Alkirak
Bram swiped left, bringing up the next holo. The suit on display glowed for about a second before the skin faded to reveal the skeleton and nerves—articulated joints, feedback wiring, environmental processing, and several intricate functions that invited him to “tap here” for more detail.
“Ah, the Corpse Reviver. Good choice.”
Bram glanced across the bar at Maialen, proprietor of Alkirak’s best (and only) saloon, manager of the company store, postmaster, and general busybody.
“Corpse Reviver?” he repeated.
“All the CR series have built-in defibrillators, guarantee you can drink your sweat and piss for ten days without poisoning yourself, and are rated for up to twenty-five hours in low-oxygen environments.”
Accepting the invitation hovering over the air filtration system, Bram tapped the holo, expanding the schematic. “Huh. Says here it’s rated zero twenty.”
“Yep.”
Over twenty hours below the green zone without a tank? Bram whistled softly. Then he checked the price and whistled again, less softly. “Holy hands.”
Maia reached around to tap one of the wrist joints. “And for that price it’ll even cut off your hand if you tear a hole in one of the gloves.”
Bram winced. In his lap, his other hand throbbed, the knuckle joint still swollen and purple. “Not a new feature, Maia. If I had a credit for every miner missing a hand or a leg due to a suit amputation, I could probably order one of these and a spare.”
He enlarged the filtration system once more and looked for clues as to how it worked. If he could duplicate it, he might not have to buy a new suit. Of course, the manufacturer gave nothing away but trademarked terms for top-secret technology: Accu-Filt and ZoneBlock.
“Find something down in that trench of yours?”
Scowling at the familiar voice, Bram pinched the display closed and swiped down, switching back to a more mundane list of supplies. He glanced up at the man standing too far inside his space. “Orfeo.”
Mouth twisting into a sardonic grin, Orfeo returned his greeting. “Abraham.”
While Maia held the lease to most of the profitable businesses in Landing, Alkirak’s one and only town, her brother Orfeo was the company’s man on the ground. A forty-year man, he had the classic look of an ex-miner—big, broad, and well used—with the added distinction of having all of his limbs. Hands and feet too. In contrast, Maia was a tiny woman. They were clearly related, though. Both were adept at sticking their noses into other people’s business.
Maia pushed back from the bar. “I’m going to go start packing your order, Bram.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between them. “You two play nice now.”
Orfeo picked up Bram’s empty glass. “Want another?”
“You buying?”
Without answering, Orfeo moved behind the bar and over to the small array of taps. He didn’t ask what Bram wanted. He never did. Orfeo had the attitude of a man who knew what everyone wanted. It made him a good mayor. Not so good a lover.
But any resentment Bram held toward Orfeo had little to do with their sexual history. Nor did it have anything to do with the fact Orfeo remained a company man, while Bram was now a colonist—officially retired, though still beholden in myriad small ways to the Muedini Corporation.
It was that attitude. More than a third of Muedini’s recruits didn’t make it past five years—half a single term. Mining accidents were common. Maia had lost her wife to one. They all worked in dangerous environments where losing a hand or a leg to suit seals was the least of their worries.
Bram had managed three contracts—three terms—before taking his retirement package.
Having served four contracts, Orfeo was something of a legend, and now in charge of the only town on a planet so far from civilization that electronic mail took between ten and twelve hours to arrive—on a good day. Might not sound like an illustrious post, but on Alkirak, he was the man, and he never let anyone forget it.
Orfeo set the refilled glass on the bar and nodded toward the hand Bram thought he had hidden in his lap. “What happened to your finger?”
“Tried to use it as an anchor.”
“Must have been a good find.”
Bram shrugged, unwilling to give anything away—especially when he didn’t know what he had yet. “Rocks, some iron, more rocks, more iron. Some minerals. I’ll need to extract a sample before I know what all is down there. Probably nothing to ping Muedini’s interest.”
Orfeo’s eyebrows rose. “You know we found a huge deposit of trellacite near the equator? What you have could be related. Your ditch is over that way, isn’t it?”
Rather than growl, Bram took a sip of his beer. It wasn’t that he objected to Henderson Crevasse, the site of his farm—his home—being referred to as a ditch, but . . . he’d named the damn thing after one of his grandmothers, the woman who’d sent fifteen-year old Bram off to the stars to find his fortune. So, fuck it, yeah, he objected to his home being referred to as a ditch.
“Henderson is about four hundred kilometers north of the equator,” he said, putting his glass back down.
“That could make it a mighty big deposit. The company’s going to be interested in that.”
“Trellacite deposits rarely extend beyond a kilometer or two. I seriously doubt whatever I’ve found is part of Muedini’s cluster.”
“Well, keep me informed,” Orfeo said, knocking his knuckles against the top of the bar. “And if it doesn’t pan out, I can get you a contract working the Muedini site.”
“I’ve got a farm to farm.”
“Not making you any money, though, is it?”
Not yet. Wasn’t making Orfeo any money, either, which might have been more to the point. As a thirty-year man, Bram’s bonuses had far outstripped those of a new recruit. Company structure had given Orfeo a slice of that.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Orfeo glanced over his shoulder and leaned in. “I can get you in a speculative deal. You’d have to act fast, but I can put in a good word.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Cliver is putting together a group claim for the top end of Landing Crevasse.”
“Muedini already mined most of Landing.”
“Only the big stuff. There could be other stuff down there. Smaller, more valuable minerals. Something like what you found.”
“I think I’ll stick to what I’ve got for now.” Bram lifted his glass. “Thanks for the beer.”
Orfeo sat back, his expression flat. “I’ll add it to your tab.”
Shaking his head, Bram collected his holo terminal and went to claim a table far, far away from the bar. The early-afternoon crowd was about as limp as the air circulating beneath the oversized fans set into the rock ceiling. Colonists on a planet like Alkirak didn’t have a lot of time to sit around drinking.
After he was sure Orfeo wasn’t going to follow him, Bram flipped open the terminal and activated the display. He checked his supply list, half of which was grayed out, indicating Maia would have to order that specific product down from Orbital or farther out, then minimized that window and looked at the small row of icons arranged across the bottom of the display.
He considered the heart-shaped one for about half a minute before touching the center with a fingertip. The heart expanded, taking up most of the display, and then dissolved into floating letters welcoming him to Heart Companions.
Bram peered through the holo first, making sure he was alone. Then he poked the message icon. His inbox was empty. Damn. Sighing, Bram sat back in his chair, deflated. He’d really thought he and SamXY113 might have connected.
Apparently not.
Finding sex at the ass end of the galaxy wasn’t hard. By the time second shift ended, Maia’s saloon would be full of miners looking to scratch that particular itch, sometimes with the same partner. Usually not. The love lives of a number of the colonists were tangled together in complicated diagrams.
Bram had had one partner all his time on Alkirak. Orfeo pretended to be offended they didn’t hook up more frequently, but they both knew their thing wasn’t really a thing. It’d been convenient when they’d both been mining. Now, they both had other choices. Well, Orfeo did. Bram wanted something else. Something other than just sex.
Maia arrived with a handheld. “I don’t have any of the F-series drill bits you want, and we’re all out of wheat flour.” She glanced up. “Wheat flour costs a ton to ship, hon. What do you want it for?”
“I miss bread.”
“I got rice cakes. Chago’s rice fields are really coming along. Are you growing rice?”
“Some, but I want bread. Not crunchy bits of nothing.”
He might have to start researching soy flour. Accessing his copy of the list, Bram listened as Maia told him what else he’d have to wait for. Which was just about everything. Life in the outer colonies wasn’t particularly convenient. They agreed on a price and settled. Bram transferred the credits, closed out the order, and looked up. “Noah been around?”
From Maia’s expression, he’d failed at keeping a casual tone. “Orfeo will be so disappointed.”
“Leave it out. You know there’s nothing between us.” Nothing but possible complication, and tonight Bram wanted easy. Noah’s middle name might as well be easy.
She huffed softly and pulled out a chair. “Noah hasn’t been in since he got married.”
“He what?”
“Married. A woman he lured out here with a contract.” There went his evening plans. “She’s already expecting.”
“Huh,” Bram murmured, rubbing the side of his head.
“Aw, honey, were you two friends?”
“Not really, I just . . .” Had thought maybe they could be. Bram hid his expression behind his glass before deciding to drink the beer. All of it, swallowing only twice as he encouraged the weak alcohol toward his gut. He set the glass back down with a bang. “Could I get another?”
“I’ve got whiskey if you want to get drunk.”
“Local or imported?” He obviously wasn’t going to be getting another sort of happy that evening.
Maia scowled. “No one has suggested using it as degreaser yet.”
Local, then. “Sure, I’ll take a shot.” He already felt poisoned, anyway. “I had no idea he was into women.”
“Some folks are from those worlds where ‘natural ovens are the best ovens.’”
“Ovens?”
Standing, Maia swirled one hand in front of her midsection.
Bram grunted. He was from one of those worlds. He gestured toward the bar, and Maia went to get him his whiskey. She was a lot more accommodating than Orfeo.
Maia returned with a small glass and set it on the table. “Tell me what you think of this.”
Bram picked up the glass and swallowed the curiously dark liquid inside. Fire burned a path down this throat. “Holy hands,” he croaked. He dropped the glass on the table and put both hands on the stained metal surface, steadying himself as his head took off in one direction and his body another.
A squeeze bottle of water was pushed in front of him. Bram grabbed it and pointed the nozzle at the back of his throat. The liquid inside was so cool it hurt. He forced himself to swallow—choking would just cause more pain.
“Did you hear back from SamXYWhatever?” Maia asked, sitting down again.
“For fuck’s sake, is nothing private?” he rasped. “Orfeo’s all up in my business about what I’ve got in my crack, and you want to know where I’m sticking it.”
“That has got to be the single most unfortunate sentence you have ever uttered Abraham Bauer.”
“I haven’t found anything worth Muedini’s attention.”
“In your crack or in your inbox?”
“Crevasse. I live in Henderson Crevasse.”
Maia grinned. “You’re funny when you’re half tilted.”
“Heh.” Bram waved her away from the table. “Go on. I want to read the rest of my mail.”
“Honey, there’s nothing in your inbox I ain’t seen.”
He needed to stop reading his mail at the bar. The connection was so much better in town, though. More satellite time, and Alkirak Orbital was just overhead somewhere, out beyond what would one day be a stable and functional atmosphere.
Maia nudged the squeeze bottle closer. “So let’s find you someone else.”
“It’s probably a waste of time.”
With a burning certainty—the burning being the whiskey, the certainty all his own—Bram knew he wasn’t going to find what he wanted on Alkirak: A reason to add those extra rooms to his living quarters. The possibility of a family. Children. He wanted to share his life with another man. Someone quiet like him. Someone who wanted the same things. But what did he have to offer beyond a small, almost nonexistent income, a modest home, and his not-so-modest affection?
“Noah’s cute. You, though? You’re the genuine article, Bram. For every single person who answered his ad, we’d find ten if you advertised,” Maia said.
Ten candidates he wouldn’t have a chance to vet before they made contact of any sort.
“Don’t you have some work to do?” Bram asked.
“Your order is packed.” She gestured toward his terminal. “Show me who else you got your eye on.”
Scowling, Bram pushed his finger through the minimized heart icon. So SamXY hadn’t been the one. There were millions of men interested in companion contracts. When he’d first learned about the service, he’d been skeptical. Pay a virtual stranger to travel halfway across the galaxy to live with him on the off chance they might fall in love and live happily ever after? But he’d signed up, and outside of the profiles with weird sexual preferences, there were a lot of regular folk who wanted just that. Historically, it wasn’t that odd a concept, either. People had been ordering partners of one variety or another for centuries.
“Now he’s a looker,” Maia said.
Hmm. Dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. At first glimpse, he was attractive. All angles and a gorgeous smile. Ignoring Maia’s presence, Bram tapped the picture and the image faded, replaced by an HV of the prospective companion introducing himself.
Bram watched, not really listening—taking in the breadth of the man’s shoulders and how he moved his hands when he talked. But when he tried to imagine skin and nakedness and sex, the fact the guy was still talking popped his nascent fantasy.
“Talks too much,” he muttered, accessing the next profile.
“That’s what they’re supposed to do in the introductory video.”
“I don’t need to know what he wants to do with every minute of every day.”
The guy in the next HV wasn’t as attractive as the first, but there was a cheeky invitation in his expression that made Bram take notice. His entire recording seemed to be him describing his ideal lover, which was something of a turnoff and a turn-on.
Maia swiped the display, closing the video. “I don’t think he’s right for you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re looking for more than sex.”
“I don’t think—”
Another profile opened, and Bram forgot what he was going to say. His heart fluttered, and his blood began trickling south. His stomach even stopped burning. Dark curls, large dark eyes, and golden-ochre skin tinged a dusky rose at lips and cheeks. The man’s nose was slightly crooked, but still somehow delicate. Probably too small, but anything stronger would overpower his face. He had high cheekbones, and Bram could see the shell of one ear through those gorgeous, tumbled curls. A modest ear, the top curve of it tantalizing. He could imagine resting his lips there, breathing or whispering. The young man’s body beneath his, hot breath against his neck.
“I think we found a keeper!” Maia was smiling. Bram moved to pinch the display closed, but she blocked his hand. “And just uploaded yesterday. You’ll want to act fast. A face like that will get a thousand offers.”
Bram shrugged, knowing his expression gave away his total lack of nonchalance. Then, thankfully, the doors hissed open, disgorging a crew of off-shift miners. Maia glanced over her shoulder, grumbled, and turned back. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna wait until I get them settled before watching that video.”
“Nope.”
She pushed away from the table with a scowl. “Remember not to send him any pictures of the surface. This is one ugly-ass planet. Show him your farm. Your green terraces. Your windmills. And you! He’ll want to see what you look like.”
“I ain’t going to show him anything just yet.”
Maia left, Bram tapped the profile picture, and Gael Sonnen said hello. Bram watched the HV to the end and then scrolled it back to the beginning, entranced. The way Gael managed to stutter over the word hello. The quiet pauses as he considered everything after that. The shy way he regarded the camera. His smile—small at first, as though he’d rather be anywhere but in front of an HV recorder. When he started to talk about wanting to see the sun, his expression changed and the naked hope in his eyes plucked at something deep within Bram’s torso. Not his heart. Something more fundamental than that.
He closed the profile.
Opened it.
Watched the HV.
Then he got down to the business of checking tags and flags and preferences. Of seeing whether sending a note would be a worthwhile endeavor or a shot in the dark. The listed tags were few and simple, indicating they’d be well matched. Bram watched the HV again.
“H-ell-o. Er, hi. Um . . .”
That nebulous feeling behind his heart thrummed, louder the longer he watched, until his entire body vibrated with a feeling he couldn’t identify. Lust, yes. He wanted this man. Could taste his sweetness and spice. And because more than earnestness seemed to lurk beneath Gael’s dark gaze.
He checked the profile location. A city and planet bearing the same name in the Bhotan system. Zhemosen. Wasn’t that in Commonwealth space? Bram squinted as he calculated the message delay to the center of the galaxy. Some twelve hours, or thereabout. It was a long, long way away. Would a man like Gael Sonnen be willing to come here, to the outer edge of explored space?
Bram pulled up the message window and started typing.