by Kelly Jensen
“I’ll come with you,” Gael said.
Bram nodded.
Gael tried to hand both mugs to Aavi, but she tucked her hands behind her back. “I want to come to!”
“You’re supposed to be packing for our picnic.”
“We can see who’s here first, can’t we?”
Bram gestured toward the upper terrace. “C’mon. Let’s get upstairs.”
Leaving Aavi and Gael to go about their business, Bram hustled to the ramp connecting the upper and lower terraces. By the time he got to the garage, the noise of the approaching rover was louder and more fierce. The vehicle was larger than it had first appeared, which in no way soothed his fears. Not that he was afraid. Just anxious. Too many of his hopes for the future seemed to hinge on this moment. He stepped out into the amber daylight and waved. The vehicle slowed as the road leveled out onto the terrace, and parked neatly at the edge of the field where Bram stood, dust billowing out from beneath the huge, knotty wheels.
The canopy swung up and Orfeo stepped out.
Only Orfeo.
“Abraham.”
Bram frowned. “Something on your mind, Orfeo? Satellite passes overhead twice a day.”
Orfeo was pulling off a pair of gloves—the gesture old and familiar. Gloves were an essential part of their former careers, and Bram still wore them out of habit when operating any machinery.
“I’m here to do the inspection,” Orfeo said, tucking the gloves into his belt.
“Just you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Wasn’t expecting you until the afternoon.”
“I decided to make the crossing before the sun came out. Where are your guests?”
Bram’s scalp prickled. “Around.”
“I looked into the girl for you.”
The prickling intensified. “Yeah?”
“Very, very interesting.”
Bram said nothing. Orfeo would get to the point when Orfeo wanted to get to the point.
Orfeo got to the point. “She’s listed as stolen property. The Warrant Collectors’ Office has a contract out for her return, and for the man who took her.”
“The man—”
“’Bout 170 centimeters tall. Dusky complexion. Gray eyes, curly brown hair.”
The prickle moved down the back of Bram’s neck, leaving a heated flush in its wake. Sweat sprang out along his hairline. “If you got something to say, just say it.”
“You were always a dumb fuck, Bram, but this is the mother lode.”
“The WCO holds thousands of contracts. Is there a name with that description?”
“Does there need to be? You bought yourself a criminal.”
“I didn’t buy myself anything.”
“Nothing ’cept a passel of trouble. Here you are, playing happy families with a stolen kid and a killer—”
“A what?”
“You really know nothing, do you? Have you slept with him yet?”
“What?” Bram’s cheeks were heating again.
Orfeo shook his head. “You stupid, dumb—”
“Shut the dust up and speak plainly. If you’re accusing Gael of a crime, spell it out. I don’t have time for word games.”
“Your lover is some sort of assassin. That plain enough for you? He killed the girl’s owner, and apparently he also killed his brother.”
Though the idea of it turned his stomach, if Bram been standing closer to Orfeo with a heavy object in his hand, he might have lashed out. He took a second to catch his breath and heard a footfall behind him, Bram turned. Gael stood there, flanked by Aavi, and the expression on his face . . .
Holy hands, no. A sick swirl of horror moved through Bram’s gut. Orfeo had to be lying. But if he was, why did Gael look so damn guilty?
Gael felt as though someone had shot a hole through his middle. He’d stepped out of the garage just in time to hear Orfeo’s accusation, and it burrowed through his gut like burning lead. Bram’s reaction was worse. It was as though he was the one who’d been shot and he was teetering in that awful moment before his body might decide it wasn’t supposed to be upright.
Aavi’s shrill voice broke the weirdly silent plateau. Yelling “No!” she ran toward Orfeo, small hands curled into fists.
Shaking off his shock, Gael chased after her. “Aavi, don’t!” He wasn’t sure what he was warning her not to do. He simply didn’t want her near the man who threatened all their happiness.
Bram hadn’t moved.
Gael caught up with Aavi just before she reached Orfeo, and bent to pick her up. She kicked out at him, turning small fists toward his jaw. Gael accepted the blow as he struggled to keep his arms around her.
Aavi continued to yell. “It’s not true! Gael didn’t do it. He didn’t kill anyone. You can’t have him. He’s mine! He said he’d never leave me. You can’t have him!”
One of her flailing feet connected with his groin. White and orange blobs clouded Gael’s vision, and a sick pain pushed through his stomach. He nearly lost hold of her as he dropped to one knee, swallowing and gasping.
“Let me go.” Her fists smacked into him.
“Aavi—”
A boot came out of nowhere, bouncing off his shoulder. As he fell back, dropping Aavi, Gael realized it hadn’t been her foot. A much larger boot had caught him. He lay blinking in the raised dust, instinct warring within. He wasn’t a fighter, but running wouldn’t solve his problems. Not this time.
Aavi was screaming. Gael looked up to see Orfeo towering over him, one foot raised menacingly. Another shadow came in from the side. Bram knocked Orfeo out of the way, and the scuffling and screaming went on.
“Enough!” Bram speaking in something other than a gentle tone was shocking and profound.
Gael rolled onto his side and dug his palms into the gritty dirt. His left hand was numb, and putting any weight on it sent a sharp pain up through his arm and into his shoulder. He persisted until he could sit up. His brain did one incomplete loop before settling back into his skull. Orfeo had picked up Aavi, and she hung limp in his arms.
Bram stood before the pair of them, back turned to Gael. His posture was fierce. Rigid and square, fists clenched. “What do you want, Orfeo? If you’re so sure I’m harboring a killer and a fugitive, what are you doing all the way out here exercising your jaw?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious what I want.”
Gael looked at Aavi, caught up in Orfeo’s arms. Oh hell no. Not happening. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring his useless arm, and threw himself toward Orfeo. “You can’t have her.”
Orfeo pushed Aavi toward him in a sudden motion. Gael tried to put his arms around her before she fell to the ground, and failed. She caught him, though, her sturdy form just enough to hold him upright. “Gael,” she sobbed into his shirt.
“I don’t want the damn girl,” Orfeo said with a growl. “I want this claim.”
“You what?” Bram turned to his farm, his expression morphing from anger to bewilderment. He turned back. “What would you want with my farm? There’s bigger in Landing. Hell, there’s another crevasse on the other side of Landing, closer to town than this one. You could have any of it.”
“But none of it would be as cozy as the setup you’ve got here. You always were a good worker, Bram. Set you a task and you’d get it done. You should have stayed with the company. This . . .” Orfeo made a broad gesture. “This has been a waste of your time.”
“It’s the mineral, isn’t it? My find. You don’t want my land. You want what’s buried beneath it.”
Orfeo shrugged.
“Did you even report it to the company?”
“I have to verify it first, don’t I?”
“You ass,” Gael said over Aavi’s head. “You complete and utter festering—”
“Gael!” Bram snapped.
“What? He’s trying to do you out of your life’s work here. Don’t listen to him.”
“Not now, Gael.”
Gael rocked back, surprise knockin
g the wind out of him. Still he found enough breath to try again. “Bram . . .”
“While you two figure out your shit, I’m going to go inspect my mineral.” Orfeo stepped toward his vehicle and palmed the side. The rear canopy opened and he leaned inside.
Gael thought about jumping up and smashing the edge of the door down on his head. Instead, he spoke to Bram. “I didn’t do it, Bram. Whatever he’s telling you, it’s a lie. Please.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but the word pushed past his lips again. “Please.”
Though Bram’s gaze was directed his way, Gael could tell he wasn’t seeing him. He had that faraway look in his eyes. The appearance of someone who had too much information resting at the forefront of their mind, and had yet to sort the useful from the useless.
Without saying anything, Bram turned away and approached Orfeo. “What do I get out of this?”
Orfeo pulled a heavy duffel out of the vehicle and dropped it to the ground. “You get to walk away from this mess. No harm, no foul.” He glanced over Bram’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Gael’s for a second. “You can keep your dysfunctional little family if you want. If you like sharing your bed with a man who has blood on his hands.” He reached for another bag and hauled it out onto the dirt. “Or you can keep your farm. This is everything you have, isn’t it Bram? Every credit. Did you borrow some? I should’ve looked that up. It’s not my preferred outcome. But the WCO bounty on your lover is hardly worth the credits they spent posting it.”
Gael’s legs threatened to fail him. He clutched Aavi more tightly. She whimpered and wrestled free, nearly dragging him down with her. Gael reached out, thinking she might be about to attack Orfeo again. Instead, she fled in the opposite direction, toward the large opening in the cliff face, her slight form disappearing into the dark garage seconds later.
Orfeo watched her go, then turned to Bram. “So, what’ll it be?”
Bram’s hands ached. Without glancing down, he flexed his fingers. The movement sent pain through the backs of his knuckles. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever bunched his fists tightly enough to nearly break his fingers before and couldn’t spare the thought to try. Orfeo wanted to take everything from him.
It hurt to look at Gael, to see his beautiful face and wonder what lies lurked beneath. He’d known Gael still had secrets. But they’d felt like inconsequential things. Small facts that would bubble up to the surface over the course of years as they built a life together.
Dusting hell. Was he a fool to have thought that far ahead?
You always were a dumb fuck.
Anger seared a path to his gut, and his fists clenched again. Any effort to sort his thoughts ended with a tangled mess. He’d never been a fast thinker, a quick mover. Always thought best when he was in his suit, hanging from the side of some rock, pick in hand.
Unclenching his hands again, Bram said to Orfeo, “I’ll take you down.”
“I don’t need a guide.”
“Well you’re dusting well getting one.”
Orfeo considered this silently a moment before nodding. “I suppose you got a right to see what you’re giving up.”
“I didn’t say I was giving anything up.” His farm for Gael and Aavi? Everything he had for a man who kept all kinds of truths from him? He didn’t really believe Gael was a killer, but . . . “I’ll get suited up.”
Orfeo pulled a third item out of the back of his rover. A small metal crate that presumably held the equipment they’d need to properly image and sample the deposit. Another rare and violent urge swept through Bram. If he destroyed the crate . . . Orfeo would come back with another one. Or maybe wash his hands of the whole matter, report his find to Muedini, and Aavi and Gael to the WCO.
Bram started toward the garage, hoping for a moment’s peace before Orfeo caught up. Gael came after him instead.
“Bram.”
“Not now.”
“You have to let me explain.”
Bram whirled on him. “Not. Now.”
“I didn’t do it. What he’s saying. I’ve never killed anyone.”
“It doesn’t matter what you did or what you didn’t do. Don’t you see that?” As he said the words, Bram recognized the truth of them, and understood that this was what blocked his decision-making process. The weight disparity between property and his few months of happiness should have been the greater factor, but this . . . “Someone has registered warrants for you and Aavi. You lied to me, Gael.”
“I didn’t know!”
“But you knew it was a possibility, didn’t you? You could have mentioned it when Aavi told her story, or when you were telling me about your brother.” That he could also have asked, pressed, maybe come up with the possibility on his own seemed hardly relevant. Or just plain stupid.
Orfeo’s insult echoed through his thoughts.
Bram sucked in a breath. “I should’ve known this was a mistake. I’ve never been able to make a good decision in my life.”
“What? You’re . . .” Gael waved his hands in front of his face. “Bram, this has . . . Fuck!”
Gael swore so rarely outside of his usual curse about the sun that Bram was momentarily stunned. He recovered quickly, though, and started forward again, seeking the cool shelter of the garage. “You should go find Aavi.”
Gael caught his arm. Bram shook him off, but turned to face him.
“Please can we talk about this?” Gael asked. “I’ll tell you everything. I know this is it. That—” He seemed to choke on his words. “I’ll pack my stuff, but at least give me a chance to explain what happened before I go. Please, Bram. Give me that.”
“Tell me you’re not a killer.” Again. “Right here, right now. Tell me you’ve never killed anyone.”
“Never have, never will.” No hesitation, no flinching, no evasion. Just Gael standing there with more of his self evident in every line of his face than Bram had ever searched for. Vulnerability and fear. Oh the fear. It strained his brow and the sides of his mouth. But his eyes remained wide and open. Clear but for a deep and emotional pain.
“You know me, Bram,” he continued, his voice soft. “This is me.” He pointed toward his chest. “What happened with Aavi was a mistake, but I’m glad she’s here. She needed me and for once the universe gave me something good. I thought that’s what brought us here as well.” His hand dropped back down. “I thought . . . Burning sun, I . . .” He looked away, lashes damp.
Inside his chest, Bram’s heart was performing painful calisthenics. He wanted so much to believe the Gael he knew was genuine. But how well could you ever know another person? Evidence of his poor judgment was stalking toward them now, huffing beneath the weight of two duffels and a case of equipment.
Dusting hell, if only he’d not asked Orfeo to investigate Aavi. Then again, if he hadn’t, Orfeo might have found something else to hold over him. Was he really that pissed about Bram taking his retirement? Questions piled on top of questions. Bram’s shoulders bowed beneath their weight. And still he had not the time.
“I can’t do this now.” He glanced at Orfeo. “I need to go verify what’s down in the crevasse.”
Gael didn’t look up. He did nod, though, and he stepped back, the motion giving Bram permission to pass. He didn’t need it, of course. The garage opening was large enough for six men to walk side by side, his rover and farming equipment notwithstanding. But Bram took the gesture for what it was: Gael giving in. And he took small comfort in the fact Gael couldn’t leave the farm without him. One way or another, he’d be here when Bram got back.
As for what would happen then . . . He didn’t have time to think about that either.
Every time he blinked, Gael expected to see the world tinged green and to hear his own strangled screams. But this was real. He wasn’t waking from a nightmare, even if the morning had come to feel like an abrupt departure from a dream.
Pain pulsed through his shoulder with every step, but he kept moving toward the ramp that would ferry him to the lower level. To
the place he’d come to call home. Once inside the small tunnel, a weird numbness spread to his throat and ears, as though someone had sucked the atmosphere away, locking him in nothingness. For a few seconds, Gael fought panic. His skin was too tight, his head too light, his legs not there. He was a thought, dissipating. He wasn’t real.
Then he rounded the last corner, stumbling out into a familiar hallway. The aroma of coffee lingered, drawing him into the kitchen. Gael pulled out one of the chairs and sank into it, partly to get back in touch with his legs, mostly just needing to sit. To think—even though thinking probably wasn’t going to solve any of his current problems.
He looked over at the range, tucked in next to the autochef he’d counted as competition during his first week here. In other circumstances, he might laugh at himself or at least smile. Bram wasn’t going to keep him because he could do things the automated kitchen couldn’t. Why had he ever thought he might?
Gael spread one hand across the table and leaned forward. He breathed, in for ten, out for ten. Think, Gael. Think. A warrant didn’t necessarily mean the end. Over his ten-year career with the Trass family, he and Loic had accrued dozens of petty warrants. Gael would have been surprised if any of them actually bore his or Loic’s names. For Julius Trass, warrants were sometimes the price of doing business. Now and again he’d shown one to Gael and told him how much it cost him to pay it. The fee would always be added to Gael’s debt as incentive to try harder—and because Gael could never be allowed to think he might one day be free.
A Commonwealth warrant was different. Not only was he wanted for murder, but someone knew he’d left Zhemosen with Aavi. Or assumed he had. Gael had known it was a possibility that Julius might put a price on his head. On top of his debt, it made little sense, but it meant that if Gael were ever found and returned, he’d belong to Trass until the day he died.
Now, that day might not be too far in the future. Even if he gave testimony against Trass and the Warrant Office believed him, the warrant itself sealed his fate.
