by Frost, E J
Erin’s waiting for us in the passenger lounge. She’s changed into something more functional: a tight black unisuit topped by a curvy, electric blue jacket. Assassin chic. Her three bags sit neatly stacked next to her cradle. She removes her amber spectacles and earpiece when we enter.
“Tyng got anythin’ new to say?” I ask.
“Not to me,” Erin responds, her voice all honey and viciousness. “We’ve been down for fifteen minutes.” She arches an eyebrow.
“That an observation, or a criticism?” ‘Cause it sounded like the latter to me.
“I could have walked faster at this rate.”
Fashion Fatale does not get to criticize my timetable. “Not in those boots.” I nod at her footwear, which are shiny and black and svelte, but I bet two hours of walking in them would give her blisters the size of my fist. I scoop up her bags, shoulder two of them and pass the third to Kez so my hands are free. “C’mon then. Tick tock.”
Erin gives me a narrow and unfriendly glare as she unfolds herself from the cradle in one smooth motion and stalks out of the lounge.
As we follow, I mime Erin falling out of her bustier. Kez giggles. I grin. And we both give Erin innocent face when she glares at us over her shoulder.
The dock is only a few minutes’ walk from the heart of Golden Sands, but the tourist-minded govvies have thoughtfully provided a moving walkway, so I relax against the handrail, put my arm around Kez and watch the sights roll by.
Golden Sands is a coastal settlement, and like all the coastal settlements on Kuseros, it’s got a bad case of schizophrenia. Half tourist attraction, half industrial fishing port. It can’t seem to decide what it is, block by block, and in some places, building by building. There are entertainment arcades, breezy outdoor markets, and bright shops touting the usual tourist tat. They sit cheek to jowl with stinking fish-oil refineries and flash-freezing plants.
As I’m appreciating the dichotomy, Kez points out a storefront tucked between a heavy-water supplier and a welder’s. “Rippers. They sell great flash.”
“You like flash?” The fried, highly-spiced seaweed isn’t to everyone’s taste. It’s one of my favorite foods, though.
“Love it.” She grins up at me. I cast a glance at her sister, who has her back to us as we ride the walkway. Since Erin’s not watching, I give Kez an open-mouthed kiss. That grin is such a turn-on.
She responds enthusiastically, lapping at my tongue, pressing her soft breasts against my chest. The little monster forgets that it’s supposed to be satisfied and begins to rumble.
When I pull back, Kez’s eyes are shining and her grin is wider, if possible. She licks my taste off her lower lip before she mouths, “More,” at me.
“Bad kitten,” I growl. But I don’t put any heat into it. Playing with her is too much fun. “What else d’you know about this place?”
She shrugs. “Fish is fresh. Best stuff gets shipped off-world, though. Stay out of the clubs after midnight. Mirrormen territory. They don’t like outsiders, and they don’t distinguish between the tourists and poor runners just trying to make a living.”
I snort. “Poor runner, huh?”
“Less than I used to be.” Her grin could light up worlds. “I have this Big D now. He’s so flush he keeps giving away space-ships.”
I slide my hand down her back and pinch her ass. “Ship. I gave away one ship. My ship. An’ I figured you’d spot me the next one, since you’re makin’ more on these two runs than most runners make in a year.”
She tosses her dreads. “I’m not most runners. I have a lifestyle to maintain.”
“What, replacement neg cells and bunny kibble? I knew sixty-forty was too much. Time to renegotiate.”
She leans her head back on my shoulder. “No way. I got you and I got most of the profits. I’m never renegotiating.” She turns and hugs me suddenly. Presses her face into my neck. “Never never never.”
I slide my arms around her. Hold her tight. Meet Erin’s eyes over the top of Kez’s fuzzy head as Erin turns around to say something to us. Those ice blue eyes flick over our clinch. Erin’s expression shifts towards disdain, but doesn’t quite make it. There’s too much hurt in her eyes.
“Your sister’s watching us,” I murmur to Kez.
“I don’t care,” Kez responds, but she steps back. Leans against the handrail. Takes my hand and stands companionably close as we roll down the last few meters of the walkway. She rolls our joined hands to check her viewie, which displays a miniature version of Gig’s map. “Shaker’s place is right on the front. Through the main arcade.”
“Due east.” I nod towards the blue haze that peeps through the gaps in the wall of buildings ahead of us.
The moving walkway deposits us in the center of the main arcade. Under an ornate glaz and enamel arch patterned with seashells and leaping fish. Real thoughtful of those tourist-minded govvies. Land the tourists right in the center of the credit-trap.
The plaza is crowded with shoppers. Mostly women dragging kids and ‘bots piled high with brightly-colored tat. Kez takes point and moves through the crowd easily, sliding into the shifting gaps between groups of people with the ease of a native of the urban jungle. I follow her, not too close. And as she slides in and out and around the crowd, I begin to see how she could have followed me for three months without me spotting her. She’s a natural; despite her distinctive looks, she fits right in. So neatly she disappears into the crowd. Without my modified senses and S.A.W.L. training, I wouldn’t be able to follow her. Where she blends, the crowd shifts to make way for me. Without a uniform or any visible weapons, I’m not as scary as I used to be. But whatever face or name I’m wearing, I’m still a big man, moving purposefully, and people get out of my way. Erin quickly realizes the advantages of being in my wake. She drops a few steps behind me, and when I glance back to make sure she’s still there too many times for her taste, she hooks two fingers through the strap of the bag over my shoulder so I can lead her.
I don’t like the pressure on the strap. Feels like I’m on a leash. Those first days at K-G all over again. I shrug her off, reach back and take her left hand with mine, so she can follow directly behind me and I’ve got my right hand free for a shiv.
Over the burble of the crowd, I hear her chuckle. “I like holding hands with you, Manny.”
She’s lying. I can feel her hand twitching in mine. The crowd will have her on edge. Hunting through a crowd is one thing; trying to move inconspicuously through one is another. It’s hell for a predator. Worse than being out in the open. Too many distractions.
“How often d’you leave Zhonnys?” I ask.
“Why?”
‘Cause she seems agoraphobic. I shrug.
“I’ve been on vacation,” she says finally. “I’ve earned it.”
Whether she’s earned it or not, she’s been out of action for a while. Tyng called her out of retirement for this job. Maybe so she could prove her loyalty again. Maybe to fuck with Kez’s head. Maybe to punish Erin. She’s Ape’s sister, too, after all.
“One last job, huh?” I say. “Trouble is, it’s that last job that gets you. Maybe you need it too much. Maybe your reactions have gotten slow. Whatever it is, it’s that one last job that you don’t come back from.”
She digs her fingernails into my hand. “What are you saying?”
She knows. She just doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m sayin’ you should walk away. Take my ship and get as far away from Kuseros as you can.”
“He’ll never let me go,” she says, so softly I just make out the edges of her words over the noise of the crowd.
“Get some perspective, sister. He’s a big fish in a small pond. Two systems from here, no one’s even heard of him.”
She’s silent as I lead her out of the plaza. When we escape the crowd, I release her hand. She stays a step behind me. I glance over my shoulder and take in her expression. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Her face is closed, pensive.
Maybe I’ve given her somethin
g to think about.
Kez stops a few yards ahead of us, not far from a knot of adolescents in baggy beach wear. Several carry float-boards and all are heavily holo-tattooed. Kez gives a high, three-note whistle.
One of the kids spins around. When he sees Kez, he detaches himself from the cluster and approaches Kez. She holds out her fist and the kid bangs it with his, then gives her a hug.
“Kezzy.”
“Banks,” she says. “Which way’s the wind blowing?”
“North-north-east, sass, and gusty. What’re you doing on the SoBo?”
Kez hooks her thumb towards the water. “Cloudlands. I need to be there by midnight.”
The kid snorts. “Good fuckin’ luck.”
“I heard there might be a route. You know Shaker?”
The kid nods and gestures to a shop-front about a quarter-klick down the long arcade of shops set back from the beach. A holographic skimmer hangs over the shop’s façade. “It’ll be a Mirrormen route. Stay away from that shit, sass.”
Kez shakes her head. Her dreadlocks flutter in the breeze off the water. “Can’t. I need to get out there tonight. You know any other way?”
“No, but I got some biz on the Rock tonight and that’ll be part of the route, so you want to come with me that far, hey, there’s safety in numbers.”
Kez nods. “It’d be good to run with you again, Banks.” She turns slightly and gestures to me. “This is Snow. He’s my pilot—”
I hold my hand out to the kid. I’m not knocking fists with someone who doesn’t look old enough to shave. “And her partner,” I say.
The kid glances at Kez and when she nods, shakes my hand gravely. “Nice to meetcha, Mister Snow.”
“This is my sister, Erin,” Kez gestures towards her sister, who is standing slightly away from us, looking bored. Erin nods at the kid but doesn’t offer hand or fist.
“Miz Erin,” the kid says in acknowledgement. He may be a beach punk, but he has manners. When Kez nods towards the skimmer shop, the kid retrieves a float board and a pullover that’s patterned to look like the spotted and swirled hide of a kemwar, one of the native desert predators. He has style as well as manners.
He says hasty good-byes to his friends, tangles tongues with one of the girls, and falls into step with Kez as she starts towards the skimmer shop. She glances back at me and I move up on her other side. Take the hand she offers to me.
“Hadn’t heard you’d taken on a partner, sass,” the kid says with a glance at our joined hands.
Kez lifts an eyebrow. “What have you heard, Banks?”
He shrugs. “I heard about that thing with Jax. People were saying you might not make it.”
Kez’s expression hardens. “I made it.”
I don’t know who Jax is, but unless she’s had multiple near-death experiences recently, he must be behind the scar on her back. I add his name to my ever-growing list.
“Yeah, you look good,” the kid says appraisingly. I can’t fault the kid’s taste. With her white-blonde hair shining in the sunlight, her eyes sparkling in their circles of kohl and warm pink color staining her cheeks, Kez does look good. Her black tank shows off her tight little curves, and in her well-worn fatigues, her legs look endless. Next to the baggy beach bums we’ve left behind, she looks like a threedy star.
Kez laughs. “You’re still too young, Banks.”
My kitten definitely prefers older men.
“Aww, sass!” The kid’s deeply tanned cheeks darken. “You’ve been saying that for years.”
“You’ve been too young for me for years. Besides, weren’t you just swapping spit with Reeva back there?”
The kid colors. “Yeah. We’ve had a thing going for a couple of months. But, you know, you were always my first and only.”
Kez laughs again and ruffles the kid’s spiky black hair. In addition to being too young for her, he’s about four centimeters shorter than she is. “I’m pretty sure you said that about Nevie and Tesha and everyone else at the House who didn’t have a steady.”
“Nevie. Mmm, mmm, mmm.” The kid snaps his fingers. “That girl is greener than green.”
Kez chuckles and squeezes my hand. I nod at her, enjoying the interplay, but I understand the meaning behind that squeeze. This is another boy who bypassed Kez to go after the beautiful girl.
“How long have you been here, Banks?” Kez asks. “I didn’t even know you’d gone SoBo.”
“Just coming up on a year. My Aundy opened up down here.” The kid points at a shop a little further down the arcade from our destination. Looks like some sort of holistic health store. The front window is crowded with crystals, plaz bulbs containing bits of dried plants, and, curiously, the complete jaws of an orclas, one of Kuseros’s larger aquatic predators. What are the health benefits of owning a giant set of teeth? Maybe just a reminder that you’ve had the good fortune not to get eaten. “She needed someone to take care of things. That’s why I gotta be out on the Rock tonight. I got a delivery coming in.”
There are a number of large rocks in the channel between the mainland and the Cloudlands, but when the kid says he has a delivery, I know he means just one rock. Outniss. It’s a chain of tiny, rocky islands north of the Cloudlands. Just outside the defensive perimeter. A frequent meeting place for smugglers. The atoll was formed by a meteor-strike and the islands’ black sand beaches are so rich in thorium and uranium that they glow in the dark. The ambient radiation, and the natural fission going on under the sand, fucks with any kind of scanning, even thermal imaging. So the govvies are blind, deaf and dumb on Outniss. But meetings there need to be kept short, unless you want a rad dose worse than taking a stroll around Zhonnys naked.
“Route runs through Outniss, we’re gonna need a skimmer,” I observe to Kez.
“Shaker’ll rent ‘em to you,” the kid says. “But you’ll need finboards past Outniss. No way you can get a skimmer through the Cloudline. I’ll bring the skimmer back, you want me to. Save your deposit.”
Kez laughs. “Then you’re splitting the rental.”
“Aww, sass.” The kid snaps his fingers again, but it’s token resistance. He’s already on-board.
Chapter 20
Under the holographic skimmer, the entrance to Shaker’s shop is dark and cool. A pair of girls wearing too little for the early spring weather lounge on a pseudo-wicker couch. The kid trades insults with them, and one of them trails us through the shop.
The shop’s empty. Tall holos show different models of skimmer, but there’s no sign of the owner. We move through the shop to the back, where a long glaz counter separates the show-space from a dark back room. The mouthy girl brushes past and hops up on the glaz counter. Crosses her bare legs and swings a glitter-booted foot at us. Behind her, an older man with a curly salt-and-pepper beard down to his chest, a graying crew cut and haylon-rimmed goggles emerges from the depths of the room behind the counter.
The girl says something else to the kid in the teenage patois they speak. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but it clearly calls his manhood into question. The kid grabs his nuts and gestures unequivocally at the girl.
“You think again, son,” the old man growls. He puts down the mechanical part he’s fiddling with and leans across the counter. “That’s my daughter you’re wavin’ your little prick at.”
I chuckle. Extend my hand to him over the counter. “Vazilly Vark sent us.”
He shakes my hand and pushes his daughter off the counter. The heavy muscles in his forearm flex under densely decorated skin. Half-naked women and bearded dragons. “Go put some clothes on, Trista. Then little punks not shake their pricks at you.”
The girl grumbles but slides around the counter and disappears into the back.
“You Snow?” Shaker asks. I nod and his goggled gaze shifts to Kez, casting skittering green shadows across the counter. “You must be Lightfoot. Zilly told me you’d be with him. Let’s see it.”
Kez glances at me and when I nod, she pulls off her left boot a
nd sweeps her leg high so her foot lands on the counter. I peer around to see what the hell she’s showing him.
It’s a tattoo. On the bottom of her foot. I saw it the night I undressed her at my place, but I couldn’t see anything beyond a dark shape. Now in the light from Shaker’s goggles I see a lightning bolt that zigzags from just under her toes to her heel. Lightfoot. Words spiral around the lightning bolt, but I’m at the wrong angle to read them. I lean over and whisper into her ear. “What’s it say?”
She tilts her head. Looks up at me through the wind-blown fringe of her bangs. “Kez was here.”
I chuckle. Shaker echoes me. “You who you say you are. No one else crazy enough to lase that shit on their foot. Zilly said you okay, so what you want?”
Kez slides her foot off the counter and busies herself with her boot. Her voice is muffled by her dreads, but clear enough to hear when she says, “We need the route to the Cloudlands. Tonight.”
Shaker sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Chews on his chin-fur for a moment. “Not tonight. Mirrormen dancin’ tonight.”
Kez straightens. Nods grimly. “It has to be tonight. You got a route or not?”
“I got a route. You not gonna like it. ‘Specially you and her.” Shaker nods at Erin. “They catch you—”
“We’re barbeque. I know. I’ve been to one of their parties before.” She has the scar to prove it. I run two fingers down her spine and she leans into me. Rests her soft head on my shoulder. “What’s the route?”
With a sigh, Shaker taps the counter and a hologram rises from it. He fiddles with it for a moment. Colors scroll across Kez’s corneas as she watches the hologram and I watch her. Gold, blue and black reflect in her eyes when the colors stop whirling.
I shift my gaze from Kez’s determined frown to the threedy map rising from the counter. Golden Sands appears as a small pile of buildings, marked by a miniature version of the ornate seashell archway that decorated the plaza. A tiny skimmer, no larger than my thumbnail, shoots along the coast from Golden Sands to Hot Sands, a heavy industrial port ten klicks to the north. I start to object – there aren’t any transports from Hot Sands to the Cloudlands. Then big black bowship, probably moving cargo to the Eastern Colony, slides out of Hot Sands. The skimmer disappears under the bowship, and I shut my mouth. We’re hitchhiking.