The Key (6 page)

He’d always believed the gods had a sense of humor. Now he knew he was right.

Too bad the Dusan would never know the joke. If they hadn’t attacked this ship, Sara would never have come near the planet, let alone any island.

If it was the lost outpost. But it had to be. What else could it be out here?

As Fyn walked with Sara through the ship, it seemed like every direction he looked, there were people—interesting to study, but so many of them. Carey had explained rank and pointed out the “fighter pukes” and the “jarheads” or Marines. They all stood tall and looked each other in the eye. They were proud and confident, but it wasn’t a boastful pride. Their confidence came, it seemed to him, from being well trained and well armed. They were like no other military group in his experience.

They didn’t come here looking for a fight. Fyn could tell that in the way they dealt with him. But they weren’t afraid of a fight if it found them. That was obvious.

Don’t disappoint me, young man.

He didn’t want to. Kalian would consider their easy-going trust a sign of weakness, but Fyn wasn’t so sure. Something about the colonel demanded his respect. They’d be good allies, but the Ojemba didn’t make alliances. They relied only on themselves. Kalian believed that trust was something they couldn’t afford in a fight against an enemy that showed no mercy. For the first time, Fyn wondered if he was right about that.

So far the only one who didn’t seem to trust him was the one they called the SO, the security officer. He didn’t much care. He did care what Sara thought of him…though he shouldn’t.

The Ojemba could leave you, but no one left them.

As interesting as the earth people were, Fyn was glad to reach the empty repair bay and have the doors hiss closed behind them. He needed to get accustomed to being around people again.

He was also anxious to study her ship more carefully, though he only had limited access to any of the bays. Sara wore something similar to the Dusan disc that gave her access to the bay, before the door would open. It hung from a chain around her neck.

They all seemed to have one, but they were different colors, probably different levels of security. The cards also had their likeness imprinted on them.

“All we’ll probably have time to do today is dismantle,” Sara said. “Briggs will want us to line the damaged parts up on either side, so he can determine if they are scrap or salvageable.”

She opened the doors to a cabinet standing next to the craft, revealing rows of tools.

“Notice where you grab it, so you can put it back or Briggs will make me drop and give him fifty.”

Fyn looked at her, one brow arched. “What?”

“You’ve never heard of push-ups?”

He shook his head.

“Lucky you,” she said. “They’re—”

“Why don’t you show him,
Captain
?” The man dragged out her rank, almost mockingly.

Fyn turned toward the voice. Found a big man standing in the doorway. Fyn was taller, but not wider. This guy was really wide, with a square face, sun reddened skin and close-cropped hair. His clothing was similar to Sara’s, that mottled fabric, that Carey called ABU’s, short for Airman Battle Uniform. It looked light-weight and comfortable.

Sara sighed, but Fyn noticed she didn’t retreat into cool, like she did with everyone else. She looked resigned, but her eyes were warm.

“Briggs. This is Fyn. Fyn, this is Master Sergeant Briggs, Retired. He’s attached to the wing as a
Special
Consultant.”

Fyn almost asked what they meant, but something in the way they looked at each other stopped him.

“I’m waiting, Donovan.”

Didn’t she out rank him? He was pretty sure he remembered that from Carey’s running commentary. But if he was retired, maybe that didn’t matter.

Sara sighed, but then she dropped to the ground, her legs out, her hands flat against the floor. She pushed up from the floor, clapped her hands, then caught herself before she hit the floor. She did this until she reached a ten count. She stopped and gave Briggs a hopeful look.

He sighed, signaled for her to get up, then strolled forward, circling the damaged ship, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Dang.” He looked at her. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. You fly like a girl.”

Sara grinned. “I crash like one, too.”

His bushy brows rose. “Suppose that means you broke a nail.”

She kind of shrugged and rubbed a finger along one of her fingernails.

This had the feel of an ongoing…conversation between them.

“Living in a
beauty parlor
really messed you up.” His sharp gaze rested on her for a long moment. Was that worry that crept into his eyes? “You sure you’re up for this? Looks like you took a helluva hit.”

Sara patted her ship. “My bird would never hurt me.”

Her tone was light, and she didn’t look at Briggs until the silence got a bit too long. Then she turned, her eyes wide and innocent.

“What?”

“I hear you ran into a little trouble down there. And took one to the brain-housing group in the crash.”

She angled her head toward him. “It’s just a scratch.”

Fyn started. She had more than a scratch when he pulled her from her ship.

Briggs didn’t say anything. For another long moment, they looked at each other.

Finally Briggs nodded. “Five kills up, three down. Only two headshots. Should have been three.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“You did okay…for a girl, I guess.” He nodded toward her ship. “We’ll have to put a little row of ships up there. And some little stick aliens.”

Fyn had no idea what they were talking about, but Sara chuckled.

“So, how did you like your first dogfight?”

“Booming until I got shot down. They weren’t even that good. More about numbers than skill, don’t you think, Fyn?”

He nodded. The Dusan hadn’t had to be that good for a long time. With them it was always about numbers. You killed them and there was always more to throw into the fight.

“You rode her all the way down.”

“Didn’t dare not. But if it weren’t for Fyn here, I’d have been ET’s house guest.”

Briggs gave him a look that might have been approving. Or not. It was hard to tell.

“Well, glad you’re back.” He didn’t look glad. “Hinson’s gooned up his computer again.”

“I’ll look at it.”

Sara followed Briggs to what Fyn now knew was a computer terminal. Briggs keyed something in, and the screen flashed with movement.

“I’ll see you at oh-six hundred tomorrow in the gym.”

Sara seemed to sigh. “You’re going to kick my ass, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight.” He nodded Fyn’s direction again. “Nice to meet you, Chewie.”

Fyn really needed to see that movie.

Sara began taping on the buttons. “This won’t take a minute. I don’t know how he manages to goon—that means mess up, his code.”

Fyn noticed that she had her hands on the keys, but it didn’t seem like she pushed them like the other people he’d seen.

As he watched her, he had a feeling he was forgetting something—

“All done.”

She left the terminal. Behind her, the screen flickered a couple of times, then went dark. She stopped in front of him.

“So, that went better than I expected. Of course, there’s still tomorrow.”

“I thought you out ranked him?”

Sara’s eyes widened a bit. “I’m not really sure anymore, but even if he weren’t retired, no way I’d ever pull rank on him. I think the only person who dares is the Colonel and I’ve never seen it.”

“You’ve known him a long time?”

“Since my first bird.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

Fyn had a feeling there was a story there.

She looked up at him. “I guess it’s all kind of weird and confusing for you. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged.

“I keep forgetting we’ve only known each other, what, about a day? Seems longer.” Her smile was open and trusting.

Don’t, he wanted to tell her. Be careful who you trust. This isn’t a safe place. I’m not safe to know.

“Well, let’s get to it.”

She crouched down by her ship. He looked at her for a moment, wishing…things were different.

He’d thought he was dead inside, his real life ended when the Dusan took his home away. He’d met women since Fiona, lots of them, and had felt nothing when he looked at them, not even desire. Hate for the Dusan filled him, pushing out everything else.

But this place, especially Sara…she was unlike anyone he’d met. She was a soldier, a warrior, but it was more than that. There was something else about her, something that penetrated his defenses like they weren’t there. He felt alive again, inside and out, brought back from the dead by the feel of her mouth against his—and a wariness buried deep in her eyes that seemed to tell him they were more alike than they were different. That she’d known loss, too, but had chosen a different way to deal with it.

“I’m thinking we should start here, with the blast damage.”

Her voice jerked him back into the moment and he didn’t mind. For now it was as if he’d left his past down on Kikk.

As she bent over her bird, he suddenly realized what was nagging at him. She’d set the self-destruct, but he didn’t remember her deactivating it. It was possible the jarheads took care of it…but it was odd she hadn’t even mentioned it to them. Maybe it was SOP, too.

They worked mostly in silence, though Fyn’s thoughts were not at all quiet. He was very aware of her, working this close to her, their arms occasionally brushing together. Her scent teased his senses, too, and he didn’t realize he’d been sniffing until she spoke.

“It’s coconut.” She grinned.

“What?”

“My soap. That’s what you smell. It’s coconut. It’s a kind of…fruit, I think. Brown and hairy on the outside, with this white stuff on the inside. And milk…stuff. In addition to adding scent to soap, its good eats, especially when paired with chocolate. I’ll have to find you a candy bar to try. They might still have one in the commissary.”

He focused on the part he was trying to remove, very conscious of her lying next to him, as she loosened the bolts fastening the parts in place.

“Obviously I’m a fan of coconut in all its forms,” she added cheerfully.

She continued work for a bit, then stopped.

“I think I’m done. My eyes are crossing.”

She covered a yawn with a greasy hand, leaving black around her mouth.

She wiggled out from under the ship, but didn’t get up. Fyn slid out beside her. Her eyes were closed and she breathed so evenly, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Even with the black on her face she was…lovely. There was an innocence about her, like she was a package waiting to be opened.

He should get up, but instead he stared at her. Exhaustion seemed to make the lines and angles of her face more sharply defined. He wanted to trace them, but he didn’t.

Suddenly her eyes opened.

“What? Do I have grease on my face? I do, don’t I?” She started to rub with the rag she’d been carrying and managed to smear it even more.

“Here,” he said, his voice husky, “let me. You’re making it worse.”

He sat up, took the rag and adjusted the tilt of her head, so he could see. He had no reason to feel like she belonged to him, but he still felt like she’d been sent to
him
.

As he rubbed at the spots he was intensely aware of the feel of her skin and her pulse beating against his fingertips. He finished, but couldn’t bring himself to let go. She’d kept her lashes lowered the whole time and now he waited for her to look at him.

Maybe her eyes would tell him what to do next.

He felt her pulse speed up and then, when he thought she’d never look up, her lashes lifted. As her gaze met his, he saw what he’d been hoping to see. They were uncertain, but there was desire there, too. Even so, he approached slowly, giving her time to stop him. Just shy of her mouth, he stopped, wanting, no needing, more than compliance from her.

She licked her lips, then touched the side of his face, her fingers tentative at first as they moved across his skin, leaving a trail of heat as they slid around to the back of his neck, bringing just enough pressure to close the gap.

He took it slow. Some things shouldn’t be rushed and this was one of them. When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were soft and warm. Her lips curved into a smile. Desire still simmered in her eyes, but there was amusement there, too.

“Are you as uncomfortable as I am?”

He chuckled. “Probably more.” The floor was rock hard.

He jumped up, then reached down and pulled her up. Maybe he pulled too hard. Maybe she stumbled. Whatever happened, she was in his arms and he wasn’t going to complain about the how.

He found her mouth again, and was settling in for a prolonged visit, when her radio crackled. She jumped. He might have, too.

She stepped back, like someone could see them. She cleared her throat, then depressed the switch on her ear piece.

“Donovan.” She released the switch.

Fyn couldn’t hear what was said—she’d added some kind of headset device to her radio since she came aboard—but she flushed.

“I was just heading…that way, sir. Yes…yes, sir.”

She bit her lip for a moment, then looked at him. “I’ve been— reminded to…well, get some rest.”

Fyn bit back a grin as color rose in her face. He took it as a positive sign that she couldn’t say the word bed.

“I’ll walk you.”

She nodded and they headed for the door. Just in front of it, she stopped, took a deep breath and…retreated…inside herself. Her eyes turned cool again and her mouth lost its soft curve.

As he followed her out, he asked, in a low voice, “Why do you hide from them?”

She gave a quick, startled look before she could blank her face. She walked a few paces without answering and he thought maybe she wouldn’t.

“Because,” she said, her voice low, too, “they don’t want to know me. And they wouldn’t…like me if they did.” The corridor was empty when she stopped suddenly, facing him, her face a cool mask, but her voice was intense when she added, “And when you get to know me better, you’ll wish you didn’t.”