Destiny's Song (The Fixers, book #1: A KarmaCorp Novel) (15 page)

I
rounded
the corner of the bubble tunnel that funneled travelers into the main waiting area of Bromelain III’s tiny spaceport, tired and cranky from my night sleeping on a hard bench. The waiting area wasn’t very crowded—probably because the only ship picking people up today was a milk run through the outer colonies. It stopped often, dropping off necessities, raw materials, and the occasional passenger dumb enough to think the cheap fares were worth the snail’s pace and lack of onboard amenities.

I wasn’t nearly that dumb, but the planet three stops away had a bigger spaceport and an express flight to Corinthian Station. Once I made it that far, catching a tin can to Stardust Prime would be reasonably easy.

I got a better grip on my bag and looked around for anything resembling food. My stomach was already complaining about the lack of bacon.

It would have to get used to it—Stardust Prime didn’t run to much pig.

“Hungry?” The voice at my shoulder held out a bright red apple.

I turned to stare at Janelle, clad in jeans, striped shirt, and a really dusty hat. She looked like she’d just jumped off a horse. “How the heck did you get in here?” This was a restricted area and the guys at Interplanetary customs tended to take their jobs pretty seriously. It was the main reason I’d slept on a bench.

She patted her pocket. “I have a ticket as of thirty minutes ago. Same flight as you.”

Like hell she did. “I had to twist some serious arms to get a ride.” Arms and a lot of drinks at the bar—spacers didn’t tend to like passengers, no matter what rules their investors tried to set.

She grinned. “You’re not related to the pilot.”

No, but I’d happily strangle him. “I’m not looking for company.”

“Yeah.” She bit into the apple I hadn’t taken. “Got that.”

“How’d you even find me?”

“It’s not rocket science—there aren’t all that many ways to leave BroThree.” She shrugged. “But apparently Tameka expected you to try days ago. A friend of hers has been keeping an eye on ship manifests.”

Nobody freaking spied on Fixers. “Yesenia would bust her to deck swabbing for that.”

“She could try.”

I could feel a boatload of pissy anger rising and seriously considered just letting it fly at the top of my very well-trained lungs. A full-blown Singer temper tantrum would feel damn good right about now.

“So.” Janelle hitched her bag a little higher up her shoulder. “Why are you headed to Haida Gant?”

I knew exactly nothing about my destination. “Because it’s not here.” I hated the bitter tones in my voice. “I’m leaving, tail between my legs.”

“That’s what Tameka figured.”

That particular old lady had gotten in my way far too often in the past twenty-four hours. “I should have left a long time ago.”

The woman who had somehow become a friend just stood beside me, munching on my damn apple. And every time she chewed, I got a little less angry and a little more sad.

I turned to face her while I still could. There was one thing she deserved to know before I hopped on a cubesat and never saw her again. “I need to go because I can’t get this assignment finished, at least not the way they wanted me to. But as soon as I get back and report in, they’re going to send someone who can.” KarmaCorp didn’t leave frayed ends hanging, especially on a mission that had gone as high up the bureaucratic chain as this one had.

She shrugged. “They can try.”

“They’ll make it happen.” I reached out a hand and dropped it again, not remotely sure how to do this right. “You could make it happen first.”

She raised a slow eyebrow. “Not gonna.”

I flung mental curses at her hard, stubborn head. “You’d fit right in on a digger rock, you know that?”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I hadn’t meant it as one.

She held out the bulgy bag she’d been carrying. “Apples and butter. Parting gifts from Tameka and me, just in case you keep being stupid and actually leave. She said your roommate would know what to do with them.”

Ingredients for the best damn apple pie in the galaxy. Tee would be overjoyed. “I’m leaving even if I have to Sing the freaking solar winds myself.”

She blinked. “You can do that?”

Not even kind of. “I won’t need to. I’ve been on this planet for a week—the wind never stops blowing.”

“We like it that way.” Janelle looked out the window for a while, as patient as the grasslands she called home.

I tried one last time. “Give Devan a chance. You were thinking about going there anyhow, so do it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

I resisted the urge to punch her in the nose—barely. “You don’t know what a Fixer can do if she’s really trying. Let it be your choice, not some dumb flatlander’s.”

“I won’t bother to tell you how badly you’re underestimating Devan,” said Janelle quietly. “And I won’t kick at you for thinking so little of our friendship, because I don’t think your head is on very straight right now. But I will say this. KarmaCorp has asked two Fixers to intervene in this, and in the end, neither of you were willing to do it. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

I stared. She knew about Tameka’s refusal? “The guy in charge of your planet is pushing for this. So are a bunch of StarReaders and who knows how many other bureaucrats.” I didn’t give a shit about Ears Only anymore. “You can’t fight everyone.”

“Those are all crappy reasons for me to fall in love with Devan Lovatt.”

Sometimes it took no reasons at all.

“And besides, this is really simple.” She pitched what was left of the apple at a compost tube, grinned, and slung her arm through mine. “I’m not nearly dumb enough to get between whatever is going on with him and you.”

The woman was strong enough to drag a horse. “He can’t be mine.”

“I think you might be too late on that.”

I planted my feet and pulled us both to a stop. “I have a flight to catch.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. And if you’re ornery, I can ask my second cousin the pilot to make it official.” She somehow had both our feet moving again. “We’ll go have some decent breakfast. With bacon. And then I’m going to duct tape you and that idiot Devan Lovatt into a room together and see what happens.”

I blinked. “You can’t do that.”

“Bets?” She was quick-marching us into the egress tunnel. “I may not be a fancy Fixer or anything like that, but here on BroThree we’re pretty good at dealing with stupid.”

“And you think sticking me in a room with him will fix that?” My voice squeaked an octave higher than it should be.

“It will fix something.” Her voice carried unmistakable amusement—and more than a little ribald humor.

I scowled. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You came here to mess with my knickers.” She grinned. “You ended up getting yours in a twist instead, and I’m petty enough to get a kick out of that. Poetic justice and all.”

I yanked us both to a stop again.

This time, Janelle let go and reached into her bag. “Before you’re a total nimwit, there’s something you need to read.”

I looked at the small, white, folded thing she held out and took a giant step backward. I’d faced radioactive waste more bravely.

Her hand didn’t waver. “Tameka sent a message for you.”

My fingers reached out, digits that belonged to someone else in a parallel universe.

The message was written on rough, handmade paper decorated with small flowers and something that might be grass stems. And covered in a slashing, opinionated scrawl that I could barely read.

I squinted and held the paper up to the light.

You run because you seek freedom, child of the rocks. Stand and claim it. There is so much more of it available than what you have dared to reach for.

There is a wound in you that matches the one you found in Devan’s heart—the wound of a person who has done what they needed to survive, and done it very well. You began to heal him, and you did it with great love and even greater courage.

I wonder if you dare to do the same for yourself.

Tameka

P.S. I almost had to sit on Roland’s knee to get the butter, so take good care of it. And say hello to your Tee for me. She is formidable and kind, and I imagine she is a wonderful friend.

My eyes blurred. Very carefully, I folded the paper up and slipped it in my pocket next to my travel voucher to Haida Gant. I swallowed hard, let go one very wavery breath, and looked at Janelle. “Do you know what she wrote?”

She shrugged, a little hesitant. “More or less.”

“She’s an interfering old woman.”

“She is.” Janelle put both hands in her pockets and started walking slowly down the egress tunnel again.

I kept pace beside her, well aware she wasn’t dragging me anymore.

“I don’t have her power, or her wisdom. But I have some words for you, just like you had some for me.” She walked a few more quiet, measured steps and pushed open a door out into the dry, fresh air of Bromelain III. “Out here, it’s okay to reach for what you want.”

I felt anguish rising up from the very bottoms of my feet. “I have no idea what I want.”

The ends of her mouth tipped up. “Like hell you don’t.”

She held out a hand, pointing to Nijinsky hovering nearby. And dangled the access card.

I took a deep breath. And reached.

I
walked
through the massive front gates of the Lovatt compound and reined in the insistent instinct to run back out. Janelle would only make good on her duct-tape threat if I did that, and she’d probably have Nijinsky’s owner standing right behind her.

No, that wasn’t fair. I was no cog this time. This choice was entirely mine.

I stumbled across the outer courtyard and into the cool hallways, well aware of just how many times during my stay I’d arrived in this kind of shape. My Song careened around inside me, a confused, knotted mess that had been so clear only ten minutes ago. I knew the shape of what I needed to do, but nothing in the music forming as I had flown had prepared me for dodging bustling staff people or keeping a wary eye open for Evgenia or my stomach’s very loud appeal for one last plate of bacon.

Real life is so much messier than they ever tell you.

I squared my shoulders—this was no different than digging a mine. There were a lot of details and most of them mattered, but there was only one goal. Dig.

I needed to dig my way through to Devan. I could worry about what came next when I got there.

My Song’s epic jangling soothed some—it understood having a purpose. I trekked through the hallowed halls, hiding from scrutiny where I could and using my Fixer identity as a shield when I couldn’t. I was an honored guest here, or I would be until the higher-ups discovered just how close I’d come to running away in the dark of night with my tail between my legs—and that I’d come back.

I saw no signs of the lady of the house, even as I made my way into more private parts of the residence. Unfortunately, I saw no signs of the Inheritor Elect either.

My Song started its wild screeching runs again, traumatized by the loss of intention. I told it to go sit quietly in the corner with my bacon-craving stomach, and turned down a hallway at random.

Three more hallways, and the notes inside me had gotten frantic. Of course he wasn’t here. He’d be at his stream, dangling his toes in the water, or flying Ophelia, or something else that would tend to that huge heart of his.

I spun around and started to run, heading for the nearest exit—and plowed straight into rock.

“Oof.” Devan made a sound like a farting elephant as I landed on top of him, brain rattling in my skull and teeth contemplating doing the same. He wrapped one arm around me and touched the back of his head gingerly with the other hand. “Mom used to tell us not to run in the halls. That’s never made sense until today.”

I winced. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”

“That depends.” His eyes watched me. Intent. Careful. “Would you kiss it better?”

I would want to. So terribly much.

I met those eyes as best as I could, entirely uncertain what to say. The last time he’d seen me I’d been running too. He had no way of knowing that I’d changed directions.

He didn’t move. I listened to the sound of his heart, beating under my ribs.

And knew it wasn’t words I needed to find.

With what little bits of grace I had left, I levered myself off Devan Lovatt’s chest, slid back enough that I no longer touched him, and sat, legs crossed and spine straight, in the first pose taught to all trainees. I closed my eyes, breathed in the air of the dusky hallway and exhaled again, knowing the winds of this place would carry some molecules of me to the far reaches of this planet.

And then I let my eyes seek Devan’s face. “I would like to Sing for you.”

He pushed himself up to sitting and mirrored my pose, watching me with those intense, careful eyes. “Okay.”

I felt, more than heard, shadows scurrying in the background. And quailed. Last night had been very public. I needed this to be private.

He held up a palm. “Wait.” He beckoned one of the shadows, and they hurried off. Moments later, I could feel the hallway emptying.

“Thank you.” My voice sounded husky to my ears, unused. I felt it echoing. We were alone now. I let my head tilt down and whispered a note of gratitude. It wasn’t the majestic grasslands or a burbling stream—but it would do.

I could feel his eyes on me, watching.

“Tameka told me what you did for me.” His voice sounded wary. Curious. Determined. “She said that if you came back, it would mean you had done the same thing for yourself.”

Interfering old woman. “Something like that.” I didn’t really know what I had done just yet. I only knew that I was here—and I had something I needed to do.

I let my eyes slide shut and grounded, down through my skinsuit and the floor under my butt and the vibrations of this place to the heartbeat of the planet below. I shunted the skittering worry aside. I was here, and right now, here was all that mattered. There would be consequences for this choice, I knew that. I would pay them later.

I breathed—through my palms, my fingers, my nose, my spine. Let the hairs on my head tingle as I let it all flow upward.

And gathered my Song.

I looked into Devan’s eyes, as deep and hard and intensely as I’d ever headed at any rock. And let the first notes rise in my throat.

There was no leaning in these ones, no influence. I was not a Fixer today.

The first note was creaking, wispy, and even a little off key. I watched him smile—a man who knew exactly what lived in that poor, misbegotten, utterly beautiful note. And offered him the rest.

Time folded, the way it always does when I go deepest. The music soared high and ran wild underground, floated on whispers and drilled into bedrock. I could feel my soul shaking. Steadying. Living. Breath, clarity, and utter presence—in the notes, and in the still, quiet spaces between them. With all the Talent and love I possessed, I put Lakisha Drinkwater out into the universe for one man to see.

And when I came back out again, quivering, feeling the last inaudible harmonics of my Song rippling out into the hallway, Devan’s eyes were the first thing I saw.

The only thing I saw.

His fingertips brushed mine, as lightly as stardust. “What—?” He cleared his throat, a man struggling to find enough moisture to speak. “What was that?”

I smiled and pulled myself up straight. I would offer this to him without remorse, without regret. “I am a Singer, and that is my heart’s Song.” Something offered only rarely, because for the rest of my life, part of me would be walking the galaxy outside my body. It was the most precious thing I had to give.

His head bowed down, the pads of his fingers resting ever so gently under mine. “It was beautiful.” A deep sigh, and then he looked so deeply into me that I nearly fractured. “You’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t my face he was seeing now, I knew that. It was my Song. My soul. I let my hands stretch out over his, wanting to hold, knowing I couldn’t.

I could only ask.

“Will you come see me?” It was an entirely selfish request—one full of hardship and entanglement and promises I couldn’t keep. I frowned and dropped my hands, but never let my eyes leave his. “You should say no.”

His smile dawned, twin moons coming up over a dark horizon. “I heard that from you once before.”

I’d been right that time too. “I’m a Fixer, Devan. My life isn’t my own.” And even if it was, I had no business messing with a man who’d dumped himself onto KarmaCorp’s radar. My job was to sand some of history’s rough edges. I had a sneaking suspicion that Devan’s job was to make it.

“Mine isn’t entirely my own either.” He drew in a long, full breath. “But enough of it is that I will say yes.”

I closed my eyes and let my fingers touch his again. He would come, and I would Sing for him again.

And we would see what destiny would make of that.