Snowburn

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