Snowburn

by E J Frost

  “I’m tired, Snow,” she says. It’s a

  whisper, but if it was a little louder, it would

  be a whimper.

  “Hour and a half to Nock City. Get some

  rest.” I let her go.

  She catches herself on the edge of the

  cradle. Slumps into it. I move towards the

  door.

  “Snow, wait—”

  I turn back to her. She’s holding out the

  three rolls of credits.

  So that’s the way it is. I take the credits.

  Cup her trembling hand in mine. “There are

  painkillers in the med kit in the ‘fresher.

  Take as many as you need.”

  She nods but doesn’t look at me. I let her

  hand go. Force myself to walk away and get

  on with what she’s paying me for.

  The takeoff’s quick and uneventful. I keep

  the ship on manual until we’re beyond the

  city and skimming over the rolling purple

  dunes of the desert separating New Brunny

  from the northern settlements. No matter how

  pissed off the water rioters are, I don’t see

  them heading out into the desert to shoot

  down passing ships. I leave the weapon-

  detection system on, though, just in case,

  while I flip the ship over to automatic and let

  the flight computer navigate the route I’ve

  picked back to Nock.

  I could try to sleep, but I’m pretty much

  guaranteed to dream of Marin. Sleep has no

  appeal.

  I fuck with the ship for a while. Adjusting

  settings that don’t need adjustment. Flicking

  through messages on the Multi. The long hop

  is still open, and their offering price has

  gone up. It leaves in less than five hours. I

  could be in cryo in eight. I’ve never been

  able to really sleep in cryo, but at least I

  wouldn’t dream.

  I’m about to signal the shipper when the

  airlock behind me snicks open.

  There are half-a-dozen blades hidden

  within easy reach. I tickle one of them out of

  its sheath. Hold it loosely while I wait to see

  who’s come through, and what their

  intentions are.

  Kez climbs into the co-pilot’s chair.

  Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see

  how she eases gingerly into the chair. How

  her hands tremble as she straps herself in.

  “Thought you were gonna get some rest,”

  I say. Let my voice cover the quiet snick as I

  drop the blade back into its sheath.

  She doesn’t answer. I glance at her. She’s

  tucked into a ball in the chair, hands gripped

  to her chest. She’s put a derm over her

  damaged eye. Salve glistens on her lip. She

  looks worse than she did before she cleaned

  herself up.

  “Kez—”

  “Can I just sit here with you? Ape’s

  snoring already. I don’t want to be alone

  . . .”

  “Sure,” I say. I reach under my chair to

  the cold tray and pull out two more bulbs of

  water. Hand one to her.

  “I’m going to do nothing but pee

  tomorrow,” she says, but she takes the bulb.

  I sip my water. Let the silence stretch.

  Wait to see how she fills it.

  “The desert’s beautiful,” she says. “I’ve

  never seen it from the air.”

  “Yeah,” I say neutrally. We’re not gonna

  talk about the scenery. Not with so much

  hanging heavy between us.

  She feels it, too. Asks hesitantly, “When

  you dream . . . what do you dream about?”

  I’m tempted to fob her off with another

  story about imaginary teddy bears. But

  maybe the truth will bring her back to me. “A

  woman. Her name was Marin.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Worse. I admired her.”

  She turns on her side. Rests her head in

  the pillow of her arm. Watches me out of her

  undamaged eye. There’s a rim of wetness

  under it. Has she been crying? Or maybe

  Kincaid damaged her tear duct. “What

  happened to her?”

  “She died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Were you with her a long time?”

  I take a swallow of water. Let it wash

  away some of the bitterness. Thirty-two

  standard years. Three hundred eighty-four

  months. Eleven thousand six hundred and

  eighty days. Less than three of them with

  Marin. “Not nearly long enough.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Beautiful. Smart. Fearless.” A thousand

  other things I don’t have words for. The

  relief in her eyes when she realized there

  was another sane soul on that ball of space

  rock. Her bitter-sweet ferocity when she

  refused to leave behind the man who

  eventually killed her. The feeling of her body

  against mine the few hours she let me keep

  her warm. “Like you.”

  Kez snorts. “You must be thinking of

  someone else.”

  “You knew what Kincaid would want.”

  She touches the derm over her eye

  gingerly. “I only did a few runs for him

  while I was with Livvy. Little things. I think I

  took him his lunch a couple of times. He

  made me take off my shirt once. He stared at

  my boobs while he ate his lunch and wanked

  off under his damn desk. But he never tried

  to touch me.”

  “You went in there alone, knowing he’s a

  sadist. That’s fearless. Or stupid. You tell

  me.”

  She smiles a little, then presses the back

  of her fingers against her split lip. “If those

  are my options, I’d prefer fearless.”

  “Now tell me why you needed it so bad.”

  She slides her hand under her cheek.

  Turns her face into it so she doesn’t have to

  meet my eyes. “I can’t.” She pauses for a

  moment, then looks up at me. “Not because I

  don’t want to. It’s part of the deal.”

  I grunt, irritated that she won’t tell me

  anyway.

  “I could tell you . . . other things. Things

  I’ve figured out for myself.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Well, you know how I said I had a run

  coming up to the Cloudlands?” She shifts her

  hand up a little to cover a yawn.

  “Yeah.”

  “I got both runs at the same time. This

  one and the one to the Cloudlands. I think

  they’re related.”

  “How?”

  “Kincaid used to control Hemos City and

  Nock, right? But since Sokun Tyng was

  killed, he’s moved down to New Brunny,

  and Kimpler’s taken over his old turf.”

  “Yeah, I heard that.” I’ve also heard

  about Kimpler. Heard he’s a quietly scary

  motherfucker who likes to hunt on his days

  off. Most of the time he hunts Kuseros’s

  indigenous predators. Sometimes he hunts

  people who’ve pissed him off.

  “I did a run for Kimpler. A long time ago.

  He did the me
et himself, in person. He had

  me meet him out on the Cloudlands. I think he

  has a place out there.”

  “So, Kincaid and Kimpler.” The two

  remaining lieutenants in Tyng’s empire, after

  old Kison Tyng’s heir apparent got himself

  killed. “Sokun Tyng. Didn’t he die in Kuus?”

  “Yup, in the Deeps. No one knows what

  he was doing there or how he died. But my

  friend Java disappeared around the same

  time. He was number two in the Pack.”

  “Sokun Tyng dies. Someone hires you to

  pick up a box of black-market glands that are

  in the paws of his killers, and deliver them to

  Junior Tyng’s replacement. Big

  coincidence.”

  Kez nods. “Except I don’t think the Pack

  killed Tyng.”

  “Why not? Seriously unfriendly fuckers.”

  “They’re starving. I told you, they’re

  nicer than the Snatchers one on one,” she

  says.

  I snort. That really doesn’t move them up

  much on my nice scale.

  She continues, “I’ve been going into the

  Deeps for years and I’ve never had a

  problem with them before. Besides, don’t

  you think if the Pack killed his son that Old

  Man Tyng would have exterminated them to

  the last ratling by now? No one knows. But

  maybe someone is testing a theory.”

  “By taking the glands to Kincaid?”

  “And the run to Kimpler. Who had the

  most to gain by Sokun Tyng’s death?”

  “Man had a lot of enemies.”

  “Frenemies. He hated Kincaid and

  Kimpler, and from everything I’ve heard, the

  feeling was totally mutual.”

  “Yeah? How d’you know so much about

  the Tyngs?”

  “I listen.”

  “You must have big ears.”

  “And thin walls.” She yawns hugely.

  “How’s that?”

  “Chiara Tyng likes to talk about her

  family after sex.”

  “Chiara Tyng—?”

  “My brother’s girlfriend.”

  Talking exhausts her. Her uncovered

  eyelid gets heavier and heavier. Finally, she

  drops into a fitful doze. I slide silently out of

  my chair and open one of the smuggler’s

  hatches in the flight deck floor. Take out one

  of the boxes that the original Snow

  thoughtfully left me. Smuggler’s supplies,

  including an impressive range of black-

  market meds.

  The pain patches are right on top. I select

  two, enough to knock her out for several

  hours, and stow the box. I lean over Kez,

  careful not to wake her. She’s twitching,

  shivering in her sleep. I hope she’s not

  dreaming yet.

  Silently, carefully, I reach across to

  where her hand has dropped into her lap, and

  smooth two patches onto her inner wrist.

  The derms work quickly. Within a

  minute, she relaxes. Her breathing drops

  until it’s deep and even.

  I flick the automatics off, and concentrate

  on giving her a smooth ride into Nock City.

  Chapter 8

  Unsurprisingly, her brother sleeps

  through the landing. Even more

  unsurprisingly, he’s a hostile little shit when

  I wake him.

  “We’re here. Unpack your gear,” I tell

  him.

  “Where’s Kez?” he asks, rubbing his

  eyes.

  “Sleeping.”

  “Wake her up. I can’t carry all this shit.”

  I wrap two fingers in the neck of his vest

  and drag him up until he’s eye to eye. “Then

  leave it here and get your worthless ass off

  my ship,” I tell him.

  He avoids my eyes. All juvenile bluster

  and no spine. “Man, I don’t know what she

  sees in you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.” I drop him back into

  the cradle. Grumbling, he climbs out of it and

  begins opening the hatches for the passenger

  storage compartments. I leave him to it and

  go to shut down my ship.

  Kez sleeps peacefully in the co-pilot’s

  chair while I cycle down the ship’s flight

  systems. Open up the solar cells and leave

  them to charge in Kuseros’s early morning

  light. Set the ship’s computer to bounce calls

  to my place by the river. I take a minute to

  send a thanks but no thanks plex to the long

  hopper. I’m not sure where Kez and I have

  ended up, but I’m not disappearing for any

  length of time until I find out. Thirty-five

  standard years. Four hundred twenty months.

  Twelve thousand seven hundred seventy-five

  days. I’ve spent less than one of them with

  Kez. I’m not losing out on my chance to

  spend another with her, the way I did with

  Marin.

  When all that remains is to close and lock

  the ship, I shrug on my jacket, pocket the

  rolls of credits, the ship’s remote and an

  eskey, and gather Kez out of the co-pilot’s

  chair. She stirs and murmurs, but the drugs

  keep her under. I settle her into my arms,

  holding her across my body with her head on

  my shoulder. It’s becoming natural, carrying

  her. I notice the weight in my lower back and

  biceps, but it’s not uncomfortable. I carry her

  out into the corridor where Ape waits with

  two bags, the float boards and her backpack.

  “Yeah, I can see how that’d be too much

  for you,” I growl over his sister’s head. He

  has the sense to look sheepish. “Where’s her

  jacket?”

  He offers it to me and I wrap it around

  her, carefully hiding her wrist with its bright

  red patches. “Hat,” I grunt at him.

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Find it,” I growl. “You really want to

  answer questions about her face?”

  “No,” he says sullenly. He roots through

  her backpack until he unearths her hat.

  Settles it awkwardly between her head and

  my shoulder.

  “First breeze’ll have that off.” I shift Kez

  up onto my shoulder until I get a hand free to

  snug the hat around her head. Tug it down

  until it shades her damaged face.

  “I called a taxi,” Ape says. “Figured she

  wouldn’t be up to boarding.”

  “You figured right.” I don’t add for once,

  but it’s implied. “Where is it?”

  “Er, outside . . .”

  Infant. “Tell it to come to red zone four.

  Authorization SM2662.”

  “Oh, okay.” Ape pulls a blocky palmtop

  out of his vest pocket and begins tapping.

  I step over their luggage, onto the ramp

  and, as it cycles, let it carry me down onto

  the permacrete landing pad. A yellow and

  blue taxi buzzes through the restricted gate. It

  pulls up onto the red pad across from my

  ship and settles onto a cushion of dust blown

  up by its neg cells. The passenger door

  slides open obligingly. I climb in, holding

&n
bsp; Kez in front of me and settling her onto one

  of the wide seats once we’re inside. No

  driver. The taxi’s automated. Not surprising

  at this hour of the morning. I wait for Ape

  and while he heaves the bags into the taxi’s

  main compartment, lean out and click the

  master control at the ship. The ramp silently

  closes and the ship goes dark. With the solar

  panels unfurled above the cargo bays, the

  Marie looks like a massive mechanical

  butterfly, waiting to take flight. Good ship.

  Ape punches a destination into the taxi’s

  interface and it rises in a billow of dust. A

  gentle jerk and we’re whizzing through the

  port and out into the early morning streets of

  Nock City.

  I pull Kez into my lap. Settle her in my

  arms and look down into her sleeping face.

  Brush her bangs and a stray dreadlock off her

  cheek so I can inspect the damage. The derm

  has brought down the swelling. Her

  cheekbone’s split and bruised, but it’s fading

  under the effects of the derm to a line of red

  and a shadow of purple and green. It’ll be

  gone in a couple of hours. I tip up her chin so

  I can see her mouth. The salve’s closed the

  split on her lower lip to a thin red line. As I

  look closely, I can see red lines in the

  corners of her mouth, too. Those aren’t from

  Kincaid’s hand. They’re from the impact of a

  different organ. I sigh and tuck her close to

  my chest. He made her earn those two

  thousand after all.

  “What happened to her?” Ape asks.

  I look across the taxi at him. “What d’you

  think?”

  “Kincaid beat on her, didn’t he?”

  And the rest. “Yeah.”

  “I should have gone with her. Why didn’t

  she wake me up?”

  Plenty of guilt to go around. “Dunno.”

  Ape sits forward, leans his elbows on his

  knees and pops his knuckles. “I wish she was

  ugly. So fucking ugly no one would look at

  her.”

  “How’s that?” I ask, not sure I’ve heard

  him correctly.

  He shakes his head. “If she wasn’t pretty,

  this wouldn’t happen to her.”

  I doubt that. Kincaid’s particular

  pathology doesn’t discriminate that way. But

  that’s not what catches at me. “This

  happened before?”

  He rubs his hand over his mouth. His

  hands are like hers. Long-fingered. Big even

  for his overdeveloped body. Puppy paws.

  “She wouldn’t want me to say.”

  “But it’s not the first time, is it?”

  “No.” He stares at his hands for a minute

  before he continues. “She was caught by