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Tag Archives: Deathwalker Novel Em T. Wytte

Deathwalker 9.4

            Not that a deathwalk was the most concrete evidence in court – not yet. After all, the deathwalker was the only one who could hear the dead. But to not even be able to give the police some clues?
            “Cannot speak to them?”
            An audible snort punctuated the muttering.
            “Won’t, they mean,” the snorter claimed. “Not for what the ISSP can afford to offer. Ialuans don’t leave their planet for a few hundred al.”
            “Which the ISSP would know,” Kith stated. “Would they not offer more?”
            “Sounds like they don’t want it investigated.”
            Bemused, I stopped stirring my food around and watched the huddle nod knowingly. They parted almost automatically, never interrupting their discussion, and the dark-haired woman slid through the crowd and walked back to the table. She was shaking her head. Our eyes met, and she smiled. In an ancient gesture, she motioned me to lean closer. When I did, she put her lips to my ear and whispered.
            “How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize it’s a conspiracy site?”
            It took a second to register. Then, I blinked. My lips twitched, abut I kept it more or less together. She had no such inhibitions and threw her head back with a rich, belly laugh.
            “This is not appropriate.” But Kith didn’t frown (at least his disapproval didn’t have the same palpable force as before). And even echoing over the mutters, his comment didn’t phase his crewmate in the least.
            “Screen, return to previous report at last cued moment,” she called, smiling and leaning casually back in her chair.
            “Taaay,” came the complaint from the crowd.
            “The scattered locations and unrelated cargos and passengers, however, leave many wondering. The two found were members of the same crew, so many leading experts insist that these are three unrelated crimes. The interplanetary police have this to say:”
            The grumbling ceased as the image on the screen changed to an officer in the crisp gray interplanetary uniform.
            “We are pursuing all possibilities in regards to the two disappearances that have occurred in our sector, and while I will not disregard the possibility of a link, there is no evidence to suggest it at this time. Again, we would caution interplanetary travels to follow flight protocols and take every precaution until the perpetrators have been caught.”
            The screen shifted again to a fruitless discussion of possible fates for the ships. After a moment, the crew switched it off.
            “They still don’t say why the dead aren’t talking.”
            “Or what companies the ships fly for.”
            “That says enough, doesn’t it?”
            “Ya. Rich company won’t admit they’re sending small crews under the radar.”
            “Deathwalker Sephtis.”
            Caught up in the discussion, and, yes, my curiosity for the different races huddled together, I swung around swiftly at the sound of my name and title.
            The dark-haired woman met my eyes with that same perpetually amused expression.
            “You’re missing a golden opportunity.”
            I stared blankly.
            “Kith is distracted, and your food may still be warm.”
            Blinkng, I glanced down at the meal. There were several ingredients I had not tasted and analyzed yet. I met her eyes with a smile.
            “Thank you.”
            Reverently, I took a small bite of the blue plant. It did seem to be a vegetable and had an interestingly sour flavor that hinted at a special treatment before it was included in the dish. Scooping up the next unknown, I looked up again. She hadn’t moved from what I could tell but seemed entirely entertained by the argument by the screen.
            “Forgive my rudeness,” I started and waited for her head to turn, “but I don’t believe we were introduced.”
            “So formal,” she smirked, “Nat should’ve known you were Kaihmi.”
            Not knowing quite how to take that, I took another small bite.
            “I’m Tay,” she said, “I’m Nat’s pilot.”
            I nearly spit out my food. The pilot and announced as casually as a dockworker! I flew to my feet to form the correct sign of greeting.
            “Definitely Kaihmi,” she shook her head, but her eyes twinkled. “Sit, please. Eat.”
            Sure that she was laughing at me, I sat a bit awkwardly.
            “Don’t mind her,” came an unexpected comment from the side, “Tay loves poking holes in Kaihmi protocols.”

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Deathwalker 8.0

            The awkward silence lasted longer this time, and there was no question in my mind as to why. Or who would have to break it. Still facing the now blank wall, I glanced cautiously to my left. All the captain’s teeth were bared and grinding together so hard I imagined I could see them sharpening each other. Suddenly, she snapped them apart with such abrupt violence that I flinched.
            “Metss.” She bit off the word sharply. That was it. And as soon as she spat it out, she turned on her heel and left. The others parted for her wordlessly, and the silence returned.
            I stared after her, a bit nonplussed, and filed the word away to look up later. New curse words were always handy, but I liked to know the meaning behind them before I used them.
            “It is left arm.”
            What? The Teg had made the statement in that overly helpful tone people used when they pointed out the obvious. Only nothing was obvious in this case – the grammar was too bad.
            Turning back, I was about to ask what on ancient Earth he meant when I noticed that both he and Gri were looking down at my left side. At the same instant, I felt a presence next to me. And a tug at my sleeve. Shit! I spun away, simultaneously taking a step back. And stopped, staring.
            It was the crew member I hadn’t been able to see before. It had to be. Bald head, big dark eyes – eyes that stared up at me from about the height of my elbow. The facial features were fairly humanoid, and I would’ve guessed female (If I had to guess, which I was going to do my best to avoid). Despite the neutral expression, I knew from the stir behind me that I was making a bad impression again.
            Smiling apologetically, I repeated the sign of greeting I’d made originally. Wincing a little as it pulled the slice on my arm.
            “Sorry. I didn’t realize someone was next to me.” It sounded weak to me, but it earned me a slight smile. I think it was a smile.
            “My apologies for startling you.” It was said extremely politely in a voice that was high but sweetly resonant. Almost choral. I found myself wishing she(?) would speak again.
            “This is Metz,” the Teg asserted, alighting on a chair back next to us. “She is ship doctor.” The ship doctor. I was afraid of that. And I really wanted the tell the Teg that articles were important.
            “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, instead, smiling while I frantically tried to think of some way to get out of being treated. She nodded politely, and her serious expression warned me that my task wasn’t going to be easy.
            “The captain asked me to look at your arm.” A part of my brain noticed absently that unlike the Teg, her grammar was perfect. The rest of my brain screamed to stop paying attention to useless stuff and find a solution to the problem.
            “Oh, that’s very nice of you,” I hedged, turning to face her fully (and put my arm out of her reach). As I did, my hand brushed my travel kit again. That was it! “But that won’t be necessary!”
            My smile beamed as I lifted the kit, dug through, and hastily removed the MiniDoc. In one smooth motion I slid it up my sleeve and over the damaged area.
            “MiniDoc on.” I commanded casually. A low buzz and a dim glow of white through the fabric of my shirt confirmed the machine’s activation. “Scan and restore.” As the little machine took on a high whine, I noticed the doctor’s eyebrows raised slightly. My own furrowed. Something about her eyebrows seemed off.
            “Puncture wound, semi-clotted with moderate bruising. Low levels of foreign contaminant,” A metallic, emotionless voice stated, only slightly muffled by my sleeve. “Cleaning and sealing.” There was a low hum, and the pain in my arm intensified for an instant then died off into numbness. “Operation complete.” And with one more buzz, the glow under my sleeve faded.


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