Outer Rim: More Tales from the Galaxy's Edge by Russell James

Author:Russell James [James, Russell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MLG Publishing
Published: 2014-10-21T21:00:00+00:00

Plan B

The crewmembers stared at Busby as Sgt. Quiñones followed him down the corridor to the starship’s elevator. Their reactions ticked Quiñones off. When the mission started, none had ever seen an Ingarian. But six weeks later, they should be over it. Sometimes they looked at the sergeant like he was walking some exotic pet.

Quiñones body armor squeaked with each step and a sidearm hung heavy at his right hip. He matched Busby’s pace as best he could, two legs barely kept up with the Ingarian’s three. The two had often discussed the relative merits of humans’ four appendages instead of Ingarians’ standard six. Neither had convinced the other of anything.

“You didn’t have much to eat at breakfast, Busby,” Quiñones said.

He always cringed at using Busby’s human assigned nickname. The tonality of Ingarian pronunciation was beyond human ability, but the nicknames were a demeaning inside human joke. Ingarian A and Ingarian B were their initial insensitive designations when the two aliens joined the crew, so calling them Abbott and Busby was a lateral move, at best. The Ingarians seemed to mind far less than Quiñones did.

“I just haven’t an appetite this morning,” Busby said.

“You mean some mornings you can’t face the food,” Quiñones said. “The cook follows Ingarian recipes, but he’s probably about as good at Ingarian as he is at Mexican. Stay away from his chorizo.”

“I was trying to be polite,” Busby said. “The cook does his best.”

They entered the elevator at the end of the corridor. A crewman in blue coveralls followed them in. Quiñones’ pulse climbed. His smile faded as he positioned himself between Busby and the crewman. One hand moved to his sidearm.

Earth’s enemy, the Razarian Empire, had many species, all unfamiliar to the Earth crews. The Ingarians, from the galaxy’s opposite end, were Earth’s only extraterrestrial ally. Combat losses had been high, vengeful animosity ran deep. The risk of a crewmember taking revenge on the nearest alien available was too great to take. Quiñones’ assignment was to keep any hot heads from making a mistake.

The crewman stared at Busby, studying his naked, translucent body, then assessing his bulbous, hairless head. A rivulet of pinkish slime rolled down one of Busby’s bony arms to coalesce into a blob at his elbow. It dropped, and hit the floor with a splat. The crewman exhaled a disgusted sound and flinched.

Busby turned to him. “It’s harmless. Just mucous. Your atmosphere has so much abrasive nitrogen. It isn’t inert to every species, you know.”

The elevator stopped and the door slid open. The crewman looked at the coagulating glob on the floor, shot Quiñones a repulsed look and sidled out past him. The door closed.

Quiñones relaxed his stance. “You don’t have to explain yourself. After all these weeks, the crew should be used to having someone new on board.”

“It’s having someone different on board they don’t like.”

“A little effort to get to know you wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“We Ingarians tend to keep our own company,” Busby said. “It puts a gregarious species like yours off.

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