Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [174]
She set the box down at her feet and looked at him with a mixture of feelings plain on her face. Had she fantasized about a situation like this? Fitzpatrick certainly had, though he was loath to admit it. “Oh? Did you have something else in mind?” Her coy voice was seductive and playful, but with an undertone of uncertainty. He suspected Zhett liked to talk a lot, but wasn’t used to following through on her advances.
Fitzpatrick stood in front of her, trying to cut a dashing and handsome figure, and mostly succeeding at feeling clumsy. “We could just let the compies finish up, and you and I...” He shrugged. “I don’t know. This rock isn’t exactly my idea of a good place for a picnic.” He gestured toward the back wall of the asteroid chamber, hating what he was being forced to do in the name of loyalty to the EDF. So many of his comrades were depending on him. “I see a nice storage room back there. It would give us a bit of privacy.”
Zhett laughed, but a bit nervously. “Privacy? Are you afraid the compies will see something they shouldn’t?” She tossed her long dark hair, still flirting but seeming over her head.
He rolled his eyes. He had to keep her off her guard, stay one step ahead, though she was sure to grow suspicious. “Don’t ask me to believe that you Roamers have no cameras or surveillance systems inside your docking bays.”
“Well, we don’t—but I won’t ask you to believe it. Suit yourself.” As if afraid she might lose her nerve, Zhett bounded toward the door of the storage room. “What are you waiting for? Do I intimidate you?”
“Not in the least.”
She increased the illumination inside the chamber and rearranged a few crates so the two of them would have a place to sit and talk...or whatever. As he stood at the door, Zhett looked naive and very beautiful. Considering that the Roamers were always so secretive and paranoid about their hideouts, Fitzpatrick thought it strange that she was so open and gullible. Zhett actually trusted him.
He paused to gather his nerve. “Against my better judgment, you’ve actually become sort of...special to me. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re acting weird, Fitz.”
He despised what he had to do, but he meant what he said...and deep inside he despised himself for meaning it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He gave her a fumbling kiss on the cheek, then withdrew quickly. “Just a minute. I want to get something from the supplies. I think I saw a few pastry preserves in a container. It’ll make a good start for a picnic.”
“All right.” She grinned, and he began to turn, but hesitated. Then, surprising even himself, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. She caught her breath, as if to make a comment—but he kissed her again, full on the mouth. At first the kiss was rushed, startling. He had meant just to distract her, to keep her from thinking too much. She blinked her eyes, looking into his, and then she closed them, enjoying his lips as he relaxed, kissing her again, longer this time. When he broke away, she was completely unable to speak.
Blushing crimson, he swaggered out the door. “I’ll be right back.” Damn!
When her back was turned to the crates, Fitzpatrick closed the door and scrambled the electronic mechanism to lock the hatch. Not sure it would hold for long—Roamers probably had emergency escape controls inside the storeroom—he picked up a prybar from the equipment pile and swung it in a sharp arc, smashing the panel in a spray of sparks.
Zhett was already pounding on the inside of the door. Her voice was muffled, but he could imagine the sort of harsh language she was using.
Out in the docking bay, the quiet compies finished their work as instructed. They didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. At least they were regular models, not Soldier compies that would soon start suffering from poor job performance, thanks to Yamane’s virus.
Fitzpatrick ran toward the gangly-looking cargo escort. It looked like an anorexic spider, not much more than a pilot chamber and grappling struts to hold