by MB Panichi
“That’s what Ally thought, too. I don’t know who we’re gonna get, though. Maybe Tyke Springler?”
Ben shook his head. “The Dawgs need a decent defensive player. Springler’s a center and you guys have that covered. What about Joe Marconn?”
Morgan said, “Ally talked to him yesterday. He said he’s done playing league ball. Only other player I know who’s not already on a team is Ally’s ex-girlfriend, and I am not playing with that bitch, no matter how good she thinks she is.”
Charri asked, “What about Shaine? Think she plays? Strom said she’s ex-Earth Guard, so she’s probably good in null-grav.”
Morgan looked down at her hands. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
Ben said, “She seems pretty okay.”
“I think she’s nice.” Charri smirked and nudged Morgan’s foot. “Not to mention easy on the eyes.”
Morgan snorted. Charri had a one-track mind. What is it about married women that turns them instantly into matchmakers? “Give it up, Char.”
Charri ignored her. “Wonder why she’s got a bio-mech leg, though? Was she wounded in the EG?”
Ben put in, “She said that’s why she got out—medical discharge.”
“When’d she tell you that?” Charri asked.
He shrugged. “You guys were in the showers.”
Morgan considered the tall redhead who had joined their crew. Shaine hadn’t said much. Of course, what had there been to say, other than the occasional work-related comment or question? Working without Digger felt strange—empty and too quiet. She hadn’t given a thought to Shaine’s looks, nor had she given more than passing consideration to the prosthetic on Shaine’s right leg. The detachable bionic limb was barely noticeable, anyway. She shrugged inwardly. Without Digger, Shaine just wasn’t that important.
Chapter Seven
“Four down, one to go,” Charri announced with a sigh, hanging her vac suit in its place on the ready room’s back wall. “Glad this week is almost over.”
Morgan flipped her towel over the door of her locker, silently agreeing, although she had to admit work was getting back to normal. She pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt, fished in her bag for a pair of clean socks and sat on the bench. At least she no longer expected Digger to show up, or prefaced every other thought with what Digg would do or say.
Shaine Wendt had proved herself a good mechanic and easy to get along with. Not that they’d talked all that much, but at least the conversations hadn’t been too strained.
Ben strode out of the shower room. “Hey, you guys,” he called. “Don’t forget my band’s playing tonight over at Tranquility.”
Morgan flicked a glance over her shoulder. Ben had a towel wrapped around his waist and used another to dry his hair.
Shaine Wendt followed a couple of steps behind him wearing green boxer shorts and a tight gray tank top. Shaine crossed the floor, her loose gait accented by a barely noticeable limp. She combed her fingers through wet red hair, ordering it haphazardly, and pulled open the locker next to Morgan’s.
“Shaine, you should come to the club,” Charri said.
Shaine dropped her towel on the bench. “What kind of music?”
Ben grinned. “Hard-core speed thrash.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Serious slammin’,” Ben confirmed. “Just ask Morgan. Last time she came out, she was feeling it for a freakin’ week.”
Morgan smirked. “I think I had bruises on my bruises.”
He laughed. “Poor baby,” he teased. “Admit you had a good time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She flipped him off and joined the laughter.
* * *
Club Tranquility was the only large-scale entertainment complex on Moon Base providing a public venue for dancing and live shows. The building took up nearly an entire block. Inside, neon lights scrolled across black walls in vivid patterns, and multicolored tiles flickered under the dance floor in front of a raised, full-sized stage. To the right of the stage, a nine-meter wide, clear-walled cube rose to the ceiling. Fitted with a zero-gravity generator, the cube created a freeform 3-D dance space.
Morgan and Charri paused just inside the club’s entrance. Morgan shoved her hands into her pockets, suddenly not sure if she wanted to stay. Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out to see Ben’s band without Digger at her side.
It was so easy to picture Digger laughing and drinking, purposely obnoxious, all the more so when she rolled her eyes. They’d both loved the adrenaline rush of whipping through the wild slam-dance patterns in the null-grav field. She and Digg had been in the middle of just about every brawl started by overeager slammers in the cube, always managing to slip out of the fray before the crap hit the fan. Damn, we had a good time. But tonight it won’t be the same.
She shook her head. Quit being a fucking baby. Straightening her shoulders, she turned toward the bar. “Come on, Char. I need a drink.”
Charri grinned. “I’ll get the first round.”
Beer bottle in hand, Morgan followed her friend toward the stage. Ben and his band always reserved space up front for their partners and friends. She and Charri exchanged greetings with the half-dozen men and women already settled in and claimed a hi-top table for themselves.
Morgan leaned against the table while Charri perched on a stool across from her.
“You okay?” Charri asked.
Morgan waggled her hand. “Managing. What about you? And Ben?”
“We’re okay. I’ve been worried about you.”
Morgan studied the bubbles rising slowly in her glass. “I’m all right.” She ran her hand through her hair and let her gaze slide across the dance floor, past the bar, toward the entrance where patrons arrived in a steady stream. She recognized many of them—people from other maintenance crews, from the grav-ball teams, and band groupies.
A group of dock mechanics rambled into the club—Digger’s buddies and hers. They wore the band’s T-shirts like a uniform. Some had ripped off the sleeves or cut open the necks. All wore work boots and cargo pants with the legs cut off at the knees.
Part of her expected Digger to come swaggering in with them. The knowledge that he wouldn’t be there threatened to overwhelm her. She shoved the feeling forcefully aside. I am not going to fall apart. I’m going to hang with my friends and I’m going to do it for Digg. He’d kick my ass if I didn’t go out there and party for him. She finished half her beer in a silent toast and continued her perusal of the growing audience.
Morgan blinked when Shaine Wendt swaggered into the club. “Jesus.”
Shaine paused just past the end of the bar. Low-cut black pants hugged her hips and long legs. A cropped black sleeveless vest left plenty of bare skin across her middle, and was zipped up barely past indecent. Her red hair stood up in short, unruly spikes. She met Morgan’s wide-eyed stare, lifted a hand in greeting and started across the floor.
Morgan forced herself to look away. Okay, that’s not what I expected.
Shaine sauntered up to the table. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Shaine. Wow.” Charri whistled as she gave the tall woman a once-over.
Shaine grinned and made a half-embarrassed shrug. “Guess I kinda overdressed, huh?”
Holy shit, Shaine. Showing enough skin? Morgan managed a weak smile. You’re not supposed to look that hot. And I’m not supposed to notice. She slammed back the rest of her drink. “I’ll be back,” she said shortly.
She turned and headed to the bar.
* * *
Frowning, Shaine watched until Morgan crossed the dance floor. “What’s her problem?”
Charri shrugged, a thoughtful look on her face. “Not entirely certain,” she admitted.
A server came over. Shaine ordered a beer and a round for Charri and Morgan on the assumption that Morgan would return. She watched Morgan talking to the group at the bar. One of the guys threw a beefy arm around her shoulders. Morgan exchanged hugs with several others.
<
br /> Charri said, “I’m glad you decided to come out tonight, Shaine.”
Shaine nodded. “Thanks. Not sure if Morgan is so glad I showed up, though.”
“Don’t worry about Morgan. It’s kinda tough for her tonight without Digger here. Once the music starts they’ll get her up in the null-grav cube and she’ll work it out.”
Shaine asked, “Morgan and Digger were really close?”
“Yeah. Digg was kind of like her big brother. He kept an eye on her, kept her feet on the ground. Digg was always out with us on nights like this.”
“It’s tough losing a good friend.”
“Yeah.”
Shaine sipped her beer. A handful of faces and names came to mind. Adam Sharrick. Perr Gaston. Joey Marris. Tanya Hauer. How many times had she wished she’d died with her squadmates? How many more times had she wondered why her life had been spared? Acceptance was easier now, but she would never forget them. She let out a long breath. “So, does Ben’s band play here often?”
Charri seemed relieved by the subject change. She went into a glowing description of the band and a little of their history.
Morgan wandered back a while later with another beer and perched on a stool. She looked at the full bottle on the table in front of her. “That for me?” she asked, surprised.
Shaine nodded. “Yeah. Figured you’d be back.”
“Thanks.” Morgan met her gaze with a quick smile.
On stage, the lights went black and the background music cut off. A momentary hush fell across the club. A second later the air exploded with a deafening rush of sound and blinding flashes of light. Heavily rhythmic opening notes ripped into the crowd. The dark crunch of the rhythm section underlined the lead guitar’s scream. The lead singer tromped up front and leaned over the edge of the stage, snarling into a handheld microphone, growling out angry lyrics.
The music vibrated through Shaine’s body. She grinned. Ben hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said the band was tight. Nightwalker was rock solid. The darkness and anger in the words and rhythms whipped around her, bringing back her years in the EG when this kind of music had been the soundtrack for her world.
She saw Morgan close her eyes and lean back, basking in the cacophony. Peaceful relief slid across the woman’s face. She wondered if the anger in the music soothed Morgan’s soul the way it soothed her own.
“Morgan, hey!” Two guys rushed up to the table. Each grabbed Morgan by an arm. “Come on! Let’s slam!”
Grinning, Morgan slid off the stool and allowed them to pull her across the dance floor to the zero-grav cube. The threesome kicked off from the handles around the entry hatch, weaving into the chaotic crush of bodies diving and spinning around the zero-gravity space.
Shaine watched Morgan weave through the dancers twisting and catapulting with reckless abandon. At least three dozen “slammers” clustered in the upper half of the cube. She studied their movements, picking out the fast-shifting pattern as the dancers used each other to propel themselves within the sphere they created.
Morgan drove toward the center of the action, spinning, pivoting, launching herself and others back and forth.
Damn, she’s good.
The band rocked through the first two sets. Morgan and her friends came and went from the null-g cube, sometimes joining her and Charri at the table, sometimes the gang at the bar. Alcohol flowed freely.
Shaine turned down a couple of invites to join the slammers in the cube, preferring to sit back and watch. Typical thrasher crowd, she observed, knowing a band like Nightwalker appealed to a specific audience. Either you liked the music, or you hated it. And if you hated it, you didn’t put yourself through four hours of ear-ripping guitars and drums.
Toward the end of the final set, Morgan returned to the table for a break. Charri passed her a glass of water. Morgan gulped the water, then got a beer from one of the staff. She ran a hand through tousled, sweat-dampened hair and grinned.
Shaine lifted her bottle in mute greeting.
Morgan shifted her attention to the stage, nodding her head while she mouthed the lyrics.
After the song finished, the lead singer yelled, “Thanks for stickin’ with us tonight! You guys fuckin’ rock! We got time for one more tune. This is for Digger. We miss you, ya bastard!”
The song cranked up with a shriek of feedback.
Morgan stood and grabbed Shaine’s arm. “Come on, you gotta slam the last tune.”
Shaine protested, “I haven’t done this in ten years.”
Morgan tugged at her. “Come on!”
Hoping she wouldn’t make a fool of herself, Shaine followed Morgan to the cube.
She and Morgan ducked through the hatch and kicked off toward the top. As they reached the outer ring of dancers Morgan gripped her wrist with one hand, while at the same time catching the hand of another slammer who swung them into the fray.
Morgan cast her free, laughing when she twisted around to be pulled further into the slam sphere by a tall woman with a shaved head.
Shaine struggled to orient herself for a second or two before her instincts kicked in. It may have been a few years since she’d been in null gravity, and longer since she’d participated in a slam sphere, but her body remembered.
Bass notes thrummed through her chest. Her pulse sped up to match the driving, frantic rhythm. Adrenaline surged through her veins. She let herself be pulled and passed through the outside of the slam pattern. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Morgan flip and twist within the inner group of slammers. She grabbed the arms of another fellow and launched herself in that direction.
She caught up to Morgan, clasping wrists with her when their paths crossed. Morgan grinned and released her, trading directions as they spun away from each other.
Shaine did a backflip and righted herself in time to see Morgan thrown back toward her. A heavyset, muscular guy crossed Morgan’s path, out of the pattern. Morgan slammed roughly into him, her shoulder and elbow digging into his chest.
“Fuckin’ bitch, watch where you’re going!” His boots connected with her middle.
Morgan flew backward, arms flailing.
Shaine took someone’s hand to get her moving in Morgan’s direction. She managed to swing through several dancers to catch her. They floated in sync for a few seconds. “You okay?” she yelled above the music.
Morgan nodded, grimacing while she rubbed a hand across her ribs. “Yeah, but I’m gonna smack that bastard if I catch him!”
One of Morgan’s buddies dove toward them, his arms outstretched. “Here ya go, girls!”
He caught Shaine and Morgan by the wrists and flipped them back the way he’d come. Laughing, she and Morgan split up again, weaving back into the pattern.
Shaine glanced over to see the big guy from earlier headed in Morgan’s direction. She could tell by Morgan’s determined expression that she’d seen him too.
Morgan shifted her path, driving hard to intercept him.
Shaine kicked off someone’s shoulder. Stretching her body, she slid between Morgan and the man just before they collided. She saw a glint of metal in her peripheral vision and reflexively knocked the guy’s switchblade aside as she grabbed Morgan around the waist.
Morgan twisted in her grasp. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Shaine tightened her grip and bounced them down the wall to the hatch, ducking and half-dragging Morgan with her out of the cube. She stumbled when she hit gravity, struggling to keep her balance while supporting her own weight and Morgan’s.
“Jesus, Shaine!”
Steadying herself and Morgan, Shaine asked, “Are you okay?”
Morgan gave her a confused look. “Of course I am. What the fuck did you do that for?”
“He had a knife in his hand.”
“Who?”
“The guy you were going at had a knife. He was about to use it on you.”
Morgan said, “I didn’t see anything.”
“I knocked it away.” Shaine glanced a
round. Nobody had followed them out of the cube. She let her hands fall back to her sides.
The band finished their set with a thunderous ending. “Rock on, people! We love ya, Digger! We miss you!”
Morgan glanced toward the stage. The lights went black.
Shaine touched her shoulder. “Come on.” Keeping half an eye on the crowd and looking for the man with the knife, she led Morgan to the tables.
Charri studied her and Morgan curiously as they approached. “What happened?”
“Shaine was overreacting,” Morgan said.
Shaine bristled. “The man had a knife, and you would have gotten it in the stomach.”
Charri raised a brow. “A knife?”
“Yes,” Shaine said shortly.
“We should tell security,” Charri said.
Shaine rolled her eyes. “You really think either the weapon or the man will still be around by the time security shows up? Besides, he never actually touched her.”
“But you saw the knife, right?”
Shaine sighed, suddenly wanting the whole thing to go away. I don’t do this shit anymore. “I saw it. I knocked it away and pulled Morgan out of there. It’s done.”
Charri held her gaze a long moment. Shaine was certain the little blonde would start asking questions for which she had no answers. Instead, Charri got up. “Let’s go home.”
Morgan said, “I’ve had enough for one night,” and walked with Charri toward the door.
Following another quick glance around for the knife wielder, Shaine went with them, thinking it might be a good idea to make sure the guy didn’t show up outside. She and the other two women walked together until they reached the Central Park Plaza. Charri headed toward the apartment she shared with Ben in the west quarter of the dome.
Shaine and Morgan turned east. Morgan scuffed along with her hands shoved deep in her pockets and her head down.
Walking beside Morgan, Shaine pondered the incident in the cube. Why did the guy pull a knife? You play in the slam cube, you should expect to get slammed. That was the whole fucking point. Besides, he’d been out of sync when Morgan ran into him the first time. She shook her head. Some people were just idiots.