The Lone Star Collection

by Renee Mackenzie

  “Please exit,” the closet admonished and opened the door.

  “Complying,” Venn grumbled and stepped out.

  “And where on earth are you going in that?” Kymera demanded.

  “Nowhere.” Venn pressed her lips together.

  “Off earth then?” Kymera frowned.

  Venn shook her head.

  “Then why are you so…” Kymera clasped a hand over her mouth, tried to hide her sudden smile, and glanced toward the Sheriff with one arched eyebrow.

  Venn blushed.

  “You look fabulous,” Arnika interjected.

  “Fabulous?” Kymera’s look of glee intensified.

  Venn noticed Arnika blush as she stammered, “I just meant that the tunic really draws attention to her green eyes. It’s flattering. And definitely looks cleaner than our prior attire.”

  Kymera clapped her hands. “Yes. Yes, it does, and I do believe you two should get the hell out of my treatment bay now.”

  Arnika picked up her laser arc-spear.

  “I’m going.” Venn started for the door, the heat of her blush still riding over her cheeks.

  “I don’t mean alone. I want you to go to mess together, or at least the cantina and log some nutritious calories before ketosis makes either of you any meaner. That’s a medical order,” Kymera directed.

  “We will,” Arnika answered, and Venn could feel the Sheriff close on her heels again, almost like a magnetized force, as they walked out of the treatment bay.

  The halls heading toward the port’s living quarters and cantina were sparsely populated for the moment. “Has anyone shown you your quarters yet?” Venn asked the Sheriff.

  Arnika touched Venn’s elbow briefly, causing Venn to stumble to a stop. “What?” Venn prompted as Arnika seemingly debated something internally.

  She shook her head. “Funny story that. A port concierge was showing me some surprisingly posh rooms, claiming all three were part of my quarters when Zvevk called and ordered me to take a hovercraft out to your location post-haste, tout suite, etcetera.”

  “I see. Well, we can drop by them and drop off your laser arc-spear.” Venn continued walking. She veered them down the correct passageways. The doors slid open before them, already programmed to recognize both of their voices, faces, and bio-signals of all kinds. You could never tell when you might come back deaf, mute, and largely disfigured, so Venn required that all passage gates also recognize every individual staff member’s particular bioluminescence, pheromone complex, DNA sequence, and range of antigen patterns. When they reached the Sheriff’s quarters, Venn was pleased to see that their passage gate inquired if Arnika consented to Venn’s entrance.

  “Infinite passage granted to Doctor Venn Jules,” Arnika confirmed, startling Venn some.

  “Confirming, infinite passage for Doctor Venn Jules,” the passage gate replied as the doors slid open, revealing a freshly sanitized suite of rooms including an office, bedroom with private smart closet, and parlor.

  As they entered, Venn noticed a single duffle bag abandoned just inside the door.

  Arnika booted it deeper into the parlor, toward the restorative bench, and propped her laser-arc spear against the bench. She touched one hand to the parlor’s clear outer wall, and the wall became completely opaque. She turned her whole body to face Venn and then squeezed Venn’s shoulder with one exceedingly warm hand. “I’d invite you in to stay and chat a spell, seeing as how you’ve granted me such accommodating accommodations, but I gather Kymera would skin us both if we aren’t seen eating something in the cantina shortly.”

  Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak, so Venn simply nodded before turning back toward the passage gate. The doors slid open, and for the briefest of moments, Venn felt Arnika’s warm hand on the small of her back.

  They walked side by side to the cantina, where Venn simply requested whatever the cook, Jorgen, chose to feed her. Arnika did the same. Shortly after they sat down at a table overlooking the deepening evening sea and sky, a steward delivered two cups of iced electrolyte solution and two plates with large warm sea-oat wasabi pancakes topped with comforting dollops of whipped orange soy cream.

  Venn ate heartily and quickly. As much as she liked food and wanted to take her time savoring Jorgen’s creations, experience had taught her that when she lingered over meals, some emergency immediately appeared to ensure she’d never get to finish the meal. She reminded herself she should probably pause long enough to make polite conversation, but as she looked up she found Arnika already finished with her meal.

  Impossibly dark eyes stared back at her, and Venn had the sensation of falling through space and time. Smitten, she thought as Arnika smiled, and the pale skin around her eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’m sorry. I tend to eat a bit fast.”

  “I’ll say. I mean I thought I ate fast.” Venn glanced back to her own plate, noting half of her meal still in residence. She took another bite.

  Arnika leaned back. “So, I gather you don’t take many lovers.”

  Venn practically choked and then sputtered through her food. “What?”

  Smiling broadly, Arnika shrugged one shoulder. “Rumor has it you don’t, and your own graces support the inference. I’m just curious.” Arnika leaned in again, dark eyes looming, “I mean is it that you prefer men? It isn’t all that uncommon, you know. Men may be rare, but many women find that inconvenience outweighed by the heightened sensation that comes from knowing you might be breeding.”

  Venn felt the most royal red of blushes lighting up her entire face. “I, no, I mean I’m not, I mean I like men, but…”

  Obviously enjoying Venn’s discomfort at the topic of their conversation, Arnika snickered. “Are you committed to a more long-term relationship then?”

  Venn shook her head.

  Arnika scowled.

  “I mean I’m not committed to a long-term relationship right now. I’d prefer to be, but…” Venn thought about how to explain it.

  Arnika smiled and leaned farther forward, her voice softer. “Let me guess. You don’t think it would be fair to have that sort of relationship with anyone who works at Lone Starport?”

  Venn shook her head and started to explain but then thought better of it. Maybe it would be simpler to just leave it at that. It did make sense that she wouldn’t want to perpetuate any cliques or jealousy among the port’s crew. Their job was to ferry goods and colonists to and from Low Earth Orbit and the Lunar, Martian, and Titan settlements. They were only one of three starports in the world close enough to the super storm-ridden equator to have the right orbital physics to serve all of those destinations consistently. It was a big mission, and it required plenty of teamwork and dedicated focus, but then again, why do any of it if she thought it excluded all of them from love? No, it wasn’t fair to give that impression even if it was convenient. She sighed. “A relationship with someone who works here would require me to be extra carefully objective, to work hard to ensure that I was fair, but I could do that. That is what leadership balance and checks are for after all. Humans have relations.”

  Arnika nodded. “Relations restore our hopes and resolve.” Her hand brushed over Venn’s on the tabletop before settling back on the table, skin so pale as to be nearly camouflaged against the white malanite.

  Venn’s stomach fluttered. “But you are correct in a way. Relations with me, long-term relations, would not be fair. And I cannot bring myself to settle for less.”

  “Oh. Why is that?”

  “Well, I would rather have lovers than sexual partners, I suppose.” Venn shrugged.

  A low laugh ebbed from Arnika, and she shook her head. “No, I get that part. I mean why wouldn’t it be fair to have long-term relations with you?”

  “Ah, well, surely you know.”

  Arnika shrugged. “You must spread your exquisite orgasmic prowess around for the sake of humanity?”

  “Ha. As if.”

  “Then what?”

  “You put your life at risk all of
the time. To protect property, to serve others. For a living,” Venn prompted.

  Arnika only smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Then you understand.”

  She shook her head. “But you are not a sheriff.”

  “I am not, but I live a lot like one lately.”

  “Not if I can help it.” The Sheriff’s smile remained kind, but her eyes took on a steely glint.

  Venn swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with the idea of anyone putting their life on the line for her. “Maybe the day will come when you cannot help it. Policing this port is dangerous. You are the only applicant for this job, Sheriff, despite the posh quarters and large salary.”

  “Maybe, but I am not here for the money.”

  “You’re here for the adrenaline.” Venn gave a smug smile and finished eating her pancakes.

  Arnika frowned. “No. Adrenaline is a tool to keep me alive. I do not enjoy the experience of it, per se.”

  “Then why? Why are you here?”

  Dark eyes flashing mirth and determination, Arnika’s gaze never wavered. “I am here to serve a purpose greater than myself. I can protect and serve anywhere, but here, here I can protect your Lone Starport. It may be experimental now, but if it operates well enough and long enough then you will figure out how to economize things and open more such hubs. Humanity needs more hubs; we all know it. Earth is dying, no matter what the Demise-denying political crowd claims.”

  Venn nodded and laughed. “But you must admit their pitch has a base truth to it. Earth has always been dying.”

  “As have we. Those are just semantics.”

  Venn leaned in and searched Arnika’s dark brown eyes, looking for more hints to her motivations and for those miniscule variations of brighter russet striations in her irises. “And why else?”

  Her voice was a throaty invitation. “Here I serve someone whose intelligence I admire.”

  Venn forced herself to sit back, vowing many times not to kiss Arnika. Her voice was a little breathless anyway as she replied, “But you are still a sheriff. A very dangerous trade.”

  Arnika sighed. “An unfair risk to love, I suppose, since I probably do not have long to live.”

  Venn nodded and almost apologized, but it was the truth.

  “Well, about that drink you promised then. No time like the present.” Arnika stood and gestured for Venn to lead the way.

  †

  Two Bladderwrack grappas later and nursing a third, Venn felt a whole lot less of the day’s strain and just a little bit blurry around the edges. Perched on a bar stool with her thigh barely touching Arnika’s also felt like the most amenable location imaginable. The bar grew gradually crowded around them, and their talk grew softer but no less frank. Venn suspected the Sheriff was habitually frank.

  Arnika tapped Venn’s knee. “There is one thing that still bothers me.”

  “What is that?” Venn’s knee tingled.

  “I get that you don’t want to risk others without combat training. And I intuit that putting someone in neoskene armor with a laser-arc spear would probably give them a dangerous false sense of confidence, but why don’t you at least carry a weapon or wear your own neoskene armor?” The small vertical frown line above Arnika’s nose was strangely kissable, a forehead dimple, thought Venn.

  “Don’t tell me you never thought of it,” Arnika persisted.

  “I’m not combat trained either, and I’m damn clumsy with weapons of any sort. Likely to spear my own toe.”

  The frown dimple deepened. “But surely you are defense trained and certified to at least buy some neoskene.”

  Venn shook her head. “I haven’t had time to do the defense training, so I’m not certified.”

  “But you could fashion your own anyway.” A twitch of lips indicated some annoyance from the Sheriff.

  Venn nodded and shrugged. “I could. I did, but I don’t like wearing it.”

  “You don’t like wearing something that could save your life? Because what? It itches?” Her annoyance was fully apparent, and surprisingly hit Venn like an aphrodisiac.

  She licked her lips. “Nothing so trivial I’m afraid. I can’t get used to it wiggling around on my skin so much when it’s taking a beating. The sensation distracts me. I move faster and think more clearly without it on, and I think that is more likely to keep me safe than the neoskenes.”

  Arnika was silent. Her lips returned to their normal lush wide lines, but the frown dimple remained. “Well, then I’ll just have to help you habituate to some. I’m certified to buy all grades. I can get you one of the heavier, less temporal sets that just cover your core organs, and you can practice wearing it just a little each day until it’s like a second skin.” Her tone of voice already indicated it wasn’t a suggestion, but she added, “As your chief security expert, I insist.”

  Venn was a little bit tempted to ask or else what, but thought better of it. Arnika had already saved her life today. “Okay.” She smiled.

  The Sheriff smiled, and it was like the brilliant glow of a long-distance hydrogen electromagnetic pulse engine lifting off. Sudden, bright, and incredibly beautiful.

  Venn vaguely remembered some classic artifact clips she’d seen on the holo-watch late one night. Two almost dejected men in black and white realized that being stubborn was something to smile about in dark days, as they waved good-bye to some crude flying apparatus together. She paraphrased the taller one to Arnika, “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

  Brown eyes so dark they looked to be made of rich black java met hers with a coy shine. “I’ll see if I can’t change your mind on that score.” Arnika lifted her Bladderwrack cup in salute. “This is the start of a beautiful romance.”

  Venn returned the salute and took the customary sip without offering any verbal response. There were two things that scared her about that idea. The chief one being that time was short. Death out here came for you more quickly than you thought it might, even though you knew it would, and it didn’t pay well to get too attached to anyone. Her second, contrary fear, was also that time was short, and if you could get so well attached to anyone so easily then maybe you shouldn’t waste time debating it. She drained the rest of her cup. Life was so short, sometimes even shorter than the port’s supply of Bladderwrack.

  She leaned closer to Arnika and whispered, “A romance with you doesn’t sound any more dangerous than Kraken wrestling, at any rate.”

  Arnika kissed her, and whatever else Venn might have said became instantly nothing, impossible to imagine while Arnika’s warm insistent mouth moved like that against her own. Nothing was as salient as the feel of their kiss, crowding out everything else with volts of pure sensation and sealing the intimate fate of their relationship. Dangers be damned. Love was a lone star.

  About the Author

  Lacey Schmidt

  Lacey Schmidt holds a doctorate in industrial-organizational psychology that has afforded her many opportunities to travel and learn how all kinds of interesting people help make the world go around. She resides in Houston with her wife, and they find the cheaper cost of living there very convenient (given their penchant for expensive hobbies like photography and scuba diving). Previous publications include a poetry book, The Nightshade Lexicon, a creative non-fiction story called Pride and Prejudiced in Unbroken Circle, and the romantic short story Love’s Luck in It's In Her Kiss, and three romance novels, A Walk Away, Catch to Release, and Playing With Matches, published by Affinity Rainbow Publications. Lacey’s website http://laceyschmidt.blogspot.com/ contains free new poetry, art, essays and music each month.

  Lasso

  Carsen Taite

  1I hate road trips. Or I used to anyway. Childhood memories are chock full of the sounds of my brother and I fighting over the imaginary line in the backseat while Mom and Dad argued about whether he’d taken the right exit to the snake farm or the giant candle factory or some other cheesy tourist attraction. The Buick LeSabre
smelled like pork rinds, sweaty feet, and Mom’s knock-off version of Obsession, and while the rest of the family played the license plate game, I contemplated an adulthood where I would never have to drive past the Dallas city limits for any reason.

  I’ve managed pretty well up to now, but when the asshole I’d been tracking just happened to have been spotted in the same city that was hosting a law enforcement conference my girlfriend was driving to anyway, I figured I may as well tag along. The whole adventure nearly fell apart when I insisted on bringing our dog, Cash, but Jess finally saw things my way. If this trip was going to break my cycle of memories about travel gone awry, then we’d need a do-over with our entire family, and Cash was the closest thing to a real child I ever planned on having.

  My name’s Luca Bennet, and I catch assholes for a living. Most of the assholes I pursue are being picked up for the second time around, having jumped bail by no-showing for their court appearances. Some of these fugitives are nickel and dime deadbeats, but some are elite most-wanted types that command a high reward. I’m not a cop, although I was one for about five minutes years ago. I’m a bounty hunter, an independent contractor. I set my own hours, pick my cases, and report to no one. Well, no one other than the bondsman who tosses me enough work to earn a living and Jess, the cop I accidentally fell in love with after years of friendly one night stands.

  Said cop, Detective Jessica Chance, was behind the wheel of her new Jeep Cherokee, steering us down I-35, the major highway by which all Dallasites escaped the glass and steel of their highbrow city to the keeping it weird state capitol, Austin, Texas. She was headed to a conference on forensic something or another hosted by the Austin police department and the Texas Rangers. Yawn. While she was inside a way too air-conditioned hotel conference room schooling folks on riveting subjects like crime scene management and profiling, Cash and I would be beating the streets to find Leroy Clark, a businessman whose recent dealings had taken a nasty turn when he went from managing the finances of a large health care corporation to embezzling the funds he was sworn to protect, or so the warrant said. I didn’t spend much time dwelling on the potential guilt or innocence of my quarry. Leroy was one of those elite most-wanted types, translation big money, and my only mission was to get him in cuffs and turn him over to the nearest law enforcement agency that would give me credit for the catch. I’d collect the bounty and take a few weeks off as a reward for good behavior.