I thought I said you wouldnt cause trouble, Mara said.
He shrugged. Trouble finds me.
She stepped close. She took his handeven in the stifling heat of the club, he was scorched by her touchand led him to a booth that mysteriously emptied as they approached. Once they settled in, she crooked her finger so that he bent his head to her. Lips an inch from his ear, she whispered, 8th Wing teach you that move?
It took him a moment to focus on what she was saying, rather than how close her mouth was, the light feathering of her breath against his cheek. Learned how to fight on Sayén.
She frowned, pulling back. Where?
He gave a low, rueful chuckle. It didnt surprise him shed never heard of it. My homeworld.
A rough place, she deduced. Where macskacats feed on street orphans and attack the unwary after dark. She started. You were one of those street orphans.
He nodded tightly. Sayén wasnt always like that. So I was told. Modestly prosperous. Nothing special. Until PRAXIS heard about the deposits of sherica .
She paled as understanding dawned. Sherica was an integral component for interstellar travel, used in countless reactors, and PRAXIS would want it for their own manufacturing.
PRAXIS did their usual procedure. His voice was toneless. Swoop in, tell everybody their lives were going to get better. For a while, that was true. Lots of developmentcities constructed, people buying more. The birth rate skyrocketed. All other industries fell away as everyone focused on harvesting the sherica. People forgot how to do anything but harvest. Then the sherica deposits dried up. PRAXIS left, taking with them the only source of income. And then He shrugged, though the movement felt stiff.
Chaos, Mara deduced.
The government applied to PRAXIS for aid. Troops, loans, anything. But PRAXIS got what they wanted. The Sayén I was born on had nothing but ravaged cities and broken people.
And you were one of them. She stared at him now, serious and sorry.
He didnt know if he liked seeing that expression on her face, not directed toward him. Pity never helped anyone. It hadnt helped him. Only determination and resolve had pushed him on, given him a new life away from the gutters of his ruined homeworld.
Howd you leave? she asked.
I earned creds doing what I was good at. Street brawling, cage fights, alpha tournaments. Bribed my way onto a passing cargo ship.
And became a flyboy, fighting against PRAXIS.
Something like that. He scanned the room, making sure that Scar Face wasnt coming back with reinforcements. When he glanced over at Mara, he found her gaze locked to his face. She looked a little stunned. More incredibly, there was no trace of pity in her expression. Onlyadmiration.
He had never spoken of any of that, not to anyone outside of confidential officer assessments.
When other 8th Wing personnel talked of home, Kell said nothing.
But hed told Mara things about himself that no one had ever heard. He didnt know why. He wasnt certain what she might say. Part of him wondered if she would use his history to taunt him, tell him that he was nothing but street trash pretending to be an ace pilot, that his 8th Wing uniform couldnt hide who he really was. A hot cage encircled his chest, burning his lungs, his heart.
Her opinion of him mattered . He saw this with a quick, vicious understanding.
Instead of speaking, her hand slid out from beneath the table top and wrapped around the fist he was not even aware of making. Slowly, she worked her fingers between his, until they were woven together.
The hot cage around his chest suddenly loosened.
This is where to come for information. She scanned the room. Her fingers were still threaded with his, so it took him a moment to understand
what she was saying. Anything happens in Beskidt By, or on Ryge, you just come to Kusas. Better than the latest news uploads.
He saw how the network operated. People continuously moved from table to table, some of them speaking with heads together, others shouting across the room. Light glinted off cred chips changing hands.
That guy in the corner. He discretely nodded toward the man in question. Hes got to be out of favor. No ones approaching him.
Mara send a quick, covert glance to where he indicated. Runrot. He sold out his smuggling partner a few solar months ago. Been a pariah ever since.
Honor among thieves.
A dark smile curved her mouth. Something like that, she said, echoing his earlier words.
And if they knew you brought 8th Wing here?
Her smile faded. I doubt theyd let me back in Beskidt By, let alone Kusas.
Guilt stabbed him. But this wasnt the time to delve into apologies, even for necessary evils, not when two men pushed back from a table and ambled toward the booth where he and Mara sat. A throb of loss shot through him when she pulled her hand from his.
She hadnt lied when she said smugglers and scavengers liked to dress flamboyantly. One of the men, blond and fit, wore black nyyrikki-hide pants and a red silk shirt laced up the front. The other had his head shaved and was wearing a shiny blue jumpsuit so snug, Kell sadly knew he dressed to the right.