Page 87 of Throwing Fire

“I heard, and I believe him. That’s why we’re goin’. But a hundred CeeBees is still a big number.”

Kez squares her shoulders and stares at her boots. She’s silent for a moment and I let her think. Listen to the howl of the wind, the creak of the huge tether just beyond the airlock, and the faint drip of water somewhere, which I hope is off the tether rather than something dripping on our ship.

“Snow,” she begins, and I nod at her, acknowledging her careful use of my pseudonym. We’re alone at the moment, on our own ship. But the lift could arrive at any second, and someone could be scanning us. The proboscis isn’t as heavily shielded as the rest of the ship, and Kez knows that. “Is this how it’s been for you? Suspecting everyone?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’d you think that first time I walked up to you? Did you think I wanted ... what did you think?”

“Thought I wanted to fuck you.”

She snorts. “Other than that.”

“Yeah, kitten, I was suspicious.”

“You didn’t show it.” She looks down, scuffs her boot along the proboscis’s polymousse flooring. “I just wanted to know you.”

“I got that.” That’s why she’s my one-in-a-billion.

“Maybe Acker’s the same way.”

“He’s shit outta luck if he is.”

She looks up at me quizzically. “Why? Have you changed your mind about him?”

“No, I never wanted to fuck him.”

Kez gapes at me, then begins to laugh. At that moment, the airlock control blinks green. I give it a tap and the airlock slides open with a soft swush to counterpoint Kez’s laughter.

The huge grav-liftpod drops us nine thousand meters in less than a minute. My ears pop with the change of pressure as we reach the ground. Other than the pressure-change, there’s no sense of how fast we’ve travelled in the spacious capsule. The Clouds are the home of Kuseros’s elite. They get the best of everything: food, water, tech. There’s something to be said for living out here. Still, Nock is my city, mine and Kez’s. I’d miss it. But maybe it’s time to buy ourselves a beach house.

Yawning to pop her ears, Kez steps out of the pod airlock. I follow a step behind her, and we come face-to-face with the tether security I figured we’d bump up against eventually.

My neck tightens when the blue and yellow uniformed guard’s eyes flick to the sword hilts over my shoulders. His eyes track back to mine and I see that they’re green and slitted vertically like a cat’s. I tilt my head so the overhead lights flare on thetapetum lucidumin my own eyes. It’s my only obvious modification, besides my size, which ain’t all that unusual on a garden world like Kuseros.

The guard nods. “Acker’s waiting for you.” He gestures to a gridded gray slider to his right. Away from the bright lights and plush passenger spaces that I can see behind him.

I hold out my hand. “What’s your name?”

“Tonnon.” He shakes and I feel the roughness of his palms. His modifications don’t stop at his eyes.

“Snow,” I tell him.

“I know who you are. You been making a splash here on the Clouds. You and Lightfoot.” He nods at Kez, who has edged a step away. “You keep your heads down,” Tonnon continues. “And watch out for gators.”

Gators. Great.

“Thanks for the warning.” I take Kez’s hand and pull her after me as I follow Tonnon’s finger.

Through the grey, gridded door, there’s a low-lit corridor, mostly filled by the furred, muscular bulk of two waiting rat-men. Acker’s eyes flash in the gloom. He holds up his paw, puts a long claw tohis lips, then beckons us after him. Captain Match, keeping watch down the corridor, moves off without looking at us. Acker follows Match; I follow Acker; Kez follows me, holding my hand.

Quite the parade.

I like this so fucking little that I pause to draw a kukri out of my boot. Kez meets my eyes as I do it. She unwinds a length of monofilament from her left bracer and carries it loose in her free hand when we start off after the rats again.

The utilitarian corridor turns north, turns again and just after the second turn, Match freezes. We all stop behind him and I listen. Right on the edge of my hearing, there’s a sound. Soft and deep, like swallowing with your ears blocked.

“Match,” Acker whispers.

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