Tempted by Celestial Bodies

Chapter 4

chapter four

There are certain traditions which, much like the game of tag, are practiced by nearly every known population: annual rites like solstices, seasonal harvests, and—perhaps most unanimously—birthdays. Vela liked to think herself the exception to a good many rules, but she was not exempt from this one.

Every year, for as long as she was willing to remember, she’d celebrated alone with a slice of cake and a present. The dessert selection of Waldorf’s Cradle left something to be desired, with words like “dulse” topping the ingredient lists, but the famed indoor swap market proved a trove of unique trinkets, any of which would mark the occasion well.

More importantly, the bustling crowd helped to distract Vela from the fact that Kalis had, once again, tried to use her as a springboard for vaulting ahead on a case. His new methods of exploitation were less invasive than hacking into her field logs while she slept, but only just.

Disgusted that she’d ever mistaken that prick’s flattery for affection, Vela forced her focus to the vendor tables. They boasted everything from candles to coral sculptures, but nothing caught her eye until she wandered past a book seller near the middle of the marketplace. Every text ever translated to Galactic could be downloaded at the press of a button, but Vela had a soft spot for archaic prints, both leatherbound and paperback.

Xathar’s Xenozoological Index Vol.3 (Planets Delthar-Geryon) serenaded her from atop a tower of precariously stacked tomes. She’d started amassing the volumes in her early teens, but at thirty-two, she’d secured only six of the thirteen. The vendor watched with palpable greed as she browsed the book, relishing the brittle texture and woodsy musk of each page. The first entry focused on the canopy lemurs of the Deltharian subtropics—a deceptively cute species with plush fur, massive eyes, and an alarming hunger for living flesh.

“Do they really glow during Delthar’s rainy season?” someone asked.

The interruption would have startled Vela’s heart from her chest, had she not, on some level, been expecting it. She glanced back to see the Wanderling hovering behind her, having donned the brawny body of a Lacertian man. That they’d snuck up on her was impressive. That scaly skin ought to have rasped like sandpaper.

“Seems counter-evolutionary,” the target continued, slitted eyes roving the page with interest. Even on reptilian lips, their smile held its haughty tilt.

Vela turned to face them, forcing a genial grin. Either the Wanderling had overestimated their acting prowess, or they’d underestimated her powers of perception. Either way, playing along with the charade was her best shot at gaining the upper hand.

“Some adaptations are coincidental,” she explained. “At the time this article was written, researchers believed the glow was a biological feature meant to attract mates. Dr. Xathar was the first to analyze the lemurs’ diet. Turns out, the jungle’s glow-worms hatch weeks before the rains begin, so?—”

“When the lemurs eat them, their fur absorbs the oxyluciferin,” the Wanderling finished, reading directly from the book. “Coincidence or not, doesn’t it make them easy prey?”

“That’s why they’ve developed such extraordinary defenses.” Vela turned the page, revealing a detailed diagram of a lemur skeleton. Xathar was nothing if not thorough. “Those claws are actually elongated phalangeal spurs, and fossil evidence suggests they developed shortly after large predators migrated to the region. Never underestimate the power of adaptation. Small setbacks often result in massive leaps forward.”

“A proven theory, at least in my own life.” The Wanderling took the book and began thumbing through it. “I can only assume the same of you, given what I’ve seen these past few days. How else would you have developed such a brilliant glow alongside such wicked claws?”

Vela froze. Why would the Wanderling so blatantly reveal themself when…

The reasoning mattered less than the opportunity it presented. In a single motion, she fished a tranq tag from her purse and pinned it to her target’s shoulder. Their wince dissolved to a startled chuckle as their scales paled, parted, and peeled away. The tag clattered against the floor, trailing a sheet of shed skin, and the Wanderling darted off, unaffected.

Vela shouldered her way through the press, ducking beneath tables and veering around displays. She was gaining ground when a shriek cut through the crowd to her left. Several bystanders scrambled back as a Florean woman fainted, hands clasped over her heart.

Instinct took control, driving Vela to the woman’s side as the Wanderling slipped away, a massive peripheral blur. She cursed her luck and checked for a pulse, but thick, leafy skin made assessment difficult. Vela pressed the heels of her palms to the woman’s chest, prepared to pump.

“Wait!” The Florean lurched forward, dewdrop eyes flexing wide. “It’s just a show! A prank, I was told. My troupe is known for them.”

Vela’s hands curled into fists around the woman’s collar. “You’re. An. Actor ?”

“H-he paid me thirty zenna. Best money I’ve seen in months.”

Vela’s breath fled in an exasperated sigh. She released the woman to activate her wrist-console’s recorder.

“Repeat the conversation, and don’t skip a single word…”

* * *

After an hour-long interview that produced nothing of note, Vela returned to the boardinghouse, beleaguered, only to spot some curious new additions to her nightstand.

The slice of prepackaged cake—which she would definitely not be eating—was butterberry crunch, imported from Phaunos. The book beneath it had been acquired much more locally. Vela shook her head. She ought to have figured the Wanderling would note her birthdate upon accessing her account, and that they’d inevitably use the information to mock her.

Unsettling though the offering was, Vela mentally added a seventh volume to her Xathar collection as she plucked it from the nightstand. Before she could so much as flip the cover, her wrist-console chirped . She clenched her jaw and tapped the screen, fully expecting another childish taunt, only to find a set of coordinates and a blip of a message.

Let’s take a time out.