Incursion (6 page)

"As I said, I know a good deal about anatomy," Grimm said, and only then took his hand away and settled back on his pilot seat. "You might have to get your head around being on the bottom."

Yeah, getting fucked up the ass by a roving space mercenary. Exactly why the Commissar had sent him on this mission.

Kshar didn't reveal himself, and Kyle could only bide his time and keep his eyes open. At least he'd shaken off Grimm's more pushy advances, but he didn't believe the man had given up. Warrior pride.

He found an opportunity to search Cargo Hold Two when Grimm told him to get a new set of filter cleaners for the secondary life support system. The man just couldn't stop tinkering, even in flight. No Kshar. That left the operation theater in Cargo Hold One. If that was another dead end, he'd have to actually look into the guts of the ship and peel back panels. Of course, the last option was the crew, but that would be dangerous.

To kill time and make himself useful, Kyle focused on learning the ship. On pilot duty while Grimm slept, he executed a number of maneuvers, trying to learn as much as possible about how she handled.

The
Scorpion
was a beauty, if too powerful for her own good. If there had been any atmosphere, he could have turned her into a fireball; she was that fast. But out in space, that speed didn't matter. Simply gliding through the darkness beyond an immediate inner solar system soothed his mind. There was something meditative about watching over the lives of strangers. He'd probably been happiest as one of the "nighttime" pilots of a Comet, or even a frigate. Or anything that made him forget that his legs were useless.

The deadly emptiness out there was the purest thing he knew. But he wasn't quite lonely. For bad or worse, Grimm was there.

Kyle had grown close with several of his co-pilots in the Space Navy. Living in special quarters or right in the brain of a ship, pilots were a breed apart, constantly breathing the same air, attached to the same wires, staring at the same screens and, by virtue of drill and training, thinking the same thoughts. It was like having a brother or sister.

He didn't mind Grimm as much after a day or two. Though it got really strange to be sharing the "living space" here on the bridge—where they stashed their kit, cleaned up and shaved. Grimm must have received some kind of drill himself—most civilian pilots didn't shave or cut their hair while out in deep space, claiming it was bad luck. Only the Space Dogs ignored the superstition and maintained some personal standards of hygiene, despite the scarcity of water.

A double-edged sword, though. Seeing Grimm with his chest and back stripped, making the most of a few handfuls of water, was a reminder of what he'd pushed away. The man was chiseled and beautiful, and exuded more brazen confidence the longer Kyle spent with him. He smiled easily, touched just as easily, but after a few days, Kyle realized that Grimm had accepted the "no." His touches were those of a comrade or friend. Sure, perhaps too forward for a Tamenean, but the cramped space and the brotherhood of piloting tore down those barriers.

One morning, he woke to a pressure, and realized he was breathing heavily, chest heaving. Somebody was holding him down by his shoulders. His lower back ached, a demanding pulse all around the implant in his spine.

"Breathe, Kyle."

"Shit, what—?"

"Nightmare." Grimm kept holding his shoulders down. "You jerked around so hard I thought you hurt yourself."

"I guess I might've." Kyle gritted his teeth and wiped his face. His hand came back wet. What had he dreamt? A lingering sense of dread sat deep in his chest, right beneath his hammering heart. "It's the trauma."

"What trauma?"

"I was injured. Wasn't my choice, this."

"Care to tell me?"

Take your hurt to a warrior.

"Why do you care?"

Grimm groaned and was about to turn away, when Kyle snatched his arm. "Seriously. Why do you?"

"You're denying yourself a great many things. I don't understand it." Grimm gazed at him, an oddly soft expression on his face. "Are you punishing yourself for something?"

Kyle dropped his arm. "I don't know." He really didn't. Getting attracted seemed complicated and risky, and he'd definitely not do that on a mission. He'd been trained better than that. But the latter wasn't something he could share.

"Life's short, Kyle. I'm just asking for a little trust, or a little more than you're giving me right now."

I'm not giving you anything.
"It's okay." He wiped his face again. "I was shot in the back with some new kind of weapon. Something that messed up my nerves, but left everything else pretty much intact."

"Sounds like a Glyrinny disruptor."

"That's what the surgeons said. So whoever shot me was either a fucking morph or had morph technology. Ended . . . everything."
My career, my sex drive, my self-respect.
"I'm hoping somebody knows how to fix it."

"Hence you're headed toward Glyrinny space."

"Ganesh is close enough. Maybe . . ." Kyle shrugged, glad that his heart was slowing, and that the words pushed away the last wisps of the faceless nightmare. "I don't know. I even had the crazy idea to go into their space and demand they fix me."

Grimm gave him a long, thoughtful look. "I doubt they'd appreciate it."

"Ever fought Glyrinny?"

"Maybe. It's hard to say with a race that takes whatever shape they damn well please. This disruptor wound—what did they do?"

"They healed what tissue damage there was, but the nerves are messed up. They don't transmit signals like they used to. The surgeons inserted a bridge module—" Kyle twisted carefully and touched his lower back, indicating the metal piece embedded in his flesh, "that connects to the outer prosthetics."

"Bridging the gap between the nerves in your spine and the metal," Grimm summed up. "It's cheap and effective."

"I was considering cyber limbs, but that's a nice chunk of money."

"Not if you get them secondhand."

"Eww."

Grimm laughed. "I'd like to run some diagnostics on the bridge module."

"Don't mess with it. It's the difference between walking and not walking for me."

"It's not as complex as this ship." Grimm took a half step back. "Come, get up. I'll have a look. I can do a clean and maintenance."

"I'd rather you don't touch it."

"Just a clean. Come. Trust me."

Kyle stood with a groan. After that nightmare, he didn't want to go back to sleep, and he wasn't up to staring into the void outside. It was too much like contemplating death, and right after the nightmare, he couldn't do it. Besides, the surgeons in the hospital had told him to get the connection checked every few weeks. Fuck, if Grimm would do it for free, and he seemed to know his stuff, maybe it wasn't a bad idea. "Just a clean."

"Yes." Grimm helped him put his boots back on (okay, he put them on for him), then walked him down to the operating theater. Not only was the clean a necessity, but he could eliminate this area as a potential hiding place for the Glyrinny shapeshifter. An unexpected boon, though he wasn't sure what to do if he
did
find Kshar. Here was hoping he'd find a way to incapacitate or kill him, and that Grimm either wouldn't get in the way—or would choose the right side to fight on.

The lights flickered on when they entered, and the operating cell looked state of the art and pretty damn impressive. The steel surfaces of the central unit gleamed under the blinding lights, and five life-preserving cryo-coffins were lined up against the wall. He made a point of walking past them; four were inactive, and one was on standby for an emergency. All were empty. Damn. There went that theory.

"Looking for something?"

"Just making sure there's nobody in there. Like a stowaway or a witness."

"Witness?" Grimm raised an eyebrow. "My, my, Kyle, what are your plans for me?"

Kyle chuckled and lay down on the operating table, turned onto his belly, and pulled himself into the middle of the table. He turned his head to look at Grimm. "You wanted to see the module."

Grimm studied him, then stepped closer and ran his hand down Kyle's back. "Take off the coverall."

"Why?"

"I want to see the surrounding tissue."

"Especially the tissue of my ass?"

Grimm smirked. "That's a bonus. Should I do it?"

Why am I doing this? Oh yes, warrior. Nightmares. Alibi for checking if Kshar is on board.
"Sure." He tried to sound casual, to hide the panic welling in his throat. He allowed Grimm to open and slide down the coveralls, baring his shoulders, back, and then the module, deep down. "That enough?"

"Might be more comfortable if you were naked."

Fuck no.
"You don't give up."

Grimm placed his hands on Kyle's shoulders, then slid them down, like a masseur might to test the lay of the land, as it were. "A clean and a check. Nothing you don't want."

Problem was, he was starting to want. And this place had more privacy than the pilot seats. Kyle huffed. "Get your instruments, doctor." He sat up again and removed his boots by himself, a laborious process that saved a fragment of his dignity. "I'll need to take the prosthetics off for this."

"Then do it. I can give them a clean, too."

It made sense, but there was that damn helplessness. He was putting himself completely in the man's hands. Kyle reached back, found the lock of the module, and tapped it active. It opened with a whirr, and the prosthetics disengaged. He reached down and opened them, then allowed Grimm to slide them off his legs.

Now his whole lower body was lifeless meat. He slid his legs off the bed, supporting himself with both hands, then wriggled out of the coveralls. He tried to get out of them when they'd dropped past his knees, but his useless feet were tangled. Grimm knelt down and freed him.

"Thanks."

Grimm looked up, clearly pretending he didn't see Kyle's nakedness. "I'll check the prostheses too, once you're asleep."

"I'm not planning to sleep here."

"Or when we're back on the bridge. Lie down." Kyle pulled his body back onto the table and lay on his stomach; without any help from his legs, that was a major undertaking, but he appreciated Grimm not stepping in. He breathed against the metal, waited for a touch he could feel, or one he couldn't, but the first thing he felt was weight and warmth of a blanket that Grimm had pulled from a sterile pouch.

"It might take a while."

Kyle heard the muted swishing of opening and closing metal drawers as Grimm made his preparations. He arranged a handful of instruments and scanners on a table next to Kyle's head.

"It looks very good. Very nice installation." Damn, had Grimm touched him? He felt nothing.

"I used to get told I had nice eyes."

Grimm chuckled. "Many nice things on your body. I'd appreciate them all. I'm gonna touch you below the module now."

"Go for it. I won't notice."

Grimm stepped close, his shadow falling over Kyle, then something scraped against the metal disk embedded in his spine. "Nice job. And nice ass."

Kyle laughed. "Thanks. I can tell you where to get one, if you want it."

Grimm reached for a tissue scanner and placed the cool sensor high up on Kyle's spine, then slid it down. Kyle felt it circle the metal disk and the implant it sealed, before Grimm lifted it away to check the monitor. "Yeah, what I thought. You have a bit of inflammation going on. Wouldn't be surprised if the swelling were pressing on something important without you noticing. Fixing it might improve your ability to feel something."

"So?"

"I'm going to inject an anti-inflammatory." Grimm put the scanner down and let his hand hover over a syringe on the table. Old-fashioned needle, but the place he'd need to get to was beyond a more sophisticated hypo-injector's reach.

"Shit, that looks like it'll go deep."

"Yeah." Grimm looked around, then walked to a cabinet in the far corner that opened with a pneumatic hiss when he dialed in the access code. Kyle closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. Yes, if some kind of swelling was pressing down on his nerves, that was bad news, and he kind of trusted Grimm. He was so competent with everything else—it was difficult not to. Plus, a guy who'd tried so hard to get into his pants wouldn't hurt him. Even more importantly, a warrior wouldn't harm a man who couldn't defend himself. Unless it was a mercy-kill. He shook that idea from his head. He hardly qualified as that, even by warrior standards.

Grimm came back and placed a hand flat on the module. "This might hurt."

"That's never a good message." Kyle hissed when he felt the invasion from the needle as a sharp pressure. "Ow. Careful, there's spinal cord and stuff in the way."

"Roger that." Grimm ran a gentle hand from between Kyle's shoulder blades down the curve of his back. "I hope this will help," he said calmly.

The pressure got worse, and Kyle assumed it was Grimm pushing the plunger. Why had he agreed to this again? Grimm fixed machines, not people. And he was not enough machine by a long shot to qualify as one.

"Just a bit more. Half done. It's going to tingle."