Aftermath (37 page)

“Are you certain?” He asks because he must. Vel is nothing if not cautious.

“I’m sure. Is it something we can have done here?” Gehenna is a place of wonders, contraband, vice, and unexpected beauty. But I don’t know if the tattooists on world are conversant with this type of marking. I wouldn’t have his chitin marred by someone inexperienced in the art.

“I know a place,” he says.

“Then let’s go.”

He leads me down from my room to the street, where we hail a hover cab; Vel keys the destination on the pad, and it takes us deep into the heart of the market. A few meters below, the passersby swarm along the walkways. Gehenna has limited air traffic inside the dome, only public vehicles and those who can afford the exorbitant license fees, which leaves most of the populace afoot.

The automated vehicle lets us off outside a one-story building; it’s built of some dark alloy. No windows and not even a sign to tell what kind of business goes on within. I certainly wouldn’t approach on my own, but Vel seems sure as he moves toward the door.

He presses the arrival button on the comm, and momentarily, a face appears on the vid screen. “Tat or piercing?”

“Exotic ink,” he replies.

“You have payment in full?” I can see why that would be a concern in a business like this one. You don’t want to produce a lovely work, then discover the client can’t afford it. Repo is tricky in this particular market.

“Of course.”

“I’ll buzz you in.”

It’s brighter and cleaner inside than I expected, given the general dreariness of the exterior. I follow Vel down a well-lit hallway covered in abstract art to a waiting room with white walls and sleek, lime green chairs. A couple of others are seated ahead of us in the queue; most already possess interesting body alterations. One man has pointed ears and a blue pattern running down one side of his face. He smiles at me, revealing sharply filed teeth.

“Will it hurt you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “There is no feeling in the carapace.”

It takes an hour before the others are served. Eventually, it’s just Vel and me, watching the Friendly Robotics model receptionist. She’s one of the efficient-looking Jane units with a no-nonsense hairstyle and a plain face. The Lila—like the form we found for Constance—had the disadvantage of looking too sexy; it didn’t serve well in business. That’s part of why they retired the model; the other reason was that people often bought it as a sexual surrogate, due to its extreme attractiveness, and the licensed sex workers protested, saying such technology cut into their ability to earn a living. If a client can purchase a partner for the equivalent of five visits to a professional, it pays for itself in no time. So they implemented the Jane, and we’ve seen her all across the galaxy over the course of our travels.

At last, the artist calls us back. She is a slight woman whose skin shows no sign of the interesting patterns she puts on other people, but perhaps she prefers to keep such designs private. I can understand that. Despite signs of Rejuvenex treatments, probably to keep her hands steady, she’s also older than I expected, and I wonder if she knew him when he was with Adele. Her warm greeting indicates that may be the case.

“I’m glad to see you as yourself, my friend. It was a shame you had to hide for all those turns.”

“Different times,” Vel says.

She nods at that. “Truer words were never spoken. How things have changed.”

She glances at me then. “You must be Jax.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised; people have been recognizing me for turns. “Nice to meet you.”

The artist shakes my hand. “I’m Colette. Do you know what you want?”

Though I haven’t discussed it with Vel, I do. “The Ithtorian symbol for grimspace in black, red, and silver.”

“Black for the outline, red for accent, silver for fill?”

I am
impressed
. “Exactly. How did you know?”

“That’s how I’d choose to do it.”

Turning to Vel, I ask, “Is that all right with you? I know it’s not the color of Ithtorian honor marks.”

Those are kind of a mustard yellow, and they don’t do designs. Those are just slashes of rank. If we go forward, this will separate him from his peers in yet another way, but this is a personal pledge between us, not a promotion. I’ve worn his mark for turns, apparently; it’s time to complete the circle.

“I like it,” he says. “It represents you well.”

Colette busies herself with the supplies. “I’ll get prepped, then.”

The bell rings, but she ignores it. I gather we’ll be her last clients of the day. A chemical smells wafts from the container she’s mixing in; this must be the acid wash that textures the chitin so it will hold the ink. I confess I find the process fascinating. I sit quiet as she finishes and turns to Vel. Unlike the Ithtorians, she doesn’t treat a wide area. They assume the subject will want a large patch prepared, thus stating the intent to work toward greater honor. Instead, the artist draws the pattern I want with a delicate brush, painting it on first with the base treatment, thus readying the carapace for a very specific pattern. Mine.

Until this moment, I didn’t know exactly how I’d feel about this step. I was sure, but you can’t know how a moment will feel until it arrives. Everything else is just guesswork and anticipation. But right now, I’m so proud, I can’t stand it. He’s willing to proclaim to the world that he’s my partner; I wonder if he feels that way about his pattern on my throat. And even if nobody else in the galaxy knows what this ink exchange means, it matters to him. I can tell by the cant of his head.

“Just hold still,” she tells him, as she finishes the first step. “We need to give this time to set.”

He complies, claws resting on his legs. There’s a somber air about him, as if this is a ceremony of great weight. But I already knew that. It’s not marriage, but for him, it’s every bit as profound. In all honesty, it is for
me
, too. I don’t undertake this commitment lightly. It’s more than I’ve promised another person since before my ill-fated marriage to Simon.

“This needs to dry before I can continue, and I have another client. Let me go check on her.” Colette leaves us alone in the studio, and I turn to admire the images of her work that line the otherwise pristine walls.

“How do you know her?” I ask, once the door swishes shut.

I already suspect, of course, but his life with Adele fascinates me. She loved him freely and openly, no boundaries, no judgment. From what I knew of her, that doesn’t surprise me at all, but it also makes me wonder at his secrets. What was Vel like with her, and did she know him better than I do? This feeling isn’t quite jealousy, but I wouldn’t know what to call it, either.

“Adele liked tattoos. She added a new pattern, a small one, each turn that I knew her.”

“And you came with her?” I’m guessing.

“Sometimes, if the shop was closed.”

I imagine them going about their lives beneath the titian sky, quiet lives, normal ones. He must have been content with that. He’s like a chameleon, then—able to stay or go, with no preference to hold him hostage. Unlike me. I’ll always be a junkie. Grimspace blazes in my veins, boils in my cells. I can’t give it up, nor do I want to. Asking me to stay dirtside? Well, it would be kinder to shoot me.

Colette returns shortly thereafter. She goes about the rest of her work in silence, inking the pattern in lines of color, and when she finishes, it’s both elegant and artful. The other Ithtorians will find it shocking—maybe even offensive. I hope I’m around for that. When they realize he’s chosen a human partner, they will be even more shocked. Or maybe not. They were speculating it was the case on Ithiss-Tor, and they’re calling him my longtime companion on the bounce. Soon, they’ll be making smut vids about how we make the physiological differences work. Since there are so many niche fetishes, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover it’s true.

“Do you want me to seal it?” Colette asks.

Vel glances at me, the light refracting on his side-set eyes, and answers, “Yes.”

So as a final step, she paints a clear lacquer over the symbol. The Ithtorians don’t do that; they leave the carapace unbonded because it shows ambition: the intention to gain more honor marks as they ascend the political ladder. This seal indicates Vel has no higher aspirations than the mark I’ve given him—and I could hardly be prouder than I am at this moment.

“Do you like it?” I ask, as we leave Colette’s shop, stepping into the warm orange twilight.

“You chose it.” For him, that is an answer.

Now our business on this world is ended. I am fast approaching a fork in my journey, and that choice—whether I bear left or right—will decide everything in the turns to come.

 

 

 

My dear Suni,

 

You imagined nothing, and my regard remains unchanged. I understood your decision of expedience then, as I welcome your return now. Please journey posthaste to La’heng, where I am embroiled in my latest intrigue. Trust I will put your vast political experience, your impressive brain, and your treasured company to good use.

Do not keep me waiting. I’ve waited long enough.

 

Yours,
Edun

Leaving Gehenna feels like a permanent good-bye. Before,
I always knew Adele was waiting for me—and that the little garret I once occupied, I could claim again, should I have the need. But she didn’t own that building, and they’ve already rented her apartment. Yet however much I mourn her loss, for Vel it’s worse.

I remember the framed image, sitting beside her bed even these many turns later. She loved him, no matter their differences, and held him in her heart until the end. The way he held that picture, studied it, with such intensity, breaks my heart. She is lost to him, but he must go on. I’ll help him deal with the pain however he lets me, and I hope my colors on his chitin offer some measure of solace. It is a pledge between us of continuity and companionship—in a universe where chaos consumes all it touches, this one thing shall never change.

Titian skies blaze all around us as Hit receives clearance from the spaceport. I have a decision to make before we can plot our course. It is, at base, a significant one, and the echoes will follow me through the turns. Do I keep my promise to March, though it will probably be hard and painful?

I said to him,
I’ll come
. But part of me wants to get on with my mission. I don’t want to see the new life he’s built, in which I have no part. Yet avoidance offers the coward’s path, I think. With a faint sigh, I angle my steps toward the lounge, so I can see the atmosphere yield to darkness and stars. The ship is idle, as I ponder our path—straight to La’heng . . . or not. I wanted to get off the ground, but now I am possessed of an unusual uncertainty. For once, my heart and head are completely opposed, as I stand by the screen, watching the stars. They twinkle with unusual brilliance, as if tempting me to travel.

Sometimes I wish I could fly away from everything, leave behind my promises and my failures, and just leave the universe wondering what became of me. They can replay the old bounce stories and speculate, and in time, forget I ever existed. I’m to the point where I’m ready for eternal anonymity. Though some people spend their whole lives chasing notoriety, I feel like I’ve spent mine fleeing from it . . . and trying to live down a reputation I gained through grief and desperation.

But before I disappear off the galactic radar, I have one final piece of business. Loras thought he didn’t matter to me because of the way I treated him—the way everyone treated him. I left him to die, and the fact that he survived doesn’t let me off the hook. I have to make things up to him, the only way that matters: by figuring out a way to set his people free. Maybe it’s too grand a scheme, but I’m not alone in it. Vel comes with me, always. I touch my throat and smile. Zeeka, too, will stay by my side, a grace I undoubtedly do not deserve. It strikes me then—as I’ve become less human, so have my companions. I suppose that’s fitting.

Hit pings my comm. “Should I sit tight?”

The unspoken question is, though:
Are we jumping soon?

“Yeah.”

We’ll be grounded on La’heng for a long while, no doubt, while we try to get the necessary permissions to start the trials. It will take time to gain trust and gather allies. La’heng isn’t a good place, for obvious reasons. Their inability to defend themselves have left them open to an endless parade of armed invaders, ostensibly present on planet for altruistic reasons and who instead rape the resources. Once they’ve taken what they wanted, the soldiers disappear until the next wave arrives. Hostile forces have occupied La’heng more often than any other world since the Axis Wars, and nobody cares enough to change things.

But I do. Not because of the plight of La’heng itself, though that’s unforgivable. I’m doing this for my friend.

Vel joins me a few minutes later. We gaze in silence for a few moments before he says, “You cannot decide what to do.”

I let out a sigh. “No. It’s not that. I’ve made up my mind. I’m just debating whether I have the wherewithal to handle it in person.”

“It would be unkind to act otherwise,” he notes.

“I guess that’s my answer, then.” I pause, gazing up at him.

“Indeed.”

He is so familiar to me now that he doesn’t look strange. I can read his moods as I would a human male’s: cant of head, positioning of limbs, flare of mandible, how he holds his claws. They also tell me a story about his state of mind. And right now, he seems troubled.

“Does it bother you that I love him, too?” That’s the first time I’ve used that word aloud for what’s between us, but it fits. Nothing else is big enough. When he almost died in the Maker ’verse, it hit me like a payload of magnetized iron how lost I’d be without him. And that, too, is why I asked him to wear my colors.