Free The Glass Galago by A. M. Dellamonica Page A

found her unremarkable and hard to remember. It was the next best thing to being invisible.
    â€œBe grateful you’re in black, Parrish; with that lovely dark skin of yours, I considered red with gold trim.”
    â€œThe better to sell me to a circus?”
    â€œDepending on price,” she said. “Do you mind?”
    â€œPeople do stare anyway.” Which wasn’t precisely an answer.
    â€œWe could get you a cloak with a nice deep hood, some kind of mask for contagion.”
    â€œNo.” A thread too much weight in his voice, as he refused even her whimsical suggestion of aid.
    She reached out to snag a passing messenger, a uniformed child of perhaps fourteen. “We’re looking for Convenor Gracechild.”
    â€œThe government is in debate, Kirs; it may be an all-nighter.”
    Gale handed over her card. “When they break, give her this.” He bowed and ran off.
    â€œNow what?” Parrish asked.
    â€œTry her office, of course.” She led him belowdecks, into the bureaucratic warren of the government at sea.
    *   *   *
    Annela’s secretary had once commanded an ambulance crew, and Gale had never seen her flustered. But as they came in, she clapped the hatch shut behind them, her movements jerky.
    She saw Parrish, and—naturally enough—froze.
    Gale let her take a good look at him, with his handsome, sensitive face, his lush lips and good clothes. Only after the secretary had caught her breath did Gale slap down a box of wine-soaked dates from Zingoasis. The dates were one of those questionable local delicacies. They tasted all right … once you got past the smell of pickled dung.
    As the aroma worked its way through the outer office, Gale could see the secretary go through the usual reactions: surging revulsion, first, then an effort to cover disgust. Gale could almost hear her thinking: These again, why me, why does everyone keep giving me these revolting confections? Well, maybe it isn’t everyone, just our one horrid kinswoman …
    Being unmemorable forced you to get inventive.
    â€œKir Feliachild!” the secretary said, falsely bright as she made the connection.
    â€œIt’s Gale, Bettona—”
    Clattering interrupted her.
    Something shiny dropped from a curtained portal to the desk, wrestling the wax seals on the box.
    â€œIs that a galago?” Gale asked. It was a small primate, with tiny hands and big eyes. But it had been enchanted: its skin was leathery but transparent, its fur composed of clear shards. Within, where its organs should have been, she could see dense blobs of colored light. Its brain shimmered pink-gray through the hard glass of its skull; a crimson glow throbbed in its chest.
    â€œCareful, it’s wild—” the secretary said, but Parrish had taken the dates. He held out his hand, rock steady. The animal climbed on him, cooing hopefully.
    â€œMay I?” Parrish asked, flipping open the box and intensifying the smell of camel waste. The thing chirped.
    â€œSmall pieces, no pits,” Bettona instructed. “Its teeth are delicate.”
    â€œSince when does Annela keep oddities?” Gale asked.
    The secretary shook her attention off of Parrish, who had smeared date onto his index finger. The galago licked it off; once in its mouth, the fruit vaporized into caramel-colored smoke and moved foggily toward its gut.
    â€œThe glass galago’s tied to the current debate in the Convene. There’s a woman from the Patents Office in the same condition.”
    â€œA woman, turned to glass?”
    Bettona nodded. “The inscription’s been stolen; there’s no way to restore her. She may die.”
    â€œWould there be a briefing in Annela’s inner office, by any chance?”
    Bettona nodded. “She had me prepare it yesterday.”
    Gale led the way into her kinswoman’s sanctum, finding the report atop her papers.
    â€œThere’s a