by E J Frost
“Thanks, Thea,” I say, putting a little
sincerity into my voice. There’s nothing to be
gained from alienating her, even if it would
spare me the daily come-on.
She smiles. “See you, Snowy.”
I escape and make my way back to the
Marie.
Chapter 17
Kez happily takes the co-pilot’s chair and
after the routine takeoff, I flip the ship over
to the automatics so I can enjoy her wide-
eyed sense of wonder. I program the ship to
circle Nock once so she has a good view –
and even I have to admit that with the red
morning light outlining the highrises and
industrial slabs the grimy city is strangely
beautiful – then stick to the deck all the way
up the river for a low-fly over Hemos. It’s
only after she’s seen both cities from the air
and we’re crossing the broad valley that
separates Hemos from Zhonnys that I take out
the flimsy and pass it to her.
She examines it closely and looks up at
me. “I don’t—”
“It’s a list of all the places I’ve been
locked-up.”
“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Kez rolls up the flimsy
and clutches it between her fists. “Tyng.”
“Maybe. Or maybe your sharp-dicked
buddies decided that selling me out was
more profitable than keeping the Deeps
open.”
Kez bends her head over the plaz tube,
her dreadlocks falling to hide her face.
“Hale, I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say gently. Now that the
initial shock of being outed has passed, I’ve
moved on to the next thing: dealing with
whoever knows. “I just want you to
understand, when I take out whoever sent
that, it’s for a reason.”
I shouldn’t need to justify myself to her.
But I do. At some point over the last twelve
hours, it’s become important not just that I
kill Tyng for her, but that she forgives me for
doing it.
“No, no, I understand.” Kez unrolls the
list and reads it again. “This is, um, a lot of
different prisons.”
“Yeah.” I don’t elaborate.
“The last one, Tol Seng. You weren’t
there for very long. Twenty-two days.”
I grunt. Thirty-one thousand, six hundred
and eighty seven minutes. I counted each one,
because I was sure it was going to be my
last. Tol Seng may be located in B Gem, but
anyone who has been inside that slam knows
it’s really in the third circle of Hell.
“Did you really escape?” she asks.
“Yeah, I did. And I’m not goin’ back.
Anyone who threatens me dies. It’s that
simple, Kez.”
“I understand,” she says.
She doesn’t. Not really. No one who
hasn’t experienced the joys of the Universal
Penal System first-hand can really
understand. But I don’t need her to. I just
need her to forgive me when payback time
finally comes ‘round.
“As long as we’re clear.”
She nods. “We’re clear.”
I wait for a minute, to make sure she
doesn’t have anything else to say. She
doesn’t try to qualify it. Just reads the list
again before handing the flimsy back to me.
I roll it up and shove it into the flash-bag
hanging off the arm-rest of my chair. Squint
against the dull blue glare. Then I flick off
the automatic pilot and power up the co-
pilot’s console. “Time for your first flying
lesson,” I say.
Her eyes have dulled during our
conversation. Now they brighten again.
“Really?” she asks. Her hands gravitate
towards the controls on their own accord. “I
would love that.”
“Good. Rule one. Don’t touch anything
until I tell you what it does.”
She snatches her hands back like she’s
been burned and I chuckle before I start
pointing out the different control pads.
Teaching her to fly is entertaining. She’s
smart and interested, which are the only
important qualities in a student. We go over
the controls several times and by the third
time, I can see that she’s memorized them.
For someone who hates authority, she likes
rules. I give her the mechanics of sub-space
flight as a series of rules and she internalizes
them immediately. I let her have the controls
for a while. She tests them out and I answer
her questions as we go. The flight to Zhonnys
is a straight shot, so there’s no danger of her
flying us into a mountain. After she’s flown
for less than an hour, I can see she’s started
intuiting more complex maneuvers, mentally
jumping from what I’ve shown her to what
she’s seen me do during our flights together.
I take the controls back once we reach
Zhonnys, since landing requires some skill.
But I’m already looking forward to our next
lesson. Teaching her to fly is as gratifying as
everything else I’ve done with Kez: fucking,
eating, sleeping, fighting for our lives. I like
spending time with her, no matter what we’re
doing. The number of other people in the
universe I’d say that about, I can count on
one hand.
“You picked that up fast,” I tell her. “I
think you’ve got a future in that chair.”
She grins, that wide, delighted,
mischievous grin. “Do I have a future in that
chair?” She points at my chair.
I curl my lip at her. “Don’t get ideas
above your station.”
She laughs, then says earnestly, “I love
flying.”
“You’d get plenty chances as my co-
pilot. I’ve got no shortage of business.” I’m
more than busy enough as it is, but there’s a
lot of work I turn away because of the flying-
time limits on a solo pilot. I could take those
runs if Kez was my co-pilot.
She’s silent for a moment, and I wonder
if I’ve misread her enthusiasm. When I
glance at her, she’s watching me, big eyes
wide. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You do it all the time,” she snorts.
“Seriously, Hale, are you teasing me?”
“Not this time.”
“You’d let me be your co-pilot?”
“Yeah, you gotta earn your keep
somehow.” I chuckle at her outraged huff.
“’Sides, I’ve always wanted to fuck in zero-
gee. Havin’ you along will definitely cut
down on the boredom factor.”
“You are such a prick.”
“Seriously, any time you want, you got a
place in that chair.”
She scratches at her dreads, which I
know is a sign of uncertainty with her.
“Would it be, um . . . like partners?”
“Yeah, if you want.” As soon as she says<
br />
it, I like the idea. It’s a natural fit, her
business and mine. Gig could take over
scheduling logistics for me. I like the idea of
being one step removed from the people who
want to hire the Marie. Added anonymity.
And I like the idea of being involved with
Kez on a daily basis for something more than
sex.
“Sixty-forty?” she asks.
“Yeah, in my favor.”
She taps her fingertips on the armrest of
her chair. She’s gone into negotiation mode.
“I have more people to take care of.”
“High overheads on your side of the
business?” I shrug. “Not my problem.”
“You really are a prick.”
I chuckle. “Bad Kitten Land and Air.
Sixty-forty on the money, in your favor.” I
don’t need the extra money, particularly not
if I can take longer runs with Kez co-
piloting. They always pay better. “Fifty-fifty
on business decisions, and I get final veto.”
My kitten does not get to outvote me.
“Deal,” she breathes.
“’Course, we gotta live through this
first.”
I can see her smile reflected in the front
viewer. “Well, that’s a big incentive.”
“Yeah.” It’s a pretty big incentive for me,
too. Living free is all I’ve wanted since I
landed in that first hole on Henji. But being
on my own, being left alone, is less and less
satisfying, particularly since meeting Kez. I
want more. How much, I’m not sure. I
wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time around
the messier parts of Kez’s life. But having
her in mine feels just about right.
Dock Eleven B is a commercial dock.
Mixed passengers and cargo. No one gives
us a second glance as Kez and I leave the
Marie on an open landing platform and make
our way across a series of catwalks to the
grimy green sphere of the dock. Of course,
they can’t see anything beyond the reflective
suits we’re wearing. Zhonnys, like much of
the Western Colony’s central valley, is
heavily irradiated: the by-product of the dirty
reactors the original colonists used to power
Kuseros’s terraforming. You don’t drink the
water in Zhonnys, or eat anything grown in
its soil, or go outside without an atmosphere
suit. Not unless you want to grow gills or a
third eye.
Unfortunate side-effects aside, Zhonnys is
the perfect place to hide, since most of its
inhabitants wear atmosphere suits
everywhere but their private quarters. When
I first scouted Kuseros, I considered setting
up shop in Zhonnys. The exceptionally lax
security in Nock City persuaded me to base
my operations there instead, but the
impression of Zhonnys as a good hidey-hole
stuck with me. Which probably means
whatever we’re collecting in Zhonnys has
been hiding, and wants to stay that way.
Whatever it is, it’s not going to be anything
friendly.
The dock is heavily shielded. Anti-
radiation gel coats every exterior surface.
Dust from the nearby desert and patches of
the black radiotropic fungus that’s the only
flora native to Zhonnys since Colonization
make the dock look like an olive that’s rolled
across a dirty floor. There are no windows.
A pair of airlocks for doors. Fucking
fortress.
We wait at the outer door with a couple
other anonymously-suited travelers. The
airlock cycles with an asthmatic wheeze. No
security check. Yeah, I could get used to
Zhonnys. Too bad it lacks the one thing that
really interests me on Kuseros.
I turn to my one in a billion, wait until the
decontaminant spray stops hissing, and say,
“Any idea who we’re meeting?”
Kez’s head comes up, polarized visor
flashing the blue of her eyes and the
industrial green of the airlock walls at me.
“Nope. Hopefully they’ll know who we are.”
I nod and hold out my gloved hand. She
takes it and when the inner airlock cycles,
walks through at my side.
I spot the woman we’re meeting
immediately. There’s no mistaking her. It’s
Kez. A few years older. The bones of her
face and the lines of her body a little more
finely drawn. A few credits richer. She’s
wearing a custom, skin-tight, cobalt blue
atmosphere suit that probably cost more than
the Marie. Her skin – shockingly bared as
she lounges without her suit helmet – is
gilded a rich honey brown. Her blue eyes, a
shade paler than Kez’s, glow like glacial ice
against the warm frame of her skin. Her
mouth, the same size and shape as the mouth
I’ve been kissing for the last two days, is
lacquered a brilliant, glossy red, a hot flare
against her golden skin and cold eyes.
My body reacts to her the way it reacts to
Kez. The little monster shoots so hard, so
fast, it’s painful. My balls short-circuit my
brain, and my head fills with a vision of
flipping the woman over on the bench,
popping the waist-seal on her fancy suit,
yanking it down and taking her from behind. I
could be inside her in less than thirty
seconds. Her honey skin would be smooth
and warm under my hands. No scars.
She wouldn’t be Kez.
That thought kills the little monster’s
enthusiasm. Kez, blissfully unaware of
what’s happening in my pants, squeezes my
hand. She draws away from me and pulls off
her hood. Shakes out her dreadlocks. “Erin,”
she says.
The woman stands. She’s a few
centimeters shorter than Kez. Guess she
didn’t have the same steady source of protein
that Kez and Ape had growing up. She
swishes a platinum blonde mane that falls to
her waist and gives Kez a wide, red-framed
smile. Lotta teeth there. Gleaming white with
too many points, they betray the predator
behind the polish. She’s a meat-eater all
right. And there’s nothing of Kez’s
mischievous humor in that feral red grin.
She’s what Kez could have become if not for
her scars and self-doubt, if not for her
rabbits and her idiot brother. For a moment
I’m grateful to Ape and Nev and the giant
fuzz balls and everything else that’s kept Kez
sweet and mostly sane for the past twenty-
seven years. All the things that, if that smile
is anything to go by, Kez’s sister has lost.
“Kezzy.” The woman reaches towards
Kez. Kez stares at her, taking in the
outstretched arms but not moving into them.
She remains perfectly still, and out of reach.
“How are you? You got so tall. What have
you done to your hair?”
Kez
tilts her head to one side. “Tyng.”
The woman’s attempt at a warm welcome
slides off her face like a sluice of dirty
water, revealing the predatory purity of her
real expression. No humor, no warmth,
nothing but the unnerving intensity I’ve seen
occasionally in Kez. It’s just a step away
from a killing stare, that intensity. And this
woman lives in that state permanently, where
Kez only visits from time to time.
“Of course,” Erin says. “I’ve worked for
him for years. You could have, too. Don’t
you remember? I asked you to come meet
him.”
Kez’s eyes narrow. “Actually, I kind of
blanked everything you said after you told
me I couldn’t stay with you even one night.”
The woman laughs, and there’s something
ball-clenchingly hollow about her laugh. “I
can’t believe you remember that. It was,
what, ten years ago?”
“Sixteen. It made an impression,” Kez
says, her voice carefully neutral. “So what
do you do for him?”
The woman steps back without hugging
Kez and slides smoothly onto the bench she
just vacated. She crosses one long leg over
the other. “I shine his shoes, sweetheart.”
Another flash of that feral red grin. “Who
have you brought me?”
Kez glances at me. She doesn’t meet my
eyes; hers are shuttered and ashamed. Poor
kitten. It’s always a bad day when a skeleton
this lively climbs out of the closet. “This is
Snow. He’s our pilot.”
The woman rises again and holds a
slender hand out to me. “Erin Agosante.”
I finally place her in the Tyng family tree.
Erin the Assassin. Tyng’s killer call-girl.
The Nock City bars are full of wannabes
who claim, after too many shots, to have
slept with her. Doubtful. She’d have
crunched them down as an appetizer.
I shake her hand. She has a firm grip, but
she’s not trying to prove anything.
“Sandringham Snow,” I say.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she
responds, and I get the full blast of that
blood-red grin. It’s sexy in the same way that
watching predators eat can be a turn-on. It’s
wholly primal, and a reminder that sex and
death are closer than most people like to
think.
She moves a step closer, runs her
forefinger down my biceps. Her long, chalk-
white nails catch on the rough material of my
suit. “A pilot?” she asks. Her eyes narrow,
gleam with rapacious intensity. This is a
woman who fucks, and eats, whatever she
