by J. C. Hay
Because you’re doing this to think, rather than forget, right?
His inner voice, critical as ever, rained negativity like hammer blows. Like the endlessly repeating rhythm of his feet. Gods of star and void, what had he been thinking last night? Other than how she’d looked in her robe, with her hair damp and smelling of nutmeg. Telling her was the right thing to do, but she’d had some kind of breakdown after he confessed he could hear her emotions, had shut him out completely despite his best effort to put her at ease. At least if Jonas had survived, he’d have someone to ask about it. Jonas understood women, knew how to talk to them. Instead, Galen had managed to make her terrified of him, afraid that at any moment he would take over her mind and work her like a lovely marionette. He’d heard of psi-talents that strong, everyone had, but no one he’d met had even an inkling of that much power. He had begun to suspect it was yet another rumor generated by the Tse.
He stumbled as the treadmill’s speed caught his foot. Focus, Galen. Focus or fall. That was the point of the exercise, after all. If he could lose himself in the repetitive motion for a time, then he wouldn’t have to think about how he’d shoved her away from him.
Better not to get attached. He’d played up his confidence for her, but he genuinely had no idea what he’d find once they got aboard the lighthouse. If the Tse had reinforced it, and that wasn’t out of the question, then their chances rapidly approached zero in ways that made Zeno’s paradox look slow. If the Tse caught them, she’d be punished as brutally as he would. Her extensive contact with an unchartered psi condemned her to long and painful interrogations, and ultimately, a tattoo to mark her contaminated status. While he’d never met a psion with the ability to implant a suggestion, indeed had never heard of anyone who could, the Tse circulated the rumor far and wide. Fear and distrust kept people from trusting psi-talents, made them eager to turn them in rather than be labeled as contaminated.
He slowed the treadmill at last and called out to the room. “Bree? You listening?”
“Of course. How may I be of assistance?”
“Where’s the captain?”
“She’s on the bridge. Is there something I can do to assist you?”
The bridge? He wondered what she’d need there with the ship still firmly in null. Avoiding him, most likely. It made the most sense, especially after last night. “Tell me about her?”
“I’m not certain I should.”
Galen could hardly believe his ears. He would have sworn the AI sounded like a hesitant gossip about to spill everything.
“It’s okay. I just want to know more about her. Is she dating anyone?” He winced. Nice. Very mature. For an encore, you can ask the AI to pass notes for you. Do you like me? Check yes or no.
“The captain has not been involved seriously since she lost her partner.”
“What happened?”
“A raid on an unaligned trader went badly. They were transporting a full company of Tse marines, rather than just their weapons. He was overpowered while buying her time to escape.”
Gods. No wonder she raged against the Tse. The image of her as an avenging angel moving through the yacht made sense at last. She held the Tse personally responsible. “How long ago was this?”
“Almost a year now. It took many months for her to feel like going up again. Only when her supplies were critical did she return to the shipping lanes and look for work.”
He stopped the treadmill and stepped off, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the sweat from his face. Fabric softener was apparently not one of the supplies she kept on hand. He understood why she’d agreed to help him—the chance to avenge herself on the Tse had to be all but irresistible. He wondered if he could tamp that desire down without her noticing. He needed her help, certainly, but he didn’t need her to be reckless. That would only lead to getting both of them killed.
And he found himself increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of her getting hurt. Especially for him.
You don’t owe him anything. He’s an accidental passenger, that’s all. As soon as we’ve finished with the lighthouse, I can drop him at the first available starport and get on with my life. Syna stormed back and forth in her quarters, pillow clutched to her chest in case she needed to scream again. Everything she wanted on a plate in front of her. A commission. Steady trade routes, and the income that came with them. Anbjorn, back from the dead.
Anbjorn, a Tse agent.
The idea itself wasn’t uncommon—a lot of humans worked with the Tse. After all, the Hegemony gave exactly the thing lots of people wanted in their lives. Peace, order, a quiet, soul-killing tedium. The two species looked similar, could even interbreed to a greater or lesser extent. The results tended to be sterile, but that was only a minor hurdle that could be cured with modern medicine. She’d heard of humans receiving commissions well up the ranks of the Tse military arm. It only made sense that they used human operatives to infiltrate the areas they were interested in.
And she’d been a part of it. Helped the very people she’d sworn herself against. The aliens who had killed her lover—except they hadn’t. Not only had he not died, he’d never been in danger. The whole bad raid had been a ruse—he’d known, had allowed her to get captured in spite of it all. He’d lied to her from day one. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed.
It can’t all have been lies. Not everything. He had to have loved her—she’d seen it in his eyes. Felt it in the way he’d touched her.
Unless that was all part of the act. Suckering you in as the perfect cover.
Numbers cascaded through her mind; how long she could last on the bounty Anbjorn had offered, how much the repairs to the Quarry were likely to cost, how long she would feel guilty for turning over someone who had trusted her.
Not long enough. And if word got out that she’d betrayed a passenger for a better deal—even if the passenger was a wanted psion—her days on the fringe were done. No one would trust her with a cargo.
So what? So live in the Hegemony. The jobs are steady and you don’t have to worry about where your next meal’s coming from, or your next tank of fuel.
The urge to beat something into submission made her limbs vibrate with wasted energy. It would be so simple to arrange—a quick command to Bree, and the ship lists. The beacon goes off, and Anbjorn’s friends sweep in and clean everything up.
Syna slapped the door-open button with her palm and stomped down the hall towards the first cargo bay, thankful she’d never bothered to sell off the exercise equipment. Head down, she didn’t notice Galen until she had plowed into him at full speed. He bounced off her, into the edge of the door, with a squeal of alarm and surprise. “What the hells are you doing standing in the doorway?”
He flinched, surprised by her vehemence. Good. Let him be afraid. He lived and died by her good graces. “I was just leaving. Are you okay? You seem really upset.”
“Oh? Did you read that in my emotions too?”
“I don’t really have to. My mom was an ambassador, remember? Body language is part of the basic education curriculum.”
“What were you doing in here? How did you find out about the gym?”
“Bree told me.”
Of course she did. Syna vowed to have a talk with the AI about her tendency to be too helpful.
“I was having a run,” Galen said. “It helps me relax.”
Syna blinked. “That’s sick.”
“I blame endorphins, or something. I just feel a lot more focused after a good run. Helps me unwind.”
“Yeah, no thanks.” A crazy idea wormed its way into the back of her mind, and she blurted it out before she could reconsider. “You know how to fight?”
He looked offended. “I didn’t get shot up sitting on my ass in the lounge.”
She glanced down at the bandage. “How is the leg, by the way?”
“It’s almost good as new. Your autosurgeon did good work.” Fléchettes were sharp, but the wound edges tended to be clean, cut instead of torn. Heali
ng accelerants worked well with them, but she hadn’t expected him to recover this quickly.
Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been crippled. She needed the release, the primal satisfaction of hands punching into meat. Syna smiled at him. “Great. I need a sparring partner. I haven’t had a good workout in months.”
A wry grin twinkled in his eyes. “I’d be happy to give you a working over.”
Heat flushed her cheeks and she had to remember to close her mouth. She thought of a half-dozen responses to his flirtation, then decided it was best to ignore it altogether. “I’m not going to pull my punches just because you’re shot up.”
“I didn’t expect you to. I hope you don’t expect me to stand still for you. You said you wanted a partner, not a punching bag. I won’t make it easy for you.” He gave an experimental bob and weave, showing off.
“If that’s the best you’ve got, I’d get a better workout from the bag.” She pushed past him and grabbed the sparring gloves out of the locker. “Still, I suppose you could surprise me. Let’s go.” The locker smelled like leather and sweat. It shocked her to realize how much she associated the smell with Anbjorn.
She thought back to the image on the video. The Anbjorn who had contacted her appeared clean-cut, his long hair and beard neatly combed and braided. Even with the cloak around his shoulders, he looked put-together. Tame. As though nothing of the barbarian she had believed him to be remained. Syna glanced over at the psion and wondered if he sensed her anger, wondered if he could tell it wasn’t directed towards him specifically, but instead towards his whole gender.
Galen grabbed a pair of gloves for himself and slipped them on. He carried himself like he’d had some training, she had to admit. His balance was low, his steps sure. He made a few lunges with his hands to test the weight of the gloves, but she watched his feet instead. A person’s stance told a lot about how they fought—he drew his weight into one leg or the other, leaving the empty leg free to respond while he remained balanced. A kicker’s stance. She’d have to watch for the unexpected attack from him.
“Bree? Three-minute rounds if you please. Are you ready, Galen?”
As soon as his mouth opened to reply, she leapt across the intervening space and hit him.
Gods she’s fast. It was all the more thought he had time for before she was on him. The first shot caught him squarely on the chin and rocked his head back like a hinge. She smiled, predatory, like a shark that smelled easy prey. “That one I owed you.” The anger rolled off her in slow waves, equal parts aggression and dominance.
He grinned. “We’re even, then. My turn.” He threw an assortment of obvious shots, probing her defenses. She had reach on him, but only barely. Her biggest advantage that he could see was speed. Well, speed and a disarming beauty. He refused to think about the latter further. She countered his punches without comment, but he could sense the frustration in her. She wanted more of a challenge from him. He was happy to oblige.
She turned his next punch back on him, spun the block into a grab before he could pull his arm back. She drove two quick punches into his unprotected ribs and shoved him away. He countered by letting the shove spin him around so that he was behind her and launched a flurry of jabs that slipped from inside her guard to land on her shoulders and mid-back. She spun into another series of attacks and this time he gave ground, hoping she’d follow him.
She bought into it completely. Her left hand dropped and Galen snapped his right leg up to attack the opening. She caught him by the ankle and his momentum twisted him out of position, left him glaring up at her while she levered him off balance. “You telegraphed the leg too much. Nice try though.”
He returned her smile. “Glad you approve.” He flipped backwards, kicking out of her hand and driving his left foot squarely into her sternum. He came down, lightly, ready for her counterattack.
She didn’t disappoint, lunging forward with a speed that made him feel like he was in slow motion. He blocked what he could, marveling at how fast she could change stance and attack from an unexpected angle. When he pressed back, she fell away like water—his hits either not landing or landing without any force behind them. Pride was quickly supplanting the anger and frustration in the complex tangle of her emotions. She was enjoying herself. He tensed to lunge forward when Bree called out, “Time.”
They both relaxed, and she tossed him his towel from the side of the ring. “You’re pretty good.”
“I learned a lot watching the guards brawl at the embassy. When I was old enough, Mom let me attend martial arts with them. Said it would be good for my discipline.”
“Was it?”
“No clue, really. I always thought my discipline was good beforehand.” The AI called out a warning and Galen wiped his face one more time before tossing the towel out of the ring. “What do you think?”
She gave her feral grin again, and his pulse quickened. Gods, she has no idea how sexy she is. “That you need to study more.” Bree called the end of the break, and Syna attacked again.
The second round went better, he decided. Her basic attacks became recognizable—she had a set of three openings that she switched between and developed them based on his response. He timed his kicks to throw off her rhythm rather than strike her directly, and used the resultant opening to press the attack. By the time the AI ended the round they were both breathing hard, and she was grinning with obvious relish at the exertion.
“So, did we agree on the stakes for this?” He mopped at the sweat along his hairline and watched her.
“Stakes? I thought we were working out. Isn’t that enough?”
He gave his best “are you kidding me?” glance. “If it’s a workout, you’re willing to concede that I won. Right?”
“Not on your life, Psi-boy.”
“See? That means there’s competition. There should be stakes.”
A thin waver of suspicion trembled at the edge of her mind. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it had he not become so attuned to her moods over the last twenty-four hours. “Like what?”
“I was thinking dinner, but our meals are prepackaged. Easy to cook and easy to clean up.”
“It does take some of the sting out of it, certainly. Fifty credits says I knock you out.”
He laughed. She was good, but he was reasonably sure he could take her now. He’d learned her patterns; towards the end of the round she’d been slowing up, tired. “A hundred.”
“You’re on.”
Bree called out a warning before the next round. Instead of tossing her towel to the ground, she launched it straight at him. He caught it by reflex, the flapping cloth hiding her from his view for a moment. She was inside his defenses before he had time to react, but instead of throwing a punch she grabbed his head and kissed him.
Eyes open, he stood for a second, useless towel still gripped in one hand. Time slowed to resolve everything in minute detail—the smell of her shampoo mixed with the musky smell of her sweat, the feel of her lips parting, the playful brush of her teeth against his lower lip, the thundering rush of his pulse in his ears, drowning out almost everything.
He heard Bree say something over the comm, and Syna pulled away from him. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes narrowed in quiet hunger. The flood of emotions pouring off her was a tide he wanted to submerge himself in.
Then it registered. Bree. Had said something. He blinked, and Syna was wearing her predatory grin again. Her right fist drove into his jaw like a hammer, and he dropped to the floor like he’d been tasered. Immediately, Syna knelt beside him, a broad grin on her face. “You can add the hundred to your bill.”
“You cheated.”
“Hardly. I used all the talents at my disposal.”
He grabbed her arms and pulled her down on top of him. To his surprise she didn’t resist. Instead she collapsed with a startled giggle, her face scant inches from his. He found himself uncomfortably aware of how warm she was, the way her weight pressed upon him, and the way the neck of
her jumpsuit gaped scandalously. He resisted the urge to look down her shirt. “They’re rather impressive talents.”
She smiled, her green eyes hidden behind half-closed lashes. “So I’ve been told.” She leaned down to close the gap between their mouths, and he rose to meet her.
The AI’s voice came over the comm unit. “Exiting from null space in three…two…one…” The ship lurched, defensive shield crackling loud enough to be heard in the cargo hold, and Bree’s voice came back in a panicked shout. “We’re under attack! Two Hegemony patrol boats, coming in hot.”
Chapter Four
“Aft shields to full,” Syna shouted as she ran towards the bridge with Galen hot on her heels. “What’s going on, Bree? How many have we got?” Doors opened in front of her as the AI cleared their path to the control center. Another volley rocked the ship as she dropped into the captain’s chair. The controls were already active, and she whispered a silent thanks to Bree for being on top of things. Galen slid into the tactical chair without prompting and studied the screens.
“Two patrol boats, Huang-class. No fighters, Captain.” Bree’s voice carried a note of concern.
“There’s bound to be others,” Galen said. “Patrol boats can’t wander too far from support, and Huangs are short-range ships.” She looked over at him, and he tapped his temple with two fingers. “Know your enemy.”
Gods but he could be cute when he was smug. His smirk had an impish quality that burrowed into her mind and awakened a heat in her belly. Enough, old girl. You can play house later, after you survive this. “Modulate shields for optimum against beam weapons. Fire decoy beacons to ten-ten and three-six.” Hopefully that should distract any tracking they’d use. “Galen, have you fired a mass-driver before?”