“Got mugged seventeen years ago. On my fortieth birthday.”
“Hey. You’re my age.”
She snorted. “Sure.”
“You are.” He tapped the lines at the corners of his eyes. “Can’t you tell?”
“You wear the years far, far better.” Her gruff tone would have hid how much she liked him, except her mind projected it straight into his.
“How did you get mugged?” he asked.
“Went to a bar in the city. Gang jumped us. We had ‘em back then too, though nowhere near as bad as now. Lot less people in Spikedown then.” Pride came into her voice. “I took out three of those spikerats. Knocked ’em clear to the med shack.” She rubbed her nose, her knuckles scraping Kelric’s hand. “Got me the beak to prove it, eh?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s ugly as hell.”
He slid his hands into her hair. Short and curly, it had the wiry texture of gray hair that had never been tattooed or treated with dyes. “Beautiful.”
“Now I know you’re blind.”
“You’re like my first wife.”
She stiffened. “You’re married? Didn’t tell me that.”
“She’s dead.”
Mortified sympathy replaced her tension. “I’m sorry.”
Softly he said, “It’s been thirty-three years.”
Her relief washed over him. To cover her chagrin, she said, “Man who looks like you wouldn’t marry a woman who looks like me.” She hesitated. “I thought you were a provider. Can’t marry.”
“I’m Skolian.” He moved his hand over her chin, feeling its strength. It was true, she wasn’t soft, young, or smooth. She didn’t have classic looks or perfect features. Jeejon had her own beauty, strong and spare. He liked it, better in fact than biosculpted “perfection.”
“Skolian?” She took his hands into hers. “Pirates raid your ship?”
He nodded. “I was serving on a merchanter. We went into Trader space to meet a client. There was trouble and ESComm caught us.”
“Bastards. They aren’t supposed to sell prisoners.”
“I was the only one they sold.” Dryly, Kelric said, “When I protested, they suggested I ‘file a complaint.’”
She brought up his hands and kissed his knuckles. “Hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I can see why they wanted you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t see why everyone does.”
“That’s all right.” She slipped her hand into his hair with a tentative motion, as if she couldn’t believe she had him to herself. “It’s better that way.”
“What way?”
“Not important.”
He picked up what she meant, anyway; she thought he was modest about his looks, which made her like him more. She did, very much, want to sleep with him. It was pleasant. She didn’t want to hurt him, like an Aristo, or use him, like Zeld. For some absurd reason, she saw him as some sort of treasure.
“Jeejon, you’re nuts,” he said.
“Why?”
“For the things you think about me.” He felt like an eavesdropper. It wasn’t right that she didn’t know. He tapped his temple. “Psion.”
“Oh.” Her unease washed over him. “Of course. I forgot. Providers feel moods.”
“I like your moods.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell what I think?”
“A little.” He stroked her hair. “You think you’re taking advantage of me. But you’re not. I thank you for letting me stay here.”
Her voice softened. “You’re a nice man.”
He spoke quietly. “I’m not. I’ve killed more people in my life than you’ve probably known. I used to be a Jagernaut.”
“That’s a high-rank position among Skolians, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” Sympathy flowed from her mind. She thought his claim to high rank was a fantasy he created to make his life more bearable. “I like you just the way you are.”
He smiled. “Thank you. And, Jeejon.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not deluded about being a Jagernaut.”
She patted his cheek. “I know.” Hesitating, she added, “You tired? Would you, uh, like to lie down?”
“Yes. If you’ll come with me.”
“Ah. Well. I could do that.” Holding his hand, she drew him forward. After one step, he hit a table. As she guided him to the side, he ran into several chairs clustered around the table, then a desk. They went through a narrow archway with no door. In the room beyond, his knees bumped a bed frame. Feeling to the side, he found a metal pole that anchored the bed to both floor and ceiling.
“I know you’re used to a lot better,” she apologized.
“This is fine.” He sat on the bed and held out his hand.
She curled her fingers around his and settled next to him, shy and self-conscious. Putting his arm around her waist, he drew her close. With his other hand he searched for her face until his fingers brushed her lips. Then he bent his head and kissed her, taking up where they had left off in the tunnel. She did remind him of Corey, and of Ixpar too. As much as those memories hurt, they also softened his feelings. Maybe that was one reason he responded so well to her. She had shades of the strength and integrity that had always attracted him in a woman. Gods help him, he had seen it in Tarquine too.
She pulled back her head. “Why are you so sad?”
“Sad?” He tried to laugh. “What makes you think I’m sad?”
“The kiss. The way you look now.”
Unable to answer, he pulled her close again, putting her cheek next to his so he wouldn’t have to face her questions. He didn’t want to talk about how much he had lost in his life.
She didn’t pry. So he stretched out on the bed with her, holding her in his arms. For a while they just lay together. It was good to relax. He felt so tired after his time in the Lock. Next to him, Jeejon settled into her own quietude. She lay still, breathing deeply. Very deeply.
For crying out loud. She had gone to sleep. Miffed, Kelric scowled. Apparently he wasn’t such a great lover after all, if he put women to sleep before he even made love to them.
Then he winced at himself. Getting an ego, aren’t you? He turned on his back and pillowed her head against his chest. He lay with one arm around her, stroking her hair while she slept.
Jeejon stirred. What—? A man in bed with her? Someone broke in—
No. Wait. The provider. Skolia be damned, it was true. A provider lay in her bed, holding her in his arms.
Maybe “Skolia be damned” wasn’t the most tactful oath here. He was Skolian, after all. And she wasn’t Eubian anymore. Wasn’t sure where she stood with the Allieds. Not a citizen. Allied officials gave her papers for “political asylum.” Whatever that meant. They said a lot. She listened. Then she cut to the grist. Was she a slave? Answer was no. NO! Free …
Pushing up on her elbow, she treated herself to the sight of the sleeping provider. She hadn’t turned off the lights in her bedroom, so she had her fill of seeing him now. Lashes lay long, thick, and golden on his cheeks. Fine lines around his eyes. That surprised her. Thought Aristos always made their providers look young. His face wasn’t aged, exactly, but more mature. Such a handsome man. She liked the gray in his hair …
Turning on his side, Kelric murmured, “More gray now.”
She lay down next to him. “You know what I was thinking?”
“A little.” He opened his eyes into darkness and shifted her in his arms. “You didn’t know who I was at first. You were thinking about being an Allied citizen. Or not being one.”
She made an impressed noise. “You must have a high Kyle rating.”
“Taratus’s people put me as ten.” He felt along her body and the bed, trying to get a sense of his location. “But it’s higher.”
She gave a sleepy laugh. “Hey, you could be Rhon.”
He knew she was humoring him. Smiling, he said, “You know, Jeejon, I’m the Impera
tor. You’re lying here with the ruler of an interstellar empire.”
“I’m dazzled.”
He laughed softly. Then his smile faded. Would anyone ever know he had become Imperator? He would have liked to be a peacemaker. However, until the universe changed, ISC needed a warlord, not a mathematician. He wasn’t ideally suited to the position, but he believed he could make a good Imperator, maybe better than if he had craved war for its own sake.
He had to face reality, though. His chances of leaving Spikedown were slim to none. He would try, of course. But it didn’t take a Quis genius to see the patterns of his situation. It was far more likely he would die here than become any kind of leader.
Perhaps someday another Rhon psion would detect traces of him in the Lock, as he had felt Soz. He wanted history to remember Kelric Valdoria as more than a Jagernaut who vanished in battle before he accomplished anything in his life.
Still, he felt content, even as his body prepared to shut down. He had achieved his most important goal and now he had someone he liked to share his last hours.
“Kelric?” Jeejon asked. “You look sad.”
He folded his arms around her. “Hold me. Don’t let me die alone.”
She gave an uneasy laugh. “Don’t make jokes like that. My ugly old bones don’t think it’s funny.”
“Stop calling yourself ugly. You’re beautiful.” He moved his hand over her abdomen and hips, feeling her lean shape, angular rather than round, but well toned. And real. He slid his palms up her body. She had the large, softer breasts of an older woman. No angles there. Exploring her jumpsuit, he tried to open its front. “Why do so many people think they have to biosculpt themselves to so-called perfection for someone to want them?”
She touched his cheek. “Strange man. But kind.”
Kelric gave up trying to open her jumpsuit and nuzzled her hair. He let his head rest next to hers on the pillow. Her mind blended with his, patient, gentle, warm. He could rest now. So tired. He was so tired …
“—all right?” Jeejon sounded alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Tired,” he mumbled. He would sleep a long time now.
“Oh, hell. You weren’t joking.” She shook him. “Come back!”
“I’m tired.”
“Thirty damn years I spend alone here. Now you come. Then you die in my bed? You can’t do that.”
She was right. It would be unforgivably rude to die in her bed. He grinned. “I guess I’m not that sleepy.”
“Saints almighty, Kelric! That wasn’t funny.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Bring me back to life.”
“Ah. Well.” She nestled against him, her relief almost tangible. “I can do that.”
He finally found the fastener on her jumpsuit. Opening the front, he slid his hand inside. Her breasts felt even better without cloth in the way. Large, soft pillows. Very nice.
When he tried to pull the jumpsuit off her shoulders, she nudged him down on the bed. Then she took her turn, unfastening his clothes. When he started to help, she murmured, “Let me. You just enjoy.”
So he lay back while she undressed him. She dropped his clothes somewhere, on the floor probably. Her pleasure in his body suffused his mind. He liked feeling her desire him. Hell, it turned him on knowing she wanted him that much.
When she started to unfasten his Triad gauntlets, he tensed. The threads they had grown into his sockets were webbed all through his body now. They were also attached to his wrist guards, which didn’t come off. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to remove the gauntlets.
Jeejon clicked open the clasps inside his elbow that held the gauntlets closed. Just as he was about to stop her, a question came into his mind: Is she allowed this privilege?
Kelric blinked, Privilege? What privilege? Of course it was all right for her to remove them. He just didn’t think it was possible.
As soon as he formed that thought, a sense of release entered his mind. Unaware of his silent communion with his gauntlets, Jeejon blithely continued to undo them. Then she removed the right one. Somehow it separated cleanly from both his wrist guard and the new webs it had created in his body.
“Amazing,” he murmured.
“Hmmm?” She removed his other gauntlet.
“Don’t put them far away.” Even without them on his arms, he felt as if they were part of him.
“I won’t.” She reached across him and set them on the bed. Then she kissed his chest, running her fingers through the curling hair. “You’ve strands of both gray and gold.”
“Gold?” Was the tattoo job wearing off?
“Like metal.” She played with his chest hair as she caressed him. Her touch had the innocence that came from an utter lack of pretension or guile. She still found it hard to believe he was here with her. Sliding down her hand, she splayed her fingers across his torso. He was glad now for all the exercises he had done. It gave him a flat stomach. Vanity, he supposed. Still, it pleased him that she liked what she felt.
Then she moved her hand lower, to his erection. As she curled her fingers around him, he exhaled and closed his eyes.
When he tried to pull her into his arms, she laughed softly and pushed him back down. “Your turn now, Kelric. They always made you please them, hmmm? Not anymore. Let me do the work.”
He thought of Tarquine, cool and absorbed in her own pleasure. Relaxing back, he let Jeejon explore. With her simple caresses, she was making him more crazy than all the skilled providers.
Kelric couldn’t stay put for long. He had always been an active lover. Pulling her into his arms, he pressed her against the length of his body. He undressed her far more deftly than she had him, moving his hands on her body as much to arouse her as to separate her from her clothes. She had a jumpsuit much like his. In fact, it felt like what he had seen every low-level taskmaker wear. The uniform of slavery. He hoped she realized she could dress as she pleased now.
When he finished taking off her clothes, he rolled her onto her back. So they came together, bare skin to bare skin. They took their time. She made no secret of her amazement in him, both for what he considered positive attributes, such as his well-toned muscles and strong build, and negative ones, like the old combat scar on his shoulder. Her mind was wide open. She liked his imperfections. He discovered that mattered to him. After only a short time with the Aristos, he had begun to see himself as flawed because he didn’t match their impossible ideals of perfection.
She liked the dusting of gray at his temples, the lines around his eyes, the maturity of his face. It didn’t occur to her to think of them as flaws. She worried he would find her lacking because she had so little experience. In truth, it charmed him. Everything he wanted to try intrigued her, although he also made her shy. She thought of herself as clumsy, but she delighted him, so refreshing in her curiosity and innocent desire.
So he showed her all he knew, at first gently, then letting himself go as her passion rose with his. They made love, rested, and loved again as the hours slipped by. Spikedown continued its tumble through space. The Traders, Skolians, and Allieds continued their dance of politics and war. Here in the protective cocoon of a bunk under a blasted city, he and Jeejon ignored it all.
Finally they slept, their limbs tangled together, two aging, formerly lonely people curled under a scratchy blanket, more content than all the beautiful, perfect, ageless Traders alive.
24
Spikedown
Darkness. Kelric stood with his hands braced in the doorway of Jeejon’s bedroom and stared at nothing. Her living room was in front of him. He had also found a tiny kitchen and a bath cubicle. That was it. A small place. Easy to memorize.
And dark.
He clenched the doorframe. He wanted to see. Bolt, can’t you do anything?
“I’m working on it.” Bolt was using his gauntlet comm again. When Kelric had put the gauntlets back on, they integrated seamlessly back into his biomech web.
Do you know what’s
wrong yet? he asked.
“Your optical nerve is damaged,” Bolt said. “Threads from your enhanced optics wrapped around the nerve and cut it.”
It shouldn’t do that. Those threads are engineered not to interfere with my vital organs.
“Yes. But the entire system has degraded. Mutated nanomeds are weaving the threads around your optic nerve.” Bolt sounded apologetic. “It’s a mess.”
Kelric grimaced. Can you fix it?
“It depends. If a fiber in your peripheral nerve system is only partially cut, and if the cell body and segments of its damaged myelin sheath remain continuous, it may slowly regenerate. However, injured nerves within your brain and spinal cord can’t naturally regenerate.”
What the blazes does that mean?
“The situation is this,” Bolt explained. “If the damage is only to your optic nerve, and isn’t severe, you may regain a portion of your sight. If the damage extends to your brain, it is unlikely you will see again without immediate help. The damaged neurons will develop scar tissue, if they haven’t already, which makes it much more difficult to artificially spur any form of regeneration.”
He understood what Bolt left unsaid. They both knew his brain had damage. A lot. His condition had gone far beyond the danger points that had worried Tarquine’s doctors, Taratus’s people, Mareea Gonzales on the Corona, Doctor Tarjan on Edgewhirl, and all his doctors on Coba. He was paying the price now of the risks he had taken to break into the Lock and escape again. He had pushed his failing biomech web and his damaged health too far.
How long do I have to live?
“I’m really not sure any useful purpose in esti—”
Bolt, answer the question.
A long silence filled the room. Then Bolt spoke quietly. “You have between one and four days.”
One to four. Gods. He was almost as good as dead.
“Kelric?” Jeejon spoke from the door. “Why are you talking to yourself?”
He turned toward her. “When did you come in?” He hadn’t heard the door open or close.
“Minute ago.” She was walking toward him. Her footfalls sounded muffled. “How do you make your voice like that?”