Dealers' Choice - Susan Hayes Page 0,23

the fringes of the conversation again, letting the words swirl around him without taking part. His thoughts were consumed with images of Xori and what might happen when they were together again. When he’d decided it was time to bring Xori and Vic together, he’d made one miscalculation: he hadn’t realized how much he’d want her, too. But wanting her didn’t mean he deserved her. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and went through the litany of reasons he couldn’t have her. It was a long list, but he had to go through it several times before it truly sank in that a future with her could never be more than wishes and fairy dust. It wouldn’t, couldn’t last. Not for a broken killer like him.

Xori walked into her quarters and headed straight for the food dispenser. She ordered a glass of cold water and two tablets of pain-blocker. She’d just had an intense session with an IAF soldier suffering from PTSD, and her heart ached almost as much as her knee right now. He’d lost more than half his team in a shuttle crash, but somehow, he’d walked away with only a few minor bruises. The physical damage had healed. The wounds to his psyche would take longer, and the scars of his loss would be with him the rest of his life.

She wished there was more she could do for her patients, especially the ones still so deep in their pain that they couldn’t see past it. It clouded their thinking and obscured their view of the future. These were the times she was tempted to use her gift the most, to show those in her care what life could be like after the hurt faded, but she couldn’t. Not only because she needed to keep it a secret to protect herself, but for their sakes, too. Her gift was a double-edged blade. It took the pain away, but it couldn’t keep it at bay for long. Back home, the Nazeela Ulo were little more than slaves, kept by the powerful to provide peace and a pain-free existence to their masters, who quickly grew addicted to a life without emotional upset of any kind. It was a nightmarish life for the m’bara, one she’d trained long and hard to be able to escape.

She sank down on her simple couch, a standard model that she’d seen throughout the station. Comfortable. Plain. Inexpensive. This one was a light gray color that matched the décor of her quarters, and she made a mental note to find something to brighten the place up. A cushion maybe, or a blanket. Anything to offset the sea of neutrality she lived in.

Home had been full of vibrant colors. They were too poor to afford much in the way of furnishings, but what little they had was a brilliant array of mismatched fabrics, and their tiny yard had almost as many flowers as it had the fruits and vegetables they grew to supplement their meager diet.

She’d spent hours out in that garden, practicing the mental exercises that would allow her to control her talents, if they ever manifested. Sometimes they skipped a generation. Her mother had only the mildest of ability, and she’d hoped that her daughter would be the same. It hadn’t turned out that way.

When Xori had come into her gifts near the start of her second decade, she had rapidly eclipsed her mother’s skill. She’d grown stronger every day, and every evening they’d practiced relentlessly to ensure that when the time of testing came, she could hide her gift.

It was the only test she’d ever been happy to fail.

Even then, she’d had to be careful. The slightest slip could ruin everything she’d worked for. She’d worked any job she could find, pushing herself to her breaking point more than once to earn enough money to pay for her education. She’d struggled to find a balance between work and school until a few years into her training when her high marks qualified her for financial support. She’d still worked, though, saving everything she could against the day she could book transport off- world.

She rubbed her eyes, making spots dance behind her lids. Why am I dwelling on the past? She hadn’t thought about it in years. It was decades since she’d left Phera Prime, and her parents, behind.

The answer wasn’t difficult to determine. The confrontation the other night had stirred up memories of her old life. Then there was her decision to reveal