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Snowburn

Page 54

by E J Frost


  tunnels again, so there’s not much we can do

  about it.

  “Okay.” She carries the box up the

  Marie’s ramp, but she checks it first, my

  cautious kitten. Her smile tells me we got

  what we wanted.

  She brings me a bulb of water when she

  returns to help me unload. Operating the

  funnel is a one-man job, though, so there’s

  not much she can do other than stand around,

  watch and slurp my drink.

  After I unload the last crate, I move to the

  base of the Marie’s ramp and reclaim my

  water. She’s left me most of the bulb, so she

  was only taking tiny sips. Probably just to

  tease me. She gives as good as she gets, my

  kitten. I hold my arm out and tuck her against

  my side when she comes to me. She turns her

  face into my shoulder. Catches my sweat-

  dampened tank in her teeth and tugs on it.

  Then kisses my chin. “I like it when you’re

  sweaty,” she murmurs.

  I cup the back of her head. Stroke her

  stubbly hair with my thumb. “Naughty

  kitten,” I say absently. I’m watching the

  tunnel. All the darker now for having three

  crates stacked in front of it. Is there

  movement in the shadows? A flash of white

  fur? A gleam of claw? I can’t be sure, but I

  think so.

  “C’mon, kitten.” I lead her back up the

  ramp. “We’re done here.”

  Kez peers back at where I was staring.

  Then glances up at me anxiously. “Is there

  —?”

  “Dunno.” I tap the ramp controls. Listen

  to the hydraulic hiss as it closes behind us.

  “But we got what we came for, so it’s time

  for us to go.”

  “Okay.” She slips her hand in mine.

  Smiles up at me as we walk towards the

  cockpit. Without hesitation. Without

  question. That immediate, unblinking trust

  she’s given me right from the start. I squeeze

  her hand.

  “You ready to take us out of here?”

  She chews her lower lip for a moment.

  Considering. She was watching me closely

  as I took the ship down. I don’t have any

  concerns about her ability to fly us out of

  here, but I’m not going to push her if she

  feels it’s too much.

  She nods firmly.

  “Then you’re driving.” I steer her

  towards the captain’s chair.

  Kez sits cross-legged on my workbench,

  polishing one of the spare bones, watching

  me cut the first knife. The bones the rats have

  provided are stripped clean: no meat or

  gristle left on them. But they’re not smooth,

  and shaping the knives will be easier with

  smooth stock, so Kez rubs the bones with the

  polishing cloth I’ve given her.

  She doesn’t show any squeamishness at

  the task. She sets to it in the same practical,

  straightforward way she does everything

  else. Yet another thing I love about her.

  “You ever come across anything you

  couldn’t do, kitten?” I ask without taking my

  eyes off the laser I’m using to cut the bone.

  “Mmm?” She lifts her face, obscured by

  an opaque breather that covers her from nose

  to chin. I’m wearing its twin. I do not want

  either of us breathing human bone dust.

  “Splinters. I can’t pull out splinters. Not out

  of myself. Not out of Ape or Nevie. I just

  can’t do it. Makes me sick.”

  “Splinters.” I try to wrap my head around

  this foible. She can sit there calmly sanding

  down a dead man’s bone. She can take on an

  orclas with only a couple of threads of

  monofilament. She can deal with her friend

  puking and shitting all over her during Hex

  withdrawal. But she can’t pull a piece of

  wood out from under a layer of skin.

  “Uh-huh. Your turn. Is there anything you

  can’t do?”

  I consider it for a moment. There are a

  few things I haven’t done. Could I do them if

  properly motivated? Probably. “Eyeballs,” I

  say finally. “Anything to do with eyeballs.”

  The chopdoc on Cayster had to knock me out

  before I’d let him near my eyes. I didn’t mind

  him cutting up my face while I was

  conscious, but I was not letting him open up

  my eyeballs. “And spiders. I’m not a huge

  fan of spiders.” I never got to meet any of

  Phogath’s rectal worms, but I met plenty of

  the planet’s arachnids. The little green ones

  that tunnel into your mucous membranes to

  lay their eggs were the worst. I had to have a

  batch of those cut out of my sinuses. That

  was not a good day.

  “Spiders and eyeballs?”

  “Next subject,” I growl, not wanting to

  think about spiders and eyeballs, particularly

  not in conjunction.

  “Have you ever done this before?” she

  asks, tipping her chin at the bone I’ve cut in

  half.

  I examine the cross-section. There’s a

  good amount of compact bone, which is what

  I want for the knife. The honey-combed

  spongy bone and marrow are no good to me.

  Although I hear the marrow is edible. I’ll

  leave that to the Mirrormen. “Not exactly.

  I’ve used animal bones as weapons.” Mostly

  as clubs. “I haven’t carved knives before.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “Yeah.” I glance at her. Have I kept her

  that completely in the dark? If so, she doesn’t

  look perturbed. She sights along the side of

  the bone she’s been polishing, nods in

  satisfaction, and turns the bone over.

  “See this ridge?” I slide my forefinger

  along the outer edge of the bone. “That’s

  where it’s thickest. I’m gonna use that part,

  so try not to polish too much mass away.”

  She nods. “Aye-firmative.”

  I examine the bone half I’m holding

  again, decide where I’m going to start the cut

  and set it back in the magneclamps I’ve stuck

  to my workbench. I trim off everything but

  the compact bone first and cut myself a

  working blank. The knives are going to have

  to be shorter than normal throwing knives to

  fit my forearms. I prefer a twenty-centimeter

  knife for throwing. These are going to have

  to be about sixteen centimeters. Anything

  longer than that and I won’t be able to bend

  my wrists and elbows with the knives in

  place. As long as I stick my target, that

  should be long enough.

  I’m also going to have to throw spear

  style, which is not my preference. I get better

  results with a quarter spin. But the spin

  requires some weight at the back to ensure

  rotation and the thicker I make the hilt, the

  more bone I have to shove under my own

  skin. So I end up with a design that’s more

  like a damned dart than a knife. But it

>   balances the competing factors.

  I stay with the laser until I’ve got the final

  shape and all I need to do is hone the edge.

  The dry bone is easier to cut than the steel or

  thermium I usually work with, but, I discover

  as I begin roughing out the second blank, it’s

  full of organic inconsistencies, and a thin

  spot on the second blank causes the hilt to

  fracture irregularly along one edge as I cut.

  “Fuck.” I pull the blank out of the clamps

  and toss it onto the bench next to Kez.

  She frowns at it through her breather. “I

  take it it’s not supposed to look like that.”

  “No.”

  “Well, good thing we’ve got spares.” She

  hands me the one she’s been working on,

  which is yellower than the previous two

  bones, but when I cut it through, has

  wonderfully thick ridges of compact bone.

  I cut two blanks out of that one, and when

  I trim the first blank into a rough, I know

  these are my knives. “Musta been a milk

  drinker,” I tell Kez, running my fingertips

  over the dense, yellow bone.

  “Or a runner,” says Kez.

  “Yeah, you figure your bones look like

  this?”

  She sniffs. “My bones are much prettier

  than that,” she says, stretching her legs in

  front of her and pointing her toes, free of her

  boots and encased in soft peds now that

  we’re back indoors. “Probably not as long,

  though.” She takes the unpolished bone and

  holds it against her thigh. She’s holding it

  backwards, so the head and trochanter

  protrude past her knee. About six centimeters

  past her knee. “Man?” she asks.

  “Or Amazon.” My kitten’s fairly tall for a

  woman, so the original owner of that bone

  must have been over two meters. Or had legs

  up to their neck.

  She holds the bone out and examines it in

  the strong mid-day light streaming through

  the big windows overlooking the river. “It’s

  funny to think of this being under my skin.”

  “Not as funny as thinking about it bein’

  under my skin.”

  She puts down the bone. “How’s that?”

  “Knives I’m carving go under my skin.

  That’s how I’m gonna get them into the

  meeting with Tyng. All they’ll scan is an

  extra pair of bones. Lots of Mods have

  those.” I might even have a few. I’ve never

  checked.

  Kez stares at me for a long moment.

  “You’re fucking with me.”

  I shrug. “Nope.”

  “You are not sticking that—” She grabs

  the broken blank and waves it at me. “Under

  your skin!”

  “Not that one. It’s broken.” I finish

  trimming the blank and pop the magneclamps

  to release it. I turn it over in my hand, testing

  the weight and balance. It’s already pretty

  good. Now let’s see if it takes an edge. I

  know from experience that bone shards are

  fucking sharp, so I’m hopeful.

  “Hale!”

  “What?” I thought we were finished with

  that last subject, but Kez evidently has more

  to say.

  “I’m serious. Listen to me. I had no idea

  that’s what you wanted the bone for. You

  can’t do this. What – how . . . wait, is that

  why Doc Gray is coming here? Is that the

  favor? You’re going to have him implant

  these under your skin?!”

  “Yeah.” I flip on my grinder and let it

  warm up while I move over to where Kez is

  sitting. I push her legs apart and lean in

  between her thighs. Peel down our breathers

  so I can kiss her. “An’ you’re gonna sit next

  to me an’ tell me how brave I am while he

  does it.”

  “No, I’m not!” Kez protests. She twists

  her face away, but I cup her neck, draw her

  back to me and kiss her until she stops

  whining.

  “I might even want you to kiss it better

  once Doc Gray is done.”

  “This isn’t funny.” She pushes at my

  chest, but she doesn’t put any strength behind

  it. “I can’t let you do this. Please, Hale,

  don’t.”

  “It’s done, kitten.” Well, half-way at

  least.

  “No, he hasn’t cut fucking holes in you to

  stick those in.” She gestures wildly at the

  blanks sitting on the workbench. “We’ll get

  them in some other way. Please, I don’t want

  you to do this.”

  I catch her hand, push up her sleeve until

  I find the spot where I cut her to give the rats

  their blood-price. I rub my thumb over the

  healed wound. “Remember this? Remember

  bleeding so I’d have safe passage outta the

  rathole? You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even

  flinch. You think I got any problem doin’ the

  same for you?”

  “I don’t — it’s not —” She shakes her

  head and glances around like she’s looking

  for some other answer. She also looks like

  she’s about to cry.

  “Kezra.” I pitch my voice deep and use

  her full name so she’ll know I’m not playing

  around now. “I’ve got no problem with this.

  It’s not the first time I’ve cut myself up for

  the cause. This is a better reason than I’ve

  ever had before—”

  “No,” she says so low it’s almost a

  moan. “You’re going to cut big holes in

  yourself all because my stupid brother cannot

  keep his stupid dick in his stupid pants.”

  I cup her face in my hands. Lift her head

  so she has to look up at me. “They’re going

  to be small, surgical holes. That’s why Doc

  Gray is doin’ them. An’ I’m doing this for

  you, not your stupid brother. Definitely not

  for his stupid dick.”

  That gets me half-a-smile.

  “C’mon, kitten. This is one of the best

  plans I’ve ever come up with.” It blows my

  escape from Tol Seng away. All that

  required was strength, some of the skills I

  learned in S.A.W.L., and a lack of other

  options. “You gotta admit, Tyng will never

  suspect.”

  “Because no one else is crazy enough to

  implant knives under their skin.”

  “Are you so against this ‘cause stickin’

  ‘em under my skin is like a splinter?”

  She snorts. “I’m against you mutilating

  yourself. You’ve already got a huge hole in

  your shoulder from where my sister shot you,

  and now you’re going to have two more big

  holes because of my stupid brother—”

  I cut her off with another, deeper kiss

  before she winds up again. “My shoulder

  feels fine,” I tell her when I let her up for air.

  Which is true. Doc Gray did a great job with

  it, which makes me confident about having

  him cut the sheaths. “An’ this is gonna be

  fine. Now, how ‘bout
we go back to the part

  where you tell me how proud you are of

  me?”

  She slides one arm around my neck and

  tilts her face up for another kiss. Which I

  give her. There are probably some things

  better than kissing my kitten, but I can’t think

  of any right at this moment. “I am proud of

  you,” she whispers against my mouth. “Don’t

  ever think I’m not totally blown away by the

  way you keep saving my ass. I just wish you

  didn’t have to.”

  I chuckle. “For the record, daily ass-

  saving gets a little old. But I’m fine with it

  occasionally.”

  “But it has been every day,” she points

  out.

  I stroke her cheeks with my thumbs.

  “Yeah, it’s been every day. But I figure once

  we’re done with Tyng, things are gonna calm

  down. As long as you don’t go promisin’

  flesh to any more drug lords. An’ as long as

  your brother doesn’t stick his stupid dick in

  any more drug lords’ daughters.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson. No more flesh.

  Ever.” Kez shakes her head ruefully. “Ape?

  Who knows. But I’m done pulling his ass out

  of the fire all the time. He’ll have to live

  with the consequences of his own actions.”

  She looks at me squarely. “I’m not letting

  anything threaten this. You and me. Not

  ever.”

  That gets her a very deep kiss.

  After enough kissing that the little

  monster starts to rumble, despite how

  chapped he is, I return to my knives. I stick

  our breathers back on, drag Kez off the

  workbench, over to the grinder, and keep her

  pressed to my back as I shape the edge on

  each of the three blanks I’ve cut. She leans

  against me, arms around my waist, rubbing

  her cheek between my shoulder blades. She

  doesn’t distract me. Just adds immensely to

  my enjoyment of what I’m doing.

  The first knife I make isn’t one from the

  yellow bone. It’s thinner and lighter. I toss it

  around for a moment after I’ve sharpened it,

  testing the weight, then give it an

  experimental toss at the far wall, at a line of

  pseudowood that frames the two huge panes

  of glaz overlooking the river.

  I don’t expect it to stick. My throw

  wasn’t particularly good and I didn’t put

  much force behind it. But it does. The bone

  bites into the pseudowood like a long white

  fang and hangs there, quivering.

  “That’s not a bad knife,” I tell Kez,

  before turning to sharpen the two others.

  Kez does hold my hand while Doc Gray

 

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