contents of the packet, and everything else besides, if she could have his ticket, and on the same terms.
“I’ll be on the ramp in an hour,” he says. “Going back to orbit. ”
She gives him a grin. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you there,” she says.
He nods, his eyes on hers. He starts to say something, then turns himself off again, as if he realizes it’s pointless. “Be careful,” he says, and leaves without another glance. One of her hired muscle looks in at her.
“It’s clear,” she says. The muscle nods.
She looks at the fortune in her hand and feels suddenly hollow. There is a vacuum in her chest where the joy should be. The drink she has ordered tastes as flat as barley water, and a headache throbs in time to the LED light burning in her forehead. She pays off her hired muscle and takes a cab to an all-night bank, where she deposits the endorphin in a rented box. Then she takes the cab home. The apartment hums softly, emptily. She finds the control to her LED and turns it off, then throws her clothing in the trash. Naked, she steps into her room and sees the holo of Princess on her night table. Hesitantly, she reaches out to it, then turns it face down and falls into the welcoming blackness.
LOVELY AND WAITING FOR YOU
TERRY’S TOUGH ’N’ TENDER
NOW
SIt is still night when she awakens to the sound of the door. “Daud?” she asks, and is answered by a groan.
He is wrapped in a sheet and covered with blood. Jackstraw holds him up, panting, his neck muscles straining. “Bastard,” he says.
She picks Daud up like a child and carries him to her bed. His blood smears her arms, her breasts. “Bastard went thatch,” Jackstraw says. “I was only gone a minute.”
Sarah arranges Daud on the bed and unwraps the sheet. A whimpering sound forces its way up her throat. She puts her hand to her mouth. Daud is striped in blood–– the thatch must have used some kind of weighted whip. Weakly, he tries to move, raises a hand as if to ward off a blow.
“Lie back,” Sarah says. “You’re at home.”
Daud’s face crinkles in pain. “Sarah,” he says, and begins to cry.
Sarah feels tears stinging her own eyes and blinks them away. She looks up at Jackstraw.
“Did you give him anything?” she asks.
“Yeah. Endorphin. First thing.”
“How much?”
He looks at her blankly. “Lots. I don’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to leave the next room,” she says.
His eyes slide away. “It was a busy night,” he says. “I was only gone a minute.”
She turns her eyes back to Daud. “It took more than a minute for this,” she says. “Get the fuck out.”
“It’s not–”
There is a savage light in her eyes. She wants to tear him but she has other things to do.
“Get the fuck out,” she repeats. He hesitates for another instant, then turns away.
She cleans the cuts and disinfects them. Daud cries silently, his throat working. Sarah looks for his injector and finds it, loads it with endorphins from his cache, and guesses at a dosage. She puts it in his arm, and he says her name and goes to sleep. She watches for a while, making sure he hasn’t taken too much, and then puts the covers over him and turns down the light.
“Just lie back,” she says. “I’ve got the price of your ticket.” She leans down to kiss his beardless cheek. The bloody sheet goes in the trash.
Daud normally sleeps on the convertible sofa in the front room, and after making sure he is asleep, she moves to the other room and, without bothering to open the sofa, lies down on it. The room hums, and for a long while she listens.
TAMPA’S TOTALS OVERNITE, AS OF 8 THIS MORNING–
TWELVE FOUND DEAD IN CITY LIMITS…
LUCKY WINNERS COLLECT AT ODDS OF 5 TO 3
The explosion has enough force to throw the sofa against the far wall. Sarah feels a hot rush of wind that tears the breath from her throat, the elevator sensation of the world falling away, and then a final impact as the wall comes up. Screams are
“I’ll be on the ramp in an hour,” he says. “Going back to orbit. ”
She gives him a grin. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you there,” she says.
He nods, his eyes on hers. He starts to say something, then turns himself off again, as if he realizes it’s pointless. “Be careful,” he says, and leaves without another glance. One of her hired muscle looks in at her.
“It’s clear,” she says. The muscle nods.
She looks at the fortune in her hand and feels suddenly hollow. There is a vacuum in her chest where the joy should be. The drink she has ordered tastes as flat as barley water, and a headache throbs in time to the LED light burning in her forehead. She pays off her hired muscle and takes a cab to an all-night bank, where she deposits the endorphin in a rented box. Then she takes the cab home. The apartment hums softly, emptily. She finds the control to her LED and turns it off, then throws her clothing in the trash. Naked, she steps into her room and sees the holo of Princess on her night table. Hesitantly, she reaches out to it, then turns it face down and falls into the welcoming blackness.
LOVELY AND WAITING FOR YOU
TERRY’S TOUGH ’N’ TENDER
NOW
SIt is still night when she awakens to the sound of the door. “Daud?” she asks, and is answered by a groan.
He is wrapped in a sheet and covered with blood. Jackstraw holds him up, panting, his neck muscles straining. “Bastard,” he says.
She picks Daud up like a child and carries him to her bed. His blood smears her arms, her breasts. “Bastard went thatch,” Jackstraw says. “I was only gone a minute.”
Sarah arranges Daud on the bed and unwraps the sheet. A whimpering sound forces its way up her throat. She puts her hand to her mouth. Daud is striped in blood–– the thatch must have used some kind of weighted whip. Weakly, he tries to move, raises a hand as if to ward off a blow.
“Lie back,” Sarah says. “You’re at home.”
Daud’s face crinkles in pain. “Sarah,” he says, and begins to cry.
Sarah feels tears stinging her own eyes and blinks them away. She looks up at Jackstraw.
“Did you give him anything?” she asks.
“Yeah. Endorphin. First thing.”
“How much?”
He looks at her blankly. “Lots. I don’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to leave the next room,” she says.
His eyes slide away. “It was a busy night,” he says. “I was only gone a minute.”
She turns her eyes back to Daud. “It took more than a minute for this,” she says. “Get the fuck out.”
“It’s not–”
There is a savage light in her eyes. She wants to tear him but she has other things to do.
“Get the fuck out,” she repeats. He hesitates for another instant, then turns away.
She cleans the cuts and disinfects them. Daud cries silently, his throat working. Sarah looks for his injector and finds it, loads it with endorphins from his cache, and guesses at a dosage. She puts it in his arm, and he says her name and goes to sleep. She watches for a while, making sure he hasn’t taken too much, and then puts the covers over him and turns down the light.
“Just lie back,” she says. “I’ve got the price of your ticket.” She leans down to kiss his beardless cheek. The bloody sheet goes in the trash.
Daud normally sleeps on the convertible sofa in the front room, and after making sure he is asleep, she moves to the other room and, without bothering to open the sofa, lies down on it. The room hums, and for a long while she listens.
TAMPA’S TOTALS OVERNITE, AS OF 8 THIS MORNING–
TWELVE FOUND DEAD IN CITY LIMITS…
LUCKY WINNERS COLLECT AT ODDS OF 5 TO 3
The explosion has enough force to throw the sofa against the far wall. Sarah feels a hot rush of wind that tears the breath from her throat, the elevator sensation of the world falling away, and then a final impact as the wall comes up. Screams are
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