Either way, you didn’t check who was delivering Feya’s prisoner.”

  Maia looked unamused.

  “On nearly any other world, you might’ve been right. But that’s why I do business here. You’re connected to the Eupho-Web, cross-reference the name Amon Russ.”

  Maia shook her head, clicking the lights at her ears back on. “I have your transactions with Feya. And?”

  “Now check the species.”

  Maia gave a haughty smile, but then suddenly froze. Her eyes slowly widened in abject horror, glancing up and down at Amon Russ, and then surprisingly—to me. Before I could understand what had happened, Maia had thrown herself to the ground, practically kissing Amon’s feet and crying out a single word.

  Ingrish translated it for me, though I could scarcely keep up with all the images and meanings attached to the word. At once it was both creator, king, and priest—though those words seemed to pale in comparison with the reverence Maia exclaimed. However, as simple as I was, I only understood the most basic and rough translation of the word that Maia had cried out. As I write from a battle cruiser many centuries later, here is the word I perceived as I stood on the airlock, looking down at the humbled Nekomata.

  “Ancestors!”

  …

  It was, looking back, humorous that the Nekomata emissary had not recognized the holy of holies in Dalfaen culture. Though this was not entirely surprising. The Nekomata do not have memories like we do. Their neural tissue, limited by their origin, can only process the moment they exist in. For them, nothing of their past or future or even memory really exists. As a substitute, they rely on highly advanced heuristic programs to supply them all the information they need for the current moment.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Their bodies store complex algorithms for their day-to-day needs, and they rely on the Eupho-Web for the rest. But unlike us individuals, who bring the totality of ourselves into every activity we do, the Nekomata do not. The Nekomata do not dream or pine or can even truly be said to be lost in thought. They exist in the moment, and if you do not exist with them, you do not exist at all.

  For Maia, she could not perceive us as human because the heuristics she would have identified us with were so long out of use that we were no longer human.

  It was only after a thousand apologies and a personal invitation from Adjudicator Laerad himself that Amon Russ left Maia on the landing pad. Rykar and Kybit stayed back with the Aphelion while Ingrish and I followed Amon on a hover tram.

  Ingrish had hesitated, but Amon was quite clear we were both to come along.

  For myself, I was far less concerned with the reasons behind Amon’s decisions, and more to do with the new ship we were boarding. The curved, wavy vessel had the surface of the smoothest of mirrors. There was no abrasion or crease in the hull save for four slits that concealed engine thrusters.

  The doors crested open, revealing a circular lounge with long seats and windows that were in actuality holo-screens indistinguishable from the real thing. Amon looked positively out of place in this comfortable world, wearing his rough and worn evo-suit, looking like he had seen a thousand battles. Ingrish looked equally unhappy—though for different reasons. She kept glancing at the holo-screens, reaching out and feeling them with her fingers.

  And I? I was stupefied, practically dragged along by Ingrish. Although I’ve known some children to crawl over every surface and explore every nook and cranny, I had this sense beaten out of me long ago. For on those occasions where I got into trouble, I had only myself to rely upon. And of those times when a child endangers himself as human children often did, I had the scars, for no one had been there to rescue me. Ingrish had done her best to heal the chemical burns on my arms and legs from the time I had tripped and fallen into a coolant river. However, there remains a patch of flesh on my left arm that stubbornly refused to take to the skin grafts. The jagged, misfolded scar along my forearm forever remains a reminder of the consequences of carelessness.

  And so, I was the kind of child who waited and watched. And I watched everything.

  Even now, I could tell you the number of decorative struts bracing the ceiling in the center of the lounge. There were eight. I counted the number of seams on the cushions. I noted the diamond patterns etched into the polyester rug. On the ceiling were sixteen bulbous lights, emitting a soft orange glow. And what positively did not escape my notice, was that the holo-screens were just so slightly offset from each other, leaving a fraction of a hair’s length of black where one could peer behind them, a flaw in the otherwise perfect vessel.

  This I noted with equal attention even as the projections showed us taking off from the landing pad and joining a traffic lane. We slowly journeyed over the habitation towers before, to my utter amazement, plunging towards the water. I reached out, instinctively, to Ingrish’s hand as we plunged into waves. But instead of water filling the compartments and drowning us, I saw the deep blue of Naiad’s oceans on the holo-screens. The cyan waters turned dark the further down we went, but just before all light from the surface was extinguished, I saw structures emerge in the deep.

  Many were built off the sides of the habitation towers, extending from the cliffs of steel and faint light. I’m told it is with many societies that the higher classes ascend to the top of their worlds, touching the sky. But it is with the Dalfaen that the higher classes are lower and lower in the waters. So too did these blocky and mass produced levels give way to delicacy and art. The steel turned to glass, and at the lowest parts of the seafloor, I saw great domes of translucent material, edified with shining bronze and gold.

  “I want to make something clear,” Amon suddenly said. “In the event you get separated from me, you demand to be taken back to the Aphelion. Don’t say another word, just demand you are to be taken back. If they try to offer you gifts, refuse. You will not be safe until you are aboard the vessel again.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Amon looked at Ingrish with a grim expression. “Translate.” Turning to me, he looked me square in the eye. “I brought you along because I want you to understand what we once were. But the Daelfaen are not our friends. Do not trust anyone who is not me, Ingrish, Rykar, or Kybit.”

  I was actually trying to ask what a “gift” was as I was confused by Ingrish’s translation. An exchange where value was traded one way made no sense to me. Though I nodded at Amon’s explanation, and simply resolved not to speak to anyone.

  Ingrish was less happy. “Did we have to bring him along? He’s barely gotten used to the Aphelion. This can’t be good for him.”

  Amon was silent and something passed between him and Ingrish that they did not share with me until after we left Naiad.

  “This ship might be bugged,” Amon told her as she telepathically communicated with his mind. “Vas is here because I needed an excuse to bring you along. I want you to read Laerad’s thoughts. If this Adjudicator is behind Feya’s death, I am going to kill him.”

  …

  Amon didn’t believe he was putting me in any danger, or at least, I know now he had already calculated the risks. The Dalfaen would have never opened fire or taken revenge on me or Ingrish. The worst that would’ve probably happened to us is that we would’ve been detained for questioning and then promptly escorted back to our vessel—such was their reverence for my race.

  What Amon gambled was what the man had always gambled—himself. That was simply the way he was. Always ready to throw his life away for this and that. The man didn’t have a chip on his shoulder. He had a score to settle with the universe and never once did he pass up the opportunity.

  The doors crested open again and two Nekomata—of different design than Maia—flanked the opening into the circular glass gangway leading into the main dome. These ones had no faces. Their sloping helmets only had three vertical slits to denote a mouth. They were bulky and armored and they carried mirrored bolt throwers in their gloves.

  I saw them quickly block the way as they saw Ingrish, but Amon quickly explained that she was only there for me, and he also told them of my unique circumstances. However, it took an invisible command from Laerad himself before she was allowed to pass.

  If the Nekomata were humbled around Amon, they seemed downright astonished at my presence, bowing even more deeply as I passed them by.

  To say it disturbed me was an understatement. While I understood hierarchy, I had no notion of how to act in my new, elevated position. Once again, I found I was wishing I was a slave, and I tried to make the submit position the Mantza had taught me. Anything I could do for familiarity again.

  Ingrish stopped me just as I bowed halfway down.

  We were escorted to a glass and bronze dome. Before entering, Amon observed protocol, unbuckling his pistol holster and setting the weapon aside on a tray held by another Nekomata. We were ushered into a great space that was… I do not know if my species has the proper word for it. I have visited many places that could be called aquariums, but I do not know the word for the inverse, for when aquatic species create habitats for the terrestrial.

  All around us was a gigantic glass tank that we peered into—or rather, we were the tank, and it was the Dalfaen who observed us. There were no walls in here, nothing save for the rounded glass, and behind, the crystal water. Bulbous lights hung in the murky depth, casting a greenish glow everywhere. The place was a maze of corridors and platforms, raised spaces for eating and resting and conversation. But I felt distinctly uncomfortable here, as there was no place for privacy, no place that was kept secret from the eyes doubtlessly watching in the water.

  Amon strode forward to the central platform, a bowl of precious air that was too small to be called comfortable. I glanced around, looking for the Dalfaen, though I did not see any of the creatures. We appeared utterly alone save for the Nekomata guarding the entrance. The room was silent, and I was struck by how utterly insular everything was.

  From the highest peak of the habitation towers to the lowest depth of the oceans, I suddenly found it strange that I had not seen one of these creatures—not even in passing. It was perplexing as one could find millions of Mantza on Ghiza VI. One needed only to land on the surface. And yet here, one had to descend to the utter depths of the ocean to finally meet with the elusive Dalfaen.

  True, I knew they were aquatic creatures, but here we were, beings of the land and air walking in the sea. It was strange to me that the Dalfaen had not similarly chosen to cross from the sea into the land and air.

  But I did not have to wait for much longer. I saw a shape emerge in the greenish water. A grey, tattered thing drifted to the glass in front of where Amon stood. Before I could make out any more detail, the glass hummed and a frosted screen winked on in front of the singular Dalfaen. I stretched my neck to peer behind, but the screen extended, preventing me from peering behind.

  “Your presence blesses us, ancestors.” A fine, silky voice greeted.

  Us? I looked up at Ingrish in confusion of her translation, but she was not looking at me. Her eyes quickly darted around in fear, and following her gaze, I could just make out the faintest of shapes in the water. There were dozens of them, all watching silently.

  I knew then that this strange place was a water-court.

  Amon didn’t say a word back to the Dalfaen who had approached him.

  He calmly glanced back towards Ingrish, and unbeknownst to me, he had his hand ready to draw the second pistol concealed within his evo-suit.