I stared at the door as it slid shut behind Granny Z, then turned to Zayda

“I know I don’t remember much, anything, really, from before I turned up on Minor. But…”

She shook her head and sprawled back on the wide bed that took up half the small room. “No. That’s not normal. Maybe not dangerous, but not normal at all.”

The bed looked secure enough, but I sat on the edge gingerly, testing to see if it would support me before I lay back beside her.

“Do you think we can trust her?” Zayda turned over to face me, dark eyes wide. “She knows too much.”

I brushed the hair from her face, thinking. Nothing about the old woman smelled of fear or deceit. “I think she just has an odd sense of humor,” I finally decided. “Besides, you said the bazaar was a good place to find people who didn’t ask too many questions. She seems like she’d fit right in with that crowd.”

“True.” Zayda’s gaze fixed on the cluster of lights at each corner of the room. “I just don’t like mysteries.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

She rolled on top of me, eyes bright and alert, back with me instead of lost in thought. “I make an exception for you, as a favor.”

I ran my hands up her bare legs under her skirt, fingers kneading her supple skin until she sighed with satisfaction.

“What other favors would you be willing to grant me?”

Hands on my shoulders, she lowered herself until her lips brushed mine. “I did promise you a night.” Another featherlight kiss, then she nuzzled into my neck. “And I do keep my promises.”

I moved one hand, pulling her towards me, deepening our kisses, drinking the taste of her in. Her scent, her touch, soothed the last of my nerves, still stretched thin from our trip. With every groan I drew from her, the nightmare of holding her limp body faded.

We jumped at the knock on the door.

“Granny saz dinner’s ready and come down after you wash,” a child’s voice called out, followed by a furtive whisper. “Don’t be late or she makes you stand in the corner.” The pattering of feet down the stairs proclaimed the departure of our messenger.

* * *

Dinner was a noisy affair, but I’d take the laughter and chaos of the children over the bravado of the mess hall any time.

After the meal, we offered to help with the cleaning, but Marga waved us away. “The children have chores now, don’t they?” Amid much muttering, the table was cleared and the sounds of washing up started from the back.

“Let us at least pay for our portions,” I reached for the credits in my pocket.

Granny Z shook her head. “Credits come and go. Favors are a much better barter item.”

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here,” I started, but she cut me off.

“I’m old. Plan to be older. I can wait, if needed.” Granny Z pushed up from her chair and headed upstairs.

“If you go out, don’t stay out too late,” she called over her shoulder.

Zayda and I glanced at each other, amused.

“Nothing you can do with each other could shock me, children,” she turned at the landing. “But it’s not safe after full dark. Don’t be on the streets if you can help it.”

Marga came back, arms full of a sleepy child. “The viewport on this level is lovely, and pretty close, if you want to take a walk.” She glanced at me. “I’m not sure if there are any other places I’d recommend, unless you were looking to burn off steam.”

That made no sense, but Zayda patted my arm and shook her head. “He’s not prowling for a fight, promise. The viewport sounds perfect.”

We strolled in silence along the narrow streets, following Marga’s directions. This sector of the level was quiet, but the rumble of a crowd sounded far behind us.

Zayda’s fingers curled around mine, warm and soft, the fabric dress swishing around her knees with each step.

“Are you alright here?”

She stopped, confusion wrinkling her forehead as she looked up at me. “What?”

A pale woman with tangled dark hair staggered past us, then disappeared between two buildings. I tucked Zayda closer to me, wanting her near.

Words had never been my strong point, but I tried again. “Is this too much like where you grew up?” That was a stupid question. I never should have started down that path, but dinner had reminded me of Zayda’s story of lost children, lost or forgotten.

“Void, no.” She wrapped her arms around me, rested her head on my chest. “The kids look happy there, loved.” We resumed our walk, my arm around her shoulders, fingers idly rubbing where the dress exposed her skin.

“There was none of that on my old level. At least, none that I found.”

I pulled her tighter to me, but, no matter how I racked my brain, there wasn’t a good response.

* * *

The old observation chamber was empty, the air still and heavy.

Perhaps people who lived on this level in this sector had other things to concern them this late at night. People who didn't live here never knew about it.

Which was a shame, the broad, transparent plexi was barely scuffed, and endless pinholes of light danced all around us.

Zayda went to the plexi, tapped near one of the brighter stars. “That’s Lisa.B-1. Its light helps keep this place going.”

I wrapped my arms over her shoulders, studying every cluster, each pattern, waiting for recognition.

Nothing came.

Zayda leaned back into me, her own arms twining up mine. I tucked her head under my chin. “I'd forgotten how much I used to like looking at the stars as a girl. All the ports on our level were blocked up years before. Sometimes I'd sneak to one of the upper levels late at night and just watch, imagine what it was like when the Empire was young, when people could make their own choices.”

Choices. The word echoed between us.

“What do you think is out there?”

“Home.” I'd said it without thinking, I didn’t know where it was. But it was out there, somewhere.

She whirled in my arms, eyes alight with questions.

“I think. I don't know. I don't think I've ever seen a chart heading oriented from these coordinates. But I need to get out there, find it.”

Zayda put her hands on my chest, staring up, her face serious. “Tomorrow you're going out to the docks to find a ship, aren't you?”

Just the thought of leaving her brought a physical ache. But… “Unless you want me to wait until your package comes back.”

She bit her lip, and, again, I could see the endless lists of impossibilities rolling behind her eyes. “No. That wouldn’t be fair to you. And besides...”

Zayda fell silent, but she didn't have to say anything further. Her secrets stood between us, as always.

“Well, then.” I bent over, breathing in her scent.

She stretched up on her toes to flick her tongue against my lips. “I guess this is our night.”

With her words, the dam inside me broke.

Our night.

If I had only one night to touch her, to taste her, I would devour every inch.

Bending over her, I grabbed her ass with one hand, cupping the other behind her head to support her as I licked and nipped my way down her throat. Her hands clutched my shoulders as I pressed her back, supported by my arms.

“Mack.” The sound of my name, her voice breathy with need, spurred me on. The swell of one breast fell free from her dress, and greedily I pulled it into my mouth, holding her tight against me as she shivered, moaning with each careful nibble of her tight rosy bud.

Her hands clawed under my shirt, the heat of her fingers branding my arms, marking me as hers.

I lifted my head to stare at her in wonder. Nothing was as beautiful, nothing as alive as my Zayda, with her clever mind, and now her lips parted, open for me to plunder.

She gasped as I took her mouth, and met every thrust of my tongue with her own, soft, wanting cries making my cock painfully hard.

“We should go somewhere else, darlin,’” I whispered into the shell of her ear as I lightly bit the delicate lobe. Her squirms, her whimpers set every particle of my being aflame.

“What?” Her lashes fluttered, brow wrinkled as she fought to focus. “Why?”

“Because elsewhere there’s a door, and a lock.” I set her down carefully before me, then tucked her breast back into the neckline of the dress. I couldn’t help but caress her through the fabric, one last tweak to the nipple before we headed back.

She stiffened, eyes unfocused. With a snap, a wicked smile crossed her face.

“Two can play at that game, darlin’.” She reached forward, sliding her hand down my length, which was straining against the confines of the fabric.

“Zayda,” I growled, fighting for control.

“Yes.” Her eyes flashed, and she repeated the stroke, but, this time, slower, harder.

With a muffled howl, I tore her hand away, spinning her around until she was pinned between my body and the plexi, facing the void. I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other fisted in the fabric of her skirt.

Face buried in her neck, maddened by her aroma of adrenaline and desire, I slowly ground into her ass.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she hissed, and pushed back against me.

Taking advantage of the gap between her body and the plexi, I slid my hand around her hip until the V of her thighs was microns from my fingers.

“Mine.” I curled my fingers around her mound, the thin-stretched cloth only the slightest barrier.

She shuddered against my chest, and I rubbed the wet fabric in tight circles until her breath came in gasps.

“Hey! What are you doing in here?”

I pivoted, blocking Zayda from view. An older man, clothes disheveled, peered in the door.

From his hesitant motions, uncorrected vision blurred us from his sight. He shuffled further into the chamber, head swinging from side to side.

“We’re leaving,” I rasped.

I swung Zayda into my arms, and we headed back.