{Gait}

Sagan’s time with Korac revived her some. But that nutritional brick left her starving for food with actual flavor. Why not pop into the Emporium for a quickie—Not that kind of quickie. Food. She wanted a full stomach for the Tribunal on Enki. If everything went sideways, the other Progeny relied on her to help them escape. Although, she heavily considered leaving Kyle.

She frowned. Messy. Complicated. Everything got so mixed up so quickly. Remorse was a Tritan imprisoned in Gait. And squatted on a heap of intel regarding Inanis, the prison, and even Xelan like a dragon hoarding treasure. Korac asked her not to confront him. But once she knew, Sagan couldn’t just sit there saying nothing. Restless, agitated, she needed to prepare for the next morning’s events but also let off some steam. Hence the Emporium.

But which entrance to take? She considered the front door, but nah. Better to keep things fresh. Not the mezzanine. The kitchens were too obvious. Bedroom?

The Seamswalker never wanted to return there. Even the big sweater Korac loaned her couldn’t fight off that chill. The shiver left goosebumps all over her. Her exposed legs were proof. The glass slippers reminded her to keep a second pair of shoes and clothes in the cell.

One other place came to mind. More or less harmless. Sagan walked into the shop with all the nacre glass curios. After midnight, she expected customers to wander their way through the wares. But the store with its boutique glass shelves and jewelry lighting sat empty. What a shame. Left all on her own to snoop. The first night she came here, the prices interested her.

Why were nacre glass plates and vases so expensive? Was it because the ore came from Thailea? Unbreakable also upped the price, surely. But—

“Hmm…” Sagan crossed the white tile space to a set of plates. A small name card denoted Yu in fancy script. Was there an odd number of them? Seemed strange for a dinner set. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine—

“Seamswalker.”

“Yip!”

Razor startled Sagan so bad she knocked over the plates like dominoes. Caught snooping, she whirled with a burning face.

Leaning in the door frame, he looked utterly bewildered until he burst into laughter. Holding his sides, genuine and loud—way too loud—

“Razor, are you drunk?”

He held up a fancy diamond-crusted bottle. “Guilty.” He stumbled over to her, almost pinning her to the shelf. “And you’re skittish as ever, my Pain Kitten.” The two-toned effect of his eyes twirled so fast they almost flashed white.

While Sagan normally tried her best to ignore any attraction to him, the mussed fiery red hair and open shirt—a bright orange that complimented his tanned skin—really worked with the evil business owner vibe. His breath did not.

With a scrunch of her nose, she pushed him off. “Whoa. Ease off.” Her and the booze.

The Pain Curator gave no resistance, almost as if their proximity were simply an accident of his intoxication. “I sensed you in the Seam from the first moment you went into it. So lonely, this place.” He tapped the center of his exposed chest.

“Your heart?”

“My bones. I can feel you in my bones.” Unexpectedly, Razor snickered and pointed. “Your nose does this cute scrunchy thing when you hard think. But I worry anything I compliment you on that you’ll stop doing it around me. Please don’t. I’m not so bad once you—” He laughed into his bottle and took another drink. When finished, he continued the thought, “So big a lie I couldn’t say it with a straight face. I’m a bad man. You should stay far, far away from me, Kitten.”

Sagan reached for him, ready to tuck his arm behind her neck and shoulder him. “Here, maybe we should get you to bed—”

With no effort, the Pain Curator grasped the Seamswalker’s arm, twisted it around, and twirled until he held her close to him. One hand against his chest beneath his shirt. The other stretched out. With a wink, he led them in a dance out of the shop and into the addition.

She glanced around nervously, aware of the amount of people in the space. Not afraid. Just cautious.

“You’re safe with me,” Razor reminded Sagan.

The young woman relaxed into the dance by inches. Into the main Emporium, they went among a throng of aliens. The people watched, enraptured. Some of them gazed with almost carnivorous expressions. Hungry. Ready to feed.

On her.

Safe with him. Not from him. “Why the drinking and dancing?”

He smiled, delighted and warm. “I’m celebrating. A competitor chose to step down from the business.”

She shared in the smile as if happy for him. “I’m sure it’s a hard market to dominate.”

Razor smirked at Sagan the way Korac did when she selected her words without thinking. Dizzy. Everything made her dizzy. She stopped and rested her head against him. This time she almost let her knees fall out from under her. Heavy.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Shh.” The Pain Curator scooped the Seamswalker into his arms and carried her to the kitchens.

Sagan resented it. She could lift entire cars over her head and open conduits to Hell. But here she was, in the arms of her frenemy, being tended like a child. A damsel in distress, even.

Trays of hor d’oeuvres covered the counters. At the smell of roasted meats and toasted cheese, her stomach growled so hard it concaved into knots. Razor sat Sagan down on a bar stool and gathered a small plate of food.

Before she took a bite, she stared into his strange gaze. Always perplexed by the man’s odd nature. Still, manners mattered, “Thank you, Razor.”

“I’m always happy to ease your troubles, Seamswalker.” Back to the original nickname. Was Kitten something he only wanted to keep for them in private? Somehow that felt more intimate—

“You’re frowning again. Eat, now. Overthink, later.” Again, that knowing smirk.

How well did he think he knew her? How well did he actually know her? Was Sagan so transparent? And how bad a thing was that—

A cracker with some smoked salmon and cream cheese waved under her nose. Oh, this was embarrassing.

“Even if I have to feed you myself, you’ll leave my establishment satisfied.”

Sagan peered up at Razor, and—yup, his phrasing was intentional. What a smart ass grin—

Crunch. “Mmm…” She moaned and took another bite from her own hand.

He sat down beside her and watched with his side leaned across the counter, head in his hand. Fascinated.

So drunk and attentive. Question time. Quietly and between bites, she whispered, “Can you enter the Seam at will?”

“Nope.”

Well. Was there more to this? “Why not? If you were born there?”

“Long story.”

Two more toast points bit the dust. “Before I brought you there yesterday, how long had it been for you?”

“Very.”

Damn. His mysterious mode never shut off. Sagan thought of the voices. “Is there anyone else there?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Her frown deepened until she caught him smiling at her nose. And he was right. She wanted to stop doing it now that she knew.

Before long, she ate the entire plate and two more worth. Finally full, she made to leave when the bright white booths caught her eye.

“Two days,” Razor reminded Sagan. The special finale. He stood and stepped around until he was behind her. In her ear, he whispered, “Would you like an appetizer?”

Hilarious cause she ate all those hor d’oeuvres. “Ha ha.” She punctuated it with a roll of her eyes. And a prayer that he couldn’t sense the quickening of her pulse and the shallowing of her breath.

Against all her hopes, he chuckled and walked ahead. “Two short ones. I come along for the ride. You’re far too skittish. The Tribunal will eat you alive. This should help you relax.”

Did she mention the Tribunal to him? Must have. And it’s not like word doesn’t travel fast. The entire Progeny not currently serving a sentence investigated for terrorist acts and the death of an Eminent. A liked one, at that. Yea. Razor would know about the Tribunal.

He held out his hand to her. In a softened voice, he offered, “Don’t worry. Consider yourselves an endanger species. Protected. They won’t lock all of you up.”

Sagan took his hand and accepted his gracious behavior as genuine. “I suppose it’s normal to be nervous.”

Razor led her to the booths featuring port access. Supposedly, it enhanced the experience and eliminated the fog that lingered afterward. Guess it’s time to see if it’s worth the upgrade.

He expertly diverted the subject. “How is the King of Earth and Cinder, by the way?” Once inside, he placed her under the bars and handed her the goggles.

While she messed with them, Sagan thought on his question. “She sleeps. Honestly? Rayne has no patience for games. I think if she were on Enki with Tameka or here with me, there’d either be two fewer planets in the skies or two more in her kingdom. I suppose that’s one reason she went to sleep.”

“For some, diplomacy is slow and intentionally complicated. I happen to enjoy the chase.” He smiled at her while Sagan considered exactly how badly Rayne would’ve killed him by now.

He connected a cable or hose of some sort made from nacre glass filaments to the booth’s output. The other end, he brought to her. Razor suggested harmlessly, “Might as well try it before we take it away.”

When he brought it to her chest, she frowned.

“What is it?”

“My necklace. Matt still has it.”

“He’s busy downstairs. Next time, I’ll make sure you take it.” The smile he gave her was warm and genuine. Friendly.

“I want to like you,” she blurted.

The smile saddened a touch as he connected the cable to her chest. “It’s so unfortunate that fate would make us enemies.”

She touched his arm then. “Razor, have you ever seriously considered leaving Imminent? Saving others and redeeming yourself in the process? You could have a home with the Shadow.”

The Pain Curator took the Seamswalker’s hand from his arm and kissed her knuckles. Softly, sadly, he confessed, “Another lifetime, maybe. But this is how it must be. And it’s not safe for you to like me. We’re not friends, my Pain Kitten. We’re business partners. And our contract ends soon. Until then, enjoy yourself.”

Why did that hurt so much? Because she failed to make a friend of an enemy? Or maybe because she’ll have to locate a non-Imminent food source?

Sagan sighed, and it was big. He sat down in the chair that popped out of the floor and looked to her for the signal. At her nod, Razor sent her into the experience…

…And into Hell.

The liquid poured on Sagan’s body, scorched until it blistered and bubbled. The port allowed her to smell the cooked meat under the burning sweetness. Caramel. Sugar.

She shrieked and grabbed onto the bars. The hood over her head suffocated her. It prevented the long inhales she needed to draw enough breath for another scream.

As the sugar cooled, a breeze fanned her skin. The nacre healed it. The scalding lessened into a sear. The relief, the serotonin that pumped straight into her port, rewarded her for surviving the pain.

Live through the misery and experience elation unimaginable outside this given situation.

The hot sugar came again. She screamed in agony. The relief always followed. And she soaked in the clarity.

Sagan got high. Higher than ever. The artificial stimulation overrode her tolerance. Until the dark space spun, and a crowd formed in the night surrounding her. They watched from below. An execution? Or a public—

The whip cracked and split the skin to her bone. She never screamed louder. Again. And it wasn’t healing. The sensation only hurt with no relief. The blood cooled as it spilled down her sides. A male voice—one she never expected to hear again—cried out, “Why?”

And then the evil bitch’s voice entreated, “I am like you. I am not like your Icarean masters—”

No. This was Nox punishing Celindria for her betrayal. Sagan read about it in his Verse. Korac delivered the punishment, eagerly.

Sagan fell to her knees, but Razor caught her. She ripped the goggles off and found him holding her like one of the earlier experiences. He let her go without being asked.

Before it slipped away, she questioned him, “Why did Celindria come here, and what did she trade her pain for?” Definitely less foggy with a port.

He took a deep draw on the bedazzled bottle. After a messy swipe over his mouth, he returned the favor. “What do you know about her relationship with Pehton?”

Well, the galaxy was small after all.