Tor (Women of Earth Book 2)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  He closed his eyes. "What?"

  "I think they passed a law or something that says you can talk directly to me. I don't know anything about gravity and payloads and aimpoints, but I think I can handle a scarf buying assignment. Mohawk's taste is horrendous."

  "You would have to show your face to do the buying," he explained, still avoiding her eyes. "A human will attract attention and Celos isn't the kind of place where that kind of attention is good."

  "Oh, okay," she said lightly, "but just as a reminder, it would be helpful if you explained these things instead of letting me jump to the wrong conclusions."

  "Agreed." Once she was on Celos, it would no longer matter.

  He would share the second part of the plan with Ish and Posy when he found them alone. Posy was sure Honarie's ship would be in need of repair before he could take off for parts unknown. They would find the place and hopefully Honarie, or at least some information about where he was headed. From there, they would 'borrow' a ship that was big enough to keep them in space indefinitely, something the hopper couldn't do. If Honarie's didn't work out, he already had another in mind. At best, they'd be free to do what needed to be done. At worst? Well, what the hell, when you were wanted for piracy, murder, and kidnapping, what was a little theft? Once spaceborne, they'd be like a pin in a patch of clover, impossible to find, and it would buy them time to execute the rest of the plan. There was a lot to be done. He needed to start the rumors about Posy and Ish and where they had been when the Romer II was boarded. He needed to find a way to clear Nix and Chubo if they were still alive.

  Mohawk was a different matter. The old man wasn't happy.

  "Wynne's not going to like it, not about you or the girl. You heard what she said about Truca. The last thing that girl needs is to be abandoned by her family."

  "The last thing that girl needs is to spend her life in a prison or be left alone out there with no one to watch over her. Nothing says this plan will work. If it does, the crew will know where to find her. If it doesn't, she'll have Wynne. Truca isn't normal, Mohawk. She's like Wynne."

  The old soldier snorted, but Tor didn't mean it as a joke.

  "All right, how about special. She's smart. She sees and understands things others don't. She doesn't fight the shit life throws at her. She takes as it comes, and then she puts a smile on it. I told Wynne that Truca's like a little sister to the crew, but it's more than that. It's what she gives them. It's that smile when you walk into the room. It goes right through you and makes you feel like you're the most important person in the world."

  "You're talking about Truca, right?"

  "I was." And he wasn't, but how he felt about Wynne no longer mattered. "Of course I am. You haven't seen that in her, Mohawk, but that sweetness is still there. Wynne will help her find it again. Wynne will take her in like she did her other lost pips. You tell them Truca helped you escape. You tell them what happened to her. You use those connections with the First Commander. She's so young they'll see it your way and let her off."

  "I don't like it, but I'll do it." Mohawk offered his hand to clasp forearms with Tor. Such clasps between men were usually short, but Mohawk hung on. "You'll say it's none of my business," he told the younger man, "But I'm saying it anyway. If I were you, I'd take a taste of that sweetness before I let it go. Keep it as something to remember, because I've got a feeling that where you're going, you're never going to find something like that again."

  Tor didn't need to ask who Mohawk was talking about. He shook his head. "It's one night. She's not the kind of woman..."

  "No, she's not," Mohawk interrupted. "But she'll be glad she made the exception for you. That smile that lights her up? You don't see it, but I do. The one she gives you is different. I've never seen her offer it to any other man." He let go of Tor's arm, but didn't walk away. "She's the kind of woman who'll wait for her man no matter how long he's gone. She can't help it. It's how she's built. She'll wait until you come back."

  Tor nodded, but knew he would do nothing about it. Where he was going, there would be no coming back.

  That was the third part of the plan, the part Tor kept to himself. There would be time enough to tell them all later that the days of the Sky Hawk and its Captain and crew were over.

  Chapter 15

  Wynne told herself the meeting felt different because it was the first time she saw them as Captain and crew, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Ish didn't curl her lip once. Posy didn't smile. They should have shown some sign of enthusiasm. They were leaving the Devil's Den.

  It could be that they were aware of the danger in flying the hopper, a danger Wynne wouldn't recognize because of her ignorance. The craft was old. Truca called it ancient, though through a teenager's eyes, Tor would be ancient, too. The hopper reminded Wynne of a Triceratops, the dinosaur with a bony fan sloping up from narrow glass panes in the shape of slatted eyes. It was a poor excuse for a windshield as far as she was concerned, but what did she know. Adding to the hopper's prehistoric look, the skin looked mottled and a little fried.

  "Old style heat shields," Posy told her, but he didn't look concerned.

  Truca's behavior at the meeting struck her as odd also. Not that she expected the girl to be bright and beaming, but at least to show some interest. Earlier, when Wynne stopped by the dome to offer cold water to the crew, Truca was bent over a little gadget on her workbench. She was whispering to it as she poked and prodded it with her odd assortment of tools.

  Tor had bent to whisper in Wynne's ear. "Not singing yet, but it's a start."

  It was a start and a good one. Truca's intense concentration kept her mind away from other, painful thoughts, but those thoughts intruded at intervals, accompanied by a few tears or a faraway look. That was to be expected, so maybe her reluctance to join in the discussion was not so odd after all.

  It was Tor who bothered Wynne the most. He was distant. He refused to look at her. Earlier, he'd teased her about the porno-pendants and before that, in the dome, when he'd whispered to her, he'd been close enough to tickle her earlobe with his tongue and chuckle when she shivered. Why the change?

  She decided to ask. With the last pot washed, she dried her hands on a clean rag and turned to her helpers, Mohawk and Posy.

  "You two can finish up, and don't forget to wipe the counters. That cockroach I found this morning was as big as a mouse."

  "What's the point? Tomorrow we'll be gone and they'll take over anyway."

  Wynne laughed at Mohawk's grumbling and kissed his cheek before he could pull away. "The only thing that makes me happier than a clean kitchen is watching someone else do the cleaning."

  "Don't I deserve an equal reward for making you happy?" Posy asked with a sweep of the rag he was using to dry the last pot.

  "You do, but I don't want to end up on Ish's bad side."

  "You were never on my good side to begin with." The woman never looked up from the deadly looking set of knives she had laid out on the table.

  "Oh, well then, what do I have to lose?" Posy had to bend for Wynne to reach his cheek.

  "Your ear," Ish said.

  Posy gave Wynne a wink with his chuckle. "What is there to say? The woman loves me."

  "Fuck you."

  "If only you would, Ish, if only you would."

  Wynne left smiling. She didn't have to look far for Tor, but she didn't call out a greeting or run to meet him. He was with Truca and the two looked deep in conversation.

  Tor stood with his hands to his sides. Truca's head was hanging down, her hair swaying from side to side as she shook it. She seemed to be doing most of the talking. Her balled fists kept wiping at her eyes. It was torture to watch and do nothing. Wynne wanted Tor to make some gesture of comfort and, as if he heard her thoughts, his hand came up beneath Truca's chin to lift the girl's eyes to his. His touch, or maybe the words he spoke, triggered something in the girl.

  She slapped his hand away, but that wasn't enough. Her fists pummeled at his
chest, pounding against it like a drum. He stood and took the abuse until the beating slowed. Only then did he reach for her shoulders to pull her to him. Her pounding continued, but without passion, until it faded away and Truca was left with her arms about his waist, sobbing into his chest.

  Tor stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. The chasm between them was closed. Whatever her grievances, whether real or imagined, they had been aired and answered. Truca had found it in her heart to forgive. It was another step toward emotional healing. Wynne hoped it was the beginning of the young woman's spiritual healing as well.

  She let them be. Her presence would only be an intrusion. She would speak with Tor later when he was free.

  Unfortunately, he was never free, and when he was, she wasn't. There were several times when she felt his eyes follow her while he spoke with Ish or Posy, and several more when their eyes met. Those made her feel better. His eyes watched her with the same unfulfilled desire that she felt watching him.

  She felt his eyes again as she followed Truca to the bedroom.

  While she'd questioned the young woman before about her physical healing, Wynne knew she wasn't qualified to make anything more than judgment calls. There were things a doctor would know to look for. There were tests that should be run. Their current circumstances prevented Truca from getting the medical care she needed. Their future circumstances might preclude it, too. The few hours they would spend on Celos waiting for the hopper's second arrival, might be the only opportunity they had.

  Wynne thought she broached the subject carefully and wasn't prepared for Truca's reaction. Beyond her early childhood visits, Truca had never seen a healer. The idea of a stranger poking and prodding her most intimate parts brought about a relapse of the physical and emotional trauma she'd already suffered. Previously unspoken details came pouring out like puss from a wound. It sickened Wynne to hear the agonized litany and there was nothing she could do to alleviate the pain.

  All she could do was hang on and absorb the girl's tears, listen, and rock her, until the horrifying recital was over and exhaustion claimed the poor girl. Wynne sat on the edge of the bed and watched Truca sleep, afraid to leave her in case the living nightmare returned. Only when she was sure the sleep was genuine and sound did she tiptoe from the room.

  Ish was alone in the room. She sat at the table sharpening yet another set of knives. She glanced up at Wynne and returned to her sharpening.

  "The others are in the dome," she said.

  Wynne took the chair beside her at the table. "Good, because it's you I wanted to talk to." She took a breath and said, "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For killing them."

  Ish nodded, and laid the knife down in line with the others, then went to the kitchen. She returned with a bottle and two glasses. Pouring equal amounts in each, she handed one to Wynne.

  It was more liquor than Wynne had ever had in her life. She drank it down. The burn felt good.

  The liquor left behind a pleasant buzz. Wynne thought the relaxing aftereffect would help her sleep. It didn't. She heard the men's voices when they returned. She heard their doors close and silence descend and still she couldn't settle.

  She was worried about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. Where would they go? Where would they stay? Would she ever have time alone again with Tor?

  As she thought these things, another thought struck her. When would she be forced to return to the life she'd left? Forced? A wave of shame washed over her. Nothing except circumstance had forced her to do anything. She loved her sister. She loved her kids. She would love the nephew who was about to be born. She had little choice in her single status. The war had taken so many men. None of those that remained, either human or alien, had sparked her interest. Why now? Why Tor? And did it really matter?

  Just once in her life, she'd like to experience what others took for granted. Just once, she wanted to be loved not because she was a good sister, a good mother, or a good person. She wanted to be loved because she was a woman, because a man she found immensely attractive found her attractive, too. She wanted to make love and know how it felt to have a man make love to her. Foolish? Probably, but in a lifetime of following the rules, wasn't she entitled to one foolish act?

  Did it matter if it couldn't be forever? Maybe, but she knew hundreds of women who'd lost their men to desertion, divorce, disease, and war. How were they any different than she? They had the memories, that's how.

  Wynne slid from her solitary bed and, barefooted, padded down the hallway to Tor's room. Was this a mistake? She didn't care.

  Wynne smiled bravely and rapped her knuckles against his door.

  "Come," came the mumbled answer after she knocked a second time.

  Tor sat on the edge of his bed, bare feet on the floor. The sheet was draped over his midsection, otherwise he was naked. Elbows resting on his knees, he ran his hands over his scalp.

  "What is it?"

  Well, what does one say to that? Hi, want to share your bed with me? Hey there, big guy, want to make love? Or how about that favorite of social misfits all over the universe?

  "Um..." Whatever else she might have said was caught in a giant swallow when he looked up.

  "Wynne? Is something wrong? Is it Truca?"

  "No, no I..." The door closed behind her. Her feet began to move without conscious direction from her mind until she was standing in front of him. "I missed you," she said.

  He straightened. "Wynne, this isn't a good idea."

  "You've been saying that since we met." Her hands came up and rested on his shoulders. "And as I told you last night, I disagree. Tonight, I miss you."

  That was all it took for his hands to slide around her, cup her rear end, and pull her forward between his legs.

  "You won't be sorry?" he asked.

  "Never." Her head followed her words as she leaned in to kiss him.

  "Your eyes are for me," he said before their lips met.

  "Only for you."

  "Wynne." Her name became a whisper filled with promise.

  She closed her eyes to savor the sound. She opened them to find him watching her and closed them again as their lips met. It was a heady feeling to lead instead of follow. It was headier still that Tor didn't seem to mind. She tested his lips with the tip of her tongue. He groaned, a pleasant sound, and it made her feel... wanted. And wanting more.

  Their mouths played for a time, tongues touching, lips straying to eyes and cheeks and chin. Growing bolder, Wynne held the sides of his head with her hands, nibbled at his lower lip, and pulled it lightly with her teeth. She tasted the skin along his jaw, ran her cheek along the two-day stubble that grew there. She loved the rough sensation of it against the softness of her skin, and wondered why some women complained about the masculine bristle. She sucked the soft lobe of his ear into her mouth. She loved everything about this face, the tiny scar above the winged eyebrow, the long straight nose, the cleft in his chin.

  Her hair was braided, a precaution against nighttime snarls. Tor ran his hand down the length of the braid fingering the weave. He made a small sound of frustration when he reached the end and couldn't free the band that held the braid in place.

  Releasing the lobe, she laughed softly and quietly bid, "Here, let me." The low, throaty sound surprised her.

  She leaned back just far enough to clear a path for the braid but not so far as to lose contact with the hardness between his legs. Head tilted to the side, she swung the braid forward. It fell across her breast. Long practiced fingers removed the band and set it aside on the table next to the bed, but when her hands returned to undo the plait, Tor stopped her by repeating her words.

  "Here, let me."

  Head down, eyes closed, she felt the heat of his hands along her breast, searing through the fabric of another man's shirt. Chin turned to shoulder as she gave him room to work the braid loose until her hair hung free.

  "This is the way it should always be," he said a
nd then his fingers were sliding through it. His hand fisted in its fullness at the back of her head. Not painfully, but in a masterfully dominant gesture, Tor directed her head toward his until once again, lips met.

  There was no playfulness in this kiss. He held her head in place and devoured her mouth. Tongue invaded, teeth tugged and pulled, noses collided and then settled comfortably side by side. She felt his breath mix with hers, tasted the liquor that still lingered and the saltiness of something he'd eaten. It was wonderful.

  As the kiss deepened, his hands moved, gliding along her sides, and resting on her hips. His thumbs worked against her belly, planting the roots of desire firmly in her lower regions. Circling behind her, those same hands kneaded the globes of her ass. Her body rocked with the motion and pleasure grew.

  As eager as her lips to search the contours of his face, her hands now sought to discover the planes and surfaces of his body. She'd seen these shoulders bared in their trek to get here. She'd admired the form of the powerful and hairless chest. She'd felt them through his shirt as they kissed, but this was different. Those powerful muscles and corded sinews were now hers to touch and trace. Her hands climbed the mountains of his muscles, delved into the sinewy valleys between, and skated along the prominent rivers of veins, mapping the relief of this new land that was Tor.

  His hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt she wore. His finger traced the line of her panties where leg met rear, then moved on to trace the space between her cheeks through the nylon of the cheap and basic undergarment. Reaching the waistband, Tor flattened his hand against the small of her back. So small a thing and yet her body arched with it. Tendrils of longing crept upward through her veins to her breasts and downward. Moisture pooled where none had been before.