Chapter 5

 

Dejo kept his legs entwined with her even though she stilled. He didn’t trust her not to toss him again. How had she even done that with her eggshell body?

“Kiss?” Her voice wavered, sounding more delicate than any egg.

“It is when one Earther puts its mouth parts on—”

She sputtered. “I know what a kiss is.”

He traced one fingertip over her mouth. “Last time, you bit me.”

“You were trying to shut me up, not kiss me.”

“And if I tried this time?”

“To shut me up?” She bared her teeth in a warning smile.

He didn’t move his hand, despite the implied threat. “Kiss you.”

The sharp edges of her upper teeth closed gently over her lower lip, just missing his finger. “Dejo…”

“What is it for—kissing? Is it feeding? Drones grind seeds in their beaks for the young before the age of descent.”

Her blue-gray eyes widened. “Beaks?”

“The harpies’ beaks are even heavier and harder. They can break bones with a snap.”

“That’s…” She shook her head slowly. “Not cool during a kiss.” Tentatively, she eased one hand up between their bodies—he let her—and touched his mouth. “You don’t have a beak.”

His lips twisted under her fingertip. “Only iomales are soft and weak.”

“Soft can be…nice.” She let out an inaudible puff of breath. “And weak is sometimes just a lie people throw at you to make you think you’re wrong. Anyway, I don’t suppose you can kiss with a beak.”

The painkillers gave his vision a strange narrowness, as if he was locked again in the cloud prison where his great-matre had sold him after she’d caught him applying for a position as an assistant cargo manifest analyst with an interstellar hauler. Of even more interest to him than the data management training was the chance to get off Enion. Great-matre had not given him another chance to escape.

He’d had to make his own chance.

But the drugs also added a forgiving haze to the ugly memory. No wonder so many beings in the galaxies found solace in the consumption. Just as well he’d stayed away from them.

Somehow he knew, though, the focus narrowed to Vaughn’s mouth might be more addictive than any substance known to the rest of the universe.

“How goes a kiss?”

“Dejo—”

“Vaughn,” he mimicked her tone. “You feel it too, yes?”

She tossed her head restlessly in the pillows, her dark golden hair gleaming like a treasure added to his nest. “I feel like this is a bad idea.”

“Question,” he said. “Just a question. I promised to answer all of yours.”

“But you told me you lie all the time.”

“Not to you.” Not yet.

To his surprise, that was true. With her, he’d had no reason to write any of the long, convoluted mental codes that allowed him to justify his avoidance of the truth, just as he willfully disregarded with the family he’d escaped, the authorities he ignored, the patrons who wanted the information he collected, regardless of its provenance.

She stilled under him, and he tensed, thinking she would try to shove him off again. Would he let her go? Or would the lessons of the clouds take him over again?

He was lying to himself to pretend he wasn’t completely in control of himself. He wanted to blame the laser, the drugs, her, anything to explain why he was holding himself against her when he’d sworn never to be in such a position again.

Except how could he have made that promise when he’d never met an Earth girl?

Slowly, so slowly he could’ve escaped again, if he wanted to, she reached up to touch his bristling crest. The protofeathers rippled under her caress. In a mature harpy, the crest was thick, extending not just over their heads, but across their shoulders and down their backs, getting lighter over the rest of their bodies. His were nothing. But the delicate sensory organs at the base of each quill still quivered, sending a shiver down his spine. The singular sensation cleared some of his haze, enough to feel a faint pang of alarm when Vaughn closed her strong fingers at his nape.

He’d been grabbed too many times like that…

She brushed her thumb along the point of his jaw, tilting his stiff neck.

And then she lifted her head to dock their lips, cautious and perfect as two ships aligning their ports, knowing the slightest mistake could doom them to a breach that would suck out all their air…

She traced her tongue along the seam of his mouth, and when he opened to ask why, she flicked his tongue with hers.

His body tensed, a shooting stab of laser light flooding through him. Except the kiss didn’t hurt, not like the hole in his chest. And it wasn’t like the numbing haze of the drugs. It heated him from the inside and induced shivers in rolling waves through his blood.

He made a sound deep in his throat, half strangled alarm call, half hunger cry. Though he had to risk letting her go, he released her shoulders to frame his hands around her face, memorizing the schematics of her angled head and her parted mouth, as if he could grasp the hidden dance of their tongues or the flow of breath between them.

She reached up to echo his touch, and her fingertips tracing his crest made him shudder with desire. The protofeathers on an iomale were considered shameful, neither the full coverage of the harpy or the completely bare molting of a drone after the age of descent. Most cloud-whores yanked the protofeathers out in stress or despair—or suffered through forcible plucking by disapproving harpies—but his had grown back once he escaped.

But he hadn’t realized the bladed quills sank so deep into his flesh, rooting to nerve endings that made his bones chime with pleasure.

It was like the ancient songs of his people, before they’d mastered fusion and star drives, that tried to explain why they lost the capability to fly after the age of descent but still kept some feathers. The vanes would rise, the songs said, seeking a sign of a coming storm strong enough to lift them again. And in the perfect storm—the phryx mating wind—the blades of the feather would sing as the wind passed over and through…

Even though he had her pinned, he was the one who yanked back, shaken. He stared down at her, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth.

“What…?” The word was mumbled behind the press of his knuckles.

“You asked for a kiss.” Her tone was steady, but her lips trembled almost imperceptibly, as if the tremors in him had reached into her too.

“Why?” he demanded.

She glared at him. “Because you asked,” she snapped. “It wasn’t my idea—”

“Why do you Earthers do that?”

The annoyance in her eyes shifted to wariness tinged with…hurt? “Did you not like it?”

“I…” He reared back, determined to escape an answer. But the softness of the nest betrayed him. A pillow rolled out from under his hand and sent him sinking into the cushion. With Vaughn sprawled the other way, they watched each other warily.

“I…” She echoed his word and touched her mouth in the same way. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter if you liked it or not. I shouldn’t have done that.”

His crest rippled in agitation at the creeping note of condemnation in her words. “Why not? Did you do it wrong?”

Shoving herself up on one elbow, she glared at him. “I didn’t do it wrong. It was wrong. You aren’t from around here, and you’re still recovering from your injury—”

“According to your broadcast transmissions, the moments after an injury, skirmish, other fight, or natural disaster represent a seventy-nine percent higher probability of a kiss.”

She choked on a laugh. “How much television have you been watching?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “That’s not real. And not right. People have sex for all sorts of dumb reasons, but happy-to-be-alive sex is probably the most ridiculous.”

He put his hand over his chest where the laser had burned him. “What better time? As a cloud-whore, I would’ve been happier to be dead.”

She curled her lips inward. Appalled at the thought she’d kissed a whore? “Dejo—”

He sprawled back in the nest and closed his eyes. The faint spin of the anti-pain meds almost reminded him of flying. Almost.

But not as much as having her tongue in his mouth…

“The galaxies don’t dance according to your feelings of right and wrong,” he told her. “And neither do I.”

Her long moment of silence chided him. “I don’t make my choices by other people’s ethics, but my own.”

“How lucky you are,” he muttered.

The bed dipped, letting him know she’d moved closer. “Whatever happened to you before, you’re free now. And you’re doing the right thing to try to find the missing women and Rayna.”

He refused to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the pity in those storm cloud eyes. Or the mistaken trust that he was doing any right thing. He required the data, and she wanted her sister. They weren’t mates or even partners, just…temporarily pushed together by the same interstellar winds.

Never mind the phryx mating wind.

“Go to sleep,” Vaughn whispered. “You said the drones will come back, and then we can figure this out.”

Something softer than his pillows and warmer than any nest brushed across his forehead where the crest of feathers ended. Her lips. Another sort of kiss than the one she’d showed him: gentler and sweeter. How many kisses were there?

For the first time, he wondered if his drones and his algorithms could ever make sense of the universe.

 

***

 

When he woke, he was alone.

Since that was always the case, he wondered blearily at the cold stab of disappointment that hollowed his belly.

Then the last effects of the anti-pain meds faded and he remembered.

Vaughn would not have gone anywhere. She needed him to find her sister. And still her absence rankled.

No, he just needed breakfast, he told himself.

He clambered out of nest, his shaky knees firming with each step. The ache in his chest was gone, and he gave himself a hard shake to smooth his crest and the memory of his skin tingling as if at a rising storm.

There was no such thing as a mating wind. That was just a song. And even if the phryx existed, he’d left it behind on Enion. It wouldn’t happen here on Earth, inside his ship.

Yes, breakfast to fill the emptiness in him, and scavenged data to fill his credit accounts.

He rummaged for a fresh coat and started to seal up the asymmetrical front seam. But the iol-mark on his chest felt strangely raw, although it didn’t look inflamed and the laser scorching between the wings was almost invisible. So he left the placket hanging open, away from the brand. He dragged his boots out from under the nest and slammed his feet in, latching down the tabs. She’d taken off his boots. Wasn’t that a little presumptuous? She’d left his leggings, at least.

Grumbling to himself, he stomped to the galley.

Vaughn was sitting in the only seat, his port-link balanced on the counter in front of her, a steaming beverage in her hand.

He rocked to a halt. In the ship’s ambient glow, the mussed waves of Vaughn’s dark gold hair shimmered like a treasure any galaxy-questing fortune hunter would risk his ship to plunder.

Not himself, of course. Unlike the belligerent, bellicose harpies, he plundered data only.

Still, his fingers twitched with the urge to plunge into those locks, slightly ragged at the ends as if she couldn’t be bothered to align them properly.

He tightened his hands into fists. He just needed his own cup of the balancing morning beverage.

When she glanced up at him, her blue-gray eyes clear and watchful, he forced himself to unclench his fists and cleared his throat. “I see you figured out how to operate the nutrient dispenser.”

She shrugged. “Your tablet walked me through it. I was pretty psyched to find out you had coffee, even espresso.” She looked down at the cup. “Seems weird to get coffee from a spaceship.”

“It’s one of your world’s unauthorized exports, and it’s become more popular recently since it was discovered that some species react to it as an aphrodisiac.”

She stiffened. “Is that why you…”

He glowered. “My physiology was briefly altered by the painkillers you authorized without my knowledge.”

Her cheeks darkened with a flush of blood. “I didn’t know—”

He waved one hand dismissively. “I’m all better now.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest, exposed by the open coat. His hand twitched again, half reaching to cover himself.

Or maybe open it more…

He had to get a cup of something in his hand and in his belly.

Edging past her, he snagged a cup—he only had two, whatever one he was using and whatever was dirty, and now they were both in use—and helped himself to a double espresso. After last night, he deserved it.

He needed it.

The first sip hit his tongue hot and hard. Like another kind of kiss…

Larf it, the caffeine better burn away the last of the painkillers. He’d had enough of these strange reactions. Time to focus.

“When the drones come back—”

“They did already,” she interrupted. “They’re downloading to the tablet now. That’s what I was looking at.”

He swiveled slowly on his boot heel to glare at her. “And how did you know to download them?”

She peered at him uncertainly. “I watched you reconnect the one in the alley. Anyway, it’s not that tricky.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe Dirters aren’t as backward as you thought.”

He let out a seething breath as he snagged the port-link from her. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was going to, but you seemed… I thought you needed the chance to recover.”

He sidelonged a glance at her, wondering. Had she come back to the nest to rouse him? What had she seen?

The thought bothered him. He didn’t want to be asleep and defenseless with someone else aboard. And yet… She had let him sleep because she thought it was best for him. Even with her sister missing, she’d not wanted to put him at any risk.

He pushed away the strange sensation in his gut. Maybe he’d made the double a little too strong.

With a few quick gestures, he summoned up the drones’ data and sent it to the ship’s main data gels. The superconductive gels allowed for faster and easier collation, and sometimes even intuition. He’d been experimenting with ways to encourage the amorphous substance to allow data to infuse and jump in novel ways. Maybe if his great-matre had let him attend schooling… But that was a chance long gone.

Carrying his beverage, and pricklingly aware of Vaughn on his heels, he stalked to the cockpit which held the best of his tech. He dropped into the pilot frame, then gestured at the copilot position.

“Sit carefully,” he said. “It won’t be used to you.”

She gazed at the seat, which was like a miniature nest, then settled in gingerly. To his surprise, the foam molded to her instantly.

She wriggled her backside. “Wow. You could make a fortune selling this stuff here.”

He gave her an arch glance. “That would be breaking intergalactic protocols to make deals with a closed world.”

She blinked. “Oh. Yeah. I can see how selling spaceship parts would be problematic.” She looked abashed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Which is why the council thinks for you and all the other closed worlds.”

She scowled a little as she sat back. “Not really liking the idea of someone else controlling our fate.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “I thought you believed in right and wrong and rules.”

“Well, yes, but…” She shook her head a little.

He smirked. “Maybe I’m having a bad influence on you.”

She glared back. “Just show us what’s on those drones.”

Even as she spoke, he cued the retrieval, and an expansive, interactive map unfolded in front of them, rapidly scaling from too large to containable, with points of extra complexity called out in more intense colors.

Vaughn leaned forward just as he did, and the fragrance of her, sweet and a little musky, teased him. He held his breath, but even so he imagined the neurons in his brain firing like a miniature lightning storm.

How had she embedded herself so quickly in his psyche? He gave his head a shake, as if he could dislodge her.

She reached out a finger to one of the glowing lines and flinched when the spot jumped into higher resolution. “This is as far as I got when I went to go talk to them. I didn’t realize the place was closed.”

He glanced at her, impressed. “You made it to the front gate?” He manipulated the image back a few levels. “I’m surprised. Because here”—he pointed to a more distant position—“is where the sub-aural distressors kick in.”

She frowned. “Below hearing?”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t even be aware of it except as a vague feeling of annoyance or alarm. Makes most carbon-based beings move away instinctively. At more intensity, the distressors can cause headaches and confusions. The highest focus can cause permanent damage.”

She scowled. “Why does a dating service need so much security?”

“It’s an intergalactic dating service,” he reminded her. “On a closed world.”

“Why even be here if discovery is such a problem? Seems to be putting my world at unacceptable risk.”

He sat back, his gaze settling on her stern face. Her thirst for justice was as intense as the unending storm eye on Enion. Such an innocent. If other Earthers were like her, no wonder the latest vote from the council extended Dirt’s closed status. “A risk perhaps. But you have a commodity. Besides coffee.”

She frowned. “Women who want to date aliens?”

He shrugged. “The universe is functionally infinite. Finding a date in that vastness is…hard. The IDA promises a series of tidy checkboxes that, if truthfully inscribed, will result in a union with the right mate for you.” He tilted his head with a smirk. “I’d think you’d approve.”

She scowled. “Maybe if it hadn’t resulted in Rayna and the others being abducted and no one doing shit to find her. So much for tidy truths.” Her blue-gray eyes shone fiercely. “And quit saying dating and mating in the same sentence. They aren’t the same at all.”

“If it’s done right—”

“They failed.” Her tone was implacable, and he had a glimpse of the condemnation facing anyone who disappointed her. “How do we get past the brain scramblers?”

“There will be worse than the distressors.” He rotated the drones’ scan and zoomed in. “Once the IDA withdrew all non-essential personnel, they would’ve left tougher measures.”

“Tougher than melting your brain?” she muttered.

“Just melting the brain leaves a body,” he pointed out. “There will probably also be…” He peered. “Ah, here. See it?”

She leaned close again. “The drones didn’t record anything there.”

“Which means a non-penetrable energy barrier of some sort. Likely a defensive plasma array.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Like what put a hole in you?”

He nodded. “Only worse. Any shot that comes out of here won’t leave a hole. It won’t leave any evidence at all.”

“Very tidy,” she said dryly.

He couldn’t help but smile. He’d never had a…well, she wasn’t a partner, since she couldn’t truly understand what they were doing. But whatever she was, was kind of…fun. Not the being vaporized part, that wouldn’t be fun. Sharing with her, though. That felt…right. “But that’s not even the worst of it,” he said with some relish.

She eyed him, half her mouth set with disapproving tightness, the other half curled upward in amusement. “Oh really,” she drawled. “Worse than brain melting and vaporizing? Like…flesh-eating slime worms?”

He sat back, with a snort of thwarted dismay. “Who told you about slime worms?”

Her eyes flashed wide. “Wait. There are really—?”

“Slime worms don’t work as well as you’d think for offensive measures,” he said fussily. “For one thing, they are highly territorial, so you can’t really keep them from spitting their corrosive acid on each other. Also, they are surprisingly picky eaters, so…” He realized she was just staring at him. “What? I’m just saying, if they weren’t picky eaters, I might’ve been in real trouble.”

“You had to actually—” She blinked. “I’m sorry, but why is a data recovery specialist apparently wrestling flesh-eating slime worms?”

“I told you, they don’t really actually eat—”

“Why?” she bit out again. “Why would the people you’re recovering data for want you to be eaten, or not, by slime worms?”

The pilot frame, like his nest, had adapted perfectly to his body over the many dark parsecs alone, but still he squirmed at the judgmental ice in her eyes. “I am not… That is, by the time I arrive, mostly no one is seeking help anymore.”

“Because they’ve been eaten by worms?” She held up her hand when he started to shake his head. “I know, I know, they don’t actually eat people. So you don’t do recovery.”

“Recovery is one of the words my translator suggested.”

Her eyes narrowed to mere storm-shadowed slits. “What word would you use?”

Lie, lie, lie, his brain urged him. He needed a committed partner to crack the IDA’s defenses, and he couldn’t afford to lose her, even if she was a naïve idealist. If ever a moment called for escape and evasion, this was it.

“Scavenger,” he blurted. “I find data no one else wants and turn it into something someone else will buy.”

At her silence, he eyed her warily. Her jaw worked as if chewing over whatever words she wanted to say. Or maybe she wanted to chew him up, even if the slime worms hadn’t been interested.

“I trusted you,” she said finally. “And you’re a…thief.”

He jerked back. “No.”

“You take—”

“I take what no one else wants,” he said heatedly. “What they lost, left behind, abandoned, forgot, rejected, whatever. It’s not stealing, it’s recycling.” He swept his hand through the projection, plunging the cockpit into darkness except for the glow of natural light from the corridor outside. “And trust this, even if you don’t trust me: I know how to find what no one else wants.”

The seething bitterness in his own voice surprised him, and he fell silent.

Maybe he’d revealed just a little too much of himself.

With another jerking gesture, he sealed up the front of his coat. The raw pang of the iol-mark on his chest almost made him wince, but it was worse to have her indignant stare digging into his bare flesh. “Does it matter how or why we get the data that leads to your sister?”

His challenge hung in the air, almost more bitter than his self-revelation.

After the longest moment, Vaughn shook her head. The last sideways jerk left her facing away mostly from him. In the gloom, her eye that he could still see was gray and shadowed. “You’re right,” she said in a gruff voice. “So very wrong. But right. No one else is helping. And I’ll do whatever I have to for Rayna.” She snapped back around to stare at him, her chin high. “Tell me what’s worse than slime worms. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m there.”