“It applies.”
“Handsome is typically?—”
“Kauss.”
“Yes?”
“Take the compliment.”
He stands very still. “Thank you.”
Darlene exhales smoke. “Precursors preserve us, we may survive the opening round.”
Kauss looks at her. “You will lock the rear door?”
“Already did.”
“And the upstairs window?”
“Locked.”
“And the side panel?”
“Bolted.”
“And the emergency comm?”
Darlene holds up my old shock baton. “Loaded, charged, and emotionally ready.”
He nods, apparently accepting this as appropriate elder defense.
I step beneath the umbrella he has brought, which is large enough to cover both of us because of course Kauss found an umbrella sized like a tactical canopy. He holds it high enough that I do not have to duck.
“You brought appropriate equipment,” I say.
“It is raining.”
“How romantic.”
“It would be inefficient for you to get wet before arrival.”
“Less romantic.”
“I will improve.”
I grin up at him. “You’re doing fine.”
The transit ride downtown becomes its own kind of date. Kauss takes the aisle seat, positioning himself between me and the rest of the late-evening crowd without comment. The public skiff hums through rising traffic lanes, leaving Halo’s patched roofs and dim lamps below as downtown swells ahead in tiers of glass, neon, and moving light. I press close to the window,watching the city transform beneath us. Kauss watches the reflections, the doors, the passengers, the pilot’s compartment, the emergency exits, and me trying not to laugh at him.
“You are assessing threats,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Can you assess them less visibly?”
“I am being subtle.”
“You look like you’re deciding which passenger would be most useful as a shield.”
