Hotter on the Edge

by Erin Kellison

  Brilliant man. It was the only structure within range.

  "Gods be damned, how long does it take to switch out the plasma?" Simon bellowed back, hauling Mica up by her bound wrists. "I've been waiting all night for your drunk ass to show up."

  "I think you bided your time jusssss fine," Jace returned.

  "I want pax," Simon said, curt. "Not a hanging. No pussy is worth my neck."

  "Charming," Mica mumbled.

  "Oiii!" Jace raised his arms and thrust his pelvis rhythmically into the air. "I could make her say yes."

  "No," Mica said coldly.

  Simon leaned in to her ear. "Not a lot of men to choose from who are exiled from the city, and yet still manage to live."

  Let her stew on that. Exiled, that's right. Left to die was more like it. His companions weren't miners, so they didn't know about Simon's own trouble. Jace was a merc for hire who got stranded on Sol and couldn't afford the pax to get off. Otis was a native, and a man of all work. Swore he hadn't meant to kill his last employer. And Simon had just wanted it all. Almost had it, too. And he would have helped any who'd wanted the same.

  A question glinted in her gold-flecked eyes and her jaw got tighter, but she followed where he led. Boarded her own ship, which Simon knew had to have been clean before Jace and Otis had found the alcohol. Food trash and what had to be Mica's personal articles—underwear, text-heavy papers, a heeled shoe—littered the neck of the dragon. But the corridor walls were fashioned out of some variety of Earth wood, warm in tone, with darker veins running irregularly through the pieces. Luxury stuff. Even the air felt expensive. He ran his hand along the side—the closest a mining grunt like him had ever been to anything of the mother world.

  He pushed Mica ahead into the neuro. Otis lounged in the pilot's seat, which was upholstered in a strangely smooth creamy tan fabric splattered with bloody-pink paint. A drizzle of the pink lacquer ran across the main console as well. It took a minute for Simon to register that Otis was wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline. The material was shot through with the occasional sparkle and was stretched to near transparency across his belly. Narrow straps ran over his shoulders to disappear down his back.

  Mica in a skimpy black dress. Simon searched his memory. No, he'd never seen her in anything like that.

  "Princess—" O stood and flourished a bow, a strappy heel hanging off his ankle "—I thank you for your excellent hospitality."

  She cocked her head to the side and stretched O a dry smile. "What's mine is yours."

  Simon couldn't confine her to her stateroom—not with Jace and O determined to live to the fullest—so he settled her on the floor of the neuro, her back resting against the wall, for the flight to the city. Getting inside the grid would be easy—Simon had a friend in the halo and a few more in labor. At one time, he'd had a lot of friends.

  What to do with their hostage was more difficult, but not impossible.

  "We hide her in the mines," Simon said once they were in motion. The flyer skimmed along the frothy break of the canopy. "No Peace can find their way deep in the belly of Sol." They'd land on the field, then hop a cargo carrier on the beamer train—not the first time someone had smuggled contraband via that route. A little pax for the Peace to look the other way, not a problem—everyone wanted a little extra cash during the wedding swell.

  Simon glanced at Mica, and found her already staring at him.

  She lifted a brow, as if to say, You'll never pull this off.

  He kept his gaze level. I have nothing left to lose.

  Far off on the horizon, the jewel of Sol City appeared, a sapphire bubble within which the atmosphere was breathable without plugs and the temps were kept at a steady 72 degrees. Dangerous native flora had been excised and the most colorful cultivated. The mineral mica had been ground into glitter powder and incorporated into the facing of many of the buildings, so that the city sparkled. Spires needled the sky. The highest, of course, belonged to the family Sol.

  "Take us in, O." Simon tapped the comm, a single ping, to raise the halo. Miranda, his contact on the other side, would transpose the license numbers and get them in under an "Unidentified" tag. By the time the Peace investigated, they'd be on their way.

  Instead, a monotone female voice responded. "Please hold your position for Peace escort and transmit the ident-tags of your four human occupants."

  "You said you could get us in," O grumbled.

  Mica had leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. A soft smile played about her mouth, as if to say, Told you.

  "Then we do the trade now," Jace said. "We tell them we have the princess and we'll kill her if we don't get…" his eyeballs did a greedy back-and-forth twitch "…100 thou pax. Minimum."

  Simon ignored him. A princess's ransom was worth upwards of 50 mil, but the point was moot.

  Peace flyers winged out of the halo toward the dragon. The flyers resembled razor bugs, which meant more stings.

  Simon shook his head. "We get the hell out of here." The dragon could outmaneuver the Peace flyers easily. "And try this again later, on our terms." They'd have to go the other way, the hushed way, into the mines and chance the scavengers.

  Otis was already pulling up the viewer, which broke into multilayers of topography, atmosphere, and orbit. Best place would be King's Valley and its jungle. Again.

  Simon hated razor bugs.

  The auto voice repeated. "Please transmit the ident-tags of your four human occupants." The Peace positioned themselves on each side of the dragon.

  "Or you could deal with me," Mica put in. She had that narrow-lidded look again.

  O had his hand on the tremble, but flicked a glance Simon's way. "What does she mean?"

  "I say we deal with her father." Jace had his slicer gun in hand. Did he plan to kill their hostage up front, and then ask for money?

  "I can guarantee your lives, if you return me now," Mica said. "My word as a Sol."

  Damn the smooth voice. Simon didn't know what that tone meant.

  "She must think we're idiots," O said.

  A smile cracked her face, which meant, Yes.

  Simon had to get Pilar's dowry. There was no time to hide and wait—he'd already waited too long for an opportunity like this. Another couple of days, and that pile of mica would be gone.

  Trust Mica, then?

  "She wants to get out of here alive," he explained to Jace and O. "She's bartering her life for ours. Put away the slicer, Jace."

  A man's voice came over the comm. "This is our third and final request. Identify yourselves."

  O sniffed his suspicion at Mica. "And how does she think this will work out?"

  "It's simple, really," she said. "I tell them that you're my staff. We land. We go our separate ways. We pretend that this never happened."

  Simon was sure she'd get her payback, but she'd take it out of him.

  Mica's gaze flicked to him for a second—a sliver of heat—then she returned her attention to O.

  "See?" O said, his confidence shifting to Jace now. "They did get along last night. This is a setup."

  Jace turned his slicer on Simon.

  Simon shot Mica a look. Well done. We both die.

  "Prepare for boarding," the comm voice said. The dragon shuddered.

  "Let me talk to them," Mica said.

  Jace bared his teeth at her.

  "You can always slice me after," she offered.

  Simon notched his chin at O, who glowered threats of death, but tapped the comm console.

  "Touch my ship," Mica said, using her princess voice, "and you will answer to my father."

  Simon made a face at her, wielding her daddy like that.

  She pursed her lips back at him. Yeah, well?

  "To whom are we speaking?" the Peace man asked.

  "This is Mica. Esmeralda. Incomparabla. Sol."

  Gods. She was even using her full name. That Peace was as good as dead.

  "Your pilot didn't transmit ident-tags, ma'am,"
the Peace said, clearly disbelieving. "You will please do so now."

  "One moment," Mica replied silkily. Then, ostensibly to O, "Raise my father on the comm, please."

  Mica reached across the console to do so herself.

  O blocked her hand.

  She rolled her eyes at him and gestured to Jace's slicer. Another call didn't change anything. They held the gun.

  O pulled back, grumbling.

  She tapped a series of numbers and symbols. Fast fingers.

  The Peace tried one more time. "If you will simply transmit your ident—"

  Drummond Sol's voice boomed from the comm. "Who is this?"

  Damn if it wasn't the man himself. King of the world.

  "Hi, Father. I'm sorry to bother you, but the Peace won't let me enter Sol City," Mica said. "And for some unfathomable reason, they've grappled my dragon as if I'm a criminal."

  She showed a grim smile around to the criminals in the neuro.

  "I want Comptroller Tomas," Drum Sol told someone. "We have the ambassador's dinner in less than an hour, and my own daughter is held outside the city."

  Simon eyed his men. Jace had let his attention slip, the slicer's barrel going slightly idle. Grab for it?

  The dragon shuddered again—the grapple retracting. "My apologies, Princess Sol." Now a different voice, one of utmost contrition and respect. "Your flyer is free to land."

  A clear window expanded in the city's jewel-toned dome.

  "I'll need to change," Mica said to Simon. "A daughter of Sol does not show up looking like this. Not even me." She waved a hand at her soft blue jumpsuit, which Simon thought was exactly Mica. Or Mica as he knew her.

  O shook his head. "We still don't know if she'll turn us in."

  Jace grunted.

  Simon kept his mouth shut. He was going back into Sol City with Mica. He felt like he'd been thrown into the crusher inside the mine, and he knew he'd come out at the other end pulverized. Again. He'd take it though, if he could get his hands on the dowry.

  "You still have the slicer," Mica pointed out to Jace, then cocked her head at O. "Besides, it's your appearance that will raise questions…and eyebrows."

  O seemed to suddenly remember that he was wearing a dress.

  Simon scowled, but had to agree. "There's going to be a lot of media when she steps out of the dragon. A crowd, some commotion. We'd have a chance."

  Mica lifted her bound wrists.

  Simon's gaze twitched from Jace to O, but already knew what they would decide. Neither of them had enjoyed their sojourn in King's Valley.

  "Mica-love," Drum Sol's voice came over the comm. "You won't have any more trouble. We'll be there to greet you. It's been too long, sweetheart."

  O cursed, but turned to the console and placed his hand on the tremble. The dragon eased into a forward acceleration toward the halo. The Peace flyers flanked.

  Jace drew out a knife from his body brace, flipped the blade once in the air, then stepped up to Mica and slit the tie at her wrists.

  Chapter Four

  Mica glanced at the dragon's viewer. The strip outside was packed with people, including her family, standing in a row, all awaiting her exit from the dragon. Her nails were dry, lacquered silver this time. Her shoes—rescued from the hulking man, Otis—were strappy gold blades. She went with the midnight blue silk from Xaia, which fell in a ripple of singing fabric from her breasts to her feet. A jewel sparked at the notch of her throat. And a tap to her wrist activated an aura of deep purples that would trail her every step. The pax she'd dropped on that.

  But Pilar had expressly told her not to embarrass the family.

  Mica exhaled to steady her nerves, wishing she was back in the jungle instead. Then moved out into the neck of the dragon where her "entourage" was waiting. Otis and the slicer man, Jace, made a good showing as brute force. A princess needed her protection. Simon tried to match them in fatigues and brawn of his own, but he wouldn't be standing behind her. With his natural dash, he was her arm candy.

  "Oh, lady!" Otis exclaimed when his gaze fell upon her.

  Jace narrowed his eyes and gnawed on his lower lip, probably thinking about trading her again, and for how much.

  Simon looked angry. Which she didn't mind at all.

  "Here we go," Mica said, and hit the hatch release. A blast of commotion and noise blew her hair back. Media bobs whizzed through the air toward her. The bobs were small spherical hover comms that recorded and transmitted news and events to all media outlets. Hosts narrated remotely what the bobs caught, spinning casual conversations into titillating bits of sector gossip.

  She's coming now, she's coming now…

  …the long-lost princess xenobiologist…

  …five years on far away Encantada…

  …has her peers' highest respect. Dr. Luiseno says of her…

  Her father's eyes have tears!

  Her sister's hand goes to her breast…

  How they have missed her!

  "Gods have mercy," Simon said in her ear.

  Mica took his arm at the crook of his elbow. Warm, strong. She suddenly felt beautiful.

  "Please," he murmured. "Don't take me back into this."

  "You shot me out of the sky," she reminded him, and stepped out into the furor.

  He had no choice but to step with her. And the other riffraff followed behind, a little closer than necessary, Jace with his hand on his slicer.

  Mica waved a welcome to the crowd. The din rose, vibrating in her bones. She walked the short way to where her family stood to greet her. She didn't miss the way her father went space-cold upon seeing Simon at her side, which meant that her father had to know why Simon lived the way he did now. Good. She'd start with him at her first opportunity.

  She hugged her mom first, but amid the noise, couldn't hear what she was saying. Then her father, whose tight hold made her realize how much she'd missed him, in spite of whatever was going on with Simon. When radiant Pilar stepped forward and embraced her, a golden aura wavering at her back, the wildness of the crowd surged. Pilar had always been beautiful, but now she appeared a goddess in gold.

  Mica turned to Otis and Jace, and raised her voice. "My father's security will take it from here. Thank you very much, and please enjoy Sol City." How much they heard, she had no idea. She made a small sweeping motion that meant, Go on. Run away. This is your chance.

  But she reached for Simon's arm. Not him. He was staying with her.

  The other two ducked into the crowd. Neither was smart enough to stay out of trouble. She wouldn't report them, which was their deal, but she knew that they would be picked up soon enough by the Peace anyway for crimes they were sure to commit.

  Pilar was blowing kisses when the car's driver opened the door. And then everyone climbed inside and found a seat on the sumptuous long leather benches.

  "There's a dinner?" Mica asked when the door finally slammed shut and the car started moving. A formal dinner was not how she'd envisioned her homecoming, but she thought she heard her father mention something to that effect earlier.

  Pilar narrowed her eyes Simon. "Crashing the party?"

  Gods. Three words and Mica was home. From the sweet gush of Pilar's comms, Mica had expected a different homecoming. Maybe Pilar knew something about Simon, too.

  "I see now," her father grumbled like a storm, "why you wouldn't give the Peace the ident-tags of your crew."

  Here we go.

  "How could I, Father," Mica shot back, "when I just found out that Simon isn't permitted inside the city?"

  "And did he tell you why?" the storm raged.

  "He says it's his business." Mica flicked a glance at Simon, who could have been carved out of stone. Very angry, molten stone.

  "You look lovely, de—" her mother began.

  "How could you do that?" Mica demanded of her father. "Exile someone into wilds not capable of sustaining human life? It's barbaric."

  Her father leaned forward. "I'll tell you barbaric! Do you have any idea
what he did? He's a murderer! Exile was warranted."

  Murder.

  Mica reared back. "I don't believe it."

  Pilar looked pained. "Please don't ruin my wedding."

  Simon had killed someone. Okay. It was sad and terrible, but there had to be extenuating circumstances.

  "Mica," her mother said, with a small nod at Pilar, heavy communication batting across their gazes. "We're headed now for the ambassador's dinner." She pressed her lips in a pretty I'm-sorry. "It's a formal dinner, and while you're dressed beautifully, it might be best that Simon wait—"

  Her father splintered her mom's polite speech. "He is not welcome in Sol City. We can confine him until a prison barge can be diverted."

  Mica understood now. The cost to bring a barge would be astronomical, as Sol was located in the backwaters of space. Exile was so much easier.

  "I can't believe this is happening." Pilar looked to their mother. "Hakan is going to be so angry. He'll deal with an occasional miner for the media, but not outright criminals."

  Mica was shaking inside. Simon had been her refuge when her family was at its worst, but now he was distant. He didn't try to defend himself, so he must agree with the charges her father laid.

  But she didn't believe it. He wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He hadn't changed that much. There was more to this than anyone was letting on. So she was going to make it very easy for them to understand.

  "I'm prepared to give you my love and leave again," she said. "I can make my own living just fine."

  Her father's gaze went wary, his jaw cocked. Pilar's mouth went agape.

  That's right, Mica told her with a look. I'd give up my claim to Sol.

  Mica then turned back to her father. "Simon stays by my side in Sol City, or he stays by my side elsewhere."

  ***

  Simon would have killed again just to get out of that car. This was the Mica he knew. Stubborn beyond all scope. No moderation. Her either/or propositions always stripped everything to the bone. Nothing halfway. She was like that, too, in love, in conversation, in bed.

  "You would abandon Sol?" Drummond Sol demanded.