Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  He tells me this after we polish off some LV-created pink lemonade, while sitting in a pretty grassy patch on a flat outcrop of the mountain face soaking up some imitation sun. I’d often wondered about his past. How he was brought up. What kind of parents could raise a superhero.

  “Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers and sisters? Where are your parents now?”

  Uh, awkward silence.

  “You could say I have quite a few brothers and sisters. Perhaps Daz never mentioned I was raised in a care center, Cassiel.” He says this plainly, without emotion.

  Flustered, mortified, I scramble for the right words.

  “King, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”

  “The centers are extremely well-managed. I had a very good upbringing.”

  After a pause, while I struggle for something else to say, he says, “Daz told me your parents died when you were eight.”

  Oh. Well, I guess I did invite this line of conversation.

  “Yes.” I push my loose hair behind my ears. “They both contracted the Karva virus. There wasn’t time to even treat it, really.”

  “Do you remember them very well?”

  Ah, leave it to King to cut straight to the chase.

  “To be truthful, not really.” This has been the source of much misdirected resentment throughout my teens. “My dad worked off-world a lot as a freelance astrobiologist for private firms. I remember my mom more. She was beautiful, and she wore her hair long.” Funny why I always think of her hair, but it was stunning, thick and honey colored, falling in gentle waves.

  “Like you,” he adds, stretching his long, muscular body back on the grass where we are sitting.

  I don’t know if he means I’m beautiful or my hair’s also long so I don’t say anything.

  My back’s tired (actually my whole body’s ready for a rest) so I follow his lead, and lie back beside him, staring up at the sky.

  “Giraffe,” I say, grinning.

  He looks sideways at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh come on. You’ve never played the cloud game?”

  The way he’s staring at me makes me feel like a child, but who cares? I tell him how it works and, after a rocky start, he really gets rolling, spotting the most ridiculous universe leaders crossed with exo-animals. They don’t match the clouds as much as they are clever combinations to imagine. I haven’t laughed like this in, well, ages.

  I flip over onto my side, my head propped on my hand, and admire his profile. His faint freckles are coming out in the sunlight and his eyelashes almost sparkle they’re so light.

  He also flips onto his side, propping up his head with his hand. He has a soft smile on his lips. He reaches over with his free arm and effortlessly pulls me closer. My heart beats faster. He’s not smiling anymore. A thrilling sensation rolls through me, followed by a pang of desire. We come together, faces just fitting, barely touching, hovering, basking in the shared warmth. He kisses me like a short musical note, and another, and another, holding each one longer than the last, until I can bear it no more and I taste him.

  Intense passion simmers just near the surface, and I let myself relax instead of trying to anticipate. I gently caress his round, high cheekbone, feeling the beginning of stubble on his cheek. I run my finger along his ear and tug on his earlobe. Because I can.

  Our kisses grow more ardent. His free hand roams along the dip in my waist and on my hip, and he gently presses me closer to him. The heat from his body is welcome because the sun has moved, and a tree now shades our bodies. I remain very still, all too aware of his desire, my head woozy.

  Next thing, I’m on my back, and he’s propped up half over me, one arm looped around my head, the other touching my face, brushing the loose strands of hair out of the way. I embrace his broad back and explore the ripples through his thin climbing shirt while taking in his scent, which is now utterly familiar to me.

  I languish, weak beneath his faraway, possessive gaze, awash with a wonderful tingling sensation all over, especially in one particular area.

  I smile shyly.

  He inhales deeply, releases a frustrated groan, and flops over onto his back, exhaling loudly.

  Uh, what just happened?

  I prop myself up on my elbows again and look over at him questioningly. His lips are red and delicious-looking from all the kissing. He glances at me and rubs his face with his hands. I can’t help but take in the view of his rigid body. When I meet his eyes I can tell he was watching me looking there. I know I’m the color of Nigmoanian fire but I don’t care. I really want him.

  “You do not know what you do to me,” he mutters gruffly.

  I pshaw. But when I turn and lean forward onto him because I want to kiss some more, he grabs my arm mid-way, holding me back, and shakes his head.

  His actions are confusing. I long suddenly for a big, thick jacket to wrap myself in. And a door that I could close.

  He sighs deeply. “I will not take advantage of you.”

  Huh? Where is this coming from? Don’t I get a say in the matter? And who says this is going there?

  “I want to be here, with you. Besides we’re not—”

  “Oh, I know that,” he says, interrupting with a tone that takes me back, “but you are innocent.”

  What? How would he know that?

  I glance over to see if he’s referring to what I think he’s referring to. Yup.

  Too mortified for words, I sit up quickly, face forward. Talk about a mood killer.

  He sits up too. “Don’t be angry because I am stating a fact.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m embarrassed,” I choke out, bending my knees and wrapping my arms around them.

  Awkward silence, but I don’t care.

  I’m angry, actually. I turn slightly to face him.

  “First of all, how do you even know what my sexual status is?”

  He smiles. “Well, for starters, you made it pretty clear in front of the entire ESE Command.” I cringe inside at the reminder. “But let’s just say, men can sense these things. Do you know how beautiful you are when you are angry? It is really quite amazing,” he adds playfully, a brand new side of him.

  He reaches over and strokes my hair away from my face, draping the strands down my back.

  My madness melts like butter. It’s hard to stay upset with someone who compliments you. Besides, this is the first time he has said anything directly about my looks. He runs his hand down the back of my hair repeatedly, then leans over planting a delicate kiss on my exposed cheek.

  “I think your sexual status is something to be admired,” he whispers in my ear.

  I steal a glance at him. His mouth’s turned up at the corners. He winks at me, and I decide that having this conversation isn’t totally mortifying.

  “What is more curious is how this has come to be, considering your assets,” he continues, smiling.

  The blood that was pooling in my cheeks is now spreading down my neck. I need a drink. Preferably high-test.

  He asks, “Why do you hide yourself from others?”

  Wow. So direct. So dead on point.

  There’s a real big lump in my throat. I’ve been at this fork in the road with a few people before. Once it was a girl in levels who wanted to be friends mostly because of her huge crush on Daz. A few years later it was a guy, nice enough, but relentless about getting me out on a date. Now King is asking me the same dreaded question they all did, just indirectly: Why are you such a loner?

  How do you explain that having a secret creates a wall between you and the rest of the world? Everyone around you senses your guard eventually, stepping back just enough to prevent any real closeness. The question that’s not lost on me, has not been lost on me for years now, is, How will I e
ver be close to anyone, to any man, if I don’t share everything with him? And now here’s a guy, a pretty spectacular guy, who seems willing and able to step inside.

  But how can I explain it to him? He’ll think I’m crazy. I’ll lose him.

  “I’m just shy.”

  King’s still stroking my hair. “You need to trust me, Cassiel, if this ever going to work.”

  I stare at him. Why’s he pushing me? Can I trust him?

  “You don’t, it’s really . . .” I stop, take a deep breath, collect myself.

  I start again. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  He makes to reassure me but I keep going. “No. I want to trust you, King. Really, I do. And I will. But I’m just not ready. Look, all I ask is that you give us some time together, some time for me to get to know you better before . . .” Before I tell you I’m a crazy, hallucinating kook.

  He watches me for a short moment. I hold my breath. All at once he inches my face toward him with his hand already draped over my shoulder and kisses me, harder than I like, releasing me suddenly.

  Rattled.

  “We better quit the story if we expect our ‘just friends’ cover to hold up,” he says. He stands up, brushing the grass off his pants.

  I join him standing, both reluctant and relieved. I want to spend time with him, yet I can’t seem to get enough when I’m with him. Is that normal? Plus, it’s unsettling how he can turn off his emotions so quickly. Then again, maybe that’s a good thing, because he’s so intense, it’s overwhelming sometimes. Mostly, I heed his suggestion since I would hate for his career to be in peril over me, and my gut tells me, despite the promises I’ve been given, ESE wouldn’t mind a real good excuse to get rid of me.

  Chapter 11

  On the way back to my pod, I settle into the new headspace. I daydream about King and me. He’ll be a commander some day. I’ll be high up in the ESE Emissary Unit, maybe even lead a few first contacts. Daz will long be back from wherever he is, safe and sound.

  The déjà vu comes out of nowhere, probably hidden by the pang of anxiety I was having over the thought, How will Daz feel about me being with his best friend?

  I find myself thinking, I’ve walked down this corridor in the women’s quarter before, thinking this exact thing (for the record, both times I suspect Daz will be pissed about King and me). Only as I pass a door to someone’s pod, there!, a vision unfolds.

  A man’s coming out of a pod. In the split second it takes me to get over the weirdness of a man being here, in the women’s quarters, my brain registers it’s Lt. Lazarus. He’s his usual disheveled self, but something’s off-kilter. I stop mid-stride, it’s so real I fear he might see me.

  He glances both ways before darting out of the room and disappearing from view. I step forward, curious to see whose pod he’s coming from, and shockingly, the vision allows me to.

  Daria’s lying lifeless on the floor.

  And then the vision ends.

  I find myself standing right in front of Daria Preston’s closed pod door.

  Holy fucking stars! What did I just see?

  My first thought is that my mind making this shit up. Even though I don’t really believe that. I recall how I thought I saw Lt. Lazarus in Proxy that night. The night Daria was killed. Lt. Lazarus watching her and King alter Daz’s report.

  My stomach flips. What if this was real? What if I’m seeing into real events somehow? Why would Lt. Lazarus want to harm Daria Preston? Had they been a couple? I’m rattled beyond belief. Okay. Just get a grip. You don’t even know what you saw! Frankly, you could be losing your mind.

  I’m so caught up in this scrambled paranoia, I don’t sense the presence of someone behind me until I’m near my pod. I swing around in a defensive position, preparing for I don’t know who. Lt. Lazarus, I think, ready to kill me.

  Hathaway!

  Relief washes over me. I take in his face. He wears a cute but guilty smile, and before I can greet him he signals to be quiet with his finger in front of his mouth.

  If he gets caught in the women’s quarters he will be in big trouble. I’m surprised to see him here, but remembering the alien device hidden in my pod I gesture at him to follow me.

  We cover the short distance quickly, keeping an eye out. I shake off the vision I just had, as best as I can, and motion for him to wait while I make sure Jordanna is not inside. She said she would be in Proxy tonight for someone’s birthday, but I can’t be too careful. I don’t want to get her in trouble.

  Once safely inside, I face Hathaway, genuinely grateful and pleased to see him. “Hey. What are you doing here? Did you get my Missive? I asked if you wanted to meet me in Proxy.”

  “Yeah. Change of venue. Figured you’d want to thank me proper, in private,” he says with a swagger.

  I can’t help but laugh. Hathaway is so not pulling off a sexy stud act. A look of regret tells me he’s all too aware of this fact. I can’t help but laugh again.

  “Seriously,” I say, feeling bad. “Even if it was a little risky, testing your device on me, it saved my life. I owe you one. So thanks.”

  “No problem,” he says, beaming. Like all brainiacs, his attention span is short. I watch him examine my pod’s contents, pausing on the two shelves crammed with books and the java joy in the corner.

  “Whoa,” he says, impressed. “Aren’t you worried I could use the knowledge of this contraband to have my way with you?”

  “Yes, but then you would have to answer to Lt. King.”

  He looks at me questioningly, disappointment dampening his brightness.

  “You’re not wasting your time with that underachiever, are you?” he asks. “Why go for brawn when you could have brains? You’re stuck on a deserted planet, trillions of light years from Earth. Who is going to get you home?”

  I smile at him.

  “Aren’t you worried about getting caught in here?” I ask, turning the tables. “Why didn’t you just meet me in Proxy?”

  “Because I wanted to risk my career for a chance to see inside your pod.”

  “No, seriously.”

  He sighs. “Technically, I’m banned to my pod and engineering for the rest of the year,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  “What? That’s not fair! You saved my life with that shield!”

  “Well, ESE doesn’t quite see it that way. No matter, no matter. I managed to escape my permanent watcher with a unique interfacing device that causes the recipient to hear multiple voices in his head. I call it the schizoid. I bet ESE won’t be able to find me an escort before the end of this year.”

  I laugh. “I bet you’re right. But shouldn’t they be giving you a medal or something, not punishing you? That shield is the future of ESE.”

  “That’s why they’re keeping me working rather than sending me back to civvy. The key now will be replicating the shield, once I work out some minor technical glitches. Of course, I will.”

  I watch him closely as I mull over whether I can trust him with the device I stole from Dark Eyes. Like most extraordinarily intelligent humans, his perceptive abilities sometimes lag behind his whirring brain, and arrogance. I make us both an espresso.

  “Hathaway, there is something else . . .?”

  “Ah, finally! Just admit your feelings for me, and take off your top.”

  There’s real hope on his face. I can’t help but laugh again.

  When I start to speak but stop myself, hesitating, he puts on a serious face.

  “What is it? I’m all ears.”

  “I don’t want to get you in more trouble,” I say, half meaning it, half-hoping this veiled caution won’t scare him off.

  “You didn’t get me in trouble. I got myself in trouble.” He seems to be thinking something over, while stealing a glance at my breasts
, no less. I roll my eyes. He sighs. “I knew the second I set eyes on you that you would make my life more interesting in space. So let’s have it. What’s up?”

  I wonder when he did first set on eyes on me; must have been before that day he gave me the shield. I shove that thought aside.

  “I want to show you something. But I have to trust that you won’t tell anyone.”

  “Oh, baby, bring it on,” he says.

  “I’m serious.” I debate telling him again, but the truth is I have no other way of figuring out what the thin black object I took from Dark Eyes is.

  I take a leap of faith. “I took another piece of technology, or at least I think it is, from the Thell’eons.”

  At this news, Hathaway’s whole demeanor changes.

  “Really?” he asks, eyes gleaming.

  “Really.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I tried to ‘activate’ it but it seems inert. I thought if anyone could figure it out, it would be you.”

  “You got that part right,” he says, not skipping a beat. “Well, come on, let’s see it. You’re giving a genius blue brains here.”

  I scrunch up my face. Too crude. He shrugs unapologetically.

  I walk over to the book I hid the strange device in, take it out, and head toward him.

  “You can’t tell ESE. Promise me,” I say before I give the alien piece to him. “They would kick me out for hiding it from them.”

  “So why are you?”

  When I don’t answer, he glances up from the black thing in my hand. “Hiding it from them?”

  I shrug. “They hide things from me. I know how they work, but, well, I’d like to have my own collateral.” I will find out what happened to Daz, one way or another.