by Eric Flint
"How old are you?" he asked.
The question didn't surprise me. People always wondered about stasis pilots. I wrenched my arm out of Larkin's hold, but rather thought he let me go. If he wanted to hold me, he would.
"Twenty-eight," I said.
Larkin's mouth curved in a smile. We both knew that was bullshit, but he didn't argue and let me stalk down the corridor, all two hundred and twenty-eight years of me.
* * *
Twenty-two lights years out, twenty-two back. A girl should age forty-four years in between all those stars, but in stasis, time stops. Everywhere else, time keeps moving. Everyone I'd known—everyone I'd grown up with—was long gone.
I joined the military straight out of school to become a pilot. There was nothing better than flying across a bright sky, and then later into the stars. I worked the Sol system for a good five years before I stasis-slept my way to Alpha Centauri. I worked that system for another five. They offered me Luna and her stasis runs and I couldn't say no. There were five other settled systems to see. And now, we've got a total of twelve. Humanity keeps pushing, out into stars never before seen. Sedgwick colony comes next, and Luna carries supplies for the colonists.
All I want is to get there on time. Get there and get back into stasis where the living is quiet and dark. This world is too bright, too loud; I want only to sleep.
Plan was, I'd hit the system alongside a ship of transport workers—cargo is quiet, and there's that respect for the work we do, so it's just me and Bel on these runs, in the empty spaces between stars. A secondary AI remained on board but deactivated; we'd never needed it.
Plan was, we'd get the supplies down before the colonists arrived. "Wish them well and jet to hell"—that's the old saying. Some people are made for solid ground, and others for stars.
I couldn't figure which Larkin was. I'd say stars, but then I'd hear him talking to his mates about forests and rivers and how he missed them.
Daniel Larkin was the son of a printer, or so Bel told me after accessing records on him. The Larkins lived on Copper IV, and printing was in their blood. Bel traced them all the way back to the Sol system, seventeen-hundred-something. Older than me. It made me smile a little.
Learning they were printers, it wasn't hard to guess what he was hauling and why raiders wanted it. I watched Larkin and his mates in the galley, eating like they hadn't eaten in a dozen years. I'd had nothing but liquid from a tube for more than that, yet found it hard to consider joining them for their meal. At least Bel was there to serve and see that they didn't eat more than they should. I had five more years ahead of me once they let me go.
It galled me, the idea that I couldn't escape them. I couldn't abandon the cargo or Luna—while my pay is generous, it would never cover the replacement costs. Neither could I overpower them. Milksop would be the easiest, but the others were grown men. Fully armed grown men.
I didn't join them. I left them to their meal and headed for the docking bay. Larkin had jacked my ship, so I saw no reason why I shouldn't jack his—at least as much as I could under current conditions.
Killian was neatly docked alongside two shuttles. Larkin's ship was twice the size of the shuttles, sleek with a warm green cast to the hull. Someone had left the hatch open, the stairs down, so I welcomed myself onboard.
The ship had a closer feel than Luna does; more personal. It smelled, too, like men and fermented beverages. I found the cargo hold in the rear of the ship, packed with dozens upon dozens of crates and containers. I touched the first wood crate I saw; the rough wood under my fingers was alien. Couldn't remember the last time I touched wood.
When Larkin's hand caught mine, splinters bit into my fingers. I gasped in surprise and pain both.
"Hell's—"
"What do you think you're doing?"
I looked up at Larkin and laughed. "You jacked me out of FTL. I thought I'd see why. Where are the books?"
Larkin didn't release my hand; if anything, his grip tightened. He stared at me and I stared back, damned if I'd be cowed.
"Daddy Larkin is a printer," I said. "Makes quite a fine living at it on Copper Four, too fine a living." I tried to twist my arm free, but Larkin was having none of it. My fingers ached. "If you expect me to cooperate and not contact the Federals, you're raving. You can't pilot Luna without me."
"That's why we didn't let the milksop kill you when we boarded."
I went still, somehow never realizing the kind of danger I was in until that moment. Not the danger of Larkin's hand around my wrist, but the danger of them jacking the ship while I slept.
It was fine to say that people respected the work of stasis-pilots, but there were always stories about those who didn't. About pirates who jacked FTL ships and murdered the crew in stasis. I had always laughed it off, because pirates wouldn't know how to pilot such a large vessel; it wasn't like piloting a shuttle or even Killian. But sometimes, people did things just to say they'd done it.
"Found you, sleeping like some storybook princess," Larkin said softly, easing his grip on my wrist.
He looked at my fingers then drew one into his mouth. I jerked at the contact—his mouth so hot and wet—but couldn't pull free. His teeth abraded my finger, his tongue licked and warmed, and when he withdrew my finger, the splinters were loosening.
"Milksop—Rand wanted to poison your nutrient line. But your AI was already up—security I guess?"
I said nothing but thanked my lucky stars for Bel. The second Luna had come out of FTL, Bel would have been activated. Bel came for me. Saved me.
"We found your AI with you." Larkin chuckled. "Rand nearly pissed himself." Larkin put my finger back in his mouth and sucked. He pulled the finger free with a soft pop. "I needed you. It's Rand's first outing."
As if that excused contemplating murder.
"Where are the books?" I repeated my question, fearing that anything else I might say would involve "bed" and "now."
Larkin dropped my hand and turned away. I followed him deeper into the cargo hold, my finger throbbing. >From the splinters or the remedy, I didn't know. This is why stasis was easier; there were no questions, just blissful solitude.
He lead me to a plas-container, nothing that would stand out from anything else in the stacks. Unlocking a complex combination revealed a smaller box inside, and inside that were five books. From the twentieth, it looked like. Older than me—and it made me smile a little.
Five books, when a man could live on the income from a fraction of one. I started to touch them, but Larkin caught my wrist again, gentler this time.
"It's not about the money," Larkin said, but I was doubtful. How could it not be about the money? I looked at those five books and boggled at the amount they would bring.
"Then what?" My voice sounded hoarse again, as though I'd been silent for years.
"I'm doing this for my father."
Still it was about money. "It would explain the easy life your family has lead," I said and Larkin dropped my hand. "What, did you inherit a stash of books somewhere along the way, and sell a few every now and then? How much money does one person need?" Myself, I didn't need much.
"My father is dead, did your AI tell you that? He's dead, and this was his last wish."
Larkin said the words softly, softer than I would have imagined him capable of. I bit the inside of my cheek. My parents were long-dead, of course; everyone I'd grown up with was dead. Death didn't bother me, but then I didn't have much experience with it.
"I'm not selling the books," Larkin said. He leaned against a stack of crates, lacing his fingers over his flat belly. "I'm taking them to my grandmother."
My eyes narrowed. "And you need an FTL ship for that?"
Larkin nodded, then flashed me a smile. "She's headed for Sedgwick."
"A colonist?"
"A transport worker," he said. His smile deepened right then, revealing dimples. "Just a little older than you."
I stared at Larkin, unable to think straight. I was getting
too old for this shit.
* * *
"Nine-times-great," Larkin said. He worked his thumb under an orange peel, that bright scent exploding between us to sweeten the galley. We'd moved a crate there, to sit in comfort and talk. He was trying to convince me as to his cause; I was trying not to be convinced, but those damn pretty eyes of his didn't make resistance easy.
"Or something like that. It's so long, I just call her grandmother."
"My age?" I asked. Larkin offered me a segment of orange and I took it, eagerly eating it. The oranges were part of his cargo, but if Larkin didn't feel guilty about eating a few, then neither did I.
"She started her stasis runs when she was about thirty."
I couldn't imagine having family that went back that far. If I had family out there, I didn't know about it and in my line of work, there wasn't exactly a reason to find out.
Larkin's orange-wet fingers slipped over mine as he offered more fruit. The juice stung my fingertips and I worked them against my teeth to ease more splinters out.
"My father was sick for a long time, knew he wasn't going to be able to make the run," Larkin said. He sucked an orange slice down, eyes slanting over me. "He didn't want me to jack a ship, but with Meg on her way to Sedgwick . . . " Larkin shrugged and his black tee stretched over his shoulders. His tags clinked.
"So you jacked a ship to Sedgwick," I said. "Only you planned it for years, didn't you? I mean, Luna's been en route for almost seventeen years now. Transport workers left a couple weeks behind—but thanks to this delay, maybe we'll get there together." I frowned. "How old are you? Forty?" Larkin nodded and I smiled, glad I hadn't lost the ability to judge. Whenever I had a planet-side break between runs, I found myself compulsively studying every person I saw. What was age, I still wondered.
"You were twenty-three when you started planning this?"
"Figured out the route to Sedgwick, and pushed the shipping lanes as close as I could get. Took a while to establish them. Had no idea it would be so long."
"There's only one problem with this," I said and dried my hands on the towel Larkin offered. "Sedgwick is still five years off. Five years, Larkin." What exactly did he intend?
"Here is where I part ways with the others," he said. He discarded his orange peel in the open crate, among other oranges. "They agreed to help jack Luna, but that's it."
"And you?" I stared into his eyes. He wanted something illegal, because this wasn't a passenger boat. "You want a ride to Sedgwick." It was something I wasn't supposed to give, and being that Luna typically traveled at FTL speeds, hitchhikers weren't an issue. They were now—a very pretty hitchhiker and his valuable cargo.
I opened my mouth to say no, and maybe sensing it, Larkin kissed me. Covered my mouth with his own and swallowed whatever I meant to say. Couldn't say anything like that, not with his mouth over mine and eating me as though I were an orange slice.
His mouth was rough, in need of a shave as he was, but warm and wet, and something I hadn't had a taste of in sixteen years, eleven months. I reached for his arm, needing something to steady myself, feeling like I might tip right off the bench and onto the floor. Larkin's arm curved against my waist to pull me closer, allowing me to feel the hard heat of him.
I could have stayed that way for a good long while, exploring his mouth, the line of his jaw, the rapid thump-thump of his pulse. But the wail of the alarm flooded the ship and we jerked apart, both breathing hard. His hand held me by the hair and my hand—I swallowed hard. My fingers were tangled in his belt, in the middle of loosening the buckle.
Larkin stared back at me, looking as puzzled as I felt over the alarm. I bolted from the table (and a hundred what ifs at the thought of being that close to Larkin) and headed for the cockpit, but found Bel in the corridor.
"Unauthorized docking bay departure," the AI said. "Unauthorized—"
I pressed past the AI to the cockpit, feeling Luna shudder as the bay door went up. At my screens, I watched a ship emerge from Luna's belly. Light from the distant sun gleamed on the green hull, confirming Killian. The way she tipped against the stars, I bet on Milksop at the controls, which drew a growl from Larkin as he joined me in the pit. Milksop had the nerve to fire on Luna as he departed; she shook with a deep growl of her own.
"Can you stop them?" Larkin asked.
"If you meant to jack a ship with firepower, Luna isn't it," I said. "I have an EM burst, but that's about it." At Larkin's stare, I scowled. "She was going to get an upgrade, but no one attacks an FTL! No one!" Larkin didn't look at all pleased that he might be the first. He was about to lose his ship in the process.
"Use it," he said.
"It'll fry Killian, make no mistake." New sensors began to scream at me; Luna had taken damage during Milksop's escape.
Larkin's jaw tensed. "Do it."
I directed the electromagnetic burst toward Larkin's ship, and Killian stuttered. Every bit of circuitry on that ship would be fluttering, the rapid one-two-three count before everything went dark and dead.
While Killian's panels would be useless, my screens were flooded in red; Milksop had disabled Luna's entire portside. Every control, every system—including the stasis beds. I swallowed my panic and watched Killian paint a fiery streak through the planet's atmosphere. I tracked the ship, maneuvering Luna into orbit above the crash site. My scans showed life signs, but I couldn't tell how many.
* * *
The memory of Larkin's kiss distracted me from the idea of damaged stasis beds, so I welcomed it.
Larkin helped me prep a shuttle to take planet-side, and while he seemed as cool and in control as he had from the moment he jacked my ship, I remembered the taste of his mouth. Sure he tasted like an orange, but under that—there was warmth and the flavor of skin. Salt.
I watched his hands work the controls and thought of the way his fingers had tightened on my waist. I watched him scowl as something didn't give him the reading he wanted, and thought about the happy curve of that mouth against mine.
No question he'd been happy. Just as happy as I'd been. Damn milksop, jacking Killian. It did come down to money, it always did. Why else would the kid want the ship and its cargo? Larkin couldn't come up with another answer, either.
"He's not doing so well," I said, after the shuttle had left Luna. Larkin looked at me with raised brows. "Milk—Rand. Wanting to murder an FTL pilot, jacking a ship, and a load of books—all on his first time out. Kid must be space sick."
That drew a smile from Larkin. "Maybe he's just got hidden talents." Larkin's teeth worried at his bottom lip.
I'd be bothered, too, if my entire crew jacked the cargo we'd agreed to handle together. Another good reason for pilot and AI to travel alone. Another good reason to sleep the years away. Precisely what I couldn't do with the beds disabled. I bit back the panic that wanted to rise.
We would get the books back. We'd get the books and—And—I'd be damned if I was about to spend that five year trip to Sedgwick awake and aware. There wasn't anything worth staying awake that many years.
"Hey."
Larkin's hand skimmed my shoulder, coming to rest along my neck. He gave me a gentle squeeze. I looked at him, wondering if he was worth the years.
"You've been on edge since you took Killian down and I would have thought you enjoyed that."
I allowed myself a smile, then shook my head. "When Rand hit Luna, he did some good damage. He took out the stasis beds." I stepped out of Larkin's touch. I tried to stay focused on prepping the shuttle. Get the books back and then—Well, I'd tackle that when it came. I could get Bel started on the repairs, I could—
Larkin touched me again and I jumped this time, like I was going to come out of my skin. I shrugged his hand off.
"One fondle doesn't entitle you to more," I said.
Larkin raised his hand and backed off. "Ophelia—"
"I didn't ask for anything," I muttered as I worked a diagnostic on the shuttle's support systems. It was fine, but I ran it again. "Did
n't want anything but a smooth run, but there you are, plotting for sixteen goddamn years—"
Larkin's laugh surprised me into silence. "What pisses you off more?" he asked. "That I took you out, or that I was awake for those years? Actually living, while you slept the sleep of the dead."
I bit my tongue and didn't answer. Couldn't force an answer beyond the lump in my throat. I ran a scan on the nav console, though I knew it was fine. Every system on this shuttle was fine and flight-ready.
Larkin's hand covered mine, holding me hard. "Scares you to death, doesn't it?"
"What?"
"Being awake."
I swallowed the lump. "Yes."
The admission came as something of a relief. I felt my shoulders sag, felt something move out of me, maybe the truth I'd concealed from so many for so long. I passed in and out of lives without consequence; lovers didn't have to worry about me, no sir, I was the one who never stuck around because she couldn't wait to get back to work—to stasis. Consciousness was messy, filled with people who wanted things other than what I wanted, with bodily functions and emotions, and the bright light of day.
Larkin moved off without another word and I silently thanked him. We'd get the books back. And then? And then.
* * *
If the planet had a name, I didn't know it. Larkin couldn't come up with anything either. The surface was a jumble of rock and cliff, scrubby brush trying to grow which said there was water somewhere. The sky was a cool blue, the sun slanting low across the horizon by the time we arrived.
I set the shuttle down a good distance from the wreck of Killian, close enough to monitor the one life sign. The signal was stationary, around a central fire. I wondered if he'd found anything to eat down here. I wouldn't turn down a warm meal.
Larkin offered me a weapon and a cold snack pack, nothing more than a dried bar of protein-based nutrients. I took both silently. We chewed in silence, our small fire sputtering before us. Only when Larkin rubbed at his eyes and I saw the glistening tears there did I realize something was wrong. I watched him without saying a word. He finally looked at me and laughed harshly.