The Key

by Pauline Baird Jones

  So far the only one who didn’t seem to trust him was the one they called the SO, the security officer. He didn’t much care. He did care what Sara thought of him…though he shouldn’t.

  The Ojemba could leave you, but no one left them.

  As interesting as the earth people were, Fyn was glad to reach the empty repair bay and have the doors hiss closed behind them. He needed to get accustomed to being around people again.

  He was also anxious to study her ship more carefully, though he only had limited access to any of the bays. Sara wore something similar to the Dusan disc that gave her access to the bay, before the door would open. It hung from a chain around her neck.

  They all seemed to have one, but they were different colors, probably different levels of security. The cards also had their likeness imprinted on them.

  “All we’ll probably have time to do today is dismantle,” Sara said. “Briggs will want us to line the damaged parts up on either side, so he can determine if they are scrap or salvageable.”

  She opened the doors to a cabinet standing next to the craft, revealing rows of tools.

  “Notice where you grab it, so you can put it back or Briggs will make me drop and give him fifty.”

  Fyn looked at her, one brow arched. “What?”

  “You’ve never heard of push-ups?”

  He shook his head.

  “Lucky you,” she said. “They’re—”

  “Why don’t you show him, Captain?” The man dragged out her rank, almost mockingly.

  Fyn turned toward the voice. Found a big man standing in the doorway. Fyn was taller, but not wider. This guy was really wide, with a square face, sun reddened skin and close-cropped hair. His clothing was similar to Sara’s, that mottled fabric, that Carey called ABU’s, short for Airman Battle Uniform. It looked light-weight and comfortable.

  Sara sighed, but Fyn noticed she didn’t retreat into cool, like she did with everyone else. She looked resigned, but her eyes were warm.

  “Briggs. This is Fyn. Fyn, this is Master Sergeant Briggs, Retired. He’s attached to the wing as a Special Consultant.”

  Fyn almost asked what they meant, but something in the way they looked at each other stopped him.

  “I’m waiting, Donovan.”

  Didn’t she out rank him? He was pretty sure he remembered that from Carey’s running commentary. But if he was retired, maybe that didn’t matter.

  Sara sighed, but then she dropped to the ground, her legs out, her hands flat against the floor. She pushed up from the floor, clapped her hands, then caught herself before she hit the floor. She did this until she reached a ten count. She stopped and gave Briggs a hopeful look.

  He sighed, signaled for her to get up, then strolled forward, circling the damaged ship, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Dang.” He looked at her. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. You fly like a girl.”

  Sara grinned. “I crash like one, too.”

  His bushy brows rose. “Suppose that means you broke a nail.”

  She kind of shrugged and rubbed a finger along one of her fingernails.

  This had the feel of an ongoing…conversation between them.

  “Living in a beauty parlor really messed you up.” His sharp gaze rested on her for a long moment. Was that worry that crept into his eyes? “You sure you’re up for this? Looks like you took a helluva hit.”

  Sara patted her ship. “My bird would never hurt me.”

  Her tone was light, and she didn’t look at Briggs until the silence got a bit too long. Then she turned, her eyes wide and innocent.

  “What?”

  “I hear you ran into a little trouble down there. And took one to the brain-housing group in the crash.”

  She angled her head toward him. “It’s just a scratch.”

  Fyn started. She had more than a scratch when he pulled her from her ship.

  Briggs didn’t say anything. For another long moment, they looked at each other.

  Finally Briggs nodded. “Five kills up, three down. Only two headshots. Should have been three.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “You did okay…for a girl, I guess.” He nodded toward her ship. “We’ll have to put a little row of ships up there. And some little stick aliens.”

  Fyn had no idea what they were talking about, but Sara chuckled.

  “So, how did you like your first dogfight?”

  “Booming until I got shot down. They weren’t even that good. More about numbers than skill, don’t you think, Fyn?”

  He nodded. The Dusan hadn’t had to be that good for a long time. With them it was always about numbers. You killed them and there was always more to throw into the fight.

  “You rode her all the way down.”

  “Didn’t dare not. But if it weren’t for Fyn here, I’d have been ET’s house guest.”

  Briggs gave him a look that might have been approving. Or not. It was hard to tell.

  “Well, glad you’re back.” He didn’t look glad. “Hinson’s gooned up his computer again.”

  “I’ll look at it.”

  Sara followed Briggs to what Fyn now knew was a computer terminal. Briggs keyed something in, and the screen flashed with movement.

  “I’ll see you at oh-six hundred tomorrow in the gym.”

  Sara seemed to sigh. “You’re going to kick my ass, aren’t you?”

  “Damn straight.” He nodded Fyn’s direction again. “Nice to meet you, Chewie.”

  Fyn really needed to see that movie.

  Sara began taping on the buttons. “This won’t take a minute. I don’t know how he manages to goon—that means mess up, his code.”

  Fyn noticed that she had her hands on the keys, but it didn’t seem like she pushed them like the other people he’d seen.

  As he watched her, he had a feeling he was forgetting something—

  “All done.”

  She left the terminal. Behind her, the screen flickered a couple of times, then went dark. She stopped in front of him.

  “So, that went better than I expected. Of course, there’s still tomorrow.”

  “I thought you out ranked him?”

  Sara’s eyes widened a bit. “I’m not really sure anymore, but even if he weren’t retired, no way I’d ever pull rank on him. I think the only person who dares is the Colonel and I’ve never seen it.”

  “You’ve known him a long time?”

  “Since my first bird.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

  Fyn had a feeling there was a story there.

  She looked up at him. “I guess it’s all kind of weird and confusing for you. Sorry about that.”

  He shrugged.

  “I keep forgetting we’ve only known each other, what, about a day? Seems longer.” Her smile was open and trusting.

  Don’t, he wanted to tell her. Be careful who you trust. This isn’t a safe place. I’m not safe to know.

  “Well, let’s get to it.”

  She crouched down by her ship. He looked at her for a moment, wishing…things were different.

  He’d thought he was dead inside, his real life ended when the Dusan took his home away. He’d met women since Fiona, lots of them, and had felt nothing when he looked at them, not even desire. Hate for the Dusan filled him, pushing out everything else.

  But this place, especially Sara…she was unlike anyone he’d met. She was a soldier, a warrior, but it was more than that. There was something else about her, something that penetrated his defenses like they weren’t there. He felt alive again, inside and out, brought back from the dead by the feel of her mouth against his—and a wariness buried deep in her eyes that seemed to tell him they were more alike than they were different. That she’d known loss, too, but had chosen a different way to deal with it.

  “I’m thinking we should start here, with the blast damage.”

  Her voice jerked him back into the moment and he didn’t mind. For now it was as if h
e’d left his past down on Kikk.

  As she bent over her bird, he suddenly realized what was nagging at him. She’d set the self-destruct, but he didn’t remember her deactivating it. It was possible the jarheads took care of it…but it was odd she hadn’t even mentioned it to them. Maybe it was SOP, too.

  They worked mostly in silence, though Fyn’s thoughts were not at all quiet. He was very aware of her, working this close to her, their arms occasionally brushing together. Her scent teased his senses, too, and he didn’t realize he’d been sniffing until she spoke.

  “It’s coconut.” She grinned.

  “What?”

  “My soap. That’s what you smell. It’s coconut. It’s a kind of…fruit, I think. Brown and hairy on the outside, with this white stuff on the inside. And milk…stuff. In addition to adding scent to soap, its good eats, especially when paired with chocolate. I’ll have to find you a candy bar to try. They might still have one in the commissary.”

  He focused on the part he was trying to remove, very conscious of her lying next to him, as she loosened the bolts fastening the parts in place.

  “Obviously I’m a fan of coconut in all its forms,” she added cheerfully.

  She continued work for a bit, then stopped.

  “I think I’m done. My eyes are crossing.”

  She covered a yawn with a greasy hand, leaving black around her mouth.

  She wiggled out from under the ship, but didn’t get up. Fyn slid out beside her. Her eyes were closed and she breathed so evenly, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Even with the black on her face she was…lovely. There was an innocence about her, like she was a package waiting to be opened.

  He should get up, but instead he stared at her. Exhaustion seemed to make the lines and angles of her face more sharply defined. He wanted to trace them, but he didn’t.

  Suddenly her eyes opened.

  “What? Do I have grease on my face? I do, don’t I?” She started to rub with the rag she’d been carrying and managed to smear it even more.

  “Here,” he said, his voice husky, “let me. You’re making it worse.”

  He sat up, took the rag and adjusted the tilt of her head, so he could see. He had no reason to feel like she belonged to him, but he still felt like she’d been sent to him.

  As he rubbed at the spots he was intensely aware of the feel of her skin and her pulse beating against his fingertips. He finished, but couldn’t bring himself to let go. She’d kept her lashes lowered the whole time and now he waited for her to look at him.

  Maybe her eyes would tell him what to do next.

  He felt her pulse speed up and then, when he thought she’d never look up, her lashes lifted. As her gaze met his, he saw what he’d been hoping to see. They were uncertain, but there was desire there, too. Even so, he approached slowly, giving her time to stop him. Just shy of her mouth, he stopped, wanting, no needing, more than compliance from her.

  She licked her lips, then touched the side of his face, her fingers tentative at first as they moved across his skin, leaving a trail of heat as they slid around to the back of his neck, bringing just enough pressure to close the gap.

  He took it slow. Some things shouldn’t be rushed and this was one of them. When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were soft and warm. Her lips curved into a smile. Desire still simmered in her eyes, but there was amusement there, too.

  “Are you as uncomfortable as I am?”

  He chuckled. “Probably more.” The floor was rock hard.

  He jumped up, then reached down and pulled her up. Maybe he pulled too hard. Maybe she stumbled. Whatever happened, she was in his arms and he wasn’t going to complain about the how.

  He found her mouth again, and was settling in for a prolonged visit, when her radio crackled. She jumped. He might have, too.

  She stepped back, like someone could see them. She cleared her throat, then depressed the switch on her ear piece.

  “Donovan.” She released the switch.

  Fyn couldn’t hear what was said—she’d added some kind of headset device to her radio since she came aboard—but she flushed.

  “I was just heading…that way, sir. Yes…yes, sir.”

  She bit her lip for a moment, then looked at him. “I’ve been— reminded to…well, get some rest.”

  Fyn bit back a grin as color rose in her face. He took it as a positive sign that she couldn’t say the word bed.

  “I’ll walk you.”

  She nodded and they headed for the door. Just in front of it, she stopped, took a deep breath and…retreated…inside herself. Her eyes turned cool again and her mouth lost its soft curve.

  As he followed her out, he asked, in a low voice, “Why do you hide from them?”

  She gave a quick, startled look before she could blank her face. She walked a few paces without answering and he thought maybe she wouldn’t.

  “Because,” she said, her voice low, too, “they don’t want to know me. And they wouldn’t…like me if they did.” The corridor was empty when she stopped suddenly, facing him, her face a cool mask, but her voice was intense when she added, “And when you get to know me better, you’ll wish you didn’t.”

  For just a moment her defenses cracked and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes.

  “Good night. Thanks for the help.” She turned and strode away from him before he could stop her.

  * * * *

  Sara sank on her bunk, wishing she could have a do over on the last five minutes. Evie always said, messing her own nest was her worst fault—though not her only one. Sometimes she forgot she had a temper, there were so few places to vent in a place like this. When she let it rip, it always got her in trouble. Fyn must think she was a nut case. Still better that than the truth.

  It wasn’t his fault he’d poked a sore spot. Sometimes Sara forgot it was there. Tears burned the edges of her eyes.

  There’s no crying in the Air Force, she told herself fiercely.

  She was too tired to cry anyway. She’d look like crap tomorrow. And Briggs would know. He always did. He’d take one look at her and call her a cry baby. He believed the most effective cure for what ailed you was a swift kick in the ass. He might even be right. He usually was.

  She rubbed her face, trying to rub the tears away. How had Fyn managed to get into where she lived? She felt raw and exposed. It had happened so…naturally. Amazing, considering how they met. And yet…was it? He’d been alone on a planet. She was alone in her world, had been for most of her life. It had a made a bridge before she realized it—a dangerous bridge. One of those swinging ones with broken spots.

  She rubbed her lips, but she couldn’t rub away the memory of his mouth on hers. Or rub away the longing to feel it again.

  There was a tap on the door. Sara stood up hastily.

  “Yes?”

  The door slid open. It was Fyn.

  He looked at her for a long moment. “You all right?”

  She managed a smile, though she had a feeling it wasn’t a very good one.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped. I guess I’m more whacked than I realized.”

  The tears sensed weakness and pressed their advantage, but she managed to keep them from spilling over. She couldn’t meet his gaze, though.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I just need to get some sleep.”

  Silence. He wasn’t going to go until she looked at him. She dug deep and did a patch job, then slowly lifted her lids.

  He had a hand on either side of the jamb, leaning in with one leg thrust forward. Even without the leather, he looked good.

  She could feel cracks forming in her patch. If he didn’t go soon, she was going shatter. And she didn’t know if she could put herself back together. Maybe some of her desperation reached him. He nodded.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Relief helped her smile some. “Yeah.”

  He half turned. “You know where I am if…”

  She nodded.
<
br />   He stepped back and the door slid shut between them. She sagged, dropping back onto her bunk. She felt pain in her palms and realized she’d clenched her hands so hard, her nails had drawn blood. She grabbed a tissue and wiped it away. Before more blood could escape, the wounds sealed, leaving tiny marks that would be gone by morning. The wound on her head was completely gone, too. Not even a scar remained.

  That, Fyn, she thought, is one reason I hide.

  * * * *

  Sara was already in the gym when Fyn got there in the morning. She was wearing regulation exercise clothes. They’d issued him similar clothing yesterday.

  He was still surprised by how much trust they had in him…and troubled by it. He felt the urge to at least mention the Ojemba, but then they’d want to know why he wasn’t part of the only really organized resistance against the Dusan.

  When he’d aligned himself with the Ojemba, he’d been sure their way was the only way to defeat the Dusan. When you fought darkness, you had to become part of it.

  Sara’s people weren’t…dark. And they were making him think.

  He was dead to Ojemba and maybe—he looked at Sara—he could stay dead. There was something in the air on this ship…and in her eyes…that was very appealing.

  She still looked tired, though. Wary joined tired in there when she saw him. She looked at him like she was bracing for a blow.

  Was she worried about last night? He didn’t know what set her off, but he didn’t really care. He needed to say something, but what?

  For a long moment, she just stared at him, then wary faded to neutral.

  “Do you want to help me warm up for Briggs?”

  Warm up? He could think of one way, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what she meant.

  Her hands went to her hips, but her eyes were smiling again.

  “You don’t say much, yet somehow, you say a lot. Come stand here.”

  She pointed to a spot a few feet from her.

  “You ever done a throw down?”