by R Coots
Delfi stirred again, coming out of her doze to find out what had her sousi so agitated. Jossa sucked in a breath and blew it out. She would not give Del a reason to worry. She would not pick up the piece of metal sitting next to the door and try to hit Syrus over the head with it. She wouldn’t. She could control herself.
He didn’t speak.
Jossa growled. “Fine. I don’t have a plan. I’ve been more than a little preoccupied. I can say this about it though—it doesn’t include you.”
“Then you’re a fucking idiot.”
He said it in such a calm, conversational tone of voice that she had to stare at him for a second to realize exactly what he’d said.
“Excuse me!”
“Not your fault. You’ve been a little busy making sure Del stays breathing. But now that you’re away from that fucking freak show you should probably—”
“You’re the one who put me there to start with! And kept me prisoner! And demanded sex!”
“And you’re the one who offered it up to me later!” Jossa never saw him move. One second he was in the pilot’s chair, the next he had her by the shirt front, face inches from hers.
Jossa grabbed at Syrus’s hands, fingers looking for nerve clusters and tender spots. He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t you ever, ever blame me for how you handle your problems.” Jossa’s teeth clacked together as Syrus shook her once, hard. “You hear me?” His voice was a rasping growl in her ears. She could feel the heat of his anger as if he had no shields at all. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’d lost his grip on them.
“You all but forced me into it,” she snarled. “You threatened to kill Delfi!” She found his thumbnail and dug her own nails into its base. Still nothing.
“I just wanted you to stop fighting long enough to get us into the base. You started in with the sex.”
Jossa glared at him. The ceiling was too low for him to lift her completely off the floor. Instead, she wobbled on her tiptoes. If she tried to kick him in the knee or stomp his instep, she’d have to give up her precarious hold on her balance.
“Now. You going to calm down and have a civil conversation? Because this time I will snap your neck. Delfi’s in no shape to get here before that happens.”
She glared at him, wondering if she could blast him with her own feelings fast enough to make any sort of difference. Unfortunately, all she had right now was anger. Counterproductive to say the least, considering what they’d just lived through.
“Fine,” she said. “Would you please set me down?”
And just like that, his anger vanished. Syrus laughed and let go of her shirt. Jossa staggered a little before she caught her balance. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He flashed a grin at her and sat back down. “See. Perfectly civil.”
Jossa sighed. “Well, here I am. You’re still in the vicinity; and barring the sudden rupture of the hull or a great and abiding desire on your part to take a walk without a suit . . .”
There a smile pulled at the warlord’s lips. “Here you are. With no way to get rid of me.”
“For now,” Jossa said. “Once we dock, you may leave and find yourself someone else to torment.”
His grip on his shields wavered, and something like outright mocking made its way out. He thought she was funny. Funny!
There was scorn in the mix too. He knew she was catching this. The half-smile on his face said that he’d let her feel it on purpose. Just not enough for her to get more than a taste of the emotions. A bare hint of what was going through his head.
Who taught this man to shield? The Uvlaku?
No. Don’t ask questions like that. Don’t wonder. You are going to land, kick him off the ship for co-opting your escape plan, and live your life without ever having to worry about what a Savage turned warlord turned fugitive might be thinking.
Yes. Good plan. There. It was a plan. She drew herself up “I am the one who decided to leave. You simply followed. Therefore, you can go find yourself a different ship.”
One eyebrow climbed his forehead. “It’s been three hundred years. You think the Barbican network is the same now as then? Assuming you can get this bucket fixed and learn to fly it.”
“Delfi knows how to pilot. We can make our own repairs.”
Syrus leaned forward. “She won’t be in any shape to function on her own for weeks yet. Even if she could, I’ve got the masker. First time you log your DNA for something, half the system will land on your head.
“’Sides that, how do you plan to pay for repairs? Stock the ship? How will you pay the bills and get off whatever trash-heap satellite we wind up on? Same way you kept yourself and Delfi fed while you were on the run? Same way you found a berth on—”
“I thought we were having a civil conversation here.” Jossa knew she shouldn’t provoke him, but she didn’t care. She took her anger, turned it to ice, and shoved it at him like a planetside cold front. He stiffened. She watched as goosebumps covered his bare arm.
Ha. Might be able to keep things in, but you’re not as good at keeping them out, are you?
Then he was there again. Right in her face. The heat of his body evaporated the chill of her fury as if it had never been. His bulk pressed her back against the wall, his eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. “Here is how this is going to go,” he growled. “You won’t try to kill me. Delfi won’t try to kill me. I will find a ship that’s not about to drop out of orbit. You want to leave? Go back to paying your way through life by spreading your legs for anyone with two credits to throw your way? That’s fine. Your sousi won’t last a day. She’s only barely healed. Adrenaline got her out of that medunit and on the ship. You can’t earn enough to feed yourselves and protect her too, and you know it.
“So. You can stick with me on the next ship as crew. We’ll pick up a cargo and keep moving. The Gatekeepers and the Seps Coalition managed to hold on to independence since you went under. I have a few contacts there. So long as some other Branch of the Fleet doesn’t hit that sector in the next year or so, we should be able to get past their Barbicans.”
“A year! But—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth. His emotions went from a radiating presence to a searing brand in her mind, anger and frustration so mixed up that she couldn’t tell which was which.
Was this the man he’d been before? Before everything with the Fleet? Or was this what they’d made him?
“No buts. This is your option. This is the chance I’m giving you.”
Jossa tore at the hand over her mouth and stomped at his foot at the same time. He let go of her face. His hip caught hers and pinned her to the wall so she couldn’t move.
“I was the one who decided to escape,” Jossa snarled. “You weren’t even thinking of leaving until you found me in that room!”
He shrugged. She could feel the movement of his body all the way to her toes. “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter now, ’cause I did leave. Just remember. I’m the one who knows my way around here. I know what sort of places are safe, and which ones are going down in flaming glory because some fucker decided to make a try for the throne. You think you can make it through all that? Have at it.”
“I won’t have sex with you again.”
Amusement. Real and warm as a blanket by the fire. He threw his head back and laughed. She could feel the length of his usik against her hip as it made its opinion of that declaration known.
“I mean it,” she said through gritted teeth. “You can’t make me. And you can’t make Del either.”
He shifted, grinding his pelvic bone into hers. His eyes were wrong though. They’d taken on a distant quality.
“And what about the Fleet? How long can we run before they find us again?” Get the subject off sex. Distract him, quickly!
Syrus refocused on her face and stepped back, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. His shields were back, as strong as if he’d never dropped them at all. “Net was set out a fair ways
in the first place,” he said. “They’ll take time to clear it first. And pacify the Border planets. Lot of military out here. It’ll take a while. Still plenty of systems between them and the center of the Empire. We’ll have time, so long as we play things safe.”
Safe. As if anything to do with this man would ever be safe.
::Still better than the alternative,:: Del said quietly.
“Alright! Alright.” Jossa crossed her arms and glared at the former warlord. “We’ll stay. You’ll pay us as crew, once you find work. The minute you touch either one of us, we pull out your guts and use them to decorate the ship. Got it?”
He bared white teeth in a feral smile, then spat on one palm and held it out for her. Jossa looked at it. Looked at him. Then spat on her own hand and held it out.
As his long fingers engulfed her much smaller ones, she threw a prayer to the universe. Ancestors protect her. What was she agreeing to?
>>>><<<<
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>Acknowledgements
I grew up in a creative household. Music, art, baking (ok, that’s chemistry too). I would have never come this far without the encouragement of my parents. Love you! And my husband, who’s been there as I cried, occasionally bled, and clawed my way over the finish line of publishing. Love you too, more than you know.
To all the friends who’ve supported me, here’s all the thanks I can give. To everyone in the Holt, the Alder Cave Academy, and the Brain Health Chatz. For all the support and virtual applications of booze, chocolate and afghans, thank you. To the folks in the Indiepreneur group and the WEL Accountability server, all the appreciation.
Thanks to Sheila, for cackling with me as I hammered out the initial ideas. To Rabbit and her mom for answering my awkward questions. Mom, for medical answers to questions that made you go “Whut?” And to Blair, who so generously offered to look over my fight scenes (I kept adding more, whoops!) and make sure I didn’t have feet flying up near the ceiling and that the people who should be dead actually died.
And most of all, God. I’m not sure why I’ve got the imagination I do, but all thanks and praise.
>ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R Coots has been telling stories since the days of imaginary friends. Not serious until a two-week power outage meant that a pencil and paper were the only forms of entertainment, there have been several detours along the roads of comics, animation, and finally the written word. Aided by two neurotic dogs, a murderous cat, and a very down-to-earth husband, she exorcises the imaginary people in her head by means of art and writing, getting them out on paper so she can share them with the world.
Feel free to stop by my site for more on this universe, including art, blog posts, and the occasional bit of character silliness:
https://www.artseklektos.com