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I’m not sure that’s true. What is true is that Myhre avoids Kez like she’s got Irrothian plague.

In the formal chain of command, Myhre reports directly to Chiara.

But in reality, she pretty much does her own thing and ducks any situation where she even has to be the same room as either my kitten or Baby Tyng.

Since Myhre was fanatically devoted to Chi’s father – and remains fanatically devoted to his company – I can only figure her antipathy stems from resentment of our coup.

I type in a plex to Myhre. Her head tips very slightly as she reads it. Then she says, “Gentlemen, thank you very much for your time today. Michael, would you please report to SecChief Snow tomorrow at sixteen hundred? Bradley and Hithen will take Miz Tyng’s detail in the meanwhile.”

Exeter’s out of his chair before she has a chance to draw another breath. He holds his hand out to her across her desk. “Thank you, Miz Hata.”

They shake; Exeter all but drags Mike out of Myhre’s office.

“He might have something to hide,” Kez observes.

“Maybe,” I allow. “Or maybe he had enough of Myhre’s questions an hour ago and doesn’t enjoy havin’ his man raked over the coals. You only caught the tail end of it. It was not pretty.”

“I could tell from the little I saw. If Mike doesn’t know anything, who does? Any idea who was paying her?”

“Not yet, but the kemwar’s next job is crackin’ Mara’s credit account and tracing whatever up-front she received back to source.” As I say it, I tap a plex into the ship interface. Myhre’s response flashes back: preliminary report, 90 minutes.

I show the message to Kez. She rolls her eyes, being as familiar with Myhre’s preliminary reports as I am. “That’s something to look forward to.”

I chuckle and draw her back into my arms. “Guess I’m driving, huh?”

She frowns faintly as she looks up at me. She loves flying and resents the loss of any opportunity. “Why’s that?”

“Cause you’ll be busy on the vloop,” I say, nodding at her outfit.

She’s paired the lethally-heeled boots with black tights that show off the very fine musculature of her thighs, and a red dress that’s barely long enough to earn the name.

The dress is sleeveless, falls loose over the shallow curves of her breasts and hips, and is patterned with grey-and-black floral shapes that shift as I watch. Holosilk. Sexy.

She arches an eyebrow. “You’d do better on the vloop than I will. Guys always go for more.”

I chuckle. My kitten gives as good as she gets.

“Particularly in see-through,” she continues.

She runs her hand up the front of my shirt, which is see-through. I dressed up, too. We didn’t talk about this in advance, but Kez and I are in sync on a lot of levels. Looking the part lets the rats know how seriously we take the invitation into their territory, and how important they are to us.

“Like it?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” she says. “I liked it when I designed it, and I like it now that I see it on you. ”

I back up a step and turn around in the narrow space between the co-pilot’s chair and console, so she can get the full effect.

Clothes have never been my thing. I wear fatigues most of the time because I got used to wearing them in SAWL.

Living with Kez and her crew for the last few weeks has given me a new appreciation for clothes.

Kez’s crowd, ex-street rats all, care so much about clothes that Kez, who hordes each credit like it’s her last, splashed out on a fabricator.

I’ve never even seen one before, much less owned one.

I know they cost as much as my old ship.

Kez has showed me how to design things on the fabricator, which prints the design in any fiber, including genSkin. But I don’t have any talent for it.

Kez, on the other hand, could have a nice second career as a clothing designer, if she decided to give up running.

The shirt she’s made for me is like smoke thrown over my skin.

Strips of black genSkin define the collar, shoulders, cuffs and hem.

Because Kez knows how much I like to be armed, the cuffs are wide enough to hide a pair of punch knives in hidden sheaths.

The rest is soft black fabric so sheer that my body is on full display, muscles, scars and all.

When I first saw the shirt, I wasn’t sure if it said ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck off,’ which is typical of Kez’s designs.

Sexy, but always with an edge. I’ve paired the shirt with leather pants and my trike boots, to take the outfit into the realm of ‘fuck off.’

Much more my style.

Once she finishes admiring me, Kez settles in the pilot’s chair and makes short work of the take-off.

She’s learned a lot in the three weeks I’ve been teaching her to fly.

Even the transition from my old short-hopper to the big Infinity-class jumper we bought together hasn’t phased her.

She flies smart, heading out of the spaceport and immediately turning down the coastline to pick up the lift from the convergence zone.

Saving fuel, although the cost of fuel isn’t as much of a concern for us as it used to be, and the Infinity has a solar sail as well as the heavy-water reactor. Good ship.

While she flies, Kez brings me up to speed on the outcome of Chiara’s afternoon of meetings, which Kez had on live feed the same way I watched the debriefing. “They’re still playing hard ball about the import tariffs,” Kez tells me. “But at least they’re not closing the water market anymore.”

“Good.” If we shut down the Hex side of the business, water sales will have to make up the loss, so it’s important that not just Kuseros but the whole sector is open for our business.

“And then there were the holodrops,” Kez continues.

“Holodrops?” I can’t immediately connect a holodrop with the water market.

“Chi went from the meetings with the Ykimo delegation to her Crackle planner to look at holodrops. This trip got me out of going with her, but she still wanted me to make a short-list with her. What the hell do I care if she has her Crackle in a fake medieval castle or on a fake mountain-top?”

I have to grin. My kitten has more of a romantic side than her rant would suggest, but the arrangements for Chiara and Ape’s Crackle – personal contract ceremony – only seem to interest the bride herself.

I haven’t even seen Ape show any interest. Of course, he is being forced into the contract, so maybe his lack of enthusiasm is understandable.

“I know what you need,” I say.

“Sex?” Kez asks hopefully.

I chuckle. “A vacation.”

“With lots of sex,” Kez mutters. For someone who is delightfully submissive once we get into bed, my kitten is very aggressive about getting there.

“I think I can promise you that.” It’s not like there’s a deficit of sex in our relationship now.

But this will be the first time we’ve had several days of uninterrupted time together.

We’ll be able to play some serious games.

That thought is enough of a turn-on that I shift in my chair.

Which reminds me to visit Doc Gray while we’re on the Clouds.

Newskin doesn’t work on erectile tissue, and the little monster is fairly chapped just from our normal activities.

Particularly after last night with the cane.

If Kez and I are gonna fuck for five days straight, I really need some salve.