Snowburn

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Snowburn Page 9

by E J Frost


  “This is worth a lot,” she says.

  “Especially here.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re drinkin’ my

  whole cut for this run.”

  She turns onto her back. Wriggles down

  in the chair and sips her water. “We didn’t

  discuss expenses.”

  “No time like the present.”

  “Well, there’s fluids.” She jiggles her

  bulb so the remaining water sloshes. “But I

  figure you owe me a liter, so this makes us

  even.”

  “That water’s more expensive than your

  blood.”

  “That’s probably true.” She giggles.

  “Okay, so I owe you for the water. How

  much?”

  “At least another forty minutes.”

  “Throw in Ralph and we have a deal.”

  “Ralph’s mine. No deal.”

  She pouts. Wets her lips with another sip

  of water and gives me a long, sidelong

  glance through her lashes. “You could share

  Ralph with me.”

  “Whaddo you want, joint custody?”

  “Equal Ralph time.” She wriggles in the

  seat, stretches her legs out in front of her. I

  bet inside the boots, she’s curling her toes.

  “And a massage. Does Ralph give good

  massages?”

  “He’s all paws.” Actually, I give pretty

  good massage, or so I’ve been told. I haven’t

  had the opportunity to practice this decade,

  though. “Sides, you owe me, remember?”

  “I reciprocate. And I’m not all paws.”

  “Forty minutes, Ralph time and

  reciprocal massage, huh? That’s all you’re

  offering me for this fine water?” I lift my

  bulb and pretend to scrutinize it.

  “And a shower. Forty minutes, Ralph

  time, reciprocal massage and a shower. And

  we might as well eat, too. Those noodles you

  got the other night were good. Forty minutes,

  Ralph time, reciprocal massage, a shower

  and noodles.”

  Sounds like a date. “That all?”

  “At your place. I didn’t get to see

  inside.”

  “Forty minutes, Ralph time, reciprocal

  massage, a shower and noodles at my place.

  Sounds light to me.”

  She sighs. “Sounds amazing to me. When

  does payback begin?”

  “You gotta make the drop first.”

  She makes a disgruntled noise and settles

  deeper into the chair. “I could send Ape. But

  they’d probably stiff him.”

  “You want something done right, gotta do

  it yourself.”

  “Ugh, I know.” She finishes the water.

  Stretches. “Don’t I just know?” She climbs

  out of her chair. “Snow, if you’re not doing

  anything . . . would you come with me? You

  are a hellofa backup.”

  Remembering another woman who asked

  me to brave monsters in the dark with her, I

  give Kez a slow smile. “Sure. That’s extra,

  though.” At the rate we’re going, she’s going

  to owe me several hours of fucking. Which is

  just fine with me.

  She grins. Looks like it’s fine with her,

  too.

  Chapter 6

  We find her brother sleeping. Kez shakes

  her head at him and says, “He can sleep

  through anything. Always could, even when

  we were kids.”

  Kez is a fairly deep sleeper herself, but I

  don’t mention that since she may not even be

  aware that she slept on top of me for two

  hours. She’s not wrong about how deep her

  brother sleeps, though. We don’t make any

  effort at silence while we unload the box.

  Ape remains blissfully unconscious, snoring

  a little. Once the float machines are

  reattached, the box bobs along behind me

  like a tug on its tether.

  The ramp lowers us into sheeting rain.

  I’ve landed in VTOL mode, so the Marie’s

  perched less than thirty meters from the dock.

  But it’s a wet thirty meters. I could run it, but

  I don’t think Kez is up to running. Even

  walking, she lags behind me. In the overhang

  of the dock, I wait for her. Dock 216 is dark.

  Empty. Waiting for the first cargo of the day.

  Some of the distant docks show signs of life:

  light, smoke, floaters arriving, workers in the

  blue and yellow coveralls of Kuseros

  Colonial Administration moving around. But

  not Dock 216.

  “Looks like we’re early,” I tell Kez as

  she joins me in looking through the tall plaz

  windows into the dark building. No

  movement inside. And no obvious way in.

  “They gave me a passkey.” She unslings

  her backpack, rummages through it and

  comes up with a small square of yellow plaz.

  She pushes it into a slot in the side of the

  building. One of the tall windows uncouples

  from the others with a pneumatic hiss, pulls

  back a meter and slides to the side. The

  building exhales a stale breath, redolent of

  fried food and time spent fruitlessly waiting.

  Although Kez’s passkey opens the

  building, it doesn’t turn the lights on. The

  rainy dawn doesn’t do much to light the

  building and once we walk through the few

  meters of filtered grey light let in by the

  windows, we’re standing in the dark.

  My cat’s eye lets me see deeper into the

  building. Some crates stacked in an area

  outlined with florescent yellow paint on the

  permacrete floor. A row of uncomfortable-

  looking metal chairs bolted to the far wall.

  Standing sentinel next to the chairs, a

  battered recycler. Probably the source of the

  greasy smell. Typically, it’s off, no lights

  blinking. Those soyu strips are feeling like a

  long time ago.

  Reddish light flares beside me and I

  glance at its source. Kez twists another of

  her dreads and it glows green. Once she has

  several beads lit, she shakes her hair back

  and looks around. “What time is it?” she

  asks.

  “Don’t you got a clock in that hair?

  Seems like you got everything else.”

  She snorts. “No.”

  “Five to five.” I translate it into civvie

  time for her.

  “Damn. They should be here by now.”

  “Problem?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not yet. They

  may just be late. No everyone has Penny’s

  thing about punctuality.” She gives me a faint

  grin.

  Since it looks like we’re gonna be

  waiting a while, I evaluate the options for a

  place to sit. The metal chairs are the worst

  option. The floor looks softer. But it’s the

  crates within their yellow line that look the

  most promising. I step over the line slowly.

  It doesn’t look wired, but you never know.

  No alarms blare. I test a couple of the crates

  with my hand. The foam-core ain’t sturdy

  enough to bear my weight, but the metal

  crates feel fine
. I climb onto one of them,

  hold my hand out for Kez and help her up

  beside me. I lean back gingerly. The foam-

  core doesn’t shift: strong enough to lean

  against. I let my legs dangle over the side of

  the crate and relax.

  After a minute of wriggling around, Kez

  gets herself settled. She scoots close to me.

  “May I?” She nods at my shoulder.

  “Sure.”

  She settles against my side, head on my

  shoulder. I curve my arm around her. Rest

  my hand on her hip. She feels warm, soft and

  very, very natural against me.

  “Comfy?”

  She sighs. “Yes.” She lies against me

  quietly for a few moments. I spend the time

  enjoying her warmth and weight, the clean

  soap smell of her hair. And the silence. I like

  Kez. She’s not too noisy, but even her

  relative lack of yap can wear on me after so

  many years of solitude.

  “Snow,” she says. I knew it was too good

  to last. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I got some stuff out of your recycler. I

  hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.” The Marie’s passenger

  recycler doesn’t have much of a selection,

  but all of it is nutritious, and some of it is

  tasty. I’m curious to see what she picked.

  “Don’t think this gets you out of buying

  noodles.”

  “Am I buying?” she asks innocently, as

  she rummages in her backpack. She pulls out

  several packets and spreads them across our

  laps. Protein jerky, dehydrated pineapple

  and four packets of green tea yokan. Kitten

  has a sweet tooth. “I don’t think I said I was

  buying.”

  “You’re definitely buying. You leave

  anything in my recycler?” Looks like she’s

  cleaned me out.

  “The tortillas. Who eats carrot and onion

  flavored tortillas?”

  I don’t like them either. That’s why

  they’re in the passenger recycler. “They

  were cheap.”

  She offers me one of the packets of jerky.

  “Cheap and nasty.”

  “I see you keepin’ all the good stuff to

  yourself. Gimme some yokan.”

  She pouts but hands me a packet of the

  sweet, green cubes. Shifts her leg a little so

  the rest of the yokan packets end up in her

  lap. Minx. I poke her in the hip. “Share, or

  I’ll take your toys away.”

  She picks up one of the yokan packets

  with the tips of her fingers and grudgingly

  drops it in my lap. I chuckle.

  We eat in companionable silence for

  several minutes. When she finishes, she leans

  against me with a satisfied sigh. I shift her

  closer to my side while I finish a packet of

  pineapple rings.

  She lets her head loll across my shoulder.

  “I could use some Ralph time right now,” she

  says.

  “Close your eyes. I’ll wake you when

  they come.”

  She looks up at me sleepily. The hollows

  beneath her eyes are so deep I could fit my

  thumbs into them. “Who’s going to wake

  you?”

  “I don’t fall asleep in strange places.”

  “Just with strange women.”

  “You’re not all that strange.”

  She grins. Closes her eyes. “Will you talk

  me to sleep?”

  “Ralph’s the strong, silent type.”

  “Please,” she whispers. “Just a little?”

  “Whaddo you want to talk about?”

  “Anything. Tell me where you’re from.”

  “Dunno. First place I really remember is

  the orphanage on Paggen, Ep Indi.”

  “You’re an orphan?” She rubs her cheek

  against my shoulder. “Me and Ape are

  orphans, too.”

  I figured when she said she’d been on her

  own since she was eleven. “What

  happened?”

  “Our mother was a Hexer. She never said

  who our father was. Or fathers, more likely.

  She was all over the place. Hex killed her

  when I was eight, but she’d been up and

  down the coldspiral for a long time. I hadn’t

  seen her in months. We lived with our

  Granna on and off from the time Ape was

  born. When I was ten, Granna had a stroke.

  They said she couldn’t take care of us. So we

  were put in care.”

  “Someone try to fuck you?” I know from

  personal experience that’s why most of the

  girls run.

  She shakes her head, grinding it a little

  into my shoulder. “Mister and Miz Muro

  weren’t bad people. They did okay by Ape.

  They were just very strict. I’ve never done

  strict all that well.” She shrugs. Rebellious

  kitten. “They wouldn’t let me go to Granna’s

  funeral. So I ran away.”

  “You lived on the streets? From the time

  you were eleven?” I don’t smell any bullshit,

  but she can’t be telling the truth. Girls that

  young don’t survive on the streets. Not with

  their souls intact. At least, not the streets I’ve

  walked.

  “I got lucky. After a couple of days, I was

  so hungry that I tried to steal some food from

  a street stall. I wasn’t any good at it. Granna

  always said stealing was a sin, so I’d never

  tried it before. The girl running the stall

  caught me. Instead of turning me over to the

  C.P., she gave me some food and took me

  home with her. She lived in a . . . I don’t

  know what you’d call it. We just called it the

  House. There were a lot of girls there. Only

  girls. They all lived together. They had jobs.

  Supported each other. One of them took me

  on as her apprentice. Livvy. She was a

  runner. She taught me. I lived with them until

  I was seventeen.”

  “Why didn’t you stay?”

  She grins at me. “I like boys.”

  “Ah.” Lucky for me. “Those kinds of

  girls.”

  “Not all of them. But strictly no boys.

  Once I turned seventeen, I got custody of Ape

  and wanted him to live with me. But they

  wouldn’t let me. So I got a place of my

  own.” She’s silent for a moment. “How did

  we end up talking about me?”

  I shrug, rolling my shoulder under the

  weight of her head. But I know exactly how

  we ended up talking about her. I directed the

  conversation that way. There’s nothing about

  my past she needs to know, or that I want to

  talk about. I could invent a more palatable

  past, but I don’t see the point. I don’t

  particularly want to lie to her, even if I don’t

  particularly want to tell her the truth. “Is your

  brother always that hostile, or is it just me?”

  “Fifty-fifty. He doesn’t take to strangers

  easily. Trust issues.”

  Lots of abandoned kids have those. I

  might even be one of them. Kez might be,

  too. Her story ex
plains why her trust issues

  haven’t been on full display. She’s looked to

  me for approval from the start. Father figure.

  And as long as she doesn’t mind fucking

  daddy, I’m okay with that.

  “And he might be a little jealous.”

  “Yeah?” I wipe my mouth and turn my

  head so I can nuzzle her hair. Her dreads feel

  soft and lumpy against my face. I like the

  texture. “Why’s that?”

  I have a pretty good idea already, having

  observed the interaction between the chimp

  and his big sister. He wants her all to

  himself. But I want to hear if she sees it the

  same way.

  “I, uh, I haven’t been interested in a guy

  for a while. He doesn’t like sharing me. It’s

  not a big deal. He’ll get over it.”

  Nothing wrong with her peopleometer.

  And I like hearing that there hasn’t been

  anyone else for a while. “I’m not a big deal,

  huh?”

  She bumps her head against my nose.

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” She yawns and stretches.

  “You’re keeping me awake, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t trying to, actually. She

  perked up pretty well after her cat-nap, so

  another one probably wouldn’t hurt her.

  She’s fading now, though. Shadows

  deepening around her eyes and under her

  cheekbones. She needs more than just two

  hours of sleep. So do I. I check the chrono in

  my eye. Zero-five-thirty. “They’re pretty

  fuckin’ late.”

  “I know.” She nods at the window wall

  through which the Marie looms in her wet,

  darkly oxidized glory. Good ship. “Sun’s

  up.”

  It is, shafts of light peeking through the

  rain clouds. Might be rainbows later.

  Rainbows and sunsets. I didn’t give a fuck

  about either until Marin’s death. Then I

  began looking for beauty wherever I could.

  Trying to replace what I’d lost.

  Kez fiddles with her dreads, turning off

  the lightshow, then draws her knees up.

  Leans them against my thigh and cuddles into

  me. Her warm weight against me is beautiful.

  Her funny, fragile trust is beautiful. The

  noises she made when she came were

  beautiful. Against her beauty, my rage against

  the late-ass fuckers who are keeping us from

  moving on to the things I’d rather be doing

  with her grows.

  “You got any way of contacting them?” I

  ask.

  She shakes her head. “I wasn’t told

  anything about the drop. Only that the box

  had to be here, Dock 216 North, by five, and

 

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