He did manage to shut down the transmission, cut the fucker off. But he knew this respite was temporary. He needed to get this shit out of his head. Now. This encroaching lack of control was going to drive him barking.
He didn’t even notice when Kellen leaned into the cockpit.
“Chiba’s comin’ up soon. We’re clear for dock eight. How’s that for near the top?”
Heron started. Opened his eyes. Blinked. “Yeah. Right. I’ll hook us in.”
• • •
Mari hovered between awake and asleep. The orange silk made her want to cry it felt so good. Reminded her of other times, back before she went hard, back when luxury was more than a cheap lay and a jug of hooch. Back before she became a murderer for hire.
Murderer. Monster.
Claws scratched on the window of her conscience. Darkthing. Coming to eat you, Mari-chulita. Take it, girl. You deserve this, what you done.
She pushed her shoulders back against the thin mattress, fisted her hands, and squeezed her eyelids until she saw bright stains behind them. She hitched up her breathing and opened her soul. The darkthing would come at her now. It would ravage her, cut her up in strips, leave her in a heap, and she’d let it. So long as she picked herself up after, she’d let it do its thing. ’Cause it was right. She deserved it.
Strung taut, braced for impact. Come on, monster.
And out of the pure black came exactly the opposite of what she expected. Possibly something even worse. In his fingers-rubbing-velvet voice: No guilt, querida. Don’t you dare beat up on the most amazing woman I have ever met. And his hands on her waist when she’d faced off against the mercenaries. His palpable calm, his halo of drones escorting her to safety in the Pentarc arcade. Wrapping her, insulating her.
Absolving her.
The darkthing fizzled. Sputtered and died like a campfire in a hurricane. In its place, that insulation settled, white and fine and warm as Italian sand. Her crunched-up face eased, her fists released. Something soft came up to her neck and nuzzled against her ear, and she turned her face into it. She painted Yoink’s fur with disbelieving tears. Relieved ones, though.
Never had a downtime like this. Never.
And it was because of him, this peace.
She lay there, on a plane zipping through the night sky, rubbing Yoink behind the ears, and swimming in unexpected peace, until Chloe peered around the door, aglow with excitement. Literally.
“Hey, you awake yet?”
“Am now,” said Mari, peeling Yoink off her neck. It wasn’t just the snuggle that had relaxed her so completely. She sniffed and, yes indeed, there did seem to be an odd odor on the air. Almond neroli. Somebody was fucking with the chemical mix in the air again. Somebody who knew her sins and still thought highly of her. Somebody who was trying real hard to take good care of her. And all that made her warm in a way that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature controls.
Chloe perched on the end of her bunk, hugging her knees to her chest and watching Mari with bright, steady eyes. Trying to squeeze in some girl time? Did a thing like Chloe even know what that was?
“We’re closing in on Chiba Station,” she chirped. “If you head over to the cockpit, you can watch us come in to dock.”
There it was again, that word. Chiba. Heron had mentioned it earlier, when they first came on board. Mari had a feeling they weren’t talking about a postindustrial town in Japan. “Closing in on what?”
Chloe tilted her head and blinked, accessing an internal file. The movement was too robotic, totally gave her away. She’d need to work on things like that if she was ever gonna go out into the world and mingle. “Chiba Station is a privately owned space station, not allied with any government entity, and run by an entity who calls herself the queen of Chiba. It maintains a low orbit and a solar net that collects energy. Selling the surplus is probably how it sustains itself economically.”
“Wait, we’re far enough up to dock with a space station?”
“No, silly,” said Chloe. “The station connects to the ground using a space elevator. Planes like this one can dock with it up near the top, and then we can ride up to the station. We call it the tether.”
The tether. Now that term, Mari knew. Hell, everybody in her line of work had heard about it, but she’d never actually seen it, and she’d never heard that it was associated with just one space station. But that wasn’t surprising. She wasn’t high enough on the food chain to know when and where these power downloads would happen, and she sure as shit had never been on a plane that could make it high enough to dock with the thing.
Leave it to Heron to know all about the ins and outs of the best clean-energy racket running. Mari wondered just how high he was connected. Had to be pretty high. And why was somebody with contacts like that even running jobs with a peon like her?
Given her history, she ought to be wondering when he’d ditch her. But she didn’t get the feeling that he meant to. And that unsettled her plenty, but not in the same hunted-and-wary way she was used to. She’d made out like a bandit on this partnership, and she wasn’t going to fuck it up. So long as he wanted her around, she’d do her best to pay him back.
“So…you wanna?” Chloe bounced on the end of the rack and grinned. The rack didn’t so much as tremble with her movement.
Mari flashed a grin and righted the butterfly-clasp straps on the orange silk. “Sure. And thanks again, for the heads-up and for the rack. Haven’t rested so deep for a long time.”
“It’s the engine hum, I bet. Garrett says white noise produced by these engines elicits theta waves in a human brain, which prepares us for the sudden and inevitable mind-control apocalypse that’s coming.” Her eyes glowed somewhat brighter than usual when she mentioned the grumpy mechanic, whether she knew it or not. “Of course, he says my voice does the same thing, so it could be all bullshit.”
Probably not bullshit, or not entirely. Probably Garrett had it bad for the free-fae, to the point that all kinds of waves spiked for him when she was nearby. Mari couldn’t reckon which of the two was more pitiable, the phantom girl or the boy who wanted her.
Except…she was coming to realize that touch wasn’t the only way two people could connect. Spiritually, or whatever.
She remembered the way back to the command cockpit, so she didn’t have to wait for Chloe to lead her this time. On the way, she ran a hand through her hair and wondered what a girl would have to give for a brush around here. She checked the jeweled com in her ear and at her throat, pressed a hand down the sinful softness of Chloe’s orange silk, and yeah, she did feel a mite dolled up. Maybe even pretty.
Heron was leaning back in his captain’s chair when she climbed in. His hair was damp and dark and so touchable, Mari’s fingers flexed. He was wearing different clothes. Still no bright colors—muted navy instead of muted gray—but with texture. Natural fibers, not open-source printed textiles. He was such a strange mix of old and new, hard-metal mech and down-home strokable man.
Mari curled both hands to fists and resisted the urge to reach for him.
The wound on the back of his head looked closed up for now. If she hadn’t seen it happen, she wouldn’t believe this man had withstood such an attack just hours ago. She figured she had Kellen to thank for his quick patch-up.
She moved to his side, where she could see him better, but he didn’t react. His eyes were closed. Still working or sleeping? Either way, she didn’t want to interrupt. She could stand here and watch him all day.
“You’ll need shoes.” He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, but a smile might have skimmed over his mouth. His voice licked her from across the cockpit. “I feel your bare feet on the deck plates.”
Ah, so he plugged into the ship the same way he plugged into the car. Good to know.
“Deck’s warm.” She curled her toes against it and was rewarded: he turned one hand palm up
on the chair arm and crooked a long finger. Mari moved as beckoned, sliding into the narrow space between him and the chrome instrument panel. The orange silk of her skirt brushed his knees. “But I’m guessing you meant I’ll need shoes for something else. You makin’ plans to send me away?”
“Quite the opposite.” His thumbs extended, brushed along her outer thighs, sending spikes of we-have-plenty-of-time all through her body. His closed eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he knew exactly what his touch did to her. “I’m putting in a reservation for a sterile med lab, but it looks like Chiba won’t have one available until tomorrow morning. Fancy a night out on the station with me? They have Skee-Ball.”
Mari bit her lip. She felt a little like bouncing, but she didn’t want to let Heron see her surge of joy. Would be too telling, reveal too much. Instead, she bundled up her happy dance tight, took a deep breath, and smoothed her fingers over the cool edge of the dash, warming it with her palms, stroking it with one pinky. “Heron, you asking me out?”
He did open his eyes then, and he leveled a stare on her that near melted her insides. “I am. Want to come?”
He needed to ask?
• • •
Mari had never really thought about how a girl would get onto a space station. Even when Heron had invited her up to Chiba, she’d kind of had this notion that they’d—what? Put on astronaut suits and float over in low gravity to an airlock, like in turn-of-the-century movies about space? Reality was a bit different. Yes, there was an airlock on Heron’s plane-ship-goddamn Millennium Falcon, but it didn’t have a collection of helmets and hard-shell spacesuits. It had a lever and a panel with lots of blinking lights. Heron signed at it, and the lights turned green.
Something nearby clunked, and air whooshed, pressurizing. Heron reached for Mari’s hand, and she slid into his clasp. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and their hands came together like they were magnetized.
“If you’re waitin’ on me, you’re backing up.” Kellen loped into the small space near the airlock. His good ol’ boy twang seemed more forced this time.
And so it ought to. Was he really planning on coming up to the station with her and Heron? She’d reckoned this was kind of a date. As in just the two of them. Not that she’d had any problems with ménage fun in the past, but something inside wilted a bit at the thought of sharing her first date with Heron with Kellen as well.
Mari swept a glance up and down the tall cowboy. He’d put on a fresh shirt and polished up his boots. He wore a hat, even though he was technically indoors, and back-home manners would call for him to remove it. Manners might be a smidge different on a space station, though.
She couldn’t quite get over how much he reminded her of where she came from, of Texas. She hadn’t thought she missed it so powerfully, but there it was: she felt a lump in her throat when she took in Kellen’s getup.
“No Yoink?” she asked.
Kellen studied her for a moment—a searing infinity of What if he gets offended easily?—and then his face broke into a grin. Mari breathed.
“Yoink don’t like zero-G, not even for the half second on switchover. Makes her claw things, and if I’m holding her, I’m like to end up with stripes. Speaking of which…” He turned to Heron, and that grin slid off fast, replaced by serious. “The queen confirmed our reservation, but she wants you to check in personally. Don’t let her distract you with whatever crazy she’s cooking up this time, though, all right? I expect I’ll have everything set up ’round ten in the a.m. Miss Mari, you think you can take care of him till then?”
Mari started, looked up. Kellen nodded reassuringly.
She squeezed Heron’s hand. “Will do my best.”
Chloe was going to stay with the ship. She couldn’t risk being seen, even by folks on a neutral entity like Chiba. The bounty on a free-fae was just too high to risk.
Garrett stayed with her. Heron said it was because Garrett never liked to be far from his gears and engines, but Mari had seen how Garrett looked at Chloe, and there was that thing about brain thetas. She suspected plenty of reasons Heron’s young mechanic might want to stay behind, even though he could do fuck-all about his urges, if he had them. Must be powerful frustrating to lust after an incorporeal being. She thanked God and the ’verse that Heron was warm and solid. Machine, yeah, but at least she could touch him. And lord, did she have a mind to do just that.
His thumb moved over the top of her hand, figure-eighting her knuckles. He had a habit for that, and she didn’t mind it at all. Had grown accustomed to it, in fact.
The light turned green, meaning the air pressure was set, and the doors opened, one at a time. A narrow boot connected the ship’s airlock to the core of the energy tether, and stepping from one to the other was no more complicated than getting on an elevator. It was cooler in here, though, and the air felt staticky and dry. Mari wondered if her hair was poking out. She half wished for that broken hair elastic.
Smack in the center of the tether was a circular platform. Mari had to balance-check herself a couple of times on the way in, especially once the platform started moving. She scouted for seating options; her stomach wasn’t a big fan of this kind of movement. Wouldn’t do to stand up a lot.
Other folk were already there, all seated and most drinking. A slim wet bar had been set up along one curve, dispensing hooch through brushed chrome nozzles. Low cushions and padded, organically shaped lounge tables, all in dark colors, dotted the space like ’shrooms.
Minimal ambient lighting bled off curved walls. Shapes moved in the light: nano paper covered every speck of wall space, and the ads ran the gamut from dull to obscene. One vid hocked ribbed-glass automatons, “for her pleasure.” Another pushed reshape and rewrap augmentations on the cheap. A third touted a kiosk on the station that specialized in nano ink body art.
Mari skidded a look over to her partner. Had he ever been inked? Before today, she would have assumed he was too stuffy. But now…hmm. She could imagine chasing a frisky design all over his body, maybe with her tongue.
“Y’all want anything to drink?” Kellen asked. Mari nodded, but Heron shook his head. Kellen went off toward the bar, and Mari and Heron stepped down into a sunken grotto lined with black cushions. Synth rubber: easy to clean.
Good thing, too. Across the way, a sex worker had some guy’s flight suit open and his dick out. The head-bobber was a pro, choosing his angles so that folks around him got a good show of it. He’d probably find himself booked the whole night. Looked like he had a knack for working that tongue.
Heron studiously avoided the display. “I ought to warn you that Chiba Station lacks decency laws. It’s anything goes on most levels, though there are strict rules against weapons, so you’ll have to peacelock your holdout.”
“Didn’t bring one.”
Disbelief made his eyebrows arch up till they disappeared beneath his hair. Mari shrugged and looked away. What? She was more than a girl with a gun. Right?
A woman in modest crinolines had situated herself nearer the fellatio show, with a good angle on the action. One white-gloved hand slipped beneath pretty ruffled skirts, and Mari thought hard about doing the same. Her belly tightened. She got a voyeur thrill same as the rest of the folks in here, and sitting right next to Heron didn’t help that one iota.
“Anything goes? I guess nobody would bat an eyelash if I was to climb right over you now and pop them buttons on your pants. Might make ‘ride the tether’ mean a whole ’nother thing.”
Like it had back in the car, Heron’s breath huffed out. He looked like he was about to pass out from the effort of holding it all together. And she had to admit, that just made her want to tweak him even more. No doubt about it, something in his impossible equanimity brought out the bad in her.
“Mari…”
“I love the dress, by the way. Chloe told me I ought to wear it. Didn’t offer any underthings, though. You reckon s
he did that on purpose?”
He didn’t even breathe this time, but his hand around hers gripped so hard, she thought her bones might crunch. Still, he sat there, stretched along the low cushions like a caliph. If she hadn’t felt the strength of his hand, she might have imagined that he was completely relaxed.
“The dress is beautiful, more so on you than it has ever been, and yes, as a matter of fact, I have been sitting here in keen awareness that you are wet and warm and shielded only by a scrap of raw silk. You enjoy torturing me like this, querida?”
“Way too much.” Mari pulled her feet up onto the cushion. She’d opted to lace on her ratty old boots instead of prowling Chiba Station in her bare feet. Now, she kind of regretted that decision, seeing how things were so informal around here. And true, what with everything else going on in this lounge, she had half a mind to make good on some of those torture promises, but she figured she’d give Heron a little breather.
If she had him all night, she could afford to slow things down here on the front end. She leaned back against the cushion, wiggled her hand free of his, and gave him some space. He didn’t look nearly appreciative enough. “So, Chloe and I had a long chitchat, about the dress…and other things.”
“Did you?”
“I guessed some stuff, and she told me the rest.”
Heron raised his hand to his mouth, stroked his chin as if he were testing a shave, but in reality, Mari figured he was hiding his lip movements. She heard him in her subvocal rig: You can feel safe with my crew. We are all fugitives in one way or another, and they are completely loyal.
“Loyal, hell. Heron, they’re all in love with you.” And I think maybe I’m getting there, too. She couldn’t force her mouth to form the words, but she thought them plenty hard. Wasn’t quite ready to confess as much, not out loud. But she tried the declaration on her brain, looking at him. I love you.
Huh. No cataclysm ensued. She was still alive. World hadn’t ended. Of course, she hadn’t said it out loud. Maybe that was when the bad shit would happen. Or maybe not.
Wanted and Wired Page 13