Retirement without Eternayouth meant no more medusas, at least not as she was able to use them now. They stayed implanted and they still moved, useful as oddly placed fingers, but without their full sensory range. You needed Eternayouth for that. As for plugging into a ship and flying it the way she did now, forget it. She’d have to give all that up, giving up control to the onboard computer and nav system. Thinking about that made her stomach hurt. Instinctively, she reached up and twisted her fingers between her implants, reassuring herself that they were still there.
She remembered the last time she’d seen Elia, remembered how the former pilot’s hands lingered on her implants. She’d seen the longing looks, the barely muted desire for what the pilot had given up. In the end, it had been that sadness, even more than her retreats into fantasy and old boasts, that had driven TiCara away.
So what would Elia be doing now? Sitting around the bars telling old stories? She must have found some way to fill her time; the question was, what? And if TiCara found her, could she trust her enough to ask for tru tell about Electra? Elia might even be working for a corp again, for all TiCara knew. Cred was cred, after all, and even for a medusa pilot, corp retirement was no windfall.
She tried to imagine her former teacher working for the corps as anything other than a medusa pilot. The old Elia wouldn’t have done it, had even been looking forward to leaving the corps behind. But now, who knew? Old pilots turned teachers, smugglers or Ears, as the spacer saying went. At least if you survived long enough to be an old pilot. What else was there, once you stopped flying and Eternayouth stopped working or got left in your past?
Many groundies didn’t want to work with medusa pilots. The sight of an old corp fighter pilot reminded them
of all they’d lost in the Wars, or so many of them said. Retired pilots even hid their implants sometimes and pretended to be something else, out of necessity. TiCara grimaced. Stupid groundies and their stupid biases and spacegas stories. She shied away from thinking too hard about the shadow trades, the smuggling, the illegal VR vids, and other things former medusa pilots did to survive. There were too many possibilities. Elia could be involved in any or all of them by now.
Maybe there was another way, someone else she could talk to. Someone she had less history with. She opened her handheld and ran through her lists of contacts, but no one seemed like a better choice than her former mentor. Several were worse. TiCara swore quietly. Being indecisive was something new for her, and she didn’t like it. Instinct and impulse, leavened with just a bit of forethought, had gotten her this far. Those traits would be enough for this job, too.
There were some possible advantages to seeking out Elia. A memory of writhing under Elia’s attentions in the VR mods made her bite her lower lip as her skin flushed with heat. Even though she’d never been able to persuade her old lover to try sex outside virtual reality, they’d had a lot of fun together. She found herself reconsidering. Maybe she didn’t want to ask anyone else, after all, even if there was no time for any fun. It might be good to see her former mentor again.
She made a face at her reflection and shoved all her doubts into the back of her brain. Enough of this. She would know what to do when she found Elia. Her instincts would tell her if the risks were worth sharing any tell about this mission. And, given how much time she’d already wasted, there would be no time to rekindle old feelings, nebula glowing or deep space dim.
TiCara got up with a sigh, clicked the booth door open and strode away from it, letting it seal behind her. She headed for the tubes that left the port to follow the old mining tunnels deeper into Kyrin, into Downside. That was the name the spacers gave their colony under Kyrin’s surface. Vizhistory on the Nets said Downside was the spacer colony because Upside was too many creds and the tunnels were the best spacers could afford. But TiCara knew that wasn’t all of it. She knew how badly spacers needed to get away from the endless sky for a while. Upside had the port and the big domes and the view, the never-never of the starfields. Downside had limits, boundaries, an actual ceiling.
TiCara craved those things as much as any spacer. The dark walls closed in around her as the gravitube dropped down two levels and she could feel her shoulders release tension she hadn’t know they were still holding. She sighed with relief. This felt familiar, like the port on the planet she’d grown up on, before home became the Astra and the ports she regularly visited, like Kyrin.
When the tube door slid open, a dimly lit corridor stretched before her, the walkways that made up most of its floor moving slowly and inexorably along under the feet or other appendages of a dozen ship’s crews and station personnel. The corridor was really only dark in comparison to the glow that lit Upside, but that was enough to ease the transition.
The walls around her sparkled from the reflection of the tubelights on the residue of the carcite and other minerals left over from Kyrin’s past as a mining colony, as were the shafts themselves. The tunnels went almost everywhere on the planet, so much so that sometimes she wondered how Upside didn’t collapse. Kyrin was an engineering marvel, fully deserving of its reputation for corporate ingenuity.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of alien life that rose from the plants from twenty worlds growing in baskets and containers on the walls and ceilings, thriving under the artificial lights at the same time that they cleaned the air. Old Earth humanoids were the dominant life form on Kyrin so the port and its colonies catered to them, something she was grateful for. Wearing a full suit and tank planetside was no fun at all.
TiCara grinned a little to herself as she stepped out onto the walkway that led to the bars and hostels. This hadn’t always felt like home. She remembered how different it had been when she first landed on Kyrin, how nervous she’d been, how alien it was. There had been no clients back then, no ship of her own. Even her medusas had been new.
One implant curved around her ear, its sensors reading her skin temperature and sending a soothing heat into the exposed skin of her neck. Now, she couldn’t imagine living without them. Not after what she’d gone through to get them and all she’d learned to use them for. Her smile widened for an instant before it disappeared, before anyone else could see it and respond.
The walkways were crowded this time in the diurnal cycle but then Kyrin was a big enough port that they were
never really deserted. She moved along purposefully, careful to glance sidelong at passersby without making full eye contact. The meeting of eyes was an invitation to sex, violence, a dozen other things, depending on how they felt about medusa pilots or any number of other factors. She knew better than to be drawn to that kind of distraction, not when she had an errand like the one she had set herself.
Ahead of her, she noticed a pair of Ears with a pack of Eyes scuttling at their heels. They were lounging on the platform at the intersection of two walkways, the man tall and thin, his head shaved and tattooed, the woman his twin, in all but the ink and the height. They looked her way and the woman said something too quiet to hear at that distance.
A chill went down her spine under her pilot’s suit and her medusas stiffened, lying dormant now, like hair on the back of her neck. Did one of them recognize her? Her stomach turned at the memory of her time of service in the Ear dormitory on Lyriel. Two full revolutions around the Andromeda system’s sun doing anything and everything that the Ears wanted to earn enough creds to enroll in pilot training. Old scars, inside and out, ached and stung as she tried to push the memories aside.
Part of her knew that those memories might be clouding her judgment now, making her see a threat when there was none. But noticing Ears was second nature to her. She’d taught herself to identify and avoid them, even when they tried to conceal what they were. There was something in the way they carried themselves, the way they moved, like hunting cats, that made them stand out among regular spacers and other humans in the port cities.
These two weren’t attempting to hide anything as far as she could see. But the Ears were
always, without exception, trouble. They were assassins and thieves, as well as corp spies. Anything the megacorporations could afford, they did. And these two were definitely looking at her, watching her. Every instinct that helped keep her alive told her that she’d been noticed.
The woman got on the walkway behind TiCara after she passed them. She could follow TiCara easily from there and the pilot knew it. But why would they be interested in her at all? She was small fry, by corp standards. Vahn. It had to be about Vahn. Didn’t it? Panic raced through her and she glanced around, looking for a hiding place from force of habit.
Word of today’s meeting must have spread, but how? Belatedly, she remembered the Eyes in the corridor on the way to Vahn’s office and wondered which corp was taking such an interest in his doings.
Then she wondered what she was going to do to rid herself of the unwelcome attention.
She clamped down on her panic, looking deliberately toward the first walkway exit as if it was the direction she always intended to take. As if she hadn’t noticed that she had company. But it was very hard not to dart away from the main corridors and disappear. Hiding was something she knew how to do, even now; there were closed maintenance corridors that hadn’t been used in revolutions, and she had ancient maps of most of them uploaded into her comm. Just in case.
But her flight would have told the Ears that they were on the right track. If they were following her so openly, maybe they weren’t sure. Maybe they weren’t even following her. But if they were, right now, she was a hunch. If she ran, she was a certainty.
She took in a shaky breath. This might still be all right, at least if she didn’t do something stupid. They wouldn’t try to kill her, not here, not now. Too many Eyes and security, too many variables. Besides, while her death might prevent Vahn from taking her ship, he could find another easily. As for any other services, her contracted time was ended. Anything past that was frowned up by corps agreement. They had other ways to control those who were in their debt.
So she just needed to continue doing exactly what she was doing, looking for a drink and old acquaintances. If she found Elia, she’d be careful not to give anything away, not where they could overhear anything. Then, all the Ears would learn by following her was that she liked to drink in spacer bars and had a few friends there, nothing more.
She let the thought of their frustration ease her fears as she slipped off the walkway and walked slowly into one of the bar corridors. The last time she’d seen Elia, it had been in one of these bars. The former pilot might still frequent it. She used to like her routine.
Bar signs gleamed above doorways as she looked around, remembering the last time that she’d been here. She drifted into one bar, then another, studying faces as if she was searching for friends or crewmates. When she moved back into the corridor, she noted that the Ear was still trailing her, and she nearly bolted. This had gone on
too long; they were too interested in her. Now where could she go that the other wouldn’t follow her?
She kept walking, looking at the signs until she saw one that she remembered: The Haven. It was the biggest and oldest of the spacer bars. And it had been one of Elia’s early favorites, back when they first met.
She hesitated for a moment, considering what to do next: ditch her tail or continue inside to look for Elia. If she found her, they’d had their own simple code back when they were together. A few finger gestures and a word or two, just enough to set up a different meeting spot or time if neither wanted others to know what they planned. If she was here, TiCara hoped she would remember.
TiCara walked into The Haven and tried to calm her panic, to focus on what she needed and what Elia would ask in exchange for intel. Tru tell wouldn’t be free, certainly not tru tell about a possible secret asteroid base for nano labs or whatever Electra’s secret was said to be at the moment. She knew better than that. If their positions had been reversed, TiCara knew that she would have asked for whatever she wanted that the other pilot could provide.
Thinking about the price Elia normally enjoyed for tell made her breathe a tiny bit faster in something like anticipation. She wasn’t sated, not yet and she let herself daydream, knowing how unlikely it was. It would be far better than just her and her medusas in a cold, sterile comm booth, if she could make time to enjoy it. Her implants caught her mood and caressed her neck, their little glowing ends programmed to know which nerve endings to touch to enhance sensation.
It was almost enough to make her forget the Ear at her heels. Almost. But she knew better. The space between her shoulders tightened until it felt as if her muscles were target-shaped, fear replacing desire in rapid succession.
The bar looked much the same as she remembered: a long dark tube of a room with tables, various things to sit on and tanks. Drinks and food circled around on the conveyor system that went from the bar to the tables and the booths. The lights were dim, the sounds muted. Even the patrons spoke quietly among themselves, as if afraid to disturb the calm of the place. Just the way her old mentor liked it.
TiCara stepped up to the order console and typed in the number of her favorite drink. She perched on a seat while the robot behind the bar mixed it, then set it on the conveyor belt to send it down to her. She picked it up and held it up to admire its rich ruby glow in the soft light. Debaran Kir was a glorious thing, if the vintage was right.
She turned away from the bar, sipping carefully and savoring the slight alcoholic tang of the drink as she looked around the room. There were a few familiar faces, human and alien, but no one that she needed to go out of her way to acknowledge beyond a head tilt and a small smile. Being wired set her apart, leaving her with more colleagues than friends. She liked it that way, most of the time.
She walked around the bar, checking the darker corners and booths. And there was Elia, just as TiCara hoped. Her stomach twisted a little in a nervous flutter when she saw the other woman. Elia’s hair had begun to grow back around her medusas, though the pilot still kept it very short. It shone silver blonde above her wide-cheeked face and gray-blue eyes. There was a slight network of wrinkles around those eyes, visible even in The Haven’s dim lights, but otherwise she looked much as she had the last time TiCara had seen her.
Her former mentor was sitting in a booth at the far end of the bar, beyond the crowd at the entrance and as far away from the methane tanks as she could get. Some things hadn’t changed: Elia never could abide a whiff of methane.
But the pilot wasn’t alone. TiCara looked at Elia’s companion and froze, heart leaping into her throat. Then she turned away, trying to decide what to do next, hoping that they hadn’t seen her. What was Elia doing with the other Ear from the walkway? He wasn’t just any Ear either. TiCara was close enough to recognize the pattern of his skull tattoos. She shivered uncontrollably.
Her brain flooded with memories, all bad. Zig had been her most enthusiastic tormentor at the Ear dormitory, delighting in inventing imaginary infractions in order to inflict as much pain as he could. He had done everything in his power to extend her contract, then to force her break it, which would have placed her completely in his power. She felt like the girl she had been then: vulnerable, scared, hurt. Medusaless. Her hand dropped to the personal lazer in her belt and her fingers clutched the handle spasmodically.
But now she was attracting unwanted attention. The securbot at the door began to roll toward her, its warning light beginning to flash. She dropped her hand from her weapon and held her hands out to show that they were empty. Then she turned and set her drink down on the bar, fingers trembling just a little, before she regained
control.
She could walk away as if she hadn’t seen Elia. But then, the other Ear was still outside somewhere, waiting for her. And Zig had seen her. She realized that now, could see his head turn and feel his sidelong glance like a blow to her face. He was challenging her, waiting to see what she’d do next. She could almost feel him mocking her.
She dug her fingers into t
he plasticene of the bar to ground herself, slow her pulse, calm her panic. Both Ears would just follow her if she fled. She might be able to hide in the station walls, but what about her ship, her crew, her life? Her medusas dropped to her neck, sending out short bursts of soothing vibrations.
She grimaced at her drink, slowly gaining control over her initial panic. Her medusas drew back from her skin, hovering around her head, as her mood shifted from terrified to wary to white-hot furious. Her hand hovered once more near her belt as she imagined frying Zig where he sat. But there were too many witnesses and exile from Kyrin and being hunted by the Ears, as well as his current employer, was too high a price to pay for the thrill of killing him.
Besides, running wasn’t going to get her anything she wanted. Instead, TiCara forced herself to turn and walk over to the table as if it made no difference to her that Elia was sitting with an Ear, any Ear. She pursed her lips at Elia in an all purpose greeting and hint of a promise of more to come. Elia smiled back, then jerked her head toward the Ear as TiCara sat down next to her. ‘Lo, TiCara. Long time. Know Zig?
Zig touched a hand to his forehead by way of acknowledgment. Something about the gesture conveyed both contempt and indifference. But he gave no indication that he recognized her and rose with a gesture that suggested she could take his seat.
TiCara’s eyes narrowed and her grin widened, as if she couldn’t sense the undercurrents in his reaction. Her brain spun. What was his game? And was it worth anything to her to play along?
Zig turned away from TiCara as if she was of no further interest to him. He stared at Elia until she dropped her gaze to the table before he spoke, Get me what I want, pilot. And I’ll get you what you want. Then he walked out of The Haven without looking at either of them again.
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