Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [86]
It had not been enough for him before when he had taken Mira to the Tourmalines. Their date drifted to the surface of her mind—the gently warm sea water, and the cerise sand that had been vivid against her white bathing skin. She had felt unsure of herself, unsure of whether she liked the young Principe or not. Certainly she had been flattered, and excited. But then he had left her abruptly, after they had shared a kiss. It seemed so trivial now—the event that had caused her such embarrassment—but the water. .. how she longed to feel its honeyed touch.
Lost in the memories, she failed to notice Innis shift his seat closer, until he draped his arm over the back of her chair and breathed wine into her face.
Her focus sharpened onto the empty jug and the two men who’d been drinking from it—Innis and Marrat. Kristo and Cass and her children, she realised, had left.
‘My sh-ister’s taken to you,’ slurred Innis.
Mira leaned away from him instinctively.
He tried to pull her closer. ‘You ain’t got much to be stuck-up about now, Baronessa. Your type don’t run the place no more.’
Mira didn’t like his tone or the way heads were turning to listen and her skin crawled at his touch.
‘Anyway, how come you know so much about ginkos?’ He poked a foot at the sleeping Vito, startling the infant awake.
Mira shrugged off Innis’s arm and bent to Vito.
‘Do not touch my ragazzo. Do not touch me.’ She spoke the words loudly and clearly so that the message was unmistakable to Innis and to everyone else within earshot.
His mouth pinched tight. ‘Aristo-bitch.’ he hissed softly.
‘What are you gabbing about, Innis?’ Cass was back, standing beside them, taking in the empty jug and Mira kneeling protectively over Vito. ‘Have you been drinking?’
He pouted like a sulky ragazzo. ‘All I said is . . . how come she knows so much about ginkos?’
In front of everyone there, Cass slapped his face; a sharp, belittling sound that brought tears of embarrassment to his eyes. ‘I told you not to drink again. Ever. Not after. . .’
Mira stood up, clutching Vito tightly against her body. Not after what?
Cass held out a latte bladder. ‘I got this from the market next door. Basic amenities are being pooled and shared out. The kitchen will fill it for you.’
Mira took it from her, not trusting herself to speak, and went to the cucina.
The woman who had served her the eggs filled the bladder from the spout of a drink dispenser. ‘It’s not vitamin-enriched—we’re all out of additives. But it will do. That ‘bino of yours looks half-starved. And you look half-dead. I’ve finished my shift now. I can show you where the closest dormitory is.’
The korm gorged down the last of the kranse stalks and brought the empty bowl over to them, looking for more.
The woman shook her head. ‘No second helpings for anyone. Two meals a day and that’s all. May get down to less than that if this drags on.’
Mira took the bowl from the korm and passed it to her. ‘Grazi, signorina,’ she said.
The woman frowned, as if the polite form of address displeased her. ‘I am not a signorina. I am Mesquite.’
* * * *
Mira followed Mesquite down the dirt road, past the flapping market tents to a flat-topped structure that had been a leisure club. Coldtanks and deskfilms had been pushed aside against the walls and every space was crammed with thin roll-up bedfilms. Only about half of them had covers.
‘The men have got the same thing. They don’t like it. Most of them want to sleep near the TerVs,’ Mesquite rolled her eyes, ‘or with a woman. But we separated them up to cut down the trouble. Don’t know that it worked but when your population goes from one to five thousand in a couple of nights you got to try something.’
Mira gave a small smile and held out her hand. ‘Mira Fedor.’
‘I know,’ said the woman. She shook Mira’s hand, then began folding covers. ‘Word travels quicker here than most places. You’re from the pilot familia?’
Mira took a bedfilm and cover from