vessel?
As he rearranged his clothing and turned away from the wall, something gave underfoot. A snap and a clang, and pain and panic gripped Wolff. He fought to suppress his reflex withdrawal before it brought his head into contact with one of the IR beam paths. He reached down. Iron jaws clamped hard just below his knee. He scrabbled at the trap with his fingernails, feeling rusted metal. The trap pressed nerves to bone with an unbearable tension, and he felt the warm damp of blood soaking into his trousers.
A voice with a shrill, metallic timbre and a sardonic lilt to it came from the corridor ahead. “Prithee, sirrah, observe our security here.”
Something giving off heat jerked back with a clank a few feet ahead, and coloured light shimmered over something akin to fibre optic filaments. The IR detector array behind Wolff snapped off.
“What troubles you, man?”
“Bloody beast trap! What sort of thing to put in a docking pipe is that?”
“Deterrent for unwary trespassers and pillagers alike, sssir.”
Wolff cringed, his back bent over the sprung trap. Spasms convulsed over the muscles of his leg. “To whom have I the honour of speaking?”
“Rh’Arrol, thsssir, and what payment does you offer for your freedom?” A ratchety clicking sound followed.
A shadowy shape, about five feet high and warm, merged from the gloom of the corridor. Jointed plates of metal on a wide cranium and upcurved neck glinted in the dull light. Wolff knew this creature. He’d never seen one at close quarters before, but he’d heard of them and their conniving, thieving ways and their dread of the light.
He fumbled his torch loose from its strap on his tool belt. The creature let out an ear-piercing screech as he aimed the beam in its face. The light illuminated an untidy nest made from soiled bedding, and a few heaps of unidentifiable objects piled about the dendrite terminus. The creature wheeled about, hissing and turning its long neck away from the light, the long prehensile tentacles on its lower jaw rising in contorted figures and other appendages snaking like tails from under the thicket of translucent spines on its rump. It crashed into the wall, and under a dirty quilt it dragged itself with four clawed legs that bent over its back at the knees and splayed out in all directions.
Wolff switched off the torch. “Morran.” He raised his hands, grimacing against the pain. “My name is Gerald Wolff. I am unarmed.”
“Would be evident, sirrah,” said the quilt in a scratchy hissing voice.
“You can stop calling me sir and sirrah and the likes, pretentious morran.”
“Certainly, patronising man.”
“Now release me!”
“You will be released when you pays the charge!”
Wolff flashed the torch on the morran again and it drew itself back under its cover with a flurry. Tapering, blue-tinged tentacles protruded from underneath. “I have nothing of value, and I will not barter with you until you release me from this trap.”
Claws scraped on the floor. The morran approached warily in shadow, its quill-like cilia glistening. It straightened its legs and stretched its neck upward until its nose was level with Wolff’s bent-over face. Its breath touched his skin faintly.
“You has the look and the manner of one of noble birth in the terms of your species, yet you enters through the cargo level?”
A snort of bemused surprise escaped Wolff. “That it has been said of me, although if it has issued from the mouth of a morran before I was not aware. But I have none of the concomitant non-heritable opulence, I assure you. You may think I look like an aristocrat. You surely cannot claim that I dress or smell in a way that befits one.”
Wolff sensed the morran turning its head in the dark, but it didn’t say anything else.
“This torch,” he lied, “has a fingerprint recognition system built into its controls, like a hand weapon. No one other than me can use it. The fuel cells can last for years. How would
As he rearranged his clothing and turned away from the wall, something gave underfoot. A snap and a clang, and pain and panic gripped Wolff. He fought to suppress his reflex withdrawal before it brought his head into contact with one of the IR beam paths. He reached down. Iron jaws clamped hard just below his knee. He scrabbled at the trap with his fingernails, feeling rusted metal. The trap pressed nerves to bone with an unbearable tension, and he felt the warm damp of blood soaking into his trousers.
A voice with a shrill, metallic timbre and a sardonic lilt to it came from the corridor ahead. “Prithee, sirrah, observe our security here.”
Something giving off heat jerked back with a clank a few feet ahead, and coloured light shimmered over something akin to fibre optic filaments. The IR detector array behind Wolff snapped off.
“What troubles you, man?”
“Bloody beast trap! What sort of thing to put in a docking pipe is that?”
“Deterrent for unwary trespassers and pillagers alike, sssir.”
Wolff cringed, his back bent over the sprung trap. Spasms convulsed over the muscles of his leg. “To whom have I the honour of speaking?”
“Rh’Arrol, thsssir, and what payment does you offer for your freedom?” A ratchety clicking sound followed.
A shadowy shape, about five feet high and warm, merged from the gloom of the corridor. Jointed plates of metal on a wide cranium and upcurved neck glinted in the dull light. Wolff knew this creature. He’d never seen one at close quarters before, but he’d heard of them and their conniving, thieving ways and their dread of the light.
He fumbled his torch loose from its strap on his tool belt. The creature let out an ear-piercing screech as he aimed the beam in its face. The light illuminated an untidy nest made from soiled bedding, and a few heaps of unidentifiable objects piled about the dendrite terminus. The creature wheeled about, hissing and turning its long neck away from the light, the long prehensile tentacles on its lower jaw rising in contorted figures and other appendages snaking like tails from under the thicket of translucent spines on its rump. It crashed into the wall, and under a dirty quilt it dragged itself with four clawed legs that bent over its back at the knees and splayed out in all directions.
Wolff switched off the torch. “Morran.” He raised his hands, grimacing against the pain. “My name is Gerald Wolff. I am unarmed.”
“Would be evident, sirrah,” said the quilt in a scratchy hissing voice.
“You can stop calling me sir and sirrah and the likes, pretentious morran.”
“Certainly, patronising man.”
“Now release me!”
“You will be released when you pays the charge!”
Wolff flashed the torch on the morran again and it drew itself back under its cover with a flurry. Tapering, blue-tinged tentacles protruded from underneath. “I have nothing of value, and I will not barter with you until you release me from this trap.”
Claws scraped on the floor. The morran approached warily in shadow, its quill-like cilia glistening. It straightened its legs and stretched its neck upward until its nose was level with Wolff’s bent-over face. Its breath touched his skin faintly.
“You has the look and the manner of one of noble birth in the terms of your species, yet you enters through the cargo level?”
A snort of bemused surprise escaped Wolff. “That it has been said of me, although if it has issued from the mouth of a morran before I was not aware. But I have none of the concomitant non-heritable opulence, I assure you. You may think I look like an aristocrat. You surely cannot claim that I dress or smell in a way that befits one.”
Wolff sensed the morran turning its head in the dark, but it didn’t say anything else.
“This torch,” he lied, “has a fingerprint recognition system built into its controls, like a hand weapon. No one other than me can use it. The fuel cells can last for years. How would
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