Page 48 of Throwing Fire

Gig tears his eyes away from something over my left shoulder, and when I glance that way to see what it is, I find a very red-faced Sylvie, who is studiously examining her toes. I turn back to Gig. He’s so red he’s almost purple. Did I miss something?

“You two know each other?” I ask.

“Uh, no. No. My name’s Gig, uh, I mean, Ryan, Ryan Giglan.”

I didn’t even know the kid had a first name.

Gig holds his hand out across me. Sylvie tentatively extends her little mitt, which Gig takes, shakes, and doesn’t let go. “Sylvie,” she barely whispers.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Sylvie. Can I get you anything? You, uh, hungry? Thirsty? We got beer.”

“I’m on duty,” Sylvie murmurs, and colors even further, the blush spreading down to disappear into the neckline of her white uniform.

Gig just stares at her, still holding her hand. I swallow a chuckle. Never been in the middle of the thunderbolt before. Well, except when I met Kez. But that was more of a tornado.

“Gig,” I prompt gently. “When’s Kez back?”

“Oh, uh, thirty, thirty-five minutes.”

“Thanks, kid. Sylvie, can you close me up before then?”

Sylvie blinks, gives herself a little shake, and slowly pulls her hand free. She whips out her palmtop and checks it. “Yes, no problem.”

Good. I want to be back in one piece by the time my kitten arrives. I don’t know if she’s already seen the hole in my hip, but if she hasn’t, I want to spare her that. I know exactly what it will remind her of.

“Hey, is that a Weebo?” Gig asks Sylvie, nodding at her palmtop.

“Uh-huh.” She offers it to him shyly.

I can see where this is going. Gotta hand it to the kid. “Park me up over there,” I tell Sylvie.

“Oh, okay.” She pushes the float-bed over in front of the black pane, then goes back and huddles over her palmtop with Gig.

While they get their geek on, I go through the messages from theInfinity. Since Gig’s taken over my scheduling, and I’m not taking as many commissions as I used to, there’s nothing interesting, or urgent. Mostly fluff that’s gotten through the very robust junk filter Gig’s installed. A message from Maier, inviting me to his weekly poker game. I plex him ‘no thanks’ back. I wasn’t a huge fan of his Boys’ Nights even before I met Kez. Now I got much better things to do with my evenings. To tone down the assholism of my refusal, I offer him the Bauz Cycler run, which has a decent profit to it, and a night out drinking with me and Kez after we come back from Yrillo.

Yrillo.

Part of me knows we’re not going to make it. Actually, all of me knows we’re not going to make it. Part of me has accepted it. The other part is still fighting tooth and nail to keep my promise to my kitten.

But there’s just no way it’s going to happen.

With a heavy sigh, I call up the reservation. A new pane opens on the wall and a pleasant, totally artificial face smiles at me. “Honored Tyng guest,” it says. “How can I help you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gig and Sylvie jump at the unfamiliar voice. That makes me chuckle as I answer, “An emergency has come up. When’s your next open five?”

“With our deepest apologies, Red Sky House is not available again until twenty-two-seven.” I grunt. That’s more than a standard month from now. Fuck if I’m waiting that long. “But if Honored Tyng would accept a humble recommendation, StarWave House is available and it has all the amenities of Red Sky.”

For ten percent more. I remember StarWave House from when I first booked our trip. Ridiculously fucking expensive, as opposed to Red Sky House, which was just really fucking expensive. But StarWave House is on the same side of Yrillo’s Executive Island D, andthat’s what I care about. I want to be able to watch the sunset over the water with my kitten.

They’re not my credits anyway. “Yeah, go on then,” I say, letting the damn ‘bot upsell me.

“Your reservation is confirmed. We are pleased to welcome Honored Tyng to StarWave House any time after fourteen-six and before twenty-eight-six.”

I nod and shut down the connection. Kez is going to be disappointed. Hell, I’m disappointed. But the only real fix I have on Jaxon is his meet with Payton, when we’re supposed to be on our way to Yrillo. If I can’t nail his ass before then, that’s where and when I have to be.

“Um, Mister—“ Sylvie approaches me, clutching her palmtop. Gig trails her like a puppy. Or, as I’ve learned, a rabbit. They follow their favorite people around better than old Earth terriers. Which is why I’ve got still got Chalk sprawled against my hip, rumbling as I rub her ears, Ronnie flopped across my knees, and Bunker and the queen bunny, Helas, watching me intently from the floor.

“Just Snow,” I remind her.

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