My eyes return to the spix. I like that one too. It reminds me of Trey—the Knight. He dumps several more crystal statuettes into the Milky Way pool. When he turns to gather a few more, I rescue the crystal spix from the sea of stars. Quietly, I palm it, feeling an instant connection to it. I then slip the spix into the pocket of my black robe.
Trey moves to the bed, extracting the other cuff from the box. He quickly calibrates it, adjusting it to fit his much larger arm. Then he joins me in front of the menagerie of Stolen Moments, or whatever they’re called.
“We need to move back.” He pulls me back to the far wall. From the side of my wrist, he touches an empty windowlike arch in the metal. It opens a compartment that contains a small earpiece. He extracts it and pushes it into my ear. A mouthpiece slides out from the earpiece and positions itself in front of my mouth. “It’s not armed yet,” he says, “but when it is, make sure that your sayzer isn’t pointed at anything important—like me.”
I nod solemnly. “I understand. How does it arm?” I ask.
“We’ll have to enter a sequence of finger movements that will arm it. It will be personal so that only you can use the weapon. I’ve overridden Charisma’s settings with the master code I used to set it. I’ve got this on a practice setting. It will only shoot short-frequency bursts. They’d sting if they hit skin, but it would be more like a small pellet—not lethal.”
“Okay.” We come up with a combination of finger movements that Trey says will become a muscle memory response the more I practice with the weapon.
He walks me through the basics of how to use it, but when I raise my wrist Spider-Man style and say the words that are supposed to fire the weapon, the rotten thing does nothing but vibrate.
“Seriously?” I ask after Trey strikes two more crystal figurines without even trying by using the word fire. But when I say it, nothing happens!
Trey examines the weapon, checking and rechecking it. “It’s working. Maybe you just need to try different tones of voice.”
Trey uses his sonic sayzer, hitting a couple more crystal figurines with the words “knob knocker.” He’s so good at it—he never misses.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“You mean destroying these statuettes?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
“Ever since I was old enough to know who I was, I knew that the future everyone wanted for me wasn’t what I wanted for myself. I wasn’t encouraged to make a career in the Cavars; I was only supposed to serve for a few fleats—do my service, and then leave it behind to go into the family business.”
“The family business?” I ask.
“Allairis Engineering,” he replies. “My family designs buildings, estates, ecostructures, as well as other things. My father particularly looks to me for security infrastructure. And at every step along the way, Charisma and I have been present for every single milestone in each other’s lives, not by choice, but because it was expected. I would’ve been there for her by choice. She’s my best friend, but there’s no spark there—no worry that if I don’t see her in the next few parts I might lose my mind. Do you know what I’m saying?” he asks me.
“No passion?” I ask.
“No passion,” he agrees. That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel worse. Passion is fleeting. Friendship is forever.
“Fire,” I say with my wrist up, aiming at the dancing couple. When nothing happens, I growl at my shiny sleeve, talking to it, “This is so frustrating! Why won’t you work, you stupid piece of—”
Strong arms encircle my waist from behind, causing me to jump. Trey pulls my back against his chest. His mouth nuzzles my neck, instantly taking away my frustration by shifting it to intense desire. “Relax,” he says near my ear. “You don’t have to be perfect at everything.”
“You don’t know me at all, do you?” I ask. “You don’t understand. I really need to destroy the dancing couple.”
“Annoying, aren’t they, Kitten?” His rumbling laugh is heaven against my throat.
“The worst, honey.” I whisper the last word because his kiss against my sensitive skin makes me breathless. Then, BOOM, my arm retracts violently as my gloved wrist fires a sonic boom into the floor. The foundation shakes from the blast while the lights in the room flicker.
“Ho-ly Fffmmm—” Trey covers my mouth with his hand and cuts me off.
“Shh,” he whispers in my ear. Jax and Wayra come bursting into the bedroom.
“What the shickles, Trey?” Jax asks angrily when he sees us together, each with a sonic sayzer on our arms and locked in an intimate embrace. “Is this some kinky—”
Trey interrupts him. “It’s not what it looks like. I was showing her how to use a sonic sayzer and it went off unexpectedly.”
“You should lower the setting,” Wayra advises while inspecting the deep crater in the floor.
“It’s set to practice mode,” Trey growls. He doesn’t move his hand from my mouth until he pulls the earpiece and microphone from me, inspecting the device for any outward flaws.
“It’s not supposed to do that in the practice setting,” Wayra replies unhelpfully.
“Thanks, Wayra,” Trey growls.
“With all mercies,” Wayra replies with the polite Etharian you’re-welcome response.
“What word did this,” Jax asks, joining Wayra at the hole in the floor.
“She said a phrase. I’m not sure which word it responded to.”
“What was the phrase?”
“‘The worst, honey,’” Trey answers.
“The word fire did nothing,” I add.
Jax looks at me with a shrug. “Well, it wouldn’t.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“You’re not speaking Etharian. You’re speaking Earthling.”
“I’m speaking English,” I correct him.
“Which is Earthling,” he says defensively, like I should never have corrected him for it. “We just hear everything in Etharian because we have translator implants with an English upgrade. But you’re not speaking my language, sister.”
“You’re right!” I grin at Jax, who grins at me in return. “Mystery solved.”
“We can’t risk shooting it off in here again,” Trey says. He replaces the earpiece back into the compartment of my sayzer sleeve. “Enter the secondary code, Kricket.” I move my fingers awkwardly, like I’m playing keys on an invisible piano. The sonic sayzer shrinks from its expanded sleeve back to a shorter cuff. “We’ll try it again when we’re in our new location.”
“Where is our new location? When are we going? ” I ask, worried about leaving as much as I am about staying.
Trey glances at Wayra, who is rubbing his chin and staring into the hole in the floor like he’s trying to figure out where it ends. “How are the preparations coming for our departure?”
“We’re solid,” Wayra says absently. “We’re just finishing up our prep to welcome the knob knocker’s troops to our fair city. We’re waiting for our patrol to return. After that, we can leave any time. The tunnel is fully operational—we’re evacuating civvies as fast as we can move them.”
Trey nods. He turns to me and says, “I need to see to some things. Do you want to change”—he indicates Charisma’s closet—“and meet me in the other room for dinner?”
“Yes. I’ll come find you when I’m ready,” I reply.
Trey, Jax, and Wayra leave while I hunt for clothes in an impressively large closet. Walking past aisles of printed fabric pressed between glass panels, I marvel at the selection—it rivals my own at the palace. Soft, flowing patterns create dreamy shapes and cloudlike waves as coats, blouses, skirts, and trousers billow, suspended in midair by constant stream
s of perfectly positioned forced-air vents between the glass panels. I select a pair of form-fitting pants by touching the surface of a panel. The glass opens and the article slips into my waiting hand from its hanger of air. The pants are too long for me, but since the tight black fabric clings to my calves, they gather, creating a surprisingly stylish look.
I have the same problem with the tops; all of them are too long for me. I select a sleeveless black blouse that’s cut in a deep vee in the front. It’s made for someone with less curves than me, so it pushes what I have up and exposes more skin than I’d like, but I can’t worry about that now. I locate a wide, black belt, cinching it to ride low on my hips. I move on to footwear. The shoes prove more difficult. Most of the ones I try on are too big for me. I settle for some black boots that aren’t too big once I stuff a small, silk handkerchief in each toe.
Rising from a soft-cushioned bench after buckling them, I move to leave the closet, but I spy a row of masculine clothes in the corner of the room. On impulse I follow the line of clothing, noticing everything from casual attire to formal wear. I look to see if there are any Cavar uniforms, but there aren’t. Are these Trey’s clothes? Did he and Charisma live together at some point? I wonder.
Deciding that it’s none of my business, I find a soft leather jacket that’s about my size and deposit the crystal spix I rescued into its pocket. Putting on the jacket, I walk out to the reception area. It’s been turned into a virtual command center. Holograms of several different battlefields follow Alameeda death squads rampaging on the city streets. Explosions throw bodies onto the red-and-copper-colored dirt.
I jump when Trey touches my elbow. He lays a soft kiss on my cheek when he sees that I can’t find any words for what I’m seeing.
He speaks instead: “The fighting is taking place on the opposite side of the city. We’d have trouble getting there from here. We’re undermining the Alameeda resupply, wreaking havoc on their ability to fight effectively.”
“How are you doing that?” I ask, but swiftly turn my attention to the wall near us when the twinkle of cascading water ceases.
In lieu of a fireplace, a stunning waterfall is the focal point of the space. The green-tiled water feature positioned between the two smoke-filled window walls has stopped working abruptly. From somewhere beneath the wall, a series of knocks sound. Drex moves to the wall, knocking back on it. Another series of knocks sounds from the other side. Drex smiles. He touches several of the green, jade, and white glass tiles on the wall.
There is a change of air pressure in the room as the wall recedes to show descending steps. Fenton emerges from the dark depths of the staircase tugging on the ends of the silky threads of a sky blue parachute. He’s covered in grit and has smears of gray greasepaint on his face. His snow-white teeth shine against his matte gray lips as he grins. “Success! The satellite uplink worked! Trey’s program hacked their drones, loaded them by supply-bot with sanctum amps, and flew ’em into their formations.” He produces a perfect red apple from his pack and takes a huge bite of it, noshing, and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Anyone hungry?” Behind Fenton, Hollis drags part of the parachute covered with food into the room. Fenton smiles and adds, “We brought down a chow ship along with several others.”
Hollis scowls at Fenton. “Help me bring it in, ya jackwagon!” The Cavars all converge on it, bringing the prepackaged food into the room, tossing various items around as each calls out his selection from the treasure trove.
“Did you bring back the satellite uplink?” Trey asks Fenton.
“Yeah, we got it. It was close, though. Gibon is bringing it up now. They targeted the building and reduced it to rubble after we jumped off the roof. The glide suits worked well.” He extends his arms, showing us the chameleon-fabric squirrel-like jumpsuit he’s wearing. “I’d like to get my hands on a Riker Pak, though,” he admits, referring to the jet packs the Alameeda use.
“They’d be helpful,” Trey agrees, “but your glide suit doesn’t leave a heat signature that they can trace. They’re blind when we don’t use technology.”
“But they go boom when we do,” Wayra interjects with another smug smile. He moves forward and bumps his shoulder against Trey’s in some kind of sign of camaraderie.
Gibon comes up from the depths of the tunnel beneath the water wall carrying a small dishlike apparatus with him. He has greasepaint on his face as well. He selects a fancy bottle from among the plethora of others in the parachute. Walking to the elegant kitchen, he goes to the commissary unit and collects two elegant glasses. He depresses a notch on the side of the bottle, and a spout emerges from its neck. He pours the brown liquid into the two short glasses. Meeting my eyes, he extends a glass out to me, knowing I’m watching him. I leave Trey’s side, going to him in the kitchen. I take the drink he offers me. Lifting it up to him in silent salute, he mimics my movement. “To Dylan,” he says, raising his glass to our fallen friend.
“To Dylan,” I agree with a sad smile. We each put the glass to our lips and drink together. It’s definitely alcohol and it definitely makes me cough a little.
Gibon drains his glass in one swallow. He sets it on the stone countertop. “I should’ve had his back,” he says like a confession.
Looking down into my glass, I swirl its contents with a twist of my wrist. The cuff of the sonic sayzer peeks out from beneath my sleeve. “It was chaos, Gibon. We barely got out alive,” I reply. I take another small sip of my drink.
“I messed up.” He pours himself another glass of the brown liquid. “It’s not like that was my first day on the job and I overslept or something. He got smoked and I did nothing. They blew him out of the sky.” He tucks the alcohol away with one swallow.
“The Alameeda picked the world up and dropped it on us, Gibon. You protected us.” I nod at the Cavars hustling around in the Great Room.
“You’ve got it wrong. You saved them,” he says with a frown, “and me. There is no Ship of Skye now; it’s gone, and we’d be gone with it if not for you.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I change the subject by saying, “You’re kind of amazing at driving a hovercycle. Do you think you can teach me how sometime?”
His violet-colored eyes soften. “I’ll teach you how to fly anything you want.”
“I think that’s my job,” Trey says as he enters the kitchen and stands next to me.
“Is it?” I ask him with a raise of an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to overload you with too many tasks. You already have to teach me how to swim and climb enormous trees. I was just trying to lighten your load.”
He puts his arm around my waist, drawing me to his side possessively. Smiling in a predatory way, he murmurs, “You’re my intended consort. It’s my pleasure.”
I silently finish his sentence: And no one else’s.
“Well, you’ll have your work cut out for you then, won’t you, because I’ve never driven anything before. I never had a bike, or a scooter, or a car,” I reply. Gibon chokes on his liquor, coughing as he looks from me to Trey incredulously.
Trey shrugs and says, “She’s from Chicago.”
Gibon wipes his arm on his sleeve. “So I’ve heard. I just never—you’ve never even driven a flipcart?” he asks, as if it would be a crime not to have done so.
“I don’t even know what that is,” I reply honestly, taking a larger sip of my drink and paying for it with a wheeze.
Jax approaches our little party. He hands ration packs to Trey. “Here, you might want to take a couple of these. We’re packing up the rest. Are you hungry, Kricket?” he asks me.
The alcohol is making me feel light-headed. It’s not unpleasant; in fact, it’s kind of nice. I look toward the bottle. “I think I want some more of that.”
“Negative,” Trey says right away, taking my empty glass from me. “You’ve recently been dehydrated and malnourished. You need food. Come with me.”
>
Trey leads me to a formal dining area. I sit in a chair that he holds out for me. He brings us both a plate and sits right beside me. Breaking open the ration packs, he unloads the fare onto both plates. As we begin to eat together quietly, Drex approaches us. He stops in front of me, laying down a package of cocoa-covered wafers tied with a ruby-colored ribbon in front of my plate. He also lays down a large, shiny metal object that looks suspiciously like brass knuckles. With a respectful nod to Trey, Drex moves away from the table. I stop chewing in confusion.
Hollis approaches the table next. He smiles at me as he sets a bottle of fazaria, Manus’s favorite after-dinner drink, in front of me. Along with the bottle, he leaves a wicked-looking clawlike implement that appears to be made to disembowel something. Gibon follows with several pieces of fresh fruit and a simple-looking short jade club. Fenton continues the line with an assortment of candies that he leaves amid the other gifts, as well as a small weapon that would fit in the palm of my hand. I think the proper name for it on Earth is a katar, but I have no idea what they call it here.
When Wayra sets a freeze-wrapped petite venish in front of me, I have trouble keeping my mouth from falling open. He also rests a small knife on the table. “I’ll teach you how to use it later.” I nod to him in acknowledgment. He moves aside and lets Jax through. Jax gives me their version of chocolate, called hohoban; it’s in the shape of flower petals. He also leaves me two sharp metal implements that resemble deadly chopsticks.
With both my eyebrows raised in surprise, I murmur, “These are for me, I assume.”
Grinning, they all nod and talk at once in what I gather are affirmative answers.
When they quiet, I murmur, “Thank you, guys, but I didn’t get you anything.” I look at Trey, who’s trying really hard not to laugh.
The Cavars, however, laugh at me like I’m an adorable idiot. Drex pipes up, “We’re not the ones who just agreed to commit to our gennet, so it wouldn’t be proper to give us a gift in return.”
Sea of Stars (Kricket #2) Page 20