Tarth City, Vensahn District
Talhart and Vandi Brighton's home (Jawk's parents)
Sumertsag 79
Though tall buildings surrounded most of the block, enough sun strayed through to make a vegetable garden worthwhile. Jawk had stripped off his shirt early on, and sweat trickled down his back and curled the pelt of fur on his chest while he worked. Once he'd hoed the final row, an afternoon breeze came up, and he stopped for a moment to shut his eyes and enjoy the cool air against his damp skinfur. The cool air tickled his ears, and he twitched them downward. He crossed to the fence and set down the hoe, picked up his shirt and wiped his face and neck with it before pulling it on.
"Oh, Ahnihr!" His mother, Vandi, strolled out on the back porch, hands clasped together. Though she spoke fluent Etymis, she always called him "Son" in Felis. "Did you do all this?"
He brushed off his pants and stood taller, shoulders back. "Gowdur, Ay," he greeted her, making a little bow. He held out a hand toward the garden. "You like it?"
Vandi grinned, but put a hand in front of her mouth, covering an impolite show of fangs. "Thank you! Oh, Ahnihr, this is almost like being home."
He surveyed his work with a critical eye. The towering trees and verdant expanse of his rustic homeworld in no way resembled this tiny plot of brown dirt and six rows of seedlings. Yet his mother beamed as if she'd stepped foot on Felidae itself.
"Oh, look!" She stooped beside the row of staked tomatoes. "These already have little flowers. We'll be eating them before you know it." She smiled as he stooped next to her. "Your father loves sliced tomatoes with salt and pepper on bread." She shook her head, ears down. "It's such a human dish."
He canted back an ear, moving in closer as if to share a secret. "Uh, Mom, in case you hadn't noticed, he is human."
"No! Really?" She stuck her ears out at the sides and flicked them, squinting. "Are you sure?" They shared a hearty laugh.
"I hope he likes them." He patted the clumpy soil into place around the base of one plant and pushed the plastic cage around it down into the ground more firmly. Though human, Talhart Brighton had been Jawk's father in every way it mattered. "I wish I had room to expand a little more. I planted gourd vines against the back fence, and there's an irrigation drip line behind it so they'll get plenty of water." He wiped his brow along his shirt sleeve. "All you have to do is turn on the water and let it run for a half hour every day."
"Where did you learn how to do all this?"
"One of my roomies last year had a container garden on the roof. I always figured if I got the chance I'd put in a garden for you." He dragged his claws through the soil. "So you'd have fresh vegetables every day."
"It must have been expensive. I worry you won't have enough for school. I..."
"Mom." He lowered one ear. "I'm making great tips at Batchelors." He pressed a kiss against her cheek and settled himself on his other knee. "Trust me. I can afford this."
"You're sure?" Her ears lifted as she watched him, so he continued to smile. "Okay, but I want you to have an education, Jawk. It's so important. On Felidae, ahsgahee aren't allowed to attend school. This is..."
"Mom." He grinned. "It's been a long time since I was a boy. I'm a year from graduating. I have the highest grades in my class." He lowered his lashes, ears up and back to show he was content. "I'm good."
She continued to study him, her hands folded in her lap. Her smile said she accepted his word. "I'm glad, Ahnir. I want you to succeed. It's so important to me. You're proof to those back home it's possible for a male to learn and to do well. You have to be an engineer. You have to make something of yourself. You have to."
Could she make this any more difficult? The degree he'd obtain would accomplish nothing of what he sought in his life. She would smell any lie he told. "I want you to be proud of me, Mom."
She reached up and tweaked his left ear. "I'll be proud of you no matter what you do, Jawk."
How I wish that was true. He set his mouth in a smile, covering his fangs in the Kin way.
"When I was young, we used to plant pumpkin seeds behind the breeder house, because we could eat the leaves and flowers, too. And we grew gourds and different kinds of pods. We tried to get as much food as we could from a single space. They fed us well, but we breeders wanted something we could do for ourselves." She dragged a claw along the edge of the tomato cage. "This garden gives us that again."
"I created it so the family would have food, not to bring up bad memories."
"Bad...?" She frowned as she beheld him. "Oh, Jawk! Not bad memories. Not at all. Before I met your father..." His mother turned her head, continuing to stroke the tomato plant beneath her clawed fingers. "I was just surviving. Getting through every day thinking there would never be anything more. When Talhart came along, every single detail in my life took on new meaning." The grey beginning at her temples and at the edges of her ears shone like silver in the hot Tarthian sun. She flicked an ear. "Now, when something reminds me of home, I think back to when we met, instead of the time before. It's rare I ever think of things like the breeder house any more." She smiled as if to underscore her sincerity. "It's all right."
Jawk tucked a curl behind one of her ears. "Not for any reason do I ever want to make you sad."
"Oh!" Smiling, she set her hand against his and brought his palm to her face. Leaning against his hand, she shook her head. "You never do."
"Good." He pushed himself to his feet and brushed off the knees of his jeans. "Because I'm ready for one of those sandwiches you promised."
"That's my ahnir." She bounced up, laughing. "Always thinking of food. I have fresh store-bought tomatoes and some thick brown bread. Slabs of brick cheese, and some of that fine meat you brought yesterday." She held out a hand. "Come in."
*
AFTER GULPING DOWN two sandwiches and a glass of milk, Jawk showered and changed into clean clothes for the trip across town to Batchelors. Out on the front porch, he stood beside his father for a few moments. Neither spoke. Talhart leaned on his cane, the only outward sign of the weakness plaguing him. The local traffic was all on foot here; no one in the Vensahn District could afford hovers. Luc Saint-Cyr's fleet of private cars might as well exist in a holo-vid. Even the Man's fabulous wealth couldn't begin to erase the depth of poverty in this sector. Though surrounded by the richness of Tarth City businesses, it butted up to the slave district. No one who could afford anything better lived here.
"Jawk, are you sure you can't stay? Your brother and sisters will be home from school soon."
Adjusting the hang of his backpack over one shoulder, he shifted his weight to his other foot. "Long walk to the train station, Dad. I'm due at Batchelors by three-thirty. We're doubling up tonight because of a party."
"Son, you know what I told you. I've done some checking. It's true."
Biting his lip, Jawk faced him. His tone meant disapproval; he'd heard it enough to know. "Don't do this."
"You think I'm going to let it drop?"
"No. Not you." Jawk grinned despite the tension he felt. "You never let anything go."
"Damn right. A Brighton never gives up." Talhart laid one hand on Jawk's shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. "You're as much mine as my other children. I care about everything you do. I'm telling you, Batchelors is a meeting place for known rebel sympathizers."
He shifted his weight. "Why do you care?"
When his father blinked and would have responded, Jawk held up a hand. "I mean, the Praetorian Guard kicked you out for nothing. They ruined your health, and now they won't even pay for your treatment."
"Son, they..."
"Don't make excuses, Dad. I've head it all before. You're an honorable man. They damn well owe you better than you've gotten. Yet you're still loyal to the crown. Why should you care where rebel sympathizers meet? You ought to help them."
"Jawk!" Talhart straightened. "I won't tolerate rebel talk. Not from you. Not from anyone."
"It's true."
"Never happen. No son of mine hangs out in a place protecting rebels."
"It's a reputable restaurant, Dad. Anybody who's anybody goes there."
"Humph. So you say."
"Luc Saint-Cyr is there all the time."
At that, Talhart went still as a hunter stalking prey. Jawk squirmed, his mouth gone dry.
"The Harbinger?" Talhart tapped his cane against the porch step. "That's what they call him, you know. The Harbinger. They say he's a forerunner of evil. The man owns half of Kelthia and has ties to every crime family on the planet."
"I..." Jawk stammered a response and snapped his mouth shut. "It doesn't matter. I just mentioned him because..." Why the hell had he mentioned him? Damn it, this is going in the wrong direction, fast.
"Jawk, I..."
"Dad, drop it, okay?" He switched the backpack to the other shoulder.
"What do you know about Luc Saint-Cyr?"
"It doesn't matter, Dad." He started down the steps to the walkway. "I need to go."
"Damn it, Jawk." His father grabbed his arm and jerked him back. "You stay away from him."
"I'm not going anywhere near him!"
"Then why did you bring his name up?" Talhart gripped Jawk's arm tighter. "You talk to me. How do you know him?"
Jawk swallowed, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his chest. "I don't. I saw him at the club."
"Stay away from him, Jawk. He's trouble. I took you off Felidae to give you freedom. I don't want you anywhere near that man."
Time to change the subject. Fast. Jawk dropped his backpack. "Every time we argue, you remind me of how you rescued me. Maybe you wish you hadn't."
"Don't you dare say that to me!" His father's face reddened. "I risked everything to find you."
His mother came out onto the porch, her arms wrapped around herself as if cold.
His father glanced back at her and growled at Jawk like a Kin. "Now see what you've done?"
"What I've done? You're the one who's shouting."
"What's wrong, Talhart?" His mother came down the steps and took his father's arm. "Jawk, what's going on?"
With one foot, he nudged his backpack. "Nothing."
She turned her pleading face from him to his father and back. "Can't we talk about this? Ahnir, come back inside. We can talk about it, whatever it is."
"It's all right, Mom. Just a misunderstanding." He picked up his backpack.
"Jawk!" His father stamped his cane against the ground. "I don't want you going back there."
"Dad, it's fine. I make good money. They pay full union wages plus tips."
"It's not worth it."
"Ahnir?" Vandi took his arm. "Maybe you should listen to your father."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but laid his ears straight back. "It's my job. I haven't seen anyone doing anything suspicious. You act like they have secret meetings in the basement or something."
"They wouldn't let you in on it, Jawk. You're a Praetorian's son."
"Then why the hell do..."
"Ahnir!" His mother scolded.
"Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Why are you worried about me getting involved if you know they wouldn't go anywhere near a Praetorian's son?"
"It's not the rebels I'm worried about!" Talhart stroked fingers back through his graying hair. "It's you. Don't you think people are watching you? You'll be the first Kin to graduate from Tarth Tech. If you ever want to work for the government, you can't have ties to rebels."
"Work for the government!" With a dry laugh, Jawk hoisted his backpack and slung it over his other shoulder. "That's the last thing I ever want to do."
"Ahnir..." His mother took his arm.
"Mom, I know what you're going to say, and you can forget it. I have no interest in working for the same people who stabbed my father in the back."
Talhart lowered his head, rubbing his brow.
"Why are you in such denial?" Jawk tugged the backpack higher. "The Armada sent you into combat unprotected against the very bio-weapons they threw at the enemy. Every member of your platoon is dying, and you stand there and tell me about your loyalty to the government!"
"Ahnir!" His mother tugged his arm. "Please."
"Please what, Mom? Don't make a scene out here where the neighbors can see us?"
His father shook a finger at him. "Don't talk to your mother that way!"
Jawk pulled free of his mother's hold. "Gotta go."
"Oh, Jawk, please." His mother trailed after him. "Don't go like this. We need to talk."
"All we do around here is talk, Mom."
"Ahnir..."
"Please, let it go." He leaned down and kissed his mother on the forehead. "It's late. The kids will be home in a minute, and the buses are all gonna be tied up. Gotta catch the train on time."
"Jawk..." His dad limped toward him. "Every time we try to talk we end up arguing. I don't want that."
"I know." He reached out as if to cup a hand around his father's face, but stopped short of touching him. He clapped a hand on his father's shoulder instead. "See you." He turned and ran.
* * * *
Tarth City, Di Lusso District
Nizamrak Building, Penthouse Level, "The Loft"
Why do we have to do this tonight? In the center of his mirrored dressing room, Wulf squared his shoulders, forcing the images around him to stand up straight.
Luc had insisted they take two new clients to dinner and the theatre. There was no way they'd finish in time to do what he wanted. He stepped closer to the mirror in front of him to better see his tie. The complicated Tyran knot never came out right when he did it. Luc could flip the long, narrow strip around and poof! Perfect. But him...?
The limp tie hung down his chest. Useless. Why the hell do we have to wear these damn things? They're good for nothing! Fashion. What a waste. He blinked at his own surprised image. "I do not believe you said that, Mr. Former Supermodel." He yanked the knot back out and started again.
Luc entered the dressing room and set down what he'd been holding. "Here. Let me help you."
Wulf turned around and pressed his shoulders against the mirror while Luc worked on the tie. The image of the two of them reflected in the mirrored walls; a black-and-white roomful of formal Wulfs and Lucs.
The latent power in the man emanated from every move he made. In the closeness of this room, his maleness overpowered. He stood there, his formidable will bent to the mundane task. Luc radiated potency. He smelled like the sea, or the desert, sharp, clean, yet somehow powdery soft. No wonder he was known far and wide as "the Man."
Wulf held his breath, the target of such focused masculine attention. Luc could unnerve anyone. There had been a time when being this close to him would have melted Wulf into his arms.
He rested his head against the mirror.
Luc stuck out the tip of his tongue as he concentrated. "By the way, this weekend, I want to invite Jawk over for dinner. He loves Wind and Thunder, plus he's a raving fanboy when it comes to Iron Soul. He'd enjoy meeting Tovar and Bold." He lifted one graceful hand over the other, and folded the last end into place. He patted the tie and leaned back to admire his handiwork. "Done. See if they'll come for dinner."
"No." He fought to keep the petulance he felt out of his tone. He felt the focus of those black eyes, even if he couldn't see them.
"Why not?"
Wulf ducked his head, hands in fists. If he so much as glanced at Luc right now, the hot surge of anger within him would fry the man on the spot.
"What's wrong, Wulf?"
When he could trust himself to meet Luc's gaze--as much as anyone could meet the black-eyed gaze of Luc Saint-Cyr--he spoke around a jaw clenched as tight as his fists. "I will not invite my best clients to dinner with your latest fucktoy."
Luc stepped back, brows furrowed. "They're my clients as well. I want them here."
"Damn it, Luc!" He tightened his fists until his hands shook. "You have no respect for me at all!"
"What? Of course, I respect you!"
"Bullshit!" He sprang forward. Their images stalked around them. Multiple layers of anger and hurt reflected in the glass. Luc's confusion, his cluelessness about the pain he'd caused stared at him on all sides. Wulf turned his back, but he could not shut out the man's visage. Could not blot out the anguish on Luc's face. Or the fury on his own. "Damn it! How could you do this to me?"
"Do what? All I want is to invite Jawk to dinner. This isn't like you. What's wrong?"
"You don't have a clue, do you?" He brushed past him toward the black outlined door.
Luc brought him up short with a hand on his arm. "Talk to me."
He glared up at him. The room blurred with angry black and white. "Let go."
Luc grabbed him by both shoulders and slammed him up against the mirror. "Listen to me..." Glass cracked behind him. Luc flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."
"Fuck you!" He shoved; Luc danced backwards. "I said hands off!"
"Wulf! You listen to me right now! You will not..."
"Shut the fuck up!" He took two steps and got right in Luc's face. "I'm not your slave any more, you hear me! We're through, Sempervian. As of tonight. Finished! No more slave games. No more threesomes. You either treat me like your equal, or I'm gone."
Silence hung in the room like smoke, smothering them. Every face in the mirrored facade screamed dismay. His heart beat in his throat, heavy as a fist. Luc's pain tore at him like a beast. Wulf shut his eyes, but it did not keep the image out.
"Wulf..." Agony whispered through Luc's voice. "We--can we talk?"
"No." He opened the mirrored door. "That's how it is. If you invite your Kin fucktoy to this house, I'm leaving." If he looked at Luc now, he'd back down, give in, and lose all self respect.
He slammed the door behind him. The piercing shatter of glass cracked in the air ... the sound of his life breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.
* * * *
Tarth City, Di Consueto District
Destine Pietan Train Station
Jawk reached the Destine Pietan Train Station in time to catch the express up to Top Tier, and from there, rode the local over to First Avenue. A line had already formed outside Skinless, the droid-themed dance club. Word had it Iron Soul had been there the night before, after their concert, while Jawk entertained Luc and Wulf.
Such as it was. He slipped a hand into his backpack and felt around for the keycard to the employee entrance of Batchelors. Next door in the alley, a blond man was trying to get into the back door of Sander's.
"Hey!" Jawk waved. "Not open yet. Next week, I think."
"Yeah, I know." The guy smiled and headed toward him. "You work here?" His gesture indicated Batchelors.
"Yeah." Jawk stuck out his hand. "Jawk. Jawk Brighton."
Up close, he realized the "man" was an androgynous Chiasmii, and as much a woman as a man, all things considered.
"Sander Vabalas." The guy jerked his head toward the other building. "You see anyone over here today?"
"Uh, no. Just got here. Sorry." He reached into another pocket of the backpack. "Can't you get in?"
"They were supposed to put in new locks." Sander scratched his head. "I don't think they've done it yet."
"Oh, well, maybe they're late."
"Yeah. Well, nice to meet you." He handed Jawk a business chip. "If you're ever in the mood for a night out, come on over, once we open up."
"Thanks!" Jawk grinned. "I'll do that." A glance at the chip, emblazoned with Sander's in gold, got his attention. "Hey ... what did you say your name was?"
Two silver-skinned service androids came around the other building, their uniforms emblazoned with the words "Silver Locks."
"They're here. Gotta run. And it was Sander." With a wave at Jawk, he hurried toward the two androids.
Sander Vabalas had been a Jade, a pleasure slave who'd belonged to Empress Destoiya and had earned a small fortune in "pensions" as a sign of her favor. There had been talk all over campus about wait jobs at his club. And Jawk had met the man by being in the right place at the right time.
He found his keycard, waved it in front of the lock, and got inside. The others on his shift had changed already and headed out onto the floor. For the next three hours, double coverage ensured no customer waited for service. Jawk popped open his locker, dropped his backpack inside and stripped.
The uniform pants were tight on purpose. No one worked here who didn't fit the tuxedo-like uniform. After all, the clients wanted the fantasy of availability and desire. The owners made it clear they were not expected to do more than smile, and gave them all pep talks about reporting anything improper.
And yet most of the guys working there, Nij included, had personal "business" on the side. It was a matter of who and when. The where always seemed to take care of itself. The owners of course, were never in the know.
Yet all his father could see was "rebel ties." Jawk fastened up the last of his buttons. This was as far from a rebel hangout as they went. There wasn't a rebel in his right mind who'd--
"Jawk."
He whirled toward the unexpected voice behind him and found himself up against the front of his locker. Claws out in a gut reaction, he bared his fangs. The body pressed all along his length took his breath with its muscled heat. One hard thigh pressed between his, and the man leaned in against him.
"Claws? Tsk. Is that any way to greet a friend?" The man raked a hot gaze down him. "I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you."
"I--mmph..." Jawk opened his mouth beneath the forceful kiss of Luc Saint-Cyr.