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“Yes, I did.”
“No. I knew you didn’t.”
“Listen to me, animal, I intended you great harm.”
“You wanted to intend me harm,” she says. “But you could never have hurt me.”
She lives in a world of her own mental construction, navigating around obstacles that may or may not exist. It must be part of her life of deception, to constantly imagine the thoughts and impulses of others. Perhaps she is right some of the time. Perhaps she is right now. Maybe I am retroactively claiming greater villainy than I was capable of…
“You make my head hurt, human.”
She gives a sad little smile. “I make my head hurt too.”
9
Tarni
“It tickles, animal.” Kail shifts uncomfortably.
He used to call me animal to keep a separation between us, but now there is a certain affection in his tone when he uses the moniker. He said he forgives me, and I think I have to either believe him, or go straight up insane with guilt.
“Stay still, savage,” I rejoin. “Nope. Don’t like the way that sounds in my mouth. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize for words. Be sorry for the torture.”
He’s being dramatic, which is very uncommon for him, but that is because what is happening is very uncommon too. He is sitting naked on a stool and I am painting his muscles with a yellow paint that turns his green skin blue. Color theory, baby. Everything is a weapon in my hands. I’ve never had so much free rein before to do whatever I need to do. Prior missions always had their boundaries, but now I am fighting for my life, and Kail’s. I’m pulling out all the stops. By the time I am done with Kail, he is going to be completely unrecognizable.
He really does not like the touch of the brush. It is too wet and too tickly for his liking, but Kail allows me to do this because he trusts me, and he trusts me because he loves me. Not because I deserve it, or because I’m manipulating him into it, but because he just fucking does. It’s quite a novel experience for me. I’m not sure what to do with it, or how to trust it.
Fortunately, we’re about to make our first stop at an illicit station, and I know my handlers have a decent chance of anticipating this. If they’re waiting for us, we’re in trouble. I have to hope we get there first and manage to ditch the ship, blend into the crowds and pick up something that doesn’t draw attention.
“Let’s make sure we’re all packed,” I say, going over it for the umpteenth time. What we take off this ship is all we will have to start our lives over. My pants are stuffed with credit tokens, the most important element for our survival, at least until we go out beyond where Colonizer currency is expected.
I have the ship scanning the docks almost before we are in range to do so. We’re not detecting any other Colonizer signals, but they could be running dark. We’re not, because I have no idea how to make that happen. I know a lot of things, but I am not a Colony engineer.
“I have your pelts and my helmet,” Kail says. I don’t think he understands the point of what we’re doing here, and there’s not enough time to explain yet again. There’s not really that much worth taking. Money, clothes, and tradable objects.
I start whipping out bits of ship that I know the scrappers will want, nothing that will affect the handling so we can still make a landing.
Kail stands by the door with his small bag over his shoulder. He keeps messing with the extra fangs I inserted over his teeth to help him pass as someone other than himself, sticking the base of his thumb up against the pointed bits.
“This feels dishonorable,” he says.
“I know. But there’s no honor when you’re a fugitive. There’s just survival or lack thereof. Our first job is to find another ship as quickly as possible. So we’re going to stay on the docks, not wander, so on and so forth… I need you to stay with me.”
“I will not be leaving your side,” he says firmly.
“Maybe not that close. They will be looking for a big savage and a small human. We should leave the ship separately. You can keep an eye on me. I’ll do the talking.”
* * *
My first instinct is to look for a smuggler’s vessel. They’re usually equipped with stealth features and swift speed. But that might be too obvious, being my first impulse. A trader’s ship might be a better bet. Or perhaps just one of the old jalopies. They’ll be slow, and they’ll have no stealth, but they’ll also be overlooked by everyone looking for those who are fleeing.
“Slow and steady, or quick and flashy,” I murmur to myself.
“Slow and steady,” Kail says from behind me. “Part of a fleet, if possible, like picking out one fish from a shoal.”
I turn around, surprised at how good his instincts are, both to understand what I am talking about when I’m only speaking in half-sentences.
