Page 10 of Defiance
“Scent burn, I think.” He brushed a hand over his ears and they popped back upright. His snout wrinkled with a snarl and he licked his teeth with the prongs of his tongue. “It’s part of the Hunt, which Ferulis apparently wants,” he snapped angrily. “So tell me what I’m doing here, Vin.”
The venandi held up both hands in surrender.
“Alright. But don’t kill the messenger.”
04
I hummed to myself, elbows balanced on my crossed legs as I bobbed my foot and scrolled through my holotab to pass the day childminding the clinic while Amelia was still in labor.
Four hours into my volunteer “shift” and not a soul had come round. It was a pleasant change of pace, sitting in the air conditioning as the jungle heated up like a clothes dryer outside. The ferns pressed against the windows like they missed my misery, leaving trails of condensation on the glass.
Let the feckers wilt. I deserved a couple days without boob sweat, new freckles, and the constant game of,Is it perimenopause or is it just hot as balls?
Hssshhh.
The lobby doors slid open and I closed my holoscreen, uncrossing my legs. Heavy boots ascended the ramp and Imani walked in, looking formidable as always. She stood straight and tall, her vitiligo pink and dark currant red after her convergence with the head of security, Vindilus. The bumps that circled her forehead like a crown had been jarring when she first returned to the colony after their trip off-moon, but now I couldn’t imagine her as anything but a queen.
Still, it was strange to see her in the clinic if Pom Pom wasn’t there. She looked fine, and truthfully it was awkward. The last time we’d talked in private, she’d told me there were sex dolls wearing my body in illegal brothels. She didn’t know how many or how they’d gotten my genetic code, but apparently theywere good at bartending. It was a chilling discovery for me. I’d done a stint in the local pub in my twenties.
“Morning.” I waved, getting to my feet.
Imani smiled, shifting her weight as she unzipped a pouch on her belt. “Good to see you, Charlie. Heard I’d find you over here.”
“Yup. Just filling in. Afraid my remedies are pretty limited, though. Poitín and plasters is all I’m good for.”
Imani raised a brow, pausing with her long, slender fingers in her pouch. “Poitín?”
I withdrew a silver flask from my back pocket and wiggled it between my fingers. It was whiskey–not moonshine–but it’d do in a pinch. “Ireland’s duct tape, you know. Only thing holding us together. Do you need some?”
“No,” Imani said with stoic amusement. “But thank you.” The conversation lulled as she stretched her heel and crossed her arms. She looked around the lobby, feigning interest in the plain white walls and plain white benches when really she was searching. The seams, the corners, the vents, and between the cushions. She tapped the only potted plant with her steel-toed boot and the red leaves shivered.
“I should really water that,” I laughed half-heartedly, more nervous than a schoolgirl waiting for the headmaster. I felt found out, even though I’d done nothing wrong. I crossed my arms and hugged my elbows.
Imani noticed and stopped her inspection. “You look cold. Care for some fresh air?” she asked, sweeping her hand towards the doors.
“Oh, no, that’s—Okay then.” She strode to the entrance and the doors slid open, leaving me no choice. My chilly forearms prickled with goosebumps from the temperature change as I followed after her.
Well, so much for a sweat-free, bug-free morning. We stepped outside and it was like walking into hot gel instead of air, the jungle buzzing with so manyshivviesit was hard to hear myself think. I unzipped the front of my shirt to expose my sports bra to the air and tied my curls up to get them off my neck.
We strolled away from the prefab clinic, its white roof spotted with shedded bark and leaves. Imani rummaged further into her bag, a stitch between her eyebrows. “Since we’re out here, I’d like to discuss something with you. Fair warning, it’s a bit… awkward.”
“I’ll take awkward over being in trouble any day,” I laughed, relief flooding my system. “Could have sworn I was in trouble.”
“Ha, not today.” Imani smiled, squinting into the sun and showing off her brilliant white teeth. She was gorgeous with the daylight glinting off her golden eyes and that no-bullshit, all-love expression. I was struck by how lucky we all were to have her with us. Her balls were made of brass and her heart was two sizes too big.
I was still struck dumb when she withdrew a squat black cylinder about the size of a bottle cap and ushered me closer.
“This will probably be terrible,” she warned.
“What will?”
Vwump.
“Feck’s sake!” I gasped as my sight blinked out and my forearm went numb. I rubbed my eyes, covering them on instinct. It was an awful feeling, like velvet pressing against my eyeballs and static yarn rolling around inside my brain.
“Worse than I thought,” she admitted with a hiss of discomfort. “Charlie?” She patted her blind hands on my biceps, smacking my chin by accident. “Don’t worry, won’t be long. I forced a software reboot with an electro-magnetic pulse.”
Imani’s accent was somehow thicker, less Americanized, and I realized she probably didn’t speak English most of the time. Swahili, maybe… Did that mean that when she heard me, I spoke in Swahili too?
