He shrugged. ‘You always had great lips.’ And his eyes were on them, and his tongue was darting out to lick his own lips, like the wolf in an Old Earth fairy-tale.

  Kyn could feel her temper building. ‘Whether or not I do, it doesn’t mean you can just come along and start poking them.’

  He laughed, a full, meaty sound that played havoc with her already confused senses. ‘Now I wouldn’t have called that a poke,’ he said gently.

  ‘What was it, then?’ She knew she shouldn’t ask.

  He paused, licking his lips again. ‘An appreciative gesture,’ he said finally, shrugging once more. ‘A sneaky check, to see if they could really be that perfect.’ He grinned. ‘Or whether maybe it was just a trick of the dim light.’

  Kyn’s breath caught at his words. He had always been like this, sweet and persuasive and too sure of himself, and too charming, and too honest, and too Symon for anyone to withstand. Whispered endearments were not something Kyn understood. And no-one had ever even called her beautiful, let alone perfect. Kyntura had been an Avenger since eighteen, and love, and beautiful, and poetry, and sweet words were not part of the steady diet of an Avenger. Life was about survival, and pain; rigor and discipline.

  Symon pushed a finger into Kyn’s hard abs. ‘That’s a poke,’ he said, making her smile involuntarily as his long finger connected with the sweet spot under her ribs. ‘Ouch,’ he said, a wicked twinkle lighting up his face as he pretended that his finger bounced off the hardness of her six-pack. ‘But I can see you’re still ticklish under all that muscle!’

  No. Oh no, no, no, no way.

  Kyn ducked to the side quickly, but this huge man was surprisingly fast. Especially for a navigator. He captured her from behind, his tummy pressed against her back, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her fast. She could have dropped him. Even with the good hold he had on her, she could have performed a very standard Avenger counter-move and had him on the floor, writhing in agony, in seconds.

  But it seemed a little extreme.

  And it felt kind of good to be wrapped tightly in his arms as his long fingers began to tickle her tummy experimentally. ‘What about this part?’ he breathed against her ear as she became aware of just how close and tight his hold was. ‘Still ticklish there?’

  ‘No,’ she bit out, feeling light-headed as she realised what she was doing. Playing tickles forty-five minutes before mission rendezvous. Her first live mission in two years. But his fingers were so firm and expert, and they felt lovely on her skin as they slid under the stretchy syntton of her Avenger reds and stroked her arousal-warmed skin.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, using his fingers to explore the front of her, poking and tickling randomly as he did. He leaned closer and experimentally licked her ear. Delicious shivers ran down her spine. ‘How about that? Does that tickle a little?’

  Tickle definitely wasn’t the right word for what he was doing to her. Her nipples stood out hard and on edge as he licked at her neck and then at her ear some more. Kyn’s breath was balled up, high and hard in her throat.

  This had to stop. ‘No,’ she said, going for casual but disconcerted at coming off a little breathy and giddy. She stepped neatly out of his clutches. ‘It just felt kind of…’ She searched for a suitable hosing-down word. ‘…wet.’

  He raised his eyebrows at her, his mouth curving into a sexy smile. ‘Really?’ He inched closer to where she stood backed hard against the navtube. The space was so tiny, and he was so big. His smile showed all those white teeth, and he was like a wolf, or a shark, stalking her. ‘Because that’s not how it seemed to me. It seemed like you were liking it.’

  She tried to snort. ‘Maybe you don’t know much about reading women’s signals.’ She twisted the knife. ‘Best stick to reading star charts.’

  This time he laughed out loud, and his eyes got a strange, far-away look. ‘It certainly would be easier.’

  There it was again: that secretive, shuttered look to his normally warm, open face. What was he hiding? The thought that there was something going on, something that might involve him, something secret, shook Kyntura out of the drugged haze she’d been in since she’d felt him skate his finger across her lips. Secrets were dangerous in New Earth. Only The Council had secrets. And The Council had to know everything. There were good reasons why.

  ‘Symon,’ she said, stepping forward. ‘There is so much you don’t know. About how it all works.’ A lot of it she had only learned as she had ascended to the rank of Captain. And she knew there was more, much more that she didn’t know, that others knew.

  ‘You’d be surprised, Kyn,’ he said, looking as though the warm playtime was over.

  An awful thought lodged itself deep in Kyn’s brain.

  ‘Symon,’ she sighed. ‘You aren’t part of The Backlash?’

  His face was unreadable. ‘And what is The Backlash, Kyn?’

  Oh, man. She wanted to slap him. He had always been so clever, this boy. Always thought he knew better. ‘It’s a threat,’ she said. ‘A threat to the only thing we have anymore — our unity.’

  Symon shrugged. ‘And here I thought it was just a bunch of people asking some questions.’

  Kyn closed her eyes. ‘They’d like you to believe that.’

  Symon stepped so close to Kyn he could have reached out and traced her lips again. ‘They, Kyntura? And who exactly are they?’

  Her eyes snapped open. ‘People who don’t remember how we survived.’

  A low hiss of frustration escape from Symon’s mouth and he reached up and put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little. ‘You, of all people, should know not to buy all the bullshit they feed you.’

  Kyn opened her mouth to protest, but she was too slow. Symon’s lips were upon hers, fast and hard and very insistent, opening hers with his tongue and pushing inside. She should have pushed him away. She should have stomped his foot with her hutanium-toed boot and yelled at him to get his head together if he thought he was coming on her mission.

  But she didn’t.

  Her body sighed and breathed and relaxed into him. Her lips parted further and let him wander right in. Her skin lit up as his tongue pushed into her mouth and his lips pressed insistently against hers. His thigh pressed between her legs, pushing her back against the hard skin of the navtube, pressing into her sex with blatant intent.

  She had about thirty minutes until launch, and she was letting him do it all.

  What started slow and hard built in intensity. In seconds, his hands were on her hair, testing the silky prickles under his fingers and scraping at her neck, trying to drag her body closer to his as he pushed himself — tongue, thigh, sex — harder into her. She could feel just how badly he wanted her, right here and right now. She would stop him. This was all wrong. This was Symon, her oldest friend. Symon, who had rebelliously and foolishly pushed his way into her mission. Symon who was opening his mouth and spouting crazy things about The Backlash. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  She would stop him, any minute. As soon as he drew back for air. As soon as his hands strayed from their relentless path towards the places he had tickled her a few moments ago. As soon as his big, hard body drew back from her and let her have some air and space to think. She would let him kiss her for one more minute only, then she would pull back and let him have it. She’d tell him what a confused, wrong-headed, stubborn jerk he was. She would do all those things, in one more minute.

  But that wasn’t how it went down.

  It wasn’t Kyn who stopped him at all.

  ‘Captain.’ The voice was very even, very respectful. And there was no subversive look of defiance from its owner when she broke away for air either.

  But Krysto didn’t need either of those things. Instead, he just had this — this situation. Her, wrapped compromisingly around Symon. Both of them leaping from each other as if they’d been caught by Hydrentian Head-hunters. And this was all he needed. She had never made Krysto any promises, but she was sure he had thought her caution with him the product of their situation, rather than any inclination elsewhere.

  She stole a look at Symon, and there was no mistaking the soft red flush that lit his high cheekbones, or the wicked sparkle in those brown eyes. Although, judging by the look on his face, he clearly had no inclination towards explanations or apologies. ‘What is it, Lieutenant?’ he said, stepping away from Kyn and eyeing the younger man with an authority unusual in a navigator.

  Kyrsto looked younger than ever today. Was it because he was standing next to Symon, who, although only Kyn’s age, was so big and heavy, so tall and dark? It somehow made Krysto’s lean strength look even more boyish, his dirty-blond sweep of hair less rock star, more teenage angst.

  Kyn thought about Krysto, asking her if he was real, that first time. She knew he wasn’t a child.

  Kyrsto steadfastly refused to meet Symon’s eyes, focusing solely on Kyntura. ‘Captain,’ he said, something about his tone of voice placing Kyn’s whole body on high alert. ‘We have a problem.’

  ***

  ‘How long has he been gone?’

  Asha sighed. ‘It has to have been in the last two hours.’

  Kyn returned his sigh. You could get a long way in that time. Pods left the larger stations all the time. In and out. Trading missions, raids. Information. Travel between the sectors. She knew there was no going after him. Not now. Not now that everyone knew. Everyone who mattered on this station, anyway.

  ‘The Governor has already alerted the Enforcers.’ Asha’s face was pale. They both knew what it meant for Reetor.

  ‘He’s not a coward,’ Kyn said.

  Asha nodded. ‘What was it, then?’

  ‘He thought he was going mad.’ It hurt to say it. It hurt to think he had spoken to her about it; she’d had him there, with her. She had tried to talk him down from the ledge. She’d failed. The weight of it sat in her stomach like a stone.

  ‘Will they get him?’

  Kyn considered Asha’s question. She swallowed hard. ‘He’s smart. Very smart. Maybe one of the smartest I ever had. He thinks things through. He’ll have a plan.’

  ‘But he’s raw.’ Asha echoed her thoughts..

  She nodded, a dull throb beating at the back of her head.

  ‘And the Enforcers are some of the best.’

  She nodded again. ‘He’s toast.’

  Asha studied her quietly while she tried to collect her thoughts. ‘I’m going to come in his place.’

  Kyn’s headache suddenly ramped up in intensity. What was this? What the hell was this? Were these people determined to mess with her? Did they think they were helping, coming along? Did they have any idea how compromised she would be, with the only people she really loved in the world along for the ride while she tried to fulfil this mission and keep twelve — she corrected herself, eleven — raw fighters alive to fight another day?

  ‘Damnit,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t y’all get it? I don’t need you.’

  Asha blinked slowly at her. ‘Kyntura,’ he snapped. ‘Tabi is going. Out there, where the new things are. Where we have lost people. To…to God knows what. Sure, I want to help keep you safe.’ He ran his hands through his honey-blond hair. ‘But seems to me you’ve been doing a fine job of that yourself these last ten years.’ He stepped in front of Kyn, filling up her line of sight. ‘I can’t lose her again, Kyn.’ His voice broke.

  ‘And what the hell do you think you — or I, for that matter—– could do about it once we’re down on Eden 13?’

  Asha smiled. ‘Don’t give me that, Kyn,’ he said. ‘You know damn well she’s got no chance without us.’

  Kyn sighed, feeling it in her whole body, like the way a dog sighs. ‘What about Symon?’

  Asha blinked at her again. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Okay for him to come too, huh? Regular old Sweetheart reunion? Who’s going to take care of him? If you and I are watching Tabi’s back?’

  A strange look flittered across Asha’s handsome face. Kyn’s head hurt trying to decipher it — something closed and hooded like the one she had seen on Symon himself. ‘Don’t worry about Tab’s little brother,’ he said quietly. ‘He can take care of himself.’

  Kyn shivered thinking about the words little brother. There had been nothing little brotherish about him as he had pressed her hard against that navtube and pressed his tongue and sex into her.

  And what did he mean: he can take of himself? What did he know? Everyone seemed to have secrets, and they seemed to centre on Symon.

  ‘What the hell is going on down here?’ Kyn knew things were happening out in the outer sectors, but she couldn’t think about them right now. She had a mission to prepare for which was leaving in — she checked her comms — twelve minutes, when her boys (and girl) would arrive. She needed a full suite of warriors if she was to make it work, and this seasoned, hardened Avenger was offering himself to her. She might lose him, but it might also be one way to keep an extra set of eyes on Tabi and Symon. And she could introduce him to the group when they arrived in a little over ten minutes.

  ‘How quickly can you be ready?’

  Asha shrugged, pointing to the pack at his feet. ‘Ready,’ he said.

  Kyn hesitated. ‘One condition,’ he said.

  Asha paused, then nodded.

  ‘Your first priority is Tabi,’ Kyn said softly. She grabbed his arm, hard and rough. ‘I know it, Asha. Remember. I’m one, like you. I know the Avenger code. Troop first.’

  Asha nodded.

  ‘But not this time. Tabi first, this time, you get it? And not just for you.’ She thought about Pietr’s face, whenever he looked at his beautiful daughter, how it had softened.

  Asha smiled, and pulled her fingers away from his hard bicep. He clucked his tongue. ‘Oh, Kyntura,’ he drawled, sounding so Southern it almost hurt her ears. ‘You’ve never been in love, have you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she replied quickly.

  He shook his head. ‘ ‘Cause if you had been, you wouldn’t have to say that to me.’ He leaned closer. ‘I would walk over all of you — even you — to get to her. She is mine.’

  Something about his words both assured and terrified Kyn. The power of it. And what would it mean for this mission?

  And then she thought it again, the thing that had been playing with her since she knew she was coming back here. This was why. This was precisely why they said no relationships.

  Because relationships make you break the code.

  ***

  Kyntura was almost eighteen and it had been a bad day. She carefully checked that she was alone in the rounds before she began.

  So much to think about, so much to process. She fixed the buds in her ears, and the things on her feet. Then she started. There was no thought, there was no deliberation. There was only this.

  The music was contraband, and impossibly beautiful. Sweet and high and haunting, both slow and fast — the melody toying with your softer senses while the bass beat out a jungle rhythm that made you want to march and leap and do bad things.

  At first it was dance. But as high and hard and wicked as a dance got. Part ballet, part her own creation, born of the wildness and fight that had been burned into her that night, seven years before, back in Sweetheart, when the blackness gave way to light. She used the ragged shoes to take a whole routine apart en pointe, enjoying the agony in her toes, the ache in her calves. She pirouetted, and leapt, and spun until her head swam. Then she engaged the equipment.

  The dance was not enough anymore, had not been enough for a very long time. She skittered on the helio, turning it to ice. She leapt towards the bags, throwing her weight against them and fighting them hard as she turned around and around — a deadly dance with an intelligent partner. Then the climbers, running up them like she had stickies on her feet, back flipping off them, landing en pointe, flipping off into more spins — ten, twenty.

  It got faster and faster with the music in her ears. It was helping. God, thank God, thank God, it was helping. It was driving out the rage that had seen her lose it with that boy. The one who had called her the names. She tried not to think about how satisfying it had been to drive the heel of her hand into the bridge of his nose. She had felt the strength in her arms and wished she had been that strong that night, back in Sweetheart. She could have taken them. She would have taken them. She knew so much more now.

  More spins, more leaps, she was nearing the climax. She scaled the climber again, this time right to the top. And as she teetered on the edge, she thought for only a second about the other thing, the other thing she had been trying to drive out. She didn’t understand how it happened. How that that face that had been the closest and dearest companion to her, had become something more — terribly, suddenly? And what the hell was she going to do about it? She could never tell him. Where would her safe harbour be now? Now that the boy who was her safe harbour had made her feel so wild?

  She teetered briefly on the edge of the climber, and then she let go, stretching her body long and lean and hard, wondering for a brief second if she might fly, such was the force of the strength in her arms and legs. She flew through the round like a glider, relishing the height and speed and danger of it, before landing again en pointe, only to sink down into the full splits, her head resting by her side, her breath pumping in and out of her screaming lungs.

  She was alone, and she had exorcised it all.

  When she looked up, he was there. And he was clapping.

  ‘How long have you been watching?’

  ‘Long enough,’ he said, his gruff voice telling her all she needed to know. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  She stood quickly, striding over to him, knowing that he would give her the look he always gave her, and that it would give her courage. The look that said they understood each other. And that he knew she was different. Just like him. ‘I want to join.’

  He didn’t say ‘join what?’ or ‘you can’t’ or ‘you’re a girl’.

  He just nodded. ‘Of course you do,’ he said, his eyes flicking up towards the climber from which she had just leapt. ‘You know it will be hard? Not just for me, to get you in. But for you.’

 

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