by Debra Jess
"You mean I don't look fabulous now?"
Jita whacked Tamarja's shoulder. "In that uniform? Seriously, though, you look great, but you need to get undressed."
"Really?"
"Really." Jita waited for her to shed her uniform. Jita wrinkled her brow, either in concentration or in horror at the sight of Tamarja's ordinary underclothes. Not the kind used to seduce a man.
Jita began scanning her body as soon as her uniform jacket hit the bed. "You're still a little too skinny, but Daeven likes the skinny types."
"How do you know?"
"Well, you don't see him asking me out, do you?" Jita grinned as she shut down the fitter. "And it's not like I'm not the friendly type."
"Has he dated a lot of skinny types?" If she were going to ask anyone, it might as well be Jita. She would know if Daeven was only being polite or if this date might actually lead somewhere. If she wanted it to, that was, and she wasn’t sure she did yet.
"Not as far as I know, and I know practically everyone. He flirts a lot, puts on a show for us gals to sigh over, but I've never heard of him actually dating. In fact…"
The gossip she might have spilled stopped, taking a back seat to sitting Tamarja down at her comm station and sticking her fingers into the manicure pan balancing on the edge of the desk. The pan sucked at Tamarja's fingertips, the warm liquid soothing and sweet. While her fingers moisturized, Jita's head-up display flipped through color choices.
"You were saying…" Tamarja could not let a juicy piece of gossip about Daeven pass. If his attitude turned sour again, she might need fuel against him.
"Oh, yes. The only person outside security I've seen him with is Joran, the voice you hear on the ‘net. He gives the reports—news, weather—he also introduces music. Anyway, for a while there I thought they might have been involved, and with Joran's soothing voice, I certainly wouldn't blame Daeven for falling for the guy."
Jita paused again to pull out a styler that she tried to attach to the back of Tamarja's head. Without thinking, Tamarja arched her neck, keeping Jita's fingers from finding her collar studs. "Sorry, I'm, um, a little sensitive back there. Old injury that bothers me once in a while."
"No problem. Once your fingers are done, I'll show you how to attach it yourself." Completely unoffended, Jita turned to rummage through her bag of tricks.
"So I thought they were a couple," Jita continued as if she never stopped, "but it just didn't seem right. I'm a fairly good judge of people, and the few times I've met Joran―he sometimes acts as a master of ceremonies for the more formal functions the director holds―he just…I don't know how else to say it, but there's something off about him. Something less than honorable, something that I don't think is right for Daeven, who oozes honor and justice."
"So you don't think they're involved?" Why did she need confirmation? Why did she care? She didn't need to know, any more than she needed to know about his relationship with Serriga. Daeven might have only asked her because he felt he needed to apologize, even if it wasn't necessary. A sudden stab of disappointment pierced Tamarja's heart until she yanked it out. Don't make assumptions. Jita's gossiping, nothing more. You'll find out for yourself soon enough.
"No, I don't. If you ever meet Joran, you'll see what I mean." Jita stood, lifting Tamarja's elbow without pulling her fingers loose, and attached a scrubber to her wrist. Tamarja’s skin tingled as the machine hummed along her arm. The scrubber neatly covered the drop in tension of Tamarja's body now that Jita confirmed Daeven wasn't involved with Joran. "Now, if there is one man on Dawn's Landing I need to warn you about, it's Yohzad Cyrek, the Manitac liaison."
Tamarja almost klonked Jita in the chin as her spine straightened at that statement. "What do you mean?"
Eyes wide, Jita froze in place, the other body scrubber poised in her hand. "You know him?"
Tamarja's mind raced for an easy explanation. "I met him through the director. They talk a lot."
It sounded good at any rate, but Jita's look of concern disturbed Tamarja.
"Watch yourself whenever you're around him. I mean, you probably watch yourself anyway when you meet with the director, but really be careful around Cyrek."
"Why? He seemed really nice the few times we've met."
"Looks are deceiving." Jita locked the second scrubber onto Tamarja's other wrist. "And that man gives me the creeps, even more so than Joran. He's dangerous, and I'm not talking about dangerous like Daeven can be in a security situation. I've watched him deal with people, small situations, even walking through the atrium. His whole attitude just screams manipulation."
Tamarja thought about that, surprised she wasn't surprised. "He does wear the Manitac uniform," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Manitac certainly has its share of politics and corporate intrigue. As the liaison, I'm sure he has to figure his way in and out of situations that could be dangerous. He needs his job, just like the rest of us."
Jita stepped back and slipped Tamarja's fingers out of the pan, carefully examining each finger. Giving a critical grunt of assent, she moved the pan down to Tamarja's feet. "Maybe. I just don't trust him. If I were you, I'd stay as far away from him as possible."
She slipped Tamarja's shoes off. "Now we'll get your toes started. Then I'll show you how to use the styler."
Swallowing hard, Tamarja tried to smile to cover her nerves. What had she gotten herself into, kissing Cyrek, and now going out with Daeven? They were probably the two men in Dawn’s Landing she should stay the farthest from. But for the sake of her future, she couldn’t do that.
Chapter Eighteen
"Yohzad Cyrek, as I live and breathe."
Cyrek smiled as the tri-d face coalesced on his messenger. "Thought I'd fallen off the edge of Andromeda, did you, Ballas?"
Ballas's face, already bulky with too much skin and not enough re-an, shifted from shock to pleasure. "You may as well have. What were you thinking, accepting an assignment all the way out in the badlands? With your experience, you could have had your pick of any planet within Unity territory. Hell, with your connections, you could have written your own assignment. Instead, you meekly pack up for a glorified agricultural colony in the middle of ass-end nowhere."
"It's not so bad." Cyrek stretched his arms upward, before cupping the back of his head in his palms. "It's a quiet, peaceful colony. I write a report or two and spend the rest of the day relaxing on the beach, sipping exotic drinks, and watching the local beauties. What more could a man ask for?"
"Action, buddy. A lot more action. You're wasting your talents out there." Ballas plucked a disc off his desk and twirled it between his thick fingers. "Your brilliance was always with analysis, and this proves it. Your addendum report on the Shadow intel in the fourth quadrant was dead-on correct. The Shadows had built themselves a fine little operation, turning out three or four ships every couple of weeks using scrap they picked up at auction."
"You already raided their operation?" Yohzad raised an eyebrow.
"Almost as soon as I finished reading your report. Interesting that you sent it to me ahead of the home office, by the way."
Cyrek didn't acknowledge the breach of protocol.
"We took ‘em completely by surprise. A few of them resisted, one or two suicided, but the rest will be mind-wiped and shipped out before the end of the week."
"Still scrambling for puppets, are we?"
Ballas nodded. "With an average of four new colonies breaking ground every quarter, we need all the labor we can get. The higher-ups have been screaming for more raids, but we didn't know where to look until you showed us."
"What about their ships? Are those going to auction?"
"Of course. They're small fighters, cobbled together with whatever they could find. No use to our fleet, but enough of them equipped with the right armament could do our cruisers some damage."
"Could you check to see if you happened to have found engines with these serial numbers?" Yohzad picked up his stylus and typed out the numbers he was l
ooking for.
Ballas grunted as he acknowledged receipt of the information. "Let me take a look. I only have a preliminary report, but you never know what you'll find."
Cyrek waited. Only his foot tapping on the edge of his desk betrayed his impatience.
"Got it. We have ‘em. Why do you ask?"
Cyrek unfolded his hands from behind his head and refolded them on the desk. "I need them."
"What for? They're pre-Manitac. Not even legal anymore, even if they weren't older than the cosmos." Ballas frowned. "Tell me you're not thinking of retiring to spend your days restoring clunkers, are you?"
"Just one clunker. It's a favor for a friend."
"Some friend."
Cyrek resisted rolling his eyes at the oft-repeated comment. "Can you get them to me?"
"Well, altering the catalog shouldn't be too difficult, but transporting them to Dawn's Landing―"
"I can make it easy for you."
"You have a plan?" Ballas immediately held up a hand. "Of course you would have a plan. Let's hear it."
Cyrek nodded and relayed his strategy, watching Ballas's face contort between disbelief and delight.
"Are you sure this will work? Corporate might not have a problem with it, but Unity will have to kick up a fuss."
"Unity is dead." Cyrek returned to leaning his chair back. "A mere symbol of what the government was supposed to be. We've been draining their power for years, long before Stratos, electing our own into positions where we need them. The rest of the government officials are little more than puppets themselves. Besides, we're out in the middle of, as you said, the ass-end of nowhere. Out here Manitac rules, you know that."
Ballas rubbed the stubble forming on his chin. "I'm beginning to see why you like it out there. I'll need time to clear it with the higher-ups. You know how the admins hate surprises."
"Just don't take too long, my friend. Opportunities like this don't get handed to you every day."
Ballas nodded as Cyrek broke the connection.
Chapter Nineteen
If the nervous tension between her and Daeven became any stronger, Tamarja would have to raise the privacy screen around their table before she did something foolish.
Though she suspected the shirt he wore was the same blue one he'd worn to the party, it nevertheless emphasized his shoulders and upper arms nicely. Power rolled off him with ease. As much as she'd learned not to count on others to rescue her, she couldn't help but think of how safe she would feel in his arms. Perhaps, like her, he didn't have much in the way of off duty clothing. Daeven didn't seem the type to sift through a whole wardrobe when he wanted to go out. Whatever the reasons, she was grateful he'd chosen that shirt.
They'd met at the restaurant entrance, Daeven presenting her with a colorful spray of flowers. Her first bouquet—or at least the first that she could remember.
He had led her to the back of the sparsely filled restaurant where a small patio extended toward a garden facing the mountain. It was a spectacular view, wild and untouched except for a few young kids running around enjoying the warmth of the day. Overhead another flock of aves flew, these a lot smaller and more colorful than the tentacled one that had attacked the floater. Their cries punctuated their hunt for dropped scraps, but they never flew close to the scampering children.
The scene should have had a comforting, calming effect. Instead, Tamarja felt self-conscious, fighting the urge to run her fingers through her hair. Jita had placed a rush requisition order for a coral top and light-green slacks that would have to last her at least another pay cycle. She fussed with her bouquet to keep her hands busy, discreetly watching Daeven as he drummed an unsteady rhythm on the tabletop.
"You look good," Daeven said. "Different. You changed your hair."
Heat rushed to her cheeks despite her trying to stop it. "Everything has happened so fast since I arrived, all I've had time for lately is flying."
"Must feel good to get out of that uniform." He activated the menu, though his eyes were on her and not the grid.
Tamarja had to break eye contact because by the Stars his eyes could make her forget that he needed to do a lot more than lunch to make her forgive what a jerk he’d been up until now. Setting aside her bouquet gave her the excuse she needed to not stare right back at him. "It's not so bad. It feels better than the Manitac gray I had to wear before."
Daeven hummed in agreement. "Well, in or out of uniform, you still look really good."
"I would say the same for you." She needed to shift the conversation before his eyes burned holes in her new shirt. "What do you recommend?"
Now he looked down at the menu grid reflecting through the tabletop. "They have a mix of imported dishes and local fare. The imported stuff is pretty generic, the local stuff can be…interesting." He used his stylus to highlight a few items.
"I think I'll stick to generic.“ Reading through the menu, she spotted a dish that she’d seen at the dining hall in Facility Prime. It was best she tried something that everyone else ate. "I've had my share of green goop."
"Oh, I see Jita's introduced you to the experimental stuff." He transmitted their order to the kitchen.
Nose wrinkling, she groaned. "I've had enough to last me for a while."
He laughed, a short chuckle and not overly effusive, but it sounded sincere, nonetheless. A small servo floated over at that moment with two glasses of water. Tamarja took hers and immediately scooped out the ice, tossing the cubes over the patio gate and onto the grass. She then placed her flowers into the water, fluffing the blooms.
Daeven laughed again, his body relaxing as he leaned back in his chair, not as far back as Yohzad would have, not so that the front legs lifted off the ground. Still, the casual balance appealed to her, and she wondered just how far Daeven's sense of order wandered when he was out of uniform.
Of course, Daeven was not Yohzad, but her heart fluttered in that second when Daeven's actions resembled his. Yohzad, however, was out of reach. Daeven wasn't. Isn't. That alone should settle the matter. But the fact that tonight was the first time he’d been civil to her while she was conscious made her hesitate.
"What's so funny?" she took a ‘fresher from the servo's tray to wipe her hands dry before it scooted away.
"You."
"Me?"
"You didn't even think about drinking the water. You thought about the flowers first."
She hadn't considered that; she had just acted. "The flowers will need water, or they'll die pretty quickly in this heat."
Daeven shrugged, a small smile still on his lips, his eyes a little unfocused as if remembering something pleasant. It was a nice look on him, one that accentuated his dimples and strong chin.
The servo returned with their food, its spindly arms delicately placing her dish in front of her. Tamarja hardly noticed as she wondered what made Daeven tick, why he seemed to care yet not care enough—and what he remembered about her from before the mind-wipe.
She could ask him outright, back him into a corner, but that might only force him to lie. By law, she could never learn about her past. As a security officer, Daeven would know that, and he hadn't leaned so far back in his chair to convince her that he would break the law.
She could be wrong, in which case she risked giving away her precious secret if she asked. She could also be right.
"Have you been here on Dawn's Landing a long time?" She let some food drop back onto her plate, steadying her hand. "When did you arrive?"
Though he didn't reach for his food, he picked up his own fork. "Not long. Two standard years."
"Have you always worked in security?"
Gaze dropping, he dipped his fork into the food, only to shift it around. "Yeah, Manitac had me assigned to one of their scout ships, keeping security near the colonies of Caspia Minor."
"Why did you leave?"
He took his time responding, looking back at her with a half squint, as if balancing one response against another. "I got tired of space travel, ti
red of ship's rations, tired of mediating petty colonial disputes. I was never very good at it anyway."
"I don't think I want to know what your version of mediating looks like."
A hint of his smile returned. "It's certainly not what they recommend in the handbooks."
"Did you leave any family behind? Parents? Siblings?" Girlfriends?
The new line of questioning seemed to relax him a lot more. Maybe he felt more secure talking about family than about his service to Manitac? Interesting.
"My folks are settled on Bregarlos. My mother is in advertising, and my father is in logistics. We haven't really talked since my brother died on Stratos."
Stratos. The word set off a memory cloud. Tamarja gripped her ‘fresher and fought to keep her focus on Dawn's Landing. Jita had mentioned the colony, but like Jita, Daeven didn't elaborate. Tamarja couldn't push, though she wanted to. She wouldn't let on that she didn't know, but she made a mental note to find out later. She would research Stratos when her memory clouds couldn't hurt her.
"How did you find out about Dawn's Landing?"
"Cyrek contacted me. He said AuRaKaz needed more security, and he was willing to put in a good word for me."
"Do you know him well?"
Daeven shook his head. "Not really, but I helped evac him from a ship in distress a while ago. I figure he was just returning the favor."
Tamarja nodded. Yohzad had said pretty much the same thing.
"Do you think you'll stay here?"
He shifted his gaze to the garden, then the mountain, and finally the kids. Tamarja wished she knew what he was thinking at that moment, watching the children race around chasing spheres. Was he thinking of the past? Or the future?
"You could do a lot worse than Dawn's Landing," he said finally, turning back to her. "Even working for AuRaKaz."
She nodded. "It is peaceful around here. The director seems determined to keep it that way."
"The director has built herself quite the little feudal state." His voice changed. It became deeper, harder. Something about Dawn's Landing didn't meet Daeven's approval.