Unbound (13 page)

Unlike the entertainment section that catered to travelers and off-duty spacers, the industrial section didn’t bother with flashy displays or expensive frills: bland, static signs or none at all were the norm. Here, iBor’s station designers had done without the multilevel atriums and glassteel windows. Here, the colorful ceracrete floor tiles were replaced by rugged, gray plasteel, and any polish they acquired was due to foot traffic, not the efforts of maintenance bots. Here, the ventilation scrubbers struggled to filter out the acrid tang of hydraulic fluid, the pungent stench of solder scorch, and the smells of a dozen races; their failure left a heavy atmosphere of aggression and teeth-grinding labor.

Romir accompanied her quietly through the grungier corridors, a man-shaped chunk of watchful silence keeping station by her left shoulder. Away from the glitter, that mask of reserve settled back on his face.

Had he always been like that, or was that silence something he’d adopted as a djinn? Not wanting to stir up painful memories, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Forcing her thoughts to a safer course, she explained to Romir what she was looking to buy as they walked. While she was accustomed to doing things by herself, it felt awkward to carry on as usual, as though he weren’t with her.

“So you need to separate the good from the bad?”

She nodded, most of her attention given to the spacers around them. “The cheaper parts are usually cannibalized from decommissioned ships too old or damaged to fly or cranked out by Rim World shops with outdated equipment, so they’re either used or of uncertain quality. Unfortunately, they’re sold as is.”

“You are not allowed to test them?”

“Out of the question.”

“Perhaps I can help, then.”

Asrial took him at his word. She couldn’t tell what he based his decisions on; he just riffled through the parts available, plucking out those he deemed acceptable. She could only assume it had something to do with how he’d pinpointed the problem with the
Castel
’s control run.

With the two of them there, she bought more than she would have alone. When they finally set out for the
Castel
, they dragged two rented dollies piled high with her acquisitions plus some crates under their arms.

Romir glanced at her again, his brow furrowed with discomfort. Though his load contained the heavier cable runs, he made it look effortless. “I can carry those for you.”

And have her walk alongside unladen, like some pampered sovreine too delicate to dirty her hands? Asrial shook her head, smiling when he wiggled his fingers in invitation. “There’s no need.”

She couldn’t let herself become dependent on Romir. As a Rim rat, she worked alone. She preferred it that way. It was safer.

For her heart.

 

 

Once out of
the commercial section and across the bridge, the lights were noticeably dimmer. One of the disadvantages of the cheaper docking bays was that the station admin cut costs where they could to maximize profits—which meant the lights were permanently on night setting. But usually it wasn’t this dim.

Unease crawled across Asrial’s shoulders with clammy suckers. She wasn’t usually so jumpy, but the encounter with the Tehld hive left her uneasy.

Footsteps sounded ahead of them, echoing off the gray walls. Her back stiffened instinctively. With them both heavily laden, they were in a poor position to fend off an ambush. The shadows could hide all sorts of criminal activity from the security cams.

Irritated with herself, Asrial eased her stunner out of its holster. She’d gotten carried away with replenishing her supplies and forgotten caution. She shouldn’t have bought so much when spare parts couldn’t be delivered to the
Castel
’s bay.

“Is there a problem?” Romir’s question drifted to her ears, barely louder than the rumble of the dollies’ rollers.

“It’s too dark.”

Romir glanced up the corridor. The fingers of the hand on the dolly’s guide bar flicked surreptitiously, little more than a tremor, a motion she caught out of the corner of her eye. The lights brightened to day strength, possibly for the first time in Eskarion 14’s history. “Better now?”

Asrial gave him a sidelong look. Had he done that?

A soft curse floated on the air, the voice harsh and guttural—and nearby.

Her muscles tightened in readiness. Run or fight?

Simple robbery happened, even abduction and murder. It didn’t have to be pirates targeting the
Castel
’s cargo. She didn’t fool herself that slavers didn’t transit at Eskarion. There were planets and colonies in the Inner Worlds that sustained their economies by not asking questions.

It wasn’t just that curse that made her wary. Romir had pulled ahead, suddenly radiating menace, a willingness to do violence to whomever crossed his path. This was the grounder she’d been worried about?

She set her crates on top of her overloaded dolly, then tapped his arm. “Just don’t block my line of fire.”

With a nod, he continued, still carrying his load and pulling his dolly, an ordinary enough figure in the docking bays, only infinitely menacing. He exuded a confidence that said he could wipe out a horde of professional muscle without breaking his stride—no boast.

A Hagnashr and two Xers crouched in a nearby alcove doing a spot of gambling, the heavygrav worlder looming over his wiry companions. It was a normal enough scene, but Asrial didn’t buy the pose. While stations attracted a mix of races, she didn’t see any reason for them to be right there. Ship crew would head for the commercial districts if they had free time. Station locals had their own hangouts. If they were loafing off, they’d be better hidden using one of the maintenance hatches instead of a public corridor. Besides, Hagnash were fast for their bulk, especially in lighter gravities, and this one sported a jagged horn that added to his air of danger. Xers, on the other hand, evolved in low-light conditions; it made no sense for the Hagnashr to gamble with them in the shadows.

The trio made no attempt to attack as she and Romir passed; whether due to the brighter lights, the security cams, Romir’s presence, or actual lack of criminal intent, she couldn’t guess.

They regained the
Castel
without encountering any more suspicious characters. Either the trio had been responsible for the footsteps she’d heard or someone ahead of them had slipped into one of the bays before they’d reached the junction.

Asrial breathed out a sigh, the sight of her ship hunkered down on its belly in the middle of the bay calming her fears. She studied the
Castel
, wondering what it looked like to Romir. Old, with more replacement parts than original, it had none of the predatory sleekness of fast couriers, the gray, duraskin paint mottled from countless entries and repairs hiding minor dings. It made no pretense of being more than it was—a hard-worked, low-cred trader.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I just thought someone might have tried to break in.” She circled her ship anyway for a thorough inspection. The telltales on the dock clamps glowed green. The air and power linkages were solid. No odd marks to be seen around the hatches.

Romir considered the
Castel
, the look in his eyes distant as he duplicated her circuit around the ship. As if he were seeing beneath the surface—or beyond it. After how he’d manipulated the lights in the corridor, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility that it was precisely what he was doing.

“It is intact. I do not see any damage.”

“What about tampering?” Why anyone would attempt sabotage, she couldn’t imagine, but she didn’t take back the question. Better paranoid than dead. If her father had been more cautious, he and Nasri might be alive today.

“That is more difficult to ascertain.” He set down his load in preparation for doing—something.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bay door, out of sight of the security cams. “Might be better here. You’ll have fewer witnesses,” she explained when he glanced at her askance.

“Spies?”

It was her turn to glance in surprise, abruptly reminded that he’d been captured in a war. “Something like that.”

He accepted her vague answer with a nod. Raising his empty hands, he gestured quickly, his fingers flicking in an intricate dance, then laid his hand on the
Castel
. The result wasn’t conspicuous. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she wouldn’t have noticed the shift in light. Tiny glints appeared around his hand then streaked off in various directions, crisscrossing the
Castel
’s surface in a grid. “No tampering. Everything is as we left it.”

Asrial smiled, suddenly abashed by her paranoia. The Tehld hive must have unnerved her more than she’d thought for her to entertain such extreme suspicions. iBor wasn’t affiliated with Dareh in any way; that was why she continued to transit through Eskarion. A route through the Sattar Ring, which connected Xerex with the Brauten sector where Lyrel 9 was located, was shorter and could have cut decs from her flight time, but that constellation was Dareh-controlled and therefore never an option. Although transiting through Eskarion made for a longer flight, because iBor competed directly with Dareh, their stations were less likely to give her trouble—they were safe enough that she really needn’t have double-checked the
Castel
.

Sabotage? What was she thinking? Asrial exhaled in a silent huff. Just her imagination running wild.

They boarded the
Castel
without further delay, but her baseless fear didn’t release its grip on her until the hatch was sealed behind them and the locks engaged.

“Do you have enemies here?” Romir’s question was matter-of-fact, drifting over his shoulder as he continued into the service hold with the spare parts.

“N-no, why’d you ask?”

“You worried about spies.” He unloaded the packs and stowed the electronics in the proper places—precisely where she kept such items. He’d taken the time to learn her system. “I need to know, if I am to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.” She’d flown alone for so long that her reply was automatic.

“But would not another set of eyes help? You cannot be on watch all the time. Even you need sleep.” Despite the offer, his expression wasn’t particularly enthusiastic—dutiful would’ve been the strongest term she’d use to describe it, but really he didn’t let much emotion slip past his mask of ready menace.

She waved aside the question, scanning the hold to confirm that everything was where it ought to be and not because she was avoiding his gaze. “No enemies that I know of. I’m just careful that way.” According to the latest comm dispatch from Amin, Dareh still had no affiliates on Eskarion. There was no reason for alarm . . . and no reason to talk about the Dareh.

“So you do have enemies to ward against.” Lack of persistence definitely wasn’t one of Romir’s failings. Was that a flicker of concern that shadowed his eyes?

“Who doesn’t?” Asrial didn’t want to dwell on old news. Danger and enemies were facts of life, especially a spacer’s life. She was more interested in what he’d done to the lights in the corridor and during his inspection of the
Castel
. Ready for a change in subject, she turned to fix a no-nonsense look on him over her shoulder, then stared for real.

Was Romir fading—again? Whatever he’d done had to have a price. How much had his efforts on her behalf cost him?

The memory of his struggle, of seeing the deck through his transparent body slammed to the front of her brain, and her heart skipped, the shock and fear of that time rushing back.

Not again, not if she could help it. She took his hand and slid it under her T-top, to her breast. His hand was so much larger than hers, hot and firm, easily cupping the small mound. She molded his palm against her, arching herself into him in a deliberate invitation even he should understand.

“Asrial,” Romir protested, even as his fingers caressed her, teasing her nipple into aching stiffness. “You need not ...”

“It’s all right. If this gives you the strength to resist your prison, then I don’t mind.” She leaned back, resting her head on his chest as shivers of delight washed through her veins like a fiery sip of Nikralian brandy. He handled her with utmost gentleness to stunning effect. Something inside her melted at his delicate attentions. Such seductive gentleness. She didn’t want it to end. “It’s not as if it’s a hardship.”

“I should not abuse you this way.”

“Abuse?” she repeated, reluctantly amused by his choice of words. She yanked up her T-top to give him better access. “You’re not taking advantage of me. More like I’m the one taking advantage of you.”

Another wave of shivers swept her, prickles of delight stealing her breath and filling her with frothy lightness. The thought of waking to find him gone, retaken by his prison, floated in the back of her mind—the specter of future loss. Each time Romir used whatever it was that let him manipulate the lights in the corridor, he probably weakened his ability to resist his prison. If making love helped keep him free, it was no burden.

No burden at all.

 

 

The nipple under
his fingers grew taut and her breast, warmer and rosier, a firm weight in his palm. The unexpected pleasure of it was a blessing from the gods.

Romir could feel his prison tugging on his essence, his use of power strengthening its call. But Asrial’s was stronger.

Her heart drummed under his hand, its beat pronounced and steadily faster. Arching against him like a lazy
shera
, she purred, a definite sound of pleasure. Her buttocks pressed back, stroking him firmly. Her motions woke the hunger of his senses, blowing on the embers and fanning the hesitant flames to life.

Asrial’s generosity astonished him: to offer herself so freely, to allow him to touch her so intimately, to trust him this much . . .