Amidst a Crowd of Stars Page 5

  “Come on, girls,” she said at last, when the only person remaining in the starport station was the elderly Lujawedi sweeping the floors. “Let’s go home.”

  As she turned, one last figure appeared in the starport doors. A tall man with dark hair to his shoulders, wearing a blue jumpsuit with white piping.

  He stepped cautiously through the doors and looked around. His eyes fell on their little group and he smiled, stepping forward, the look on his face one of a man greeting long-lost friends. He looked overjoyed to see them, and Marrin stepped back at the sight of Keane Delacore’s smile. He didn’t look forty. He looked even younger than her twenty-six years.

  “Marrin Levy, I greet you,” he said.

  The formality of his speech took her aback for a second, but then she nodded. He spoke in Universal, in which she was competent, but not fluent. Perhaps he wasn’t either.

  “Welcome to Lujawed.” Her voice sounded strained and brisk even to herself. She cleared her throat and held out the hand not holding Hadassah’s. The little girl had shrunk behind her mother, watching from around Marrin’s hip. “You must be Keane.”

  “I answer to that, yes.”

  He had an easy grin that tried to make her mouth twitch upward in response, but it had been so long since Marrin had smiled, the effort failed. His faded a bit when she nodded at him instead. He turned his attention to Sarai and Aliya, who had ceased their running and now stared with wide eyes at the stranger their mother had agreed to bring home with them.

  “You must be Aliya.” Keane pulled something from his pocket and held it out to the oldest girl, who reached out a trusting hand.

  Instinct almost made Marrin intercept him, but she resisted. This man had passed every test the Association for Interplanetary Spousal Provision had given him. He’d scored higher in morality, work ethic and intelligence than the other ten applicants Marrin’s own analysis had matched her with. She was already technically married to him, and had been since the moment she’d signed the plazscreen at the agency office three months ago. So she stayed her hand and waited to see what he had brought.

  “Thank you!” Aliya looked stunned and happy. She took the chocolate—a full bar, still sealed, and held it to her chest. “Oh, thank you!”

  “And Sarai,” said Keane, pulling another bar from his pocket. He had to bend farther for her, but she took the present with no less enthusiasm than had her older sister.

  “Thank you!” the girl cried, and added a spontaneous hug. Sarai had always been the most affectionate one.

  Keane’s eyes met Marrin’s over the top of Sarai’s head. He looked away in a moment and focused on Hadassah, still clinging to Marrin’s leg, though the bounty of chocolate had drawn her out.

  “And Hadassah.” Keane straightened, hand pulling out a third chocolate bar and handing it toward her.

  Hadassah grabbed it and kicked Keane solidly in the shin.

  “Hadassah!” Marrin’s shocked cry echoed throughout the empty starport. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

  Keane shook his head, standing upright and giving a far kindlier smile to Hadassah than Marrin would have. “It’s all right.”

  She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “She’s usually not—”

  “Marrin.” Keane shook his head. “It’s fine. Really.”

  Marrin nodded. “Shall we go?”

  “Lead the way.” Keane lifted his bag. “They told me the rest would be shipped out to your place once it goes through decontamination.”

  “Yes. I’ve brought the truck. It’s outside.”

  The colony of Bosie couldn’t be called thriving, but it had grown quite a bit since she and Seth had arrived six rotations before. Seeing it now and imagining what it must look like through Keane’s eyes, pride and dismay warred inside her. To an outsider it didn’t look like much, but to one of the original hundred and forty colonists, it was a metropolis built of love and sweat.

  “You’re seeing it at a great time,” she told him as she hefted the too-big-to-be-carried Hadassah onto her hip and walked toward the truck. “Just after the idvad, when everything’s in bloom. In a month, this will all be gone.”

  She indicated the flowers on vines covering most of the buildings.

  Keane nodded. “I’ve read everything I could find about Lujawed. The holos are amazing, but not even close to seeing it for real.”

  That earned him a smile. She settled the girls into their seats and harnesses, then climbed behind the wheel as Keane took the passenger seat.

  “It makes it all worthwhile,” she admitted. “Knowing that for a few weeks out of the year, it’s all beautiful.”

  By the time they got from town to the ranch, Keane had fascinated two of her daughters with tales of his journey.

  Hadassah had always been the most stubborn one, the most spoiled and petted and cosseted, having essentially three mothers instead of only one. She glared at Keane the whole way home. She slammed the door in his face when they got to the house, and she stuck her tongue out him.

  Marrin sent her to her room for that last insult and apologized once more to Keane, who smiled and shrugged, holding out his hands.

  “It takes time,” was all he said. “For everyone.”

  That first night, she offered him the choice of sides of the bed and lay stiff as iron when he climbed in beside her. Their contract stated there would be conjugal benefits included in exchange for his work. Seth was the last man who had touched her. Aside from her children, he was the last person to have touched her in any other than the most casual ways.

  She waited, eyes wide in the darkness, for the slide of a hand along her skin, for a mouth to seek hers. She listened for a shift in his breathing, for the rustle of clothes.

  “I’m sorry,” Keane said at last, his voice a richness dissolving into the darkness like honey dripped into tea. “I’m really tired from the journey. Would you mind if I just went to sleep?”

  “No, of course not. Not at all.”

  And so he went to sleep, while she lay beside him for a long time, unable to sleep.

  He worked hard by her side, and cheerfully, doing whatever task she set for him. He was vocal in his appreciation of her skills in the field, and of the meals she cooked, and of the way she washed his clothes. He never failed to thank her no matter what she did for him.

  He won over Sarai and Aliya with his gentle manner, and he tolerated Hadassah’s constant sassiness with patience and bemusement. Day after day he made himself a part of their family. Night after night he slept beside her in their bed, and night after night he made no move to make love to her.

  “Good night, Marrin,” he always said, and her answer returned, “Good night, Keane.”

  Months passed and she found herself laughing with him over after-dinner coffee, and discussing the girls’ schooling, the crop, the repairs they needed to make to the house, and the sad state of their now mutual bank account. She found herself remembering how he liked his breakfast prepared and making sure his clothes were mended and clean. She discovered herself staring at his hair as it fell over his broad shoulders and down his muscled back, now tanned by the sun.

  She watched him when she thought he wasn’t watching her.

  When he’d said Seveerans aged differently than Earthers, he had meant their lifespans were longer. Once they reached maturity, they did not appear to age. They’d removed themselves almost entirely from the birth process. Genetics and specialized breeding had found a way to stop aging but not death; there was no fading away as there was in Earthers, no gradual decay and decline in quality of life as joints began to ache and vision faded, or memories began to disintegrate. If accident didn’t claim their lives, Seveerans simply reached a time when they no longer wished to live, and then they no longer did.

  It bothered her that he looked younger. When they went into Bosie, the people who saw them assumed Marrin Levy’s field-husband was good for more than planting and harvesting. That she’d hired herself a young lover as well as a labore
r.

  Why it should bother her so much she couldn’t say, since essentially, for all intents and purposes, that was what she had done. Bought a man to replace the one who’d died. What nobody else knew was that she and Keane weren’t lovers. More like partners. And it wasn’t any of anyone’s business, was it?

  “I think I’ll go into town today,” she said one morning.

  Keane looked up from his newsform. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No need.”

  He smiled easily. “I’d like to.”

  “I think I’d rather go by myself.” Her words sounded stiff without reason, angry without reason, and she saw confusion in his eyes. She lifted her chin.

  How could she explain that she didn’t want to walk down the street and listen to the whispers that followed them? Especially when they weren’t true.

  He got up from the table. “Marrin, did I do something wrong?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He frowned, an expression that rarely crossed his face, and moved closer. “You look angry.”

  “Well, I’m not, okay?”

  Fuming, she crossed to the sink and ran the water, hard, though it wasted it. She splashed the dishes and slapped them with the sponge until he came over and twisted the faucet closed. He looked at her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I just want to spend some time by myself,” she snapped. “Is that so much to ask? Do we have to spend every moment together? Can’t I just have some time to myself for once?”

  She couldn’t look at him. Shame turned her face away so she wouldn’t have to see his look of hurt. She wiped her hands and started to move away.

  He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. It was the first time he’d ever touched her deliberately. His grip was strong. It would leave bruises if she tried to yank her arm from his fingers. She didn’t try.

  “If I’ve done something—”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Marrin.” Keane’s gentle voice made her want to cry. “Look at me.”

  She did then because she couldn’t help it. She kept her expression neutral. “What?”

  “Are you going to send me back? Release me from our contract?”

  His question surprised her. “No.”

  He nodded. “Good. Because I don’t want to go back.”

  He released her and she stepped away. “Why not?”

  She’d never asked him his reasons for agreeing to become a field-husband, for traveling light years from home to scratch out an existence on a planet as despairing as Lujawed. He’d never offered an explanation. She knew he wasn’t a criminal because the agency had done a thorough background check. But beyond that, he’d never spoken of home or family.

  She assumed his answer had something to do with some trauma on Seveer. A falling out with his family maybe. Or debts he couldn’t pay. What other reason could he have had for coming here, and not wanting to go back?

  He didn’t answer her question, but posed another one of his own. “Do you wish you’d never sent for me? Or that I was someone different?”

  “Yes,” she said, though she didn’t know why.

  She turned her back and left the kitchen and Keane, and she went to town alone where she spent the day looking in shop windows at items she didn’t need and still could not afford.

  When she got home, she found the house quiet. The girls slept in their room and Keane in a chair by the window, a newsform on his lap. A covered plate in the coolbox made tears spring to her eyes again. She crept from the kitchen to stand in the living room doorway, watching him.

  Then she went to his chair and stood. He opened his eyes.

  “Because I’d miss you and the girls,” he whispered in answer to her earlier question.

  “We’d miss you too,” Marrin whispered back. “Come to bed.”

  She went to the bedroom and got into bed, and Keane got in beside her. They lay in silence for a few minutes.

  “I’m sorry I’m not what you expected me to be,” he said at last.

  “I’m sorry I expected something different.”

  She heard him shift, felt the bed dip as he turned toward her. She waited for him to touch her, but all he said was, “Good night, Marrin.”

  “Good night, Keane.”

  Today

  “Good morning, sir!” the medica chirped as she opened the blinds to let in the sun.

  The poor man had fallen asleep by his wife’s bedside, holding her hand. The medica smiled and moved closer to put her hand on his shoulder. She drew it back immediately with a small cry of surprise.

  “Oh, my,” she said as she ran for someone to come and help her.

  Another medica joined her a moment later. “What’s wrong, Pimmie?”

  She gestured. “They’re gone.”

  “Both of them?”

  She nodded. “Yes. She was ailing, but the young man seemed fine yesterday.”

  The other medica moved closer. “She was his grandma?”

  Pimmie shook her head, remembering the conversation of the day before. “Oh, no. She was his wife.”

  The other medica looked more closely at the man’s face. “But he’s Seveeran. They don’t just die. They have to choose—”

  “And he chose,” said Pimmie, tears sliding down her cheeks. “He chose to go. When she did.”

  She smiled through the tears. “He didn’t want to be without her.”

  “Well, now they’re both in the stars,” said the other medica. “Together.”

  And as she turned to leave the room, Pimmie thought she heard a whisper, but when she turned back to listen, it had gone.

  Good night, Marrin.

  Good night, Keane. I love you.

  I love you, too.

  About the Author

  To learn more about Megan Hart please visit www.meganhart.com. Send an email to Megan at readinbed@gmail.com. Read her blog at www.meganhart.com, or follow her on twitter at www.twitter.com/Megan_Hart.

  Look for these titles by Megan Hart

  Now Available:

  Passion Model

  Protect and Serve just took on a whole new meaning.

  Passion Model

  © 2010 Megan Hart

  For Recreational Intercourse Operative Gemma, patrolling Newcity’s Lovehuts and Pleasurebots isn’t much of a pleasure. But it’s work she clings to after an accident destroyed her marriage and left her with half her body made of replacement parts.

  She keeps her head down and her mind on her job, waiting for the proverbial hammer to fall. The head of the ruling council is out to make those like her illegal. If anyone finds out she’s mecho, she’s toast.

  A routine inspection of a Pleasurebot turns into a strictly forbidden—and mind-blowing—sexual encounter. Then she realizes it isn’t an “it” at all. He’s human, and despite the sweet-hot climaxes he gives her, she buries her report to save them both from the consequences.

  Except he can’t seem to stay away from her, and for a time life seems almost…normal. Until Gemma uncovers Declan’s own deep, dark secret. A secret that could get her fired from R.I.O. Or both of them killed.

  Warning: This book contains graphic depictions of sex with men, women, aliens and robots.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Passion Model:

  The communal area was done in the same silver and black décor as the lobby. Racks and baskets of vinyl and plaz accessories dominated the space. All manner of Pleasurebots, including the relatively rare VCTM models, prepared themselves for the evening.

  “Haven’t seen one of those in a while,” Eddie said with a nod toward one of the VCTMs.

  She had slash marks all over her naked breasts and belly. Unlike some of the other models, who were busy repairing the minor blemishes their violent activities created, the VCTM was only patting on thin layers of plazskin over her wounds. Any amount of pressure on the slashes would reopen the cuts immediately—which was just the effect she wanted.

  She glanced at us from mismatched eyes, a sign
she’d been through some heavy action that had required some repairs more major than the ones she was making now. She was exactly the sort of bot whose clients might seek out a damaged PSSN model.

  “We’re looking for a PSSN-F-03, street name Relava.” I showed her the holo.

  She spoke in a voice like grated glass. “I don’t work with regular bots.”

  Despite what most people might think, the VCTM models are actually among the most intelligent. They have to be. Dumb bots putting themselves in situations where they’re caused constant physical harm as part of some citizen’s sexual thrills would be destroyed so fast it wouldn’t be worth constructing them.

  “She’s got a damaged ignition.”

  “Well, that changes things.” She gave the holo another look. Her flat gaze took in the picture, and then she nodded. “I’ve seen her.”

  People expect Ops to be taciturn and steadfast all the time, but when we get a break we get just as excited as anybody else. I maintained my composure better than Eddie, who let out a long, hissing “yesss!” The VCTM gave him a jaded glance that reminded me how much some of these models are really like women.

  She pulled a complicated contraption of spikes and vinyl from a rack and looked at it for a moment before slipping it over her breasts. The spikes, instead of pointing outward, dug into her skin. She didn’t flinch.

  Intelligent or not, she obviously still needed leading. “Where did you see her?”

  Luck had finally caught up with us. She jerked her head toward one of the corridors. “She was recharging back there a while ago.”

  Sometimes, my instincts scare even myself. Before I even turned, I knew Relava had entered the dressing room. The quiver had become so pronounced, her high heels chattered on the floor.

  There’s not much loyalty among bots. The ones gathered in dressing room scattered like rats startled by the light of a hovertaxi. Relava didn’t waste any time. She shot through the room, shoving the VCTM model aside with one arm, and barreled through the room at top speed.