Misfits by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

the Chilongan government'd
given them was scared out of his prayer beads. 'Course, he'd been
that way since day one, on account of being stuck all by his
lonesome with a buncha Unpious, Outsiders, Orbiteers, Freelovers,
and--damn if there wasn't a dozen more not-exactly-appreciative
names the man had laid on the Lunatics. Scandal'd said it was a
good thing they were on his side, else he'd really be calling in
the long guns, which had made the knot of 'em crouched together
over quick rations laugh, and the liaison rattle his beads.
    Now Skel, Redhead thought, turning her mind
to cheerfuller things, he'd kinda surprised her last night; caught
up to her right after she'd tucked the rig in with proper
camouflage and getting ready to tuck in herself. Sat his pretty
tall self down right there beside where she'd been going over her
vitamins to make sure she was up to date and said it right out.
    "Hardly like it's a fancy invite, Redhead,
but you know, we get along right well and there ain't no time
presently for Liz to approve us a proper Hundred Hours to get all
perfumed and slinky and everything."
    She'd blinked at him, not believing, on
account of there was an unofficial moratorium on asking Miri since
the Grawn brothers had cut each other awhile back about who was
going to ask her--… and she'd have told them both no, anyhow. Sorry
about them, sort of; died in that damn hospital the liaison got
them sent off to.
    But Skel'd said his piece, pointed out that
weren't neither of them on guard schedule, and that he did have
coffee, smokes, and stringent cloth too, among other supplies what
could clean the sweat off and give them some distance from this
land that moved like water and the 'way too many crazy people who
were trying to kill them.
    She'd smiled, felt her heart beating
faster--and faster again, when he lost a bit of his serious and
smiled, too.
    "Hundred Hours is right expensive," she
said. "Don't know I could buy in to it--…"
    He'd laughed, and relaxed some more, like
she'd said something right.
    "Oh, hell, I'd pick up the Hundred Hours. I
mean, I know what a newer 'cruit's got to worry with, 'spense wise.
But like I say, as is, even if we get to town down here ain't none
of these folks'll rent us a side-by-side lunch seat much less a big
soft room with a big soft bed--…"
    He'd paused, looking some tentative, and she
was sure feeling the same. It was funny, kinda, to see him that way
when he could pick up four launch tubes and a long-arm and go
wading into battle. She liked Skel fine--always had, and she
wouldn't mind--… but the man had a right to know.
    "Not sure," she said, glancing down at her
boots, her uniform slacks, her shirt-front. "Umm--… Not sure I can
give you the best time, see? It'd be learning on the job mostly for
me, kinda, not like--… I mean."
    He didn't say anything but he'd rearranged
himself, getting cross-legged, and close enough she could see the
scrapes on his boot soles and the slot where he'd been knocked off
his feet the other day, the bullet just creasing the shoe. Hell, if
the shot had struck true he could have been back there in Chilonga
Center with the Grawns.
    "Your call, Miri. We can bunk up here if you
want, or I got me a spot with three ways out and some quiet, down
in a little hollow. You want, you can just sleep."
    She smiled and realized that she was smiling
so low and slow she was laughing, too.
    She looked into his eyes then. Still
smiling.
    "Got coffee and stringent, huh?"
    He nodded, just his eyes smiling, and it
came to her, forcibly, that she didn't want to sleep all alone,
with just the weather machine to wake up to.
    She stood up and stretched, as much like a
cat as she could, before reaching a hand down to him.
    "Let's see who snores first."
    * * *
    "'Morning." Robertson's voice was softer
than usual. Brunner touched the volume control, increasing the gain
slightly. "Smokey down here," she murmured. "Been that way the last
three days; getting worse, seems