The gleaming katana blade punctures the center Sandman before slicing through the other two. The were-ape creature’s soul forms under the skin of the ivory mask in the second before it crumbles into sulfur mist.
Reynard scoops up Samantha.
She hisses and bares her fangs at the creatures. Her claws scratch the air.
More Sandmen poise before them. The central figure’s ivory mask molds into the reflection of Reynard’s features. Humanoid figures still swim under the surface, begging for release.
Reynard threatens any Sandman’s approach with his new blade.
JC’s voice crackles over his commlink. With Samantha tucked against his chest, he’s unable to respond.
“We’re not all what you believe, Commander.” One of the trapped souls juts from the ivory mask, unable to escape the torment. Archimago pushes the humanoid figure back down inside the mask.
“You may be some alternate mirror version of me, but I doubt it—likely you’re Loki.”
The familiar outline of the Silver Dragon distracts the were-apes. Reynard releases the cat to fire the last round in the revolver, disintegrating the Sandman next to Archimago and giving him the seconds he needs to race up the pyramid. He jabs the end of the hilt against his commlink. “Lower the landing ramp!”
The were-apes race after him.
Reynard reaches the top of the pyramid. The Silver Dragon hovers close. The landing ramp lowers. He scoops up Samantha and flings himself for the opening. Once close enough to ensure the sword will bounce inside he releases the blade to have free hands to grapple the metal grate..
It disappears.
He grabs the ramp’s end, unable to do anything about the vanished weapon. Flinging Samantha inside, he pulls himself up enough to flip inside the Silver Dragon.
AMYE RACES FROM the transporter room.
The commlink chirps.
Reynard’s voice demands the lowering of the ramp.
She has seconds to prepare. He’s the only person I’ve lost who has returned to me. Never knowing my mother. Grandfather and father both died in IMC mining accidents, the shuttle explosion killing Kymberlynn—wait. I just spoke to my sister. So many thoughts collide in her head.
Hurry.
She snags a prepared dress bag from her quarters on the way to the lift.
Seconds. She has seconds once the lift door seals. She slips her jacket from her shoulders, tugging at the clasps on her gun belt.
If only it were raining. Amye considers the Osirian movies Doug collected on the mating practices of Reynard’s world. It always rained as the couple got together at the end. No matter how bad the man screwed up, the woman found her love for him. Amye wonders if it worked backward for men. I’ve been the elusive one. I’ve avoided sharing my feelings. Now they have recovered him, and she wants a perfect moment. Why can’t it be raining?
Music—a romantic song played as they kissed.
Amye slips into the silken form-flattering dress. I’ve never had a need for dresses. That one time…Impractical in the mine. Formal occasion required uniformity. She tugs at the material, adjusting all her curves to hold just right. The shoes—heels make her uncomfortably taller than she already is and unbalanced on her toes. I should have swiped the princess’s polish and painted them.
She loads a quarter-sized disk marked Swift, programming Athena to play at an appropriate level in the cargo bay. Reynard will be strolling up the ramp any minute. Amye smoothes out her dress as she rides the lift down three decks. She steps from the elevator as Reynard reaches the top of the landing ramp.
I thought heaven can’t help me now; nothing lasts forever…plays over the comm system.
Amye rushes to him. Careful not to trip in her heels. The words of the song match her rush of emotion.
I can see the end as it begins, my one condition is—
As she reaches her captain, ready to express her love, his fist connects with her jaw.
Amye reels backward, collapsing into a crumpled heap, her dress spilling around her. Blood wells around a molar. She spits a chunk of tooth before a backhand cracks a second. His strikes are meant to damage her. His fingers interlace around her neck. Her esophagus pushes against her trachea, cutting off air. She has seconds.
The man I love—I should just relax—let him take what he desires. Being willing means less pain. Struggle invites discipline. She learned to be docile—to give in. She allows her body to fall limp. He means to kill me. Amye tenses, balling her fists. The first blow to his head shocks him. The second blow forces him to release her. She wants to rub her neck, but she must get beyond his grasp. I need a second to breathe.
The love song continues, praising the moment of intimacy she wanted with her captain. He lunges for her. Amye deflects his advances, drawing into a defensive kata. Blood rolls from her mouth. She must shift to attack. He means to damage me. Punish me for failing to locate him. Failing to reveal my emotions.
He catches her fist in mid punch, wrapping his vise grip around it, crushing the bones. With a twist of her wrist, Amye collapses to the floor.
••••••
SHE’S FOURTEEN AGAIN in a solitary dorm. Unable to cry further, she summons strength to roll to her stomach. Dried blood covers her torn dress. Struggling to push to all fours, she doesn’t bother to cover her exposed body. Amye uses the couch as a crutch. The downy cushion softens her fall. Every nerve ending spikes. Swollen eye sockets make it difficult to stand without the room spinning. Time means nothing as she slides each foot forward an inch. Her shuffle step allows her to reach the bathroom. She leans against the door. Her fumbling fingers find the shower controls. She flicks on the hot water before collapsing into the stall. Water beads over her. As more droplets rain on her, they warm until her snowy skin pinks. The
