Darkship Thieves-ARC

by Sarah A. Hoyt

  By this time my eyes had uncrossed enough that I could see clearly and was starting to believe I might be able to stand up without falling. Even then, as I started to stand up, Kit put his arm around me to prevent my falling. He led me out of the room and through a long maze of corridors.

  Though we were not at the center, the corridors were full of people I knew from the center—cats and navs and mechanics. Most of their glances still slid away from Kit, after looking at him, but it was a different sort of slide. It was a I'm sorry to intrude glance away or a oh, I didn't need to know that look or—twice—the sort of half amused smile that denoted they remembered what I'd said about my feelings more than what I'd said about the death of Kit's wife.

  Kit didn't slow down for the glances or the smiles. And I was too dizzy to even reply to Darla's rather guilty, "Hello, Thena."

  In the garage, Kit helped me into the passenger seat of his flyer, and buckled me down, before he jumped into the pilot seat and buckled himself down. He tore out of the space with every impression of wanting to get out of there as fast as humanly possible, and paying very little attention to any other flyers that might get in his way. Of course, he didn't hit anything. He just twirled and ducked and made my stomach feel like it would come out through my mouth.

  "I suppose," he said, after a while. "That I should thank you."

  Oh, please, don't overwhelm me with gratitude, I thought, and almost said, but the drugs had worn out of my system, and besides I could fully understand how embarrassed the poor bastard had to be, having heard the Earthworm that had forced herself on him more or less declare love in front of all his associates. I mean, what was he supposed to do now? Any way he behaved he would seem ungentlemanly.

  I found my hands pleating the silk skirt of my dress, while I said in a voice that seemed entirely too small and feminine, "I'm sorry. I had no idea it would be such a detailed description, or so personal."

  Kit muttered a string of unintelligible words, as the flyer spit out of the garage and into full midday artificial sunlight. The only part I caught was "He knew better."

  I cleared my throat. I thought, from my reading—particularly of Kit's old fashioned Earth books—that this was the type of situation in which one girded one's loins, and if there had been the glimmer of a gird around, I would have done just that before I said what I had to say, "You know, I think he only did it because he was worried about you." A sideways glance showed me that he was frowning intently as he wound through the traffic around the judicial building at a much higher speed than could possibly be necessary. "I think he thought he was doing it for your own good because . . . I think he loves you as a son, you know."

  "I know," he said. He said it as if it were a curse. "I am perfectly aware the low-down, amoral bastard loves me. Would have shot him otherwise."

  I nodded as though this made perfect sense, cleared my throat again and tried to reach for something soothing to say.

  I realize that I was the daughter of a Good Man and that in theory I had been trained in saying the right thing in diplomatic situations. I'd been taught, from birth, just the right word to smooth over a quarrel that might become a trade war; to quiet animosity among guests at a party; to make the servants do my will with a smile on their lips.

  This is why in all disciplines there is a class in theory and one in practice. I knew the theory very well. What I had was absolutely no practice in social chit chat or peace making. I did best at Daddy Dearest's parties by keeping my mouth shut and looking pretty and then tearing out of there, putting on my leathers and speeding to my broomer's lair.

  Soothing and polite simply wasn't in my repertoire. So I did the next best thing and changed the subject completely, "You didn't have any problems in the powertrees?"

  He shrugged and jabbed something hard at the controls, which caused us to drop in what seemed like freefall, before stabilizing and diving under a cargo flyer, then above a family one.

  "Eber told me that you and my mother and my sisters were at the judicial building, and I thought I might as well come and see what they'd got into." He gave me a sideways look, frowned. "Sorry I didn't shave or bathe . . . I was afraid . . ."

  What on Eden could he have been afraid of that was worse than what he'd actually heard? And then I realized it. "You were afraid I'd killed someone?"

  "Well . . ." he said, as he jammed the lever up. "At the center, you know, I didn't exactly ask and no one exactly talked to me but I heard something about you and Joseph Klaavil and a duel."

  "I didn't use weapons," I said, aware even as I said it that my voice sounded sulky. "I just punched him out."

  "Ah, yes," he said. "But you see part of no one talking to you is that you can't ask logical questions. You just hear whispered words and you assume—."

  We tore off down the side road headed home, and I glared at him, "You assumed the worst."

  He didn't say anything for a long while. Instead he looked out at the road, even though he couldn't possibly need all his attention to fly here, where there was almost no traffic. Finally he sighed, then gave a dry chuckle. "Well, Princess . . ." he said and smiled a little, an infuriatingly sweet smile.

  "Don't call me princess," I said.

  "Princess, you know, considering our acquaintance . . . what else could I assume?"

  I bunched my hands into fists. "Land," I said. "Land now."

  "What? I know you're still dizzy but we're nowhere near home."

  "Land, damn it. Let me out. I'll walk home."

  "What? While still recovering from the effects of the hypnotic?"

  I fumbled with my seat belt, unbuckled, then reached for the door unlocking button. He reached for the door lock a second too late. I'd already unlocked and was holding the button down. I pushed at the door and would have opened it too, if it hadn't been for the air pressure. By that time I was shaking and there were tears rolling down my cheeks. I knew half of it was shock and confusion and tiredness, but the other half was that he'd heard me declare my love for him and he was lording it over me.

  As though out of nowhere came a memory of my mother talking to me. I couldn't have been much more than five, but she was speaking very earnestly, as though I'd been a peer and capable of understanding. Never give a man your heart. He'll just twist and wrench it out.

  "Land and let me down, damn you," I said. Or I'll jump off as soon as you slow down and you know you can't land without slowing."

  Kit gave me a half-frightened look, then said. "I'm landing. Don't jump."

  He slowed and I could see he was dropping, dropping, dropping, slowly, until we came to rest by the side of the road, outside a row of fences. He landed and turned off the engine, and turned to look at me. "Look, Thena."

  "Don't want to hear it," I said, pushing at the door, shoving it all the way out. Mom was right. Give a man power over your life and you would have it go seriously wrong. Just look at what Father did to me, and the only power he had over me was judicial. With a man I loved it would be much, much worse.

  I slid through the open door onto the road. Like most suburban roads, it was soft grass that looked a lot like the living room carpet at hom—No. Not home. Not my home. It was the compound of Kit's family, and I would have to figure out how to move out and soon.

  Kath was constitutionally incapable of not telling Kit about my foolishness, sleeping on the floor of his room with his violin. Which meant now the only way I would be able to call my soul my own would be to find a way to get back to Earth. And then I would never see him again, a prospect so desolate it made me even more miserable than the prospect of living under Kit's thumb.

  I stomped along the road towards the Denovo compound, making a remarkable speed and only stumbling now and then, because my legs must still be getting rid of the effects of the hypnotics.

  I'd gone through all that trouble to get him free of suspicion, and look where that got me. Nowhere at all. I should have known the other stuff would come out, but did it need to come out in front of
everyone I knew or could possibly know at Eden? Now for the rest of my life here everyone would look at me with a half pitying look. And when Kit married, which was now inevitable, sooner or later—since he'd been upgraded from murderer to rather romantic widower—everyone would give me a pitying eye.

  Well, see if I care. There were several good looking mechanics at the center. And now that they knew it wasn't my fault that ships were disappearing, I was sure I could get them to take me out. Two could play this game. I would be so busy making the acquaintance of every handsome male in Eden that—

  "Thena!" Kit said, just behind me. His steps made no sound on the stupid grass road, and he must just have caught up with me, because he was panting.

  "I bet you didn't exercise nearly enough without me in the Cathouse," I said, and wiped to the back of my hand the tears that were forming in my eyes, doubtless because it was so bright out here and I was still suffering a reaction to the drugs.

  "Not nearly," he said, meekly. "I spent most of my time in the virtus."

  I sniffled. That figured. In the virtus, dreaming of his time with his precious Jane. Damn it, Thena, you are such hot stuff you can't even compete with a dead woman.

  "Look," he said, practically running to catch up with me, which should show him once and for all to stop taking advantage of his longer legs to set a faster pace than I was comfortable with. Because it wasn't all in the length of the legs, and he might as well get used to that.

  "Look, Thena," he said. "I'm an idiot."

  Yeah, and? Did he expect me to defend him? What was I now? The official clearer of Kit Klaavil's name?

  "I've probably always been an idiot. Would you please stop and turn so I can talk to you?" he asked. "Or at least slow down?" He reached for my arm, wrapped his fingers around it.

  I stopped and turned. Some things are automatic. The only thing I can say is that I didn't kick him as hard as I could have. He keened and went down on his knees, clutching himself.

  "Oh no," I said. "You shouldn't have touched me, you idiot!"

  He was three shades paler than normal, as he looked up at me, and his eyes were full of the kind of tears brought on by sudden and sharp pain, but he was smiling, even as he sucked in a lungful of air in a way that sounded like it hurt. "I know," he said, and smiled wide. "I told you I was stupid."

  "Granted," I said. "You win on that. Are you all right?"

  He took another deep breath. "I will be," he said, and got up, in a testing sort of way. He shook his head. "You didn't kick as hard as you could have."

  I crossed my arms on my chest refusing to admit to anything. "You wanted me to stop so I could talk to you. Now talk."

  "Give me time. You know how the prospect of hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully? A kick to the groin doesn't."

  "Does this mean you don't remember what you wanted to tell me?" I asked. "Right. I'm walking. We can talk at hom—at your—at the Denovo Compound."

  And the stupid idiot reached for my arm again, though this time he managed to stop himself just before he grabbed it, his hand hovering so near that I could feel the warmth of it. "Thena, no. I know what I want to say. I'm just not sure how to say it. And I don't want to make you ang—angrier."

  "That," I told him, "Would be pretty damn hard."

  "Wouldn't it?" he asked conversationally. "But not after being kicked." He looked expectant, but I refused to acknowledge his low joke. He hissed breath out. "Listen, Thena, I need a nav."

  "I'm sure there will be dozens of them ready to travel with you now that they know you're not a murderer!" I said.

  "Probably. The Denovos are a good family," he said. "We have prestige. We have Kath's brilliance and quick temper, besides Kath being the most devious avenger who ever lived. Anne is a legendary nav. Everyone loves mom and dad. I'm fairly sure there are dozens of the younger navs and a few of the loners my age willing to pair with me."

  "See?" I said. "Problem solved. As Doctor Bartolomeu said, you're welcome."

  "So . . ." he said. "You've been on Eden now for a while. What kind of Nav do you think I should pick?"

  Oh, was that how he was going to punish me? How he was going to show his power over me? Very well. I'd play his game. "You need someone quiet," I said. "Someone who doesn't get angry easily."

  "Really?" he asked. He looked surprised. Clearly he hadn't expected me to pick up on his gambit.

  "Very much so," I said. "Because, you see, you have such a sudden temper. If you were to . . . partner or marry a nav with the same temper, you would end up killing her." I realized what I had said, and amended, "I don't mean literally but . . ."

  He inclined his head, looking infuriatingly unaffected. "I see," he said. "So I need a meek and mild woman," he said. "Her voice was ever soft, gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman."

  "Shakespeare," I snapped. "King Lear." Did he think I was totally uneducated?

  He grinned and bowed slightly. "What else?"

  "Well, she should be blonde, because you clearly like blondes. And well read. And she should be a musician."

  "Oh, yes, that would be great," he said, and beamed. "Then we could play while on the trips. It would be very nice."

  "Yes," I said. "Wouldn't it?" I considered kicking him again. If I kicked hard enough, I could get a good way down the road before he recovered. Of course, if I kicked hard enough I might cause permanent damage, and though that shouldn't matter, it seemed to.

  "There are . . ." He thought about it. "Last I paid any attention to any of them . . . Well, I think there are about five of the single navs who fit that profile."

  "Good," I said. "Then you should fly to the center and ask one of them out, right about now."

  He frowned at me, "I should, shouldn't I?"

  "Yes," I said. "Now if you excuse me—"

  The bastard used cat speed. Before I knew what he was doing, he was on me, clasping my wrists together in one hand behind my back and, before I could stop him, bringing his lips to mine.

  I moved around, trying to get the right angle to knee him in the gonads. And found he had his other hand in front of them. I squirmed. If I raised my knee just right, and shoved to the side, I could push his hand away and—

  Thena!

  His voice in my mind jarred, and his lips moved gently against mine—firm and yet soft, soft and yet seeming insatiable, asking for and getting my attention. For a moment, my mind went blank and diffuse, like cotton candy spread thinly against a light, and his tongue slipped between my lips to meet my tongue. It felt demanding and insistent. It tasted of bug juice, which mingled oddly with the taste of burnt sugar left by the last drug, but he didn't seem to care.

  I cared, but I couldn't think very clearly because there were weird things happening to my body—probably as a result of the drug residuals. My knees had gone rubbery, and there was this great heat spreading from somewhere in my lower stomach, as he pulled me closer to him, my body squeezed tight against his muscular chest, his calico beard tickling my face and those damned feline eyes all half-lidded and tender.

  Princess, will you marry me?

  I couldn't talk, but I could think at him, and I thought at him the impression of a swat, the whole of my aggrieved pride behind it. Stop making fun of me you . . . bastard!

  There was a low rumble of laughter deep in his chest, though he never broke our kiss. And now I was going lightheaded. Oxygen deprivation. Never said I wasn't a bastard, but what does that have to do with my wanting you to marry me and be my nav? Too good for me?

  No! Yes! I pushed back from him and managed a ragged sentence, as I tore my lips from his, "Damn you."

  His expression didn't alter—or not much. His eyes were still soft-tender. "Please?" he said. "Please marry me. Or at least be my Nav. You know I can't be trusted in space alone. I live in the virtus. And I need someone to do repairs and . . . Please? I promise to let you kick me twice a week and four times on Sunday."

  It had to be the most absurd proposal ever made by any man t
o any woman. And it was insane. What the hell did he want with me, exactly? "You like being kicked?"

  "No. But if it will get you to say yes . . . ."

  "Are you insane?"

  "Possibly. But look, I really need a nav and—"

  "And next thing you know, you'll tell me you need a woman to cook your meals and bear your children." As I said it I remembered what Doc Bartolomeu had said. No children for Kit, ever, not unless he contrived to clone himself, and it wouldn't be the same. I looked away.

  "Oh," Kit said. "I wondered if he had told you." He let go of me. We were suddenly very serious and I didn't feel at all angry at him, at least not enough to kick him.

  I cleared my throat, searched madly for words.

  "I'm sorry I bothered you," Kit said. "I thought . . . if you didn't know, you might . . ." He seemed to realize what he was saying. "I don't want you to . . . I mean, I knew you wouldn't do what . . . what Jane did . . . when you found out, and I thought when you found out, by that time, you'd have reasons to love me, and understand that . . . that I really am just a man, like other men. But now . . . I completely understand you could never knowingly marry a Mule."

  His words were so formal, his tone so perfectly contained, that I had to clench my hands tight. I should have kicked him then, but I couldn't trust myself not to make it too strong. "You are stupid," I said. "Rude too. Assuming you know what my answer is and why."

  "Uh . . . You were afraid . . . when we first met . . . you were afraid I was a Mule."

  I put my hands on my hips and glared up at him, "Oh, yes, but that was when I thought Mules were all powerful evil beings. It was before I got to share a ship with one and understood his was a more pedestrian form of evil, consisting of not picking up his damned dirty clothes, as though vibroing were an arcane mystery; and of being a hot head who is too proud for his own damn good; and of not being a gentleman."

  He looked confused. "Not being a gentleman?"

  "No gentleman would propose to a woman by mind talk while making her completely irrational with the best kiss she ever experienced."