Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [50]
I grin and mouth at her, The Big Bad Sue?
She shrugs and mutes the mic for a second. “It came with the moniker, and Dina liked it. Like I’m gonna tell her no.”
“I like it, too.” It just strikes me as funny because this little ship clearly isn’t a big bad anything. Sounds to me like the prior owner had a sense of humor.
“Big Bad Sue, what’s your purpose in port?”
“We plan to visit friends and relatives, enjoy your fine hospitality, and spend a few credits.”
“Big Bad Sue, you said the magic words. Are you carrying cargo today?”
Hit shakes her head though only I can see her, as they haven’t engaged the vid—no need and it distracts the pilot. Too many crash landings by those of lesser skill, and they learned better. “Negative, authority. Personnel only.”
“Stand by for docking bay number and trajectory for your arrival. We will, of course, need to scan for contraband.”
“And then tax us on it,” Hit mutters.
I stifle a laugh because that’s so true. They don’t much care what you bring into the dome, unless it’s Morgut, but you damn well better expect to pay the powers that be a cut of the profits. They won’t find anything interesting on us, however; we truly are here to see old friends . . . and trade in information.
Hit takes us in smoothly though she does calculate to make sure they’ve given us the correct trajectory. I haven’t trusted docking personnel since they killed my lover, seventy-five Conglomerate diplomats, and nearly ended my life as well. But the port authority here has no reason to want us dead; they want us to land, clear customs, and spend our credits inside the dome. After landing, it doesn’t take long to pass through the red tape. A routine scan, and we’re on our way.
Gehenna is a wonderland. Even in these difficult times, when interstellar travel is only beginning to recover from the blow I dealt it, the spaceport bustles with activity. Cargo ships from the outskirts whose tired crews look as though they hauled straight space to get here unload crates of raw herbs that will be processed and used to create kosh—one of the more expensive designer drugs, available only under the dome. It’s madly addictive, but it provides penultimate euphoria, or so I hear. I never did kosh; liquor was my drug of choice.
On my way out of the spaceport, I pat my pocket to ensure I have the two data spikes, different information, but destined for the same principal. The slight bulge beneath my fingertips reassures me. If I lost this data, it would mean profound failure, and right now, these missions give me a reason to push forward. I need to finish what I started.
Vel touches my arm to get my attention. “Could we call on Adele before our other business?”
“Of course.” She’s the woman who valued him enough to set him free. Back on Ithiss-Tor, I remember he mentioned a human lover, and it hadn’t taken much for me to connect the dots, given her odd words to him when he came for me clad in Doc’s skin. “Would you prefer to see her alone?”
I don’t want to intrude on a private moment.
But he curls his claws in obvious distress. “No, I would like you to go with me. It will be . . . difficult to see her. It was, when I came hunting you. She had changed so much, even then. It will be worse now.”
“Then I’ll go. I do want to see her . . . She was good to me.”
“That is her way,” he says softly. “So full of kindness.”
“I never knew how you ended up with her.” It’s a leading statement because I want to put it in the form of a question, but I shouldn’t pry.
He thinks a moment, head canted. In many months, I have not seen him in faux-skin. These days, he shows his chitin, if not proudly, then with a certain acceptance. But he is the general of the Ithtorian forces . . . or at least, he was. Vel resigned his commission around the time they booted me politely from the Armada. We’re both free agents now.
“You know everything else,” he answers at last. “I will share this as well if you would listen. But it is a story worth telling properly, not in bits and fragments.