The Paradox Initiative (16 page)

“
A pleasure to meet you,” he smiled again, inclining his head to her. “And in addition to that pleasure, I wanted to inform you of the existence of an entire level on this ship devoted to physical exercise of all kinds.”

“Is there really?” Kestrel sat up,
truly listening now.

“Oh, yes, it’s been my personal project,” he nodded, sliding into the booth seat across from her and
laying his coat down. “A two week voyage is
far
too long to simply laze about, watching 4-D’s and eating and shooting at things in arcades. People enjoy it the first week, but as the second week begins, passengers become dissatisfied. For a long while this was an apparent mystery to the management—until I came up with the simple answer: people need to
exercise
. A routine of exercise will make everyone happier, and more able to enjoy the other amusements.”

“Makes sense to me,” Kestrel acknowledged, enjoying the sound of his voice and his eloquent expression more than anything.

“I thought it would, after seeing your pace,” he grinned. Kestrel laughed.

“
Anyway, I shan’t trouble you any further,” he said, sliding out of the booth and picking up his coat. “But it’s on level five, if you’re interested in such a thing—and if you should have any questions, your cabin’s communications service can easily ring me or my staff.”

“And—what was your name again?” Kestrel asked.

“Doctor William Anthony,” he said smartly, his sky-blue eyes lingering on her face. “Hope to see you soon, April.”

“Thank you,” she answered. And just like that, he was gone.

“Jack!”

The call
rang through the giant hanger bay. Kestrel pulled her attention down from the underbelly of a sleek, copper-colored, two man transport to look across the vast metal floor. Red-headed Jim, grinning, strode out across it toward them, lit by the harsh lights far overhead. Kestrel sensed the rest of the small tour group move on to a larger, classic vessel, but Wolfe stepped up next to Kestrel and held out his hand before Jim had even gotten to them.

“Good morning, mate!” Jim greeted Wolfe, shaking his hand. He smiled at Kestrel. “Good morning, ma’am! Nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Jim,” Kestrel said brightly, finding herself happy to see him. Jim stepped back, glancing around.

“Taking the hanger bay tour, eh?” he commented. “How do you like this F37? Pretty handsome!”

“Yes, it is,” Wolfe nodded, turning to assess the smooth, two-winged vehicle in whose shadow they stood.

“Ever flown one?” Jim asked.

“Nope,” Wolfe said crisply. “Not quite brave enough.”

“Don’t believe that, not for a minute,” Jim declared.
“Say, what are you two doing this evening?”

Wolfe turned back around. Kestrel perked up, listening.

“Why?” Wolfe asked.

“They’re opening the pub up
at seven o’clock for snacks and non-alcoholic beverages,” Jim explained. “Just to get the word out that it’s down there before we cross the Liquor Line tomorrow, haha!”

“Good thinking,” Wolfe smiled.

“You two ought to come!” Jim invited. “We’ve got more instruments—a cello, a piano, another guitar…You can even play with us a bit if you’d like, Jack. I know people would love to hear the way you play that guitar!”

Wolfe took a breath, the skin around his eyes tightening.

“I appreciate your asking me to do that, Jim, but I—”

“That sounds fun,” Kestrel cut in. “I’ll come.”

“Glad to hear it!” Jim crowed, then raised his eyebrows at Wolfe. “You aren’t going to let her come all by herself, are you? Pretty lady like her—someone’s likely to steal her away from you!” He looked at her sideways and winked at her again. Kestrel halfway glanced at Wolfe, but his expression stayed neutral. Jim laughed and slapped Wolfe’s arm.

“I’ll see you tonight, lad,” he said, walking off and pointing at Wolfe as he left. Wolfe watched him go, but didn’t say anything
about it. Then he straightened, frowning, and searched the reaches of the hanger bay.

“
Looks like they’ve left us behind,” he mused, and started off to catch up with the group, leaving Kestrel to mull things over on her own.

Kestrel
assessed her reflection in the mirror of her bathroom. She and Wolfe had ordered room service for supper, and though they had talked while they ate around the entertainment console, the discussion had centered around the map room, and the three-hundred vehicles stored in the hanger bay, and how much each of them cost. Not a word about the pub.

Then, Wolfe had sat down to a game of solitary checkers, leaving Kestrel to amuse herself. For a while, she had vacillated by
the foot of her bed, studying the clock, which had read 6:00. Then, she had set her jaw, spun, headed into the bathroom and shut the door.

She had showered, washed
her hair thoroughly, then got out and dried. Then, while wrapped in a towel, she had used the hand-held, courtesy drying device that caused her chestnut hair to curl gently, showing off its layers, instead of ironing it straight as she usually did. And, after considering a moment, she had left it down, so it tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. After that, she had dug through her bag and found a long pair of pants that flowed rather than clung, and her light blue shirt with a v-neck instead of a high collar. She had dressed, then put on some makeup, using more color than usual around her eyes, and on her lips. As a last touch, she had slipped on the more delicate flats that had come with her bag, leaving her boots by her bed. Now, she smiled at herself, pleased with what she saw. Her dark eyes appeared bright now—she looked pretty. She even
felt
pretty, which was a rarity these days.

She drew herself up, still smiling, and strode toward the
bedroom door, making certain she had her cards in her pocket. The door swished open, and she hopped down the step and started toward the front door.

“What—”

She halted, turning.

Wolfe had sat up on the edge of his bed, a checker piece
held up in his left hand. He stared at her. His gray glance flicked up and down her form.

“What are you…” He stopped, and cleared his throat. “Where are you going?”

“To the pub, like I said,” Kestrel answered. “I’m not even close to being tired yet—and I’d like to hear some more music.” She paused. “Want to come along?”

“Well, I’m
…” he started, absently fingering the checkers piece, but never pulling his eyes from her face. Then, he glanced at the board and cleared his throat again. “Sure. Why not?” He put the checkers piece down and got to his feet. He tugged on his leather jacket, then nodded, gesturing to the door. “After you.”

“Thank you
,” she smiled. She stepped through, feeling him draw up beside her, and they headed to the lift in stride.

They had barely crossed the threshold of the tavern before a beaming Kie hurried up to them and motioned them in further.

“Jim will be glad to see you!” he declared. “He’s saved a table for the two of you near the stage, so if you feel like joining in, Jack, you’d be welcome.”

“Thank you,” Wolfe said
, surprised. “Thank you very much.”

“Follow me,” Kie bid them, and they trailed through the half-full pub toward the front. Low chatter filled the room as waiters wove between the
crowded tables and booths, hoisting trays filled with fizzy drinks over their heads.

“No androids,” Kestrel remarked to Wolfe.

“Must’ve figured out people enjoy being waited on by actual humans,” Wolfe answered, striding around the last booth and coming out by the stage.

“Here’s Jack!” Kie announced. The other men, much
more dressed up than before, got to their feet and greeted him warmly, shaking his hand and slapping his shoulders. Wolfe appeared startled at first, but each friendly greeting made his frame relax a bit. The men also said hello to Kestrel, brightly calling her “April,” expressing their gladness that she’d come along. Kestrel caught sight of the piano Jim had mentioned, snugged up next to the stage, with a cello sitting on a stand near it.

“Have a seat and relax,” Jim suggested, pointing to a booth for two very close to them. “Have a drink—on the house. We were about to play an original composition of ours, then one or two others. When we get to the folk songs, we’ll pull you up! Don’t think we won’t!”

“All right,” Wolfe laughed, waving and backing toward the booth, then sliding into it. Kestrel followed him, sitting down across from him. The band assembled, getting their instruments in place, then sat down and began to play a fast, complicated tune at a reckless pace. The patronage listened to them with delight, sometimes clapping along.

“So why didn’t you ever learn an instrument, Brown Eyes?”

Kestrel blinked, then turned to Wolfe. His hands clasped together on the table, and he watched her a moment before attending to the musicians. “Seems like you like music.”

Kestrel smiled
ruefully, looking where he did.

“I started playing
synth-violin when I was little,” she said. “But I never liked performing in front of people. My hands got sweaty.”

He chuckled.

“So you gave up?”

She shrugged.

“I learned to sing. I like that.” She laughed to herself. “And I can sing better than I could ever play the violin.”

They fell silent. Kestrel watched the band for a while, then turned back to Wolfe. He was already looking at her.

Instantly, he glanced away. Kestrel’s breathing quickened. She canted her head.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He chuckled, and his eyebrow twitched.

“Why not?”

“Why do you call me ‘Brown Eyes’?” she wondered.

He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged
.

“Keeps me from saying your real name,” he answered, keeping his voice down. “That wouldn’t be a
smart thing to do around here, would it?”

“Probably
not,” Kestrel acknowledged, still intent on his face.

“
And…
that’s the first thing I saw when I stepped out,” he went on, even lower. “A pair of big, brown eyes.” He looked at her again. Kestrel squeezed her hands together under the table.

He smiled
quietly. It changed the whole aspect of his face. Lit his eyes, as if with candlelight; gentled the stern edges of his face, eased his scars, and softened his mouth. And in a sudden, silent rush, Kestrel realized something she hadn’t thought about since she first saw him: he was handsome.

And then, words fell out of her mouth without permission.

“Where did you come from, Jack?”

He smiled again,
lowering his head, then leaned back and glanced at the ceiling.

“A place very d
ifferent from this one,” he declared. “A quieter one. Less flashiness, less busy-ness.” He waved his hand dismissively. He sighed, casting around the pub again, but seeming distant. “A lot of things were simpler. Prettier. More honest.”

Kestrel’s eyebrows drew together as she
considered him, trying to fathom what he meant. Her mouth opened as another question formed…

The piano bench scraped. Kestrel looked over her shoulder as Kie sat down at the black instrument, set his hands on the keys and attended to George, who held his cello and bow at the ready. They nodded to each other,
and Kie began.

It was a soft, swaying melody—very simple at first. Lovely. Like a walk through a forest in the fall.
And then the cello began to hum, lilting between the harp-like notes of the piano. Kestrel listened for a little, but then her questions pressed against her breastbone again. She turned back to Wolfe.

“I was going to ask you—” she began.

“Do you dance?” he wondered, meeting her eyes frankly. Her eyebrows shot up, and her face turned hot.

“I…
no
,” she shook her head. “No. I’m not…Not that kind of girl.”

He stared at her a second, then laughed.

“
What?
What do you mean?”

“I don’t…” she stammered. “I mean, dancing isn’t…” She trailed off, not understanding why
he
didn’t understand. Apparently very amused, Wolfe shook his head.

“I don’t know what kind of dancing
you’re
talking about,” he said, grinning.

“What were you thinking of, then?” she frowned.

“C’mere,” he said, sliding out of the booth and standing up. He beckoned to her with his fingers. She gulped.

“What are you…”

“C’mon, it doesn’t
hurt
,” he rolled his eyes. “Everybody ought to know this.”

Kestrel shakily got to her feet,
feeling off balance. He faced her.

“Do you know anything about
waltzing?” he asked.

“I…Um, no,” she confessed, knowing she was still blushing terribly. “What’s—”

“Relax,” he grinned. “I told you, it doesn’t hurt. I’ll teach you.”

“Oh…kay,” Kestrel managed.

“Come here and stand on my feet,” he instructed. Kestrel’s eyes flashed.

“Why
—”

“Here,” he said, took hold of her
upper arms and pulled her to him. Kestrel stumbled, then placed both her feet on top of his boots.

And all at once she was standing
very
close to him.
Right
up against him. Her head came up—she looked directly into his face. She couldn’t breathe.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder,” he instructed, apparently unaffected
, as he guided her hand up to where it should be. Her hand rested on the smooth leather of his jacket and held on.

“Now, let me have the other hand,” he said, grasping her right hand in his left, and holding it out to their sides. “And I put my
arm around you like this.” His right hand slid around her back and pressed against the center of it, just above the small of her back, making her stand up so straight…

He adjusted his grip on her right hand—she could feel a callous near his forefinger knuckle, but the rest of his skin was soft, his grip
strong.

“Now,” he said, glancing
critically over their posture. “Your steps mirror mine. That’s why you’re standing on my feet right now. In a minute, when you get it, you’ll stand on your own and dance. The trick is to follow my lead.” He looked down into her face. She tilted her head back, gazing into his eyes. Eyes like the prairie sky before a storm…

She nodded.

He smiled.

“Okay, here we go.”

He leaned slightly to one side, and stepped with the music. Her feet, on his, naturally followed. She had to hold on to him to stop herself from toppling backward—but then his arm tightened around her, keeping her where she was.

The next moment, she
recognized the rhythm of the dance:
one
-two-three,
one-
two-three,
one
-two-three…

She started breathing again as her brain clicked in. She watched his features intently, listening to him with her whole body. He was
all warm—his hand warmed her cold fingers. He still seemed amused by her. He watched her face in return. He flashed his eyebrows.

“You ready?”

“No—”

“Yes
you are,” he said, and pulled his feet out from under hers. Kestrel almost stumbled—

He swept her into a
spin, pulling her tighter to him, making everything around her head and
in
her head swirl and blur—

And she
was dancing. She gasped, her heart racing as her feet managed to keep up with his. The music built and swelled as they moved together, her body bent slightly back to fit against his, even as he smoothly guided her across the space in front of the stage.

He didn’t take big steps—he kept everything simple, turning her gradually, still halfway smiling as he observed her. Kestrel curled her fingers around a crease in his jacket as they swayed. He lifted his head and looked around the pub, taking a breath.

“Looks like we have an audience.” He smiled down at her again. “Or they just like the pretty picture.”

“What?” Kestrel
wondered.

“That’s my job,” he said. “To make you look good, kind of like a picture frame makes a painting look good.
You’re
what everybody’s supposed to be paying attention to.”

Startled, Kestrel didn’t know what to say to that. His
eyes sparkled, and he dipped his head towards hers for an instant.

“That’s a compliment, Brown Eyes.”

She almost laughed, turning her face away.

“Well
, I…” She drew herself up, trying not to trip, and met his eyes again. “Thank you.”

They fell quiet, both of them smiling. Then, he drew a
nother bracing breath.

“Okay, we’re going to try a twirl.”

“Um…” Kestrel winced. He laughed at her.

“
Don’t worry about it,” and he pulled back from her, letting go of her with one hand but directing her with the other hand into a quick turn underneath his arm. Then, before she knew what was happening, she was back in his arms. She grabbed hold of his jacket and let out a surprised giggle, which made him chuckle in return.

“Very good, very good,”
he praised. “Only stepped on my foot once.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Kestrel cried, withdrawing from him and missing a step. He
immediately pulled her back to him, adjusting his grip on her and shaking his head.

“That’s what these boots are for.”

“Really,” Kestrel said flatly. “To protect you from girls stepping on you.”

“
Of course.”

Kestrel laughed again, much louder—but she didn’
t care, and Wolfe only gazed out over her head and grinned, then met her gaze. His expression became curious.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?”

She shook her head firmly.

“Never. Not once in my life.”

“Well, you’re very good,” he admitted. “Must have a heck of a teacher.”

Kestrel snorted, feeling a little giddy. He laughed at her again—a deep, rich sound that had lost all its rustiness. Then,
too soon, the music ended.

Ever
ybody clapped and cheered. Kestrel blushed, and hid her face. But before the noise had even started to die down, Jim called to them.

“Jack! April! Come here!” he motioned to them, and they hurried up to the stage.

“Did you say you were a singer of songs, lass?” Jim asked intently.