Chapter 22Awakening
DATE:
7088.03.17,
RECON
ERA
The
Lotus Root
INTERSPACE
– WAYSTATION
#0085
Az
was lounging in an armchair, one leg resting on the footrest in
front. His jacket draped over the back of the armchair behind him.
The
v-neck shirt dipped
low enough to show
his clavicle
and
a deep, pale scar that cut from the base of his neck to across his
chest. The fabric hung loose,
as
if he had borrowed a shirt too large, or lost weight recently.
He
was slowly flipping a screwdriver - my
scavenged
screwdriver - end
over end,
the
motion
smooth, almost
hypnotic. His gaze never
left me,
hair
reaching just above his eyebrows, framing his face with dark brown
waves. He had a hint of a shadow across his jaw and chin.
He
looked like a completely different person from the Az at the pub.
Gone was the awkwardness of meeting up again. Gone was the panic, the
frustration… the humiliation. He was watching me, like I was a
simple
puzzle
he couldn’t figure out. Or a tired
predator trying to decide if the prey was
going to fight back.
I
let
out a breathless chuckle.
I couldn’t help myself.
The
rhythmic thud of the screwdriver hitting his palm stopped.
“What’s
so funny?” Quiet, husky, and promising pain, this Az was on
edge,
out of patience or ready to lose his temper.
It
didn’t matter.
He
was exactly
where
I wanted him.
“You’re
trying too hard, merc,” I rasped out. “I’ve known scarier men
than you and none of them needed to steal my only weapon for show.”
He
let out a chuckle, the amusement not reaching his eyes. “Weapon,
huh? I don’t
know what you think
I’m trying
to do.
I’m just…”
His
eyes flicked to my middle,
then flicked back to my face. “...considering
your situation.”
I rolled
out of the bed, manoeuvring so I didn’t use my abdomen to sit
upright. I kept my back to him.
“My
situation is none of your business,” I said matter-of-factly, I
needed him to get
emotional. Emotional people make mistakes. I’d prefer anger, that
was more predictable.
Or
violent. I didn’t care which.
I lifted the hoodie up to look at the dressings. They’d been
changed. My clothes still the grungy rags I pulled from a pile in the
sub-halls, the pants sporting a lovely shade of red around the
waistband. “The
Dark
Lotus have
barely
upheld their reputation for honouring contracts, and keeping
clients alive.
I do have a complaint, however.” I looked over my shoulder, subtly
testing if my legs would support my weight. “Tim the Root needs
discipline…
and
more training.”
“Will be
taken under advisement,” he purred, and I could hear the smirk in
his voice.
I
stopped for a moment. He
was more in control than I thought.
And...
‘Where
had I heard that before?’
“You’re
welcome, by the way,” he
drawled as if immune to the soft jabs I’ve landed so far. “We
found a controller for your nanites. They had started eating your
left mechanical kidney. Don’t worry…” I
could hear rather than see the smugness. “I
got them to behave. Fixed
your rib
too.”
I
hated how easily he said it. Like my body was just a
malfunctioning machine. I
mean it was, but I liked it that way.
We
were in a master bedroom, two doors.
I glanced at the
one left
ajar, not
able to see what was beyond.
Both
directions were deathly silent.
I
ran a hand over the bruised
side Tim ‘tripped’ over in the sub-halls.
“I
didn’t ask you to save
me,” I
snapped, sharper than I thought I could muster.
“Hurtful,”
he said, smirking, his
voice a soft rumble.
“After all that effort. Still,
it’d
be
bad form to let you die after the… treatment one of our former
members inflicted on you.”
I
slowly stood, tensing my legs and keeping my feet apart. I turned to
face him sideways, keeping the door in sight. ‘Former?
And where
were his friends?’ I
didn’t have time to untangle his loyalties. I needed to know
whether the person he’d called was coming for me — or for the
bounty.
“Former?”
I repeated, my voice tight. “You saved
me for the friend you called?”
His
smile faltered—a small win—but then he scoffed. “Our mutual
friend has been delayed. Turns out the
Green Ken Dolls have put out a bounty for
a missing Core asset: female, brunette,
weak constitution, soft-spoken,
compliant… requires constant
supervision.
It’s quite lucrative.”
I
couldn’t
keep the curiosity off my face, but I forced
it down.
I couldn’t try and dwell on who he thought our ‘mutual friend’
was. It could have been anybody. Meng, Ali… anyone else who Jim had
in his pocket. He was a merc. And I had a bounty now, apparently. I
had to remember that. Not the guy with the sensual touch from Kelara.
That
description they were using… Dumbasses. The whole lot of them.
“So
you’re keeping me here
because you think I’m that target? So you can get something for all
your ‘effort’?
How long ago did you
call it in?”
He
remained seated, tilting his head back against the cushion, his eyes
lidded but tracking my every move. He didn’t answer immediately.
His jaw tightened — just once — before the smile returned. “It
is a bit weak, isn’t it? But even if I have the right brunette…
We have something called the Rot
Clause. No
active
member can choose
a job that involves a target or client they were romantically
involved with.
Past
or present.”
“So
you can’t claim the bounty because we fucked before,”
I said flatly, crossing my arms over
my chest. He still had my Slate, somewhere…
“That’s
right, I can’t.” He slowly stood, sliding
his hands and screwdriver deep into his pockets. “But there
are plenty of other mercs who don’t have that restriction.”
I watched
him carefully. I needed a shower. I needed clothes. I needed to know
what was beyond that door. He was stalling for time.
“What
about your friends from
the pub—are they in play?”
“Well…not
exactly. They’re
in my team. It extends to them too. They had… something come up and
had to go.”
He shifted his shoulders in half a shrug. “Besides, the
station’s under curfew and I volunteered to
stay. Those
nanites were being quite naughty.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Again.
I had it all under control,” I spat. “Now, while
I feel conflicted on your ‘efforts,’ I’m about to overstay my
welcome.
My Slate, and my screwdriver if you please.”
He
huffed out a laugh, smirking as he pulled out the tool from his
pocket and spun it between his fingers. “Why, so you can try and
stab me again?” He stepped forward, giving me a once-over, his
voice dropping an octave, as
if he
were seeing
right through the oversized rags.
“I’m the one usually doing the prodding, and since you need to
change your clothes…”
My
eyes flashed in anger. I raised my hands in a
defensive stance
the
way
my father taught me, snarling. “Back off.”
To
my surprise, he took a step back, putting his hands up with an amused
smirk, the screwdriver held loosely between his fingers. “Claws
away, Yěmāo. It was only a proposition.”
“What
do you want from me?!” I was losing my patience, the pain
sharpening
my voice into something feral.
“Information.
I’d love to know how is it that
the random
woman
I fucked on
some backwater planet…”
Az leaned forward, the distance between us vanishing until I could
see the augment rings in his iris, and
the soft purr of an invisible augment in his chest. He
smelled like worn leather and that sharp, sweet corn liqueur, a scent
that used to mean excitement in the dark of a club, but now felt like
a threat. “Has
a bounty of over 50,000 CoreBits. Is being hunted by the Green Boy
Scouts, and…still managed to escape a Priority 3 Secure Medical
Unit three days after getting a stomach
transplant.
And
is being described as ‘meek’ and ‘compliant’?”
He
paused, looking
down at me.
“Why is everyone so... desperate to get a piece of you?” he
whispered, his
breath ghosted against my cheek.
His voice was a low vibration, the kind a lover
would use.
My
heart did a traitorous skip. I looked at his chin, tracing the line
of it where it matched that
old boyfriend,
but I forced the memory down into the dirt, biting my lip. He
was gone. This was a merc. An
opportunistic,
cruel agent from
the Iron Wall,
who belonged to the same company as Tim
the Cruel jerk. The kind of person who trips you up just for the fun
of it… like an obstinate tree root. Apt.
He
had my Slate. He said he didn’t have it on him, before I passed
out… But surely he was lying. I gave him a slow once over, really
looking at him. He was taller than me, which was a positive already.
He might have lost weight recently but he still looked stronger and
fitter than most of the men from the Core. His pants didn’t do much
to hide odd lumps. I could feel traitorous heat rise up my cheeks but
I didn’t shy away, because I could see something clear and
rectangular poking out of his hip pocket.
I
leaned in, closing the gap until my chest brushed his shirt. I let my
hands wander, resting them lightly on his hips, my fingers grazing
the heavy fabric of his tactical trousers. Let’s
push this ‘Rot
Clause’
thing.
I felt him hitch, a
microscopic bob of his throat,
an
imperceptible
break in his rhythm, despite my current presentation. I
sent a quick thanks to the quirks of human evolution that he was
still attracted to me despite the fact I probably both looked and
smelled like death.
Horny
idiot.
“You
should know,” I whispered back, my voice trailing against his ear
like a ghost. “You’ve taken things, too. You took my Slate. You
took my tool.
You took me that night... over and over.”
I let my
touch go soft, the way I’d handle a 2,000-year-old logic board. My
fingers didn’t grab; they palpated. I felt the hard, rectangular
weight at his hip. It definitely was a slim, notched profile of a
personal Slate. I couldn’t believe that I’d be that lucky. It was
unsecured, as if he had shoved it in the first accessible pocket he
was able to reach. I couldn’t ask myself why. I just had to go for
it.
I
had a thought that it might
not be mine, but I had to risk it. One Slate was better than none. I
let my nose run against his jaw, his
breath stuttered — not enough to miss, but enough that he noticed,
his
jaw clenching.
Part
of his prod before had been genuine.
“I
bet you’re itching to get me out of these rags and…” I smiled,
talking
slowly,
letting my breath tickle his neck, over
the
scar that seemed so familiar.
“...investigate exactly how I had enough stamina to crawl through
air vents, kick through grates and walk through kilometres of
sub-halls. How
‘meek’ am I really?”
I
tugged
on his pockets to bring him closer, my finger caressing the hard
crystal edge,
my movements practised and invisible. I’d spent nearly a decade
pulling delicate chips out of rusted droids without triggering a
self-destruct; a playboy’s
pocket was amateur hour. My fingertips found the glass edge, and with
a sharp, silent flick of the wrist, the device was out and tucked
into the oversized sleeve of my hoodie. I
used my other hand to graze up against the waistband of his pants,
following the pocket lines on
the opposite side.
“I’m
sure you’re curious to know…” I continued, making sure his eyes
were on my face, he was biting his bottom lip. “If the nanites have
numbed me enough to take whatever you do to me…”
Az
moved, his
hands resting
on
my waist, his grip tightening as if he were finally ready to stop
dancing
and
start enjoying his accidental catch.
He swayed toward me, his eyes dark, his
lips parting.
I
got
my disengagement strategy ready. His
breath smelled of that sweet liqueur, his hands firmly pulling me
close, confident, hungry, desperate… no, wait. I shouldn’t want
this, too…
THUMP.
THUMP. THUMP.
Three
sharp, muffled raps on a closed door beyond the bedroom shattered the
tension. Our
lips were
a
hair’s breadth apart. I
breathed out of my nose, bringing my hands into the pockets of the
hoodie and stepping back.
I
turned away from him, trying to keep the genuine disappointment off
my face. “You should probably check who’s at the door, Merc. I’m
going for a shower. I smell like a 500-year-old chem-flush tank.” I
said over my shoulder before shutting the bathroom door and
collapsing against it, my breathing coming in ragged bursts. I wasn’t
sure I’d have been able to disengage once he kissed me. Or wanted
to. Stupid,
thirsty idiot.
I heard a muffled, sharp “Fuck!” behind me,
followed by the heavy, frustrated stomp of his boots out of the room. He must not
have noticed the weight missing from his hip. He was acting as
unbalanced as I was, spacers who had been ‘interrupted’.
“Serves
you right, playboy,” I muttered, forcing
a false confidence, my
heart hammering itself to an early grave in my chest.
I
pulled
the
device out of my sleeve, my thumb already tapping
the piece of crystal tech,
hoping to see my own reflection on the ID screen.
It wasn’t
mine.
My
stomach dropped. Of course it wasn’t mine. I’m
not that lucky.
The
face that looked back at me was that of Az, bored and arrogant. His
details were encrypted, requiring
a biometric to unlock.
[ACCESS
DENIED: BIOMETRIC MISMATCH] [OWNER: NIGHTSHADE-044
// ENCRYPTION: SC
- LEVEL 10]
I
almost threw it, but I caught myself, muffling curses by biting my
lip hard, and breathing heavily through my nose. I shoved it in my
pants pocket and checked myself in the mirror. The pain in my abdomen
now background noise, down to a four out of ten. I looked pale, but
flushed,
my hair wild and untamed. I shed the clothes, stripping down to skin
and dressings.
I
needed to feel like myself again, and not like a corpse. I needed to
leave. I couldn’t die here, not so close to so
many
.
I needed to find that
Forty-Five and pull him apart piece
by piece.
The cockpit was a mistake. It was my brain getting its wires crossed
and not having sex in over a week. Plus,
Meng’s
presence
was too nervewracking.
I needed to leave.
I
scrubbed myself from head to toe, only avoiding the fresh surgical
sites out of habit. I used the only open soap bottle already in the
shower, a thick amber gel that smelled of earth and wood. I didn’t
care, as long as it wasn’t ‘hospital’ or ‘trash’. My hair
took longer to get washed, the water running black from the detritus
I had somehow collected in the vents and sub-halls. I rinsed the
conditioner from my hair, the water running clear at last. I wrapped
a towel around my torso and stepped back out into the bedroom, using
my hands to brush the strands, separating the mass to start braiding.
I immediately spied my screwdriver on the bed, I bit my lip, a small
smile tugging at my mouth, but the sound of voices from the other
room cut my triumph short.
My hands
paused mid-braid, listening to what was being said.
“Sir, I
understand your female guest is currently showering, but we need to
sight her.” A reedy but firm man was talking.
“We
appreciate your service for the station. But you can come back later,
I’m sure she’ll be done by then.” Az responded, his voice calm
and smooth.
For
the station.
They must be Station Guards, taking census under curfew or looking
for me...
“Motherfuckers,”
I breathed, looking around the room, seeing Az’s jacket still on
the armchair. I opened the closet, finding a full set of spare
clothes for various body types and sizes, all branded with Dark Lotus
insignia. Underwear included.
I smiled.
Why?
BECAUSE I CAN'T HELP MYSELF :'(
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