Ace of Thralls (Freelance Courier Book 3) by Lawrence M. Schoen

Author:Lawrence M. Schoen [Schoen, Lawrence M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paper Golem LLC
Published: 2021-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Reminiscent of a Clown Car

Rather than cut off on a direct line to wherever he’d found the access door, Aushthack did her the courtesy of running back along her gravel path. and only left it when he was at a right angle to his destination. Gel followed and, as required, made a hard left turn, once more stepping deep into the muck that sought to pull the boots from her feet with every struggling step. It was slow going, but not that far, and she never lost sight of Aushthack.

He reached a mossy hillock well ahead of her catching up, using that time to resume the task he must have started before, pulling away piles of overgrowth revealing the access door. It opened while she was still more than a few steps away, and another Tosh tumbled out, causing Aushthack to stumble backwards and catch his kin. No sooner had that one cleared the threshold, then another Tosh emerged, and another and another. All had the same general appearance, clown-white skin with facial coloration around their mouths and eyes, bulbous red noses, and phosphorescent tufts of hair, all of it toned down by nondescript jumpsuits the color of oatmeal. Most smelled of violets, though Gel detected additional odors like freesia and something that was like lavender but not quite.

The mound of the access point barely came to her knee, and Gel supposed there had to be a ladder or some sort of lift beneath it, because the actual area of the thing at this height could only support two or three of the Tosh. And yet they kept coming, one after the other, each of them looking like Clarkesons, their faces marked with what appeared to be painted on smiles and makeup accentuating their eyes over otherwise deathly pale skin, their pates all but bald save for tuffs or fluffy tonsure of riotously fluorescent color. But they weren’t Clarkesons because the Clarkesons of her experience traveled in the solitude of their own consortiums and didn’t clothe themselves in drab utilitarian jumpsuits. Still, something about the spectacle reminded Gel of a scene she’d seen in a documentary vid from Earth. A circus in the 20th century and an impossible number of clowns emerging from a tiny vehicle.

In all the, flood of Tosh numbered thirty-seven arrivals before it ebbed. They surrounded Aushthack and all spoke at once, using a language Gel had never heard before. She edged closer. It was only when she heard Aushthack’s familiar voice speaking over all the others that they turned to look at her. Whatever he’d said had gotten their attention and after an initial wave of gasps, they fell silent, allowing Aushthack to continue at a quieter volume and in Traveler.

“Angela Colson. It is my pleasure to relay to you greetings from the most senior members of the Research Council. It exists, unknown within the demesne of Tesmel Corwick, here on the island of Meb. They bid you welcome, and ask that you step within and join our community for a feast that even now is being prepared in our honor.

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