A Passage of Stars by Kate Elliott

seam; he held a snub-nosed gun just like Paisley’s in his right hand.
    Lily jumped—dislodged the gun with her first kick, with the second slammed him back against the door frame. Landed with a hammer strike to his temple. His head, flung back by the unexpected force, struck the metal ridge of the seam with a hard thud, and he crumpled to the floor.
    Lily spun. The other alien turned back, weapon raised. Too far away for a quick kick. She lunged. Its hand shifted on the gun. And suddenly the alien was falling forward, fumbling in the air. Lily barely avoided its flailing arms, using its momentum to shove away and to one side. It fell flat-faced on the floor, gun knocked to one side. At its feet lay Paisley.
    She had tackled it.
    Lily grabbed both guns, thrust one into Paisley’s hands as the girl extricated herself. Bach floated forward, coming to rest above the alien. It began to push itself up. An appendage snaked out of the robot.
    “Paisley, back,” hissed Lily. The girl wriggled away.
    The alien reached for its waist. The appendage touched its neck. Bach flashed, an instant of brilliance, and the alien went limp.
    “You didna kill him?” whispered Paisley, eyes riveted to Bach.
    Negative. Rendered unconscious. Bach sang.
    “He didn’t,” said Lily. “Let’s grab the other one. We’ll need him to open doors.”
    Paisley got to her feet. “It be all ya real, ain’t it?” she said. Her mouth tightened into a straight line. “Bless me, Mother of all,” she muttered under her breath, making a furtive series of signs with one hand.
    “Paisley.” Lily was at the door, lifting the alien. “By the Void, he’s light.” Bach drifted out into the corridor. “Can you support him?”
    Paisley came forward. She looked at that moment even thinner than the alien. “A’course.” She adjusted herself to take the creature’s weight. The body hung all over her. “I done ya dock work, ain’t I?”
    Lily stationed herself at the alien’s head, knife out. It had not yet stirred. As they moved out of the seam, the door to the cell shut soundlessly behind them, concealing the other body. The corridor curved away, as grey as the cell, touched here and there by the tracery of a door seam.
    Bach led them. Right at the first branching. Voices at the next, disappearing into some sealed-off area. Left, straight, right again. Bach halted before a seam.
    “Here?” Lily stepped forward.
    Bach sang.
    “No!”
    “What be wrong?” Paisley’s voice had taken on an even huskier tone. Under the tattoos, her face seemed pale. The alien shifted on her shoulder, a tentative movement.
    “Bach says no one is in there. It can’t be.” Lily slapped the alien. Its eyes blinked open. Paisley caught in her breath. First the eyelid opened, then, beneath it, another skin, thin as membrane, flicked up. Lily lifted the knife; the point rested at the inner corner of the alien’s eye, blade along the high curve of nostril. She whistled to Bach.
    Bach spoke. The alien shuddered and replied. Bach replied. Lily held the knife.
    “Move him,” she said to Paisley. The girl dragged it, Lily still with the knife pressed against its face, to the small panel outside the door. The alien fingered it. The seam opened to reveal an empty room.
    The intercom came alive. Bells, a whistle, and a long command. Voices raised behind them, echoing.
    “Bach, put him out.”
    Bach, touching him from behind, sang a warning. Lily and Paisley jumped back. Brightness. The alien fell.
    “Paisley, grab one arm.” Lily stooped and began pulling. She whistled.
    Paisley grabbed. “Leave him. It’d be faster.”
    “And how do we get out of the ship? Can you pull faster? Stop. Lift him.”
    They got him rigged between them, set off at a trot. Bach floated behind.
    “Right here,” said Paisley. They turned. A door opened behind them. Someone shouted. Light, a loud, shrill noise, and a scream, cut off. “Where be Bach?”
    “Catching up. Left