Chapter Eleven

“I apologize for being late,” Fury said. “Steel and I were way the hell out and gone again repairing the fence, and, on the way back, we hit a rock and broke an axle. We tried to contact Dusty, but we had no service.”

“What did you do? How did you get back?”

“We started walking. After a while, we were able to get a signal. Dusty sent another conveyance to pick us up. Otherwise, we’d still be out there.”

The setting sun reddened her hair, turning it to fire and adding a blush to her cheeks. She was the most striking, beautiful woman he’d seen. My wife now.

“Thank goodness you got a signal. You wouldn’t have been able to see in the dark; you could have gotten lost. Or walked right into a horniger.” She looked worried. For him.

“I don’t have a problem seeing at night,” he said to reassure her and then realized what he’d admitted.

Refuge had no moon. Nights were nearly pitch-black, the only light coming from distant stars. Humans—most beings— couldn’t see the hand in front of their faces.

“With your superpowered man-vision?” she joked.

“Something like that.” He flashed a relieved grin. “Anyway, when we got to the ranch, I stopped to shower. I smelled like horniger.”

“I appreciate the effort.” She grinned. “And the other diners will, too. Are you ready? Let’s go eat.” She started toward the mess hall.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your son? Shouldn’t we bring him?”

“Oh my god! Yes. I can’t believe I forgot all about him.” Her face turned pink.

She rushed to the school. Was he a terrible person for feeling a tiny bit pleased she’d been so focused on dinner with him that she’d momentarily forgotten the kid? Undoubtedly, but then he was a terrible person for far worse reasons.

Scrolling on a tablet, her son sat alone, the only kid left in the class. His teacher worked at her desk. “Mom!” He leaped up. “You’re late!”

“I’m sorry.” Verity winced and looked at the teacher .

“It’s my fault,” Fury said. “I arrived late for our wedding.”

“You’re married?” Brody gaped at them.

Her conflicted expression worried him. Was I not supposed to say anything? Had she intended to keep their marriage a secret from the boy? She hadn’t brought him to the wedding. Then again, maybe she hadn’t wanted to take him out of school.

The teacher smiled. “Congratulations. I guess we can excuse the tardiness this once.”

“I promise I won’t be late picking him up anymore—and I arranged for his lunches.”

Outside, Brody stared at him. “Does this mean you’re my dad?”

An unfamiliar ache niggled in his chest. “Um—”

“It means Fury is my husband,” Verity said. “Remember, I explained we would be coming to a new planet, and I would be getting married?”

“For a while, you said.” He nodded and then peered up at Fury. “So, what do I call you?”

“You can call me Mike,” he said. “I think we can be on a first-name basis.” He had yet to hear her say his name.

“Mike,” she said as if testing it out. His chest ached again .

“Mike, can I have a hot dog?” Brody asked. “I’m hungry.”

“I doubt Haven has hot dogs. I have no idea what’s on the dinner menu,” he replied.

“Oh.” His face fell.

“We talked about how the foods would be different, and we would have to adjust,” she said.

“Let’s go eat and see what they have,” Fury suggested. All food was strange to him because it was food . Abundant and tasty. Solutions had fed its cyborgs a high-calorie, nutrient-rich, chalky slurry twice a week.

Now, mealtimes were enjoyed, not endured.

The adult fare turned out to be roasted egger—the indigenous fowl of Refuge—a side of seasoned grains, and a mystery vegetable medley. The kid’s plate of alien fingers (fried egger), space dust (grains), and a star cluster (mystery vegetables) was basically the same meal the adults received but a smaller portion with a more exciting name.

Throughout the meal, the kid maintained a steady stream of chatter about his day, jumping from kangaroos to aliens to hornigers to fur balls. Verity commented at all the right times, but Fury only half listened until the kid mentioned cyborgs .

“They’re all dead now, so I’ll never get to meet one.” He bit into an alien finger.

Little do you know.

How would the kid react if he learned he sat across from one? And the others were still alive. Solutions had only deactivated them, and, by now, the company might have put them back into service—minus two. He was curious about what the kid thought, but this discussion posed danger, and it would be prudent to avoid it.

“Tell me more about fur balls,” he urged.

“There’s only one.”

“Firbol is an alien kid in his class,” she explained.

“The furry one from dinner last night?”

“You remember?” Her eyebrows arched. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I have a good memory for faces.” He never forgot a face, a helpful trait in an assassin. He could see through most disguises. “Appropriate name—Firbol.” His gaze met Verity’s, and they smiled.

“Onomatopoeia,” she said.

“What’s that?” Fury and Brody said together.

“It’s a word that sounds like what it means. Like meow, bark, boom. ”

That triggered the boy to come up with as many words as he could, complete with sound effects.

“Sorry.” Verity hunched her shoulders. “Brody, that’s enough right now.”

“It’s okay.” Surprisingly, he meant it. The kid didn’t annoy him like he’d thought he would. He felt a sense of comfort and belonging sitting at the table with his wife and her son. He glanced around the mess and saw other family units eating together and talking. Like they were.

“He had a busy day,” she said. “He’ll fall asleep as soon as we reach the cabin.”

“No, I won’t.”

“We’ll see,” she replied.

After dessert—a sweet, frothy concoction—they headed for the cabin. Night enveloped the quad and everybody in it.

“Brody, where are you?” she asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

“Right here.” The kid stood behind her, but she couldn’t see. It was that dark.

“I got him. How about a ride?” He lifted the boy onto his shoulders. “Give me your hand,” he said to Verity .

She fumbled in the darkness, waving her arm, trying to connect. He snagged her hand and led them across the square, through the passage, and into the neighborhood. By the time they got to their cabin, the boy had fallen asleep, slumped over Fury’s head, his arms dangling.

“You called that one.” He ducked to avoid smacking the kid’s head on the doorframe as he carried him inside.

“Experience. When he’s had enough, he goes out like a light.”

“Should I put him in his room?”

“Yes, please. I’m not going to wake him to take a bath; he’ll have to do that in the morning.”

He carried the boy into his room and settled him on the mattress. Verity eased him out of his coat and removed his shoes. Unsure how to help, he retreated and let her handle the rest.

He stoked up the stove with another herb cake, and, with nothing else to do, went to their bedroom, shed his clothes, and crawled into bed.