Pico's Crush

by Carol Van Natta

  With that, she vanished into the fresher and closed the door.

  The medics warned him to stay away from chems and alterants, but they didn’t mention beer, so he considered it a gray area. He took a sip and savored it. Tremplin wines might not be paradise, but its beers were good, and Andra had good taste.

  His leg, where one of the flechettes had scraped his thigh bone, hurt more than he’d expected, once he’d hobbled to the flitter. He was glad Andra had been there to fly him to the medical center and home, but she’d taken advantage of his painkiller-addled state to take him to her apartment instead of Pico’s. Andra’s home had no clean clothes except the stray jacket he’d left in the flitter, but it did have an actual spare bed in a private room, instead of the flimsy cot crowded into the corner of Pico’s shared living space.

  While in the not-so-gentle hands of the medics and doing his best to distract himself from what they were doing to him, he’d decided that the red-haired attacker, who’d had combat training, might have hired the chemmers to target Andra. Otherwise, it made no sense to ignore the looming threat Jerzi had presented in favor of shooting Andra. Flechettes could kill, but they were better at disabling. Most crews—and mercenaries—had access to far more lethal weapons, although if he were working with adreeno abusers, he’d be worried they’d accidentally shoot themselves or him. If they were after Andra, as he suspected, it was for a decommission, not a kill. Andra had been skeptical of his theory, but had nonetheless complied with his request to ping the idea to Luka.

  His gnawing hunger made him restless. He levered himself up and limped to the cold box to see what it offered. It wasn’t as empty as he’d feared, but the motley collection of recyclable containers suggested she ate out a lot. He did the same, far too often, now that he lived alone. It was more fun cooking for others than for just himself.

  As he heated a thick fish stew, he tried to keep his leg from freezing up by limping to the view windows. With a little fiddling with the nearby wallcomp, he made them translucent instead of opaque, and was rewarded with a panoramic view of the twinkling city lights that led to one of the smaller harbors. He used the wallcomp to dim the interior lights, making the room less of a fishbowl to passing flitters, thought the traffic system usually kept them well above the roofline. He was amused to see several spots where bugs had smashed into the windows, despite the altitude. Over-achieving little buggers.

  He chuckled at his own feeble joke as he walked back when his food was ready, trying not to limp this time because it made his ribs ache. He scrounged around for a spoon, then took the bowl back to stand by the windows so he could enjoy the view—and occasional tiny thumps of more suicidal bugs. His stomach almost cramped with the first few spoonfuls, but settled down once it realized more food was coming. The stew was satisfying, and just spicy enough to be interesting.

  Andra’s voice startled him. “You found something. Good.” He turned to see her tying the belt of a short, iridescent purple kimono. Her dark hair was slicked back with water, but was already frizzing up. “Fresher is all yours, if you want. Solardry is in the far corner.” She made a beeline for the cold box.

  “Nice view,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the windows, but knowing he also meant the sight of her toned and well-shaped body, barely concealed by the thin fabric. A subtle shadow on her ribs and hip gave a tantalizing hint of serpentine skin art, which was new. Everyone in their Forward Intelligence unit had seen each other naked often, but maybe because it was in her elegant apartment instead of the communal military showers, it felt different. He resolutely turned to face the windows. “Terrace looks comfortable. Except for the bugs.”

  “Moths only migrate in the spring.” In the window’s reflection, he saw her pry open the lid of a bowl and sniff.

  “Well, some critters are giving their all against your windows tonight.”

  She put the bowl in the hot box and keyed it. “What do they look like?”

  He shrugged. “Black splats.”

  “How helpful.” She crossed the room toward the windows. He pointed toward the area he’d first seen them.

  She focused on the glass, then blinked rapidly twice, which he knew was her activating her oculars for closeup work.

  She suddenly stumbled back, swearing in a torrent of Spanish. She blinked again as she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “We have to get out of here. Now.” She shoved him toward the apartment’s front door and ran to grab her shoes.

  His adrenalin spiked as he strode to the entry wallcomp. If Andra said they needed to go, then they did. Luckily, she’d already given him temporary access via his palm print, so he slapped it against the reader. The door opened. He put his empty food container on a nearby decorative table.

  “Grab my gun bag,” she ordered. Instead of joining him at the door, however, she ran to a low kitchen cabinet and began pulling out pots and pans. She fished back behind them to pull out a well-worn black backpack.

  “Shit! I need my percomp.” She darted glances to her bedroom door and the windows.

  The forgotten hot box signaled that her food was ready. She left her backpack on the floor and opened the hot box to remove the bowl of soup she’d heated. Inexplicably, she fast-walked it to the windows and splashed it on the area with the greatest concentration of insect strikes. She dropped the bowl and ran to the bedroom.

  He picked up the backpack, which was much heavier than it looked, and slung it over his shoulder, hissing when it put pressure on his sore ribs. He slung her gun bag over his other shoulder just as she appeared with a wad of clothes in her arms.

  “Flitter!” She raced out the door ahead of him and turned left.

  He followed at a half-run, ignoring the pain of his thigh and ribs, wondering what had her so spooked. If anyone else on the floor heard them pounding down the well-lit, green water-colored hallway, they didn’t open their doors to see what the commotion was.

  As if she’d heard him, she said, “Those weren’t bugs, they’re an airborne explosive array.”

  She was leading them to the back of the building, away from her apartment. As she ran, she was fumbling in the pocket of the shorts she’d been wearing before her shower. “Individual nodes slip through almost any security perimeter. Once they achieve coherence threshold, they link and detonate whatever explosives the nodes are carrying.” She wrestled her percomp out and slapped it onto her wrist. She activated it just as they got to a stairway door. She slammed her palm on the reader to open it and pointed. “Up!”

  He was heartily glad her apartment was on the top floor. He could probably handle one flight of stairs without completely exhausting his reserves. Andra hadn’t even had the chance to eat since getting the same accelerated healing treatments he had. As she yelled into the percomp, arguing with the building security office, he cast furtive glances at her, knowing his worry would irritate her.

  “Yes, goddam it, I’m sure!” She slowed to taking one stair at a time instead of two.

  “We can’t possibly evacuate the residents,” the man’s voice said. “People would panic.”

  Andra swore a vicious oath in Spanish. “Then trigger the building’s tornado warning system, and get people away from the windows.” She was breathing heavily. He wanted to help her, but the best he could do was keep up.

  At the top of the stairs, she slapped her hand on the reader. The door opened quietly. As he stepped through, he heard a rising, multi-pitch alarm sound from the wall speakers, followed by a calm but authoritative synth voice.

  “Tornado threat imminent. Move away from terraces and windows and move to the center of the building. This is not a drill.” The alarm and announcement kept repeating.

  They ran to the flitter stacker so she could key the request for his flitter. He rested his hand on the wall and bent forward, gasping for air.

  Just as the stacker disgorged his flitter, a deep, loud explosion shook the walls and floor so hard that he nearly fell to his knees. He st
aggered forward to catch Andra as she slid sideways. Multiple alarms began wailing immediately as the shaking stopped.

  He opened the flitter and keyed open all its doors so he could toss the backpack and bag into the back.

  “Launch now, or we’ll never get clearance,” she said urgently. She climbed into the flitter’s passenger seat as he requested entry to the traffic system, then shut the doors and webbed himself into the seat. He lifted off manually, away from the side of the building where Andra’s apartment was. Or depressingly more likely, where Andra’s apartment used to be.

  He didn’t relax until the traffic system took control of the flitter and they rose into the dark sky.

  “Where did you tell it to take us?” she asked. Her voice sounded thready, and he risked a peek at her. Her eyes were closed and she looked completely spent. He doubted he looked any better. Or smelled it, either, since sweat was still pouring off him.

  “Nearest police station. Traffic systems usually prioritize those requests.”

  She nodded. “Smart.”

  Now that he wasn’t running for his life, his body took the opportunity to report its extreme unhappiness with him, starting with his thigh, ribs, and newly aggrieved shoulders. “What in the name of the cosmos do you keep in that backpack? It has to weigh at least forty kilos.”

  A smart-ass smile ghosted across her face. “My sex toy collection.”

  * * * * *

  Andra didn’t want to know what time it was. She already knew it was past eleven, and the night wasn’t over.

  She and Jerzi had done well to present themselves at the police precinct station. It kept them off the top of the suspect list. Jerzi had done one better and gotten Luka to ping his police contact, Captain Majeed, whose ensuing interest in the case kept the questioning, if not genial, then at least not overtly antagonistic. They’d even let her change out of her silk kimono into the knit pants and shirt she’d grabbed from her laundry basket. She regretted not grabbing underwear and a bra, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Owing to a colorful family, she’d long ago learned it was best to be polite and not burden the police with too many details or to volunteer information. She let them assume it was her military experience that enabled her to identify the airborne explosive array. And more importantly, to assume that the muggers would have targeted anyone walking by and that the explosives array went to the wrong address, rather than both targeted at her, as Jerzi suspected. She was grateful he’d followed her lead, because it wouldn’t have been his first instinct. He was an inherently honest man who liked being helpful.

  She was distracted by the realization that she was temporarily homeless. The preliminary damage assessment by the police’s remote cameras suggested it would take a week or two for her apartment to be made habitable, assuming the building owner’s insurance paid quickly. Some of her personal belongings might be salvageable, but she wouldn’t be able to check for a few days. Fortunately, most of the physical things she valued were in her bags in the flitter. Or sitting next to her in the police interview room, trying to find a comfortable way to sit in deliberately uncomfortable chairs.

  She was conflicted about Jerzi’s presence. If she’d been on her own, she’d likely be in the medical center with flechette injuries from the adreeno freak, or from explosion injuries. From what she’d seen in the police forensic images, the blast pattern had been predominantly outward, more messy than lethal, but she’d still have been hurt.

  Because Jerzi had been there when she was threatened, his protective instincts would be rising. If she was honest with herself, she felt protective of him, too. He’d been hurt because of her. If someone really was after her, they probably viewed him as collateral damage at best, or a lever against her. If they stayed together, they could protect each other.

  But each additional hour spent in his presence was a threat to the status quo between them. For the first time since Da’vin died, she’d found herself wanting a real relationship again. She’d had more than a few recreational hot-connects and visits to joyhouses in the last five years, because she’d been sad, not dead, but none of them had resonated with her emotionally or had her thinking about the future like Jerzi did.

  She tilted her chair back against the wall and sighed. It was just like her to spark with a potential lover who lived half a galaxy away. Not to mention, who would be gone in a few days. Not to mention, who had never treated her as anything but a buddy, but that might be because he thought she only loved women. Bisexuals like her sometimes had to make it clear that it wasn’t the gender that attracted her, it was the person. Jerzi was just plain hot.

  The return of Kenin, the sour detective who’d left them cooling their jets for the past thirty minutes, saved her from further brooding. She righted her chair.

  Kenin looked squarely at her. “We’re going to let you go for the evening, but we may need you to come in for further questions.” The man tried to sound authoritative, but his thin, breathy voice and stooped posture weren’t up to the task. No sense pointing out they’d stayed in the spirit of cooperation and could have left at any time.

  “I can be available when I’m not teaching.” She stood, and Jerzi did the same. “Do we need clearance to get our flitter from your stacker?” She pointed up to indicate the rooftop airpad.

  “No, it’s public. Just enter the code.” He escorted them to the lift, but that was apparently the end of his courtesy.

  She and Jerzi rode up in tired silence to the roof. The stacker was open-air, and there was no one else around, but she waited until their flitter was delivered and they were safely webbed in to speak.

  “Pico’s?”

  “Yes, please.” He sounded like a man trying not to sound exhausted. “You could stay there, too. Pico’s at the medical center with Valenia.”

  She entered the destination in the flitter’s console and signaled the traffic system. Almost immediately, the traffic system gave them a countdown warning. Either they’d gotten lucky, or leaving the police building had the same priority as arriving.

  “Thank you, but no.” She’d love more than anything to wrap herself around him for the night, but her conscience wouldn’t let her.” If I am at the top of someone’s hit parade, as you believe, I’m not going to invite them to your daughter’s doorstep.”

  She lifted the flitter and let it and the traffic system take control. She activated the percomp on her wrist and sent a quick query. She was glad she’d managed to save it.

  He leaned his seat back flatter, apparently to accommodate his sore leg. She hoped Pico’s apartment had more pain patches, or he was in for an uncomfortable night. “Where will you go?”

  “Secure hostel. I just pinged a general query for available rooms.”

  “Try Luka’s hotel. It’s probably a fortress, if Mairwen had anything to say about it.”

  “I can believe that.” She added the hotel name to the query list.

  Now that she could almost relax, she decided her ear was the most annoying of her injuries. The medics had put it back together, but they’d paid no attention to aesthetics. She’d need an afternoon at a body shop so it matched her other ear again.

  “I have to ask,” he said, “why did you throw soup against the windows?”

  “To give us time to get out. The array can’t detonate until enough of the nodes are stationary. The nodes are designed to move if the environment changes significantly. The heat from the soup convinced enough of them to move that it delayed the coherence threshold.”

  Jerzi chuckled. “Whoever deployed them must have been surprised.”

  “Probably not. They’re not a precision weapon. They’re more useful as a distraction.”

  “So the bigger question is, who would want to hurt you?” She didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning. “The police might buy that the array went to the wrong address, but I don’t. Luka doesn’t.”

  She blew out a breath in frustration. “That’s just it. The only enemies I have are Ve
stering, who thinks I want his maldito job, and maybe Lavong, who thinks I’m trying to get him in trouble for the lab accidents. Academics don’t send hyenas or pincushion bombs, they slant peer-review results, or write scathing letters to journals, or start a rumor that you’re trading grades for hot-connects in the storeroom. Violence implies your ideas are too weak to stand on their own. Why do you think I downplay my military background?”

  “If not them, then maybe people they’re associated with? Like the boat-accident man with theft crew ties. Hyena gangs and stealth weapons would be in any crew’s playbook.”

  “Hah! We’d have to look at half the university’s big-donor list. Nothing like a little upstanding charity to mask the odor of suspicion, or to distract enterprising journalists.”

  The flitter banked southward, over a small bay, then dropped to a lower altitude. The console chimed a gentle notice that they were ten minutes out from Pico’s apartment building. Andra checked her percomp for the results of her query, then booked a hostel near the university, which put her near restaurants and an autotailor or two so she’d have something to wear to class the next day besides exercise clothes. She also ordered an autocab to pick her up from the apartment building’s airpad. Even though it cost double, it was worth it not to have to haul her evacuation backpack and gun bag to the nearest cab kiosk.

  “I know you’re worried about me, and it’s nice to know you care, but I can’t stop my life because I might be a target.” She acknowledged release from the traffic system and set the flitter down softly on the stacker’s landing zone, so as not to jolt poor Jerzi’s injured body more than necessary.