by Elle E. Ire
It’s almost seven in the evening when Vick makes it to our cottage. We’ve got one of the smallest ones, being only two of us: sitting room, half bath, and kitchen downstairs, lofted bedroom and a bathroom upstairs, balcony on the second floor with an ocean view, wraparound porch on the first complete with a swing and two rocking chairs. Furnishings are white wicker with pastel cushions, and beach-themed holos decorate the walls depicting sunrises, sailboats, brightly colored umbrellas, and lounge chairs. It’s all wrapped up in light blue paint and bright white shutters. I’ve determined over the years that blue is Vick’s favorite color. She won’t admit to having one, claiming aesthetics have little effect on her, but she’s smiling when she comes up the path of small stones and shells to our home for the next seven days.
I wonder if the color choice might have something to do with the fact that love appears blue to my inner sight. Could she be perceiving it through me on some subconscious level? A question for another day.
“Good news,” I say, greeting her at the door. “We didn’t miss dinner.”
“That’s because we destroyed dinner,” she says, smile fading. “They had to reset everything at the beach.”
“Never mind that. Go throw on a bathing suit and let’s head down there. I’m starving.”
She pauses in the doorway, seeming to just now notice I’m in my hot pink bikini. Her eyes linger in all the right places, meaning I’m likely blushing as bright as the suit, but something is wrong.
“Um.”
“You don’t have a bathing suit, do you?”
Vick shakes her head.
“How about shorts? A T-shirt?”
She nods, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Is she really that uptight about vacation attire? I send out a tendril of empathic inquiry, but she’s got her suppressors on higher than she should.
“Give me a sec and I’ll change.” She disappears up the stairs.
I wait in one of the porch rockers, taking deep lungfuls of salty ocean air and the sweet aroma of some of the flowering bushes lining the paths to the various buildings. A bird of some sort with a long beak and wide wingspan glides overhead, crying out to its fellows in long high-pitched calls. Tiny lizards chase each other over the stones and shells, disappearing into the shrubbery. I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in months.
I wish Vick would unwind and appreciate all this natural beauty.
She reappears a couple of minutes later, long dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a black T-shirt accentuating her muscular arms and impressive abs. Army green cargo shorts reveal powerful legs capable of taking down an enemy with a single kick. She’s barefoot, which surprises me, until I realize she probably doesn’t have shoes, other than the combat boots she wears daily, and even Vick would recognize that those won’t work as vacation garb.
We stroll the pathways in companionable silence, sunset turning the cottages, trees, and plants to varying shades of purples, oranges, and deep blues. I’m admiring the beauty, but from the way Vick peers into every shadow, she’s likely scanning for threats and analyzing potential escape routes.
“At ease, Vick. You sent the Sunfires on a wild goose chase,” I remind her. “You’re not a soldier today. You’re on vacation.”
Her dark eyes meet mine. “I’m a soldier every day. I don’t remember how else to be.”
We arrive at the beach before I can come up with a comforting response, but to be honest, I’m not sure if that response would be to comfort Vick or myself. Friends and family wave to us from their scattered places on the sand, some lounging, some tossing a flying disc back and forth, others hitting a volleyball over a net, and a few already in line for the resurrected buffet.
The scents of barbecue ribs, chicken, burgers, and hotdogs waft on the ocean breeze. Palm trees with spine-covered coconuts and blue-green fronds rustle overhead. Waves crash on the shore.
It’s perfect. Now if I can just convince Vick to let her guard down.
I take her hand in mine as a chorus of high-pitched, excited shrieks reaches our ears. Vick tenses, her free hand dropping to her side and a weapon that isn’t there. Muscles in her back tighten in preparation for a fight.
Through our bond, I project all the calm I can muster and wait until she releases her breath before I turn toward the source of the sound. I’m enveloped almost immediately in a group hug, three new sets of arms wrapping around my shoulders and torso, greetings and giggles drowning me in an undecipherable cacophony. It separates me from Vick, me losing my grasp on her hand in the midst of the laughing swarm of bodies. I hope she can tell I’m in no danger.
When I’m gasping for breath, I’m released, and I blink into the setting sun at my three best friends from the Academy—Tonya, Rachelle, and Lily—all beaming at me. Vick’s standing just behind them, a bemused expression on her face at their enthusiasm and a little sadness there too. Is she having a memory flash of friends like these, long gone? Or is she wishing she would?
Tonya and Lily grab my hands, attempting to drag me toward the umbrella they have set up, complete with a cooler of sweating bottled beverages and multicolored towels laid out, but I dig my flip-flops into the sand and halt my forward momentum. “Guys, this is Vick, my….” I hesitate, not quite sure what Vick wants me to call her. What will embarrass her the least?
Vick shakes her head at my indecision and steps forward. “I’m her girlfriend,” she affirms.
A goofy smile spreads across my face. I’m not sure Vick’s ever referred to me that way in public. She grins back. I introduce my former classmates, all of them taking in Vick in all her formidableness. Tonya looks surprised, her eyebrows stretching to the top of her forehead. Openly lesbian since I met her, Lily’s smiling an I-knew-it-all-the-time smile, while Rachelle, my very best friend of them all, beams happily at me and gives me another hug. “I knew you’d find the right person for you,” she whispers against my ear. “You make an adorable couple.”
The words are meant only for me, but of course Vick’s enhanced hearing picks up every syllable and her cheeks flush pink. She turns away to hide it, pretending to swat at one of the harmless but annoying local flying insects. When she faces us again, the blush is gone.
Neat trick.
Vick and VC1 are working in tandem more and more often. I’m not certain how I feel about that. They always operate in concert with each other, of course, to maintain Vick’s essential bodily systems, but the nonessential…. I swallow my concern, determined to focus on positives. So long as VC1 does what Vick asks, it’s fine. I hope.
“Vick, these are my sisters, Lily, Rachelle, and Tonya,” I say, sweeping out an arm to indicate all three of them. Lily bows. Rachelle laughs, and Tonya gives Vick a finger wave.
Vick’s eyes unfocus for a half second, then, “You don’t have sisters.” Checking her database, making sure she didn’t miss anything.
I smile. “No, I don’t. They are my sorority sisters.”
“The Academy has sororities?”
“No, darn it, they don’t. No sororities, no fraternities,” Tonya puts in with the pout I remember working on every boy in school. She places her hands on her slim hips. “And they should have. What’s college life without frat fun?”
“Educational and productive?” Vick says, deadpan.
Lily snorts. “Oh, I like this one,” she says to me. “You’ve chosen well. She’s delicious.” Her eyes trace Vick’s muscular form, lingering on her well-defined abs.
Vick crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not on the menu.” She steps to my side, sliding her arm around my waist.
There’s a tense moment while Lily and Vick lock gazes. Lily did soccer and rugby in school. She’s short and compact, all muscle and hard edges, though they hide the sweetest nature. She’s also a telekinetic, able to move weight much heavier than the average human and toss it around like it’s a feather pillow. If she went head-to-head with Vick, the outcome would be… interesting. I’m about to intervene when Lily bursts into l
aughter. “Oh yeah, she’s a keeper.”
We head for the umbrellas and towels. “Tonya had the idea for us to form our own ‘secret’ sorority, though it wasn’t very secret. Everyone knew about it, even the professors. No one minded as long as we got our work done and didn’t cause too much trouble. It was just the four of us.”
“We were inseparable,” Rachelle adds, linking arms with Lily and Tonya.
I glance at Vick. She looks lost and left out, like she has no idea what to do around other girls, especially ones who are close to each other. Oh, there’s Officer Sanderson, the head of Girard Base Security, but she’s more Vick’s sports and occasional drinking buddy than a female friend. Rachelle notices too. She lets go of the others and steps back, linking her arm in Vick’s before Vick can startle or tense or move away.
“And now we have five. New member, everybody!” Rachelle leans over to Vick. “Don’t worry. There’s no hazing involved, just fun.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Vick says, but there’s a smile in her tone.
I could kiss Rachelle.
We spend the rest of the evening lying on the sand, catching up on each other’s lives, drinking beers, and telling stories about our Academy days. Vick doesn’t say much, but she takes it all in, leaning back on her elbows on the towel she borrowed from Lily, more relaxed than I’ve seen her in days.
That is, until Tonya drops her big pronouncement. “So, tonight, drinking. Tomorrow, we shop!”
Chapter 27: Vick—Buying Power
I AM fabulous… and sarcastic.
Kelly’s friends are kind of awesome. But then I would expect her to choose friends like these—warm, inclusive, funny, smart, talented and Talented, just like her.
Tonya is all girl, painted finger and toenails, perfect makeup even at the beach, tan everywhere, or so she tells us with great pride and no self-consciousness whatsoever. She’s determined to “flesh out my wardrobe,” and since I’ve got funds from the rental agent, I can afford to be dragged along on tomorrow’s shopping trip.
It’s not an experience I’m looking forward to, but Kelly seconds the suggestion that I might have underpacked for this vacation, and she isn’t wrong. And there’s a semiformal to formal dinner/dance in honor of the whole family being together and Kelly’s birthday that takes place toward the end of this week. I have no idea what to do about that, but Tonya says she’ll be happy to help with wardrobe choices. After four beers, I’m buzzed enough to agree to place myself in her hands, fully expecting to regret the decision in the morning.
Lily’s a hoot. And where I got that term from, I have no idea, but I grew up in Kansas, or so my memory fragments and recovered records tell me, so it’s probably some bit of slang from there. She’s all butch all the time, short haircut, raucous laugh, dirty jokes, and sports scores, except when she’s wishing she could find a partner and telling Kelly how happy she is for her, or showing off the images of her twin niece and nephew while hoping for kids of her own someday. When she brings me another beer, she plops down in the sand next to me and says, “Don’t worry. I won’t let Tonya femme you up too much. She’s a personal dresser for Macy’s back in New York City and a clairvoyant with a tendency toward trends in art and fashion. She knows what’s being worn right now in every country and some of the settled worlds through her gift. She’ll fix you up. With my added influence, you’ll look amazing.” Her shoulder bumps mine companionably. “You just need a few more choices for your off-duty hours.”
“And what do you do on Earth?” I ask, though I already know from my research. I know all of them, in a sense, but they make me want to hear it from them, not just read about them. It’s a weird and slightly stressful feeling, wanting friends like these and hoping they’ll like me for me rather than as an extension of Kelly once they get to know me better.
“I’m a firefighter,” Lily replies.
Right. I remember wondering how she was going to afford this trip when I scanned through her information. Firefighters, and all emergency personnel really, are notoriously underpaid. But she’s sharing a villa with Tonya and Rachelle, and she has a healthy savings account, being single with no dependents. She’s the closest to me in terms of financial status, and hanging around all these rich people doesn’t seem to bother her. Maybe I don’t need to stress about that, at least.
“It’s handy to have a telekinetic on the team,” Lily goes on. “Overturned cars, collapsed ceilings, I can move them with a thought and get the people out. And I like helping folks and making a difference.” She cocks her head at me. “Something we have in common, I’m guessing. Just like Kelly, but in a different way.” She pushes herself up and saunters over to Tonya, where the two put their heads together in a friendly argument over what my best colors and styles would be.
I resist rolling my eyes.
Rachelle approaches me next, a little hesitant. Kelly’s parents have come over and are discussing party plans with Kel, so Rachelle’s got no one else to talk to. Instead of wardrobe advice or weather observations, she surprises me with “Want me to clear up that headache for you?”
I blink, then remember. Rachelle is a healer, the rarest of the proven Talents and an exception to the “don’t interfere in the human experience” rule. It’s her job to ease pain and suffering, and unlike Kelly, she can do so without taking some of it into herself. A psychic healer can use her mind to cure the cause of most discomforts. It’s not 100 percent effective. The healer must fully understand medical science and practices and the causes and cures for whatever the ailment is. It takes years of study, and if there’s no known cure through chemical or surgical medicine, the healer can’t duplicate it with her Talent, either. It also takes a tremendous toll on the healer in the form of drained energy. Rachelle is in high demand in the medical community on Myers7, but she’s here not just because of the invite but because the research center and hospital she works for has forced a vacation on her. For her to offer at all is a huge sacrifice in her current condition.
“I’ll wait for it to heal naturally,” I tell her. “It’s already had some treatment back at the base.”
“And it’s not gone. You’re Kelly’s friend. That makes you my friend too. I don’t let my friends hurt if there’s anything I can do about it.” She extends a hand toward the side of my head, but I lean out of her reach.
“This wouldn’t be a good time for you to use more energy.”
Now Rachelle frowns. “How would you know that? You have a hidden Talent of your own?”
Oops. I scramble for a response. “No, no Talent. I just… I know how it works. I’ve seen how it affects Kelly, and you seem a little tired. I care about Kelly’s friends too,” I finish, realizing I mean it.
The frown stays a few moments longer; then she shakes it off and offers a smile. “Well, maybe I’ll need to get Tonya to work on my makeup if I’m showing how tired I am. Kelly knows, but she knows how everyone feels. I didn’t think anyone else could tell.”
“I’m sure no one else can,” I say, wanting to reassure her and not clear how I can do that. I get it, though. I never want anyone to know when I’m wrung out. It hurts my reputation. VC1, more machine than human being, invincible, impervious to pain, the perfect mercenary soldier to hire to do the job that needs doing. “I just recognize tired. It’s an old friend.”
Rachelle peers at me. “And a constant one, I’m thinking. On that note, I’m giving in to my own tired, and all the beer, and heading for bed. Meet us on the dock at eight thirty. We want to hit the shops before the other more-money-than-sense tourists can get there,” she says, patting my knee.
I don’t flinch. Hooray for progress.
The rest of the evening goes well. I’m still catching a few glares from other guests, and more curious looks from ones who weren’t here for my grand entrance but have heard about it. For the most part, though, they stop by our group to greet Kelly and move on.
Once Kelly settles in next to me again, David Locher pauses for a moment to ogle h
er bikini. I’m about to intervene, but he wanders off to join a cluster of polished twentysomething guys playing volleyball. Every once in a while, he draws one of them aside to whisper words even I can’t make out over the sounds of the waves and other conversation. Then both of them cast glances at me and look away. Kelly doesn’t notice, but VC1 keeps me hyperaware of what’s going on around me.
I sigh. High school bullshit those guys never outgrew. Rumors and name-calling crap. Not worth my time. But my stomach twists a little at what they might be saying about me.
The sun sets in a spectacular display of reds, oranges, golds, pinks, and purples. Once it’s full dark, the resort sets off a barrage of environmentally friendly fireworks over the ocean, the colors rivaling those of the sunset.
The pops and cracks of the louder pyrotechnics do set off my fight-or-flight reflexes, their sounds a little too close to gunfire and explosive shells for my comfort, but I have VC1 increase my serotonin levels. Then I lean against a cooler, my arm around Kelly’s shoulders, and enjoy the rare peace within me.
IN THE morning we awake to the glare of sun around the blackout curtains in our lofted cottage bedroom. I barely remember getting back to our lodgings, I was so tired. VC1 helpfully begins a replay of the process, but I cut her off. Meanwhile, Kelly bounds off the spine-conforming mattress, the latest in sleep technology, skips to the sailboat-decorated window coverings, and yanks them aside, blasting me with blinding natural light.
“Are you serious?” I say, pulling the blanket over my head. She’s laughing, but she doesn’t know I just kicked up my suppressors to stop the impending migraine. I was doing better, but the sunlight and last night’s beer fest would be setting me off again without VC1’s support.
She tugs the blankets away, bundling them into a ball at the foot of the bed, and tosses my cargo shorts and a gray T-shirt at my face. I catch them before impact and growl at her.
“Get dressed. We have twenty minutes to meet the launch to the Mainland.” She’s half in her clothes already, a short-sleeved cantaloupe-colored button-down that ties in the front and reveals her belly button, and denim cutoff shorts I don’t recognize.