by C B Williams
“I see,” she said, still not able to stop smiling. “Well, now you’re here, with or without my minding, what news?”
Max sat back in his chair, folded his hands across his flat middle and squinted at her. “Thought I’d update you about my plans. The way I see it, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens when we get to Talamh. I’ve sent out feelers, and from what I’m hearing, we’ve got some obstacles.”
“Obstacles?”
“We’ve got the old Ring we need to dismantle. We’ve got my networks in commerce that need a thorough housecleaning,” he eyed her, “both the standard markets and the not-so-standard markets...”
Mouse smirked.
“And then we’ve got the indigenous people attempting an uprising.”
She felt her brows shoot up. “How do you know that?”
“My networks may need some housekeeping, but they still provide information.” He unfolded his hands. “We’re going to have to see who floats to the top. And if I have my way, that will be me.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and waited. “Well?” he said, scowling, “You’ve nothing to say?
“Don’t forget Eloch is on his way there,” she reminded him. “Perhaps it will be Talamh, Herself, who will be floating to the top.”
Max nodded. “And then there’s that,” he said, tapping his lip.
“And what about,” she began and paused. “What do I call him, anyway, Eaton or Currington?”
“Either. Both. Or you could call him scum.”
She laughed and popped the rest of the meat into her mouth. She slowly chewed and swallowed, delighting in Max’s impatience. “What about Currington? Have you decided how to handle him?” she asked, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.
“I have, indeed.”
She leaned forward. “How?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself, but I’ve got the ball rolling, as they say.”
She made a face. “Fine. As long as it doesn’t affect my ability to protect you, I’ll wait and see. When do we leave?”
“By the end of the week. I’ve lined up a nice little luxury yacht and a pilot I am positive you’ll approve of.”
“Who?”
“Manabu, of course.”
She sighed. “Good. Thank you.”
“Feel like Ingot’s satisfactorily made friends with Little Brother?”
She nodded. “More than. He seems to have a knack…um, Max?”
“Hmmm?”
“You sure you can trust him?”
“One hundred percent, Mouse, to my great relief. I confirmed it with Flick.”
She blinked. “When?”
“When I spoke with him last. He says to tell you hello.” He squinted at her. “Did you just growl?”
She glared at him, feeling herself bristling. “What is it with you men? Didn’t he think I’d want to talk with him?” She pushed her plate away from her and sat back, continuing to glare, heedless of the toast that had fallen on the floor. To her satisfaction, he looked contrite.
“I’m sorry, Mouse. I take full blame. I contacted him to ask for Manabu to pilot my ship. I was focused on my plans. It won’t happen again.”
She nodded. “And I’m sorry I got angry. This is hard for me. Leaving Spur.”
“You can always change your mind. It’s not too late.”
She shook her head. “You ought to know me better by now.”
“I do,” he said soberly, “I just wanted you to be sure.”
“I am.”
He smiled and rose. “Good! Because I am taking you shopping as soon as you’ve finished breakfast.”
They both looked at what remained of her breakfast where it lay on the floor. “I think I’ve finished. Little Brother can have the rest,” Mouse said, and called the sniffer, who gobbled it down immediately, then licked his chops and nosed around for more. “Shopping?” Mouse asked as she watched her meal disappear. “For what?”
“Clothing. Much as you enjoy your assassin’s greys, they will not be appropriate for this little adventure. You’re going to need disguises to fill your role.”
“My role as what?” she asked somewhat suspiciously.
“As my bride, of course. Don’t look at me that way. It’s a perfect cover. We will be honeymooning.”
She felt her face heating up. “I’m not looking at you in any way,” she said, jumping to her feet. Keeping her head down, she began searching for her ident.
“And I am not going shopping. There’s too much to do.” She slid her ident into one of her pockets and turned toward him. “And I’m not going to be your bride. It would be perfectly normal for you to want a bodyguard. That is what I am, and this is my uniform.” She collected her knives and hid them in the folds of her tunic. “Besides, I’d never find anything that could conceal all my knives. Come, Little Brother, let’s find Ingot.”
Little Brother at her heels, she stalked out of the room, annoyed it was her room she was forced to leave. The door took just long enough to slide shut for her to hear Max’s final words.
“That’s fine,” Max called after her. “We can shop on Talamh. I have a whole four weeks to convince you to listen to reason. People are more relaxed with honeymooners than a semi-honest business man and his bodyguard.”
“We’ll see about that,” she muttered.
Chapter 10
Mouse strapped herself into the seat next to Manabu and glanced at him.
Manabu smiled at her “How are you feeling?”
“Not sure. Nervous, I suppose.”
“You could always strap yourself into the flight chair in your quarters—or any of the other rooms, for that matter.”
She shook her head and smiled. “I may be nervous, but I’d rather see what’s going on.”
“As do I,” Max said, entering the bridge. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for far too many years.” He sat on the other side of Manabu and strapped himself to his chair, adjusting the bindings.
“Make them tight for takeoff,” Manabu said.
Like the rest of the vessel, the bridge was elegant and well-appointed. The seats were thick burgundy leather and smelled of wealth. But then, Mouse thought, she wouldn't expect less from Max’s space yacht. What she really wanted to know was how he’d managed to get his hands on one so fine this quickly.
“We’re cleared to go,” Manabu said, shaking his head. “Last time I flew for a living, it’d be an hour to get clearance.”
“That was before,” Max said. “Nowadays, the longest anyone needs to wait is about fifteen minutes. But commerce is picking up.”
“Thanks to you,” Manabu said.
Max nodded. “Most definitely thanks to me. I’ve been working hard to reestablish Spur’s appeal.”
While they talked, Manabu was flicking switches and scanning readouts. Mouse heard the slight hum of the engines when they vibrated awake. She could feel the power building, as if the craft was tensing to spring. And then it did spring, and she was thrown backwards into her seat, suddenly very grateful for the thickness of the leather. It held her, made her feel safer while the view out her port window became a blur of greens, blues, and then blacks. She gasped.
“Okay there?” Manabu asked. She could hear his joy.
She swallowed and nodded, feeling herself lifting off the seat. “I’m floating,” she blurted out, clutching the restraints preventing her from floating right out of her chair. She glanced over at Max. His hair was standing on end. “Look at your hair!” she exclaimed with a laugh.
He grinned at her. “You should see yours!”
She reached up and pulled her braid down. It floated up again, reminding her of being in her bathing pool. “Turning on the ship’s gravity now,” Manabu said. “Don’t unstrap yourself until you hear the chime.”
Slowly, she sank back into her chair, her braid settling onto her shoulder.
At the chime, Max unfastened himself from the seat and hurried over to the starboard window. Mouse remained where she was, feeling flutters in her gut.
“You okay there?” Manabu asked her again. “You’re looking mighty pale. Want something to drink?”
Mouse swallowed and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay. Just takes some getting used to, I suppose.” She glanced out her window, saw Spur, surrounded by the blackness of vast space, receding. She felt a sudden pang.
“Our wormhole jump isn’t for a couple of weeks. You should be well-adjusted by then,” Manabu said.
Mouse nodded, not convinced, while she wondered when she’d be back on Spur, and if she could even manage the return flight.
Manabu unbuckled and stood. “Course is set. I’m going to take a look around. Get to know her, familiarize myself with her quirks. See you both later.”
“You’re just leaving? Just like that?” Mouse asked, hearing the shrill overtone in her voice. “But who’s going to pilot this ship?”
Manabu laughed. “This bird’s a lot different from a shuttle. She can pilot herself. I’m off to say hello to her engines.” The bridge door hissed shut behind him, leaving Mouse staring at the vacated pilot’s chair.
“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Max asked without taking his eyes off it.
Mouse couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the pilot’s chair. The wheel was making slight corrections, like a ghost was piloting it. She almost wished a ghost was piloting. At least then there would be something piloting the vessel. She fumbled with her harness, finally managing to unstrap herself, and stood. “I’m going to my room,” she said, not quite convinced Max even heard her.
Her room was small and comfortable, decorated in warm gold and pale green. It reminded her of a sunny spring day. She snatched a hand towel from the sink in the small bath area and draped it over the porthole so she couldn’t see out. Why don’t these things come with blinds? She sighed and crawled onto her bed. She hauled the comforter up over her head. “Breathe,” she whispered. “Just breathe.”
It was an hour before Manabu returned, carrying three plates of food. “I ran into the galley. Nice chef you’ve got there,” he said, “Fixed us something that will keep us until dinner. Where’s Mouse?”
Max turned from his view. “Hmm? Thanks,” he said and accepted the plate, which he examined intently. “Looks superb. I had to offer GromSe, my chef, quite a bit for him to come along with me on this little adventure. But it’s worth it. I trust the man not to poison me, and love his food. A good combination, and a hard to find. Mouse must have gone to her cabin.” He laughed. “I’ve been so engrossed this whole ship could have come apart around me, and I never would have noticed.”
Manabu set Mouse’s plate down on her vacant seat and took his own. “I hoped to see her here when I got back. I’m worried about her.”
Max lifted a brow, took a bite of cheese and waited.
“I’ve seen it before. Planet Lovers, they’re called.” He shook his head. “Space is not good for them. It’s too much for their psyches. We call it Space Sickness. Brings out,” he paused, “bad habits, shall we say. I should know. I’m a Planet Lover.”
Max squinted at him. “But what about those pictures of stars and galaxies lining your walls back in The City on Spur? And I would bet GromSe that you have some sort of starship stored in the floor below where you live.”
“You can keep your chef. You’re right. I’ve got the sweetest little scouting vessel stored in there. And, yes, I love it out here,” he waved his hand at the front window, “I yearn for it. Yet I can’t be out here when I’m sober. It’s too much.”
Max focused on him in a way that made Manabu laugh. “Don’t you worry. I don’t need to be sober to guide this beauty through a wormhole. You don’t need to trust me. Just trust my knack.”
“Your knack.” Max said. “It’s that good, is it?”
Manabu nodded, “It’s that good, or I wouldn’t be here flying you. I like my life too well to jeopardize it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Max said and popped a finger sandwich into his mouth. “Remind me to ask GromSe to cut back on my portions. I happen to be proud of my new shape.”
“There’s always the training room. It’s top grade.”
Max rolled his eyes. “I suppose that is an option. Not my favorite way of burning calories,” he said with a wink while he picked up another finger sandwich and studied it. “You think Mouse is going to fall apart?”
Manabu hesitated. “Hard to tell,” he finally replied. “She’s all kinds of disciplined. She may be able to keep the sickness at bay. She may get used to it in a couple of days.” He shrugged. “Time will tell.”
Time did tell and what Max saw, or rather, didn’t see, concerned him.
When Mouse still hadn’t appeared after three days, he went to her cabin and knocked on her door. “Mouse?” Her reply was muffled, but he thought she said something like “Come in,” so waving a hand over the palm pad (all rooms were keyed to his handprint,) he composed his expression and entered.
And stopped.
And stared.
Mouse sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by dozens of drawings and plates of half-eaten food. Balls of crumpled paper littered the floor, with a clear pathway to and from the door and the bath. She hadn’t bothered to look up to greet him; she was too focused on her current drawing. He watched her silently a few moments.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Hmmm?” Mouse looked up from the drawing board lying across her knees. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair looked lank and dirty.
Max swept his hand around the room. “This. What are you doing?”
She blinked at him, blank-faced, and he was just about to repeat his question when she finally answered. “Drawing. I’m drawing.”
“Drawing what, Mouse?”
“Building designs. Town designs. Keeps my mind off,” she paused, glanced at the porthole covered by her washcloth, “things.”
He watched her fidgeting with her writing instrument. “Have you slept?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so, no.”
He sighed. “Mouse, it’s been three days. I think you should stop what you’re doing, get yourself cleaned up, and have a little lie-down,” he told her quietly.
She put the cap on her instrument and set it down, ran a hand through her messy, dirty hair, and glanced down at her rumpled clothes. “You’re right. I should. But....” She glanced again at the covered porthole.
“What if I stay here with you while you sleep?” Max suggested. “I’ll take some of these plates to the galley while you clean up. Be back here in twenty minutes. You sleep and I’ll plot.”
“Plot?”
He nodded. “How do I bring about the downfall of Eaton Currington without further disturbing the fragile balance of our interstellar commerce? This will take some thought. I can do it here, while you sleep, or I can do it somewhere else. It’s what I’ll be doing from here to Talamh, and this is as good a place as any.”
Mouse sat looking at her hand.
“Well?” he asked.
She smiled at him, the effect not as dazzling as it usually was, but it was a start.
“It would feel good to be clean.”
Max put down his electronic tablet where he’d been jotting down ideas. “Plotting can be so tedious,” he muttered and turned his attention to Mouse, curled against him, fast asleep. She looked young. Vulnerable.
Yet he knew she could be awake and on the defense in an instant. He remembered watching a pack of sniffers sleeping, sprawled in various positions. One was lying on its back, forepaws occasionally twitching. Another sniffer came up to it, prodded it with its own forepaw. The sleeping sniffer was snarling and pawing, sharp claws tearing, even before it seemed fully awake, even before it flipped over onto its feet.
Mouse, his own personal sniffer. Gave him pause about shifting positions, despite the fact his leg was completely numb.
When he returned from the galley earlier, he found Mouse, her hair damp from her shower, stacking her drawings into a pi
le. The crumpled papers once strewn about the floor had been gathered and put into the waste receptacle.
He eventually convinced her to stop stacking and restacking the papers and climb into bed. She’d fussed a bit, claiming she doubted she could sleep, but finally allowed him to tuck her in. He used a technique his old granny used on him when she forced him to nap as a child. Every time Mouse tried to open her eyes, he told her to close them. It didn’t take long before her breathing was soft and regular.
He then settled himself beside her, slowly, carefully, and began working with his electronic device. He’d been at it for three hours, but desperately needed a break. Glancing over at the stack of drawings at his feet, he reached over and picked them up, planning to idly flip through them to rest his mind, but they were exquisite. Her vision and thoroughness astounded him.
After staying in the Champion of Spur’s house designed by Mouse and Wren, he knew she had talent. But these! These went beyond mere design. Every drawing was labeled with the purpose of the building, from a communal harvesting plant to a single-family dwelling. Every drawing was a perfect marriage of form, function, and beauty, thoughtfully and painstakingly explained.
And the materials she used! Never in an eon would he think of combining steel and crystal. Where had she’d come up with these ideas? They were genius. He yearned to see them in actuality, to walk through the factories and the luxury homes, to dine at the restaurants.
An idea started to bloom.
It was high time for The City on Spur to get a facelift.
Chapter 11
Mouse slowly opened her eyes and stretched. She yawned and glanced at the time displayed on the wall and grinned. Six hours. She’d slept a whole six hours for the first time in a week without Max sleeping in the same room. And only one nightmare, too.
That first day, when he insisted she sleep and sat watch over her, Mouse discovered he was the only person other than Wren and Flick she could totally be herself with. The thought made her stomach flip, and she steered away from it. It was a vulnerable way of thinking.