“Are all the station’s external weapons functional?” Hopefully he won’t take that as me probing for information that could be used against him.
Hon gives me an indulgent smile, leaning closer. Damn, he smells good, a spicy, smoky scent that renders him narcotic. “Don’t fret ’ bout that. Nobody gets in I don’t want here, true. Now I’m gone ask you, what you know ’ bout my business outside?”
“Nothing, really.” And that’s the truth; most of what I’ve heard is speculation. Because who the hell ever gets to meet Hon? If they did, this place would be overrun with women wanting to play pirates with him.
“Me, I got a fleet of ships, and we appropriate goods from the Corp shippin’ lanes, keep what we need and sell the rest in the Outskirts.” He seems to study me as if waiting for me to ask an obvious question.
So I consider for a moment. “That means you have jumpers. From where?”
In fact, this gets me thinking about Edaine. Where did March find her? The Corp led us to believe we were the only source of trained jumpers. Of course they also had me thinking my shit didn’t stink, so maybe I should stop believing anything I learned from them. It might make adjustment to the real world easier.
Hon grins, his gold front teeth gleaming. “The Corp’s very wasteful. Hide jumpers away, don’t even try to fix them. I smuggle them out, two or three at a time.”
He must be talking about the broken ones, who suffer bad jumps and can’t quite rebound. They wind up nervous, twitching, and heavily medicated in station asylums. And there are others, who possess the J-gene and begin training but lack the mental strength to handle grimspace. They’re the saddest of all. But I gather he’s making use of these lost souls somehow.
“How can you repair them?”
“My biomechanic. Not much personality after he’s through, but my jumpers get the job done.”
Part of me feels repulsed. Clearly he’s talking about a mechanical integration that robs them of their humanity, but then again, what sort of life did they have, sedated in the asylums? Is being made useful any worse than remaining lost to horrors nobody else can see? I don’t feel qualified to judge.
“That’s…enterprising,” I say at last.
His arm drifts around me, his large hand lighting on my far shoulder. “But you don’t wanna talk ’ bout that right now.”
I’d have to be an idiot not to know where this is heading, but I’m not sure how I should react. How long since Kai died? How soon is too soon? But Hon is gorgeous, and if I can procure safe passage with a few nights of sex, why wouldn’t I?
“What then?” I let myself lean against him, surprised by his heat and solidity.
“Me, I think you don’t wanna talk at all.” He runs his hand beneath the weight of my hair, long fingers flexing into my neck, and it feels good.
I find myself tilting my head, though he’s applying minimal pressure, and I think that’s the point. Another exercise of power—I’m supposed to offer my mouth. Wonder if he likes to play master/slave girl in the bedroom. That’s not my thing; I don’t enjoy submission, but maybe I’ll give it a try, this once.
Still, I can’t bring myself to close the few centimeters between our lips. It’s just not my style, and I enjoy being chased, like it when a man makes an effort. That says I’m worth the trouble to pursue, although it’s been a long time. First, I was Simon’s wife, then Kai’s woman, although my toes curl, remembering the way Kai used to tantalize me.
Hon gives a low, husky laugh, as if he realizes I’m not going to prove an easy conquest. It’ll take more than his proximity and the brush of his fingertips on the nape of my neck. And then he whispers, “Oh, I am gone enjoy you, pretty.”
The flickering lights and the throbbing music only add to the surreal quality of the moment, as he leans close. So close, I smell the wine on his breath. I can almost taste his kiss, and while I’m not advancing, I don’t pull back, either.
I’m actually going to do it.
From a million miles away, I hear someone clearing his throat. “Jax. You’re needed on the Folly. It’s urgent.”
Feeling giddy, I turn to see March behind us, and he doesn’t look happy.
CHAPTER 29
So far, I don’t see any urgency.
Doc has brought Canton Farr back to the ship to show him the formula he used in synthesizing the nutri-gel March has been smearing on his chest for almost a month. I guess Dina and Loras are still on station, enjoying the party. Farr is a thin man with nervous hands, the sort who spills things compulsively, then makes the mess exponentially worse with his apologetic daubing. It’s almost impossible to imagine him living rough for years, as he reputedly did during his covert study on Mareq.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Farr’s saying, not for the first time I imagine. “Stole one of the hatchlings. It’s abominable.”
“You’d prefer we left it to die?” March snaps.
Fortunately, Doc remembers we need this man’s help, and adds in appeasement, “Yes, a regrettable necessity, to be sure, but think of the opportunities for study. You’ll have a chance to verify all your observations at close range, won’t you? I think it should be safe to take samples.”
I still don’t see why I’m needed here.
Farr brightens. “Well, that’s certainly true. You seem to have gotten him—”
“It’s a him?” Doc wants to know.
The scientist nods. “…past the initial hurdle, which means you’re going to see an increase in activity. Typically the offspring stays close to its parent, participating in—”