Serendipity (Book 1 of the Dana Halliday series)

THE FENN SHIPYARD. ADRIAN AND FLYNT. SPELL IT WITH A Y.

"Hey, Earther!"

The big man turned--he was the only Earther at the Fenn shipyard, at least that day--and gave the Bruttar an amiable wave. 

"The name is Travers," he said, in his excellent Sturv Standard.  It was the closest thing to a universal language out here. "What can I do for you, friend?"

The Bruttar was an imposing being, over seven feet tall and as gangly as a teenaged basketball player. He looked like the demonic offspring of a great ape and a feathered dinosaur. The Earther gazed up, unafraid. The Bruttar were far more likely to spin you about by the arm in a greeting-dance than to be violent.

"Nothing for me." The being also used Sturv Standard, his breath steaming in the damp, chilly air. "But you make the run out to the Far Tirzens, do you not?"

"It's on the itinerary most of the time," agreed Travers. "I can take passengers for a price. Who needs to go?"

The Bruttar aimed two of his four fingers at a figure on the other side of the shipyard. "That Fenn male." He paused, his crest of crimson feathers rising and then settling to his head. "I thought of your vessel. Not so rough as some of the others."

"Well, thanks very much."

The Fenn sat on a stone bench near the office building, and as the Earther approached, he rose and bowed. Travers smiled a bit to himself; he had gone from feeling short beside the Bruttar, to feeling like a hulking giant compared to the Fenn.

"Hello there." Travers returned the bow. "I was told you need transportation, friend."

The Fenn nodded assent. A silver hoop high in his human-like ear glittered dully. "Yes, to the Far Tirzen Colonies. I can pay you in advance."

"I only accept payment in advance," Travers replied. "And I hope you aren't on a tight schedule, because mine can change frequently."

The Fenn's supple antennae twitched in irritation. "No, I have no schedule. How much?"

"What sends you to the Tirzens? If you're running from something here, you have my sympathy, but I won't take fugitives." It was an occasional request for the Earther.

The antennae lashed forward and back like slow whips. As an answer, the Fenn thrust out his right arm. Travers saw that he hadn't been hiding his right hand under the natty leather ice-cloak he wore. There was no right hand; the sleeve of his shirt dangled sadly from the elbow down.

"Ah," said Travers. The Tirzens had amazing custom prosthetics, were less expensive than anyone else, and they didn't ask questions. In fact, they might be able to clone a new arm, but he doubted a lowly Fenn could afford it. Even a prosthesis would be a stretch for this guy. "Let me see it, please."

The Fenn turned a pair of large blue eyes up at him, his lips lifting to expose his rather savage teeth. "Why?"

Travers sighed and raised his own hands in a mollifying gesture. Many dismissed the inhabitants of this cold planet as primitives, with a language that was impossible to speak, and maybe with dangerous extrasensory abilities if you believed the rumors. Travers made it his business to know a good deal about a lot of subjects, and he had learned as much about the mysterious species as he could. It was easy enough; all you had to do was wander into their towns and villages and observe, if you didn't mind being stared at.

He's young, he thought, basing this on the henna-like skin markings on the back of the Fenn's neck, which were only a little faded.

The Fenn usually looked you straight in the eye and kept their teeth mostly covered. They didn't seem impressive at first glance; this one was average size for a male, about five feet eight, and weighed less than an Earther of similar height. However, as Travers happened to know, they were ridiculously strong and fast. They had little reason to fear most species in a hand to hand fight, especially in their own environment.

This one was quivering slightly as he stood, his pupils were dilated to wide ovals, and his antennae had been curiously still for much of the conversation.

The kid was terrified.

"Well," said Travers, in a gentler tone, "I know a bit about the limb replacement technology. The injury has to be healed to a certain point before they can fit the prosthetic and all the hardware. I'd hate to take you all the way out there for nothing."

The Fenn flared his nostrils. "I suppose that would be upsetting." He began rolling up his sleeve. "What is your native speak?"

"Earth English." Travers relaxed a bit, running a hand through the wavy mop of his black hair.

"Let's speak that. I find Sturv too confining." The Fenn had switched to English seamlessly. He had just enough of a pleasant accent to be noticeable. At the big Earther's raised eyebrows, he smiled, looking a little more at ease. "I've spent some time with Earthers, years ago, and I used to work here."

Travers shrugged as he examined the Fenn's arm stump. There was an ugly network of scar tissue layered over the abbreviated forearm, lumpy and shiny and chaotic. It looked like amputation via wood chipper, but the pale skin was scarred, no longer wounded. "Should be fine. What the hell got you, mate?"

The Fenn indicated his ice-cloak. "This did."

The big Earther whistled. "Bloody hell."

"It was, yes."

Travers smiled. There was a humor in the kid's eyes that made him suspect he understood expletives and epithets perfectly well. "What's your name?"

The word that rolled out of the Fenn's mouth was unreasonably complex and contained a number of musical tones that Travers couldn't begin to hear distinctly, never mind reproduce with his own mouth. He could only catch a sound here and there. 

"That's not a name, that's a bloody opera," he chuckled. "What did your Earther friends call you?"

"Flynt."

That seemed close enough to one of the word fragments he had heard. "Like the rock?"

"I spell it with a 'y.'"

"Oh, like Larry Flynt." And you're literate, too, Travers thought, his fascination growing. His standard price for transportation was dropping by the minute.

"Who?"

"Never mind. I'm Adrian." Travers covered the mangled horror with the sleeve again. He gestured at the hoop in his ear. "I'm curious, what does the Order think? I thought you Fenn weren't supposed to--"

Flynt's antennae had started moving again, in easy little circles; now they stopped and dropped as though they'd been shot. His face clouded over in a hollow-eyed mask. "They don't think much of it. Or of me."

No wonder he was frightened. He wouldn't be coming back, at least not permanently. 

"I'm sorry," Adrian Travers said, and turned back toward his ship. "Come on, then, let's look at a contract."