by S. E. Smith
Lukas halted, his breath stuttering. The only other living thing capable of breaching his defenses and rendering him so transparent was Carlynn. Her eyes, the color of black coffee, had brought him to his knees more than once, turned him inside out, and showed him what love looked like when viewed in someone’s gaze.
He bent down on one knee, and Bang-Bang’s paw hooked over his forearm. “She’s missing.” He managed to get the words out. Inconceivable words. It seemed surreal that he might never see Carlynn again. Might never hold her…
The softest of sorrowful, high-pitched whines exited Bang-Bang’s throat, and Lukas almost lost it. He pressed his cheek to Bang-Bang’s. Kindred spirits. Their bond had been there from the moment they crashed into each other on the streets of Barésh, the filthy, overpopulated domed mining world around which Bezos Station orbited.
BANG BANG—two loud booms diverted his attention that night on patrol about a year ago. He had swung his weapon around, sweeping for threats, his heart racing way too fast, before he backed off and let out a shaky breath. Not Glenn-Musk. Not the attack. Not dozens of bodies tumbling into the vacuum of space, Lukas helpless to save them. No, the double bang was only a backfire from one of the rattletrap mining vehicles the Baréshtis drove. Then a street dog flew out from under a parked vehicle, headed right for him, two freakishly intelligent eyes broadcasting sheer terror. Lukas opened his hands like a pair of catcher’s mitts and caught him. The way the dog pressed close, trusting that Lukas would protect him even as his skinny body shivered and revealed his panic, got to Lukas. Yeah, got to him good. A brush of coarse whiskers, a wet nose, and that was that. They were a team from then on.
Bang-Bang was not really a dog, but an extraterrestrial species that only resembled dogs. Called “yipwags” in the local dialect, they had wagging tails and wet noses, but also a downright unnerving ability to sense and react appropriately to human emotions. Like the herding dogs of Earth, they also possessed the ability to reason, but it was supercharged, especially in Bang-Bang. Now, Bang-Bang and other rescued strays were being used for a variety of functions on board the station, from contraband detection to protection to plain old good company. Hundreds of them still ran loose all over the colony, like the village dogs he saw while pulling duty in a few third-world Earth countries. No matter where a street dog was found—on alien worlds or on Earth—their lives were guaranteed to be harsh and short.
Lukas knew that his life was supposed to have been harsh and short, too. But he and Bang-Bang got lucky; two scrappy orphans fighting to survive on the streets ended up beating the odds.
He once teased Carlynn, “You must like collecting strays or something since you ended up with both of us.”
They were lying in bed. She had pushed up over him, her tone tender but firm, her eyes fierce. “You won the ESF Medal of Valor. Everyone knows you, knows what you did, who you saved. You’re no stray, Luke. You’re a hero. You’re my hero…”
Some hero. She was missing and he was safe.
No. Not going to happen. “We gotta fix this, Bang-Bang.” Lukas shoved back to his feet and took off, striding down the narrow passageway. His combat boots made hollow clangs against the surface of the metal bridge linking the command core of Bezos Station and the ACQ—assigned crew quarters. Carlynn might have her doubts about a future with him, but she was not going to drop out of his life this way. “Just like her to want the last word. Right, boy?”
Bang-Bang aimed a withering look up at him as he trotted alongside. “Don’t blame Carlynn,” his whitish face seemed to say.
“Yeah. I know. This one’s on me.” Lukas was the reason Carlynn volunteered to fly the doomed joint Vash and Earth exploratory mission to Vuushon in the first place.
“The adrenaline rush of being with you isn’t a good enough trade-off anymore, Lukas.”
He winced as the painful words he and Carlynn exchanged the day she left flooded back into his head…
“Trade-off? Trade-off for what?”
“For shutting me out.” She flattened a hand on his chest, her fingers spread over his uniform, and his thudding heart. “For keeping me at arm’s length emotionally when you’re hurting.”
“Cut the psychobabble, Carlynn,” he grumbled, taking hold of her wrist to move her hand away, then releasing her like a hot iron when her warm skin seemed to sear him. If he wasn’t careful, his mouth would be on hers next and they would be getting hot and heavy when they had a conversation to finish.
“Whether or not you like the choice of words, it’s the truth. I want to help. I want to be there for you. But you won’t let me inside.”
“I let you in,” he protested.
“Only when you’re inside me. I want all of you—in bed and out of it.”
He blinked, not aware she felt close to him only when he made love to her. “Car, you know I love you…”
“Look, you’re hurting. We both know it. The Glenn-Musk attack left you with—”
“You don’t know about Glenn-Musk. You weren’t there.” Thank God.
“—post-traumatic stress disorder. I hear it really helps to talk about it. If not with me, then someone.”
“Talk,” he grumbled derisively. He did not want to talk about Glenn-Musk Station. He did not want to talk about it, write about it, see it, hear it, or feel it. He was done with it. All he wanted was to get on with his life.
“Yes,” she said, expectantly. “Talk.”
He dragged a hand over his face. He was a career Interplanetary Marine. He started out in the US Marine Corps on Earth, saw combat, saved lives. Took lives when necessary. He was strong, he could stand on his own two feet; he wasn’t some touchy-feely guy who got off on talking about his feelings to head docs. Why couldn’t Carlynn see that? “I told you—I got this.”
Carlynn walked to her closet, pulling down a duffel bag. “I’m accepting that temporary duty gig. The Fringe Worlds research project.”
“That’s a two-month remote assignment.”
“Only two months. I think some time apart will be good.”
How in hell could that be a true statement? He tried to pretend he didn’t feel his gut twisting as she folded her belongings into the duffel. Bang-Bang had crept away during their exchange to sit behind a table, a pair of perceptive yellow eyes flicking between them and absorbing every anguished word.
“Aw, jeez. Look at him.” Carlynn crouched in front of Bang-Bang. “Hey. This has nothing to do with you. You’re a good dog.” She buried her hands in his furry nape, bending forward until her nose touched his. “But I gotta go away for a while.” Her eyes squeezed shut as she whispered something private in Bang-Bang’s ear. They held a lingering gaze before she nodded and ruffled his ears. Bang-Bang answered with a few frantic licks on her cheek. “Thanks,” she whispered. “That’s a good boy. I’ll miss you.”
Shouldering her duffle, she walked to Lukas next, coming up on the toes of her boots to kiss him on the mouth, almost chastely. “I’ll miss you, too.” Then she headed for the door.
Bang-Bang slumped to the floor, a visible deflating, his chin landing on outstretched front legs. His darkened gaze veered to Lukas: Do something.
“Carlynn—wait,” Lukas said as the door glided open.
She paused in the doorway, her questioning eyes on him, her lips parted. The silver piping on her blue starpilot uniform and the silver wings she wore over her right breast gleamed in the overhead light. Her thick dark brown hair was slicked back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She was five foot four if she was an inch, with plump, cupid’s bow lips and expressive brown eyes rimmed with long, thick lashes. But you did not underestimate Carlynn Riga if you knew what was good for you. When she made up her mind, you had to fight to change it—and you had better have a good reason for trying. She was a fighter. But had saving him from himself become her greatest battle?
Babe, don’t go. You’re everything to me. I’ll do what it takes to keep you here. Those were the right words for that moment. The words
he wanted to say. But fear and pride kept them balled up in his throat and him rooted to the spot. “Be safe,” he grumbled.
“You, too. I’ll message you,” she promised.
“Yep.” Lukas stood with his arms hanging at his sides, his heart aching. She seemed to hesitate, her face a study in worry, anger, and love. For a second or two he thought she would reverse course.
Then, very softly, she said, “Hey, Blondie. I love you. Don’t ever forget it,” and walked out of the room.
Lukas snapped back to the present as he pushed through bustling passageways on the way to his quarters. People cleared a path for him. No one tried to stop him to chat, or even to pet Bang-Bang. He doubted he would have been too polite if they tried. His mind was full of thoughts of Carlynn and what could have happened to her.
Reaching his quarters, he punched the entry access code onto the door keypad as if hammering in nails with his bare finger. Inside, he shoved gear into his tactical bag and sealed it, listening to Bang-Bang drink loudly from his water bowl. The accommodations were snug, even with the upgrade that came with his promotion. But his room looked little different from the day he opened the door last year. The windowless walls were pale gray and bare. Only essentials sat on the tables and shelves. He never really moved in. Never bothered. By the time he was reassigned to this room on the officer side of the ACQ he was already with Carlynn. From their first date onward, they shared a bed—hers. His own room was nothing more than four walls defining a place to sleep, nothing but a bookmark stuck in a chapter of his life he had assumed was shelved for good. Until Carlynn left and he found himself back here. It had been one month and two days since his sentence began. One month and two days of double shifts followed up with gym, chow hall, writing to Carlynn, then a few hours of sleep if he was lucky to get any, all without a moment of down time in-between. Down time was not his friend. Down time invited wandering thoughts, and he disliked the places they led him. So, he steered clear of it. A full schedule was the answer.
Pulling open his desk drawer, Lukas removed the two items he took with him on every mission for good luck. The first was his oldest possession—and, for most of his childhood, his only one—a gold St. Christopher medal that he was told had belonged to his mother, the woman who gave him life then gave him up. Next, he dug out his old Marine Corps dog tags. The tags were no longer part of the uniform after his ESF unit was permanently deployed into space. These days everyone got ID chips implanted under their skin instead. But his dog tags still came along on every one of his missions. Then he retrieved a third and final good luck charm. The newest one.
The photo of him and Carlynn was a duplicate of the one hanging on the wall in her quarters, the first place he had ever considered a real home. Numerous times she would take his hand and lead him along that wall of photos, introducing him to a boggling array of relatives, including her beloved Italian-born grandmother, Nonna Emelia, who was the only one who did not act worried after learning of their sudden engagement. “So what if he didn’t ask her father for permission first?” the woman had said, allegedly defending him to her parents after that blunder—for which he did apologize. “She said yes! If my bella, Carlynn, said yes, then this young man of hers is already family to me.” Family. Carlynn made a point of reinforcing that, knowing his past. “You’ll be part of our crazy brood—for better or for worse, Lukas,” she would joke. “I told you to be careful what you wish for!”
He had wished for all of it. He wished, but never really believed it would happen. Having Carlynn in his life and looking forward to being part of a real family as soon as they married—and someday in the future, starting a family of their own—he felt luckier than any man of his kind deserved to be.
As he strode out of the room, Lukas slid the photo deep into his left chest pocket, over his heart for good luck. In his years serving in the military, he had seen his share of godforsaken places, but nothing like Barésh. When he first set foot on the surface and breathed the stinking air under that dome, listened to the noise, the nonstop chaos, he wondered if he had lost his mind volunteering to come here when as a so-called hero he could have requested to be posted anywhere else. But more good ended up coming out of this tour of duty than he ever expected or maybe deserved. He had earned the loyalty of a good dog and won the heart of a good woman.
Then what did he go and do? He let her go. Now she was missing.
Missing.
The prospect that the tense words they exchanged the day she left might be the last words they ever said to each other was a very real possibility. No. He set his jaw. That’s not the way this ends. Gruffly, he told Bang-Bang, “Come on, boy. Let’s find our Carlynn and bring her home.”
Three
Planet Vuushon, one day earlier…
Nothing happened very fast on Vuushon, Carlynn thought as she waited for coffee to finish brewing in the galley on the research vessel Starling. It was high noon on the planet, but the rain clouds were so low, so swollen—and the color of bruises—that sunlight fought a losing battle trying to reach the surface. Gravity was heavier here compared to Earth or Bezos Station, weighing down on everyone and adding a sense of sluggishness to the smallest movements. Now that it had turned cloudy, the duskiness only exacerbated the feeling.
Perfect weather for hibernating under the covers with Lukas.
Carlynn paused, squeezed her eyes shut a moment, and cleared her mind of the distracting images that thought had conjured. There. Poof! He was gone from her thoughts.
If it was perfect weather for anything, it was coffee. She filled two mugs—one with a good dark Italian roast for her, and the other with tock for her mission teammate, Vash meteorologist Wenn Lesok. A member of one of the eight royal Vash Nadah clans, he was a nobleman who was wealthy beyond belief. Yet, like her bestie Trysh’s new Vash husband, he chose to contribute to the wider galaxy when he could have been lounging in a palace. Good man! Wenn’s eloquent brogue made his weather reporting something she could listen to all day. Which was all she had been doing, pretty much. But it kept her focused. Hanging around while five scientists and an Exo-Geographic Magazine photographer documenting their efforts studied how seasonal rains affected migration was not exactly stimulating duty, but in the quiet periods, she tended to think about Lukas.
She did not want to think about Lukas.
With a steaming mug in each hand, she left the galley to return to the Starling’s flight deck, wrinkling her nose at the way the licorice-scented tock clashed with the aroma of freshly ground dark-roasted coffee. Tock was the official drink of the galaxy-spanning Trade Federation. Trillions drank it daily. It wasn’t bad. It tasted a little like minty-spicy-licorice-flavored Chai tea, but with a stronger caffeinated kick. Tock would never gain her as a convert, though; she was a coffee girl at heart. Dark oily beans, ground fine—she got lightheaded thinking about the aroma. “It tastes like the burnt scrapings from the bottom of a fry pan,” a Vash friend told her once after gamely trying a cup of joe. Actually, it was a cup of French-press brewed, small-batch roasted espresso made from her dwindling supply of precious beans. Ah, well. One of life’s finest pleasures, lost on an unappreciative audience.
Lukas on the other hand loved the coffee she made. He loved her cooking, too…
“Babe…” His fingers slid along the side of her neck. “You’re so sexy when you make us dinner.”
He had her pinned playfully between his rock-hard thighs and the counter that in most people’s quarters served as a resting place for a small microwave and coffee maker. Hers was a miniature well-stocked gourmet station with an array of off-the-legal-record appliances that station leadership could confiscate (and be well within their rights to do so) but no one dared. It would mean the end of mouthwatering treats for whoever stopped by, and no one wanted that. She was the daughter and granddaughter of great cooks. Making meals with and for others was who she was. When she volunteered for space duty, she had no intention of giving that up. Most of her allotted weight for
her move had been used up by kitchen items.
She dragged her fingertip through the depression of a wooden spoon resting on the counter and let him suck some thick, sweet balsamic reduction off her finger. The feel of his mouth tempted her to forget all about dinner. “I’m sexy only when I cook for you?”
“Hell, no.” He pulled her into his body, and she inhaled the warm, indescribably delicious scent that was Lukas. “It doesn’t really matter what you do…” He pressed her even closer, his hand cupping her butt to keep her there. His sandpaper jaw prickled her ear. “It all makes me hungry…”
Carlynn jolted out of her thoughts as a surge of sweet heat slowed her steps. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there. Not thinking of Lukas. Expunging her fiancé from her mind, or, at least trying to, she handed a mug to Wenn then settled into her pilot chair in front of a panoramic view of the mission’s scientists outside. The parched landscape resembled a sheet of burlap with a few black rocky hills poking out here and there. But that would soon change with a massive shift in the weather pattern.
It had not rained hard in the equivalent of two Earth years. Now storms boiled up at long last. Already herds of rugged, six-legged buffalo-like creatures and other stocky, slow-moving beasts neared the region in anticipation of water holes filling. With the increasing humidity, the atmosphere had thickened and gravity seemed to sit on her chest. The air outside smelled like old socks, but with a passable balance of nitrogen and oxygen, it was breathable without masks. Nonetheless, everyone had taken nano-blockers to protect against possibly harmful microbes. Now there was nothing left to do but watch the desiccated landscape transform.
That was the best part of this mission. In the last few hours alone, after only a few brief periods of drizzle, flowers the size of small cars had burst into bloom. Rosalie, the botanist, had nearly passed out with joy. What would happen with the promised deluge?
