“So there might have been a singles bar on the Olympia?”
“Was that your plan for the trip?” Tarkken said. “Find a single member of the Intergalactic Community and hook up?”
“Is that a hint of judgement in your tone Tarkken H’Arran?” She said it in a sing song sort of way, as if she couldn’t care less if he judged her or not.
“No,” he said. “I’m just… I don’t understand why you wouldn’t take the test. Maybe you don’t have to resort to hook ups.”
“Hey! There’s no ‘resorting to’, I’m twenty-four, I’m not interested in forever yet. I’m interested in fun.”
“You think your Match wouldn’t be fun?”
“Well… sounds like there’s not an outside chance that he won’t have slept with anyone before me. And hey, I respect the idea of saving yourself for the right person and all that, but if you haven’t fooled around with a few people, how do you know what you’re doing?”
Tarkken frowned. “Isn’t there just some… instinct?”
“Oh sure,” Marta said, and he could practically hear her eyes rolling. “If you happen to be able to read minds, maybe. But if a guy’s only sexual experience is with his own hand, it's going to take him a few goes to find his way around a woman’s body. At least, in terms of Humans anyway.”
“And you wouldn’t be prepared to endure a few less than satisfactory goes for the rest of your life with a perfect partner?”
Marta laughed. “Well, when you put it like that…”
Tarkken’s face felt strange, and he realised he was smiling. A conversation with Marta and he was smiling.
“Anyway,” she said. “Prowess in bed is beside the point. I mean, who in their right mind is going to want to come here to Earth and babysit an ex-con with me? Much as I’d love to sometimes, I can’t leave Dad. He’s the only family I’ve got. No fun space adventures for me.”
Anyone, Tarkken thought. Anyone Matched would move mountains to be with their partner. Living on Earth, helping Marta look after her father, her Match would do that for her.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Tarkken said.
“I know, I lifted the next week’s worth of passwords off their private servers about ten minutes ago.”
“Their private server?”
“I never promised to get the passwords legally. So… are we going dancing tonight or what?”
Tarkken thought about it a moment, giving himself one last chance to consider the options.
“Yes,” he said.
“And are we also hooking up? Only I need to know whether or not to bother with nice panties,” Marta said, then burst out laughing. “Just kidding, I only ever wear nice panties.”
“If this is an attempt to make me uncomfortable, it won’t work,” Tarkken said, keeping his voice dry, even as his mind whirled round everything they’d been talking about, coming back again and again to one thing.
If you happen to be able to read minds, maybe.
Because it happened that Tarkken sort of could.
Chapter 7
THEY ARRANGED TO MEET AT EIGHT, as, according to Marta, nobody normal went to a club long before ten. Tarkken had changed into the nicest outfit Angela had picked out for him. Nicest by her estimation, anyway, Tarkken didn’t have much of a clue about these things. He’d talked with Marta about the possibility that either of them would be recognised, and they’d decided the chances were slim.
“I’ve been following the coverage of Asha and Cael online since they got together,” Marta had said. “Do you know who never features in any of the pictures? You. You’re always on the station, and when you’re not, nobody cares about the nerdy head of security who looks almost entirely Human. Cribishk and Randar make for much better photo opportunities. I doubt they’d know who you were, even if you rocked up in your normal clothes.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be recognised,” he said. “And you were right earlier when you said you stay out of the spotlight. But I wouldn’t want to risk it. I’m not Randar or Cribishk. I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe.”
“Aw, that’s the second time you’ve expressed concern for my welfare. I’m starting to think you’re actually a sweetie beneath all that grouch.” She laughed, and for reasons Tarkken couldn’t identify, he was struck with a vision of her, head tipped back, the long line of her throat exposed. His tongue traced over his lips.
“You don’t need to worry,” Marta said. “As far as being recognised goes, I’ve got that covered.”
Now, he was stood in front of her door, glancing up at the security camera as it turned to him. A clunk sounded, and Tarkken pushed the outer door open. Beyond it, a small corridor lead to another closed door. He knocked, then opened it, stepping in to Marta’s space.
The first room was open - bedroom and kitchen in one. The kitchen was just a few cupboards and appliances, a small table with mismatching chairs. It took up the smaller part of the ‘L’ shaped room, the greater half of the space taken by a double bed and built in wardrobes. An unmade bed, clothes strewn across it, and over all the open doors of the cupboards, and a good portion of the floor.
“Marta?” he called.
There were two other doors off the bedroom area, one to the left that remained closed, and one on the back wall that opened, steam billowing out of it. Tarkken caught a glimpse of towel wrapped around a body and looked away.
“Sorry,” Marta said, and Tarkken could hear her feet skipping across the floor. “I always think I leave enough time to get ready, but I never do.”
“We’ve got time,” Tarkken said, risking a glance over his shoulder. Marta stood behind one of the wardrobe doors, their relative positions such that it blocked his view of her almost completely, just her feet at the bottom still visible.
“I know. Help yourself to a drink if you want one,” she said over the scrape of drawers opening and closing, and hangers being moved along a pole.
Tarkken wasn’t thirsty, but he got himself a glass of water for something to do. A distraction from the thought of Marta, naked, rummaging through her drawers. Presumably one of those drawers full of nice panties. Whatever constituted ‘nice’ when it came to women’s underwear. It was not something Tarkken had any experience of.
He took a long drink of water.
Marta was muttering to herself, but Tarkken’s attention was on her feet. Dainty little feet with blue nail polish on the toes, slightly chipped. A thin silver chain wrapped around her ankle, accentuating its slenderness. He didn’t know why it surprised him. Just because she was Asha’s friend, didn’t mean she had to subscribe to Asha’s attitude about clothes and jewellery.
He took a seat on one of her mismatching kitchen chairs, sipping at his drink again, his mouth strangely dry. He heard a skittering sound and turned to find himself face to face with a pair of green eyes, set in a small, furry face. The creature stared at him for a long moment, before releasing a yowling sound, long, pointed teeth revealed inside its mouth. It was too small to be frightening, but, it was disconcerting.
“Mouse, leave Tarkken alone!” Marta called from behind the wardrobe door. “Just nudge her off the table if she’s bugging you.”
“Mouse?” Tarkken said. “Isn’t this a cat?”
“That’s her name.”
“You called your cat Mouse?”
Marta laughed. “I always wanted a cat, even as a little girl. And I always called my imaginary cats Mouse. When I got a real one, I decided to honour the tradition.”
“You are a very strange individual,” Tarkken said, leaning back on his chair a little as Mouse took a step closer to him.
Then Marta bent down, stepping in to a pair of strappy sandals, snapped the wardrobe door shut, prompting the cat to bolt in her direction. She stooped to pick it up, snuggled it, then deposited the creature on her bed. Tarkken followed the movement of the creature, eyes narrowed, but then his gaze caught on Marta. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a large, loose t-shirt with the words ‘what are you
looking at?’ stamped across the front in glittery letters. The leggings revealed toned calves, long, shapely legs, and the loose fit of the t-shirt did nothing to diminish the feminine curve of her figure. But Tarkken’s attention was immediately drawn to her hair.
“What the hell have you done to yourself?” he said.
In place of her natural wild curls was poker straight hair, long enough to reach her waist. Perfectly smooth, and so shiny, but… wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.
“I figured my hair was the most recognisable thing about me,” Marta said, giving him a twirl. “No one is going to look at me twice like this.”
That, Tarkken didn’t think was true. She’d done her makeup dark and smokey, eyes emphasised by black liner. Long, dangling earrings glittered at her neck, a necklace resting just at the tip of her cleavage like an invitation. A ‘this way’ sign. Tarkken thought it likely that she’d attract a lot of attention, but they certainly wouldn’t be looking at her and wondering if she was the curly haired beauty who occasionally might have been seen with Humanity’s latest Princess.
“Well?” she said, hands resting on her hips, chin jutted out with a hint of defiance.
“No, no one is going to recognise you. I barely recognise you.”
She frowned, but curiosity rather than anger drifted from her.
“You don’t like the look?”
“You… It’s a bit unsettling. It’s like your voice coming out of someone else’s mouth.”
“I’ve only changed my hair,” she said, giving him a bemused look.
“I know, but…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Ooo-kay,” Marta said, a small smile curling at the edges of her lips, amusement brightening her emotional landscape. “Nice outfit, by the way. I presume Angela picked it out for you?”
“Yes.”
“Damn that girl has good taste.”
“It’s acceptable then?” Tarkken said, looking down at the Human clothes. “I won’t look out of place in the club?”
“Nope. In fact, with those arms in that shirt, you look a hell of a lot better than acceptable. Though…”
She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, unbuttoning the cuff and rolling the sleeve up to his elbow. Her fingers brushed against his skin, soft, delicate, sending a shiver through him. But close as she was, he couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions pouring from her. Excitement, anticipation, mixed with a little bit of… not quite fear. Trepidation. If it had stopped there, it would have been alright, but the surface emotions were like a whirlpool, sucking him down, down into the things that she wouldn’t want him to see. Past the ongoing frustration with her father, past the wariness she felt towards Tarkken and this new alliance of theirs, down into the formative emotions, the things that made up the very heart of her.
His mind cried out for this kind of connection, connection he’d denied himself ever since he’d left his homeworld, his family. But what his mind craved, his conscience couldn’t take. The first glimpse of her emotional depths - the edges of some long ago abandonment that no longer hurt in any acute way, but still ached from time to time - had him reeling back. It was too personal, too private.
Marta was just finishing rolling his other sleeve when he came back to himself, wincing as his headache flared, like a nail being hammered into his skull. Marta looked up just in time to catch him grimacing, and Tarkken knew exactly how it looked, unsurprised when she frowned.
“What?” she said. “You’re happy to work with me, but I’m not allowed to be near you? In case I have cooties?”
“No, it’s not… What are cooties?”
A brief flare of amusement, followed by a slow return to the annoyance. Sharp, like needle teeth nibbling at him.
“Like a disease that girls supposedly have, that boys don’t want to catch. Or vice versa. It’s a playground thing. Kids stuff.”
Tarkken took a deep breath, tried to swallow down the urge to bite. Tried to remind himself that it wasn’t her fault that she naturally projected her emotions at such volume.
“I understand that your suggestion is I’m being childish, but that’s not…”
Her temper flared the moment he began his denial. This close, it was impossible to push out, not that he didn’t try, the headache he’d almost forgotten about all day returning with a vengeance.
“I just thought we were getting somewhere yesterday,” she said, voice low, an edge to it sharp enough to cut. “But every time I think we have an understanding, you revert back to looking at me like I’m dirt on the bottom of your shoe.”
Tarkken shut his eyes, as if closing them could hold back the headache. Her anger buffeted him, and worse. He could feel it now, feel the edges of that old hurt, the abandonment deep in her subconscious. Now he knew it was there, he could sense the flavour of it tainting all her other emotions. How his actions made that old hurt pulse. Just one more person she wasn’t good enough for…
He didn’t want her to feel like that, and not just because of the way that emotion felt, squeezing at his head until it felt like his skull might pop. He didn’t want her hurting. He really didn’t want her hurting because of him.
“Marta.” He put a hand to his head, massaging his temples. “I need you to stand about three feet further away. Please.”
Annoyance shifted to confusion, the new emotion not rasping over his nerves like sandpaper. He gave her an imploring look, and she took three large steps backwards. The relief was immediate, and though he could still feel her confusion, it was quieter, more manageable.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think you’re dirt on the bottom of my shoe. You’re just… loud.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say. Her scowl deepened, furrowing her brow, her body full of the anger and frustration she could barely contain.
“Loud? What’s that supposed to mean? Opinionated? If you don’t like what I have to say, then…”
“No,” Tarkken cut her off before she could build up any momentum. “Your emotions. It’s not anything you’re doing. It’s just how you are. You project more than anyone else. I try not to read you, but it’s hard. It gives me a headache.”
Her anger cut off dead, her head canting to the side as she looked at him.
“You can read emotions?” she said. “Actually, I’m sure Asha said something about that.”
Tarkken nodded. “She doesn’t like it. I know. People don’t. That’s why I try not to look any more than I can help it. But with you… It’s not that easy.”
“I give you a headache. So you try to stay away from me?” It wasn’t quite accepting, but it was considerably less prickly.
“And because I thought you’d prefer not to have me aware of your every emotion.”
“Huh,” she said, taking a moment to process. “So, can you tell what I’m thinking, or is it more vague than that?”
“Not exact thoughts,” Tarkken said. “Most of the time I don’t get much nuance. Just broad strokes. But with certain people - with you - it’s a bit clearer. I could tell the difference between you being angry with yourself and angry with someone else, for example. But not what you were angry about.”
“And it’s just on all the time? You can’t switch it off?”
“No,” Tarkken said. “Sorry.”
Marta arched an eyebrow. “What are you apologising for? Don’t apologise for who you are. That’s like me apologising for having blue eyes.”
“Eye colour doesn’t intrude on anyone’s privacy. I know my Empathy makes people uncomfortable.”
Marta just shrugged. “You scowling at me all the time made me uncomfortable.”
“Like I said, trying not to read people gives me a headache. It’s not you, not really. Sometimes, when you feel something particularly strongly, the pain can be quite intense.”
Marta considered him for a long time. “Is it intense just because I’m loud, or because you’re trying to keep me out? Because it doesn’t make much sense to me that you’d have th
is ability but it hurt you all the time.”
“No, reading people is what my brain wants to do. The headache is from me trying to stop it.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, her smokey eyes pinning him. “Maybe don’t try not to read me, then?”
Tarkken blinked. “You want me to stop trying to stay out of your head?”
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my account,” she said with a shrug.
“Marta, I’d be privy to everything you’re feeling.”
She shrugged again. “I’ve got nothing to hide.” She looked straight at him, eyes not deviating from his for even a moment as she spoke. “Look, you’ve already seen me at the worst point in my adult life - sitting in a police interview suite where I’d just been questioned about my involvement in drug dealing. And if you need me to be standing this far away from you to not be privy to my every feeling, then you must have got a pretty good sense of my mortification. What am I going to feel tonight that’s likely to be worse than that?”
The deep stuff, he thought, the things that you probably don’t even know you feel. The things that are the reason why some mornings you wake up and just feel a bit ‘off’. The past traumas and dark secrets.
But to say as much would be tantamount to admitting that he’d already had a taste, already felt the edges of the things that Marta kept close to her heart. And, cowardly though it was, he didn’t want to push her away again. It felt strange to admit it, even to himself, but he actually liked having her on side.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She glowered at him. “We’re going to stick out like a sore thumb if you’re constantly scowling at me in the club.”
“Okay,” he said, relinquishing his tight control on his Empathy even as he said it.
The relief was instant, the headache dulling, the pain no longer a hard edged thing. Her emotions increased in volume, easy for him to sense even from a distance, but there was no annoyance, no regret in her emotional landscape. Just… satisfaction. And relief. She was happy that he was relaxing his guard around her?
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