CHAPTER 6
As he carries me through the
Wickville warren, l re flect on what it means for March to
love me.
The man’s known
nothing but loss his whole life. With me he can expect more of the
same. I’m a jumper to the core, complete with all the reckless,
thrill-seeking urges. Though I’ve changed since I first met him,
and I’d like to believe for the better, I’m never going to be a
safe bet.
I’m not a woman you
bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary
forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but
there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this
wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to
sate it.
Then again, maybe if
I checked with him, he’d say he would rather have two weeks with me
than twenty safe years with someone else.
After all, that’s what I’d say if he asked me. Kai taught me
nothing comes with a guarantee.
The sky darkens
overhead, heavy with impending snow, and on the far horizon, the
setting sun smears the white plain with a diffuse glow. Each breath
stings the inside of my nostrils, puffs out like smoke. It’s
becoming clear we are unequivocally lost, and we’re starting to
draw attention. With March carrying me, we look vulnerable. That
brings out the predatory instincts in people.
Buildings low-slung
and close together separate Wickville from Ankaraj proper. There,
everything shines with chrome and glastique, and even the gutters
stay clean. Here, you can find whores, chem, contraband, and wicked
music.
During my academy
days, I spent as much time as I could out here, away from rules and
regulations. I even had a boyfriend, an insanely gifted sax player
named Sebastian, who called me a stroppy little bitch. We fought
and fucked and fought some more. In retrospect, it’s a wonder I
made it to graduation day.
The crunch of
footsteps demands my attention, somehow ominous and stealthy. “Put
me down. It’s better if I walk.”
Maybe I was getting
heavy anyway because he complies without protest. More likely, he
figures he may soon need both hands to fight. March offers a nod as
a group of hooded thugs step into our path.
The leader says,
“Maybe you didn’t know, but this is a toll road. You need to pay us
fifty credits each in order to use it.”
First, it’s not much
of a road. I’d call it an alley, myself. I can’t help it; I’ll die
a smart-ass, maybe right here in this alley. “Is that fifty credits
from each of us or fifty credits to each of you? Or—”
“Shut up, woman.”
March doesn’t even glance at me. This better be manly posturing to
impress the gangers, or he’s sleeping alone for at least a week.
Even that threatening thought doesn’t rouse a reaction from him,
though. “How about I beat the shit out of you, and we call it
even?”
Whoa, there are seven
of them. He’s sure feeling his oats after plunging ten meters off a
doomed Skimmer. I don’t think I’m going to be much help in a fight,
and I don’t have a weapon.
To my astonishment,
the head man breaks down into a belly laugh. “March, you rat
bastard, how you been? We haven’t seen you dirtside in at least
five spins. I almost shat when I saw you on the vid.”
While they exchange
backslapping hugs all around, I relax muscles I hadn’t realized I’d
tensed. Dammit, they all had me going. And now my hip really hurts
because I slid into a fighting crouch out of reflex.
Men.
“I’m all right,
Surge. Except we find ourselves a bit disadvantaged in your
territory. Our ride went down a ways back, and I have no idea where
we are.”
“Let’s get you out of
the cold, catch up a bit, and then see what we can do about a lift
home. Where is home these days?”
Maybe it’s the waning
light, but March looks grim and weary. “Nowhere, now. I lost the
Folly.”
His pal shakes his
head. “Rough luck, mate. Let me stand you one.”
They lead us into a
pub via the back door, ignoring the red-faced woman who shouts at
them. When Surge peels off his winter wraps, I decide he got his
name because his wild, springy hair looks like he conducts large
amounts of electricity as a hobby. I limp through into the common
room, which is grimy, dimly lit, and full of mismatched
furniture.
Ah, home. I might’ve been here with Sebastian,
fifteen years ago.
Once we settle at a
sticky table, I find out they aren’t gangers at all but guys March
knew in the old days. From what I can gather, they fought together
on Nicu Tertius. Mercenaries go wherever they get paid best, and
the Nicuan Empire is always in turmoil, so much that half the time
they can’t even participate in galactic politics.
By the time the
server puts a mug of hot tea in my hand, I don’t care whether the
cup is clean. I sip and listen while they catch up. Apparently
Surge and his boys are working salvage at the moment; they got
tired of fighting other people’swars. Someone named Buzzkill died
in the last insurrection, and that’s when they called it a
day.
“Is there a
bounce-relay anywhere in this dump?” March asks.
His friend points to
the far wall. The thing is positively ancient, dates back before
the Axis Wars. It doesn’t even have a card reader; you key in your
digits by hand.
“Let me send a
message to Keri. That was one of our goals today, wasn’t
it?”
I nod. “Make sure she
got the data, as Tarn claims.”
“And don’t flash your
cred too wide around here,” Surge cautions.
March’s gesture says
Surge and I are both nervous old women. Well, he’s got that
half-right. A few minutes later, he returns, looking satisfied.
“She should have it in ten to twelve hours, so we’ll hear back by
early morning.”
That’ll have to do.
Tarn will want my decision then, but I’m not making it unless I’m
sure they don’t need me on Lachion.
“So what’s the story
with Tarn?” March takes a seat and picks at a plate of fried . . .
something. You’d think I would be used to the way he follows my
thoughts by now, but it always seems a little bit eerie. Just like
the first time.
Surge shrugs. I can’t
remember the names of all his guys, which is fine, because they’re
drinking at other tables now. One of them watches me out of
narrowed icy blue eyes. He’s a pretty one, if a little grimy around
the edges, and I’m not sure what has him so interested. Maybe he’s
never seen a bald chick before.
“He was a nobody
before last week,” Surge says. “Now he’s pushing to make New Terra
the Conglomerate capital, and the fact that Farwan fell apart here
is lending him some momentum, but as far as I can tell, he has no
more power than any other representative.”
Our waitress sets a
carafe down at my elbow. I sniff it. The fumes decree that it’s
extremely alcoholic, so I tip some into my weak tea. There’s
probably a still in the basement. In Wickville they make the
homebrew out of whatever they have to hand. Hopefully, it will take
the edge off the pain. Medicinal usage aside, if I drink enough of
this brown lightning, I won’t care about my hip anymore.
Some things never
change. In poor districts, people do the jobs that bots perform in
more affluent sectors. Here, the owners can’t afford maintenance,
replacement parts, or chip upgrades. Humans are infinitely more
expendable. If a woman wears out, you can find twenty more just
like her looking for work.
The one working our
table looks pretty close to busted. As if she feels my stare, she
meets my eyes, but she doesn’t have enough spark left in her to
mind. Her gaze slides away from mine as she trudges on back to the
kitchen to schlep the next tray.
March drums his
fingers, looking thoughtful. “He’s ambitious then.”
“And I’m his
cat’s-paw.” The guys glance at me in surprise, as if they’ve
forgotten about me. We can’t have that, can we? “What else is
new?”
“You certainly have a
history of finding trouble,” Surge says.
Annoyance sparks
through me. This prick doesn’t know the first thing about me, other
than what he’s read or seen on the vids. And okay, maybe things
tend to unravel at the seams wherever I go, but is that my fault?
“Lay off her,” March
says. He’s smiling, and his tone remains deceptively gentle. “You
don’t want to make her mad.”
I liked how he began,
but now I’m not sure where he’s going with this. If he expects me
to put on a show—You know, honey, do bitchy
Jax for my buddies, come on!— well, that’s just not happening.
I’m too tired.
Surge regards me with
bloodshot eyes, a forest bristling from his jaw. “Oh yeah? Why’s
that?”
“Because if you upset
her, you’ll have to deal with me. And I don’t think you want
that.”
We’re in no position
to pick a fight with the people who are helping us. Then again, I
suspect I don’t get the whole guy thing, because Surge cracks up
again. Fucking men, right?
“Shit, she’s got you
trained right and tight, lad. When you donning the collar?”
With a sigh, I down
the rest of my spiked tea and feel the warmth washing over me. It’s
been a while since I drank anything this strong.
“Jax doesn’t believe
in that,” March answers.
“I did once. It
didn’t work out.” I scowl, thinking of Simon. “I don’t suppose you
know people who could get to him? He’s being held in a secure
facility.” It’s a throwaway remark, one I don’t expect to bear
fruit. I should have known better. These are former mercs, after
all.
“There’s always a
way,” Surge tells me with a wicked smile. “But it’ll cost. Depends
on where, of course, but we probably know someone doing time same
as your ex. How bad do you want the man done?”
