by C. Gockel
He snorted. “No such thing.” He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat and drew her into his arms. “I haven’t had many friends, and fewer lovers,” he said. “My talent makes it difficult.”
He kissed her lips as lightly and easily as if he’d done it hundreds of times. “I’ve been aching to do this all day.” He kissed her lightly again, and she felt heat rise in her.
She luxuriated in his scent and the feel of his lean body against her softer counterparts. “I think I have, too,” she said, realizing the icy feeling in her chest always vanished when he touched her, like an addiction being eased.
He put his hand on the side of her face and tilted her chin up to meet his kiss. She opened to him immediately, reveling in the taste of him, the silky feel of his tongue against hers. His soft moan ignited a fire that made her instinctively arch into him. She repressed a tremor, but he felt it and broke off the kiss to look at her.
“Tell me more about sensory overload,” he said, his voice ragged.
She took a deep, calming breath. “The first few years after we undergo the procedure, we can get overwhelmed by sensations before the brain finishes altering to handle them all. It’s easy to become… lost in sounds or scents or tastes. The CPS trains with pain and discipline to prevent it.” Her voice sounded husky to her ears.
“What about the shaking?” She felt his hand stroke her back in a gentle caress.
“A warning that the input center is about to be overwhelmed. In some, it causes seizures or coma.”
He stilled. “What about in you?”
She tightened her grip on him. “I don’t know.” Not even in the first months after the alteration procedure had she ever felt like she did with Luka. It was frightening, but the stubborn part of her wanted to meet the challenge head on. “You are the first thing—the only thing—that’s ever made me lose control.”
“Flattering, but not reassuring,” he said, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It would kill me if I hurt you.”
“If we go slow, I can stop if I need to,” she said, hoping it was true.
He trailed nibbling kisses to her ear and along her neck. “I can do slow.”
Air suddenly seemed in short supply. “So I see,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. Her powerful sense of duty warred with her strong desire. Both had grown exponentially, but her desire was winning. Bad, bad idea, hissed her cautious brain, but was overridden by another, less-familiar part of her mind saying this was good, perfect…
Somehow her hands had burrowed under his shirt, splayed on the warm expanse of his skin. She loved the way his back expanded when he drew breath. His arm felt deliciously firm angled across her back.
Luka moaned as the sensations from her hands and mouth made his hair stand on end with desire. He was on the edge of abandoning “slow,” and desperately tried to find something distracting to think about, like how many knives she had on her person and how sharp they were.
“Why didn’t you tell me about what happened with Malamig?”
She gave him a hazy look that took a moment to clear. “Wasn’t your problem.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.” He couldn’t help it, but he felt fiercely protective of her.
He slid his hand around to the silky smooth nape of her neck. Her skin was velvety soft and warm and... lumpy.
“What’s this between your shoulder blades?”
“Knife.”
“Of course it is,” he said, amused. He kissed her again and nibbled at her bottom lip, then groaned in protest when she slowly stepped back and smoothed his shirt down where her wandering hands had rumpled it. He was sorry he’d reminded her about the real world, where people were trying to kill him.
“I’m your personal security detail.” She clasped his left hand in hers and lightly stroked the fading bruises. “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted.”
“I know.” He sighed and smiled. “I’m glad you find me distracting. I’d hate to be alone in that.” He caressed her upper arm, unwilling to stop touching her yet. “I suppose sleeping together in that insanely large bed of yours tonight is out of the question?”
“It’s not safe,” she said, and he understood she was talking about much more than security duty. There wouldn’t be much sleeping if they shared a bed, even if they had good intentions. They were too combustible. Chaos, but he wanted her. Wanted to find out how hot they could burn.
“No, not for us,” he agreed, not hiding his regret and reluctance to move away even as he did so. He returned to the barstool and picked up the display to keep his hands busy.
She stepped into the kitchen, and as she did, visibly reasserted her redoubtable control. It was hot and sexy as hell. He’d take strong, sleek Mairwen any day over all the Habervilles of the galaxy.
He made himself look at the information on the display, though he wasn’t able to actually comprehend it for several more minutes until his body cooled and blood circulation returned to his brain.
The protocols for xenobiological sampling, while useful for their intended mission, were mind-numbingly boring, so he was glad when she interrupted.
“Is Zheer your friend?”
“Not really. More of a respected colleague. And my boss, of course.” He gave her a questioning look.
“Why didn’t she terminate my contract?”
He considered it for a moment. “My guess is, you told the truth and took responsibility for your actions. Malamig did neither.”
Privately, he wondered if Zheer’s forecaster talent told her that Mairwen’s continued employment would benefit the case or the company. It was also possible Zheer suspected he and Mairwen had something beyond a professional relationship, though he couldn’t have defined what that something was. He only knew he’d fight for her to stay.
Leo would have laughed at him and told him all women were mysterious. Luka missed him. They’d probably never catch the specific crew assholes who had killed Leo and Adina, but at least they could find the person who’d given the orders.
Mairwen had moved to near the door, standing in what he thought of as her sentinel stance.
“Do you have any friends, Mairwen?”
“No,” she said, then seemed to think better of it. “Perhaps. Beva Rienville said we’re friends. I don’t know how to tell. She said she wanted to hire me for her new division after my assignment with you is done.”
“What did you say?” he asked, feeling a stab of possessiveness. He didn’t care if Beva wanted to be best friends for eternity with Mairwen, but he’d be damned if he’d give her up as his assistant, or anything else, so easily.
“Nothing. She was running late.”
He laughed, relieved. “She’s always running late for something.”
He wanted to ask Mairwen if she wanted to stay with him, be with him, be his lover, but he didn’t have the courage to hear the answers just then.
A few hours later, as he was again in her bed alone and dreaming she was with him, Mairwen nudged him awake to take a live ping from Zheer. He wondered groggily if either woman ever slept. La Plata was sending a vehicle in four hours to take them to the spaceport, where they’d board the Berjalan, an interstellar ship bound for Insche 255C, the best-guess candidate for a hybrid planet.
12 * Interstellar: “Berjalan” Ship Day 01 * GDAT 3237.038 *
MAIRWEN LOOKED AROUND her small but private stateroom for a place to store the low-res beamer and holster she’d been issued, but no luck. She placed them in her duffel bag with the upscale flexin armor she’d been issued and her spare knives and sheaths. While on the ship, she saw no reason to carry the beamer, since she already wore her usual knives. Besides, incautious use of a beamer was a quick way to breach the hull. She’d stowed her overcoat and expedition gear in the shallow closet, above where she’d put her boots and running shoes.
At least she could wear comfortable clothing for the next few days. Good thing, because she had little else. She
slipped on pants that hung loose from her hips and a sleeveless tank top. Her breasts were too small to make it worth the trouble to wear a bra. The stateroom’s unexpectedly plush carpeting felt good on her bare feet as she wiggled her toes.
Luka’s stateroom was next to and the mirror image of hers, with a shared fresher between them. Across the short hall were similar staterooms for DeBayaud and Adams, the two security specialists Zheer had assigned. Both men appeared competent and pleasant. They moved like they had military training, and were probably ex-gunnin. DeBayaud was tall and athletic, and Adams was compact and well muscled, and they both appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties. She gathered they were both La Plata employees, not subcontractors, and that they’d worked together before.
On the other side of the mid-sized ship were two larger staterooms plus two tiny cabins. Haberville and the La Plata pilot, Ta’foulou, had taken the staterooms, which were probably meant for a pilot and a captain. Having two pilots on their team would allow them to travel nonstop, and provided backup in case of trouble.
Ta’foulou was in his fifties and had no hair, and his hands, neck, and bald head had surface tattoos on practically every square centimeter except his face, almost like a permanent hooded jacket. He preferred speaking in Arabic and didn’t seem comfortable talking to people. Mairwen sympathized.
The common areas included a kitchen, a well-equipped exercise room, an open, convertible dining and lounging area with various seating and entertainment options, and a desk and bookshelf area along one bulkhead meant to serve as a work area. All told, it was about six hundred square meters of flat-level living space, plus the engine and navigation pods, which doubled as escape pods. Comfortable enough for six people for a few days, but she planned to keep her extraordinary senses dampened to subnormal levels while in such close quarters with others. Even so, she could still hear the phantom sonics that meant they were in transit.
She was more concerned about Luka at the moment. Zheer had put the pressure on for a quick liftoff window that suited her sense of urgency. Between arranging for delivery of more clothes for himself, weapons and armor, camping gear, and a portable medical kit, he’d only gotten an hour’s nap. From the moment he’d seen the Berjalan, his tension had increased. She caught hints of his old, bad memories look flitting across his face when he thought no one was watching. He’d declined Haberville’s safety tour, saying he already knew this ship model well.
Something finally clicked in Mairwen’s mind as she slipped on a long cardigan to cover her knives and walked through the fresher to the open door of Luka’s stateroom.
He was seated on the low, padded platform couch that doubled as a bed, wearing only a loose pair of knit pants. Earlier, he’d mumbled something about sleeping, but he hadn’t closed the door or darkened the room, and she doubted he could rest in his current state.
“I’m not good company,” he said, closing his eyes as if his head throbbed. “And little pilots sometimes have big ears.”
It was unfortunately true that some pilots abused their access to the emergency occupant-monitoring system and used it as their personal entertainment channel. Mairwen thought they were lucky the ship didn’t have the upgraded system that included visuals.
She sealed the entry door and stepped closer so they could speak quietly.
“I know why. Is it exactly the same make and model of ship?”
“Different stateroom configuration, but close enough.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “My talent feels hot right now, like it did when I reconstructed the ‘playroom’ those sick fucks made.” His low voice dropped to a whisper, and he shivered as if his talent was consuming his body heat. “I can see everything. Hear everything. Like it was yesterday.”
She didn’t know what to say. She felt hopelessly out of her depth, but she couldn’t leave him like this. Maybe whatever it was about her that cooled his talent could help him now. She pulled up the room’s only chair to face him, close enough to thread her knees between his. She took his hands in hers.
“Look at me.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t know what you’re asking.” He looked down and refused to meet her gaze.
“Yes, I do.” She leaned closer so she could pitch her voice just to him. “It’s what you did at the spaceport with the woman who called herself Green and with Dr. Onndrae. It’s how you found the collector when he hid among the joyhouse kitchen staff.” The thought of his focused, talent-enhanced intuition directed at her made her nervous, but he already knew a measure of her secrets. He was afraid of his talent, fighting it, and that couldn’t be good for him. Her unease was mostly old habit, not present danger.
“Luka, look at me.”
She thought he’d refuse again, but after a moment, he looked up and into her eyes, and his pupils slowly dilated. She stilled her sensory inputs until there was nothing in her universe but the sound of his breathing, the exotic scent of him, the warmth of his hands in hers. She admired the lines of his sensual mouth, the stunning colors in his eyes, the well-defined, sculpted shape of his broad chest and taut abdomen, the two old scars on his ribs, the thin line of dark body hair that trailed down from his navel, the heady maleness of him. It was almost like relaxing into full-tracker mode meditation.
“Mairwen,” he said, after what could have been short seconds or long minutes. He made her lose track of time. His voice was thick with emotion, and his expression had gone from haunted to something she couldn’t name, but it made her heart skip a beat.
“You are...” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. She couldn’t describe what she was feeling, either, just that it was powerful and melted inside her like hot wax.
She gave into a rising, aching need and rose from her chair to kneel on the platform, facing him and straddling his thighs. His hands tightened on her waist as she sank into his lap. She grasped his wonderfully naked shoulders and kissed him fiercely. He responded almost immediately, then took over the kiss with sensual strength.
She loved the feel of his skin under her hands and wanted more. They broke for air, gasping, and he slid his hands up to gently push the sweater back and slide it off her arms onto the floor, then glided back up her arms to her shoulders, where his hands hesitated.
“What are these?” His passion-hazed expression darkened as he circled the furrowed, irregular scars with his thumbs. “Souvenirs from vocational school?”
She quirked a smile. “No. When I... graduated, I had to leave their tracers behind.”
He kissed the scar on each shoulder, then returned hungrily to her mouth, and she couldn’t suppress a deep tremor. He dragged his lips away from hers to drop his forehead onto her shoulder and stroked her sides, generating heat and goose bumps at the same time. “Someday soon, let’s do this when neither of us is exhausted or hurting.”
“Or about to be interrupted,” she whispered, hearing the approach of booted feet on the carpet outside Luka’s door. She slid back and off his marvelously strong thighs and scooped up her sweater, resigned to it being a pitiful substitute for the heat of his chest on hers. She pulled the sweater on as the entrance chime sounded.
She moved the chair back, then unsealed the door to reveal DeBayaud, who glanced at her with mild curiosity, then apologized for interrupting. He asked Luka what schedule he wanted to set for the three subjective ship days it would take to get to their first destination, a flux and supplies stop called Horvax Station.
“Ask the pilots to sync us to the local day length on Insche 255C, if the exploration records have that data. One of us besides the pilot should be awake at all times, but that can’t be me right now. I’m flatlined.” He looked at the display clock on the wall. “Let’s meet at fifteen thirty ship time to set shifts and talk about plans.”
DeBayaud nodded and headed toward the navigation pod. Someone, probably Adams, was puttering about in the kitchen area. She turned back to Luka. He no longer looked distressed, just tired.
“You need rest, Luka.”
She resolutely ignored her body’s crying need for his and turned to go. She needed a few hours of sleep herself.
“Mairwen,” he said, and she stopped and looked back. “Could you help me find... control?”
She hesitated, then said, “We can try.”
It was the glimmer of hope in his eyes that made her agree. Even though she had no clue where to start, and her own controls eroded the moment she was anywhere near him.
At the meeting six hours later, Luka summarized the case thus far, saying that they suspected Balkovsky and Schmidt had been killed to cover up the fact that the source of the bad vaccine was a hybrid planet, and that their trip was to see if they could prove it. The team’s pre-flight briefing hadn’t included the part about the deaths, and Adams, who had worked with Balkovsky, was visibly angered by the circumstances. Mairwen thought the others were calmer, or at least hid it better.
Luka opened the portable display. “We’ll be stopping at Horvax Station for a resupply and to pick up the xenobiological sampling kit that hadn’t been ready when we left Rekoria.”
“Will we load flux, too?” asked Ta’foulou. It took Luka a moment to understand the question through Ta’foulou’s thick Arabic accent.
“Yes,” said Luka. “We may need the extra fuel. No telling what we’ll need when we hit the Insche 255 system.”
He gave them the briefing Mairwen had prepared on the few facts and many conjectures about failed terraforms and hybrid planets, and emphasized the extra safety precautions they’d need to take. He asked Haberville to report what she’d found in the navcomp datacube.
“The exploration data is sparse. Gold G-type star, of course. It was a First Wave terraform candidate, so 255C has a similar day length and orbit period to old Earth. Records say it was poisoned five hundred and three years ago. Six continents, a few tectonic plates. One small moon. Nothing else worth mentioning. The solar system has an asteroid belt in fourth position. The in-system transit point is between that and 255E, a gas giant.”