by E J Frost
and self-assured. The dragon tattoos say ex-
military. But my size and presence are an
advantage in negotiations, even with other
men. “Two thousand hard.”
Shaker looks me up and down, chews on
his beard again, and finally nods. Kez
unshoulders her backpack, and as she starts
routing through it, I slide my hand under her
hair, cup her nape, and draw her close so I
can speak right into her ear. “After you pay
the man, we need to find a place to practice.
I’ve never ridden a finboard.”
Kez shakes her head as she pulls two
wrapped stacks of credits out of her pack
and places them on the counter. “Remind me
what I’m getting out of this partnership? You
give away our ship. You make me pay for
everything. And now I find out you can’t
even surf?”
I squeeze her neck and she squeaks. “You
get me,” I growl in her ear.
“Seems light,” she retorts. “If I’m going
to give you surfing lessons, I’m going to need
more than just a couple of cubes of yokan to
keep me going. A double-bag of flash at
least. You’re buying.”
I’ve got a hundred or so in hard credits
sealed into the lining of my vest, but she
doesn’t know that. “Sure, right after you
advance me off that six-four you owe me.”
Kez looks up at me quizzically while
Shaker counts the credits. “Six-four? Forty
percent of thirteen is five-two. And we
haven’t earned that yet.”
“I’ve done my part. I got you here. You
bargained for sixteen. I told you, high
overheads on your side of the business are
not my problem. If I’d known you were this
bad at math, I’da demanded fifty percent to
cover the accounting costs.”
Kez sticks that little kitten tongue out at
me. “You’re stuck with forty percent. And
that’s after expenses.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” I turn my
head so I’m speaking directly into her ear.
“Somewhere I can spank you when you start
mouthin’ off.”
Kez giggles. The urge to get her
somewhere alone is overwhelming. Do I
really give a shit whether we get her sister to
the Cloudlands by midnight? No, but she
does. She’s never dropped a package. Never
jacked a run. And then there’s Tyng, who
might not look too kindly on Kez if she
blows his timetable. I’m still not convinced
the best way to save Kez’s ass isn’t to shiv
Tyng’s, but I want to keep our options open.
Either way, it’s not looking like I’m
going to get a chance to spank my mouthy
kitten any time soon.
I sigh, shift my weight to adjust the
constriction of my pants, and satisfy myself
with stroking the satin-smooth skin on the
back of her neck.
“This is okay,” Shaker says finally as he
tucks the credits out of sight. He makes an
adjustment on the side of his goggles and the
haylon glow turns into a full lightshow. He
flicks his headlamps over Erin and Kez, and
finally turns them onto me. I blink into the
dazzling glare. “So that’ll be extra-large for
you.” He chuckles to himself.
The kid and Kez snicker. Erin allows
herself a small smile. I let them all amuse
themselves at my expense. I don’t care what
the kid and Erin think; Kez knows exactly
how big I am, and I haven’t heard her
complaining.
Shaker whistles and there’s an irritated
monosyllabic response from the back room.
“Trista, get me three suits. A one-one-six, a
one-six-seven and a two-nine.” The girl
answers with a noise that sounds marginally
more affirmative than her first one. Shaker
reaches over and rotates part of the glaz
counter inward, creating an opening from the
front of the shop to the back. He gestures us
through with two fingers. “C’mon, follow
papi.”
The back room is as dark and crowded as
I’d expected. Shaker navigates through the
stacks of equipment with the ease of great
familiarity, and we follow in the glow of his
goggles.
After twenty-two meters, Shaker stops
and adjusts his goggles again. Then he
pushes open a wide, sliding door.
Having already calculated what’s beyond
the door from the dimensions of the building,
I turn my head slightly and squint to shield
my eyes. Beside me, Kez grunts as the
sunlight dazzles her. I slip my hand under her
backpack, into the small of her back, and
guide her forward as my eyes adjust.
Behind the shop there’s a permacrete
dock that overlooks a wide canal. A half-
dozen skimmers bob on the canal’s quiet
waters. Shaker takes a control wand out of
the pocket of his coveralls and points it at
one of the skimmers, which lights up in
response. The skimmer rotates slowly in the
water, then sweeps toward the dock. When
the skimmer comes within a meter of the
dock, a small cable shoots out of the dock,
attaches to a battered metal plate on the side
of the skimmer, and reels the skimmer in to
float snugly against the dock.
Shaker hands the control wand to Kez.
Shows her the command codes, which are
pretty simple: open, close, lock and dock.
“You know how to drive a skimmer?” he
asks Kez.
She glances at me. “Snow’s our pilot.”
I haven’t driven a skimmer before, but
I’ve never met a ship I didn’t like. I hold out
my hand and Kez slips the control wand into
it.
“Take care of my Betsy now,” Shaker
says to me. He nods at the skimmer and I see
that a woman’s curvy silhouette has been
holopainted on the side of the ship. Betsy is
stenciled beneath the silhouette’s stiletto
heels.
“I will,” I say, and it’s a promise I have
no difficulty making, since I want our deposit
back.
There’s a commotion behind us as
Shaker’s daughter emerges from the back of
the shop lugging three, teardrop-shaped plaz
boards. Long, flipper-shaped fins protrude
from the top and bottom of each board,
making them an awkward bundle, and the girl
drops one of the boards as she walks out into
the sunlight. She throws the two other boards
and three unisuits, so thin and dark they
could be shadows, at her father’s feet. She
collects the other board from where it has
fallen and tosses it into the pile. “Get your
own next time,” she snarls at her father.
Shaker curls his lip at the girl and she
retreats inside. “A little respect, eh?” he says
to his daughter’s bac
k.
I slide my arm around Kez’s shoulders.
“They become worth keeping, eventually.”
Kez knocks me with her elbow. “You
didn’t even know me when I was younger,
grandpa.”
Shaker and I share a laugh. That laugh
says a lot about Shaker, including that he
loves his daughter, despite her attitude.
I hand the control wand back to Kez and
help Shaker load the skimmer. It’s a small
ship, three meters wide by four meters long.
The hull’s thin, so the interior is just shy of
the same dimensions. There’s a single open
cabin, without any partitions, enclosed by a
plaz canopy that’s transparent on each end
and opaque in the middle. The canopy is just
high enough in the middle that I don’t bang
my head, and I’m careful to duck when I get
near the curved sides. Blue padded benches
circle the interior circumference of the ship.
Crash webs hang underneath the benches,
creating storage, and there are a few tie-
down points in the floor for larger items. I
store the finboards and Erin’s luggage under
the webs, then join Kez in inspecting the
controls. There are two sets of controls, front
and rear. They look identical. Very basic. No
control pads or wheel, just a toggle to
control direction. Basic, but well
maintained. I smell grease, metal polish and
astringent cleaning fluid. Those smells tell
me Shaker loves his skimmers, as well as his
daughter. No wonder he names them.
“Where’re the jets?” I ask Shaker.
“Fore and aft.”
I nod. Where I figured. Flying this well-
maintained little ship shouldn’t be any
problem. I glance at the finboards, secured to
the floor with black webbing. Those I’m not
so sure about.
I let Kez drive. One person can fly the
little ship without much difficulty, although I
think it will take two of us for the trickier
slide-beneath-the-bowship maneuver. Kez
enjoys flying and it keeps her from sparring
with her sister. Banks sits beside her at the
rear controls and they dish dirt about people
I don’t know. Leaving them to their catch-up,
I wander to the front of the skimmer – four
whole steps — where Erin sits, staring out
through the transparent canopy at the shore as
it rolls past. The long, golden beaches are
mostly empty. Seabirds and the occasional
stroller. Three months from now these
beaches will be wall-to-wall bodies as cits
from Hemos and Nock escape the summer
heat. But for now they’re quiet, and peaceful.
Erin holds out her hand as I sit down. I
consider her open palm for a moment, then
slide my hand into a pocket of my fatigues
and tickle through the contents until I find the
master key to the Marie. I pull the little
control pad out of my pocket and drop it into
Erin’s hand.
She lifts an eyebrow.
I lift mine back at her.
“I didn’t expect you to give it to me now.
You said once we got to the Cloudlands.”
I shrug. “Seems t’me like you’re
committed.”
Erin curls her fingers around the metal
oval. Turns her head so she can stare out to
sea. At a long gray smudge on the horizon,
maybe twenty klicks in the distance: the
Cloudline. The Cloudlands’ security barrier.
“Yes, it does,” she says.
But she doesn’t sound so sure. Maybe
she’s not as committed as she was when we
collected her from Zhonnys. Maybe the
doubts I’ve planted are working on her. Time
to push a little more. “Did Tyng know
tonight’s the Mirrormen’s cookout, or is it
just an unhappy coincidence?” I ask her.
“I have your ship.” She holds up the
master key between two long fingers. “I
don’t have to answer your questions.”
“But you will,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “Why is that?”
Because I haven’t given her the code that
unlocks the control pad, so all she’s
currently holding is a pretty piece of metal.
But I save that information; I might need it
later. “’Cause she’s still your sister.” I nod
at Kez. “An’ you know I’m the best chance
for her, and you, gettin’ to the Cloudlands
alive. So tell me what I need to know.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Best guess.”
“My guess would be yes, he does.
Kison’s very well-informed. But it’s just
inconvenient timing. He wants me to
succeed.”
“Does he?” I lean forward on the bench,
rest my elbows on my knees. There’s a little
vibration from the jets as we fly; enough that
sitting up straight and letting that vibration
rattle up my spine is uncomfortable. “You
an’ your sister gettin’ raped, cooked an’
eaten by a bunch of MAO-A psychos? Seems
like the kinda revenge he might find sweet.”
She lifts her upper lip in a small snarl.
“Don’t presume to know anything about
Kison.”
She says his name defensively.
Protectively. The way Kez says Nev’s name,
Ape’s, and maybe mine. No question how
Erin feels about Tyng. Only question is, does
he feel the same way about her?
“No? He wouldn’t put you into that kinda
situation?” I ask, feeling around this possible
point of leverage.
Her chin quivers. Firms. “Whatever the
situation, I can handle it.”
That was not a no. Not her response so
much – because Kez has those moments of
bravado, too – but the body language behind
it. Body language that says that Tyng has put
her into dangerous situations before, without
any concern for her safety. “Yeah? How’re
you plannin’ to deal with the Mirrormen?”
She tilts her head at me. “How are you?”
I draw my kukris out of their boot-sheaths
and cross the blades in front of her.
“How many can you kill?” she asks
speculatively. She’s watching me instead of
the shore now, but her eyes don’t light up at
the sight of my very fine blades. Not a
razorgirl.
I’ve never counted how many I can kill at
once, so I pick the most important number.
“All of ‘em.”
She rolls her eyes. “So you say.”
“I don’t say anythin’ I don’t mean.”
Which is the truth. Another thing I like about
life without chains: not having to lie. I lied
all the time in the hole. Sometimes to throw
the whitejackets off my scent. Sometimes to
conceal what I had. Most times just to fuck
with people’s heads. Now that I’m free, I
don’t need to lie, and generally, I don’t. “I’ll
let you mop up, though.”
“You’re such a gentleman,” she says
caustically. “Has my sister seen you in
action? Does she know what she’s sleeping
with?”
“Yeah. You tryin’ to find a wedge to
drive between us?” I smile and shake my
head. “Waste of time.”
“Why is that?”
I sharpen the kukris against each other.
Let myself brag a little. Feels good. Can’t
remember the last time I had something to
brag about. “Your sister’s got a serious jones
for me. Knows me inside out. There’s
nothing you could tell her that would put her
off.”
Erin looks sharply at her sister. Kez has
been listening, even while she’s been
gossiping with Banks, and meets Erin’s
glare. Kez smiles. It’s not her usual
mischievous grin. This is a triumphant smile.
I like that smile.
Erin redirects her glacial glare. “And that
doesn’t bother you?”
I shrug. “I take it as a compliment.”
“Why? Because she’s young?” Erin
sneers.
“An’ hotter than hell.” Erin’s not old, but
if she’s my age and she’s never really had
anyone, those years will feel longer than they
are. I grind them into her. “You have a great
sister. Smart. Beautiful. Loyal. Too bad you
don’t know her.”
“I know her a great deal better than you.”
“No, you’ve just known her longer.”
“Really? How’d she get that scar on her
back?” I know, but I don’t say anything. See
what she’ll tell me. At my silence, she gives
me her feral grin. “She doesn’t talk about
that, does she? How the NoBos caught her
and made her put on a show, before they all
took their turns on her? You didn’t think you
were the first, did you?”
I slide the kukris back into my boots.
“You think tellin’ me your sister was raped
by a pack of sand-rats will put me off?” I’m
not sure I’d believe it, anyway. Ape would
have mentioned it during our conversation in
the taxi, when he was feeling me out. And
I’ve been with a rape victim. It took weeks
to get Mouse to trust me; longer before she’d
let me do anything more than kiss her. She
was never playful, never adventurous, in
bed. All that was stripped away by what
Shiller did to her. Kez isn’t anything like
that.
“Raped?” Erin scoffs. “She wasn’t
raped. She gave it up. She put on a big show,
then spread her legs and let them pull a train
