Chapter 6 Orion
orion
The Best Laid Plans
Stars, I hate her.
What I don’t say out loud—what I can’t quite admit—is worse: I don’t think I actually hate her at all, and realizing that makes my chest tighten with frustration. This is not good.
All week I managed to avoid her by holing up in the dilapidated excuse for a laboratory, but even digging my fingers into the dirt pods of the dusty biosphere hasn’t managed to quell the heat prickling beneath my skin every time we pass each other in the corridor.
I can’t stop noticing how her presence makes me alert, uncomfortable, and strangely aware of every little detail about her.
After our third day together, I started to wonder if I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
I’ve never had to hide from anyone before, and here I am, cowering like some damn adolescent half embarrassed by the attention my body insists on giving her.
Now that my fears have been proven valid, I feel a grim sense of resignation. She obviously isn’t above using her abilities to manipulate me to get what she wants—but I’m not sure if that’s the Solar Mother idol, amnesty from the Feds, or her freedom from Brill.
I ignore the emptiness of my arms, the tingling in my lips, and the slickness of her desire still coating my fingers. Don’t trust it, she said. Easier to believe when my heart isn’t pounding a tattoo of heady lust in my veins.
Where are my ancestors’ voices now? I need them whispering in my ears, reminding me that this woman is a criminal with a built-in biological weapon and she’ll throw me to a pack of hungry lupitians at the first opportunity.
But instead there’s only this uneasy curiosity, a quiet fascination that I can’t fully name.
She’s not someone I want to consider jumping into bed with, especially when all evidence points to the frequent and forgettable nature of her partners.
I’m better than a one night stand. But what a night it would be…
“Ha! Landing codes? Funny way of saying ‘bribe’ if you ask me,” Lyra grumbles, taking a step back and straightening the mess of her hair—the mess I made of her hair. My mess. I desperately try to ignore the primal satisfaction that ignites at that sight.
“Okay, well, it’s too bad my last job left me with more bruises than credits to spare. Ada, do we have anything we could give them?”
She straightens her pants and flicks a nervous glance at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen something like regret and shame on her face, which cuts me more than I want to admit.
“You don’t have enough for a bribe?” I ask, my voice still rough. A pang of guilt twists in my chest as I watch her try to sweet-talk her way out of this.
Lyra’s brows lift. “Now, how would a backwater boy scout know about such things?”
“I don’t know what a ‘boy scout’ is, so I’ll assume it’s another Earth thing. As to the backwater comment, I’ll have you know Xylothia is renowned for its forests and for the storied history of my ancestors. The Xylothian Protectorate—”
“Bo-ring,” Lyra says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t care about your grandaddy monks.” I can see the tension in her shoulders, the silent calculation as she searches for another angle.
“Well, if you’d stop interrupting me, I could explain that I’ve come across my fair share of feckless pirates and they’re always after a bribe,” I snap.
“Sure, something you’re much too upstanding to even consider,” she chuckles, turning to go.
“If you mean I’m too honorable to take money for the sale of my principles, you’re correct,” I say, following her from the lab, which has grown hot and uncomfortable after our ill-advised kiss.
Guilt starts to flare, and I can’t stop thinking about how my interference has put her in this awkward, exposed position, forcing her to improvise with nothing to offer.
Lyra stomps down the corridor and throws herself into the captain’s chair in the cockpit, mumbling the entire time. I hover behind her, noting the tension in her jaw, the flicker of panic in her eyes as Ada beeps warnings about the harbor’s sensors.
“Ada, patch them through. Dig through your hard drive for some old landing codes we could try to pass off instead. Better that than nothing,” Lyra says. Her fingers hover over the controls, betraying her worry—she has nothing, nothing to smooth over this situation.
Static crackles for a moment, then a garbled voice echoes through the ship’s speakers.
“This is Turquin Harbor Patrol,” the voice says. “State your business and provide your landing codes.”
“This is the passenger transport Aldrin-136 requesting permission to land to refuel and resupply,” Lyra tries.
Her hands fidget on the console as if she could conjure the credits she doesn’t have, and I catch myself tightening my fists at the reminder that I’m the reason she doesn’t have credits to spare.
“Landing codes?” the harbor patrol repeats.
Lyra chews on her bottom lip and I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
“So, how important are those landing codes?” she asks.
“You can’t dock here without valid landing codes,” the harbor patrol cuts in.
“Since when does Turquin play by the rules?” Lyra gripes. Her fingers drum against the console as she searches for anything—old codes, a bribe, a loophole. Nothing.
“I repeat—you cannot dock here without valid landing codes,” the harbor patrol radios. “If you don’t have them, you’ll have to resupply somewhere else.”
“Listen, you filthy…” Lyra starts to growl.
I take a step forward, my voice firm but measured, trying to reclaim some control.
“Two hundred credits,” I interrupt. “We’ll transmit two hundred credits to you to forget about the landing codes and strike our ship from your arrival register.”
Her eyes widen slightly, the relief barely visible, and I can’t help but feel the sting of guilt again, but at least now I can help undo some of that mess. The silence stretches for a few seconds, but the static-coated reply finally comes through.
“Transmit the credits, then dock in bay nineteen.”
Lyra cuts the transmission and glares at me.
“I hope you don’t expect me to pay you back, Ranger,” she says. “Since it’s your fault I’m currently broke, anyway.”
“Sure,” I say with a satisfied smile. The pressure in my chest has eased some, leaving my only discomfort throbbing between my legs. “If it means we can get some food other than pills, powders, and expired carbo shakes, I’ll happily foot the two hundred to get us to civilization.”
I toss her my identity chip so she can pull the funds from my account.
My compliance only seems to annoy her further, so I rise from the navigator’s chair and head back to my berth.
I won’t risk her irritation sending out a spike of vellia again now that I’ve gotten control of myself.
I can’t decide who’s more at fault—Lyra for her damned genetics or me for goading her.
On the way back to my room, I pepper Ada with questions about Turquin and Amphitreas, intent on distracting myself from the ever-present ache in my groin that accompanies every encounter with Lyra.
“What’s the environment like down on Turquin, Ada?
” I survey my clothing options with disappointment.
Everything Lyra has let me borrow is too small, has too many appendages, or is made from some uncomfortable material.
Once we get into port, I’ll purchase something clean and functional that actually fits.
The equatorial port city of Turquin sits in the Great Sea of Amphitreas.
The environment could be compared to tropics on other terrestrial planets, but Amphitreas has no available land mass and is entirely covered by water.
Manmade floats make up every habitable surface.
Due to the planet’s oblong orbit, Turquin resides in a warm, tropical zone averaging roughly 299.
8 Kelvin for thirteen months out of their annual twenty.
For the remaining seven months, Turquin freezes over completely for the Amphitrean winter, with temperatures averaging 184 Kelvin.
“How do people survive the winters?” I wonder.
Most residents leave when the planet starts to cool. A small population of Charonites are employed to maintain the structures during the freezing season. Charonites hail from the Plutonian moon Charon and thrive in temperatures that are otherwise uninhabitable for most species.
“Thank you, Ada,” I say, pulling on my uniform. My stomach drops as the ship descends into the Amphitrean atmosphere and I stumble backward during Lyra’s turbulent landing. When things still and the hum of the engines quiets, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Look alive, Ranger!” Lyra shouts from the main corridor. She strides into my room, freezing when she sees me.
“No way. Absolutely not,” she says. “We are not strolling around a pirate-infested port with you wearing a freaking uniform.”
“These are the only clothes that fit. Do you have a better suggestion?”
“I don’t care if you have to walk around naked—you’re not wearing that,” she insists. “If you think the Void Stalkers’ threats of violence were bad, you don’t want to know what will happen to a cop in a city of criminals.”
“I’m a Xylothian Ranger. I’m not a Fed. I protect wildlife and ancient historical sites.”
“Oh! Silly me! There will definitely be time for you to make that distinction when we’re dealing a whole lot of shoot first, then ask questions types.
Besides, how many looters and smugglers have you turned into the Feds, anyway?
I’m betting we’ll probably run into at least a few of your biggest fans here,” Lyra says darkly.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, then what do you suggest?”
She considers me for a moment. “Maybe you should just wait on the ship until I get back.”