Norsuk

Iwasn"t moping. Really, I wasn"t. Even if Agatha refused to acknowledge that I"d saved her life.

I'd left her alone hours ago, but kept my ears perked. If something else attacked her, could I get there quickly enough? And would she let me?

I swiped a forearm across my brow, grimacing at the tacky slide of sweat. Stripped to the waist, I squared up and tried again. Muscles I"d never dreamed existed flexed and bunched as I worked my new wings, fighting for every inch of lift.

For a few glorious seconds, I hung suspended, marveling at the rush of air over my skin. Then, as suddenly as it began, the moment passed and I thudded back to the unforgiving floor.

Frustration spiked, hot and bilious in my throat. By all accounts, these wings were the final mark of a fully mature Korgein male. The universe"s unsubtle way of declaring me fit to fight, to mate, to claim my place as a productive member of the pack. What a cosmic joke.

I wanted Agatha with a ferocity that bordered on madness, a yawning hunger that gnawed at my very bones. Wanted to possess her, protect her, hide her away like a covetous child with a favorite toy. If that wasn"t the antithesis of maturity, I didn"t know what was.

But I couldn"t deny what the wings represented. Inconvenient and near-useless as they might be, they marked a fundamental shift in the bedrock of my being. And that meant I had no choice but to prove myself worthy of Agatha"s regard. Of her trust. Even if it killed me.

She hadn"t been keen on exploring since the incident with the wall-hugger, no matter how I coaxed and cajoled. But she"d let her frustration slip at being barred from the upper levels of the tower, the inaccessible heights that might hold the key to this whole strange mystery.

Well, challenge accepted. If she wanted something, it was my job to provide it.

Gritting my teeth, I made for the stairwell once more, determined to succeed where I"d previously failed. I"d grown heartily sick of trudging up and down the endless coils, muscles burning with fatigue. The tiny elevator cars were out of the question, though, their very sight enough to set my teeth on edge. I"d sooner trust a necropsan with a scalpel than ride in one of those metal coffins.

As I climbed, I unfurled my wings as much as the narrow passage would allow, using them to aid my ascent. The membranes caught the updraft like sails, adding a much-needed boost to my flagging stamina. Every flight passed with marginally less suffering than the last, a small victory but a victory all the same.

At last, wheezing like a punctured bellows, I reached the floor that housed our living quarters. Through an open doorway, I spied Agatha, curled atop the bed with arms folded tight across her chest. She glanced up as I passed, gaze hooded and unreadable. But I didn"t miss the way her eyes widened fractionally at the sight of me, surprise and something far more complicated flickering across her delicate features.

I should have paused, should have pressed my advantage while I had the element of surprise. Instead, like the prize idiot I was, I forged stubbornly onward. One more level. Just one more, then I"d rest.

The final flight terminated in a heavy steel door, its surface pitted but unmarred by so much as a handle. I threw my not-inconsiderable weight against it, straining until tendons creaked and stars burst behind my eyes. But the blasted thing refused to so much as budge.

Cursing sulfurously, I dropped to one knee and examined the non-existent locking mechanism. No keyhole, no access panel, not even a rudimentary bolt to jimmy. But I hadn"t spent the better part of my life as a two-bit scoundrel without picking up a few tricks.

Fishing my smallest knife from my boot, I probed the seam where the door met the frame, seeking blindly for the telltale resistance of a latch. There—a minute depression, barely the width of a fingernail. Bracing myself, I threw my shoulder against the door with all my strength, wedging the tip of the blade into the newly-formed gap.

Metal shrieked as the knife found its target, the sound like a Pulishi's howl in the claustrophobic space. But it did the trick—with a ringing clang, the latch gave way and I all but tumbled into the room beyond.

I came up in a wary crouch, knife held low and ready. Phantom assailants pressed in from every side, the thick shadows breathing with menace. But no attack came and slowly, I allowed my senses to expand, parsing each new stimulus with predatory focus.

The chamber was long and low, more a glorified closet than a true room. Shallow alcoves marched along the walls, each housing a strange, articulated figure that seemed to lean forward in anticipation. Not a living being, though, I realized with a start. Vacuum suits, unless I badly missed my guess.

Organic and sleekly curved, they bore little resemblance to the bulky EVA rigs I knew. But the gloves, the sealed joints, the complex network of hoses and tanks... no mistaking that particular combination. The helmets perched on a nearby rack looked like armored skulls, their faceplates an opaque black that would give no hint to the species of the wearer. A few sets were oddly sized, hinting at builds a bit slighter than my own.

A chill rippled down my spine at the thought, my instincts clamoring a low warning. But I shook it off and pressed forward, determined to unravel this latest oddity. At the rear of the chamber, a skeletal staircase led up to a narrow catwalk, barely wide enough for two to pass abreast.

Following the railing with a wary hand, I climbed into a larger space bisected by support struts and pressure tanks. A workstation of sorts took up one corner, festooned with dead screens and arcane instrumentation.

The opposite wall bristled with an armory"s worth of weapons—pulse rifles, plasma arcs, rail pistols—all silent and dark in their cradles. A ready room then, but for what mission? And why here, in this forgotten city beneath the world?

A glint near my foot caught my eye and I glanced down, lip curling in recognition. A shiv. Prison-made, by the crude look of it—a jagged scrap of metal bound with scraps of rag to a handle of yellowed bone. I"d seen a thousand like it in my youth, even fashioned a few myself during the cold endless hours of a cell.

So our mysterious astronauts numbered convicts among them. Or had at some point in the distant past. Had they sheltered here while on the run? Used this place to stage some desperate bid for freedom? The questions chased themselves in circles, each spawning a dozen more in their wake.

Across the catwalk, a narrow ramp snaked up into shadow, promising still greater heights. My abused muscles screamed a protest, but I overrode them ruthlessly. I"d come too far to falter now.

At the ramp"s zenith, I found myself in a broad, circular room, so high above the city that the dome of the cavern was clearly visible. An incongruously blue slice of sky showed through the central oculus, the color jarring after so long with only korun-glow for illumination. But it was the walls themselves that drew the eye and stole the breath.

Floor to ceiling windows dominated each cardinal face, huge panes of crystal that seemed to open onto impossible vistas. The closest showed a dim, graffitied alley, refuse skittering across the cracked pavement as if tossed by an invisible wind. No static image, but a living scene, a slice of some distant elsewhere impossibly transported to this tomb-silent aerie.

Heart in my throat, I reached out a tentative hand to brush the glass...only to snatch it back with a hiss as a jolt of electricity crackled across my nerves. Not glass, but some kind of reactive field, a one-way portal to... where? When?

Bewildered, I turned a slow circle, taking in the remaining apertures. Each showed a radically different environment, from rain-swept dockyards to sun-scorched badlands. But one caught my attention. I knew those brutalist towers, that red-tinged sky. Had prowled those neon-splashed streets and shielded my eyes against the actinic bite of those binary stars.

"Veluca," I breathed, the shape of it strange on my tongue after so long. "This is a window onto another world."

"Whoa!" Agatha"s soft exclamation nearly sent me leaping out of my skin. Heart hammering, I pivoted to find her frozen just inside the room, eyes wide with wonder. "How did you... what is all this?"

I spread my hands helplessly. "I don"t?—"

But she already moved past me, attention fixed on the impossible panoramas. I closed my mouth with a click, momentarily dumbstruck by the glow of discovery that lit her from within. In the ethereal light of the portals, she looked fey and eldritch, a creature of mist and magic that might vanish between one blink and the next.

Tearing my gaze away, I examined the final portal, this one subtly different from the rest. At first, I thought it was a window like the others, opening on a stretch of vacant orbit—the curving limn of a planetary horizon, the cold hard brilliance of unfettered stars. But something in the scene"s geometry nagged at me, a subtle wrongness that I couldn"t quite place...

Impossible. Utterly impossible. And yet, the longer I stared, the more details resolved—the slow pinwheel of distant galaxies, the angry red flares of dying stars. A chunk of debris tumbled past, near enough to touch, and I flinched back on pure instinct.

Pulse hammering in my ears, I scanned the dizzying starscape for anything familiar, any point of reference to ground me in the here and now. There—the jagged twist of Remiel"s Braid, the purplish bruise of the Raknari Nebula. Constellations that had guided me since childhood, as immutable as the bones of the world.

Slowly, fighting vertigo with every step, I turned to take in the full sweep of Reazus" night sky. This was no pre-recorded projection, but a real-time glimpse of the planet"s orbit. An impossible window to a place I"d left far behind.

The implications crashed over me in a frigid wave, snatching the air from my lungs. What was this place? Some kind of control center, a hidden redoubt to monitor the planet unseen? But to what possible end?

I raked a hand through my hair, a headache blooming behind my eyes. "I don"t... this doesn"t make any sense. These views, the equipment..." I pivoted, half-hoping Agatha would chime in with a brilliant deduction. "What do you think it all?—"

But the words dried up on my tongue as I registered her absence, the spot she"d occupied now conspicuously empty. A spike of alarm shot through me, jolting me from my slack-jawed daze.

"Agatha?" I barked her name, the edge in my voice betraying my unease. No response. Cursing under my breath, I spun in a tight circle, scanning the shadowed corners for any hint of red hair or pale skin.

Nothing. She was gone, slipped away while I"d gawked at the impossible vistas. Cold dread kindled in my gut, visions of hidden traps and unknown dangers suddenly clamoring for attention.

Heart in my throat, I lunged for the ramp, taking the steep incline at a reckless pace. The dangling spacesuits seemed to mock me as I descended, empty eye-holes tracking my harried flight. What if she"d stumbled onto some fail-safe, some automated defense against intruders? The place was a bleeding tomb—who knew what nasty surprises lurked in the long-abandoned halls?

By the time I hit the bedroom level, my pulse was a deafening roar in my ears, my breath rasping and labored. I shouldered through Agatha"s door at a near-run, fully prepared to rip the place apart from floorboards to rafters.

But she was there. Perched on the edge of the bed like a wary bird, arms folded tight across her chest. She glanced up at my graceless entrance, a single brow arching in silent reproach.

For a long moment, we just stared at each other, the electric tension of our last encounter still sparking in the air between us. I was abruptly, painfully aware of my disheveled state—clothes rumpled and sweat-stained, hair hanging in lank snarls about my face. Hardly a figure to inspire trust or desire.

But I was done running, done hiding from the uncomfortable truths. If she despised me, it would be for my actions, not my cowardice.

"We need to talk," I said. "You can't keep ignoring me forever."

"Why not? You were going to sell me. Do you know how wrong that is? Selling people?"

"I told you I wasn't a good person."

"But you're better than that!" She jumped off the bed, striding toward me. I expected her to slam the door in my face. "You have to be better than that. Otherwise, I…"

"We had to make it a game," I said.

She stared. Door still open.

"I couldn't even face… Well, you. But if we made it a contest, it seemed less like we trafficked women. Distracting us from the reality. I mean, we didn't kidnap you. And if that ship hadn't broken up, you'd be on the block in central Maneet anyway…" I sighed. "Sorry. That doesn't make it right. From the first time I saw you, dragged you from that pod, I was hit with as much guilt as…"

She eyed me. "As what?"

"Desire," I said.

"You didn't seem all that desirous at the time."

"No. I was being my usual, gruff asshole self. You are everything I should dislike. Bright. Talkative. Friendly. Sweet. Aspects that make me crazy. Yet, as much as I wanted to put up my usual fa?ade, I found myself liking you. Not just the way you looked in that shorty outfit. You were completely blindsided, castaway on this hellhole of a planet. But your curiosity overrode your fear."

"It didn't really. I just talk a lot when I'm scared."

I chuckled to myself. Who was babbling now?

"Give me a chance. Since meeting you, I've changed. And I would do whatever you want. To prove myself. To earn your trust again," I said.

That sounded lame. I was not good at this.

"I'm no sweet talker. The best I can do is the truth."

"You'd do anything?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes. Anything."

"Then find a way to get me back home."