the alarm. “If Ilden’s Lash doesn’t kill 8th Wing pilots, the thieving scum that live in the Smoke will finish the job.”
“You count yourself one of those scum?”
She grinned over the rim of her cup. “Absolutely.”
Kell couldn’t stop his own smile, especially when he saw how her grin made her appear playful, mischievous as a girl.
“I didn’t think the Smoke Quadrant was that well patrolled.” He forced his gaze back to the display showing Ilden’s Lash. “Given that it’s full of thieving scum.”
“No one is more protective of their possessions than a thief. They know how easily things can be stolen.”
“Spoken from experience.”
“Lifetimes of it.” She spoke with the kind of worldliness Kell only heard from retired combat pilots but looked like she had not yet reached thirty solar years. Her eyes held knowledge, hard-won. Her years had been full and difficult.
Not unlike his own.
He didn’t want to think about parallels between them, or anything else that might draw them toward one another. He was an 8th Wing officer, and duty meant everything. He held honor tightly, having had so little of it early in his life. To keep his mind on track now, he continued to stare at the display.
“Tell me more about Ilden’s Lash.”
“So you can make a report for the 8th Wing, like a good little soldier?”
“Because I want to know, damn it. I’m always hungry for more knowledge.” He remembered being a kid, finding discarded digitablets in the waste heaps and reading whatever had been downloaded onto them. Didn’t matter if they held instructions for repairing hydro-regulator systems or the best lunar low grav spas. Every bit of information was devoured.
Mara looked at him, contemplative. He held still under her perceptive scrutiny.
“Didn’t expect that,” she murmured, more to herself than him.
“Why would you? You’ve got the 8th Wing all figured out. We’re all the same.”
“Just like all scavengers are the same?”
He gave a rueful snort. “I call a draw.”
“Agreed.” This time, when they shared a smile, it was from a mutual, wry understanding. Neither of them was quite what the other had expected. She broke the connection first, turning back to the display. “Ilden’s Lash is what makes the Smoke so secure and how the Smoke came to be. It’s a band of protoplanets, some of them more solid than others. Even the more developed planets are still mostly magma.”
“So they’re constantly shifting and re-forming. Like one of those old-fashioned magma lanterns.”
Her laugh was low, husky—unexpectedly arousing. He suddenly imagined her sultry laugh as she tumbled across her bed, with him tumbling atop her.
“Think I remember my older brother having one of those,” she said, entirely unaware of his thoughts. “He used to smoke bindleweed and stare at it for hours.”
He tucked away the knowledge that she had an older brother as one might pocket a glimmering flake of zelenium. Each piece of information about her felt strangely precious.
“But that’s an apt analogy,” she continued. “Ilden’s Lash looks almost exactly like that, except you’d be incinerated if you just stood and stared at it. A passage through might look clear one moment, and in the next, it’s a wall of molten rock.”
“Unpredictable. That’s what keeps everyone out.”
“Except the scum.”
“Except the scum,” he echoed.
They both took sips of their kahve. Sitting with her in the small confines of the cockpit, both nursing their mugs—it felt intimate. He had sat in the base’s mess more times than he could remember, sharing the day’s first cup with other members of the squad. Even when it had been just him and one other person, male or female, discussing the latest briefing or plans for R & R, he hadn’t sensed the same kind of intimacy as he did now.
She must have sensed it, too, because she cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Just because there are some who know the Smoke and know Ilden’s Lash doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. Pilots die trying to make their way through, even ones who’ve taken the Lash a hundred times before.”
“Doesn’t sound like an even trade,” Kell mused. “Risking your life again and again just for a bit of privacy.”
“Two things, Commander. First, never underestimate a scavenger’s need for privacy. We spend our lives running from the law, constantly looking over our shoulders. Having a place that’s all our own is a gift.”
He mulled this, considering how it reflected on her needs. “And the second?”
She gave him another blood-heating smile. “Risk turns us scavengers on.”
“Us scavengers? Or you?”
“Yes to both.”