Snowburn

by E J Frost

  cuts the sheaths. And she whispers into my

  ear, but after the first minute, she’s not telling

  me how proud she is of me. She’s telling me

  how much she wants me to fuck her again.

  And when I growl at her, she tells me exactly

  how she wants me to fuck her, a description

  which involves some very complicated

  bondage. Who knew my kitten had such a

  vivid imagination?

  Her whisperings keep my mind off what

  Doc Gray is doing to my arm. He’s working

  behind a fizzing blue sterile shield, so I can’t

  see much. And he’s numbed my arm down so

  I can’t feel much beyond some tugging. But

  we talked about it in detail, and I watched

  while he marked out the pocket he’s creating

  under my skin with a q-pen. So I know

  exactly what he’s doing. Kez’s dirty

  descriptions are a welcome distraction.

  She gets so inventive that I have to

  chuckle. “I don’t think I could get it in if your

  legs were tied together like that, kitten.” The

  mechanics are just all wrong. “I’d be willing

  to give it a try, though.”

  She presses her cheek against my neck

  and jaw; I can feel her skin heat as she

  blushes. “You could put it in the other

  place,” she whispers.

  Ah, has someone discovered she likes

  anal sex? She certainly got off when we did

  it with the vibrator, but I wasn’t sure if it

  was the anal stimulation or everything else

  we did. I turn my head so I can whisper right

  into her ear. “You invitin’ me to fuck you in

  the ass?”

  The heat of her skin against mine

  increases. “Yes.”

  “Bad kitten.”

  Doc Gray sits back and turns off the

  sterile shield. I glance down, take in what

  he’s done and lift an eyebrow in surprise. He

  said the sheath would be concealed beneath

  my subcutaneous fat – which set Kez giggling

  madly, and earned her a poke in the side –

  but I thought it would be visible to some

  degree. I’d planned to wear long sleeves to

  cover the bulge. But there’s barely a ripple. I

  can see that the knife is in place by the edge

  of bone protruding at my wrist. Looks like a

  very neat compound fracture. The knives

  aren’t that thin; how the fuck did he hide it?

  “Good job, Doc.”

  He turns his goggly silver fish eyes to me

  and nods. “Thank you. It’s nice to have an

  appreciative patient.”

  “I am. For everything.” He had a long

  swim on top of the surgery. He seemed to

  like it, though. He was smiling hugely when

  he showed up at sunset, his crested head

  popping out of the river a meter clear of my

  shock-net. He was in a good enough mood

  that he threw a wriggly silver fish at me and

  laughed when I retaliated by tossing the lees

  of my tea over his head.

  “You are most welcome. And your

  generous donation to my clinic will help me

  hire another assistant, so I can take more

  evening swims.” He didn’t set any particular

  fee when I asked him for my favor. So I

  handed him a thousand hard in rolled

  octagons when he arrived. If he’d demanded

  a thousand, I probably would have tried to

  bargain him down. But since he just took

  what I gave him, I was inclined to be

  generous. “Now, please lift your arm and

  bend the elbow.”

  I do. The sensation of the foreign bone

  under my skin is extremely strange, but it’s

  not painful, probably because my arm is still

  mostly numb.

  “Mmm.” He prods the bone at my wrist,

  grinding it against my real bone. That does

  hurt. He takes out a little hand-held scanner

  and runs it up my arm. Frowns into the

  display screen. “Mister Snow, what was

  your father’s profession? And your

  mother’s?”

  “My real parents?” At his nod, I say,

  “Atmosphere miners.”

  “Do you know how heavily they were

  Modified?”

  “No. They weren’t around for me to ask.”

  The fish-doc hums again and does

  something to my wrist. For a second, I just

  feel a weird sliding under my skin. Then pain

  shoots up my arm like he’s turned the knife

  into a hot needle.

  “Ow,” I say mildly, although the pain is

  anything but mild.

  “I enjoy your gift for understatement,

  Mister Snow.” He pushes down on my wrist

  and the pain subsides to a throb, then a

  tickle. He looks up at me. “This will

  complicate matters. You are healing

  extremely quickly. Granulation tissue has

  already started to form. When you withdraw

  the knives, that new tissue will tear.”

  “Yeah.” Great. Tearing tissue sounds

  messy, and painful.

  “If you produce dendrites at a rate

  similar to your fibroblast proliferation, it

  may be quite painful.”

  “Fuck,” Kez breathes beside me.

  I shrug my opposite shoulder. I figured

  that after the tearing tissue bit.

  “There will be some bleeding as well.”

  As long as it doesn’t fuck up my aim, I’m

  okay with that. I only have one shot anyway.

  “Anything life-threatening?”

  “No, it will only be capillaries, as long

  as you remove the blades within a few

  hours.”

  “Snow—” Kez begins.

  I silence her with a shake of my head.

  “Anythin’ else?”

  “No. Shall I do the other one?”

  I nod.

  Kez gives me the stink-eye as she and

  Doc Gray switch places and he sets up the

  sterile shield. I wait for her to settle down on

  my other side, before I reach out and loop my

  arm around her waist. She glances down at

  it. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “Nope.” It might once the anesthesia

  wears off, but for now it feels fine.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “So you’ve said. You’re givin’ me a

  complex.”

  She snorts. “I doubt that.”

  “Well, how ‘bout we get back to what

  you were talkin’ about before?”

  “The mood’s gone.” She shakes her head.

  Not for me, but maybe it’s better if she

  doesn’t keep on, since Doc Gray’s sitting

  about ten centimeters from the little monster

  where it’s tucked down my left pants leg. I

  lie back on the hard workbench and try to

  ignore the tugging in my left arm.

  “Do we have time to go back to my place

  before the meet?” Kez asks. Her expressive

  face is drawn. She’s worrying again.

  Whether it’s about what’s happening to my

  arm or something else, I can’t tell.

  “Sure.” I’ve left three hours for Doc Gray

  to implant the blades and the first one’s taken
/>
  him less than a half-hour, so we’ve got a

  comfortable window. “How far’s the

  warehouse from your place?”

  “Fifteen minutes by board. Less if we

  take your trike.”

  “That’ll work.”

  We’re both silent for a moment. The only

  sound is the fizz of the sterile shield. And a

  faint sucking sound, which is probably Doc

  Gray sucking out some of the subcutaneous

  fat that Kez found so amusing, to make the

  groove for the sheath. Then Kez scoots

  closer, tucks her face down into my neck and

  wraps her arm around my shoulder. “I’m so

  sorry,” she whispers into my ear.

  “I’m not, kitten.” I’ll gladly save her ass

  any time. Particularly if she’s gonna offer it

  to me afterwards.

  Chapter 32

  Kison Tyng is a small, thin man. He sits

  in a plaz wheelchair. Bundles of tubing flare

  around the back of the chair like angel wings.

  Liquids burble quietly through the tubes. The

  straw yellow of lymph fluid, the darker

  yellow of urine, clear saline, dark blood. I

  could guess at what each bundle of tubing

  does, but I don’t have to. The whole

  contraption is keeping him alive, keeping

  him clinging to life, when otherwise

  whatever is slowly killing him would

  already have finished the job.

  Mike-the-Merc stands next to Tyng’s

  wheelchair. He’s in bodyguard pose, hand on

  wrist. I was right. He wasn’t Ass Hat’s

  bodyguard. He’s Tyng’s. He was there for

  the glands because Tyng himself needs them

  to stay alive.

  I bury that knowledge and give Mike

  blank face as Kez and I stop behind a pair of

  lacquered chairs positioned a few meters

  away from Tyng’s wheelchair in the

  otherwise empty warehouse.

  Tyng bows his head, first to Kez and then

  to me. I nod in return. Kez makes an

  awkward little curtsey. Play nice, be

  respectful. Until the moment comes when I

  can create the chance.

  “Miz Kerryon,” he says courteously.

  “Mister Snow. Please have a seat.”

  Kez sits down on the chair he indicates.

  Her body language is tight. Arms drawn

  close to her sides. As soon as she sits down,

  she crosses her legs. Her face, carefully

  scrubbed during our quick trip back to her

  place, is blank.

  I ignore the second chair, move behind

  her and rest my hands on her shoulders. If

  she still had her mane of dreads, they would

  hide my arms, and the weapons buried in

  them. As it is, Doc Gray’s done such a good

  job that I don’t need any concealment. The

  only telltales, the protruding edge of the hilts,

  are tucked under soft wrist guards. Whatever

  the guard at the warehouse door saw when

  he scanned us didn’t alarm him. Maybe the

  knives aren’t the only extra bones I have. If

  we get out of this alive, I’ll ask Doc Gray.

  Tyng folds his hands in his lap and

  studies us. “Miz Kerryon, I have thought on

  the dilemma your family presents for a very

  long time.”

  “Yes, Mister Tyng,” she says quietly.

  She’s trying to keep the strain and fear out

  her voice. Not quite succeeding.

  “I was most gratified when you offered

  me flesh for your brother’s crimes. And I

  have been pleased to receive Michael’s

  reports on the success of your runs. Although

  your insult to my nephew, Mister Snow,

  presents a fresh problem.”

  His nephew? Ass Hat. I shrug. “No

  means no.”

  “But did she have any right to say no,

  when she had agreed to give me flesh?”

  Kez bows her head. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t

  realize that was it.”

  “Personally, I am pleased you resisted,

  Miz Kerryon.” He smiles, showing small,

  white teeth. But it’s a predator’s smile, as

  much as if he’d had a mouth full of fangs. “If

  Kincaid or my nephew had had their way

  with you, I would have had to count your

  debt to me satisfied, in all good conscience.

  Now I do not.”

  Kez hunches slightly under my hands and

  I know what she’s thinking. If I hadn’t

  stopped Kincaid, he’d have raped her, but

  the nightmare would be over now.

  “So, back to the heart of the matter. You

  offered me flesh. I accepted. I asked you for

  two runs and you performed them admirably.

  You are everything I have come to expect

  from the reports I have received about you

  over the years. You are determined, clever,

  resourceful. Michael reports that you even

  display a great deal of loyalty, in your own

  way. I have no doubt that you would fit

  admirably in my organization, if that is what

  you choose.”

  I rub my thumb over Kez’s shoulder. The

  Überbitch said he might try this. “Are you

  offerin’ her a job?”

  “That’s one choice. Six years of service.

  A year for each month that her brother has

  defiled my daughter.”

  “Service,” Kez says. “Not a job. You

  want a slave.”

  Tyng watches her for a long moment, then

  nods.

  She stiffens under my hands and I know

  she’s going to tell him to fuck off. Her and

  her issues with authority. “What’re her other

  choices?” I ask before she says anything.

  “Flesh, Mister Snow. Hers or that of

  those she loves. Michael has prepared a very

  comprehensive list of possibilities. Would

  you care to read it?”

  I meet Mike-the-Merc’s blank, brown

  gaze. The likelihood of him and me finding

  out who’s faster, who’s stronger, jumps a

  notch. “Sure,” I say slowly.

  “Michael, would you kindly summarize

  for Mister Snow?”

  Mike-the-Merc uncrosses his hands,

  moves them around to his back and crosses

  them again. His hips rock forward slightly.

  What’s he doing, showing me his dick? “If

  she offers her own flesh, I recommend

  breaking her kneecaps and severing her

  hamstrings. Her hamstrings might be

  successfully reattached, but she lacks the

  financial means for extensive regen therapy

  to repair her knees and would likely be

  crippled.”

  Whether he’s showing dick on purpose or

  not, he’s excited. And pretty soon it’s not just

  going to be a contest of who’s faster, who’s

  stronger, but also who can stretch out the

  dying the longest.

  “If she will not agree to her own flesh,

  then I recommend burning down her house.

  Her animals are unlikely to survive.”

  Kez makes a tiny, strangled noise. I don’t

  look at her, but keep my gaze steady on

  Mike-the-Merc.

  “Thank you, Micha
el,” Tyng says.

  I tilt my head to the side and watch the

  two of them. Calculating distance, angles.

  “Mister Snow intends to kill you,” Mike

  says, in the same flat voice that he delivered

  his report on how to destroy Kez’s soul.

  Tyng chuckles. “He is hardly the first to

  do so. And from his expression, or lack

  thereof, I would say that he intends to kill

  you first.”

  That’s the first thing he’s gotten wrong.

  “So, Mister Snow, those are the options,”

  Tyng continues. “Unless, of course, you’d

  like to offer me an alternative.”

  I chuckle, just as humorlessly as Tyng did

  a moment ago. Mike’s pitch was just the

  warm up. Tyng’s the closer. “Yeah, I figured

  this was coming.”

  “Did you? That would be remarkable of

  you. But you are a remarkable man, Mister

  Snow.” Coming from anyone else this would

  be a compliment. Tyng lays it out like the

  specs of a ship he’s looking to buy. “Or

  should I say, Sergeant Hauser? Sergeant

  Halemano Kamé Hauser.” My stomach drops

  like I’ve just leaped off the top of a tether.

  “Late of the Deep Frontier Space-Air-Water-

  Land forces. Even more lately of Tol Seng

  Penal Colony. You were quite an enigma at

  first, Sergeant Hauser. Even Michael failed

  to recognize you.” Tyng slants a dark glance

  at his bodyguard.

  “The difficulty,” Tyng continues, “with

  anonymity, is avoiding coming to the

  attention of those with the resources to

  identify you. You did so for an exceptionally

  long time, which is a further credit to your

  skills. But Kuseros is my world, and Hemos

  is my city, and I watch its inhabitants

  closely. I have to, of course, to identify

  potential risks to my organization. Also, I

  will admit, to identify native talent, such as

  Miz Kerryon’s. With an organization such as

  mine, there is a high degree of turnover. I

  must constantly plan for the replacement of

  key personnel. So when you arrived on

  Kuseros, I had you tested. Discreetly, of

  course.”

  “I remember,” I say. I swallow to get my

  stomach, and my nerve, back where it should

  be. Get on with creating the chance. That’s

  why I’m here. Doesn’t matter what Tyng

  says or does. I shift my hold on the back of

  Kez’s chair and lean over her, concealing the

  movement as I draw one of the bone knives

  out of my forearm. Warm wetness wraps

  around my wrist: blood soaking into the

  wrist guard. A hot needle jabs up my ulnar