Bright of the Sky by Kay Kenyon Page B

of erotic energy spiked into him. It surprised him how quickly she had summoned him. Placing his hands on his side of the window, he insisted she look at him. Finally she did, driving up the heat in the car. In her left eye he saw the glint of bioware; she might be recording this for later enjoyment. She was one of those modern women, unafraid of bodily adaptation, insisting on direct access to the tideflow, despite the infamous failures of machine-body interface.
    Even so, he wanted her. Even if it was through a window. This was closer than he’d been to a woman in two years, and he was man of appetite, or used to be. Her eyes softened, and he thought that perhaps she too was lonely, locked in her compartment as he was in his.
    There was an emergency release on the window. She saw him glance at it, and nodded. They had plenty of time. It wouldn’t be rushed. He hesitated. Why not? Why not take some comfort?
    Outside, clusters of tract houses sped by, where people lived and made love . . . but the moment passed. He pulled away from the window, seeing the hurt in the woman’s eyes. His lips formed the words I’m sorry. He blacked out the window, leaning back in his seat. At least he still felt something. Even if it was for a stranger. That might be progress if, as Caitlin said, he’d been slipping away.
    But there could be no one new, not even like this, for the body alone. He owed Johanna that much, and he meant to stick by it.
    Caitlin made up a bed for him on the couch. In her bathrobe, with her hair crunched up by sleep, she looked sweet. And relieved to see him.
    “I need to talk to you,” he said.
    But then Rob came into the room, shuffling out to see what the commotion was, and Quinn thought that it could wait until morning, because he wanted to talk to Caitlin alone.
    He lay down, weary at last.
    Caitlin turned at the door, as though she would have said something. But, “Good night,” she whispered, and left him to toss on the hard couch until sleep came.
    In the morning, in the children’s room, he and Mateo tinkered with a broken savant action figure. The lower-level tronic figure wouldn’t activate the battlefield pieces of the invading hordes that Mateo needed as backdrop for his battle queen, the lovely and formidable Jasmine Star.
    The kid had imagination to burn. He’d announced at age five that he’d be a virtual environment designer. Quinn didn’t know if he had the talent, but Caitlin claimed he did. More to the point, would a Company think so? But the kid was eleven years old. He didn’t need to worry about the Standard Test for a couple years.
    Emily lolled on the bed on her stomach, watching the proceedings. “I can’t step on the battlefield, or my feet will get smuffed.”
    Quinn angled the tronic probe into the savant’s circuits. “Smuffed?”
    Mateo shrugged. “She’s been warned.”
    Appearing in the doorway, Rob said, “Maybe Santa Claus has some solutions wrapped up under the tree.”
    Quinn almost had the kink worked out. “Santa Claus will get smuffed if he tries to fly over this tactical ground.”
    “Yezzz,” Mateo said, “tactical ground.”
    Rob watched for a few minutes more, and then headed back to the kitchen to help Caitlin with breakfast.
    With the smells of real cooking and the quiet play of the children, Quinn felt a pang of envy for this domestic peace. And a decided unease that it might be shattered. At forty, Rob was in no position to start over. Or Caitlin, either. The dole would ensure they’d be warm and entertained, but it was a comfortable hell that Quinn would despise, and so would Rob.
    From the lanai of his brother’s apartment twenty stories high, Quinn could barely hear the street noises. At this distance, the road grid was lit up, looking Christmasy in the white and red lights. From the street, sirens pierced the heights as security converged on some scene of violence. The ground level was no place to loiter, and the higher the apartment, the