Kicking Ashe (7 page)

I didn’t call it quaint.

It was implied.

She began to understand the challenges of first contact. In some ways, it was much harder than Time repair. After another pause, Ashe produced a smile she worked to erase incredulity from, not easy at her current level of depletion. She lowered the lid on the primitive device. “I will be sure to deposit my used bath items in this useful place when I am finished.”
Better?

He didn’t say
meh
, but it was also implied. Lurch was so pissy sometimes.

“This is a temporary camp,” Calendria said, her tone trending defensive.

“But it has plumbing,” Ashe pointed out. She did not have to manufacture approval for the plumbing. Her family had a strange fixation about plumbing that stretched back generations. Her Uncle Istah was the Leader of Plumbing in several star systems. His intergalactic advertisements were legendary for their poor taste and overuse of himself and unattractive family members.

Calendria rubbed her temple, as if it pained her.

Now would be a good time to stop talking and try out the plumbing.

“If you will excuse me, I will avail myself of this comfortable robe before exploring the plumbing.” At her nod, Ashe slid behind the curtain of one of the changing cubicles. She set the toiletries aside and studied the clothing, curious despite a butt load of tired. Loose pants, loose top made of something soft and flexible. Be a welcome change from the second skin of her uniform. She fingered the top.

Fabric. Cloth.

I knew that.
Sort of. Her mother had some family antiques that felt similar when touched. Thoughts of her mother weren’t productive to good order and discipline, so she pushed those away and dropped the clothing on the bench. Felt a wave of weary that almost had her dropping down with it. Tired didn’t explain what she was, not anymore. She’d passed through it some time previously on her way to totally slammed.
Can you retract my suit?
Not a huge surprise when nothing happened.
Don’t tell me.

He didn’t, let his silence do it for him. The bench beckoned again. With a resolution that rather surprised, she turned from it. She didn’t want to get shot again, but there was at least one function she needed to do, and couldn’t, with the suit in place. She sighed, edged the curtain aside.

Calendria had settled in front of a small vanity, her back to the mirror. “Is something more amiss?”

That sounded a bit…something. Not quite bitchy, but on the way? Ashe didn’t frown, but felt it might also be implied. “My release mechanism for my uniform is stuck.” Calendria’s eyes widened, puzzled making a come back as she studied the suit, as if searching for this release mechanism. “I was wondering if you could set your weapon to low stun and, well, shoot me?”

Now her eyes got so wide it looked like they might pop out of the sockets or something equally unpleasant.

“Shoot you?”

“I need power. Energy. When Cadir shot me, my headgear retracted, so I’m thinking another stun shot will power the mechanism long enough to get it to release.”

She is definitely a scientist
, Lurch put in as curiosity went turbo in her expression.

What bothered Ashe is how quickly she pulled her weapon.

She is very eager to shoot me.

Lurch could have listed all the people who felt the same, but he did not, which made a nice change.

“Low stun, right?” Ashe reminded her, when she didn’t check the settings.

Calendria’s smile looked almost natural. “It’s always set on low inside the camp. Where should I…”

Ashe turned her back, indicating a spot low on her back. “Low center is best.”

A pause. “It will hurt.” Calendria did not sound regretful, though she did manage to tamp down anticipation to just a thread running through her tone.

“Yes.” Ashe had not been shot any time it did not hurt. It seemed implied in the word. There was even a family mantra:
don’t get shot
. She didn’t sigh, because it would interfere with bracing—which didn’t help. She held back a yelp, but not the gasp, the sizzling sound lingering in the air for several seconds as pain spread out from the spot, though her suit once again managed to disperse some of the effect. “Thanks.”

“Glad to be of assistance.”

Ashe didn’t snort. She didn’t have the energy for a good snort and refused to settle for a lame one. She ducked back behind the curtain, not eager for Calendria to see her suit retract—or for her to see her knickers. For several seconds she thought it hadn’t worked, and then, with a hiss, it continued from where it had stopped, moving toward the retraction zone just above the elbow of her right arm, coming to an ominous sounding stop, though it did form into a deceptively simple, silver band on her upper arm. It might have retracted its last. With the suit’s retreat, the cleavage went away—pity that—and her knickers, also silver and lightweight—though lacking the deflective properties of her suit—became visible. They clung damply to her sweat soaked skin, but they would dry quickly upon contact with oxygenated air and could be adjusted for basic bodily functions. She slid on the robe, grabbed the packet of toiletries, and stepped out just as Shan swept in, his gaze scanning the room, both hands wrapped around his drawn weapon, which was pointed at the ground, but at an angle that could be raised easily.

Ashe froze, not anxious to get shot again, particularly without the deflective properties of her suit in place, not to mention Lurch hadn’t been able to erase the pain from the last shot, because he was as out of juice as she was.

“Why did you discharge your weapon?” he snapped at Calendria.

“My uniform’s release mechanism was stuck,” Ashe put in before Calendria could speak. He half frowned, and then he got it. She saw it in the slight widening of his eyes, followed by a sharp narrowing. Note to self: don’t underestimate this guy. His gaze slid past her, to the dressing area she’d just left. He wanted her suit all right. What would he do when he didn’t find it? It wasn’t a happy thought, so she decided not to dwell or wait around to find out, not with his weapon still deployed. She pointed to the sanitation cubicle. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Shan stared at her for what felt like a long time before giving a sharp nod. With impressive restraint, he didn’t look at Calendria, who was smart enough to stay put until Ashe closed the door between them. Ashe ignored the pad of footsteps crossing to the changing space, Calendria’s, she decided. Too light to be Shan’s, though he didn’t clomp around.

Would she be baffled? Frustrated? She was a scientist. A little mystery would be good for her character. And Shan? Probably good for his, too, though she had a feeling he wouldn’t agree.

She visited the commode while she still could and found it much like the ones of her time. Interesting? Or predictable? She thought for a moment and decided it was predictable. Not a lot to work with there, even for a family in love with plumbing. Eager to get clean, she shed the robe, hanging it on a hook, then activated the cycle, shocked when real water sprayed out the nozzle. Even on the Time Base, which was surrounded by water, they used a cleaning mist for sanitation. It also explained the need for the bar of soap. She stuck her arm in, water beating against her skin like a heavy—though warm—rain. The feel of the warm water felt surprisingly good when she eased under the stream—though it was also a painful reminder of how far she was from everything familiar.

Her situation was precarious, but nothing could be done until Lurch repaired her suit, assuming it could be repaired. And if they did get it online, could she navigate the time stream without her time senses?

Others do it all the time. As far as we are aware, no one else in the Service has senses like yours. It is also possible, if your senses recover, that you could enter the stream without your suit fully functioning.

Not for long. The Service had developed the suits because time in the stream without protection was dangerous. And could she find her way home without the beacon sniffer built into her suit? Lurch had no answer for that, nor did he have a theory about how Shan might react when he failed to secure her suit. Even if he took a more forceful approach, he couldn’t get the suit without her cooperation. A pity he didn’t know that. She now had a much better understanding of the meaning of the ancient saying about rocks and hard places.

* * * *

“She is a valuable acquisition.”

Bile rose in Shan’s throat. Did she really feel this way or did she test him? He breathed in and out, and again before turning to meet her gaze.

Calendria—who understood the parameters of his dilemma as well as he did—knew better than to show pity, but he caught a whiff of it from her despite the privacy distance between them.

“She is—”

A living, breathing human? He did not speak the words, though he’d known Calendria for many seasons. Her family and his had partner claimed many times, though she was not a direct relative like Bana.

“—trouble.”

“Yes.” He could not deny this truth.

“Your squad—”

Shan shifted. Too many home truths too close together did that to him.

“I doubt their inhibitors have ever been tested this severely.” Amusement filtered into her tone and scent. “Or yours.”

He didn’t react to the semi-taunt, other than a slight rise of his brows, as if he did not know of what she spoke.

She sobered. “You can not protect her, Commander.”

And if he was inclined to try, consider what he could unleash on his family, her eyes added, though he was relieved she did not speak the words. He had heard women were more compassionate, more tender in their feelings. He saw neither in her eyes. Of course, he’d also heard women were practical—that men became less so with the inhibitors turned down. Perhaps they were correct. His squad had certainly lost cohesion when her suit retracted—he halted dangerous thoughts. Despite the safe zone, it was still possible for Calendria to pick up the scent of desire from him.

What was it about the alien that scrambled his thinking, that so impacted the inhibitor? If this were what a woman did to a man’s brain, would he not be wise to avoid partnering? The idea had appeal. He did not wish to give up space travel. It was dirt side that felt unnatural, constricting.
Wrong.

“Perhaps you won’t have to worry about her.”

Shan looked at her, his frown too quick to stop.

“She looked ill.”

“The scans showed no illness.” They had recorded she was in need of sustenance and rest. Bana would take care of the sustenance issue. The rest would come when night fell. Otherwise she was remarkably healthy for one who appeared to be a warrior. Not even a scar. Did that make her good or lucky?

“Are we sure our scans know enough alien biology to know?”

“Internally she is no different from you or I.” Facts discerned without vivisection or sedation. That they were also heresy could be a problem if Calendria decided to share them with someone in the Authority. Of course, he could also report her waste of resources on the fallings. Idle study was not encouraged, nor supported.

“Did the scan tell where she came from? How she got here?”

“It does not read minds.” More’s the pity. Did she know about the
Zalistria
? Was she involved in its disappearance? If he shared this with Calendria, would it ease her concerns or give her more to report when they returned to Keltinar?

“She’s young.”

Implied in her tone were all the questions Shan had and more. How had she arrived here? Who had sent her? Who would have so little care for a young, fertile female? Why had her arrival unleashed flashes of things, memories that couldn’t be, recollections just out of reach that felt more right than now? Why did he feel a need to protect her that exceeded his touch pledge? Was it even possible to protect her without destroying his family?

The impossible just takes longer.

Behind him, the water shut off, deepening the unnatural silence that had reigned since their return from the fallings collection with Ashe. An air of waiting hung heavy in the warm, still air. He could boost the air filtration to ease the heat and damp, but there was no way to filter out the unease. It wasn’t solely about Ashe. His unease felt more since he’d brought her into camp, but he’d felt it before, arrived knowing that something was wrong. That’s why he’d set the filtration closer to the planet’s temperature. Their cloak was good, but the Zelk had found a camp once by scanning for temperature variations. There should be no Zelk in system, but his instincts felt trouble close. Did not mean a Zelk problem. The strange fallings qualified as big trouble without the Zelk in the mix. The unknown could be as dangerous as the known.

“What’s she doing here?”

He hesitated, but it could not be kept secret when his squad already knew. “She claims she is a Garradian.”

“A Garradian.” Calendria sounded shaken. “Is that possible?”

“I do not know. She believes it.” It was the only known way to beat a scent parsing, if the person believed they spoke the truth, though it didn’t always work. A good scent parser could pick out traces of conflict between the conscious and unconscious mind.

“It,” Calendria hesitated, “won’t save her from the Authority.”

He’d touched her in sight of his team, placed her under his protection to protect his team, but he felt the binding power of the action, and beyond that an imperative to protect
her
. As if she mattered in a way beyond conscious thought. What he’d done was more binding than a partner matching ceremony, which could be nullified by mutual agreement, though it wasn’t an obligation the Authority would respect or honor. Could he save her? Could he save himself? The question surprised him. Save him from what? But he knew. He wanted to be free from the life he did not want, the life that did not fit. He did not want to be trapped dirt side by a suitable partner. He wanted…more.

THREE

Ashe stayed in the shower until it began to have a strange effect on her skin. The streams of water hitting her, the sound of droplets beating the wall had been an appropriate accompaniment to her scattered thoughts and it soothed the aches Lurch lacked resources to ease. She stared at her wrinkled fingers in vague puzzlement, then turned the water off. Her back against the warmed surface of the shower, she snagged a towel and dabbed at the water running down her face, too tired to do more.
I am sorry
.