by Natalie Grey
“Well, first of all, I prefer for him to be a girl.”
“What, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Okay, well, what do you like in girls?”
Nyx laughed, and followed him into the restaurant.
3
Mala swore softly and dropped her face into her hands. It was late and her eyes were aching from staring at the screen in front of her. She could no longer remember if she’d had lunch, and she was certain she hadn’t had dinner. Between tiredness and hunger, she was in no mood to take her most recent failure gracefully.
“Nothing?” Jessica looked over from her own computer.
“Nothing,” Mala said, her voice muffled on her palms. She picked her head up and gave a strained smile. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“You needed help,” Jessica protested.
“You have helped.”
“We haven’t found anything!”
“Yes, but as our new Director would say, negative results are still results.” Mala gave a look at the side wall. Somewhere through that unassuming beige paint, the new Director of Intelligence was making himself at home. One of the man’s guiding principles thus far had been to let people keep working as they had been. It was a hopeful sign, but Mala was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any day now, she was sure, he was going to swoop in and demand an accounting of all Intelligence time and resources…and she was going to be asked to give up this side project.
She had to finish before that happened.
“There may not be anything to find,” Jessica said finally. Her voice was very small.
Mala looked over at her. Jessica Fenty was short and pale, with inquisitive green eyes and one of the sharpest minds Mala had ever seen. Her blonde hair more resembled a lion’s mane than a waterfall of gold, and sometime during this evening she had dispensed with all attempts to keep it in check; it floated around her face in a cloud, the shadows under her eyes making her look like a lost, grumpy fairy. Mala suppressed a smile at the sight, and likewise kept back a sigh at the woman’s words.
“It’s here, I’m sure of it.” They had spent the last three months trying to find the source of a market distortion Mala could not so much see as sense. It was not specifically in her purview and she had taken her spare time to study it, first in the hopes of recognition and a promotion and then, over time, because the problem had become an obsession of sorts. No one else had noticed it, and no one, no one at all, seemed to believe her that it was there.
No one except Jessica, who had shown up at the agency about a year after Mala, and who had quickly taken up a place at Mala’s side. The agency was competitive and cutthroat, but Jessica was as loyal and honorable as she was smart, and Mala had gone out of her way to protect the woman from the worst of the office politics.
Now, Mala sighed. “You should go home.”
“I’m not leaving until you do. And until I know you’re going to eat something.”
“Don’t worry.” Mala stood up and pulled on her jacket. “I’m just going to go shut off the kitchen lights. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Good night, then.” Jessica switched off her computer and disappeared into the dark hallways, and Mala smiled after her before heading to the kitchen.
It was only as she switched off the lights that she remembered what day it was and swore heartily. Pulling out her comm, she saw the missed messages and tipped her head back, groaning. After weeks of working late, this was the third date in a row she had forgotten, and from the voicemail to the text messages, she was fairly sure an angry tirade awaited her.
Sela was not the type of woman who was used to being stood up.
She could not deal with this right now. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, Mala shook her head and made for the exit. She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She was normally a model of manners, so polite that her coworkers guessed at her provincial upbringing in snide tones, but lately it seemed that she was falling apart, and it all hinged on this distortion that even she was beginning to think was a figment of her imagination.
She had been so successful for so long, gliding through departments and promotions, that her abrupt failure was all the more jarring. More and more these days, Mala found herself wondering what the point was of anything she did. She had come here to make something of herself, and what had she found? A job that paid her more money than she could spend, a city with more restaurants than she could eat at in a whole lifetime, and a string of girlfriends, each more beautiful and successful than the last, for whom Mala could summon no more than a passing interest.
This was burnout. She knew it, and she could not begin to think what might save her. Worse, she was no longer sure she cared. She ran her hands through her black hair, grimacing, and pulled the mess of it into a loose braid as she walked. She should go home and sleep. She should care about getting a nicer apartment. She should care about going on dates. And all she cared about was the fact that the prices never seemed to be out of the expected range when the production was varying so wildly and—
Mala stopped so abruptly that she nearly tumbled down the stairs. Then she turned around and took the stairs two at a time until she could tumble out of the stairwell and sprint to her desk. She jiggled her leg impatiently as the computer turned on.
“Come on, come on, come on…. ” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, mind blank, and then she typed a few test phrases, searched, and refined her phrasing. She scanned through articles on Senator Samuels’s recent anti-corruption campaign and the rest of the senate’s suspiciously lukewarm response. It was halfway through the third article that she found the name of the relevant subcommittee, plugged that into the computer, and retrieved their files. She held her breath as the document reader loaded, and then let it all out in a whoosh when she saw what was there.
“Blessed Saint Peter.” It was at times like these when her grandmother’s oaths slipped out. Mala’s dark blue eyes traveled over the screen, reading each number carefully, and then began at the start once more. It could not be real. It was impossible.
It was also the only thing that made sense. Her fingers trembling, she opened a message to her boss.
We should talk when you’re back in the office on Monday. I’ve found something interesting in the market valuation of Gerren’s Ore. She hesitated, then typed, I believe some members of the senate may be involved. She stared at the words, and deleted them. She had no proof.
But she’d find it. She sent the message as it was, and hesitated as she reached for the power button. Then, almost superstitiously, she hit print on the entire set of documents. She left with them clutched in her arms, so tightly that her knuckles were white. She should send Jessica a message, she thought, and she could not bring herself to do so. She’d be caught up in a storm of questions she had no answers for. Not yet. After months of beating her head against a wall, she could not being to say how she felt about figuring this out.
The direct route back to her apartment was short, but Mala did not want to go back just yet. She tucked the documents into her bag and strolled through the entertainment district. Seneca was the home of the richest and most powerful people in human-occupied space, and though the capital city would never be the most fashionable location, it had a steady enough stream of politicians, lobbyists, businesspeople, and military officials to have an entertainment district that rivaled anywhere else in the galaxy.
Her nose twitched as she smelled steaks and red wine, the spicy scent of street food, and the redolence of early summer flowers from the gardens nearby. She earned enough money to eat in these restaurants—indeed, she should have spent her evening at Iago, only a few blocks away—but had long ago learned that strolling through the bright lights like a tourist was more satisfying to her. The experience of dining in fine restaurants and attending plays had quickly worn off, leaving her just like the other members of her department: jaded and bored with life.
She didn’t l
ike that. She liked being delighted by the lights and shocked by the indulgences of the rich.
To her surprise, as she looked around herself tonight all she felt was a sense of displacement. She was about to leap forward in her career once more and she would have more of all of this: tailored clothes, a penthouse apartment if she wanted it, five-star food, and the finest wines to go with it. She would be celebrated at work, might even be taken to meet the new Director of Intelligence, and what did she want?
To go home and fiddle with the old engine she’d put in the guest bedroom of her too-large, too-clean apartment. She stopped in her tracks and shoved the thought away fiercely. That life was far, far behind her. As she wanted it to be, she told herself. She wasn’t about to run back home to Dobrevi; there was nothing for her there. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked up. She should get herself dinner.
She looked over, trying to place herself in the dazzling lights of the entertainment district, and then stopped dead, blinking in surprise. It took her a few moments even to process what she was seeing. But it was unmistakable.
“Melissa?”
4
“Mala?” Nyx stared across the patio, her mouth hanging open. It had been years since Nyx had seen the woman, but anyone who had known Kiran would have recognized Mala as his sister in an instant. She had the same heart-shaped face with its broad cheekbones and pointed chin. She had the same small, straight nose. The blue-black hair emphasized the almost unearthly pale skin, a messy braid pulled over one shoulder and the brows flaring to follow the faint up-tilt at the corner of her eyes.
And those eyes… The large, long-lashed eyes that had been a touch too feminine in Kiran’s face fit perfectly in Mala’s. Deep blue and heavy-lidded, they seemed to glow in the patio lights.
“Hi.” The woman stared back, a faint smile on her wide lips. Tall and slim, she stood with her shoulders faintly hunched, and whether it was from too many hours at a computer, or from shyness at Nyx’s gaze, Nyx could not have said; certainly, a faint blush stained her cheeks. For a moment, the connection between them was so strong that Nyx wondered why she hadn’t felt the woman’s presence, and Mala moved forward is if pulled, her steps halting. A waiter moved to stop her and, at Nyx’s raised hand, fell back silently.
At the table, Mala brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Shore leave.” Nyx’s voice felt stuck in her throat, and she still couldn’t manage to close her mouth properly; her lips parted in a half-smile. “I should have looked you up. You’ve….” She tried to think of something to say, and gestured at the bag, the black leather coat that hugged Mala’s slender form. “Were you out? Do you need to be somewhere?”
“I worked late.” Mala was smiling, too, ducking her head with a shrug of those hunched shoulders. “I was thinking I should find some dinner.”
“Oh. Right.” Nyx looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I’ll let you get to it. It was really nice to—ow!”
“What is it?” Mala frowned.
“Nothing.” Nyx rubbed her shin and kicked Tersi back under the table. “It’s nothing.” She suppressed a wince at another kick. “Unless, um—would you want to get something here?”
“Oh! Sure.” Mala nodded jerkily. “Yes.” She looked around distractedly. “Do you think there’s another chair, or—”
“Commander, there are two spots at the bar,” Tersi said. He took a sip of his scotch to hide his grin. The other Dragons busied themselves with cutting their steak.
“Thank you, Chief.” Nyx’s voice promised retribution, but he only raised his glass, smiling blandly.
“Anytime, Commander.”
Loki snorted into his glass of wine.
“I’ll catch up with you all later.” Nyx stood, leaving the Dragons behind without another glance. She knew they were watching her as she walked across the patio with Mala. She wondered if they noticed that she didn’t dare hug the woman in greeting, or that she kept her face turned away. She wondered if they saw, as she thought she did from the corner of her eye, Mala staring wide-eyed at the dress.
Thank you, Tera.
But this was Kiran’s sister. Nyx shook herself and took a deep breath as they settled at the bar, wiping her palms discreetly on one of the napkins. This was Kiran’s sister. She ran through everything she had learned in the years she spent watching Mala—years she now realized had been spent tracking Mala’s movements, and that had told her nothing about the woman herself. Job in Intelligence, apartment in a good neighborhood, very staid spending habits, fondness for old movies.
She stared down into her glass of whiskey as Mala ordered, and then waited for her companion to make the inevitable comments about how gorgeous the other Dragons were. With their easy confidence and well-muscled frames, Dragons on shore leave were extraordinarily popular, a fact Nyx had thought she didn’t mind.
Now, she was wishing her colleagues were a little less attractive.
To her surprise, Mala leaned close. Her smile was tentative, but it lit up her eyes in a way that made Nyx’s breath come short. “It was a stroke of luck, running into you.”
“Oh?” Nyx looked over at her. “Why?”
“I just mean … after so many years.” Mala’s hands fluttered at the inadequacies of language. She cleared her throat. “How long do you have on shore leave?”
“Actually, we leave tomorrow.” Nyx grimaced. Or as soon as I can get my act together enough to figure out where we’re going.
“Oh.” Mala’s face fell, and she took a sip of her drink. “Well, I suppose I’ve never seen you on shore leave before.”
“Usually, the Ariane puts in on New Arizona,” Nyx explained.
“New Arizona? Isn’t that a bit….”
“Sleazy? Murder-y? Yes.” At Mala’s snort, Nyx grinned. “Our commanding officer has a few contacts there. He would use our shore leave to try to find new people to hunt down, and, well, New Arizona’s the place the find that kind of people. And it’s not so bad.”
“Sure. Compared to Osiris, it’s practically a resort.” Mala raised her eyebrows and laughed. “This must be nice, though, right? What inspired him to come back to civilization?”
“Well, the inquest and the trial and…” Nyx shrugged. “We all had to give depositions. And a surprising number of medical checks. It’s like they think mutiny automatically leads to scurvy or something. But at least I got everything tuned up. That’s … nice.” She closed her mouth on the flow of words. She found herself wanting to say anything that would make Mala laugh, but her aversion to doctors, thought well known amongst the crew, wasn’t something she needed to share here.
But Mala was staring at her, wide-eyed.
“Mutiny?” Her expression cleared a moment later. “Oh, my God, are you that Dragon crew?”
“Oh.” Nyx closed her eyes. “Right. We … don’t share that kind of information. Generally speaking.” The identities of the Dragon Corps members involved in high-profile operations were some of the few pieces of information the Alliance government held sacred. As the Dragons moved through human-occupied space, stopping illegal operations and bringing down militant groups, they earned enemies. Though the press had camped out by the courthouse a few blocks away, they had still not discovered the names of the Ariane’s crew.
“I won’t tell anyone.” Mala reached out to lay her hand on Nyx’s, and drew it away hastily. “I … wow. You mutinied.”
“It’s a very strong term,” Nyx said, a bit testily. “The council was being blackmailed to drop the charges, so we just disregarded one order. Just one.”
“Weren’t you ordered to come back in?”
“Maybe.”
“So you did technically have an Alliance ship without permission.”
“Okay, so we mutinied.” Nyx was smiling despite herself.
Her smile died when Mala laughed. It was a laugh that stripped away years. Nyx wasn’t on the patio anymore, surrounded by cultured discuss
ion and draped in red silk. She was home, on Dobrevi, with skinned knees and grass stains on her pants, running so fast she thought her legs would come off. Kiran was at her side, and Mala was trying to keep up, as she always did.
She’d been a tangle of knees and elbows then, her black hair always tangled and her cuffs too short on long arms and legs. When had she become this woman, tall and self-possessed, with eyes that crinkled at the edges when she laughed, and a lopsided smile? She held a hand over her mouth, a habitual gesture that hid crooked teeth, and her shoulders hunched as if she was ashamed of the sound of her laugh.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Nyx said, before she could stop herself.
Mala’s cheeks flushed. “I’m glad to see you, too.” She hesitated, looking down at her glass.
“What is it?”
“Okay, you have to tell me something.” Mala’s eyes were bright. “Not the mutiny—not that you know anything about that, of course.” One black brow arched. “But what’s it like being a Dragon?”
Nyx paused. She was used to seeing the men in her unit get this question, while she sat in the corner and used a death glare to keep people from approaching her. She was used to rolling her eyes when she heard the men talk about the danger and the excitement of being a Dragon, and now, to her amusement, she heard the same self-serving phrases coming out of her own mouth. “Well, you know, chasing drug runners and slave traders … never a dull moment.” Good Lord in Heaven, she was even giving the same humble-looking shrug they always did, as if mortal danger didn’t scare her.
What was she trying to do? Was she trying to impress Mala?
Yes. Yes, she was, and it was very wrong of her. She cleared her throat.
“But you must know about the Dragons,” she offered. “You work in Intelligence.”
Just where, she wasn’t sure. Even with Tersi’s help, that information had proved impossible to track; whatever division Mala was in, they must keep some of their payroll records classified. Indeed, the woman nodded.