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Authors: Ann Aguirre

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BOOK: Wanderlust
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Mary, he makes it sound like I’m a geriatric case, beyond the hope of all antiaging treatments. I grit my teeth. Counting to ten doesn’t help.

“Well, you do all right for someone who looks like he ought to be in wet naps,” I tell him sweetly. “Do you shave yet, princess? I bet you couldn’t grow a beard if you wanted one.”

He’s had enough of the wine not to get riled up, more’s the pity. “You’ve got enough chin hair for both of us.”

“Is that why you were staring so hard at my ass when I went to the shower? Because it hasn’t got any hair on it?” A flip response, not one I expect to make him choke on his drink. “You
were
looking!”

“Not on purpose,” he protests. “Or rather, no more than any man would when confronted with a naked woman. It’s practically against the law not to look. They revoke your man membership if you play the gentleman too often. In a way, I was paying you a compliment.”

“To be sure. So you haven’t been guilty of ogling old ladies before?”

“You’re not old in the traditional sense,” he says, tilting his head with a judicious look. “Just for a jumper. You know.”

Of course I do. In my first five years on the job, I attended the funerals of fifteen classmates from the academy. After that, I stopped offering to speak at their services. I swallowed my sorrows instead. That’s how my nav-star legend came to be born. Not the party girl they all supposed, or at least, not for the usual reasons.

Loss seeps out from behind my mental barriers, old wounds, old pain adding to the fresh one, a big jagged hole where March used to be. So many people, gone. What Jael said is true—being the last one standing sometimes
does
feel like a curse. Just like that, my mood dips to low ebb.

I need to be horizontal and buried in blankets. A band tightens across my chest, burgeoning into an ache that threatens to close my throat. Mary curse it, if I don’t get him out of here, I’m going to break down right in front of him.

And I won’t have that.

“There’s nothing you can do, or need to do about what happened out there, Jael. It doesn’t factor into protecting me. Doc figured out why I respond to grimspace damage the way I do, and I know what to do about it. Speaking of which, I’m due for a shot. Unless you just like needles, I suggest you get on your way.”

“No,” he says quietly. “Do your thing, but this conversation isn’t over.”

“The hell it’s not. This is my room! And I don’t want you in it anymore.” I get up from the sofa, and my hands shake as I draw the med kit out of my bag.

I’m not sure I can manage the treatment without hurting myself. So I close my eyes. That helps a little, though I’m still millimeters away from losing it. The hypo’s preset and automatic, so I just press it against my wrist. A single hiss and it’s done. I push my breath out in what’s meant as a sigh, but it comes out as a groan.

“Right,” he says, low. “You pulled a spike out of my gut and saved my life. That might not mean anything to you, but it’s
worth
something to me. I’m doing my best to be a friend to you, and you act like you’ve never heard of such a thing. A blind man could see you’re hurting, Jax, and I know damn well why. It’s because of who we left behind.”

“Yeah.” My head droops. I can’t look at him as the tears overflow, trickling down my cheeks. “I’m pretty sure I’m dying of it, and I can’t bring myself to care.”

He comes to me and touches my cheek, featherlight. “Well, I do.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER 44

l lean toward him, or fall.

Jael wraps his arms around me, patting in an awkward way that’s meant to be comforting. I can tell he doesn’t know much about the job for which he’s volunteered. If I wasn’t gulping back sobs, I’d laugh at his expression. He leads me toward the sofa while I cry and cry, holding nothing back.

There are so many things tangled up inside me that I don’t even know why I’m weeping. March is part of it, of course, but it’s more than that: an accumulation of woe that I can’t deny anymore. Tears stream freely. My nose starts to run.

“Aren’t you a sight?” he whispers. “It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone what a wet rag you turn into after a couple of drinks. In the vids, they have you up on tables flashing your tits once you down a few rounds, so this is a bit of a shock, innit?”

I mumble into his shirt, “Fuck the vids. They’re all posted by assholes.”

And then I remember how many members of the gutter press died on Lachion. That probably qualifies as speaking ill of the dead, but I don’t care. I feel his hands on my back, thumping gently. You’d think I was an infant he intended to burp.

I hiccup.

The next thing I know, I’m blinking gummy eyes, and I feel stiff all over. Jael is still curled around me, one hand on my shoulder, but he’s out, too. I can’t tell how long we’ve been asleep, but it doesn’t matter. We have two days to rest.

On this ship, nobody’s trying to kill me, eat me, or otherwise disperse my molecules. That’s a welcome change. I’m still tired, so I stagger toward the huge bed and flop down. Then I sink back into the delicious, gauzy darkness.

Much later, I surface again, feeling more coherent this time. I adjust my robe, which has gapped in all the wrong places. Rolling out of bed, I assess the situation.

Poor Jael toppled sidewise on my sofa. He’s going to be sore, and it serves him right for being such a stubborn bastard. I
do
feel better, but I would’ve cried whether he stayed with me or not. It irks me that he shoved his way into my business, but I’m not furious over it. So I wake him by kicking him in the ankle instead of somewhere worse.

He squints up at me and groans. “Maybe you’d keep men around longer if you didn’t do
that
.”

The joke falls flat, but I pretend it didn’t catch me in a raw place. “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to keep you. You have your own room, go to it.”

Maybe I should thank him, but mostly I’m embarrassed over the way I melted down. I refuse to hash over my emotional state or give him dewy-eyed looks bursting with boundless gratitude. If he craves that sort of thing, he should hit up a girl named Fawn, who dances at the Hidden Rue on Gehenna.

As he gets up, the door slides open. I turn to see Dina standing there with a wide smile because she’s on her own two feet. But the pleasure in her expression dies like light leaving a dead bulb. Her gaze shifts between the rumpled bed, my dishevelment and Jael’s sleepy good humor.

“I can’t believe I was actually starting to like you,” she bites out. “In your mind, he’s as good as dead. So why
not
replace him?” She turns so the door closes behind her, leaving her words to accuse me in her stead.

Shit.

Even if it stings, part of me understands why she made that mental leap. I didn’t grieve years for Kai before falling for March. So maybe Dina thinks that’s the way I operate. One man exits; another man enters, and I just love the one I’m with.

But it’s not like that. I hope when she cools down I’ll be able to explain, although in the strictest sense, it’s none of her business who sleeps in my room. I’m conscious of Jael standing beside me, looking shocked. But before I deal with him, I code the door so it’s only accessible to me for the duration of the flight.

He arcs a brow at me. “I guess breakfast’s out of the question?”

“Out.”

“Right, I’m going.” And he does.

I dress in black because it suits my mood. At least short hair means I don’t have to style it. Looks the same no matter what I do. I pocket 245, who still hasn’t forgiven me for cutting her off back in the hangar. Maybe this will cheer her up.

Determined to get some value out of this downtime, I head for Vel’s room. He said he had research to do, but I’m supposed to be tapping him as my resource on Ithtorian culture and customs. To date, I haven’t been taking my role seriously, and no matter what the Syndicate wants, I can’t become another Karl Fitzwilliam. Not even to save my mother’s life.

Unlike me, Vel was smart enough to secure his room right away. I tap the panel and say, “It’s Jax. Can I come in?”

His disembodied voice responds, “A moment please.”

“Thanks.”

And then the door allows me access. I slip inside. As I expected, Vel has molted, but he isn’t growing any new skin as of yet. I’m not sure whether that’s time related, or if he just doesn’t want to wear it.

Funny how different people can take the same suite and turn it into something else. Mine has rumpled bedcovers and dirty dishes while Vel has transformed his room into a command center. Scattered devices, wires, and mechanisms make it look as though he’s been here for weeks, not hours.

“What can I do for you, Sirantha?”

“I was hoping we could talk about your homeworld. I probably should’ve asked long before now.” I leave it there, choosing not to use the excuses that hover at the tip of my tongue. “But if I came at a bad time . . . ?”

“No, I can resume my research later.”

“You’re really doing research?”

That surprises me. I thought he said that to explain his need for solitude. People tend to forgive a lot more eccentricity if they believe the person is of a scholarly bent.

“Yes, actually. I will let you know if I find anything.”

Does that mean it relates to me somehow? For once, I don’t let myself become sidetracked. I just nod.

“May I?”

“Please, have a seat.”

I’m more conscious of his vocalizer now because I can see his mandible moving and hear the brief delay before the signals are translated into human speech. I wonder what it’s like for him, functioning as a mimic in our world but never truly part of it. Maybe that’s where I should begin.

Only the small dining unit isn’t covered with various sensors and monitors, so I sit down there. While I’m at it, I order up some breakfast, or whatever meal this is supposed to be. I’ve completely lost track of time.

I set 245 on the table, power her up, and input my codes. “Okay if I record?”

“Go ahead.”

By some miracle, she doesn’t chide me for our interrupted session last time, just greets me and gets to work. I wonder if that should worry me. I nibble at a sweetbread while trying to decide how to phrase my opening question.

Finally, I decide on, “Is it hard for you?”

“What?”

Duh.
He
can’t read my mind.

“You have to feel really alone sometimes, separated from . . . other Ithtorians.” I barely manage not to say “people like you,” which would sound prejudicial, even if I don’t
feel
that way about him. “How do you cope with that?”

Vel sits down across from me, regarding me with glittering, faceted eyes. If I’m learning to gauge his natural expressions at all, I’d say he looks hesitant. “Let me ask a question of
you
, first.”

“Shoot.” I cram the last of my breakfast into my mouth and immediately wish I had something to wash it down.

“Do you find it difficult to look at me as I am?” Vel indicates his current form with one claw.

Between the claws, mandible, peculiar side-set eyes, chitin shell, and segmented body, there’s no doubt he qualifies as unusual, if not monstrous like the Morgut. While I chew, I consider the question. But if I want honesty from him, I have to give it back. So the answer comes easy.

“At first, yeah. But getting to know you took away the strangeness. And now you’re just you.”

“I see.” He clicks his claws, a habit I’ve come to identify as pensive. “To your question . . . we are, by nature, a solitary people,” he says at last. “We do not form emotional bonds as your species understands them. Our society functions on social obligation, underpinned by self-interest. Temporary alliances may be formed, but not personal attachments. When such an alliance ceases to be profitable or mutually beneficial, the arrangement is terminated.”

“When you say alliance, do you mean business or—” But he just said they don’t do personal relationships. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that. “Give me an example. Please.”

“This could take a while,” he cautions me.

I smile faintly. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Then let’s begin.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER 45

l spend most of the day with Vel.

Coming from a xenophobic race that possesses the unique ability to pass among other species and chooses not to, the bounty hunter is a walking contradiction. We spent hours talking, and I still don’t have the sense that I know him. Not intimately. I’m not sure whether I can, or if he has the ability to connect as I know it.

By the time I leave his quarters, my head throbs with all the new information. And I don’t know how I can remember everything, particularly the seven hundred sure ways to offend an Ithtorian. My favorite is clicking the same claw three times in rapid succession.

They find that gesture especially insulting in casual conversation because it’s how partners signify they’re finished with one another. Really, it’s an impressively rude way to end a conversation. I wonder if snapping my fingers three times would work on people who bore the shit out of me.

I still don’t entirely understand the hierarchical system Vel laid out for me. I even have diagrams, but they don’t help a lot. Fortunately, 245 promised to go over the entire list with me until I can recite each item by heart.

Joy.

“Thanks for your help,” I tell her, as we head back down the hall.

BOOK: Wanderlust
8.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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