by Audrey Faye
I breathed once again into the adult, responsible life I had chosen—and then I held my head high, locked my eyes with his, and let myself open to the notes that would hurt most. The music of the embryonic seed of future love, planted in the rich soils of his vibrant soul.
The one he had found and was beginning to water.
My heart soaked in the singing of the seed and the man, drinking deeply of the promise that lived there—the hope and the achingly fragile thread of what might be.
I reached for the not-so-tiny seed, every cell of my body vibrating. I would not Sing to it. Couldn’t. But just for a moment, I held it and treasured what it was.
And in the most tucked-away DNA of that seed, I heard something I hadn’t known. Deep inside Devan Lovatt, something hurt—and something healed.
My Talent yanked its way out of prison, seeking. Needing to know. I reached—for the scars, and for the unfurling shoots rooted in rich, deep soil that seed could become. For one, aching heartbeat, I touched the pure, glorious young green of the new leaves and their song of opening, their story of why he hadn’t opened to love before. A wound so carefully and expertly disguised, I hadn’t been able to see it.
My mission wasn’t to Sing two stubborn hearts toward each other. It was to open them. It had taken only the words of a friend to encourage Janelle to dream a little. But Devan needed something different—and I had needed to see this deep into his heart to know what it was.
He was a man who had grown up in a world full of enormous gravitational forces. His parents, the Inheritor model of governance that had begun shaping his destiny well before he was born, a planet full of people who expected him to lead them one day and to earn the right to do it.
He’d survived by slithering loose. By dangling his toes in a stream where no molecule of water could ever be pinned down for more than an instant. By flying a ship tuned to escape gravity with the lightest touch of his hands. By singing to an audience, but never singing to just one.
By loving wide, but never deep.
I looked into the eyes of the man still standing alone on a stage at midnight and singing—and understood. Janelle would never have let him love her just a little, and he would have always known that. Me, I’d taken him by surprise. And because I had, that door in his heart—the one that could let in monumental, gravitational-force-sized love—had opened, just a crack.
He had opened it for me.
My Song swirled in my throat, clogging with the aching, terrible beauty of what I had to do next. I could feel the greater good. Not KarmaCorp’s good, not my good. The calling of karmic rightness. The world would be immeasurably better with a Devan Lovatt in it who was open to loving deeply.
He had opened that door for me. Now I needed to ask him to keep it open—even though I would never walk through it.
My mission wasn’t to get him to say yes. It was for me to say no, and to do it with enough clarity and grace that a part of Devan which he’d put away long ago could finally get the oxygen it needed to come to life.
He would do it for himself eventually—I could believe no less of the amazing man he was. But I could help it happen now. And I would do it with all the fierce love and dignity that a demon child from a digger rock could give. It would be a gift, my first and last, to a man I would never forget.
Because he was not the only one opening this night.
I called up all the skill that was mine to possess, shaping the notes in my head and my ribs, the ones that would ask his heart to stay open. I could feel my chakras snapping into alignment.
This would work. He would listen because I was the best damn Singer in this quadrant. And he would listen because the notes were mine.
I didn’t bother with discretion or nuance or any semblance of the normal careful silencers a Singer used in her work. I hadn’t landed on Bromelain III quietly, and it seemed I wasn’t going to leave that way either. Every person here tonight would know what I did.
But only one would know why.
I let my notes go, audible range and subsonic both, a cacophony of power and sound, heat and pleading and shattering softness.
I saw Devan’s jaw drop in abject shock as the first vibrations hit.
I let the shattering softness land first—I would do this as gently as I could. For a few shimmering notes, I stood in the open doorway of the heart of the man I loved and helped him heal.
And then I gathered the notes that would hold it open while I walked away.
On stage, the man of pebble and stream and laughing flight took one step toward me. And another.
My soul keened—but I didn’t have much longer. I gathered every shred of courage and conviction I had left and pushed it at the man I had to leave.
And felt the wild, fierce blast of another Talent landing, locking my Song up tight and shielding the hell out if its intended target. I spun around, shocked to the core. Fixers didn’t fight each other. Ever.
Tameka stood behind me, her silk robes spread, bare feet planted, toes curling into the floor.
I gathered up the concentration she’d demolished, reaching for the fraying echoes of my Song for Devan.
“No, child.” The old Dancer held the notes out of my reach with a mere flick of her wrists. “That’s not the way.”
Like hell it wasn’t. “It’s the only way.”
“Find another choice.” She was having to work harder now, and we both knew it. “This one goes through me.”
I Sang long, sure notes—ones that rang with mission and focus and higher calling. “You’re a Fixer, Tameka. We don’t do this.”
She snorted, even as beads of sweat started to pop out on her face. “You’re not just a Fixer, Lakisha Drinkwater—you’re a human being. Trust your Talent, your brain, your heart, your digger-rock common sense.”
I was. I gathered my notes to my chest, shaping them into something that would blow through the Dancer’s net.
“Don’t.” Tameka held up both hands, the universal sign of surrender from a woman suddenly shaky on her feet. She met my gaze with eyes that weren’t shaky at all. “You can do it, we both know that. But I don’t think you want to.”
Devan stepped up to her shoulder, crackling with energy entirely his own.
I seized every gram of Talent I had left. Looked away from the eyes of a woman who had chosen to live out the rest of her days as a blade of grass under a magic, dancing sky—and into the furious, pleading eyes of the man I loved.
And then, tortured, sad, and cracked—I let my Song go.
I couldn’t do it. To her, or to him, or to what was left of my ravaged heart.
But there was another way to finish this that wouldn’t require any Talent at all—and I’d even worn the right footwear. It was time to use my boots for the purpose they’d been designed for.
I fled.
22
I rounded the corner of the bubble tunnel that funneled travelers into the main waiting area of Bromelain III’s tiny spaceport, tired and cranky from my night sleeping on a hard bench. The waiting area wasn’t very crowded—probably because the only ship picking people up today was a milk run through the outer colonies. It stopped often, dropping off necessities, raw materials, and the occasional passenger dumb enough to think the cheap fares were worth the snail’s pace and lack of onboard amenities.
I wasn’t nearly that dumb, but the planet three stops away had a bigger spaceport and an express flight to Corinthian Station. Once I made it that far, catching a tin can to Stardust Prime would be reasonably easy.
I got a better grip on my bag and looked around for anything resembling food. My stomach was already complaining about the lack of bacon.
It would have to get used to it—Stardust Prime didn’t run to much pig.
“Hungry?” The voice at my shoulder held out a bright red apple.
I turned to stare at Janelle, clad in jeans, striped shirt, and a really dusty hat. She looked like she’d just jumped off a horse. “How the heck did you get in he
re?” This was a restricted area and the guys at Interplanetary customs tended to take their jobs pretty seriously. It was the main reason I’d slept on a bench.
She patted her pocket. “I have a ticket as of thirty minutes ago. Same flight as you.”
Like hell she did. “I had to twist some serious arms to get a ride.” Arms and a lot of drinks at the bar—spacers didn’t tend to like passengers, no matter what rules their investors tried to set.
She grinned. “You’re not related to the pilot.”
No, but I’d happily strangle him. “I’m not looking for company.”
“Yeah.” She bit into the apple I hadn’t taken. “Got that.”
“How’d you even find me?”
“It’s not rocket science—there aren’t all that many ways to leave BroThree.” She shrugged. “But apparently Tameka expected you to try days ago. A friend of hers has been keeping an eye on ship manifests.”
Nobody freaking spied on Fixers. “Yesenia would bust her to deck swabbing for that.”
“She could try.”
I could feel a boatload of pissy anger rising and seriously considered just letting it fly at the top of my very well-trained lungs. A full-blown Singer temper tantrum would feel damn good right about now.
“So.” Janelle hitched her bag a little higher up her shoulder. “Why are you headed to Haida Gant?”
I knew exactly nothing about my destination. “Because it’s not here.” I hated the bitter tones in my voice. “I’m leaving, tail between my legs.”
“That’s what Tameka figured.”
That particular old lady had gotten in my way far too often in the past twenty-four hours. “I should have left a long time ago.”
The woman who had somehow become a friend just stood beside me, munching on my damn apple. And every time she chewed, I got a little less angry and a little more sad.
I turned to face her while I still could. There was one thing she deserved to know before I hopped on a cubesat and never saw her again. “I need to go because I can’t get this assignment finished, at least not the way they wanted me to. But as soon as I get back and report in, they’re going to send someone who can.” KarmaCorp didn’t leave frayed ends hanging, especially on a mission that had gone as high up the bureaucratic chain as this one had.
She shrugged. “They can try.”
“They’ll make it happen.” I reached out a hand and dropped it again, not remotely sure how to do this right. “You could make it happen first.”
She raised a slow eyebrow. “Not gonna.”
I flung mental curses at her hard, stubborn head. “You’d fit right in on a digger rock, you know that?”
She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I hadn’t meant it as one.
She held out the bulgy bag she’d been carrying. “Apples and butter. Parting gifts from Tameka and me, just in case you keep being stupid and actually leave. She said your roommate would know what to do with them.”
Ingredients for the best damn apple pie in the galaxy. Tee would be overjoyed. “I’m leaving even if I have to Sing the freaking solar winds myself.”
She blinked. “You can do that?”
Not even kind of. “I won’t need to. I’ve been on this planet for a week—the wind never stops blowing.”
“We like it that way.” Janelle looked out the window for a while, as patient as the grasslands she called home.
I tried one last time. “Give Devan a chance. You were thinking about going there anyhow, so do it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No.”
I resisted the urge to punch her in the nose—barely. “You don’t know what a Fixer can do if she’s really trying. Let it be your choice, not some dumb flatlander’s.”
“I won’t bother to tell you how badly you’re underestimating Devan,” said Janelle quietly. “And I won’t kick at you for thinking so little of our friendship, because I don’t think your head is on very straight right now. But I will say this. KarmaCorp has asked two Fixers to intervene in this, and in the end, neither of you were willing to do it. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
I stared. She knew about Tameka’s refusal? “The guy in charge of your planet is pushing for this. So are a bunch of StarReaders and who knows how many other bureaucrats.” I didn’t give a shit about Ears Only anymore. “You can’t fight everyone.”
“Those are all crappy reasons for me to fall in love with Devan Lovatt.”
Sometimes it took no reasons at all.
“And besides, this is really simple.” She pitched what was left of the apple at a compost tube, grinned, and slung her arm through mine. “I’m not nearly dumb enough to get between whatever is going on with him and you.”
The woman was strong enough to drag a horse. “He can’t be mine.”
“I think you might be too late on that.”
I planted my feet and pulled us both to a stop. “I have a flight to catch.”
“Not anymore, you don’t. And if you’re ornery, I can ask my second cousin the pilot to make it official.” She somehow had both our feet moving again. “We’ll go have some decent breakfast. With bacon. And then I’m going to duct tape you and that idiot Devan Lovatt into a room together and see what happens.”
I blinked. “You can’t do that.”
“Bets?” She was quick-marching us into the egress tunnel. “I may not be a fancy Fixer or anything like that, but here on BroThree we’re pretty good at dealing with stupid.”
“And you think sticking me in a room with him will fix that?” My voice squeaked an octave higher than it should be.
“It will fix something.” Her voice carried unmistakable amusement—and more than a little ribald humor.
I scowled. “What’s so damn funny?”
“You came here to mess with my knickers.” She grinned. “You ended up getting yours in a twist instead, and I’m petty enough to get a kick out of that. Poetic justice and all.”
I yanked us both to a stop again.
This time, Janelle let go and reached into her bag. “Before you’re a total nimwit, there’s something you need to read.”
I looked at the small, white, folded thing she held out and took a giant step backward. I’d faced radioactive waste more bravely.
Her hand didn’t waver. “Tameka sent a message for you.”
My fingers reached out, digits that belonged to someone else in a parallel universe.
The message was written on rough, handmade paper decorated with small flowers and something that might be grass stems. And covered in a slashing, opinionated scrawl that I could barely read.
I squinted and held the paper up to the light.
You run because you seek freedom, child of the rocks. Stand and claim it. There is so much more of it available than what you have dared to reach for.
There is a wound in you that matches the one you found in Devan’s heart—the wound of a person who has done what they needed to survive, and done it very well. You began to heal him, and you did it with great love and even greater courage.
I wonder if you dare to do the same for yourself.
Tameka
P.S. I almost had to sit on Roland’s knee to get the butter, so take good care of it. And say hello to your Tee for me. She is formidable and kind, and I imagine she is a wonderful friend.
My eyes blurred. Very carefully, I folded the paper up and slipped it in my pocket next to my travel voucher to Haida Gant. I swallowed hard, let go one very wavery breath, and looked at Janelle. “Do you know what she wrote?”
She shrugged, a little hesitant. “More or less.”
“She’s an interfering old woman.”
“She is.” Janelle put both hands in her pockets and started walking slowly down the egress tunnel again.
I kept pace beside her, well aware she wasn’t dragging me anymore.
“I don’t have her power, or her wisdom. But I have some words for you, just like you had some for me.” She walked a
few more quiet, measured steps and pushed open a door out into the dry, fresh air of Bromelain III. “Out here, it’s okay to reach for what you want.”
I felt anguish rising up from the very bottoms of my feet. “I have no idea what I want.”
The ends of her mouth tipped up. “Like hell you don’t.”
She held out a hand, pointing to Nijinsky hovering nearby. And dangled the access card.
I took a deep breath. And reached.
23
I walked through the massive front gates of the Lovatt compound and reined in the insistent instinct to run back out. Janelle would only make good on her duct-tape threat if I did that, and she’d probably have Nijinsky’s owner standing right behind her.
No, that wasn’t fair. I was no cog this time. This choice was entirely mine.
I stumbled across the outer courtyard and into the cool hallways, well aware of just how many times during my stay I’d arrived in this kind of shape. My Song careened around inside me, a confused, knotted mess that had been so clear only ten minutes ago. I knew the shape of what I needed to do, but nothing in the music forming as I had flown had prepared me for dodging bustling staff people or keeping a wary eye open for Evgenia or my stomach’s very loud appeal for one last plate of bacon.
Real life is so much messier than they ever tell you.
I squared my shoulders—this was no different than digging a mine. There were a lot of details and most of them mattered, but there was only one goal. Dig.
I needed to dig my way through to Devan. I could worry about what came next when I got there.
My Song’s epic jangling soothed some—it understood having a purpose. I trekked through the hallowed halls, hiding from scrutiny where I could and using my Fixer identity as a shield when I couldn’t. I was an honored guest here, or I would be until the higher-ups discovered just how close I’d come to running away in the dark of night with my tail between my legs—and that I’d come back.
I saw no signs of the lady of the house, even as I made my way into more private parts of the residence. Unfortunately, I saw no signs of the Inheritor Elect either.