Grimspace (21 page)

I haven't been sleeping well.

It's been six weeks, and I can't get the old woman's words out of my head. Sometimes I catch myself looking over my shoulder for my shadow, and I never find one. I tell myself it's part of living on Gehenna, where there's no direct sunlight. Most citizens take regular UV treatments to make up for the deficiency.

But that's not the reason I wake up dripping sweat, hands fisted in my bedcovers. Where I sleep would give anyone else vertigo, mattress flush against the glastique wall. That's not my problem, either. First thing I do is roll over and look out over the city, see how the ' scrapers strive toward the unassailable sky. The skycabs and private hovercars swoop with silent grace, and I lie there listening to my heartbeat.

On another world, it would be dawn now, and I wake from the same dream, night after night, exactly this way. I run my palm over my biceps and feel the skin marred by scars, further roughed by goose bumps. I don't know what to do.

He's the last person I want to see when I close my eyes, and yet he's there, always the same. Since I'm a new Jax, building a new life, I try not to let myself think about March, but he comes to me in dreams. I see him sitting on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, head sunk into his hands. That's all, really, but it doesn't begin to encapsulate his solitude and despair. It's like he's one of the ghosts the old woman claimed she saw following me.

I hate how much I miss him. There's a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss. This is the life I
chose
, first decision I've made since I was seventeen and ran away from finishing school, so I need to make the best of it.

I want to be happy, but my heart won't let me. In crowds I see his face. When I close my eyes, I see his face. And in dreams—

With a muffled groan, I crawl off my mat and collect my bath basket. I don't have a san-shower in my garret, so I go down and borrow from Adele. She lives just below me, and most mornings we breakfast together as well. Usually it's darjing tea and toast with good marmalade.

She's coded the door to recognize me, so I don't wake her slipping in to take my shower. This morning I manage to get cleaned up and make the tea before she stirs. Scratching at her sleep-rumpled hair, she sits down at the small metal table that looks as if she salvaged it from a rubbish pile. Perhaps she did. But it's meticulously clean, if dinged and dented.

Adele takes one look at me, and says, “You dreamed of him again, hm?”

I give a curt nod in reply, wrapping my fingers around my mug for warmth I can't seem to generate on my own. It's like I sweat away my heat in fitful sleep, then for the rest of the day I walk around with a chill I can't dispel. Doubtless the old woman from the bazaar would say it's something to do with my missing shadow.

She can tell I don't want to talk about it, though, so she falls quiet, and we eat listening to the bittersweet melody of the music she calls folkazz. Before work, we go to the piazza and listen to them play, old-fashioned instruments with reeds and strings. I like it, but there's a certain melancholy in their faces that says they know they belong to a lost era. Their music makes me think again of the ghosts that follow me.

Tonight, the children are especially querulous. If Gehenna experienced weather, I would say there's a storm coming. Perhaps there is, a dry lightning tempest somewhere beyond the safety of the dome. Mattin will not climb off my lap, even to hit Lleela in the head, and that little girl has attached herself to Adele's leg; she will not dislodge herself for toys or treats. The others seem less affected, but they do quarrel more over small infractions of rights or personal dignity. And none of them will sleep.

So we get no peace until the last of the dancers collects her offspring, then we walk home together through the titian-tinged streets. Though the hour is late, Gehenna looks exactly the same, like a whore who paints her face night after night and holds secret the ravages of time. I decline Adele's offer to come in and trudge up another flight to my flat. There's a lift in this building, but she tells me it hasn't worked in years.

Even before I let myself in, I smell the scent of a man's passage, but I don't expect to find him standing in my flat. I know how it must look to him: poor, eccentric, squalid. But it's mine. His back is turned to me, and he seems to be admiring the view. It's strange to see him amid my eclectic furnishings, my sleep-mat, the battered sofa, a softly glowing lamp with a fringed shade. But he spins as he senses my presence, even though I don't speak.

“It's been a while,” Doc says, folding his hands behind him. “Hello, Sirantha.”

“I thought you would have gone by now.”

Long before now, actually.

“Oh, we tried.” And there's certain heaviness to his tone that unnerves me. “We were so lucky to find Edaine. She failed basic academy training, but not through incompetence. One of her instructors took a fancy to her and gave her low marks when she refused to sleep with him.”

“Yes, I imagine that's pretty rare. Would you like something to drink?” I keep my words neutral.

“No thank you. I won't stay long.” He studies me for a moment, as if seeking something in my eyes or expression.

“How did you find me?” I thought I had well and truly disappeared.

That bothers me. If he found me, then the Corp could as well, not to mention bounty hunters. Gray men don't always work as a unit. Sometimes they dispatch a solo quietly to neutralize targets on worlds they don't control. It's not unreasonable to posit one such might be searching for me here, even now, and I can't be on my guard all the time. To make it worse, my presence might pose a danger to the children and to Adele. That I cannot permit.

“My old friend Ordo has excellent connections,” he answers.

I suspect that's an understatement. Ordo Carvati can accomplish anything he wants in Gehenna. He's from one of the First families, and he's old money. It's to Doc's credit that he doesn't flaunt his friendship with such a man.

“But he can't find you another jumper?”

He hasn't moved from the center of the room, and none of his body language tells me this is a friendly visit. In fact, I would say he doesn't want to be here at all. That tells me a great deal about his state of mind.

At that he smiles, although there's a sad slant to it. “He cannot make miracles. I know what March has said about you. And I've listened to Dina's thoughts as well.” By his careful phrasing I can well imagine the way the other two cursed me. He takes a step forward, and the glow from my fringed lamp finally touches his face. “Two days ago Dina had a shunt installed. Ordo wouldn't do it, so she went to a black-market surgeon.”

“A shunt?” I repeat blankly. “Why?” But even as I ask, I find myself fingering the jack hidden in my wrist.

“She says there's no one else,” he answers.

Now I understand the heaviness in his voice. “That's crazy. She isn't trained.”

I can't even imagine what grimspace would do to someone untrained, someone who doesn't possess the J-gene. Don't know whether it will kill her, drive her mad, or if all of them will be lost. I could find out, research the early days when they first discovered the Star Road, but something tells me knowing won't make it easier to bear.

Doc shrugs. “She seems to think determination and mental strength should make up for that. They don't know I'm here. March was supposed to ask you back, perhaps two weeks ago. He said you refused.”

That hurts. As long as I had known him, March never lied. And yet he's learned how in order to avoid seeing me.

“He never came,” I say quietly.

“I didn't want to believe what the others said, Sirantha. Now that you know, I can't imagine you'll let her do it.”

“I won't.” My heart sinks as I say it. But like Gehenna itself, these past weeks have been nothing but an illusion. I can't hide here. I can't live a quiet, simple life. “Of course I won't. Just let me get my things.”

Dina has lost so much. She imagines there's no reason not to take the risk. She might even see it as a way to get back to Edaine. The people we love and lose never return to us, though, no matter how many shades we chase. And March…March would do anything to keep his word to Mair, no matter what the cost.

As I brush by him, Doc touches my shoulder. “You may not want to admit it, but you are a vital piece of the puzzle. No one has been the same since you went away.”

I know there are probably other difficulties, mounting docking fee costs. Obstacles I haven't even considered. As in my dream, March sits on the edge of his bunk, night after night, trying to find a way to succeed, trying to find a way out.

“It's not that I don't want to admit it,” I tell him, weary beyond belief. “But I've spent my whole life doing as I'm told. This was the first time I ever did what
I
wanted. But it turns out I'm not allowed, so I'll live and die on someone else's agenda. Burn out jumping, no matter what I want.”

“Oh…” His expression tells me he hates putting me in this position but not enough to leave. And it's probably best that I go. It would kill me if anything happened to Adele because of me. “If it makes any difference, I don't think you
can
burn out.”

I pause in stuffing my belongings into my bag. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. But I've compared your before and after images to other case studies, quite extensively over the past weeks.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I am getting ahead of myself. In your first scan, I detected brain lesions consistent with AGSS. That test indicated burnout was inevitable and quite soon. Your next jump should have been your last. Instead, you came out, slept for three days, and when I took the next reading, all lesions had disappeared. Your brain looks as if you never jumped in your life, a student straight out of the academy.”

The duffel slips from my hand. “How is that even possible?”

“I don't know.” Doc shakes his head. “It's something to do with the L-gene I isolated, but that's…not a human trait.”

“You're saying I'm—”

“I'm saying you apparently don't need to worry about burnout.”

I feel numb as we head out of my glastique flat, like I don't know what's true anymore. Doc takes my bag from my nerveless fingers, and I tuck my favorite lamp beneath my arm. Although it's late, I tap on Adele's door, declining its offer to let me in.

She answers soon after, groggy but not alarmed, and her eyes go immediately to the man behind me. I glance at him, and it's like he's been hit by lightning. They simply stare at one another until I feel superfluous and clear my throat.

“I'm leaving,” I say without explanation or apology. “I'm sorry I can't stay until you find a replacement for me at Hidden Rue.”

Her eyes are so gentle. “It's all right, child. I knew your fate didn't rest with me. Call it a fuel stop for the soul, hm?”

Yes, that's exactly what it was. I hug her, then murmur, “This is my friend, Saul Solaith. Most people just call him Doc, though.” To him, I add, “This is Adele.”

She smiles with unearthly sweetness. “I'll be seeing you again, I think.”

I don't know whether she's talking to him or me. It doesn't matter, really. We go then, down many flights of stairs and into Gehenna night, which looks the same as Gehenna dawn or Gehenna dusk. I think maybe I'm ready to go. Doc doesn't speak during our return to the spaceport.

As I walk up the ramp to the
Folly
, I glance back once and see my shadow.

I'm unpacking when the door to my quarters slides
open.

They've erased all trace of my presence here; the room-bot doesn't even recognize me any longer. So I have no personal control over my environment at the moment although I have propped my fringed lamp up at the end of my bunk. Without turning, I know that it's March standing behind me.

“You were going to let Dina die before asking me for help?” Attack is the best alternative here. “And then you lied about it? Asshole.”

I face him then, but it's a casual movement, born of stowing my now-empty bag into the bottom of the storage closet where I've hung my clothes. Though I manage not to react, I'm shaken by how haggard he looks. He's visibly thinner, lean jaw unshaven, and there's a terrible darkness in his eyes that has nothing to do with their hue.

“Yeah,” he says with a flicker of his old bite. “And that's so much worse than abandoning people who depend on you.”

You know, I've never been in this position before. Never had to remember who I used to be and try to become that woman again. Who was I before I walked away? I remember it hurt me to say farewell to this man. I bled when he left me sitting in Molino's, his accusations etched in acid, eating at me from the inside out. And now those feelings return as I wriggle back into her soul.

My soul.
A thing I didn't believe in until I spent time with Adele.
Oh Mary, I'm so broken.
Never realized how fragmented I've become until this moment. I'm a mirror where someone sunk his fist, a thousand tiny images refracted from that fissure, and none of them complete.

“I couldn't make you understand then,” I say softly. “And I can't now. I hoped you could find someone else. I don't see myself as irreplaceable.”

He steps fully into my room, and the door swishes shut behind him. “You think jumpers grow on trees? Why do you think we settled for you in the first place?”

That sends a stab of fresh pain through me, but I don't let it show. Maybe he can feel it. I don't know anymore. “I thought it was tied to Doc's research.”

“Trust you to be literal.” March glances around my quarters, which seem smaller with him standing there. He flexes the fingers of his left hand; that's a new nervous habit. “Yeah, it had to be you. But if you're just going to run away again—”

“No, I'll see it through.”
Like I have a choice.
I'm bound here, and I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. “March, I'm sorry for what I said about your sister.”

His intake of breath sounds so loud. “She wasn't why I stopped piloting.”

“I know. I was mad, so I put two and two together to make twelve.” Hesitate for a moment, then add, “And I wanted to hurt you.”

“You did.”

The words lie between us like a gauntlet. I don't know what he means, so I choose the coward's course. Apropos, I think. “I'm sorry.”

He shrugs. “It's nothing new.”

“What—”

“You think it didn't cut me every time you thought of him?” His jaw clenches. “You think I didn't bleed when you left my bed to scrub away my touch and deify his memory? You think it didn't hurt when you
left
me? Jax, you've been slicing me to bits for months, and there's damn near nothing left.”

“March…” But he's not interested in whatever I might say.

He shakes his head. “I'm not letting you do that to me anymore. It's going to be different this time.”

I know what's coming, and I'm not going to let him say it, not when I'm just starting to figure things out. “I didn't think about him when I went away.” I step closer and his whole body tenses, although whether in anticipation of pain or pleasure, I couldn't say. “I dreamed of
you
.”

I can't believe I told him that. But the moment thrums with such stark honesty that I can't offer him less. I never knew I had the power to hurt him, only that he possessed the power to hurt
me
.

His ridiculously long-lashed eyes search mine, as if for some sign I'm going to turn this into a cruel joke, but I hold his look, letting him see the truth. Funny how I can tell when he's reading me now; it's a little prickle on the back of my neck.

“You mean it,” he says, after a moment.

“Yeah.” That same candor compels me to add, “I wouldn't have done anything about it, though. I wouldn't have come back.”

“I know.” He smiles then. “We're great ones for burning bridges, you and I. Slamming doors hard enough that we're not tempted to knock on them again.”

“That sounds about right.”

March touches my hair, tentative, as if he thinks one wrong move will frighten me away. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath at the feel of his fingers on the nape of my neck. When I don't recoil, he pulls me close, and I wrap my arms around his waist, running my hands up his back. He's so thin I can count his ribs with my fingertips.

Oh Mary, I missed this. He feels…right, just as he did on Lachion. I remember how he drove away the bad dreams, even then. I remember how his arms always felt like they could protect me from anything, but maybe I was afraid because I never accept that from anyone. I never admit I might need it.

“Tell me this isn't what you were running from.” Lacing our fingers together, he flattens my palm over his heart. “I can't compete with a ghost, though. I won't even try. So if you want me to let go, just say so and—”

I shake my head. “I don't know, it may have been part of it, but I…laid him to rest somewhere on Gehenna.”

March tips my face up, studying my features intently for a moment, then he swings me up in his arms, and I realize I haven't even asked about his recovery. He must be all right, though, because he carries me over to the bunk and settles with me in his lap. I feel him running his hands up and down my back, stroking my thick, coarse hair. I expect…
more
I suppose, but he doesn't even kiss me.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “That was too soon, and I paid for it. Probably should've just let you sleep with Hon. I just—”

“Couldn't stand to see someone else touching your woman?”

He exhales into my hair, and I shift enough to glimpse his sheepish expression. “I know. Big cliché, right?”

I find myself reassuring him. “A certain amount of territoriality between mates is natural. I know we're supposed to be enlightened, but some things just don't breed out.”

His smile widens into a grin, and it's only then that I grasp what I've said. But I don't try to take it back. When March tilts his head against mine, my mind swims for a moment, then I'm full of him. He shows me everything, a barrage of impressions, and I understand why I can't resist him. He's exactly like me: compartmentalized, broken, a jumbled mass of jagged edges he conceals beneath biting wit and confidence.

“You can't imagine what it's like. Hearing secret thoughts, then listening to lies spoken with a smile. It kills the soul, Jax. I was a monster when I met Mair. She turned me into a decent human being and taught me to control it.” He hesitates, shuddering, and I reach up to stroke his cheek. I know he's not going to be in a confessional mood forever. “But after our first jump, I'd find myself in your head without any clue how I got there. It scared the shit out of me. I'd stopped piloting because Mair said there were risks associated with a Psi-sensitive using wetware.”

“I guess it would. I thought you just were doing it to piss me off.” I smile up at him to take the sting out of my words, but I have to wonder what risks Mair was talking about. Wonder if she left anything in my PA. “Do the others know?”

“No! They wouldn't understand. They'd be afraid of me, afraid of what I know. Jax…” His tone turns wondering. “Do you have any idea what a miracle you are? What you say is exactly what I see in your head. No disparity, no dirty secrets. Even when you detested me, you made no bones about it.”

I grin at him. “You like a little honest hatred, huh?”

“I guess I do. Spices things up.” He pulls me closer, resting his chin on my head, and I listen to his heart.

Hard to say who's most surprised when the door slides back. Shit, I forgot it will open for anyone right now. Guess it's a good thing we're just curled on my bunk together. Doc still looks astonished, though.

“I wanted to say that we're clear for departure.” He clears his throat. “Anytime.”

“We didn't kill each other,” I say with a grin. “We'll head to the cockpit shortly.”

Right now, March looks more at peace than I've ever seen him, and it's a little hard to reconcile that serenity as being related to me. I shake things up, create chaos and agitate for change, but I've never been accused of being restful.

He cups my cheek in his palm, and murmurs to Doc, “Five minutes. Now get out.”

I truly hope we're going to make good use of that time.