by Debra Jess
Flipping through pages of projected data, he entered information into the data prompt. "I've arranged transportation for you on the first morning shuttle. You'll have an early call for a four-level decon. Will you be ready on time?" The stylus hesitated, and he looked up, his concern giving his eyes a warm fire within their darkness.
"You mean Manitac still hasn't figure out how to make compressors work in space?"
Before her big freeze, there'd been rumors of large developments in the area of space compressors. Compressors already allowed near instantaneous travel across short distances by compressing gas into plasma inside one window and then propelled small quantities of solid and liquid matter through the space in-between, delivering the load through the opposite window. The tech worked on people and had already replaced the elevators and slidewalks at the flight school, but Manitac hadn't quite figured out how to compress a vacuum. When it did, the corporation’s dominance of space travel would increase exponentially.
Cyrek raised an eyebrow but didn't take the bait. "If we had, we wouldn't need pilots at all, and you would still be frozen."
Ouch. She really needed to tone down the snark. Cyrek appeared to like her, despite her crimes. She couldn't afford to have him turn against her. "I'll be ready."
He shook his head, evidently not convinced and dismissing her misstep, letting the warmth return to his eyes. "Look, I understand this is a lot to take in, and you've only been out of cryo for less than an hour. Sleep sickness often throws your emotional equilibrium out of balance. The medical team here on Jarvis can treat the nausea and dizziness, but Manitac hasn't equipped them with a psych team to deal with the emotional backlash.“ He gave her a sympathetic look. "Why don't I take you to your quarters, and we'll finish this up tomorrow morning after decon? I can't shuttle down with you, but there's no reason why I can't brief you after you've had a good night's sleep."
His stylus danced again before she could agree. Considering she was now an indentured servant for all intents and purposes, it hadn’t really been a question anyway. One by one, she uncurled her fingers from their death grip. Maybe her relief was as obvious as her hope.
"You're all set." He stood up and moved around the desk, holding out a hand to help her stand. "Ready?"
Tamarja hesitated and then accepted Cyrek's assistance.
She nodded. "I'm ready."
Chapter Two
Cyrek assisted Tamarja as they stepped free of the compressor's window into her new quarters. Tamarja assumed Cyrek would have permission to enter her quarters any time he wanted, which would explain why the compressor gate hadn't formed outside her door.
Odd, because not even the guards at her flight school could use compressors to enter prisoner quarters on a whim, though Manitac had argued in favor of it to better control their prison population. Using compressors would eliminate the use of doors altogether, another barrier to prevent escape, they insisted. The Unity Homeport, finding at least one muscle to flex, crushed that idea due to other safety factors, not because of the overwhelming abuse it would create.
She supposed she should be grateful she even had a door.
Cyrek prowled the area while she collapsed on the cot, giving him more room to move. His gaze missed nothing, even in a near bare apartment, his dark eyes scanning her cot, the shelf above, and finally a small desk and chair set. "Do you require anything? Equipment? Supplies? Sleep aids?" He touched the node that dissolved the door to the wet room and inspected the contents.
"A stylus would be nice," she said. The numbness in her fingers had disappeared, but they still felt too fat and stiff to manually manipulate the controls of her ear jack. What else could she ask for while she had Cyrek's good graces? "Perhaps something for my headache? I'd rather not have to go back to the infirmary if I can avoid it."
Cyrek still snooped, but she had no idea for what. "I can arrange for an emergency med kit with extra pain-suppressors to be delivered along with a few vitamin cocktails. Hate those. Had to take a dose after a round trip to the Unity Homeport. This was before Manitac built a slipstream terminal this far out. Six weeks in cryo, and I was sicker than a calf with Jovian flu for a week after. I think the dose made me sicker."
Cyrek walked out of the wet room, straightening his sleeves. She thought about Daeven Blayde's formfitting black uniform, which appeared to be more serviceable than Manitac's. She doubted he wasted time tugging on his sleeves, and he didn't have a collar to adjust while he worked.
"Does the officer I met before, the one walking out of your office, work for Dawn's Landing?" she asked.
"Blayde?" Cyrek stopped fussing and sat on the opposite end of the cot from her, his face scrunched in the most adorable way as he thought. "He's a security officer for the colony. He and I worked together once on one of Manitac's scout ships. After a nasty confrontation with some Shadows, we both decided we needed a change of scenery. I transferred into Legal while Daeven looked for a landside security post."
The mention of Shadows brought on another wave of fog. Her headache started to pound again. She had a vague notion of what the Shadows were—some sort of terrorist group—but they weren't what interested her right now. She had bigger problems than Unity security. "I was curious about his clothes. I was wondering if maybe I could have a colony uniform before I transfer?"
Cyrek bounced up from the cot, not noticing her wince in pain. In an instant, he dissolved the door to a tiny closet. Inside, a single Manitac gray uniform hung from a shelf with a small satchel stored on top. The boots even had a pair of socks tucked in them. He pulled the uniform jacket out and motioned for her to stand. "I did my best on such short notice. I couldn't have you wearing prisoner coveralls one day and a Manitac uniform the next, hence the ill-fitting garb you're currently wearing."
She shoved her hands under her thighs and pushed. The fog dissipated as her thoughts strayed from the Shadows and focused on balance. She'd have to be careful about that. If certain thoughts triggered headaches and other vision problems, she wouldn't be able to fly.
"Dawn's Landing has its own dress code. The director—well, let's just say she's a genius at conducting business, so Manitac gives her a great deal of leeway in how she runs Dawn's Landing. She'll supply you with the proper uniform for your position once you're landside. Until then, you'll have to wear Manitac gray. Now, let's make sure I've ordered the correct size this time."
He held the edge of the jacket with the tips of his fingers barely touching her shoulders. She tried not to think too much about the way his dark gaze roamed over her body, shoulders to feet. Not that she had any intention of starting something with her parole officer. She had enough of a struggle ahead of her; she didn't need another complication.
Her body argued otherwise, and her brain screamed in disappointment.
"What do you think? It does appear to fit, but I have to confess, I'm not exactly the best judge of things." He pulled the uniform's jacket away. "You can try it on after you've had a shower. I daresay you'll feel much better once you've soaked yourself in hot water."
She shifted her gaze away from his face, embarrassed by where her thoughts had drifted. As she did, movement from under his epaulet caught her attention. A fuzzy black spinner, no bigger than her thumbnail, crawled out from the shelter of the collar and onto Cyrek's chest.
Panic bubbled through her veins. Waves of fog distorted her vision. Her breathing turned ragged, short choppy gasps pushing out of her lungs as her heartbeat pounded against her ribs.
The spinner, bolder under the harsh light, moved quickly, heading across Cyrek's nameplate toward his top button.
Before she could consider the consequences, Tamarja swatted the spinner, knocking it to the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Tamarja ignored Cyrek's protest as she shouldered him against the wall, placing herself between him and the spinner.
"Explain yourself!"
She felt one hand clamp on her left shoulder, ready to push her away wh
ile he jammed something sharp into the small of her back. All she could do was stare at the confused creature standing stock-still on the floor.
A beat passed.
"Chase?"
She still couldn't respond. She tried to suck as much of the stale station oxygen into her lungs as possible.
Cyrek sighed as he released her shoulder and pushed aside some of her hair. "Is that what's caused all this ruckus?"
She could only nod.
He slid out from behind her protective stance, kicking aside the jacket he had dropped. Kneeling near the spinner, he considered the creature for a moment and then raised his hand to slap it flat.
Tamarja immediately lurched forward and caught his hand with her own. "Don't!"
He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Yes…I mean, no…I mean…just don't hurt it." Her body involuntarily shuddered. How could she feel so repulsed, yet so protective at the same time? The fog distorted her vision again, this time with the added benefit of stars gathering at the corners of her eyes.
I will not faint. I will not faint.
Cyrek stood. She no longer had the strength to hold him back, so she let go of his hand. She desperately wanted to sit down, to regain her balance, but she her weakened muscles would allow that either, so she stayed rooted where she was.
She blinked away the stars. The spinner still sat motionless in the middle of the floor, as if thinking it wouldn't be noticed. Where was Cyrek? She hadn't seen him leave, but now she could hear his quiet swearing from the wet room. He returned, a drinking cup in one hand, which he placed over the spinner.
As soon as the spinner disappeared from her sight, Tamarja's muscles turned to mush. Cyrek stood just in time to catch her under her arms and guided her back to the bed. She closed her eyes as he sat her down. He settled next to her, cupping one of his hands around the back of her head and gently pushed her forward until her nose reached her knees.
He sat so close to her now. She wanted to ask him to stay, to hold her, but she couldn't force the words past her lips. Despite his kindness, he held too much power over her, and she dared not tread where he might take offense.
"Keep breathing," he whispered into her ear.
She did, wrapping her arms around herself. The adrenaline rush passed. She felt limp, but she still sat up slowly, rolling her neck from side to side as he massaged her shoulders. It felt good, so she didn't protest until his fingers drifted closer to the two nubs that protruded from her vertebra. She tried to tell him to stop, but she couldn't find her voice fast enough. Wincing as he touched one, she arched her neck out of his reach.
"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to touch the collar."
Tamarja realized now that the sharp weapon he had held on her had been his stylus. It must activate the double-barreled trigger clamped around her spine. The left trigger would constrict the clamp, paralyzing her temporarily should she try to run. The right trigger would interrupt all synaptic activity in her brain, killing her. All prisoners had to wear them.
She moaned quietly, straightening, not ready to leave the bed.
"Are you allergic to spinners?" His soft voice lulled her into a sense of safeness. "I don't recall reading that in your file."
She tested a shake of her head. No dizziness, though the sleep sickness would probably bite back later. "I don't know. I don't remember, and no one has told me anything."
Change the topic. Move on. Stop thinking of what an ass you just made of yourself. Stop thinking about the warmth of his hands.
"How did it get in here?" She risked looking over her shoulder at him. "I thought decontamination destroyed any nonregistered life-forms, starting at the microscopic level?"
"That's my fault." His lips twitched. "I had a meeting with the colony's director this morning. In order to catch the shuttle to get me back here in time for our meeting, I skipped the fourth level of decon. The spinner must have hitched a ride and survived levels one through three." He threw her a coy look. "You won't report this, will you?"
A rule-breaker as well as a rebellious officer. She found herself respecting that, and that hint of respect calmed her more than anything else. The crisis had passed, and Cyrek's attempt at recruiting her into his subterfuge warmed her heart with the knowledge that he was asking for her trust. Still, skipping the fourth level of decon created a dangerous precedent, putting the entire station at risk of contamination.
"Only if you swear never to do it again." Her own boldness surprised her as she turned away from him, making sure he understood her displeasure, but also that she would indeed keep his secret.
She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, his smile slight. "I swear."
She believed him. "Good. I'm sure we'll work well together, First Officer Cyrek."
Relief swept across his face. "Yohzad. You may call me Yohzad."
"Very well…Yohzad."
He nodded, satisfied, and stood up. Crossing the room to where the spinner hid in its prison, he removed the cup. With a gentle scoop, he slipped the spinner into his hands, keeping it hidden from her view. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning after decon…Tamarja."
This time he left using the door. She waited until it solidified before falling supine on the bed. She had little to pack, and no one to see her off, but she still felt more hopeful than she had since she had woken and couldn't remember anything. Cyrek…no, Yohzad…might not have given her a past, but at least she had a future.
On the other side of the door, Cyrek leaned back and closed his eyes.
She doesn't remember me. His shoulders sagged a bit. I knew better than to hope, but there's no recollection in her eyes. I need her to remember, want her to know who I am. My only hope is if she can break through her mind-wipe and remember. I've risked so much already.
He opened his eyes and considered the spinner in his hands.
I guess I should find a way to send you back down below. Anything less would upset the lady.
Slipping the spinner into his breast pocket and sealing it closed, Cyrek activated the compressor gate and headed back the way he came.
Chapter Three
Tamarja juggled her satchel from one shoulder to the other as she waited for clearance to enter the shuttle bay lounge. Decon had presented a clean report, authorizing her for migration below. With a flick of her new stylus, the lounge identifier accepted Tamarja's ID and dissolved the doors.
"Welcome to the AuRaKaz Passenger Lounge and Transit Terminal," a female voice intoned through Tamarja's ear jack. "We will provide you with every luxury possible during your stay with us on Dawn's Landing. For a tri-d guided tour through our facilities…"
Tamarja shut off the auto broadcast. The brightly colored walls and plush carpeting with matching padded chairs made a pleasant change from Manitac's endless gray decor.
The dozen or so planet-bound passengers ignored her, either dozing or playing games projected from their head-up displays. Her new Manitac uniform now made her even more invisible. She didn't believe for a second they wouldn't kick up a fuss if they knew a puppet, even a partially wiped one, walked among them, so instead of sitting with the crowd, she strolled to the farthest available seat. From here she could watch the activity in the shuttle bay through the transparacil gateway. Two shuttles tethered by umbilicals hung from the launch rails as grav-resistant luggage glided up the port planks into the cargo holds.
"Nervous?"
She turned to face Yohzad, who had appeared behind her, his dark eyes still merry and a half smile on his face as if the whole universe amused him. Her stomach fluttered, but not from nervousness. Still, she had to say something, and confessing her crush would do her no favors, so she took the path of least resistance. "Yes."
"Let's sit over here." With a warm hand on her shoulder, he guided her toward a small table for two, next to the bar. The transparent privacy screen snapped into place at Yohzad's command. The din of chatter, gaming, and a couple of cranky children faded away, leaving
Tamarja and Yohzad cocooned in silence.
To her relief, his manner hadn't changed overnight. He still leaned too far back in his chair, his hair just unruly enough to mark his indifference to Manitac grooming standards.
"Let's get the official stuff out of the way first." He began to read, his voice bouncing up and down the scale as he tried to make his recitation sound less canned. "As a prisoner of the Unity government, you are sentenced to forty years of service to the Manitac Corporation. With the training Manitac Corporation has provided to you, you will be contracted out to the Manitac Corporation or its subsidiaries that have need of your skills.
"Your current employer is Aura Kazamitiru, the director of AuRaKaz, Inc., a subsidiary of the Manitac Corporation—"
"She named the company after herself?" Oh, would she ever learn to shut up? But for her, not talking created a pressure in her mind, a weight that could only be alleviated by talking. "Manitac allowed this?"
"When you're a midlevel executive and you manage to boost the company's bottom line by over 37.5 percent in less than a quarter, you not only get a bonus in your paycheck, but you can write your own paycheck." Yohzad rocked back in his chair as his stylus scrolled down to the next section, his gaze never leaving the document.
"Time counted against your service requirements is counted only among the days you actually work. Transit time to and from assignments is not included…"
He paused, looking past the display and into her eyes. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed and nodded. Yesterday, forty was just a number. Today forty years of dancing on the end of someone else's string sounded like a never-ending future of emptiness.
His features shift from bored to resigned as he sighed. He didn't enjoy this any more than she did. "If you complete your service without any infractions, we will relocate you to the planet of your choice. A small sum will be withheld from your pay each month and saved for such a retirement."
"I'm to be paid?" Again, she couldn't help the interruption.
