by Jenn Burke
It had only been five hours. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, though, and didn’t recall the details of his last meal. If he’d chewed, or swallowed. He did remember pushing Zed into the bed with powerful thrusts—both of them trembling, quaking with need. For minutes that had stretched into a quick infinity, nothing had mattered but attending that hunger. Not pain, not his jagged and brittle edges. “I have some protein bars in my quarters.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No, it isn’t.” Felix scrubbed the fingers of his right hand through his short curls. Already, he missed the scrape of Zed’s fingers across his scalp. Caresses, kisses, surprising and sudden tugs of his hair, hitched breath. That was why his skin itched. It wasn’t the pull of his scars, the reminders of punishment and torture endured at the hands of the stin. He missed a gentler touch, Zed’s touch, the whisper of words against his ears and mouth, over his collarbone. “Look, Qek. I’m really not in the mood to talk, okay?”
“Keep this in mind, then. I am not human. Therefore, much of what you might say would make little sense to me.”
“That makes no sense.”
“In fact, it does. You could speak to me as if to a wall, or that conduit.” She nodded toward the Tiper coil. “I am impartial.”
“But you’re not. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.”
Maybe Qek was right, in part. His existence did make little sense. He wanted so much. Craved it. Yet, he’d just abandoned the person who meant everything to him, and now he hurt so badly, he’d actually considered burning his hand off as some sort of insane distraction. Man, he was messed up. But one thing he did know—the sympathy of his crew, their care and concern, only made the itch of his skin worse. Their love deepened the hole in his chest.
Qek’s soft-skinned hand slid alongside his. Felix glanced down at the contact. He understood the meaning behind the gesture—the ashushk only willingly touched those they considered a friend, and they only bestowed that gift upon a select few.
He met her wide-eyed gaze. “Why me?”
“Because I like you. Is that not how human friendships work?”
“No. It’s not.” Not at all. Felix looked down at his broken hand. “I had a friend in the work camp, the mines, when I was a prisoner of the stin. A woman I looked after. She was small and sick. Always sick.” She’d reminded him of his mother. “We had a quota every shift and I helped fill hers. I gave her my food, too. Not that that was a favor. They fed us this paste—this crunchy, bitter shit. I think it was squashed-up bugs or something. I always filled her truck before mine and one day I didn’t get mine finished. So they broke my hand.”
Qek let out a series of agitated clicks.
“Makes no sense, right? To mess me up so that I couldn’t work as efficiently. Unless they wanted to make it so I could only fill one truck a day, so I couldn’t cooperate with my fellow slaves. Keep a friend. They killed her too.” And left her body to rot in the mines, just as they did the bodies of all who fell. Felix didn’t pass that putrid little morsel along, though. “So it was all worthless. All of it.”
Felix didn’t know what a sick ashushk looked like, but Qek had lost some of her blue. Gray blotched her cheeks and her forehead had smoothed completely, showing her extreme concern.
“You haven’t heard about what goes on in the stin camps?” he asked.
“Not firsthand. Does Elias know what happened to your hand?” She looked down at the gnarled and twisted appendage dangling close to the hand she’d offered in friendship.
“No. What would be the point? He wants to save me and he can’t. I should let him go. Human friendships are twisted and callous things. We look for people who can give us something. Yeah, it’s a bonus if we like ’em, but in the end, it’s all about what they have to offer. I don’t know what Elias wants from me, except to make sure I don’t die on his watch, or throw my life away. He’s got a hero complex. They should have recruited him to the AEF.”
“You did not want to save your friend in the camp?”
God, yes, but only because he’d had some stupid idea that helping her would help him. Keep him human, sane. He’d failed, though. She had died and the stin had broken more than his hand. His soul had been shattered into a million pieces.
How had he ever thought he could help Zed?
Felix shook his head. “No. I told you. Friendship doesn’t work like that.” Forget that he loved Elias for no reason other than pure and simple shared affinity. He felt good in the captain’s presence—when one of them wasn’t being an ass. That he loved Zed for simply being Zed. That he respected Nessa because she stood up to him, called him out when he was being an ass. That he loved the alien-ness of Qek, the big blue heart that beat in her little blue chest. The wonder with which she regarded the galaxy.
“I think you are wrong.”
Felix narrowed his eyes.
Qek had withdrawn her hand. Now she put it to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I know that when you hurt yourself, you hurt your friends.”
Jaw clenching, Felix resisted the urge to glance at the Tiper coil, but his right hand flexed and curled, his fingers hiding under his palm. Anger unfurled in his gut, the slither of it almost welcome. “You’re wrong.”
“No. I am not.”
Hurling anger at an ashushk was like trying to beat yourself with a feather. Weird and pointless. Qek had an implacable presence. Never had he cowed her, never had it occurred to Felix to try. While irritation seethed beneath his skin, seeking direction, he wondered why.
Felix looked over at the coil, making the motion obvious. Following the direction of his gaze, Qek said, “If you will remember, we reengaged the safety protocol on the exhaust sheathing. The stasis field protecting that quadrant is supplied by the same generator as this one.”
“Goddamn it.”
Grinding invisible rocks in the back of his throat, Felix pivoted and strode out of engineering, wending his way down the corridor to his quarters. Once inside, he sealed the lock with a wave of his bracelet, engaging a protocol he had not shared with Qek. She could hack the sequence—it wouldn’t even take her very long. But, at the very least, the lock gave him the illusion of privacy, which he immediately dispelled by parking his ass in front of his desk console. There, he initiated another of his secret programs, one that allowed him to activate the comm in any part of the ship—one way, of course. Yep, he’d been listening in on his companions, hoping for warning before they sent more than a single scout into his camp. If they approached him together, they’d do so with a plan.
He flipped channels until he got to the mess. Nessa’s voice broke through the quiet hum of static. “...hours until port. If he doesn’t eat before then, I suggest we tranq him.”
“You’d have better luck taking an elephant down with a plasma torch.”
“He weighs no more than I do.”
“But he’s pissed, Ness. Trust me when I say you do not want to threaten him while he’s like this.”
“It’s not in my nature to let someone just lie down and die! He’s worse now than he was after we lost Zed.” Nessa fiddled with something that emitted a soft hiss. Felix imagined her loading tranquilizer darts into one of her med dispensers. “I still cannot believe you agreed to take him with us.” She broke off in a sigh, then: “Has Zed answered any of your jazers?”
“No.”
Ness grumbled. “How is Fixer leaving Alpha going to help them stay together?”
“He needed time, Ness. C’mon. He’s been through a lot these last months.”
“We all have.”
“And we’ve all been graceless on occasion. Life sucks—”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Fabric swished loudly over the connection, then Eli’s voice hissed through again, somewhat muffled. “He’s like my brother. Y
ou know that. Much as I’d travel to the end of the solar system for Zed, and did, mind you, I’d do more for Fix.”
“Damn you and your soft heart.”
Felix slapped the holographic keyboard, silencing the feed. A second later, he deactivated his program. His hand shook over the keys, the tremble in his fingers taking up residence in his arm by the time he finished. Even before he shuffled off the stool, his legs quaked. His stomach pinched, not in hunger, not in any sensation he truly recognized. He reached for the bottle of water on his desk and drained it, fingers squeezing the flexible plastic at the end, the crackle and creak loud but welcome. It was the sound of things breaking. The sound of his ruination. Putting the bottle aside, Felix dug into his pocket for the pills he’d been carrying since the lift tube accident. The painkillers. Ness had the right idea, he decided, but for all the wrong reasons.
He didn’t need to be sedated so they could force him to eat. Absently, he grabbed one of the protein bars he kept in a box on the floor. Tasted as bland as the wrapper probably did, and as he chewed it—in defiance of those who thought they knew better—he plotted a way to defeat time and thought.
The Chaos didn’t need him, not at the moment. Every system had been overhauled and triple-checked. Qek could handle anything that came up. Marnie would back her up. If pirates pulled them out of j-space, then Elias could unleash his heroic tendencies. Nessa could patch him up if he got a boo-boo. Nope, he was superfluous to current requirements. And seeing as he lacked the conviction, strength, wherewithal, whatever, to throw himself out an airlock—because he obviously liked to exist in a state of misery—then he might as well try to even his keel. That was why he’d left, right? Not because Zed didn’t need him anymore.
Not because he wanted to be the one to leave this time.
Fuck it, he’d sleep until they got to Petrel Station. Take these painkillers, add in a couple of the sedatives he needed to keep the nightmares at bay, and he could clock out for about twelve hours. Take care of the call of nature, shove another protein bar down his throat and swallow another handful of pills with enough water to keep him hydrated while he continued his journey through oblivion. Rinse, repeat.
See? He could take care of himself. He was fine, rational, functional—even with all the broken bits swirling in his wake.
* * *
Zed narrowed his eyes at the storefront, with its shiny, flashy lights. A name bobbed up and down, back and forth, and sideways, too fast for Zed to read it. Or maybe that was the alcohol in his system slowing shit down.
He turned his frown to Maddox, who was standing with the ramrod straightness of a drunk man trying to appear sober. Their guards—two guys who were about as broad as Zed and a hell of a lot more sober—hovered in the shadows behind them. It’d been pretty easy to slip out of the tower and, seeing as it was the middle of the night, no one followed them. The AEF probably wasn’t paying their watchers, ghosts, whatever-the-fuck overtime.
“You sure this is the place?” he said to Maddox.
“Dude, I practically live here. This is the place.”
“Yeah?” Zed squinted at his brother. He couldn’t spot any ink, but Maddox was wearing a jacket and pants. Entirely possible the art was covered. “Shit, how many tattoos you got?”
“Not tattoos. Piercings.” Maddox waggled his brows. “Haze loves ‘em.”
Zed’s eyes widened. Something in the way Maddox said it made Zed think he wasn’t just talking about aesthetics. “You mean—”
Maddox draped himself across Zed’s shoulders. “Yep,” he said, letting the word pop. “Loves. Them. You should think about it.”
“I’m not getting my dick pierced.”
“You should totally get your dick pierced. I am a walking testicle.” Maddox blinked. “Testi-moni-al.”
Walking testicle. Zed snorted and chuckled, buckling a little under Maddox’s weight. Maddox giggled too. “Fuck, we are so drunk.”
“Better than watching you wallow.” Maddox rubbed Zed’s shoulder. “Still think we should’ve gone dancing.”
Zed shuddered. “Too many people.”
“You used to love the clubs. Remember when you’d come home from school and I’d bribe the bouncer to let you in?”
“You were such a good influence on me.”
“You wanted to go, I just did my part.”
Zed stumbled half a step sideways. Tonight wasn’t really about relaxing. It was more about marking himself...a plan that had made a lot more sense a few drinks ago. “Let’s just go in.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sooner we go in, sooner we can be back and less chance Bren will find out you flew the coop.”
“With the help of my poor-influence older brother.”
“You’re the one who wanted to make a gesture!” Mad nudged his shoulder as they started toward the door. The shop was empty, as Zed expected—Maddox had called ahead to book a few hours of the proprietor’s time for an exorbitant amount of money. “So, you gonna get his name tattooed on your ass?”
“Fuck you, I’ve got some class.”
“A Jacob’s ladder is really damned classy.” He winked at the petite woman who emerged from the back of the store. “Am I right, Mei?”
“Classy, classic, and a pleasure for both you and your partner,” she agreed, smiling. “Wanna go for it?”
“I’m not piercing my dick. I’m not. I want a tattoo. That’s it. A tattoo of...” Something. Something that meant Flick.
Even if he’d left him without even a fucking goodbye.
Zed grabbed Maddox’s jacket, pulling it away from his brother’s body, and searched the interior until he found what he wanted—the flask he’d seen Maddox stash there before they left his borrowed apartment. Uncapping the container, he took a healthy swig, then two more, eager for the alcohol to hit him as hard and quick as it usually did.
Maddox watched him drink, then turned to Mei. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
* * *
They emerged from the shop—Zed still didn’t know what the fuck it was called—just as synthesized dawn was lighting the streets. The time they’d spent in the tattoo shop had been a blur of pain and booze, but with a shitload of laughter, too. He’d forgotten so much about his brothers, something that was both shameful and a joy to acknowledge, because it meant he was getting to know them all over again. It didn’t change the fact that Flick wasn’t on Alpha or how he’d left, but he wouldn’t have given up this night for anything. His soul felt less burdened. Lighter.
Could be because he’d killed so many brain cells with whatever-the-fuck Maddox was carrying in that flask.
“You need to serenade us on the way home,” Maddox said, stumbling beside him.
“There is no way I can sing and walk at the same time.”
“Some covert ops dude you are.”
“Singing was not one of our main skills...” Zed trailed off, squinting at the alley branching off the main concourse they were weaving down. A shadow shifted out of the darkness and back again—and was that the glow of a wallet?
“Shit!”
He didn’t think—he just grabbed Maddox’s hand and ran. Behind them he heard the heavy, pounding steps of their guards, but neither wasted breath on asking Zed what he’d seen. They simply fanned out into a protective formation, one leading the charge in the general direction of the utility entrance that would take them back to the underbelly of Thessaloniki Tower, and the other covering their six.
If either of them had any thoughts on how fucking stupid this excursion was, Zed didn’t hear any mutters or see any condemnation when he caught glances at their expressions.
“What? Fuck, what?” Maddox panted as Zed peeled off, pulling him around a corner. The lead guard’s arm jutted out to grab Maddox’s SFT and tug them back to the main concourse.
Wrong tu
rn. These guys were earning so many fucking points tonight. Seriously. Raises all around.
“Reporter.”
“Is he—she—whatever—still chasing us?”
“Dunno. Saw a guy with a wallet out in an alley...”
The lead guard halted and Zed and Maddox came to a stumbling stop behind him. “That’s why we’re running?” He shared a look with the guard who’d been at their rear. “Those are safety lamps. They’re in every alley.”
“No, I saw a shadow. With a...” Zed made gestures with his hands, indicating the shape of a wallet. “Glowing thing.”
“Uh-huh. What color was it?”
Zed opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again. Most wallets had a blue-green glow. This one, though...”Yellow.”
“Safety lamp.” The guard nodded, a nod that was clearly a substitute for saying told you so. “Maybe we should call it a night, huh, fellas?”
Zed eyed him and the rear guard, then looked at Maddox. “They get raises.”
“Fuck yeah,” Maddox said. “Especially if they don’t tell Brennan or Dad about this.”
“About what?” the rear guard said with a crooked smile. His teeth were uneven in the front—he’d probably been station-born, like Flick. Health and dental care weren’t always readily available for the lower working class, even on the best stations.
Flick. The booze and physical pain distanced him from the emotional turmoil, but it was still there, still ready to leap out at him whenever he sobered up. The run along the concourse had taken more out of him than it should, too—his adrenaline faded, taking with it his sense of balance. He staggered sideways, only to find himself buffered by the lead guard.
“Can only imagine the trouble the two of you got into as kids,” he said with a grunt, swinging Zed’s arm around his neck. The second guard took up a similar position with Maddox.
“Could tell you some stories,” Zed offered. “Come have a drink with us.”
The lead guard snickered. Zed was going to have to get his name at some point. Dude was cool. “As long as it’s water.”