She came to lie beside me. “Rusco, you look haggard.”
“You think? Wake me in two hours if I’m not up.” I yawned, rolled over on my stomach and she pushed over to my side.
“What’s wrong, Russy, out of sorts today?”
“Too many foul-ups, Wren.”
“I can unwind some of those nerves,” she coaxed. Running a warm hand over my shoulders, she pinched at some key places, which had me arching in response.
“Maybe you could.” I turned and leveled her a meaningful glance. The briefest tigress’s purr escaped her lips.
“How many problems can I help you forget?”
“A number maybe, but I’m just a dead weight right now, Wren, not much good for what you have in mind.”
“You could be worse off, Rusco—think of Noss, poor bastard. Speaking of which, what do you think of our new recruits?”
“If I had my choice, I’d opt for more experienced people any day. Though I can’t fault Noss or Blest for their bravery and coming through with the goods. Though Blest is a pain in the ass most of the time.”
She nodded. “I think Blest is going to cause you some more serious problems one of these days.”
“No doubt. I’ll re-evaluate him and the situation once we get to Deneb. Maybe give Blest his share of the spoils and send him on his way.”
She snuffled out a laugh. “Good luck. Blest’ll squawk like a rooster—he’s such a hard-head and chronic whiner. It’s for the better you send him packing.”
She tickled an area below my belly that seemed overly sensitive and had me jumping up a few inches. “Hey, I’m supposed to be sleeping here, aren’t I?” I turned to hold her.
“Sleep is for wimps, Rusco. You can sleep all you want when you’re dead.”
I laughed.
She rolled over. “How come you never tell me anything about your life?”
“You want me to turn into one of those jolly boy blowhards like down at the station bar?”
“Well, not that bad, I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” I sighed, rubbing my temples, trying to think of something. “Okay, picture it, me back in midtown Nepasi, on a nowhere world, the place where I started my security guard gig with a man called Trex. Trex—all fun and games. Boozing, whoring, gambling, you know, shows me the town, the hot spots, the low spots, the dives. Once while he was guarding a hock shop, he wanted me to cover for him while he picked up some stuff, and this wise guy comes up and wants to put the drop on me, thinking me a pigeon he can pump for information, maybe score an angle, seeing as I am new kid on the block. He doesn’t know I was born on Jaunus 8, war shithole of every kid’s bad dream, and that I grew up on the streets. So he asks me where’s the best ‘gauge’. Testing me out by dropping the word ‘gauge’. Numbnut. Every greenhorn knows the new hip term for illegal tech and cop-channel decrypters and neuron stimulators and all that is gauge. ‘Dunno, man,’ I say, ‘I’ve got like two hour’s experience with the stuff.’ So, he starts thinking twice about getting by me and taking me by surprise which is his real play, robbing the joint. He asks me if I’m interested in working for a guy named Makey, as in his boss. Me, twenty-three, a dumb fuck, knowing nothing about anything. I say, maybe, how much? ‘Oh, a lot more than you’re making at this dump.’ And before I knew it, I was getting mixed up in a smuggling ring out of that backward planet. Mean fuckers. They’d drop your grandma for no more than the roll of a cigarette.”
“Nice. How’d you get out?”
I paused, my lip working a little knot. “Not proud of it, Wren, but I wasted a couple of those assholes, deputies or zarks as they called them. I snuck out of there fast as a weasel, as in fresh off the planet.”
She winced. “Rusco, always running from something.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes it’s just part of who you are and it’s all you can do.”
“Maybe.”
I frowned. “Now your turn.”
She gave her shoulder a small twitch.
“Aw, come on, Wren. When were you ever one to turn down a story swap?”
“Maybe because I don’t have a story to tell right now.” Her lips pursed, in a masked chuckle or a mock curl.
“I know that false smirk. What are you thinking of? Come on, I know you’re recalling something.”
“Just an old childhood memory.” She let out a cooing sigh. “Never forget the time my little brother left the chicken coop open. A bunch of hens got out, so did two roosters. Then they scooted out of the yard and little Freedy, my youngest brother, went chasing them, thinking they’d get eaten by coyotes or something, and I got scared that he was going to get eaten by coyotes himself. We didn’t get back for hours, wandering around the hills, all dusty and scratched by desert weeds and fire thistle. I was only eleven, Rusco. Oh, was my dad ever mad and he gave us a tanning for losing those egg-laying hens.
I grunted. “Very quaint, Wren. Glad you shared that story.”
“Okay, Rusco, maybe not as invigorating as your shoot-em-up-and leave em in a body bag yarn, but I’m not up to blood and guts tales right now. Sure, got me some more to tell though.”
“I’m sure you do, Wren, baby. Like those zombie creepsters you blew all to hell on Talyon.”
She settled down, shook her head and laughed. “Sorry, I get a little defensive sometimes. Don’t know why I thought of that dumb chicken story.”
“The mind is a strange thing.”
“Like shit it is, Rusco. You make this stuff up as you go along?” She pounced on me and nearly knocked
