Incursion (5 page)

"What shape is he in?"

Winter hesitated, then grinned broadly. "I didn't hit him or anything. Just told him next time he launches like that without an emergency, I'll have his balls."

"And what did he say?"

"Said it
was
an emergency." Winter snorted. "Go see him."

Kyle stalked off, but didn't hurry. His senses had mellowed in the post-adrenaline haze, but he still kept both eyes open for unaccounted-for spaces on the ship. He'd hoped somebody would have let something slip about a passenger, but so far, nothing. Maybe they were too professional for that. Or maybe the Commissar had it all wrong and these people weren't actually harboring a fugitive spy.

The path to the ship's nerve center led through the mess area, now crowded with four men preparing food and putting up the long, narrow table and benches that had been folded down. He navigated around them, walked down the corridor, and stepped through the last door that swished open for him.

There were still some cable bundles hanging about, and he ducked beneath one. In the pilot seat, Grimm had reclined so far back it looked almost like he was lying in a bed. He was wearing the gray jumpsuit, but it was open at the chest, and he'd shed his combat boots, feet in tight compression socks. "Ah, Kyle, thanks for coming."

Beyond the metal shell surrounding them was the deep black of space; the screens that covered half the available room in front of the pilot seats were alive, offering the illusion of staring right into the void. Grimm leaned forward and slapped a button. The door behind Kyle whispered shut.

Kyle refused to glance behind him to acknowledge the noise. "What's up?" He could speak in innuendo, too.

Grimm turned his head lazily. His expression spoke of the same adrenaline haze Kyle had been floating in. "You have flight training; would you mind being useful?"

"Co-piloting the ship?"

"I'd prefer another human to watch the instruments while I'm sleeping. Our course shouldn't be too dangerous, but you never know."

That was reasonable enough, but something told Kyle that wasn't all there was to it. "Any other reasons?"

"You seem like the type who gets easily bored."

"Not at all."

"We could spend time together. Exchange stories." Grimm winked at him. "Also, the co-pilot seat is more comfortable than your bunk."

Kyle glanced at the other seat, which was piled high with cable bundles and spare parts. He walked over to it, put a hand on the firm material of the cushioning and squeezed it. "I'm out of practice."

"I don't need a fighter pilot for this. Just somebody who can wake me up when it's really urgent."

"I should be able to execute a launch that doesn't kill anybody."

Grimm laughed. "I didn't. I just underestimated the thrust I'd get out of this old lady after the modification."

"Winter said you told her it was an emergency."

Grimm hesitated, as if caught lying. "Okay. Control was about to push us back in the queue in favor of a diplomatic envoy. I didn't stand down."

"That made you popular."

"By the time we return, it'll be forgotten."

Not that Kyle believed him. The hasty start pointed very much to illegal cargo of some sort. "Why do I get the sense that you're not telling me the truth? What
is
this? You guys in trouble with the law?"

"No worse than you," Grimm said. "I'd say you fit right in. Let's get that pilot seat set up for you."

Grimm did most of the calibration, which spared Kyle the associated twisting and turning. Kyle relaxed while the chair's intelligent foam filling, which kept pilots secure through the maddest maneuvers, adjusted to his weight, size, and overall distribution. Sitting in a fighter pilot's chair felt like coming home, although Kyle had to hide how at ease he was. The other Kyle, as he thought of his cover, didn't have the thousands of flight hours he had.

Or the combat training. Fighter pilots were drawn from the Commonwealth's very best—usually law-abiding citizens, considering the value of every single ship. Wouldn't do to put a maverick in charge who'd turn tail and sell the ship (and/or his services) to any number of pirates out there. In his case, starting out with Hunter Five had fast-tracked him into the career he'd actually wanted.

"Let's set this up," Grimm murmured, sliding his hand in between the cushioning and Kyle's shoulder. The chair made a disapproving squeak, begrudgingly adjusting to the intrusion of living tissue between the pilot and itself. Grimm ran his fingers along Kyle's arm, down to his hip, and across the curve of his ass. "Yeah, nicely responsive."

Kyle glanced at him. "You wish."

Grimm paused, then grinned. "I meant the chair."

"Knock it off. I'm really no fun." His standard letdown these days. Not that he had to use it often. With the prostheses, most people treated him like he'd suddenly morphed into a different species—something way too complicated to have sex with. And he'd grown to agree. He
was
too complicated to attempt a connection with the other species: the
abled
. Especially when the connection was something as fragile as sex.

"I'll decide whether you're fun or not." Grimm's hand hovered near his hip rather than making its way down his legs. "Maybe I think you are."

Kyle swallowed. Now, Grimm was insistent. He was Tamenean, and, fuck, he was also a warrior. Shining knight on a white steed. A born and bred hero, selfless and noble. And even though Grimm had clearly made a mockery of the tattoo on his face, Kyle still felt that old reflex to take his hurt to a warrior.

Take your darkness to the warrior, for they can slay it.

"Some kind of warrior you are," Kyle muttered.

"You're evading the question."

"What fucking question?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"You didn't ask."
And it's a no
, he was about to add, but Grimm shut him up with a deep, curiously intense kiss. It wasn't even probing so much as familiar, like they'd been lovers before, even for years, and the old spark had never withered. He tasted of electricity and copper wires and all too human. Kyle groaned with pleasure when Grimm ran his fingers through his hair. He felt more alive than he had in weeks—his scalp tingling under a touch too sensual to have come from a stranger.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," Grimm murmured.

"I'm sure Jay and Petros wouldn't mind a third guy."

Grimm smiled. "Not interested."

Focus on the work.
Kyle pushed the thoughts away and then the man. "You got from me what you wanted."
Pretend this is still about the stupid codes.

"Not by a long shot," Grimm said, and it sounded like a promise.

Kyle shifted his weight as best he could to test the chair himself, but everything was in order. Just needed to do something so he didn't have to look at Grimm or acknowledge the touch. "Give me access to the system."

Grimm laughed, stood back and adjusted himself in his jumpsuit. "You can have all the access you want."

Bastard.
Kyle's gaze stuck for a second to what Grimm held in his hand, and a hot-cold sensation flashed over him, a memory of arching over the body of another man, sweaty skin sliding together. He ground his teeth in frustration. Ever since the injury, nobody had been so insistent on getting into his pants; he'd overheard a nurse saying he was
damn cute
and it was a
crying shame
, but nobody had managed to get him into bed. Early on, he'd resolved that people who wanted him because of the prostheses—and there had been two or three—were fucking freaks and he wanted nothing to do with them. But he hadn't counted on meeting a warrior so far from home.

"The system," he reminded Grimm.

"Fine." Grimm threw his hands up and went back to his chair. He tapped buttons and pulled levers, and Kyle's screen came alive like his body couldn't anymore. But he felt the current of excitement all the same. He logged on, shook hands with the system, set up his ID, and the systems recognized the
other
Kyle, the petty criminal. Connected again.

For a few hours, they worked in silence, Grimm in control of the ship, cross-checking navigational data with an attention to detail that would have seemed manic even in the Space Navy. Had he messed up once and now took it much more seriously? Getting out of the solar system wasn't that complicated. Any experienced pilot could do that in their sleep. And at the speed they were going, there was simply no way anything but a high-spec hunter-killer commando could catch up with them. But then, an obsessive-compulsive co-pilot was better than a sloppy asshole, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

Besides, he was busy getting to know the ship. Cargo Hold One had life support and heating, and Cargo Hold Two was set up for it, too, but right now it was sub-zero in there with an oxygen level that would kill everything. And as far as he knew, Glyrinny needed to breathe; their morphing abilities didn't reach that far.

"What's in Cargo Hold One?"

Grimm turned his head. "It's a rigged-up operating theater."

"Any patients in there? Or a frozen passenger or two?"

Grimm's lips quirked, and there was an odd gleam in his eye. "Want to go explore?"

No, I'm not going to look too interested.
Kyle focused on the screens. "What's the capability?"

"Enough to keep somebody alive for as long as necessary. You'd imagine that these guys sometimes catch a bullet or some rad and have to make an exit with a few wounded."

"Yeah, figures." Now, unless Kshar was hiding in the wiring of the ship or in a compartment somewhere in the living area (which was possible, but not likely), that medical facility was his best bet.

He noticed that the light inside the ship had dimmed in a mocked-up day and night cycle. This counted as dusk. He forced himself to relax. He was here for the long haul, or at least up to Ganesh. No need to rush anything; he was outnumbered and couldn't afford to blow his cover.

"Who's taking first watch?"

"I'm fresh," Grimm said. "I'll wake you."

"All right." Kyle lay back and closed his eyes. He reflexively tightened his hands around the grips of the seat when he heard Grimm move.

"Relax," Grimm said, too close. "Just getting you a blanket."

Kyle cracked an eye open. "While you're at it, you could take off my boots."

Grimm gave him a sarcastic grin and dropped a folded blanket onto his stomach, then crouched down. Kyle couldn't feel his touch, but saw his legs move as Grimm opened his boots and pulled them off, setting them carefully to the side. "What about the prostheses?"

"I can sleep in them."

"Doesn't that give you pressure sores?"

"I need to take them off to clean every now and then, but now I'm feeling all right."

Grimm unfolded the blanket and spread it across Kyle. "Like that?"

"That's fine." No use explaining that getting his boots taken off and being covered with a blanket was more care and attention than he wanted from a stranger. But at least now he didn't feel quite so exposed. "You'd make a good nurse."

"I'm better with ships, but I know my way around some emergency procedures."

"I bet. Part of the
warrior
training?"

Grimm shrugged and sat down in the other pilot seat, his socked feet dangling in the air. "Giving first aid and even last aid to an injured comrade."

"I never made it through the tests. Too . . . selfish. Weak. Resentful. Entitled." Listing his character flaws to one who had passed the tests seemed like a strange kind of confession, but considering the situation, that was the only common ground they had. That they had none at all. Grimm had passed muster in front of the elders and would be welcomed back, if he chose to return. Whereas Kyle couldn't hope for the same treatment, despite everything he'd learned about himself. He'd been a decent soldier, a very good, maybe even exceptional, pilot. But none of that counted on Tamene.

Why are you telling him anyway? Pushing him away by his pride and ideals? That he shouldn't pursue the unworthy?
Yeah, it was probably self-pity.

"Compared to whom?"

"Compared to any fucking warrior out there."

Grimm frowned thoughtfully. "It's never too late for redemption. How you were does not rule who you've become."

Too deep. And too true. If only he could honestly believe it. "What do you want from me? And why?"

Grimm nodded toward the screens. "Having two pilots increases our chances of survival."

True, again. "And?"

"And you're more than you're letting on." Grimm's tone was serious, but not suspicious. "Mysterious stranger, yet familiar. No wonder I'm intrigued."

Fucking cripple who can't run, more like.
"Listen, if I were . . . myself, I wouldn't mind blowing off some steam with you. I used to like that. But since . . ." He dropped his hand onto the prosthesis that surrounded his left leg like a cage. "That's over."

Grimm reached over and brushed Kyle's hand, then covered it with his own. Damn, what was it about the man's touch that keyed him up? "I'd like to try."

Kyle felt his heart beating faster and couldn't quite grasp why. He was here to hunt a damn morph, not to find out if he could still enjoy himself in bed. He had a fair idea about that, and it wasn't good news. And if it went as the Commissar wanted it, Grimm and Winter and everybody else on this ship would die. "I don't think that's a good idea." He looked down at Grimm's hand, but the man didn't take the message. He didn't break the touch.