Snowburn

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