by C. Gockel
“Well, thank you—” and here Thorn leaned in a little closer, as if to take a better look at the glowing letters on her name tag, “—Selchen. I do appreciate it.”
She blushed, her pale lavender skin turning a darker purple high on her cheekbones. “Oh, it’s no problem, sir.” Then she handed a coded security card and the credit chip back to him. “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay here more comfortable.”
“Will do.” He pocketed the card and the chip, then gestured for Miala to follow him toward the bank of elevators that stood at the far end of the lobby.
Once they were safely inside, Miala turned to her companion. “All right, where is Eryk Thorn, and what have you done with him?”
Again that flash of teeth. “That’s ‘Captain Marr,’ Miala. And I didn’t deviate from my standard procedures—I merely analyzed the situation and then used the approach I had determined would work best.”
“Whatever you say,” she replied. Maybe that was true, but she’d gotten the feeling Thorn had positively enjoyed cranking up the old charm to get what he wanted from that clerk.
Once she saw the suite, however, she was not inclined to argue with Thorn’s methods. The main bedroom alone could have swallowed up her old house in Aldis Nova, and the bathroom was so large she wondered whether they were supposed to sleep in there as well, especially since there was an elegant little lounging couch placed against one wall of the dressing area. Best of all, though, the suite’s far wall was made entirely of glass and overlooked the ocean, now dark as blood in the last light of the setting sun.
“All right, I forgive you,” she said finally, after returning to the sleeping area.
“For what?”
“For flirting with that clerk.” Miala took another look around the sumptuously decorated chamber, from the blue-green hangings of some foreign, shimmering fabric on the walls to the vases of flowers that stood on the bedside tables. Their blue and purple blooms gave the room a delicate, spicy scent, at once alien and enticing. “Actually, considering how nice this suite is, I forgive you for anything you might ever have done wrong.”
“That’s a lot of forgiving.”
He was most certainly correct in that, she thought, but at the moment she didn’t care. “But I really have to know,” she continued. “Where the hell are all our units?”
“Still safely in the cargo hold.”
“Excuse me?” What load of moth droppings was he trying to sell her now? “I don’t remember seeing any units—just a bunch of mining equipment.”
“Don’t forget the sand skimmer parts,” he said, setting the synth-hide bag he had brought with him on the foot of the bed.
“Whatever. So what did you do with the units?”
“I didn’t do anything with them.”
Miala gave him an unbelieving stare.
Finally, he appeared to relent and said, “I told you I’m prepared. I always carry a few cases of what looks like legitimate cargo around with me, something to match whatever fake cargo manifest I’m currently using.”
“But he picked those cases at random!” she protested.
“Did he?” Thorn returned, with a lift of the eyebrow.
“What, did you use some sort of hypnosis on him or something?”
“No. Most customs officials are lazy and invariably choose cases toward the front of the cargo hold.”
Miala took a breath. “Fine, but he also had you open up one in the very back. What about that one?”
“Finest hologram projectors money can buy.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s true. Since they’re projecting a fixed image, the fidelity is very high. And they fit right under the lid of just about any crate or container you’re trying to disguise. Can’t tell it from the real thing, unless you try to stick your hand in it.”
“And what happens if someone sticks their hand in it?”
“Their hand gets shot off.”
Well, that was more like the Thorn she knew and loved. “Subtle.”
“Whatever works.”
There wasn’t much arguing with that, she knew. Frowning, she gazed up at him, at the expression of complete unconcern on his face. “You seem pretty casual about walking around where everyone can see you,” she commented.
He shrugged. “It’s hard for people to recognize you when no one knows what you look like.”
Again, she couldn’t really dispute that statement. It was true, after all. She hadn’t seen Eryk Thorn’s face until she had removed the dark wrappings he’d worn since the moment she first laid eyes on him in Mast’s compound. For all she knew, he’d spent his entire adult life hidden that way. If that were the case, then who would know what he looked like once he set the disguise aside? Besides, she was fairly certain that the well-starched staff of the Eridani Majesty would have been less than thrilled if one of the galaxy’s most notorious mercenaries suddenly appeared in the lobby and demanded a room. Odd that in this case Thorn’s true face was his best disguise.
“So what about the earthquakes?” she inquired, sitting down on the foot of the bed and pulling off her sandals. The carpet felt indescribably soft under her feet.
“I haven’t felt any aftershocks since we got here. Have you?”
“That’s not very reassuring, Thorn,” she said, her tone a gentle rebuke.
“Just making a comment.” Even as he replied, he stepped toward the enormous suite-spanning windows and touched a small control pad in the wall. The glass gradually darkened to black, blotting out the dim view of the night-shrouded harbor beyond. “Better,” he said.
“I liked the view,” she protested.
“You can’t see anything at night anyway. It was too exposed for my taste.”
Miala wondered whether she would ever win an argument with Thorn and decided probably not. Still, she was determined to enjoy herself. She was off Iradia, after all, and right now she was living in luxury she had never imagined, let alone seen with her own eyes. “So what now?” she asked.
Was that a swift glance he gave toward her, toward the bed? Miala couldn’t be sure, and in any case he actually moved away from her, toward the communications console embedded in the elegant little carved table across the room. “I thought I’d introduce you to an interesting off-world custom. It’s called room service.”
Later—much later, actually, after a divine meal of which Miala recognized nothing but enjoyed everything, too many glasses of some glorious fizzing wine Thorn said was imported all the way from Gaia itself, a leisurely soak in the bathtub (which did fit two very comfortably, as Eryk Thorn had pointed out), followed by a prolonged session in a bed that was even more comfortable than the one in Mast’s compound, Miala lay back against the pillows, certain that she had never felt so contented in her life. She tried to think if there was anything that could have made the evening better and decided that was impossible.
Thorn lay in bed next to her, idly playing with a strand of her unbound hair. His expression was almost sleepy, but she knew better. If any threat had presented itself, he would gave been on the alert faster than she could blink.
“Thank you,” she said at last.
He paused, one coil of shining copper hair still wrapped around his forefinger. “For what?”
“For getting me away from Iradia. For bringing me here. For everything.” She wanted to say, For letting me love you, but she knew that would be going too far. Even though they had shared all the intimacies a man and woman could share, she knew as well that was the one boundary she dared not cross. Oh, he had caressed her, held her, brought her to the heights of pleasure as she dug her fingers into his barely healed back and cried out his name over and over again—but even as she had fallen back against the pillows, sated by pleasure, she had known that she could say nothing more, could only whisper his name one last time as she collapsed from the aftermath of the waves of pleasure he had wrung her body. “Thorn...”
The dark eyes watc
hing her in the muted glow of the overhead lamps seemed amused. “I told you I owed you one.”
“Then you repay your debts very well.” And she leaned over and kissed him on the corner of his mouth, in that one spot where he usually betrayed his amusement with her.
“In this case, that’s easy enough,” he murmured, and shifted slightly, allowing her to pull close to him once again. His free arm dropped around her, and then his eyes closed, his body relaxing against hers.
Did I wear you out, old man? she wondered with some amusement. Miala wasn’t exactly sure how old he really was, but she knew he had to be at least fifteen years or so her senior. Not that it really mattered, she supposed, and she was weary as well, her body finally succumbing to the night’s over-indulgences. Her eyes closed slowly, and she relaxed, feeling the warmth of his body and the rise and fall of his chest against her back. Every day is a victory, she thought, in those last few seconds before sleep claimed her. Every night a reprieve. Every moment longer he stays with me, I’ve won that much more.
Even then she knew better than to ask herself how long it might last.
12
The days slipped by. Although Thorn disappeared from time to time on business he would not discuss with Miala, she still had plenty to keep herself occupied during the hours she was left alone. Her second day on Callia she purchased a computer and set about moving a good portion of Mast’s off-world funds into several accounts she set up for herself. For some reason Eryk Thorn would not allow her to establish an account for him, and neither would he give her any information on where to send his share of the fortune.
“Keep it safe for me,” he said, in answer to her slightly irritated queries. “I can get it from you when I need it.”
“You’re joking,” she replied.
“I don’t joke about money,” he said. Then he got that sardonic glint in his eye and added, “I trust you.”
Miala wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused…was he mocking her? In the end she had only shaken her head and continued with her work. It wouldn’t have been wise to drain the former crime lord’s accounts completely, anyway. Instead, she siphoned off amounts of money that seemed somewhat obscene to her but, if noticed as missing, might only lead one to conjecture that perhaps Mast hadn’t been doing quite as well as he had wanted everyone to believe.
At the same time she hacked into the admissions system at the University of New Caledonia and retrieved the transcripts she had sent there a little over a year ago. She had been accepted, but the tuition proved out of reach, and nothing had come of it. Extracting her transcripts from their system was the easiest way she could think of to apply to the other universities on her list. First among them was the university on Nova Angeles—previously Miala had thought she would never be able to afford the tuition, but of course that wasn’t a concern any longer. Epsilon Eridani was another option, and she submitted an application there and to a few other places as well.
As she waited for word, she amused herself by exploring Chistan Major and its environs. On a few occasions Thorn accompanied her, usually when the outing involved something physical in nature—climbing the low ridges that encircled the city to the north and east, riding a glass-bottomed hoverboat out into the shallow green waters beyond Chistan Bay, or even attending the local version of horse-racing, although here on Callia the “horses” were nimble six-legged beasts that Thorn told her had originally been bred on Eridani. But during all of these diversions she noticed a restlessness in him, saw the way his gaze would sometimes turn westward to where the spaceport was located, and it troubled her.
He was marking time, she realized finally. Their pact had originally involved only his getting her away from Iradia, but whether from a sense of misplaced chivalry or concern that she still couldn’t make it on her own, he was staying with her until she had her future settled and knew where she was going. This was not how he lived his life normally—trapped in an over-civilized city, sleeping on fine sheets, searching for ways to fill the empty hours.
Of course it was not a lifestyle to which she was accustomed, either, but the novelty of living on Callia was enough to keep her entertained. What a refreshing change it was never to worry about how much anything cost or whether there would be enough to eat, to wander into the shopping districts and buy whatever she wanted, to have a team of hotel staff that catered to her every whim, whether it was bringing up another meal or sending a stylist to her suite to make sure every hair was in place before she went out to dinner. No, there were definitely worse ways of spending one’s time.
But she knew the idyll couldn’t last. The fear had been there, ever since she had admitted to herself how much she cared for Thorn, but she’d been able to push it aside. Now that grew more difficult with every passing day.
It came to her one morning as she stood in front of the mirror. Her hair still fell in complicated ringlets from the style of the night before, and her eyes were smudged with leftover cosmetics and lack of sleep. He’s bored. There’s a whole galaxy going about its business out there, fighting and scheming, and he’s stuck here with you.
It hadn’t been much of a surprise when she heard on the news reports that the Gaian Defense Force had swarmed Iradia, quelling the uprising within a few weeks of its birth. Military rule was established, and some of her home world’s lawlessness had retreated, at least so it wasn’t quite so blatantly obvious. Although Miala worried about the few friends she had left behind there, she knew better than to try to contact any of them. She couldn’t risk giving away her whereabouts, not when she had done such a good job of disappearing from Iradia. Perhaps it was wrong to leave them to think she was dead, but she’d taken that risk the day she went to work at Mast’s compound. Even then it was as if she had known she would never return to the shabby little house she had shared with her father on one of Aldis Nova’s back streets.
So she waited to hear back from any of the universities to which she had transmitted applications, tried not to ask Thorn where he went during the day—she had a sneaking suspicion that he was in the midst of stockpiling supplies, or planning his next job—and attempted to quell the fear that seemed to rise in her a little higher every day.
It didn’t help that on several occasions she felt quite ill and remained in bed longer than she normally would have. She wanted to attribute her queasiness to the rich seafood-based Callian cuisine, but she knew better than that. On her eighteenth birthday she’d gone and gotten the contraceptive implants custom expected, even though at the time she hadn’t thought she’d have much use for them. But she’d heard horror stories of how the techs at the clinics sometimes switched out the implants with placebos so they could sell the valuable pharmaceuticals on the black market. She’d always assumed the stories were just that, urban legends with no real basis in fact, but her body seemed to be telling her something quite different.
And she was damned if she knew what the hell she was going to do about it.
The message looked innocuous enough. From the Registrar’s Office, it said, and Miala assumed it was merely an acknowledgment that her transcripts had been received. Still, she clicked on it, if only to clear it out of her incoming messages folder. Her eyes scanned the few paragraphs the message contained, and then she sat quite still.
“Close message,” she said at length, and Thorn stuck his head out from the dressing area.
“Did you say something?”
Miala stared at him for a moment, as if trying to memorize every line of his face, every detail, from the sheen of his still damp hair to the dark stubble on his unshaven chin. “I got in,” she replied finally, marveling that her voice sounded so calm.
He didn’t bother to ask what she meant. “Where?”
“Nova Angeles. My first choice. I didn’t think they’d get back to me so fast.” No, she thought, I thought I’d have a few more weeks at least. A few more weeks with you.
Nothing in his face, no response, not even the slightest hint of disappoi
ntment or surprise. He asked, “When do you start?”
She picked up the cup of now-lukewarm coffee that sat on the table next to her computer, took a careful sip, and forced herself to swallow, even though the liquid tasted like gall. “Winter term starts in five standard days. I have to look into transport, but it’s probably going to take me at least three days to get there, so—”
“So—” he repeated, and looked down at the sonic razor he held in his hand as if wondering how it had gotten there.
Say something, she thought. Say anything. Say you’ll go with me—say that you don’t want me to go—say that you want me to stay.
A long pause, one in which Miala was certain Thorn could hear her heart pounding within her ribcage. Then he said, “You’d better start packing, then. I told you that you bought too many clothes.”
And with that he disappeared back into the dressing area. A few seconds later she heard the sound of the razor being switched on.
The computer screen before her seemed to blur. Angrily, she blinked back the tears. Don’t give him the satisfaction, she told herself. What did you expect, anyway?
The message from the University of Nova Angeles had a biometric acceptance system. Her thumbprints and retinal scans had been included with the transcripts she had transmitted and were already on file. With a savage gesture she lifted her hand and pressed her thumb against the screen, indicating she had accepted their offer.
The hell with you, Thorn, she thought, and went to retrieve her suitcases from the wardrobe.
The taxi that carried them to the spaceport was larger than the one they had first used after their arrival on Callia. It had to be, to accommodate Miala’s luggage.
