Loralynn Kennakris 4: Apollyon's Gambit

by Owen R. O'Neill

  But none of this counted for much when reckoned against the weight of his smile and the gleam in his pale violet eyes as he walked up and she braced for his hug. Baz was the only guy Kris suffered to hug her in public. He always behaved like that when out of uniform, and after he saved her life at Wogan’s Reef, she stopped being squeamish about it.

  Hugs and greetings exchanged, he hooked his thumb over his shoulder with an animated look and a beaming smile. “C’mon! I want you to meet somebody.”

  “Meet somebody” could only mean Baz had finally found someone. That certainly put a new face on things and Kris’s curiosity ticked up a notch. She’d known since early in their friendship that Baz was in love with her, which could have been a major complication had it not been wholly platonic on his part, even a touch worshipful. Tall and handsome, with the bronze complexion and coppery-gold hair common among Phaedrans, Kris did find him unusually attractive and at one point, she’d considered giving their relationship a physical dimension. But when she made that known at Wogan’s Reef, his flustered reaction proved, once and for all, the true nature of his feelings. It was high time for Baz to get serious about a girl. (Kris was at least eighty percent sure it would be a girl, but she was prepared for anything.)

  It was a girl. Baz had secured a private booth at the back, insulated from the hubbub of the main room. The small elegant space featured a low, black lacquered table, about which you sat on intricately woven tatami mats, with ink-wash paintings of cranes along the walls. As Baz ushered her in, a short young woman got to her feet. She was so utterly unlike what Kris had been expecting that she instantly forgot what her expectation had been.

  The girl stretched up on tip-toe to share a brief kiss with Baz—standing flat-footed she didn’t quite reach his shoulder—and he regarded her with a look that shed adoration to an almost suffocating degree. Then he made introductions. “Kris, this is Kenzie.”

  Kenzie smiled and, looking at Kris with a beguiling mix of interest and modesty, extended her hand. Kris squeezed it with what she hoped was appropriate firmness and returned the interest, although with less modesty. For all that she thought Baz might be overdoing it a trifle, she had to admit that Kenzie was, indeed, adorable. The well-springs of that quality were elusive. It didn’t lie just in her heart-shaped face or large eyes that were an unusual shade of turquoise. Those, along with her figure (which tended toward plumpness), her hair (a dark-honey color and pulled back in a ponytail), and even her porcelain skin (it actually deserved to be called that), rendered Kenzie cute. But the true essence lay in her air and manner: a degree of shyness combined with an open and friendly curiosity that had nothing of the coquette about it—a kind of blushing forthrightness.

  Before Kris could do more than receive these whirlwind impressions, Baz put a hand on Kenzie’s shoulder and came out with one of those statements for which he had a peculiar genius. “Kenzie, this is the Great Loralynn Kennakris.”

  Kris instantly fixed him with a murderous glare and the words, “Baz don’t talk sh—” were more than half out of her mouth when he laughed and Kenzie covered an inaudible giggle with one delicate hand. Kris, realizing she’d been played—and well played—surrendered the point with a chuckle and they sat, the ice very much broken.

  Broken, yes, but still heavy going as far as conversation was concerned. Perusing the menu and ordering the first round only got through a few minutes, as Kris was fixated on the shrimp and Kenzie agreed with whatever anyone proposed. After that, things slowed to a crawl, with respites for nibbling when the food arrived. Kenzie’s presence forbade shoptalk, and while Kris had acquired some polish from social outings with Huron, that primarily consisted of learning how to smile and nod at the proper times, and—when absolutely necessary—follow his lead in conversion, but only when absolutely necessary. Deprived of any leads to follow, she tried to recall acceptable topics when conversing with civilians and strangers. To the best of her understanding, these included sporting events (she couldn’t think of any), video entertainments (she followed none of the current ones), and the weather (totally absent here on the moon).

  Having observed Huron on numerous occasions complimenting a woman’s outfit to good effect, especially her footwear, Kris made an attempt in this direction during a particularly leaden pause, congratulating Kenzie on her fashionable choice for the evening.

  Kenzie, who’s decidedly casual outfit included a pair of thoroughly utilitarian sandals, blinked, smiled, thanked Kris a trifle profusely, and commented on the pretty designs on the chopsticks. (Mother-of-pearl inlay, wasn’t it?) Beyond that, she showed an alarming tendency to only speak when spoken to, and an even more alarming habit of addressing Kris by her rank, not her name.

  Kris’s next foray was not notably more successful, although this time it owed more to curiosity than any attempt to manufacture small talk. Kenzie’s short top had revealed a delicate tattoo around her navel when she stretched up to kiss Baz. Tattoos were common among slavers, where they had any number of meanings, but Kris had seen them only rarely since. This one appeared to be a little sleeping dragon, which seemed to argue for some significance beyond simple ornamentation. Making a characteristically direct inquiry elicited another of those shy smiles.

  “It means true love never dies, it just sleeps.”

  Kenzie’s answer had the tone of one bestowing a confidence, which gave Kris an odd little flutter, almost as if she’d been eavesdropping. Stuck for a response, she commented, “That’s sweet. I didn’t know dragons were used for that kind of symbol. ”

  Instead of the diversion she’d intended, Kenzie’s cheeks glowed a deeper pink. “I don’t think they are. I just have a fascination with dragons.”

  Kris nodded while Kenzie elaborated that according to myth, dragons could sleep for thousands of years, and they usually protected treasures.

  “Makes sense, then,” Kris offered, seeking a way out of this thicket. “It’s really pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Kenzie dropped her hand to squeeze Baz’s, and Kris concluded the not speaking unless spoken to wasn’t the worst tactic under the circumstances.

  The heavy lifting thus fell to Baz, and while he gamely tried to carry the load, most of what he came up with was asking after old acquaintances, which was thin ground to plow. He seemed to regard her relationship with Huron as a touchy subject, and forbore bringing him up. Frank Tanner, one of their studymates at the Academy, deserved a mention: he’d been assigned to their old ship, LSS Trafalgar, and was off on patrol somewhere. Their other studymate, Nataly Brunner—better known as Minx—was flying a desk at CGHQ, an admin billet down in Logistics.

  “That must have her entirely—pissed,” Kris remarked, narrowly catching herself from saying fucked in mixed company.

  “Sure does,” agreed Baz, taking a bite of some elaborate roll. “Fit to be tied, you might say.” You might also say there could have been a hidden meaning behind his half-smile.

  Kris did not pursue it. “Did she ever marry that marine?” Minx had been dating a marine cadet while they were all at the Academy. The last Kris had heard, they were engaged.

  “Deja?”

  Kris shrugged. She hadn’t recalled the woman’s name.

  Baz shook his head. “They broke up.”

  “Oh.” Kris and Minx had not been on friendly terms; further comment seemed rude. She offered a tempura’d shrimp from their second plate of them to Kenzie.

  She took it with a cautious smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  There she went with the Lieutenant, again. Kris had decided that cautious was what she was seeing in Kenzie’s demeanor, not shyness. What in hell could there possibly be for her to be cautious about? Baz might’ve filled her head with some wild stories, but those would hardly make someone feel cautious? He wouldn’t have made her out to be the cold-hearted killer the media had hinted at when she first garnered some attention, and her being an Outworlder shouldn’t be an issue: Kenzie was a colonial herself—although muted, her Fr
edonian accent was still plain as day.

  She had to assume Kenzie knew about her and Rafe—the media still mentioned it now and again, though Rafe’s efforts generally kept them at arm’s length—but that didn’t seem like a reason for caution either.

  And neither of them had said a word about what Kenzie did, or really anything of substance about her at all. From the few things they had said, Kris deduced that Kenzie was quite a bit older than she’d first thought—about ten years older. There wasn’t anything all that odd about Baz being attached to a woman a decade older than himself, but it did deepen the air of mystery somewhat.

  More sushi arrived and they fell back on nibbling. Kris did her best to set her questions aside as none of her business. So Baz wanted to introduce Kris to his new girlfriend at a slightly awkward dinner party? She was okay with that.

  The break came when Kenzie ordered a plate of raw oysters and offered one to Kris, who accepted it out of politeness. She could handle one. Then Baz grinned and mentioned the prairie oysters. The look Kris shot him got Kenzie to perk up instantly. Baz explained how Tanner and a couple of others had sprung them on Kris during one the rare outings she made with them during their Academy days. Then he explained what they were.

  Kenzie convulsed with laughter. “Testicles? Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.” Kris regarded Baz narrowly and sought a way to return the compliment. “He probably hasn’t told you about stealing ice cream.”

  “No.” Kenzie’s eyes got brighter still. “He hasn’t mentioned that.”

  Kris related that story—about how she caught him and Tanner raiding the kitchens by defeating the alarm system—and that led to a reminisce about how she and Baz had teamed up to hustle low-gee racquet ball. This unleashed a fine, convivial flow of talk during which Kris finally asked Kenzie what she did.

  “Oh, I’m just a writer,” was the offhand reply.

  “Cloud content? Shows?” Those encompassed most of what Kris identified with writing.

  “Books,” Kenzie answered, with a slight touch of color to her cheeks.

  “Monomedia,” Baz elaborated. “She’s Kensington Lennox.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but Kris hadn’t picked up the habit of reading actual books. Huron did, and paid exorbitant amounts to get them in print. The library at the Oscoda estate had thousands and thousands of printed books, many of them quite rare. “You’re an author, then.”

  “Yes,” Kenzie began, to be cut off by an urgent tone from her xel. Her face twitched in a regretful smile as she took it out. Turning to Baz, she showed him the screen. He nodded. She looked back at Kris. “I’m sorry. I really should take this.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.” It was clearly important and as Kenzie rose, Kris caught the look that passed between them. In truth, it would have been hard to miss. As his eyes lingered on the door for a moment after it closed behind Kenzie, Kris gave him a nod.

  “Go ahead. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks.” Baz stood up. “It won’t take long.”

  “All good,” Kris replied.

  The door swished closed behind him and Kris picked up another prawn and her xel. Unfurling it, she keyed in the name Kensington Lennox. Immediately, the display filled with windows: reviews, interviews, media releases, book titles—the latest barely a month old. She checked the sales rank. Her eyebrows lifted. Checked the author ranking—they lifted again.

  Kensington Lennox appeared to be—as the headlines said—one of the hottest (if not “The Hottest,” in the words of several) erotic romance authors working today. One of the most successful independents, her series—entitled “The Commander”—had been a chart topper for years now. Kris called up the first book in the series and tapped the sample.

  Damn! The sweet-looking woman Baz was romancing wrote this?

  She skipped down. And further down. Grinned and shook her head. You’d never guess the imagination that lurked behind the blushes and the adorable smile. Presumably, Baz knew what he was getting into . . .

  The door opened. She snapped the xel shut as Baz entered and sat down, looking immensely relieved. “Sorry about that. Everything’s okay. It’s her sister.”

  “Her sister?”

  “Yeah.” Baz poked at his plate with his chopsticks, happy but distracted. “Her sister has Ballard’s.”

  “It’s serious?” Ballard’s Syndrome—properly cytomalatosis—was a poorly understood malady prevalent in some colonies. In effect, the condition tricked immunocytes into attacking their host. It was treatable by a patch to the immunocyte complex administered via injection, but left untreated it was almost invariably fatal and if treatment was interrupted for long, there could be dangerous complications.

  “It was,” Baz said. Kenzie’s sister had been living on Durwan Station, a tiny settlement far out in Deneb, when there was an outbreak. A nasty little civil war had cut off traffic from out-system and her sister had almost died before the CEF had intervened to restore the shipments and evacuate the most critical cases. Kenzie had been caring for her sister ever since; she’d taken up writing full-time so she could.

  Kris sipped her green tea while Baz finished his explanation. “How long ago was this?”

  “About twelve, maybe thirteen years, GAT.”

  “But she’s doing better now?” Somehow, it surprised Kris not at all that Kenzie was capable of that level of dedication.

  “She will be.” Baz took out his xel to check his messages. “That’s why she’s here. My folks referred her to a research facility in Austin—new protocol in development. That call was about the initial test results. Looks like it’s gonna work. Her sister should be able to walk again on her own and everything.”

  “Glad to hear it. Is that how you met?”

  He nodded and, setting his xel aside, resumed eating. “Kenzie brought her sister in about five months ago—they’d been just about everywhere.” Just about everywhere they could, he meant. Colonial access to Homeworld medical facilities was restricted—and expensive. Kenzie must’ve spent a fortune trying to make her sister better. Baz’s parents were both doctors and his father was the medical director at one of Phaedra’s premier hospitals. A referral from them was the only way Kenzie’s sister could have been admitted to a topflight research facility on Earth.

  “That was really good of you”—a wholly unnecessary observation: Baz was nothing if not good.

  “Oh, I’d do anything for her. Do you like her?”

  That had only one possible answer, and happily it was also true. “Yeah. She’s really sweet.”

  “She is sweet,” Baz agreed.

  “But what’s up with the Lieutenant thing? She doesn’t like first names?”

  “Oh, it’s just something she does”—with a grin. “She has little quirks like that.”

  “Does she call you Lieutenant?”

  “It depends.”

  The width of his grin warned Kris not to ask what it depended on. “So you’re serious about her.”

  “Oh yeah. She’s my intended.”

  A bite of sushi paused on the way to Kris’s lips. “Intended for what?”

  Baz looked up, surprised, and covered a laugh. “To marry, of course.”

  Kris narrowly avoided dropping the morsel in her lap. “You’re gonna marry her?”

  “If she says yes—yeah.”

  “You haven’t asked her yet?”

  “She doesn’t want to burden anyone else with her sister’s condition. I don’t wanna put her on the spot, so I figured I oughta wait to see how this was gonna go first—if the therapy would work.”

  “So now you know, right?” Kris sensed one of those trigger moments coming on. Baz had everything lined up just like he wanted, but he was gonna hesitate. She could feel it.

  “It looks pretty good—might wanna be sure, though.”

  “Baz!”

  Now a bite hung suspended a foot above his plate. “What?”

  “Don’t go dead-stick on this! Ask her,
for gawd’s sake.”

  “You really think I should?”

  “You fucking’ adore her, don’t you?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “Y’think she’s gonna say no?”

  “I . . . hope not.”

  “You always were an idiot.”

  That well-known sheepish grin. “Maybe so.” He snapped up the imperiled bite as his xel alerted. “She’s on her way back.”

  She was, and within a minute the booth admitted her, not just relaxed, but radiant. “It was my sister,” Kenzie began as she sat back down.

  Kris forestalled her with a smile. “Baz explained to me. How is she?”

  “Better! Her vision’s already coming back. She read to me!” Beyond radiant now—almost transported. Kris reached for a menu. “That really does call for a celebration.”

  * * *

  They celebrated. After thirty minutes, Kris, gauging it would be a good time to leave them alone, did so with a surfeit of well-wishing on both sides. Their server cleared the last of the delicacies away and then, unconstrained by company, Kenzie wrapped her arms around Baz and dropped her head on his shoulder. A moment later, he felt the tears—mingled joy and relief—soak through his shirt.

  “So what do you think of her?” he asked when the tears had dried and they were enjoying a soothing final cup of tea.

  “She’s . . . impressive.” Kenzie sipped, the color still high in her face. “You didn’t tell me she’s so beautiful.”