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We managed to stay ahead of the storm for a couple of hours, but then luck ran out, and we were battered by a fury of sand. Visibility plummeted to zero. It was like flying without lights through pitch-black night, except, instead of darkness, we were surrounded by blinding whiteness. I couldn’t see, but I could hear. The wind howled, and sand hammered the vehicle in a ratta-tat-tat.
“We have to land!” I urged.
“The way station is close. We can make it,” he insisted.
We were hanging onto the tail of a kite thrashing in the wind. Our bags bounced on the seat. Bane reached back and belted them in with the harness.
A dust devil grabbed the hovercraft, and we spun inside the tornado like we rode a whirling dervish carnival ride. “Stop! Stop! Please, stop,” I cried.
He grabbed my hand, and I clung to his strong, warm grip, finding surprising comfort there.
Round and round we spun until the dust devil collapsed, and the RTC plummeted toward the ground. Just before impact, the autopilot regained control, and our vehicle zoomed away.
“We have to land, or we’re going to crash!” I released his hand. “Axel Vander said the ports can clog.”
“I checked the ports. They’re okay. Not great but okay,” he reported. “We’ll get where we need to go. We’re almost at the way station. Hang on. We’ll get there. Trust me.”
For some crazy, inexplicable reason, in that moment, I did trust him. Maybe because he hadn’t sugarcoated our situation but admitted the ports had been somewhat affected. Or maybe because I didn’t have a choice. I needed to believe I wouldn’t die today. Because, when had he inspected the ports? I never saw him call anything up on the screen. But I wasn’t going to question. I’d cling to the fiction we would survive.
A fierce gust of wind slammed into the RTC. The vehicle lurched sideways, and I skidded into Bane. He grunted, and his arm came around and held me tight against his side. The craft leveled out, and I tried to free myself, but he hugged tighter. “Stay here. You’ll only go sliding again—and break one of my ribs!”
He’d no sooner spoken when another dust devil picked up the RTC and shook us like a dog tossing a chew toy. Fear tasted rusty in my mouth, but I buried my face against his broad, muscular chest and inhaled his woodsy scent. “We could die out here.”
There was a short pause, and then he said, “Nobody’s going to die today.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He continued to hold me, rubbing my arm in a soothing manner, while the vehicle lurched and spun. What if I’d been alone out here? What would I have done without him? His unshakable confidence had become the rock I clung to. If he said it would be okay, then it would be.
Battered and buffeted, the stalwart RTC bounced through a total whiteout.
And then it swooped low, hit the ground with a thump, and stalled out. “Oh shit.” I lifted my head from his chest. “The vehicle died.”
“It didn’t die. It landed. We’re here—at the way station.”
Wind howled. Sand swirled. I squinted but didn’t see a building, a wall, or another hovercraft. “Are you sure?” I disengaged and scooted across the seat.
He chuckled. “Now you doubt me?” He tapped my chin in a gesture that seemed almost affectionate and then twisted around to rummage in the rear seat. His broad shoulders blocked my view, but I could hear bags rustling. “We have to make a run for it, and you need better protection.” He tossed my filter mask and goggles onto my lap.
He rummaged a little longer and then produced a stiff, heavy tan jacket. “Put this on. It will protect your skin.”
“What are you going to wear?” The jacket he wore didn’t look all that thick.
“I’ll be fine.” And before my eyes, he transformed. Skin that had been slightly metallic-appearing darkened with the gleam of full-body armor. Muscles bulked up, straining the seams of his clothing. My jaw dropped. Knowing he was a cyborg and seeing the transformation from civilian to battle mode were two different things.
He held the jacket up, and I slipped my arms into it. Like dressing a child, he did up the fasteners and adjusted the collar to cover my neck. The sleeves dangled past my fingertips. I started to roll them up. “Leave it. The sleeves will protect your hands.” Then he slipped my filter mask and goggles over my face since I couldn’t use my hands. I squinted through the protective eyewear, still marveling at the changes in him.
He grabbed our bags. “Here’s the plan...” He snapped on his mask and goggles. “When the hatch opens, we’re going to get blasted, and sand will start to fill the vehicle. Get out of the RTC fast. Once you’re out, you won’t be able to see, but I’ll guide you.”
“If I can’t see, how can you?”
He tapped his temple. “Enhancements. My guidance system can lock onto the building. Got it?”
“Yeah...”
“Okay, let’s do it.” He opened the hatch.
A hurricane rushed into the RTC, pelting me with shards I could feel through the thick jacket. Bane leaped out and slung our bags over his shoulder. I scooted across the seat and scrambled out.
It was like being engulfed in a cloud of stinging, biting insects. I couldn’t see two feet in front of my face. I braced against the fierce wind, fighting to stay on my feet. I sensed, rather than saw, the hatch close. How the heck would I get to the way station building? “Bane?” Blinded, I reached for him. If we got separated, I’d die out here.
I squealed as he scooped me up into his arms. He hunched over me, as if to protect me, and sprinted through the driving sand. I huddled against his chest. Beneath his jacket, a hard metal object dug into my side.
So thick was the blowing sand, I had no idea we’d arrived at the building, until the entrance loomed in front of us. The door slid open, and he rushed us inside, a rage of sand sweeping in behind us. Doors sealed, and the automatic vac system cleared the transition space.
“Oh my god!” I gasped.
To my surprise, he immediately reverted to his civilian form. I was stunned when he insisted on carrying me through the inner door into the way station proper. Only then did he set me on my feet.
Dust coated my goggles, but I could see stranded travelers packed the waiting area. We weren’t going to get a room. All chairs had been claimed, and at least a dozen people had sacked out on the floor.
But we were alive! And out of the storm.
He pulled off his mask and goggles. I started to do the same.
He grabbed my hand. “Keep those on.”
“What? Why?”
Still holding my hand, he marched us to the desk. “We’d like a room,” he commanded.
If the way station had vacancies, these people wouldn’t be camped out in the lobby.
Predictably, the clerk replied, “I’m sorry, sir, but due to the storm, we don’t have rooms available.” He gestured to the sprawl of stranded travelers. “You’re welcome to find a spot for the night.”
“Check again,” he said. “The name’s Bane, Benjamin Bane.”
“You have a reservation?”
“I do,” he replied.
He did?
The clerk tapped into his console. His expression turned deferential. “My apologies, sir. You do have a reservation.” He tapped the top of a retinal scanner. “If you would, sir...”
Bane bent and peered through the ocular cups on the machine.
The clerk swiveled the machine toward me as a sand-blown man stumbled into the way station and staggered toward the clerk.
Bane glanced at the man, grabbed my arm, and hustled me out of lobby.
“Sir! I must scan her so she can get in the room!” the clerk called.
“I’ll let her in.” Bane urged me onto an elevator.
“You don’t know what—”
The doors closed. He released my hand, and I tore off my mask and goggles. He bent and peered into a scanner, and the elevator swooshed upward. “Tell me you didn’t steal that man’s reservation.”
“I didn’t steal that man’s reservation.” He focused on the floor numbers lighting up as we passed.
“Tell me and mean it.”
Doors opened, and he nudged me off the elevator. “If we did steal his reservation, are you going to give it back and spend the night on the floor?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t take his reservation. I promise. This way.” There were only two doors on this floor, and he strode toward one of them.
We stopped outside 602. I rubbed a sore, burning spot on my thigh where the sand had cut through my leggings and seared my skin. Getting a room the way we had seemed too fortuitous. Dozens of people had hunkered down in the lobby. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
He peered into the scanner outside the room, and the door lock released with a click. “Not about this.”
“But you’d lie to me about other things?”
His lack of response confirmed what I suspected.
“So, if you’d lie to me about some things, how can I believe you now?” How could I ever believe him? In the spinning, bouncing RTC, I’d clung to his hand and assurances. Had I placed my faith, my life in a chimera? Had he lied? Were his promises of safety empty words?
He fixed his ice-blue gaze on my face for several long seconds. “Trust your instincts.” He entered the room.
I didn’t know what my instincts were anymore. They sent me contradictory messages. I felt wrung out and gritty all over. Sand covered my hair and clothes, had slipped under the heavy jacket and my other garments to coat my skin. I shied away from the knowledge I had tiny little aliens all over me. I would have shaken off in the vestibule, but Bane had carried me into the lobby.
I desperately desired a room. I craved a warm shower and a good night’s sleep I wouldn’t get on the hard lobby floor. But I couldn’t in good conscience steal someone’s reservation.
“The way station is full. The clerk said there were no vacancies,” I persisted. “You somehow produced a reservation. Then the guy came in, and you rushed me—oh!” I gawked.
This was no simple room but a full-on suite, complete with a sunken lounge area, silk draperies, and soft white carpet. Thick sound-baffling floor-to-ceiling windows muffled the storm’s howl. Like all Sajave glass, the windows were frosted over but still allowed for the last dregs of daylight to filter through in a hazy glow.
This was not what I would have expected from a way station, not that I’d been able to see anything other than the lobby. Due to the raging storm, I hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse of the exterior.
Through an open door, I spied a luxurious acre-wide canopied bed covered in silk. Huge. But still only one bed. My gaze shot to the sofas. One of those would do. A sofa trumped a hard floor any day.
Except we’re not staying. I rubbed another sore spot on my thigh. Razor-sharp sand had slashed my leggings, but the way Bane had carried me had shielded my legs fairly well. And the loaner jacket had protected my upper body. His clothing hadn’t fared well at all. His sleeves had been shredded, giving a peek-a-boo flash of gleaming bronzed skin. I noticed a bulge from a shoulder holster under his arm. A frisson of wariness skittered through me.
However, without him, I couldn’t have made it to the way station—wouldn’t have found my way into the building if the RTC had gotten me here. If he’d intended harm, he could have abandoned me outside. Instead, he’d held my hand, comforted me during the storm, and offered hope. His behavior did not mesh with my previous assumptions about him. Who are you?
“You’re staring at me,” he said.
“We can’t take this room.”
He set our bags on the floor and sighed. “I promise you, I did not take that man’s reservation. I don’t even know if he had one. It was pure coincidence he showed up when he did.”
“But you hustled me out of the lobby. Don’t deny it. That was no coincidence! And how did you book a reservation anyway? I never saw you access a comm device to make a reservation!”
“Cyborgs have capabilities ordinary humans don’t.”
Meaning, he didn’t need a comm device? Well, that presented a whole new realm of possibilities. I filed the information away for future analysis. “Surely one of those people camped out on the floor would have grabbed the last reservation,” I persisted. The situation did not add up.
“Not if the standing reservation is for President Kathryn Jodane.”
“What?” I dropped my jaw.
“Every single hotel, every single way station on Sajave reserves rooms for the president.”
“But she’s never set foot on Sajave! A visit would have to be planned months in advance. She requires far more than a single suite.” The president traveled with an entourage of aides, official Secret Service agents, and “undercover” enforcers, the sum of staff requiring at least two entire hotel floors, three depending. For security, there could be no one above her, no one below her. If she stopped at a way station, the entire facility would be closed to outsiders.
“The president or her designee,” he amended. “Rooms are held for staff. Had you bothered to get authorization before leaving for Sajave, you would have been informed.”
“Those people in the lobby were here first.”
“They still couldn’t take this room,” he said. “The way station would never relinquish it to anyone other than Jodane or her representative. If we don’t take it, it stays empty.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll take it.” I unfastened the dusty, heavy jacket, shrugged out of it, and hung it over a chair. “So...given that we had a legitimate claim, why did you drag me out of the lobby? The guy came in and approached the desk, and you rushed me out of there.”
“I didn’t rush you.”
Our gazes locked. “You told me to listen to my gut. Well, my gut says you did,” I said. “What was it about the guy?” I folded my arms. Does he work for Jodane, too? He hadn’t looked familiar, but who knew how many people were in her secret employ. Besides, Bane hadn’t given me a chance to get more than a glimpse. Had he hustled me away so I wouldn’t place the man?
Silence stretched between us in a standoff. I could hear the faint hum of the air purifier or maybe the auto-vac. Just as I was about to concede the battle of wills, he said, “It had nothing to do with the man. I needed to prevent the desk clerk from scanning your retinas.”
