Snowburn

by E J Frost

  NoBos a couple of years back. Their

  David’s always hated her ‘cause she’s a

  better runner than he is. He barely left

  anything of her. She was in a regen tank for

  over a month.”

  I hold her a little tighter. “Were you

  running with her then?”

  He shakes his head. “I was still in

  school. She made me stay in until I was

  eighteen.”

  “She’s a good sister.”

  “Overprotective.” He smiles a little and I

  can see that he has her mischievous grin,

  when he lets it out. “No, she’s a good sister.

  Don’t . . . you know, don’t hurt her.”

  “I’m not planning on it.”

  “She’s been talking about you for a long

  time.” He shifts uncomfortably on his seat.

  “She thinks you’re the second coming or

  something.”

  We have yet to get to that. “Yeah?”

  “She’s got shit taste in men. So I hope

  you’re different.”

  That remains to be seen. “You’re not

  impressed by her choices, huh?” When he

  shakes his head, I continue. “Why not?”

  “Half the time she picks scumbags. Real

  assholes. Ask them her name afterwards and

  I bet they couldn’t tell you. And when she

  does hook up with someone who’s half-way

  okay, like Chain, she can’t keep him.”

  I file the name away for later. “No?” I

  ask, to keep him talking.

  Ape scowls. “He said it wasn’t her. That

  he wanted his own crew. He’s a runner, too,

  see? But that was just an excuse. I heard

  them fighting. Then he packs up and moves

  out. That was over a year ago. She hasn’t

  been with anyone since. I thought . . . I

  thought she might have gone off guys. Then

  she began talking about you.”

  No resentment there or anything. No

  wonder he’s jealous. He’s had big sister’s

  undivided attention for a year. “You’d rather

  she was all alone? She told me you have a

  girl.”

  His whole demeanor changes. Softens.

  He smiles. “Chiara.”

  He’s smitten. Sucker.

  “I hear she’s a Tyng.”

  He immediately bristles. “So what?”

  “You know who Kincaid works for.”

  “Chi’s father. So what?”

  “Just one of life’s little coincidences,

  huh?”

  “We do runs for the Tyngs sometimes.”

  He hunches into himself. Hyper-defensive.

  “How often?”

  “I don’t know. She’s done them before.”

  He practically throws himself across the

  seat. “We’re here.”

  Not very often, I’m guessing. Definitely

  something going on there. Did Kez say that

  Ape knew the Jello Boy who fronted the run?

  I’m betting Ape set up the run. And left his

  sister to pay the price. Little shit.

  He climbs out of the taxi without paying.

  It beeps indignantly at me and I thumb a few

  credits off the roll I brought along to pacify

  it. Tap standby on the interface screen.

  Glance out the door Ape’s left open in his

  flight. We’ve pulled up on a side street in

  lower Nock. Not even a klick from my place

  by the river, but this neighborhood’s a lot

  less exclusive. The house we’ve pulled up in

  front of is an architect’s nightmare. It looks

  like it started as a Colony pre-fab, then

  mutated. Unstructured, organic. Anti-

  authoritarian. Very Kez.

  Ape reaches back into the taxi and drags

  out the heaviest bag. I’m betting it has the

  money in it. Kez has taught him to keep his

  eyes on the prize at least. “I got it,” Ape

  huffs.

  “Okay.” I shove the float boards at him

  with my foot. Pick up her backpack and drop

  it on the seat next to me. Sit back and settle

  Kez more firmly within the curve of my arm.

  “See you later.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking her to my place.” Where

  we’ll be as safe as I can make us, behind my

  gates and security, and where we’re both

  going to get some real Ralph time. “I’ll bring

  her back when she’s rested.”

  Ape frowns, his reddish-blond brows

  drawing into a single line across his

  forehead, and making him look all the more

  like his namesake. “She didn’t agree to that.”

  “She did, actually.” Although our Ralph

  time was very much up in the air when she

  went to sleep. And she never specified that

  payback would begin straight after the run.

  “She needs to be here. You don’t get it.

  She never goes away for more than a day.”

  I shrug. “Call it a first.”

  “You don’t get it, Mister Dick!” Ape

  snarls at me.

  I’ve had enough of him for one day. I

  reach across Kez and tap the taxi’s door

  closed.

  “She’s not going to thank you for this!”

  Ape shouts through the door.

  “She can tell me when she wakes up.” I

  wave at him, punch the grid coordinates for

  my house into the taxi’s interface, and feel it

  begin to hum in response. As it lifts slightly

  on its cushion of neg-gee, three people come

  out of the ramshackle house. Two women

  and a man. One of the women is heavily

  pregnant, taut, rounded skin protruding

  between the edges of her jade green tank and

  cut-off sweatpants. Even with her large

  belly, sloppy clothes and silk-black hair

  piled messily on top of her head, she’s one

  of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

  Her face is a perfect oval. She has huge, dark

  eyes and a pouting mouth almost as full as

  the hooker’s who finally broke Marin’s death

  grip on the little monster. The taxi turns and

  begins to scoot down the street, leaving Ape

  and his friends on the sidewalk. The

  beautiful girl runs out into the street after the

  taxi, holding her belly, her lush mouth

  framing a round o of surprise. She waves her

  arm, but we’re leaving her behind and

  sliding through the early morning traffic

  towards the river.

  I pay the taxi out of the credits I’ve made

  and carry Kez into my house.

  Inside, I lay Kez across my bed, unlace

  her boots and ease them off. Pull the

  thermoblanket over her and leave her to

  sleep while I shower. Getting rid of sweat,

  sewer-stink and rat guts feels good, but it’s

  the anticipation of finally getting into a bed

  with Kez that’s got the little monster

  twitching. It’ll be hours before the drugs let

  her go. And when she wakes I want to give

  her the time and space to offer herself to me

  again. Not be coerced by a roaring monster.

  A couple of quick tugs while remembering

  what we did up against the alley wall takes

&n
bsp; care of the worst of the little monster’s roar.

  I undress her carefully. She makes a few

  small noises while I’m getting her fatigues

  off, but relaxes back into deep sleep as soon

  as they’re off. Bare, her legs are beautiful.

  Long and slender with definition in her

  calves and thighs even with her muscles

  relaxed in sleep. Definitely a runner.

  At her underwear, I debate. I’ve wanted

  to see her naked since she first looked up at

  me with those huge kitten-eyes, but maybe

  this ain’t the time. When she wakes up, she’ll

  be disoriented from the drugs. In a strange

  place, with a man she’s only known a few

  hours. Only a few hours after being abused

  by a man she’s hated for years.

  All the more reason to give her the

  comfort of skin.

  I peel her panties down her legs. They’re

  a soft black feminine fabric. High cut on her

  hips but serviceable. Not lace, or a thong or

  anything designed to entice. Definitely not

  hooker-wear. Her ass is as beautiful as her

  legs. But it’s what removing her panties

  uncovers that gives me pause.

  There’s a huge derm plastered over the

  small of her back. I peel it back carefully.

  The bruise underneath has faded, like the one

  around her eye, but it’s still purple and

  black. How the hell did she get this? I don’t

  remember her hitting her back. I examine the

  bruise carefully. It’s much worse on her right

  side. There’s a swollen red bump just a few

  centimeters from her spine. I remember her

  limping into the dock on New Brunny.

  Remember what I saw and heard through her

  viewie. The desk. He knocked her into the

  corner of his desk. Fucking sadistic prick.

  I rise and move through the house.

  Polarize the windows so the rooms are

  swathed in cool gloom. Pour some filtered

  water into a bulb to put beside the bed.

  Gather more med supplies out of my stash.

  All the while pacifying my red rage with the

  image of drawing a shiv across Kincaid’s

  throat. I am going to kill him. It’s just a

  matter of time.

  I return to Kez’s side. Smooth a fresh and

  much more powerful derm across the small

  of her back. That will give her some real

  pain relief. A bruise that bad won’t be

  healed in a day the way her eye will, but

  she’ll move a lot more easily in a couple of

  hours.

  The texture of her skin as I smooth on the

  derm catches my attention. She’s kitten-soft

  everywhere. Except her lower back. I push

  her black tank up, hold it between her

  shoulders as I survey the ruin of her back.

  A round burn scar craters her lower

  back. The scar’s recessed, with the knobs of

  her spine in low relief. The skin’s mottled,

  white and twisted. Shiny pink patches show

  where newskin grafts failed. I splay my hand

  above the scar. My fingers extend beyond the

  margins of the scar, but it’s as big as my

  palm. I run my hand over the scar and she

  shivers in her sleep. Still sensitive, even

  though it has to be a couple of years old.

  The NoBos caught her, her brother said.

  And barely left her alive. I’m surprised she

  survived. It’s the worst burn scar I’ve seen,

  and in a bad fucking spot. She’s lucky her

  spinal cord wasn’t damaged – or damaged

  beyond repair, more likely. For a moment I

  think maybe she couldn’t pay for decent

  treatment, but the graft scars put the lie to that

  faint hope. Her back was so badly damaged

  that even newskin couldn’t adhere. She had

  to grow a new hide on her own, while the

  damage to her spine healed. That’s why she

  spent a month in a regen tank.

  I take her top off slowly and climb into

  the bed with her. Tap the headboard console.

  The room goes so dark it could be Tol Seng

  at midnight. I gather her to my side and tuck

  the thermoblanket around her. Smooth it

  carefully over the terrible burn scar. Debate

  the least threatening position to be in when

  she wakes. As I’m debating, one of her hands

  steals across my chest. Settles in the hollow

  of my shoulder. She’s not awake, so she’s

  seeking comfort unconsciously. I give it to

  her. Cuddle her close. Cradle her head on my

  shoulder. Give her as much skin contact as I

  can. She sighs in her sleep and relaxes until

  she feels boneless against me.

  I close my eyes, relishing the feeling of

  her warm satin skin on mine, the sense of

  peace that washes over me as I hold her, safe

  in my bed, and finally let myself sleep.

  She begins to stir three hours later by the

  chrono in my eye. She snuffles in her sleep

  and cuddles closer. I roll the arm she’s got

  stretched across my chest so I can see the

  inside of her wrist. The darkness leeches the

  color out of the patches, but I can see they’re

  much paler than they were when I put them

  on. Spent. I peel them off and toss them onto

  the bedside table.

  “Where are we?” she whispers.

  I look down at the peaceful little face

  resting on my shoulder. Her good eye is

  closed. I flick the edge of the derm on her

  other eye. “I think this is done.”

  “Okay.” She snuffles and rubs her nose. I

  peel the derm off and flick it across the bed

  to join its mates on the table.

  “We’re at my place,” I say gently. Shift

  slightly to ease the pins and needles in the

  arm she’s been sleeping on. Stroke the soft,

  rounded shoulder that emerges from the

  blanket, and tug the edge of the blanket back

  over it. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m not tired,” she says, with a huge

  yawn. Her breath is sour. I reach over for the

  bulb of water on the bedside table.

  “Drink,” I tell her.

  “No more fluids. My bladder’s going to

  explode.”

  “Better than your veins collapsing.” I

  hold the bulb for her and she drinks. Puts her

  head back down on my shoulder after a

  couple of sips.

  “So I finally got inside.” She nuzzles my

  shoulder sleepily. “What does it look like? Is

  it all black and chrome?”

  Where’d she get that idea? I like wood –

  real wood with a grain I can see and feel –

  and soft fabrics. As different from the

  ceramsteel and neopoly of slam as possible.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She does, lifts her head and puts it back

  down with a snort. “I can’t see a thing. Why

  is it so dark in here?”

  “Didn’t want the light to wake you.”

  “Oh.” She rubs my chest. “Thank you.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “What time is it?”

  “E
leven fifteen.”

  “Mmm, that’s okay then.”

  “You got somewhere you need to be

  today?” ‘Cause I may have some objection to

  her spending the day anywhere but in my

  bed.

  She murmurs something unintelligible,

  already slipping back to sleep. After a few

  moments of deepening breathing, she rouses

  with a little jolt. “Where’s Ape?”

  “I dropped him back at your place.”

  “With our gear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, that’s okay then.” She slides her leg

  across mine. Rubs her face in my shoulder.

  And immediately slides back into sleep.

  I smile into the darkness. Stroke the arm

  she’s stretched across my chest until I join

  her.

  The next time I wake – gently and without

  remembering any of my dreams – it’s after

  fifteen hundred. Six hours of sleep is enough,

  and besides, my bladder is demanding to be

  emptied and my stomach to be filled.

  I unstick myself carefully and slide out

  from under Kez, who doesn’t stir. She’s

  finally getting some deep sleep. Good. When

  I return, having taken care of one need and

  mulling through what I want to fill the other,

  the bedroom’s lit up like a nightclub. I cross

  the room quickly to the source of the

  lightshow: the bangle around Kez’s wrist.

  Several of the mirrors and beads are lit up.

  Her brother’s face shows on one of the

  mirrored panels. Annoying chimp. She needs

  her sleep.

  I slide my finger under the bangle,

  intending to silence the call. The whole

  thing’s elasticized and slides down her wrist

  when I hook my finger under it. I ease the

  straps off her wrist, carry it over to the pile

  of her clothes beside the bed, drop the

  bangle on her fatigues, then pick up her black

  tank and drape it over the bangle. With the

  bangle covered, the room darkens again. I

  check Kez. She’s still sleeping the sleep of

  the innocent and the just. I run my hand over

  her soft head, smooth her dreadlocks over

  the pillow, and leave her to sleep.

  My kitchen is disappointingly empty. I

  remember now that I’d intended to stop at the

  grocer on the way home last night, before

  Kez intercepted me. I tap on the kitchen

  interface and pull up the list I’ve compiled of

  local grocers who deliver. Scroll down to

  one I haven’t used before. Ordering from the

  same place. Overtipping the delivery ‘bot.

  Falling into patterns. That’s how you get