Crossing the Line by Karen Traviss Page A

the grenade. “Reset the pin.”
    â€œI thought you weren’t afraid to die.”
    â€œI have children in this house.”
    Chayyas had her eyes fixed on Shan’s and Shan didn’t break the gaze. The matriarch’s grip slackened a fraction, but it still held. And so did Shan’s stare.
    You look away first—you’re dead . Her old sergeant’s voice spoke up, unbidden: don’t step aside, don’t blink, don’t apologize . Shan had stopped bar brawls just by walking into the room in the right way. But her sergeant hadn’t taught her any wisdom that dealt with aliens. She fell back on instinct.
    â€œWe could be here a long time,” said Chayyas.
    â€œIf that’s what it takes,” said Shan, eyes beginning to water with the effort. Jesus, it hurt. “Punishing Aras won’t serve any useful purpose.”
    And then Chayyas blinked, as if distracted by the mention of Aras. She looked away. Shan felt an exultant surge of animal triumph and pulled both hand and grenade clear. For a second she could have sworn she smelled something like ripe mangoes—both heady-sweet and grassy at once—filling the space between them. It took all the effort she could muster to hold the grenade steady enough to replace the pin. The violet lights rippled, exaggerating the tremor.
    â€œThere’s no purpose I can think of,” said Chayyas.
    Shan stood up and pocketed the grenade, hoping that the c’naatat would deal quickly with any bruising. She didn’t want Chayyas to know how much pain she had put her through. “I want custody of him,” she said, nursing her crushed hand in her pocket.
    Chayyas, still seated, was staring alternately at the gun and at Shan. She was holding her fingers tip to tip, flexing them: they were all the same length, with three knuckles in each, giving them an arachnid look. “He’s your jurej . Take him.”
    â€œWhat’s that? Jurej ?”
    â€œMale.”
    â€œI’m sorry?”
    Chayyas blinked flowers. Shan, in control of the universe for a few brief moments, fell back into the confused world of the visiting alien.
    â€œNeither of you can have another,” said Chayyas. “And there are no unmated adults in wess’har society. He’s your responsibility.”
    â€œHang on, I’m not sure I—”
    Chayyas was fixed on the gun. “You wanted our asylum. You behave wess’har. Therefore you are wess’har.” She reached her thin many-jointed hand towards the 9mm and picked it up. “This won’t kill you?”
    â€œSteady on,” said Shan. “The safety’s off.”
    â€œAre you afraid?”
    The challenge was unintended, she knew, but she couldn’t back down. Something foreign and primeval was overriding her common sense. She’d seen it too often in drunks, in flashpoint fights, in murders.
    â€œNo,” she said, suddenly completely unable to say that enough was enough and that they should all go about their business.
    She had no reason to fear death now. It was life—this out-of-control, alien life—that was starting to scare her.
    Chayyas took the gun in her hand, and Shan wondered how she knew how to aim. The she wondered how she knew how to start squeezing the trigger. Something said you’re okay, it’s only pain , and despite all her hard-wired instinct to fling herself to the floor, Shan managed to brace herself before a point-blank shot deafened her.
    She fell.
    Â 
    The isenj city of Jejeno, capital of the Ebj landmass, was all that there was.
    From the time that Eddie Michallat looked out of the shuttle hatch when the vessel landed on Umeh to the time he reached the center of the city, he saw nothing— nothing —but buildings speckled with pinpricks of light that were winking out as the sun came up.
    The complete absence of any open space disoriented him. He had grown used to unbroken horizons on