Page 25

G ig and a herd of giant, hopping fuzzballs greet us at the Warren.

As soon as Sylvie maneuvers the float-bed through the inner doors, I hear the scrabbling of paws on the edge of the cradle.

Bunker, who’s an impressive jumper, is the first up onto my lap.

When the covering sags into the wobbly goo, Bunker looks as offended as only a mutant bunny can look, and hops back down, flicking his hind feet at me in disgust. Ronnie and Chalk are up next.

Ronnie’s not deterred by the sloshy surface and flops across my knees.

Chalk’s a little more cautious, and hunches into a meter-round ball on my shins, glaring at me with her blue eyes so like Kez’s, until I tap my fingers on the edge of the cradle to invite her up.

She wriggles up my legs, worming around Ronnie, until she reaches my thigh.

She hits the damaged one first, feels me flinch and changes course to flop against my left hip.

Kez’s rabbits are almost as endearing as she is, and their sensitivity to human body language is astounding.

I scratch Chalk behind the ears as Sylvie steers me through the house.

I direct Sylvie to the Control Center, a room off the central greenhouse, which houses most of Gig’s impressive collection of gadgetry. It’s also the room where I’ve installed my surveillance equipment.

Gig taps the long interior wall as we enter the room.

The flexypane flickers and several displays pop up.

Gig hands me a palmtop, which I sync as I scan the displays.

Disparate dots on the map are Kez and Chiara, Ape and Duncan.

Gig was tracking all of Kez’s little crew long before I came on the scene.

Kid’s a natural. Ape and Duncan are at opposite ends of the city.

Probably on runs. Kez and Chi are together, in the city center.

Probably at the showroom of the Crackle-planner Kez dislikes so much.

I check four panes of data that aren’t Gig’s. These are mine. Sensors internal and external, readings on the air temperature, density and composition, same for the house’s water supply. The first hit on Chiara was a viral bomb, so there’s no such thing as being too cautious.

All of the readings are in the green. No one has tried to fuck with the Warren.

My eyes flick back to one of Gig’s panes. To a blue dot on the Nock map that shows where Duncan is. With him feeding our enemies information, guess they don’t feel the need to try for us where we live. Smart play, given how I’ve fortified the place.

“Dunk out for the day?” I ask Gig.

“Yeah, he’s got a late run, but he’ll be here in the morning. You need him?”

“Nope. It can wait.” Let the fucker have a few more hours of life.

I check a last pane, which looks black to anyone but me.

The cat’s eye that a chop-doc on Cayster implanted in my cornea lets me see the ultraviolet data.

It’s a double feed. One from the Infinity .

The other from my place by the river. Bunch of messages on the ship-feed.

None from Payton or Acker, which are all I care about at this particular moment.

The feed from my house isn’t green – if anything it’s a very dim purple in my sight – but the effect is the same.

No one has tried to fuck with my place, either.

They were waiting for us to come out in the open .

“What’s the ETA on Kez and Chi?” I ask Gig. The map’s good on location but not on speed or direction. All the dots are stationary until the map updates itself. Which it only does once a minute.

Gig tears his eyes away from something over my left shoulder, and when I glance that way to see what it is, I find a very red-faced Sylvie, who is studiously examining her toes. I turn back to Gig. He’s so red he’s almost purple. Did I miss something?

“You two know each other?” I ask.

“Uh, no. No. My name’s Gig, uh, I mean, Ryan, Ryan Giglan.”

I didn’t even know the kid had a first name.

Gig holds his hand out across me. Sylvie tentatively extends her little mitt, which Gig takes, shakes, and doesn’t let go. “Sylvie,” she barely whispers.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Sylvie. Can I get you anything? You, uh, hungry? Thirsty? We got beer.”

“I’m on duty,” Sylvie murmurs, and colors even further, the blush spreading down to disappear into the neckline of her white uniform.

Gig just stares at her, still holding her hand. I swallow a chuckle. Never been in the middle of the thunderbolt before. Well, except when I met Kez. But that was more of a tornado.

“Gig,” I prompt gently. “When’s Kez back?”

“Oh, uh, thirty, thirty-five minutes.”

“Thanks, kid. Sylvie, can you close me up before then?”

Sylvie blinks, gives herself a little shake, and slowly pulls her hand free. She whips out her palmtop and checks it. “Yes, no problem.”

Good. I want to be back in one piece by the time my kitten arrives. I don’t know if she’s already seen the hole in my hip, but if she hasn’t, I want to spare her that. I know exactly what it will remind her of.

“Hey, is that a Weebo?” Gig asks Sylvie, nodding at her palmtop.

“Uh-huh.” She offers it to him shyly.

I can see where this is going. Gotta hand it to the kid. “Park me up over there,” I tell Sylvie .

“Oh, okay.” She pushes the float-bed over in front of the black pane, then goes back and huddles over her palmtop with Gig.

While they get their geek on, I go through the messages from the Infinity .

Since Gig’s taken over my scheduling, and I’m not taking as many commissions as I used to, there’s nothing interesting, or urgent.

Mostly fluff that’s gotten through the very robust junk filter Gig’s installed.

A message from Maier, inviting me to his weekly poker game.

I plex him ‘no thanks’ back. I wasn’t a huge fan of his Boys’ Nights even before I met Kez.

Now I got much better things to do with my evenings.

To tone down the assholism of my refusal, I offer him the Bauz Cycler run, which has a decent profit to it, and a night out drinking with me and Kez after we come back from Yrillo.

Yrillo.

Part of me knows we’re not going to make it. Actually, all of me knows we’re not going to make it. Part of me has accepted it. The other part is still fighting tooth and nail to keep my promise to my kitten.

But there’s just no way it’s going to happen.

With a heavy sigh, I call up the reservation. A new pane opens on the wall and a pleasant, totally artificial face smiles at me. “Honored Tyng guest,” it says. “How can I help you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gig and Sylvie jump at the unfamiliar voice. That makes me chuckle as I answer, “An emergency has come up. When’s your next open five?”

“With our deepest apologies, Red Sky House is not available again until twenty-two-seven.” I grunt.

That’s more than a standard month from now.

Fuck if I’m waiting that long. “But if Honored Tyng would accept a humble recommendation, StarWave House is available and it has all the amenities of Red Sky.”

For ten percent more. I remember StarWave House from when I first booked our trip.

Ridiculously fucking expensive, as opposed to Red Sky House, which was just really fucking expensive.

But StarWave House is on the same side of Yrillo’s Executive Island D, and that’s what I care about.

I want to be able to watch the sunset over the water with my kitten.

They’re not my credits anyway. “Yeah, go on then,” I say, letting the damn ‘bot upsell me.

“Your reservation is confirmed. We are pleased to welcome Honored Tyng to StarWave House any time after fourteen-six and before twenty-eight-six.”

I nod and shut down the connection. Kez is going to be disappointed. Hell, I’m disappointed. But the only real fix I have on Jaxon is his meet with Payton, when we’re supposed to be on our way to Yrillo. If I can’t nail his ass before then, that’s where and when I have to be.

“Um, Mister—“ Sylvie approaches me, clutching her palmtop. Gig trails her like a puppy. Or, as I’ve learned, a rabbit. They follow their favorite people around better than old Earth terriers. Which is why I’ve got still got Chalk sprawled against my hip, rumbling as I rub her ears, Ronnie flopped across my knees, and Bunker and the queen bunny, Helas, watching me intently from the floor.

“Just Snow,” I remind her.

“Yes, sir, I’m going to clean out those calbots now and close you up. I’ll need to have you lying down and, um, I’m going to need to take off the drape, so—” She looks meaningfully at Gig.

“Ain’t nothin’ he ain’t seen before.” I shrug.

I’ve been living in close quarters with Kez’s crew for the last two weeks.

The Warren’s spacious, like most of the habitables on Kuseros, but there are only two bathrooms. Two bathrooms, six residents, and a constant parade of visitors.

Easy math. Only person I haven’t shared a bathroom with is Chiara. Which is just fine with me.

“Okay.” Sylvie doesn’t argue, which scores her even more points.

She goes to remove the covering but encounters an unexpected deterrent.

Chalk glares at Sylvie, with the concentrated menace only a giant bunny can manage.

Then Chalk shoves her melon-sized head between my elbow and ribs.

That’s a sign of uncertainty with the rabbits.

Chalk is testing Sylvie: trying to figure out whether she’s friend or foe.

When Sylvie doesn’t react like a rabbit, Chalk retreats behind me, her alpha.

I dig around under my arm until I can find Chalk’s floppy, fuzzy ears.

Give them a reassuring scratch. Chalk’s a fairly new mother, so it’s not surprising that she’s a little over-protective. Another way she reminds me of Kez.

“Um, I’m really sorry—” Sylvie begins.