Василиса Чмелева – Parasomnia (страница 5)

"Got guests coming soon. Make it quick—what d’you want?" He hurried me, eyes darting down the quiet street.

"I wanted to congratulate you," I said. "You know, like we used to—just sit together like old times. You haven’t come by in ages. The treehouse feels empty without you."

"Don’t sweat it," Kell brushed me off, then fixed me with a stare so cold it felt like he was talking to a stranger. "Look, Itty, I’ve got friends coming over. We’ll catch up another time, alright?"

Before I could reply, he slammed the door in my face, leaving me alone on the deserted street—still clutching that damned ball in my hands.

I took the river path back—the same river where Kell first taught me how to kick a ball. Who could’ve known then how precious every minute was, each one irreplaceable? I set the ball down on the bank, took a running start, and kicked it as hard as I could. It dropped like dead weight into the water, vanishing into the river’s depths.

On Kallinkor, birthdays were always celebrated lavishly. That’s why, from that day on, I grew to hate the holiday…

Chapter 3. The Conscience That Froze

Honor is for those who respect the system.

I… prefer to reinterpret it.

I’d been washing in the ship’s dry-cleaning pod ever since leaving Kallinkor—where specialized air scrubbed you clean in minutes. Fast, efficient, and effortless. Exactly what any time-starved person might’ve once dreamed of (back when we were still shackled by that archaic 24-hour cycle). The system embedded in the walls maintained perfect sterility, with every trace of space dust purged instantly, leaving skin fresh and pristine.

In those moments, I often caught myself wondering just how far we’d drifted from Earth’s old comforts. These pods were standard issue on ships now, yet I could never shake the feeling that something vital had been lost in the process.

Sometimes I ached for Kallinkor’s bathhouses. That cozy, heat-soaked space where you could steam your entire body for hours in scalding water, letting all worries and haste dissolve. Time stretched languidly there—you could lose yourself in thought while leisurely drying off with a towel, savoring every motion. Humid air embraced you as you washed your face, as water cascaded over your skin like it was rinsing away exhaustion itself.

The ship’s cleaning process was undeniably efficient. But there was something inexplicable about rituals that demanded slowness. The Kallinkorian baths, though far more time-consuming, held a quiet magic. Every movement, every moment became purification of the mind—a shedding of tension, a return to your most vulnerable self.

Kallinkorian hygiene rituals took far longer than my Eliot routines—yet, strangely, there was a romance to it. The absence of hurry, the luxury of simply being in the moment—it felt like a rare gift in a world spinning so fast it might as well have lost its gravity.

When I first saw the geyser spring in the brothel, my first impulse was to tear off my rags and plunge into that churning water—even though I knew damn well the temperature would liquefy my organs. But hell, how I wanted to.

Musing on unfulfilled desires, I moved through the adjacent labyrinth, drifting further from the square and the passage where I'd entered with the Coldborn. The creatures had made it clear: to meet the Astral Sisters—who inspired such awe in the Coldborn—I'd need to do something drastic enough to summon them before the tribunal.

Had galactic search enforcers still existed, they’d have been on my tail the entire time I drifted through open space. But luckily for me, they’d been disbanded generations ago—which meant committing crimes consequence-free was getting easier by the day. That said, every planet still bred and worshipped its own local laws, and violating them as a galacto-head came with… creative penalties.

I didn’t know Blokays’ specific flavor of justice, but I needed to strike with the precision of a falling icicle—and get the hell off-planet before I shattered on impact.

After a few turns, I found myself standing before a refrigeration unit, its dimly lit sign bearing a terse name. I switched my chest lamp to scanning mode and let it decipher the text. “Polar Hospital,” the scanner spat out.

I slipped inside unnoticed, making sure the corridor labyrinth was empty. Polar Hospital wasn’t just a place of healing—it was a fortress of life in a world where survival alone was a feat. The space consisted of vast, cavernous halls carved into a monolithic glacier. Limping and ailing creatures shuffled everywhere. My mind raced for a convincing backstory—just as a Coldborn appeared beside me. The creature had a vaguely feminine silhouette, but the tattered wrappings made it impossible to tell for sure.

"What brings you here, Kallinkorian?" the Coldborn's gravelly voice rumbled. "Frostbite? Or something worse?"

"Oh, uh, friend—"

I never got to answer the creature—who I now guessed was the local medic—because another Kallinkorian suddenly appeared beside me.

A guy around twenty-five in a thermal suit, his nose red from cold, beamed at me and clapped me on the shoulder—making me instinctively flinch back.

"Thanks for dropping by to visit," he drawled with a wink.

"You're with him?" The creature loomed over us, awaiting confirmation.

"Uh, yeah," I nodded curtly.

"Then quit blocking the entrance," the Coldborn jabbed a pointed finger near my face. "Storms are hitting harder than usual today—we could get casualties any minute. Move along to your room."

"And who the hell are you?" I asked the guy the moment we stepped into the refrigerated ward.

"A Kallinkorian, same as you," he said, crossing his arms. "Can't you tell?"

"That much is obvious. Why are you clinging to me?"

"Ooooh, someone's prickly," the guy rolled his eyes dramatically. "Didn't realize you were the type to snub your own kind."

"I know my people well enough not to celebrate them," I hissed, keeping my voice low.

"We're all just trying to survive," the guy snorted. "Why'd you come to Blokays anyway?"

"None of your damn business," I snapped.

Luck wasn’t smiling on me with this Kallinkorian encounter. I needed to figure out how to reach the Sisters, and this guy’s nosiness was just getting in the way. Though…

I drew a deep breath, plastered on a grin, and leaned into the thickest Kallinkorian accent I could muster:

"What’s your excuse for being here, huh? Don’t tell me you couldn’t find a better brothel."

"Oh, so you’ve been there?" The guy barked a laugh. "Quirky little spot, eh? But if you’re after tits or something spicier, just wander the halls. Local creatures have… unique dress codes. Naked ‘outside,’ but throw on rags when ‘working.’"

"Not my priority right now," I shrugged. "So which gang’s dumb enough to claim you?"

"I’m not with a gang!" He jerked his snotty nose up. "I’m my own man. A lone wolf!"

"Sure," I sneered. "More like a half-dead pup. Did your crew dump you here for storage?"

"Well…" He deflated. "They worried I’d catch some local virus and infect the whole ship."

"So your crew just took off without you?"

"Nah," the guy whispered. "They're still here—scouring the tunnels for anything valuable. Me? I'm the distraction. If shit hits the fan, I signal them and we blast off."

"So you're thieves," I stated flatly.

"And what are you, some interplanetary volunteer?" He burst into laughter.

"Shut it," I hissed.

"Oh yeah, I can totally see your ship’s motto now—

'We come in peace, please don’t resist'," the guy wheezed between laughs, gesturing grandly at the ward.

"Laugh one more time, comedian, and I’ll put you to sleep," I snapped.

His laughter died instantly.

"Alright, alright. No need to get frosty," he muttered, wiping his nose on a scrap of cloth—probably torn from a Coldborn's garb. "If you're worried my crew will rat you out, don't. Even thieves have a code."

"I'm sure," I said, voice dripping with skepticism. "Any idea when they're coming back for you?"

"Nah. Just said they're looking for some brothers or sisters—can't remember exactly."

"Astral Sisters?" I tensed.

"Bingo," he sniffed.

"And why the hell would you need them?"

"Our ship received a letter last week—but none of us could read it." The guy wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Just scribbles that either keep changing or make your vision blur. Crew’s mixed species, but even the non-humans couldn’t crack it. Ship’s systems insist it’s vital intel, though."

"Interesting," I frowned, my grip tightening on the med-bay railing.

"Me? I’d say screw that letter." He coughed, spitting something dark onto the floor. "But the crew’s convinced it’s a treasure cipher. Gold, maybe—or some rare metal. You know how pre-war alloys are basically unicorn shit now."

"And your boys already located these Sisters?"

"Nah, we’ve turned this place inside out," he snorted. "Three days planetside, and zero leads. Ship’s radars can’t scan that deep, and the local Coldborn scatter like roaches the moment someone mentions the Sisters." He leaned in conspiratorially. "But our boss? Yeah, he’s got a plan brewing."

"What plan?"

"Crew swore me to secrecy—" The guy grinned, revealing crooked teeth, "—but they never figured I’d run into one of our own. So here’s the scoop: Astral Sisters only show up for trials. When they need a third opinion."