Ash in the Blood

by Lyn Forester

  “You’re determined to find a sky skipper, aren’t you?” She taps at the pocket on her pant leg, and he hears the quiet crinkle of an energy bar wrapper.

  “I’m not eating a Bell-E Up bar for dinner.” The idea of one of those pasty meal replacements rolls his stomach.

  “I wasn’t offering you one.” Reagen strides toward her disc-bike. She steps over the band of orange energy, walking through the open center of the outer wheel.

  “You should upgrade your bike.” Drake moves to his bike with its beautiful single yellow ring. “The newer models are more efficient and easier to carry.”

  She raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you offering to buy me one?”

  “No way.” He swings a leg over and settles into the seat.

  “Then I’ll stick with my clunky, old bike, thank you very much.” She settles into her own seat and locks her heels into the stirrups. “Besides, I can still kick your ass on my tri-ring, so I don’t see what’s so special about your newer version.”

  “You’ve modded it. No way you could go that fast otherwise.”

  She shrugs, not denying it. “Not my fault you haven’t upgraded yours.”

  “The tech’s too new,” he grumbles. He’d searched for a mod specialist as soon as he purchased the new toy. “They haven’t made mods yet.”

  Straightening in her seat, she stares at him for a silent beat, head tilted. At last, she asks, “Did you have a disc-bike before this one?”

  “Of course.” His head shakes. Like he’d be without transportation. “I had a sweet red dual-ring.”

  “So you forked over a crap ton of credits for the newest disc-bike model when you could have just modded your dual-ring and been faster?”

  “Shut up. You know you’re jealous of my new bike.” Everyone wants the new model. That was the whole reason he bought it.

  A small smile curves her lips. “Yeah, but I know how to mod your new bike.”

  His mouth drops open, and he snaps it closed with a hard click of teeth. “You do not.”

  A quick wink shutters the indigo sparkle of her eye, then she does a fast blind spot check and reverses her bike into the center of the street. “Let’s go.”

  “You can’t just say something like that and not give me more details!” He shouts at her back as she shoots forward. He backs up onto the street and presses the control lever forward, zipping after her.

  She must be holding back, because he catches up before they reach the first curve in the road. Together, they make a wide turn to angle toward the silver spires of the Halls of Justice. His hair whips into his face as they pick up speed, and he squints against the wind. He should buy a pair of riding goggles, since Reagen hates portal travel so much.

  A quick glance over shows her leaning into the breeze, short strands of hair all over the place. Her lips pull back in a grin as she presses her bike to a faster speed, the road clear ahead of them. His heart pounds, sharing her excitement.

  They reach their destination too soon, and for a moment, he considers turning into the last ring before the plaza to make the ride last longer. But Reagen’s already pulling back on the boosters, straightening in her seat.

  He slows down next to her, then stops all together. The plaza looks busy, but the protesters seem to have wrapped up for the day.

  “We should go to the rim sometime. Ride the outer ring.”

  She turns to him, surprised. He’s a little shocked himself. The offer popped out of his mouth without a stop at the brain first. They’ve taken a couple liberties to indulge in a race on their way to a spot on their investigation. But a ride out to the rim would be different. Not work related. Just two friends having fun.

  Reagen hasn’t answered and discomfort wiggles through him. They’d had a moment in the alley next to the grocery store, but this felt too personal. He tries to pass it off as a joke. “Of course, I’ll expect some more talk about modding my bike before that happens. Otherwise it’s just not fair.”

  “Yeah, just as soon as you buy me a single-ring.” Her laugh sounds natural, but he knows it’s one she’s practiced. The high tone and perfect length give it away. When she laughs for real, it bursts out, low and throaty, and she looks surprised. Like it startles her every time.

  “The mods can’t be that expensive.” He dismounts and presses the button below the seat that triggers the bike to fold back up into a disc.

  “Knowledge is expensive.” He hears the quiet clicks as she begins the folding process for her own bike. “I can buy a single-ring at any shop on Level 9. Right now, you can’t find a modification specialist that can work on your bike.”

  He clips his disc to the back of his belt and turns to study her. “Not saying I’m considering it, but what’s your energy stream preference? Are you attached to that orange color?”

  She shoves the center back into the disc and ratchets up the stirrups while she thinks. At last, she snaps the disc closed and stores it in her satchel.

  “Red.” She nods her head, decisive.

  “Cherry red?” He guesses with a smirk.

  She lifts her head, as if catching a scent. “Is that sky skipper I smell?”

  “You don’t know what cooked sky skipper smells like.” That doesn’t stop him from pulling in a deep breath, though. All he can make out is the perfumes of passing pedestrians.

  “Well, I smell something fried.” Her nose wrinkles. “And curry.”

  His stomach rumbles, and drool fills his mouth. “Fried curry? That might be good.”

  “You’re really gross.”

  As they walk into Central Plaza, Drake keeps his eyes open for any food carts that look like they might have sky skipper on the menu. Quickly, it becomes apparent that Level 11 doesn’t do fast food like the lower levels. He should have expected it, since even Level 9 doesn’t have many restaurants with quick order windows. Picadio’s stands outside the norm.

  But Central Plaza has always done things differently. With the main lifts for travel between levels, the trade center, and the Halls of Justice, as well as lodging for visitors and entertainment centers, the plaza sees a lot of foot traffic. But it looks like visitors here are expected to slow down, take a break, and sit down to eat.

  Drake shifts closer to Reagen as they get further into the bustling center. “Do you think lunch breaks are longer up here?”

  “No idea.” She lifts an arm and points to the other side of the plaza. “That one looks promising.”

  He rises on his toes to see over the heads of the crowd. In place of a window, the restaurant has a giant glowing case filled with sky skippers. Even from this far away, he can see the mini lightning storm they create with so many of them in close proximity.

  “Good eye.” He thumps her on the shoulder, excited. “Lead the way.”

  A quick, gentle elbow tap catches him in the ribs, then she takes off. He’d noticed this about her on the packed streets of Level 4 and again in the street market. Despite her height, she finds small spaces between people, the tiny gaps, and slides into them, using those pointy elbows to make them bigger for him. Left to his own devices, he’d have to push his way through or go around. With her in front, she makes a visible path for him to stay close on her heels.

  If she ever wanted to lose him in a crowd, she’d have no problem.

  In record time, they make it to the restaurant.

  Patient parents wait a few steps back while, in front of the aquarium display, a small herd of kids gather. They take turns trying to tempt sky skippers into coming close enough to the glass to try to zap them. When this happens, the kids jump away with squeals of laughter. Either their lightning lacks power, or the glass has some kind of clan tech in it. Otherwise, the glass would shatter after too many strikes. No one seems hurt, and the sky skipper floats back toward the electric rod that feeds them in the center.

  Drake and Reagen circle around to the entrance, where a heavy cloud statue props open the blue door. A good fortune flag hangs from the lintel, red with gold
symbols, meant to sweep away bad luck as customers enter. But, when they step inside, it doesn’t brush the top of his head as it should. Hung for decoration only, so customer’s hairstyles won’t be disturbed.

  A short wall immediately directs them to the left, where a hostess towers behind a dark blue podium. At least six inches taller than Drake, the halfbreed woman takes after her Riellio father.

  She smiles, bright pink lips pressed together. Matching pink hair, with small, tight curls, springs from her head in a soft cloud. If not for her too-human skin, she could pass as a pureblood.

  “Welcome to Sky High. Table for two?” Bright blue eyes dart to the door, then return to them.

  “Yes, please.” Drake peers over the short wall to see the small seating space beyond. Low tables squat near the floor. Tentacle-shaped glass dangles from a ceiling lined with holo-panels that project a blue, cloud-covered sky. From the twists of glass, sparks of simulated lightning flickers. A pair of businessmen sits near the back, a large black bowl between them.

  “Right this way,” the hostess chirps. She ducks behind the podium and comes back with two fluffy, white cushions clutched to her chest.

  When she minces toward the seating area, Drake realizes part of her height comes from spiked golden heels. She leads them to a table on the opposite end from the businessmen, close to the entry wall, and crouches to place the cushions on the ground.

  Reagen stares at the table choice, grabs a cushion, and points to another table a little further down, pressed against the wall. “We’d like to sit over there.”

  The waitress blinks a couple times, fast, but her smile stays in place. “Of course, right this way.”

  She retrieves the second cushion and moves them to the new location. When she sets the cushion back on the ground and straightens, her hands fold behind her back. With a short bow, she clicks away.

  Drake glances at Reagen, who settles her cushion on the right side of the table, hugged up against the short wall. As close to a corner as she can get. With the toe of his shoe, he nudges the white puff over to the left side and settles onto it.

  After a second of shuffling, he discovers the floor under the table drops down to make room for their legs so they won’t have to kneel the entire time. Two white plates already rest on the tabletop. They have peculiar raised edges, not quite tall enough to qualify as bowls. Long-handled spoons reflect the lighting from the overhead, and the blue napkins stand out starkly against the white surface of the table.

  “Welcome, my name is Cirrus. I will be your server today.” A tall waiter kneels next to their table, a graceful folding of the body that doesn’t wrinkle the soft, blue material of his shirt or the crisp lines of his black slacks. He sets two menus in the center of the table and balances a digital note pad on his knees. “Do you know what you’d like to drink with your meal?”

  Drake grabs one of the single-sided menus and glances through the drink list. “I’ll have a triple-filtered water please, with ice.”

  “Good choice. The filters we use here are filled with the best sand, harvested from the red desert, and are changed daily.” He jots down the order on his pad. He turns to Reagen. “And for you, ma’am?”

  She reads the list and sets the menu down. “I’m undecided.”

  “Would you like a recommendation? We have several hydrating choices.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Then I’ll give you two time to look over the menu while I get your drink order ready.” Cirrus rises to his feet in a single, fluid motion and moves toward a door at the back of the restaurant.

  “Why didn’t you order?” Drake asks once the server disappears. “They have a cherry flavored sparkler.”

  She twists to lean her shoulders back against the wall, which leaves one knee propped out of the leg hole. “I don’t like bubbles.”

  “Who doesn’t like bubbles?” The menu only has five options for dinner, and he doesn’t recognize the cooking methods described.

  “They make my stomach feel weird.” She wiggles on her cushion, then stills.

  “Bubbles are soothing. Like a massage for your tummy.”

  “Don’t say tummy. You sound like you’re in introductory school.”

  “Do you think we should get the fried sky skipper in fruit sauce, or the steamed sky skipper in vegetable broth?” His mouth waters. He wants to try both. Too bad they don’t have a sampler platter. “I think both will fill up my tummy.”

  She narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t care. I’m not eating either one.”

  The waiter returns with their drinks, and Drake orders the fried plate. He’s surprised when the waiter doesn’t ask for Reagen’s order as well. Instead, he nods and leaves once more.

  Drake watches him leave with a frown. He knew Reagen wasn’t going to order anything, but he still feels offended on her behalf. He turns back to her, and she shrugs, unconcerned, so he lets it go. “So, about the case.”

  “Yeah.” She props her head on her hand, eyes focused on the holo-ceiling. “I was really hoping that wine bottle would give us a lead to break the case open.”

  “It still might.” The sinking sensation in his stomach from the Ash-contaminated wine returns. Chances are the delivery person isn’t linked to the real manufacturer. “Maybe Carmichael will find something after he analyzes the liquid.”

  “True. He should be able to tell us what brand the wine actually is. The dealer had to have purchased it from a store and added the Ash to it before putting the counterfeit labels on the bottles.”

  “If we’re lucky, they used a high-class wine that won’t be sold at every QuickMart in the lower levels.”

  “I’m not feeling lucky with this case.”

  “Me, either.”

  They share a moment of silence before Reagen shakes herself and straightens. “I’ll go home and hack the cameras around the lounge, see if I can find the delivery truck.”

  “And I’ll go through The Hut’s financial paperwork.” He pulls out his palm-port and scowls at the screen. “Sub Tim hasn’t sent me the files yet. That kid’s not going to make it in Black Corp.”

  “Yeah, he seemed like an odd fit for the organization.” She drums her fingers against the table in thought. Then her gaze flicks over his shoulder, and she stills.

  A moment later, the server arrives, a large platter held between two hands. He bends to set it on the table between them, glances at Drake’s untouched glass of water and turns to Reagen, “Have you decided on a drink order?”

  “No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

  “The fruit sauce makes some people thirsty.” The waiter smiles as he stands. “Just signal me if you change your mind.”

  With a short bow, the man leaves.

  Drake stares at the huge oval platter, mouth watering. Now he sees why the server hadn’t asked for Reagen’s order. They serve couple-sized portions here.

  In the center, fried, round balls of dough stuffed with sky skipper are stacked into a golden brown pyramid. Red sauce drips down over the sides and pools in the plate’s shallow curve. On either side, a mound of green rice soaks up the thick sauce. He leans toward the dish and takes in a deep breathe. Hot grease and breading, overlaid with a tart, sweet smell. Familiar.

  He grabs the large silver serving spoon and scoops some of the rice onto his plate, then tips the pyramid over so that the balls fall and roll in the sauce. He catches five in the shallow curve of the spoon and puts them over his rice.

  Replacing the serving spoon, he uses his much smaller utensil to cut one of the balls in half. White cubes of meat glisten against the golden dough. He scoops it up with some of the rice, and flavor bursts on his tongue. He groans and closes his eyes, savoring the crisp outer lining of the ball, the soft, melty inside mixed with salty, chewy meat. He swallows and scoops the other half ball onto his spoon.

  “Rae, you should try this one.” He reaches across the table and deposits the offering on her plate.

  Her nose wrinkles. “You can
’t be serious.”

  “Try it. I think you’ll like it.”

  “No.” She pushes the personal plate a couple inches away.

  “But the sauce is cherry flavored,” he wheedles. “Your favorite flavor.”

  “I know what flavor it is.”

  He pauses in the process of nudging her plate back toward her. “How?”

  “I could smell the fruit as soon as he brought it out of the kitchen. It’s pretty strong.”

  Drake inhales, but doesn’t find the scent overpowering. He shrugs and nudges the plate to her. “Come on, just one bite. It won’t kill you.”

  “It might,” she mutters. Reluctantly, she pulls the plate over and lifts her spoon to nudge the half round.

  Drake spoons two entire sky skipper puffs into his mouth before she finally gives it a try. He watches her chew, excited that he found a different food she might actually like. Her jaw continues to work, her face blank to give nothing away. At last, she swallows and sets her spoon down.

  He leans forward, eager. “Did you like it?”

  She reaches across the table, nabs his triple-filtered water, and takes a large enough chug to empty half the glass. When she sets it back down, he stares at it, then her, in disbelief.

  “That.” With a slim finger, she points at the balls of dough. “Is disgusting.”

  His shoulders slump. She’s completely hopeless when it comes to food. “Well, thank you for trying it.”

  “However.” He perks up as her finger swings to the red sauce slowly congealing on the plate. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  A smile bursts across his face as she lifts the serving spoon and scoops some rice and sauce onto her plate. Contented silence fills the space between them as they finish off the large platter together.

  When the server checks back, Drake orders another triple-filtered water and pushes his half-filled one to her side of the table. Without comment, she takes it and sips, slower this time to savor the quality. She leans against the wall, hand rubbing her distended tummy.