Overload Flux

by Carol Van Natta

  She stood and put the display on her desk, then took her ever-present cup to the service cart. “Coffee or tea, anyone?”

  “No, thank you,” said Luka. Mairwen looked bewildered, though maybe only to his eyes. He suspected she’d been expecting to be fired on the spot, not treated like a trusted colleague. He wanted to give her some sign of reassurance, but couldn’t while Zheer was watching.

  They were saved from further conversation by the arrival of Eve Haberville, the freelance pilot Luka knew La Plata had used occasionally in the past. La Plata only had one interstellar pilot left on staff, since Adina Schmidt had been murdered in the warehouse. He’d heard Haberville had a military and exploration background, and came highly recommended, including by the late Adina.

  Haberville looked to be in her early thirties with beautiful features, expensively shaded black hair woven with metallic gold and blue, and a lush, hourglass figure right out of classical paintings. Her corporate suit was expertly tailored to show it off. Luka was appreciative of her beauty but curiously unaroused by the woman herself.

  Zheer, Haberville, and he discussed the pros and cons of using the company’s slower corporate ship versus a faster but pricier rental with wilderness-landing capability. They also discussed logistics, such as how much firepower to carry, and how big the team should be. Zheer ultimately decided they’d tackle the most likely candidate for a hybrid planet on their own, in the interest of keeping it off net. If it turned out to be nothing, and she could get the client to pay, she would contract an independent exploration spacer for the second candidate.

  Mairwen listened to everything but said nothing. Luka noticed Haberville giving her a few speculative looks, clearly wondering why Mairwen was at the meeting, but she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. He’d let Zheer handle it if Haberville brought it up.

  Zheer gave Luka and Haberville top priority assignments to get cost estimates for their areas of expertise so she could put together a proposal for the client, then sent them on their way. After a brief discussion with Haberville on who would handle what, Luka stopped by the Tech Division to get a thincomp. He handed it to Mairwen. “You need more than that prehistoric percomp from Security Division if you’re going to work with me.”

  When they returned to his office, he said, “You have more patience than I do for reading odd things. See what you can find on hybrid planets, especially related to safety.”

  She nodded and sat as he opened the large display on his desk to start on the estimates. Not his favorite thing to do, but better than Zheer’s job of having to present the budget to the client and convince them to pay. He worked diligently on getting the numbers quickly because Zheer, forecaster that she was, thought there was a need to hurry. So did he. He had the feeling that Onndrae wouldn’t be the last target if they didn’t take the initiative.

  Forty minutes later, he shot the estimate into Zheer’s dataspace and breathed a sigh of relief. He saw Mairwen was still making notes, but she looked up to meet his gaze.

  “Where is your safehouse tonight?” she asked.

  “I... have no idea.” He’d completely forgotten Zheer had promised to arrange something for him, since his townhouse wasn’t safe for now. He pinged Zheer’s assistant, only to discover no one had told her to look.

  “I’ll do my best, but at this point, I’d be lucky to find you a prepaid sleep pod at the spaceport. Can you stay wherever you did last night?”

  He looked to Mairwen. She nodded.

  He told the assistant he could, then asked her to find him something for tomorrow night and disconnected.

  Another thought struck him and he turned to Mairwen. “Did they at least remember to retrieve your company vehicle?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

  Mairwen’s apartment had several virtues, chief among them Mairwen herself, but her cupboards were practically bare. “Have you ever had East Indian food?”

  “No.”

  “Good, it will be a new experience, what with your sheltered life and all.” When she returned his grin with a small smile of her own, he wanted to kiss her.

  “I’m hungry. Bring that comp with you. We can work remotely.”

  * * * * *

  Mairwen finished the last swallow of water and put her glass in the drawer with the rest of the dishes. The ancient, built-in sanitizer would cycle after it detected no activity for a while. It was the first time in months she’d had enough dirty dishes to use it. She watched Luka read the display she’d handed him with a summary of the mostly speculative information she had found on hybrid planets. It had taken her a while to think of him by his first name because it felt too distractingly personal, but now it felt… right.

  He was sitting at the breakfast bar again, with one elbow on the counter. His short-sleeved, red knit shirt hugged his chest nicely, as did the dark flexsilk pants that covered the rest of him. She was amused that even his casual clothing exhibited a sense of style. The masculine shape and power of his well-defined bare arms and feet stirred her hormones, and she wondered if that was normal or a tracker aberration.

  The autumn day had turned bitter cold with the promise of a hard winter, and she’d turned the heat up to compensate because she knew Luka would like it. She wished she’d thought to do it the previous night. She wondered idly if he’d grown up in a warm climate zone and missed it. He’d look good in a native sarong. Or out of one.

  She thought about changing into more comfortable clothes, but concluded she was still on duty, and there would be no running on public trails that evening. She made a mental note to offer him the use of the exercise machine. It was the only form of entertainment she had, other than the cork wall she used for daily knife practice. Her apartment had no other amenities, not even a built-in wallcomp or an outside window. It was boring, but secure.

  He looked up to meet her gaze and smiled, like he was happy she was watching him. It made her breath catch.

  “I want to cook a real meal for you,” he said.

  “Why?” The direction of his thoughts baffled her.

  “Because I’d like to do something nice for you.” Her confusion must have shown, because his smile widened. “I’m trying to impress you so you’ll want to spend more time with me.”

  Did he mean he wanted her as his primary security assistant, or did he want to meet with her when neither of them was working? She shook her head and looked away, then back to him, unable to hide her bewilderment.

  “I have no...”

  Would cooking for her signify he had feelings for her beyond the physical and wanted to change their relationship? And if so, to what? She tried again.

  “Will we...” She trailed off. She didn’t even know what to ask.

  She was out of her depth and didn’t know how to explain how profoundly inexperienced she was in social interactions and emotions.

  Finally, she said, “I’m not normal.” Her chest felt hollow.

  He snorted. “No such thing.” He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat and drew her into his arms. “I haven’t had many friends, and fewer lovers,” he said. “My talent makes it difficult.”

  He kissed her lips as lightly and easily as if he’d done it hundreds of times. “I’ve been aching to do this all day.” He kissed her lightly again, and she felt heat rise in her.

  She luxuriated in his scent and the feel of his lean body against her softer counterparts. “I think I have, too,” she said, realizing the icy feeling in her chest always vanished when he touched her, like an addiction being eased.

  He put his hand on the side of her face and tilted her chin up to meet his kiss. She opened to him immediately, reveling in the taste of him, the silky feel of his tongue against hers. His soft moan ignited a fire that made her instinctively arch into him. She repressed a tremor, but he felt it and broke off the kiss to look at her.

  “Tell me more about sensory overload,” he said, his voice ragged.

  She took a
deep, calming breath. “The first few years after we undergo the procedure, we can get overwhelmed by sensations before the brain finishes altering to handle them all. It’s easy to become… lost in sounds or scents or tastes. The CPS trains with pain and discipline to prevent it.” Her voice sounded husky to her ears.

  “What about the shaking?” She felt his hand stroke her back in a gentle caress.

  “A warning that the input center is about to be overwhelmed. In some, it causes seizures or coma.”

  He stilled. “What about in you?”

  She tightened her grip on him. “I don’t know.” Not even in the first months after the alteration procedure had she ever felt like she did with Luka. It was frightening, but the stubborn part of her wanted to meet the challenge head on. “You are the first thing—the only thing—that’s ever made me lose control.”

  “Flattering, but not reassuring,” he said, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It would kill me if I hurt you.”

  “If we go slow, I can stop if I need to,” she said, hoping it was true.

  He trailed nibbling kisses to her ear and along her neck. “I can do slow.”

  Air suddenly seemed in short supply. “So I see,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. Her powerful sense of duty warred with her strong desire. Both had grown exponentially, but her desire was winning. Bad, bad idea, hissed her cautious brain, but was overridden by another, less-familiar part of her mind saying this was good, perfect…

  Somehow her hands had burrowed under his shirt, splayed on the warm expanse of his skin. She loved the way his back expanded when he drew breath. His arm felt deliciously firm angled across her back.

  * * * * *

  Luka moaned as the sensations from her hands and mouth made his hair stand on end with desire. He was on the edge of abandoning “slow,” and desperately tried to find something distracting to think about, like how many knives she had on her person and how sharp they were.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened with Malamig?”

  She gave him a hazy look that took a moment to clear. “Wasn’t your problem.”

  “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.” He couldn’t help it, but he felt fiercely protective of her.

  He slid his hand around to the silky smooth nape of her neck. Her skin was velvety soft and warm and... lumpy.

  “What’s this between your shoulder blades?”

  “Knife.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, amused. He kissed her again and nibbled at her bottom lip, then groaned in protest when she slowly stepped back and smoothed his shirt down where her wandering hands had rumpled it. He was sorry he’d reminded her about the real world, where people were trying to kill him.

  “I’m your personal security detail.” She clasped his left hand in hers and lightly stroked the fading bruises. “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted.”

  “I know.” He sighed and smiled. “I’m glad you find me distracting. I’d hate to be alone in that.” He caressed her upper arm, unwilling to stop touching her yet. “I suppose sleeping together in that insanely large bed of yours tonight is out of the question?”

  “It’s not safe,” she said, and he understood she was talking about much more than security duty. There wouldn’t be much sleeping if they shared a bed, even if they had good intentions. They were too combustible. Chaos, but he wanted her. Wanted to find out how hot they could burn.

  “No, not for us,” he agreed, not hiding his regret and reluctance to move away even as he did so. He returned to the barstool and picked up the display to keep his hands busy.

  She stepped into the kitchen, and as she did, visibly reasserted her redoubtable control. It was hot and sexy as hell. He’d take strong, sleek Mairwen any day over all the Habervilles of the galaxy.

  He made himself look at the information on the display, though he wasn’t able to actually comprehend it for several more minutes until his body cooled and blood circulation returned to his brain.

  The protocols for xenobiological sampling, while useful for their intended mission, were mind-numbingly boring, so he was glad when she interrupted.

  “Is Zheer your friend?”

  “Not really. More of a respected colleague. And my boss, of course.” He gave her a questioning look.

  “Why didn’t she terminate my contract?”

  He considered it for a moment. “My guess is, you told the truth and took responsibility for your actions. Malamig did neither.”

  Privately, he wondered if Zheer’s forecaster talent told her that Mairwen’s continued employment would benefit the case or the company. It was also possible Zheer suspected he and Mairwen had something beyond a professional relationship, though he couldn’t have defined what that something was. He only knew he’d fight for her to stay.

  Leo would have laughed at him and told him all women were mysterious. Luka missed him. They’d probably never catch the specific crew assholes who had killed Leo and Adina, but at least they could find the person who’d given the orders.

  Mairwen had moved to near the door, standing in what he thought of as her sentinel stance.

  “Do you have any friends, Mairwen?”

  “No,” she said, then seemed to think better of it. “Perhaps. Beva Rienville said we’re friends. I don’t know how to tell. She said she wanted to hire me for her new division after my assignment with you is done.”

  “What did you say?” he asked, feeling a stab of possessiveness. He didn’t care if Beva wanted to be best friends for eternity with Mairwen, but he’d be damned if he’d give her up as his assistant, or anything else, so easily.

  “Nothing. She was running late.”

  He laughed, relieved. “She’s always running late for something.”

  He wanted to ask Mairwen if she wanted to stay with him, be with him, be his lover, but he didn’t have the courage to hear the answers just then.

  A few hours later, as he was again in her bed alone and dreaming she was with him, Mairwen nudged him awake to take a live ping from Zheer. He wondered groggily if either woman ever slept. La Plata was sending a vehicle in four hours to take them to the spaceport, where they’d board the Berjalan, an interstellar ship bound for Insche 255C, the best-guess candidate for a hybrid planet.

  CHAPTER 12

  * Interstellar: “Berjalan” Ship Day 01 * GDAT 3237.038 *

  Mairwen looked around her small but private stateroom for a place to store the low-res beamer and holster she’d been issued, but no luck. She placed them in her duffel bag with the upscale flexin armor she’d been issued and her spare knives and sheaths. While on the ship, she saw no reason to carry the beamer, since she already wore her usual knives. Besides, incautious use of a beamer was a quick way to breach the hull. She’d stowed her overcoat and expedition gear in the shallow closet, above where she’d put her boots and running shoes.

  At least she could wear comfortable clothing for the next few days. Good thing, because she had little else. She slipped on pants that hung loose from her hips and a sleeveless tank top. Her breasts were too small to make it worth the trouble to wear a bra. The stateroom’s unexpectedly plush carpeting felt good on her bare feet as she wiggled her toes.

  Luka’s stateroom was next to and the mirror image of hers, with a shared fresher between them. Across the short hall were similar staterooms for DeBayaud and Adams, the two security specialists Zheer had assigned. Both men appeared competent and pleasant. They moved like they had military training, probably gunnin. DeBayaud was tall and athletic, and Adams was compact and well muscled, and they both appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties. She gathered they were both La Plata employees, not subcontractors, and that they’d worked together before.

  On the other side of the mid-sized ship were two larger staterooms plus two tiny cabins. Haberville and the La Plata pilot, Ta’foulou, had taken the staterooms, which were probably meant for a pilot and a captain. Having two pilots on their team would allow the
m to travel nonstop, and provided backup in case of trouble.

  Ta’foulou was in his fifties and had no hair, and his hands, neck, and bald head had surface tattoos on practically every square centimeter except his face, almost like a permanent hooded jacket. He preferred speaking in Arabic and didn’t seem comfortable talking to people. Mairwen sympathized.

  The common areas included a kitchen, a well-equipped exercise room, an open, convertible dining and lounging area with various seating and entertainment options, and a desk and bookshelf area along one bulkhead meant to serve as a work area. All told, it was about six hundred square meters of flat-level living space, plus the engine and navigation pods, which doubled as escape pods. Comfortable enough for six people for a few days, but she planned to keep her extraordinary senses dampened to subnormal levels while in such close quarters with others. Even so, she could still hear the phantom sonics that meant they were in transit.

  She was more concerned about Luka at the moment. Zheer had put the pressure on for a quick liftoff window that suited her sense of urgency. Between arranging for delivery of more clothes for himself, weapons and armor, camping gear, and a portable medical kit, he’d only gotten an hour’s nap. From the moment he’d seen the Berjalan, his tension had increased. She caught hints of his old, bad memories look flitting across his face when he thought no one was watching. He’d declined Haberville’s safety tour, saying he already knew this ship model well.

  Something finally clicked in Mairwen’s mind as she slipped on a long cardigan to cover her knives and walked through the fresher to the open door of Luka’s stateroom.

  He was seated on the low, padded platform couch that doubled as a bed, wearing only a loose pair of knit pants. Earlier, he’d mumbled something about sleeping, but he hadn’t closed the door or darkened the room, and she doubted he could rest in his current state.

  “I’m not good company,” he said, closing his eyes as if his head throbbed. “And little pilots sometimes have big ears.”