Free A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) by Julie E. Czerneda Page B

formed bound this fringe system to the rest of the galaxy. Overhead floated atmospheric transports, some already snugged against one or more individual ships to load or unload cargo, others drifting like clouds in the sea breeze, waiting their turn. Beyond reason, compulsions still tugged at me.
    Find my starship.
    The problem of which one was mine of the hundreds here was, however, not my most pressing concern.
    A tight knot of red-and-black aircars flew past overhead, speeding toward a group surrounding the first groundcar in the rapidly elongating line. I withdrew into Roraqk’s shadow, for an instant more interested in avoiding their notice than in my current plight. A shout, followed by the menacing crackle of weaponry, brought an approving chuckle from my captors, their attention riveted on the struggle taking place ahead.
    I had no thought, no plan in mind. I simply gathered the slack thread in my hands and flipped it up around Roraqk’s neck, pulling back on the lock bar with all my weight and the strength of desperation. The bar cut into my wrists, but the thread sank even more deeply into the soft flesh under his chin. The pirate made a most satisfying gurgling sound, his thin tongue whipping frantically from side to side.
    I watched the driver and the guardsman turn. The guardsman reached for his weapon, only to be stopped by the driver’s hand and warning nod to the passing aircars. “I will kill him,” I threatened through gritted teeth.
    The option was taken from me. Roraqk’s clawed hands swung back at an impossible, totally inhuman angle, flashing right through the cloak’s hood, one claw drawing a burning score down my cheek. I flung myself away, falling half out of the groundcar. The thread grew taut, choking the alien more effectively than before. Roraqk’s hands tore at his throat. Just as trapped, I struggled to break free. Someone grabbed me, started pulling me back inside. It was the guardsman. He’d jumped into the back seat.
    Suddenly the man let out a curse. The handle of a knife had appeared as if by magic, the blade embedded in the side of his neck. He sank away from me, his eyes going dazed, all motion seeming to slow to a dream’s crawl. Only Roraqk’s flailing about continued at normal speed.
    Somehow I twisted my way forward, just able to reach the handle of the knife with one hand. Pulling it free produced no alarming rush of blood; the wound was sealed by heat. The deadly little thing vibrated in my hand as though still hungry. Without hesitation I passed its searing blade through the thread binding me to Roraqk.
    And without wasting a second seeking the source of my salvation, I stepped on the writhing body of the pirate, and launched myself out of the car.
    Run, keep moving, listen with ears deafened by the pounding of blood. Muscles tight with the expectation of death—or at least a shout or two—I dodged between the groundcars. The growing darkness helped. So did the nasty skirmish centered around the unlucky smuggler. I wasn’t the only one diving behind servo-transports as the weapons’ fire spread.
    The uproar was spreading. The red and black of Pact Enforcers and the green of Port Authority were everywhere. I began to have some hope—surely the pirates would prefer to withdraw offworld inconspicuously. Roraqk. Well, he’d consider me worth chasing after what I’d done. Then again, maybe I’d inflicted some truly permanent damage with that last choking. I grinned.
    I took a chance and ran across open space to where a lumbering freight-servo had obligingly stopped to allow a pair of officials to check its cargo. Cleared, the servo moved on, each of its cars powering up as their connections tightened. The second to last car was loosely packed with crates. My bound hands made climbing aboard awkward, but I succeeded, pushing myself as far in as possible. With a lurch oscillating from front to rear, the machine turned off the main shipway into the shipcity itself.
    I