Sea of Stars(76)

 “You should lower the setting,” Wayra advises while inspecting the deep crater in the floor.

 “It’s set to practice mode,” Trey growls. He doesn’t move his hand from my mouth until he pulls the earpiece and microphone from me, inspecting the device for any outward flaws.

 “It’s not supposed to do that in the practice setting,” Wayra replies unhelpfully.

 “Thanks, Wayra,” Trey growls.

 “With all mercies,” Wayra replies with the polite Etharian you’re-welcome response.

 “What word did this,” Jax asks, joining Wayra at the hole in the floor.

 “She said a phrase. I’m not sure which word it responded to.”

 “What was the phrase?”

 “‘The worst, honey,’” Trey answers.

 “The word fire did nothing,” I add.

 Jax looks at me with a shrug. “Well, it wouldn’t.”

 “Huh?” I ask.

 “You’re not speaking Etharian. You’re speaking Earthling.”

 “I’m speaking English,” I correct him.

 “Which is Earthling,” he says defensively, like I should never have corrected him for it. “We just hear everything in Etharian because we have translator implants with an English upgrade. But you’re not speaking my language, sister.”

 “You’re right!” I grin at Jax, who grins at me in return. “Mystery solved.”

 “We can’t risk shooting it off in here again,” Trey says. He replaces the earpiece back into the compartment of my sayzer sleeve. “Enter the secondary code, Kricket.” I move my fingers awkwardly, like I’m playing keys on an invisible piano. The sonic sayzer shrinks from its expanded sleeve back to a shorter cuff. “We’ll try it again when we’re in our new location.”

 “Where is our new location? When are we going? ” I ask, worried about leaving as much as I am about staying.

 Trey glances at Wayra, who is rubbing his chin and staring into the hole in the floor like he’s trying to figure out where it ends. “How are the preparations coming for our departure?”

 “We’re solid,” Wayra says absently. “We’re just finishing up our prep to welcome the knob knocker’s troops to our fair city. We’re waiting for our patrol to return. After that, we can leave any time. The tunnel is fully operational—we’re evacuating civvies as fast as we can move them.”

 Trey nods. He turns to me and says, “I need to see to some things. Do you want to change”—he indicates Charisma’s closet—“and meet me in the other room for dinner?”

 “Yes. I’ll come find you when I’m ready,” I reply.

 Trey, Jax, and Wayra leave while I hunt for clothes in an impressively large closet. Walking past aisles of printed fabric pressed between glass panels, I marvel at the selection—it rivals my own at the palace. Soft, flowing patterns create dreamy shapes and cloudlike waves as coats, blouses, skirts, and trousers billow, suspended in midair by constant streams of perfectly positioned forced-air vents between the glass panels. I select a pair of form-fitting pants by touching the surface of a panel. The glass opens and the article slips into my waiting hand from its hanger of air. The pants are too long for me, but since the tight black fabric clings to my calves, they gather, creating a surprisingly stylish look.

 I have the same problem with the tops; all of them are too long for me. I select a sleeveless black blouse that’s cut in a deep vee in the front. It’s made for someone with less curves than me, so it pushes what I have up and exposes more skin than I’d like, but I can’t worry about that now. I locate a wide, black belt, cinching it to ride low on my hips. I move on to footwear. The shoes prove more difficult. Most of the ones I try on are too big for me. I settle for some black boots that aren’t too big once I stuff a small, silk handkerchief in each toe.

 Rising from a soft-cushioned bench after buckling them, I move to leave the closet, but I spy a row of masculine clothes in the corner of the room. On impulse I follow the line of clothing, noticing everything from casual attire to formal wear. I look to see if there are any Cavar uniforms, but there aren’t. Are these Trey’s clothes? Did he and Charisma live together at some point? I wonder.

 Deciding that it’s none of my business, I find a soft leather jacket that’s about my size and deposit the crystal spix I rescued into its pocket. Putting on the jacket, I walk out to the reception area. It’s been turned into a virtual command center. Holograms of several different battlefields follow Alameeda death squads rampaging on the city streets. Explosions throw bodies onto the red-and-copper-colored dirt.