by RS McCoy
“Maybe after a few more.” She held hands in her lap like she was too shy.
Osip pressed his hand on the front of his tailored suit vest. He tried to recover quickly and said, “All right, then. Mable?”
Mable folded over in her chair, laughing so hard before she popped up and stood next to him. “I can’t believe you know this one.” They stood, both facing the group, two feet apart, and, in time to the music, they both stomped with one foot and then the other.
Mable’s sneakers weren’t as loud as Osip’s dress shoes, but she kept her motions in time, at least from what Theo could tell. They moved to the music, stomping, clapping, turning. At one point, she turned to face him. The next moment, he grabbed her waist and lifted her over his shoulder, where she flipped and landed behind him, back pressed to his.
Theo’s jaw hung open, impressed. He had no idea she could do anything like that, that she liked music or dancing or any of it.
And he was in awe just watching her—laughing, smiling, moving and having fun like she scarcely did with him.
Dasia, Knox, and Georgie cheered and clapped at each new move. Theo, too, couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Osip took Mable’s hand and spun her around so many times Theo couldn’t count. She twirled and stopped just in time to face him and put her hands on his shoulders. As the music died down, he bent her back and kissed her cheek.
For several eternal seconds, they remained there.
Theo’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like it.
When at last they came up, the song was over. They bowed to each other and took their seats at the table again. Mable poured herself another drink and shot it back.
“That was amazing,” Dasia began.
“Next time, we’ll do it. I’ll show you. It seems hard but it’s easy once you get into it.” Mable leaned in and whispered something in her ear. When she pulled away, they both smiled.
“I can’t believe you guys are going to the moon,” Georgie offered. “That’s totally crazy. I wish I could go.”
“Maybe you will one day,” Mable replied.
“Nah, at this rate, I’ll be lucky to see a bug before it’s all over. You guys will find ‘em all before I get Jane out of her room.”
Theo had all but forgotten about her. They’d been close once, as close as Scholars could be. Now, she was so far from his thoughts he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her. Maybe that call the day in the Toronto café, the day he told her it was over.
He felt sad she was the only one not there. Like she’d never gotten over it.
Then again, she probably wouldn’t have had fun. She wasn’t the type to dance between tables in the galley.
Theo couldn’t believe it when, four songs later, another one came on with a similar beat and style. It had different flares, some kind of horn, but in its roots, it was the same. Osip bolted up and took Dasia’s hand, pulling her to the open space between tables to show her the dance.
“Knox?” Mable asked with her hand out.
Knox smiled wide and accepted. “Well slit my chicken lick,” he said as they took their spots. She looked ridiculous beside him, a quarter his size. He was painfully off in his timing, but she was gracious as she showed him each move.
Theo tried to pretend it didn’t bother him. He loved music, but dancing had never been his thing. He didn’t really want to do some ridiculous dance, but he did want Mable to pick him. It surprised him how much it hurt.
It hurt a lot, actually.
Stomping, clapping, turning. It was the same dance all over again, the same laughs, the same moves. Knox didn’t flip Mable over his shoulder, but instead, she showed him another twirling move as an alternative. Dasia squealed and giggled as Osip flipped her over his shoulder.
It was hard to tell who was having the most fun.
Osip and Dasia looked like no one else was there. Theo wondered when that had happened. Mable had fun with anyone who wasn’t him. Knox looked like she’d made his dying wish come true, a huge, happy grin plastered across his full cheeks.
On one hand, Theo was happy for him—for all of them. They arrived at CPI a sad band of misfits and outcasts. Now, at last, they were finding their places, readjusting to this new life.
On the other hand, he wished he could take part. Wished he could be the one to make Mable so energetic and vibrant. The fact that he could only piss her off frustrated him all the more in light of everyone else’s fun.
When Osip leaned in to kiss Dasia, he missed her cheek and landed on her lips, though not by accident. Her arms wrapped around his neck and the new curtain of blonde hair cascaded beneath her.
Georgie cheered, hooting and hollering for their public display.
Knox did his best to tip Mable, though his horrendous balance left her barely leaned back. Still, she smiled and lifted her hand to her forehead in a swoon before letting him kiss her cheek.
The song faded into another, calmer one as the four of them returned to the table. Osip refilled every glass with vodka, brandy for Mable, and lifted it in the air before him. “I hope you guys have the best damn time on the moon!” He shot back his drink followed by the rest of the group. Theo didn’t think he wanted anymore, but he drank when they did.
It burned, but not as bad, a clear sign that the alcohol was getting to his head.
Osip leaned in and kissed the top of Dasia’s head as he found his way back into his chair. “I can’t believe you convinced her to go blonde,” Osip said to Mable, only half-joking.
Mable moved to sit by Dasia, braiding her hair as they talked—likely to rub it in his face. “She looks fucking amazing, and don’t act like you don’t think so.” Like an expert, Mable’s fingers dipped between strands of blonde hair and folded them back, under, and over, a stunning, elegant pattern forming even as she argued with Osip.
“Oh, I’m not. She looked amazing before. I’m just shocked you convinced her she needed to change anything.” Osip spoke to Mable but looked at Dasia.
“I think she looks beautiful no matter what kind of hair she has,” Georgie offered to quiet the flames a bit, failing miserably.
“She can change it back whenever she likes. And you’re welcome,” Mable said with venom, as if she was responsible for anything that transpired between the new couple. Hell, for all Theo knew, she was.
He was so confused.
Mable tied off the braid, a thick and intricate masterpiece, and tossed it over Dasia’s shoulder. When she turned, she looked younger, more innocent perhaps, than she had before, though, of course, it was only her hair that had changed.
The others continued chatting, laughing, and Theo kept drinking. With each drink, he marveled at how his senses continued to fade. Everything blurred together.
At one point, Osip stood tall and told them stories from the underground. “My mom would pretend to be a zombie. It was like this dead un-dead guy from the old vids. She’d hold her arms out and walk around the apartment,” Osip said as he began walking with stiff legs and arms out in front of him. “When she caught us, she’d pretend to eat our arms and scream, ‘You got caught by the Mommy Zombie! Now you must die!’ We’d laugh and squeal and try to get away, but she’d just tickle us until we couldn’t breathe.”
Theo couldn’t help but laugh with the others. It was such a ridiculous idea. He couldn’t imagine his mother, the esteemed Cheryl Kaufman, pretending to eat another person’s arm, or playing games of any sort with him. She was too professional, even at home.
“Does that mean you’re ticklish?” Dasia asked as she reached a hand up to the side of his silk vest. Based on the way he arched away from her grasp, he definitely was.
“That’ll come in handy later,” she said with her head thrown back with laughter.
Osip froze and stared at her, wondering if she was teasing him. When the rest of them caught sight of his expression, they burst into laughter.
Dasia laughed so hard she snorted, which only set them off again. She’d clearly had too much to drink
. In fact, they all had. They were far too sloppy, too easy with their laughs, too forthcoming with embarrassing stories. Theo couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard.
DASIA
CPI-RQ-04
SEPTEMBER 9, 2232
Dasia didn’t bother knocking. She slid into Mable’s room and found her in the bathroom washing her face.
Mable saw her in the reflection. A sloppy, drunk smile filled her face. “I thought you were going to spend the night with Osip.”
“I was. But you’re leaving.” Dasia shrugged, too intoxicated to care what it looked like.
Mable finished drying her face and walked over. No longer did her presence fill Dasia with nerves. When Mable reached up to kiss her, a little playful one, Dasia grabbed her and kissed her back, only harder.
“Damn. I should have gotten you drunk a lot sooner.” The length of Mable’s legs were exposed in the barely-there shorts she wore to bed. Her skin was smooth as silk under Dasia’s hand.
“Osip did once,” she said with a laugh.
“And he didn’t do anything?”
“No, he’s a gentlemen, I guess.”
“Well, fortunately for you, I make no such claim.” Mable used her strong arms to toss Dasia back on the bed. After so much vodka, the room spun, and the impact shook her head. Teeth nipped at her shoulders as a hand reached under her and firmly squeezed a cheek. Mable was on her like a predator before she could make sense of it.
It felt too good to stop.
And who could tell when they would get this chance again.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
“I can’t believe you’re here instead of in Osip’s room.” Mable pushed up Dasia’s shirt and made a trail of kisses along her ribs.
“Why do you want me with him so badly?”
“It’s not that.”
“Okay?”
The kisses stopped as Mable centered her face above Dasia’s, her legs straddled to either side. “You used to come here because you needed me. If you needed someone, you would have gone to Osip. Tonight, you came because you wanted me.” Mable wrapped a hand around the side of Dasia’s neck and used a thumb to trace her jawline.
Dasia covered Mable’s hand with her own. “You’re right. I want you. I never would have survived this without you.”
Mable leaned in and kissed her. “Yes, you would’ve. You’re strong. You just didn’t know it. And now you do.”
Dasia smiled. She flipped Mable on her back and pinned her hands above her head. Mable was strong, but Dasia had the better reach. With Dasia pinning her to the bed, Mable could only squirm as Dasia’s lips tasted every available inch of her.
While Dasia usually gave in to sleep after a few hours in Mable’s room, this time, she persevered. Maybe it was the alcohol that made her feel invincible. Or maybe it was the prospect of never seeing Mable again. Either way, Dasia made good use of the time they had left.
Sometime not too far from dawn, Mable pressed her cheek to Dasia’s bare chest, her breath a bit labored. Her fingertips drew small circles on Dasia’s belly, an absent motion that invigorated her still-sensitive skin. “I want to give you something.”
A rush of cool air hit her side as Mable slid off the bed and dug through a drawer. She returned and set a teacup on Dasia’s torso. It was an antique thing, cream colored with fuchsia flowers and olive-green leaves. Most of all, Dasia noticed the cracks. The ceramic was a network of lines, branching across the surface until not a single side remained unbroken.
Each crack had been filled with gold.
“Is that real?” she asked as she lifted it and turned it in her hand.
“Yeah. It’s probably worth a fortune if you melt it down. But that’s not the point.”
Dasia turned it again, wondering what she was missing.
“It’s called kintsukuroi,” Mable explained, as if Dasia was supposed to know what that meant. “It’s more beautiful because it’s broken.”
The words shot Dasia through the heart. “I can’t take this. It’s—”
“I want you to have it.” Mable reached up and kissed her.
Dasia held her tight, unwilling to let go just yet.
MABLE
CPI-AO-301
SEPTEMBER 10, 2232
Mable arrived at Arrenstein’s office at 0800 as the ecomm specified, though she could think of a hundred things she’d rather do.
Sleep.
Throw up.
Die.
She held her palm to her forehead and winced at the sound of his voice. “Have fun last night?”
Mable found her way to the couch, sank into the corner seat, and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to explain it to him.
Then she heard Arrenstein laughing. “Serves you right for stealing my brandy.”
“I’m nineteen. I don’t need a lecture,” she reminded him. Mable collapsed onto the seat of the couch, using the arm as a head rest and curling into a ball in the corner.
“Make sure to stop by cleaning when you’re done here. It works wonders,” Arrenstein continued, though she didn’t bother to respond.
An indiscernible amount of time later, Theo stumbled in, looking similarly haggard.
“Ah, there you are. The onion vodka is particularly horrible in the morning,” Arrenstein said, as if finding his recruits hungover was a perfectly normal event for the morning. “Your LRF assignments have been finalized and the information sent to your tablets for later use. Your shuttle to Miami departs tomorrow at 1300, and your IPV leaves for the LRF at 1600. That doesn’t give us too much time to go over the details.”
“What details? Our aliases?” Theo asked.
“We’ve never done this before, but Nick and I agreed it was best. Kaufman, you’ll keep your identity.”
Theo rubbed his temple. “Okay?”
“There are enough Scholars in the LRF that are familiar with your family. Your look is too unique to the Lancaster Kaufmans. Even if we highly modified your appearance, lightened your skin and hair and so on, the effects will only last a few weeks, and you could be recognized. We decided it was best to modify your file to reflect a few career changes rather than create a new, possibly-detectable, alias. Now, you’re a twenty-three-year-old robotics engineer.”
Theo nodded.
“With your highly qualified background, we put you in the Robotics department. They recently lost their lead Scholar and have a position available. You should fit in there nicely.”
“And me?” Mable wondered what kind of department she might be in. It had been a long time since she considered her scientific career aspirations.
“You’ll be filling a long-vacated position in the Planetary Systems department. One of the other long term recon team members is already in that department. It should give you two the opportunity to work and communicate closely without raising suspicions.”
“Who’s the other team?” Mable tried to focus despite the pounding in her head.
“In Planetary Systems, we have Vince. His alias is Dr. Calvin Hill. In the LRF director’s office, we have Abby, or Abigail Perch. She’s the assistant director for the LRF, second only to Director Filmore. They’ve both been in their roles for over a year and have formed relationships with those around them. You’ll need to be mindful of those relationships when working with them.”
Arrenstein made it sound like they were a couple of LRF hookers, only getting information instead of money. Mable had known a few like that in the Root and some of the others, though she doubted that’s what Arrenstein meant.
Maybe she just had sex on the brain.
“And my alias?” she asked, anticipating another Camille Christophson. She hoped he picked well. It would be hard to have some prissy abomination of a name for a year.
Silas smiled, not his plastic one, but a real, genuine smile. Mable knew it would be bad.
“You’ll be Dr. Maggie Kaufman. Theo’s wife.”
Yep. She was definitely going to throw up.
SILAS
CPI-RQ-06
SEPTEMBER 10, 2232
Silas knocked on Maggie’s door, uncaring as to how it looked. Now he knew he was being watched, that Nick was spying and sending the images to Masry, but he also knew Maz wouldn’t be a problem.
So Silas stood at her door and waited.
When she opened it, she stood tall with long blonde hair reaching down to her waist, waved but smooth as silk. “Looks good,” he told her, trying to sound as off-handed as possible.
“Thanks. What’s up?”
“We’ll be moving your personal effects into storage on the fourth floor. I thought I could show you around, so you would feel comfortable leaving your things here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She shrugged.
“I’d also like to show you something, if you’re not busy.” His heart was beating so hard it threatened to break his ribs and escape his chest altogether. He was nervous—terrified in fact—but it was time.
She must have sensed his nerves. Maggie cocked her head just so and narrowed her eyes, suspecting. Nonetheless, she followed him to the elevator and waited patiently as they arrived at RS-402-AW.
“This was Alex’s unit?” she asked when she saw the placard above the door.
Silas scanned his palm print and waited for the door to click open. “Press your hand here.”
She did but asked, “Why?”
“So you can access it, even if I’m not here.”
Maggie looked up at him but didn’t manage to say anything. Instead, she turned her attention to the narrow room.
The recruit storage rooms were little more than closets, large enough to hold their personal items during their long term assignments. Between the shelves that held Alex’s memories, there was only enough space for Maggie to stand.
The bottom shelf was full of clothes, the comfortable pants and shirts he’d known Alex to wear. Above that, a variety of pieces, many of which Silas still didn’t understand. Some were easy, like the digital frame that held the image of his prized little sister. Others he couldn’t begin to guess. A piece of porous black rock, some sort of seed pod, a plastic card for a Dr. Virgil Rathbone.
