Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [72]
The slow return of oxygen helped his brain to realise his hands were free, and he began to frantically gouge the putty from his mouth. Sitting up, he coughed and spat the material out onto the ground.
As the tears cleared from his eyes, the darkest clump of shadows on the dock became two figures: his assailant and another, his rescuer. His rescuer had the assailant trussed up by something attached to a long handle, a whip of some kind. The rescuer took what Thales thought was a spray tube from his pocket and sprayed the assailant’s neck. Then he wrapped his fingers around the assailant’s throat.
‘You liking that?’ A woman’s voice. Low and soft.
A woman?
The assailant fell slack almost immediately and she kicked the man’s torso over so that the whip could unravel.
‘We need to hurry up before someone gets curious about the noise. Can you walk?’ she asked.
Thales got onto his knees and pushed himself erect. His throat was on fire still, and his mouth felt like it was bruised and coated with dirt. ‘Who - are - you?’
She curled the whip into neat loops and hooked it onto her belt. She was taller than him by more than a head, and dressed in the plain station overalls favoured by most workers. He couldn’t make out the details of her face.
‘Friend of a friend said you’d needed a hand,’ was all she said.
Thales massaged his throat to help him speak. ‘Th-thank you. B-but I don’t—’
‘Suit yourself,’ she cut him off. ‘But you’ll be dead soon if you don’t come with me. This one here is the softest of Lasper’s men. He’ll send one of the good ones after you next and that will be that. I don’t plan to hang ‘round here while you think about it.’
She gave a little salute and walked past him towards the container wall.
It was her pragmatism that frightened him most; the dry, flat nature of a voice that didn’t bother with lies. Like the mercenary Rast Randall, but without the hint of malice in it.
‘Wait,’ said Thales.
She stopped, but didn’t turn around.
He snatched up the small sack containing his aspect cube and tied it to his waist. Then he hastened over to her.
‘Pull your collar up and lean against me. Pretend we’ve been down here looking for a quiet place to shag.’ She draped her arm across him and pulled him into the crook of her shoulder. Then she leaned her head down against his and led him out into the light.
Thales’s heart beat as hard and quick as it had in the moments he’d been set upon. Yet they barely drew a glance from those busy loading or prepping ships.
Somewhere, around Dock 8, a balol in a lift cab called out to her. ‘Hey, Fariss! Come over here and try a man your own size for a change.’
She made a rude gesture over her shoulder and steered Thales on.
When they entered the main-shaft lift she pressed the button for the level above them and pushed him up against the back wall. Then she splayed her body across his, head bent into his neck as though they were kissing or speaking intimately.
Her breath glanced hotly off his cheek. ‘Relax,’ she whispered. ‘You’re too stiff.’
He tried to do as she asked, but shock had taken over his body and he was shaking uncontrollably. Maybe it was also her proximity making him feel that way.
She grasped his arm and gave it a commanding squeeze. ‘Deal with it!’
‘C-cannot,’ he whispered. He sagged against her, overcome by weakened muscles, unable to get his fear reaction under control; terrified that his bowels would loosen and empty where he stood. They’d left the man dead; neck broken.
She pulled Thales closer and stroked his back. Her hands were surprisingly gentle and soothing.
He opened his eyes and looked over her shoulder at those near them. Curious stares greeted him. Not just idle ones either. They knew her. Thales saw envy in some glances, and suspicion in others.
He closed his eyes again and let himself be supported by her, shivering against her body warmth until the lift announced their level.
As the doors opened, he tried valiantly to straighten but she clamped him against