by Shona Husk
“I’m allowed to refuse, Sir?”
“Yes, you have that right.” Lopez frowned. “But I thought you were with Corporal Jade?”
That’s what he’d thought, too, until a few days ago, but she’d made it clear that they shouldn’t see each other because Zane was making threats. What the hell was going on? Was this a way of stopping Zane? He didn’t seem like the kind of man who cared about pieces of paper and rules that didn’t benefit him.
Lopez tapped the form. “She’s doing the right thing, making sure it’s on file. If she comes down here and I find your door closed, it won’t go down well.”
Was that why she hadn’t wanted to see his room the other day? Alex glanced at Lopez. Lopez wasn’t smiling. Getting caught with Sienna without the paperwork would get him booted back to the prison. He had to follow the rules. However he wasn’t entirely sure what all the rules were.
“I’m not allowed guests?”
“Sure, with the door open, same as in D zone. I’ll leave it with you.”
Alex waited until Lopez left the room before picking up the form. The application to fuck was actually Form 699-A: “Request for visitation rights with a prisoner,” and included three paragraphs of text about what the form meant and who was supposed to use it.
It only applied to long-term relationships, not short-term arrangements. Is that what the Army called prostitutes? Prisoners had no rights to marry without appropriate approval. He already knew that one. And no cohabitation. That was Form 669-B, and would only be considered six months after 699-A had been approved.
Even though it felt intrusive, Alex kind of liked that someone had taken a moment to think about what the prisoners’ lives would be like. But he didn’t sign straight away. He looked at Sienna’s handwriting—the uneven letters and her scrawling signature. He’d had to leave Earth to find a woman who had grown up only blocks from him. She’d have still been in school while he’d been climbing scaffolding and breathing in the chemical-laden air.
He’d probably walked past her, a group of school kids with cloths over their mouths to reduce the amount of crap they inhaled. He’d done the same. Breathing gear was expensive and only used by tower engineers—they lived in them, worked on them, and oversaw the building of them the whole time never sullying their lungs with unfiltered air. The rest of the construction crew made do with cheap masks and hoped for the best, knowing that every intake of air was one breath closer to death.
She could do better than someone ten years her senior and dressed in yellow. He knew that, but he picked up the pencil anyway. He’d never wanted anyone in his life the way he wanted her. Filling out this form was the first step forward.
And Zane? Had he ordered her to do this?
Was Alex signing his own death warrant?
Alex hesitated, the pencil already pressed to the page where he needed to write his name and number.
This should be easy. It was what he wanted. It would mean no one could keep them from seeing each other. In six months’ time they could live together. He tried to imagine that, and failed. Surely there weren’t enough modules being used for food storage to allow everyone to partner up? There’d be too much shuffling around. Once they reached Solitaire, however …
There was only one way to find out if this was some kind of set-up.
He wrote his name and number, signed the form and then got up to take it to Lopez. He was sure that having an official lover wasn’t going to help his popularity with the enlisted. Then again, it wasn’t really any of their business.
Sienna was in the mess, trying to work out how many soyroom stew days there were between here and Solitaire. Too many, was the short answer. She’d received the paperwork approving her temporary relocation to the main hospital. She’d been bracing herself for Lieutenant Zane’s reaction ever since.
But nothing had happened. Perhaps with the Major looking over his shoulder, Zane was being more careful. Or perhaps he was just biding his time.
Either way, for the next three months Sienna was out of his way. By the time they reached Solitaire she’d be ready to change branches and go from infantry to medical corps. She wouldn’t have to work with Zane again. It was almost enough to make her excited about reaching the planet.
The other piece of paper was still MIA. Probably lost on someone’s desk … unless Alex hadn’t signed it. She was almost too scared to go and find out. But she was going to, right after she’d choked down the rest of her stew. She’d be happy if she never saw another soyroom again.
A group of noisy guys walked in. She glanced up as a flash of yellow caught her eye. Engineers—with Alex. Her heart stuttered. Had he seen her? She glanced back at her stew. All the carefully thought-up words vanished. It had been so much easier when it had been just lust. Now … well, if he hadn’t signed the form, she wouldn’t be able to see him. She was sure the Major would be keeping an eye on what she did and who she saw to make sure she wasn’t as bad as Zane’s comments on her file suggested.
Perhaps now that Alex had more options, he didn’t want to see her.
“This seat taken?” Someone tugged on the chair opposite her.
She didn’t need to look up to know it was Alex. She shook her head.
The guys next to her bristled, as if having a con at the table was an insult. “Why don’t you sit with your engineering buddies.”
“I’d like to sit here.” Alex put down his tray and sat.
One the guys stood. “We don’t want your kind here.”
“I know him, he’s fine.” And she really didn’t want a scene. Already, people were looking. But apparently her word wasn’t good enough. The Private picked up his food and went elsewhere.
“I see you’re making friends.”
“Yeah … maybe they don’t like Field Engineers.” He smiled, but the wariness was back, as if he wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next.
“Maybe.” But they both knew that wasn’t the case. Some people resented the inclusion of prison foremen in C zone. Engineering wasn’t the only team that had moved some prisoners across. It seemed all corps wanted some prison foremen—it was part prison morale and part training. People had to have something to strive for, something to hope for, or life became unpalatable. Sienna had received a taste of what that could be like, both on Earth and now on Siren. Both times, she’d pushed forward and refused to settle for what was being offered.
Alex rested his forearms on the table and leaned in. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She wanted to ask if he’d signed the form. “I’ve been temporarily transferred to the hospital for training, but I had to fight to get it through. It was noticed that I hadn’t put in a 699-A.”
He gave a single nod. “I wondered what that was about. You could’ve given me some warning.”
She could’ve come down and told him it was on the way, but she hadn’t wanted to draw any extra attention until everything was done. “I thought it best to get the paperwork done before I saw you again.”
“Does that mean you broke rules when you invited me into your room?”
“Yes … but it was a calculated risk.” Everyone was doing it, so she hadn’t thought she’d be singled out. She hesitated a moment, but was unable to keep the question in. “Did you sign it?”
Her toes curled in her boots as she waited for him to answer.
He took a couple of bites of food and had a drink, as if he was aware of how much she needed to know the answer and was determined to make her suffer. “Yes. Everyone somehow knows.” He drew in a breath and glanced over his shoulder to where the engineers were sitting.
“Nothing travels faster than gossip—not even light.” Especially in the Army. “You sitting here and talking to me will be enough to set off another round.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
It had once. She’d hated being talked about and she hadn’t liked the way Zane had flaunted their relationship and tried to alienate her from the rest of the en
listed. But this was different. She knew in her heart that she and Alex had something special. “I don’t mind people knowing that you’re mine.”
“Oh, I’m yours, am I? So you wouldn’t mind if I did this …” He stood up and leaned over the table. His lips brushed hers.
It was hardly a kiss, but it was enough that people around them either took offense or cheered. Most people didn’t know quite what to say.
Sienna slid her hand up his arm and over his shoulder until her fingers tangled in his hair. “I don’t mind, but I think everyone else does.”
“I have it on good authority that they’re just jealous,” he murmured.
“I think you’re right.” She smiled and kissed him softly. Alex had given her a reason to look forward to the future, to their future, and the life they could make on Solitaire.
Read on for an excerpt from the next book, Yours to Desire
Excerpt: Yours to Desire
Dirty Sexy Space Three
A man more potent than any drug…
It’s 2202 and on board the Earth Ship Siren, brilliant scientist, Lily Kwan, has worked in secret to develop an antidote for the aphrodisiac rape drug, sexmeth.
She’d be overjoyed if it wasn’t for an embarrassing problem: the antidote has no effect on her extraordinary reaction to one particular soldier—Connor Madison, the Siren’s tough quartermaster. Scientifically, it should be impossible, but the man’s a raging fever in her blood. If a single dark glance sets Lily on fire, a kiss might kill her dead—but what a way to go!
A former gang rat from the slums of a dying world, Con came up the hard way, so when geeky Doctor Kwan tops his hit list of possible drug runners, nothing’s going to save her—not her family’s money, nor her clever mind.
Not even the smile in her eyes.
Chapter One
* * *
If he didn’t move his ass, he’d be late for the damn basket-weaving class.
Con went down the narrow access steps two at a time, one hand skimming the alloy bulkhead for balance. Despite his haste, he landed lightly, the metal treads pinging softly beneath his feet. It wasn’t his way to be noisy. Folding his portacomp, he shoved it in the pocket of his fatigues and strode down the corridor. The doors were identical save for their numbers. D143, D149 on the left, then D154 on the right. He frowned. Somebody couldn’t count.
Pausing outside D155, he checked his watch. Dead on time. From within, came the murmur of conversation, then a single voice—a husky alto—raised above the others. “Shall we begin?” it said in the cultured accent of the Elite.
She was punctual, he’d give her that, the thieving bitch. His mouth twisted. Scratch that—the alleged thieving bitch. Mustn’t condemn the princess without a fair trial. He’d bet his hard-won stripes her wealthy family had brought every kind of pressure to bear, up to and including blackmail, bribery and intimidation, all to get this worthless, pampered woman away from the dying Earth. Among the Elite, scientists were a dime a dozen. She couldn’t have been the only one available—just the best connected. As home shrank to a blue-green marble in the viewports, he wondered if the real price of her escape had dawned on her. Did she know it was almost certain she’d never see her birth world again? None of them would.
By god, he wanted it to be her!
Wiping all expression from his face, he shoved the door open and strode in.
A single comprehensive glance and Con had the personnel in the room summed up. The tall woman at the front, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle, had to be Lily Kwan—Doctor Lily Byrne Kwan, xeno-botanist, biochemist and all around geek. A dozen or so people sat at battered tables, soldiers and civvies mixed. The general air was one of barely concealed boredom, so it was a good guess they’d been arbitrarily assigned to Kwan’s Basket-weaving Academy by some evil genius in HR. At the back, two enlisted men lounged against the wall. The tall skinny one was busily excavating an ear with his forefinger, while his stockier companion scowled at the four prisoners slumped at the nearest table. Their yellow outfits created a startling splash of color against beige plastic and scuffed metal. The Siren was no beauty, that was for sure.
“Ah …?” Lily Kwan gazed at him enquiringly from over half-moon spectacles. Her eyes were oddly pale against her warm olive skin. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
“I’m here for the class.”
Her brow creasing, Kwan glanced down at the list on her portacomp. She’d scraped her hair back, but an ebony strand escaped to flop across her cheek. She ignored it. “That’s strange, I thought I had everyone.”
“Late addition,” Con said blandly. Turning his head, he flicked a razor glance at the guards. They straightened so quickly he thought he heard their spines snap. Lazy bastards.
“Of course.” Kwan peered at his name tags. “You’re welcome, ah, Sergeant Madison.” She laid the bundle she carried on the desk as tenderly as if it were a newborn. It squelched.
Was it wet?
Still considering him, Kwan pulled a stained rag from her pocket and wiped her hands. Funny, with her background, it should have been a fancy, lace-trimmed handkerchief. Con tried a pleasant smile, though the two guards—now standing rigidly to attention and staring straight ahead—rather spoiled the effect.
“Are you sure you’re in the right room?” Her dark brows rose behind the glasses as she took him in. “This is basket-weaving.”
Con knew what he looked like. Big and dark and mean, all male. The gang tatt on his neck didn’t help. Fine, fine. He could make nice if he had to. With a conscious effort, he stopped himself from looming.
“You never know. Might come in handy. And it’s Master Sergeant.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Connor Madison, Ship’s Quartermaster.”
Not a flicker, but what had he expected? By all accounts, the woman had a brilliant mind, cool and incisive.
“Oh” she said. “Well, then. Ah, welcome.” She indicated the empty table nearest the front. “Please, be seated and we’ll begin.”
Sit with his back exposed? He literally couldn’t do it. Brushing past her, Con planted himself at a table on one side of the room. From there, he had a nice solid bulkhead behind him, not to mention an excellent view of the instructor and the class. Stretching his legs, he retrieved his portacomp and hooked an arm over the back of his chair. Now, Doc, let’s see if you’re as goddam clever as you think you are.
Kwan cleared her throat. “Basket-weaving is an ancient art,” she began. “Indigenous people have used plant materials from prehistoric times to store food and other items. Unfortunately, the depredations of the centuries have robbed us of a great of deal of evidence for …”
Depredations? Who used a word like depredations on a convict transport bound for the outer reaches of space? Hopefully, Unity colony was still out there, waiting for them on Solitaire. Because if it wasn’t, if it had gone under, they were comprehensively fucked, all five thousand of them—not to mention the people on the other two ships. His lips took on an ironic curve. Gone to hell in a great big woven hand basket.
“... different materials,” Kwan droned on in that soft, precise voice. Carefully, she unfolded the cloth from her bundle, revealing clumps of grass and twigs. “Here we have a sample of a reed found commonly on Solitaire,” She held up a bunch of flat, bluish weeds. A trickle ran under the sleeve of the white coat she wore over a green shirt and camo pants. Absently, she swiped at it.
“It’s easy to cultivate anywhere, even on board ship, if we can provide sufficient water, whereas this variety of Earth flax …”
People were frowning, a couple of the older women leaning forward to hear. The stocky guard yawned hugely, not bothering to cover his mouth, then shot Con a guilty glance. The doctor noticed, ducked her head and forged on. Con studied her from beneath his lashes. Perspiration shone on her brow, while a slow tide of pink inched up her long neck to stain her cheeks. The words came faster and faster, a patter that fell into the silence like little stones. She wasn’t stu
pid, she knew she’d lost them. She could lecture all right, but she couldn’t teach for shit.
Somewhere around soaking bark strips to make them malleable, he tuned out again. As the Siren’s senior non-commissioned officer, he had one of the highest security clearances on the ship. With a few taps on the portacomp, he retrieved her record, not that it told him much more than the last time he’d looked, but it helped to have the subject—the suspect, that was—in view.
Given her glittering array of degrees, Lily Kwan was younger than he’d expected, only thirty. Fast-tracked from school to college and from there to a mountain top in Switzerland, to work in the air-cleansed comfort of one of the few remaining research institutes. It didn’t take a genius to work out she must be one of the Kwans, the strongest of the five great clans, because an education like hers reeked of privilege and power. Leeches gorged with the blood of a dying Earth, the families had grown fat and greedy on the misery of others. Doctor Lily owed everything to her honored ancestor, great-grandmother Kwan, several times removed. The old woman’s ruthlessness had been legendary.
When he looked up, the doctor was on the other side of the room, fiddling with a three foot ribbon of some green stuff. The middle-aged tech seated at the table looked stupefied, though he revived enough to sneak a peek down the front of her shirt when she leaned forward. The goat.
On his portacomp, Con flipped to the genocode. Yeah, there it was, a direct line of descent from the old madam, the genetic material predominantly East Asian. Hmm, and a healthy dollop of Celt, way back. He pulled up the personal details. Mother deceased, only six months ago, father still living. Kwan was unmarried. He’d bet there was a story there. No offspring.
“A base?”
He blanked the screen with a quick jab of his thumb. “Sorry. What?”
Lily Kwan plonked a bilious green plastic circle on the table in front of him. “A base for your basket.” Determinedly, she pushed the glasses back up her long nose. “I’ve pre-punched it,” she said, pointing to the holes around the perimeter.
