‘The gangs are also known as clans,’ Sandsa repeated, earning himself a kiss. ‘Each clan has subofficers but only one clan is allowed a true leader — the Clan Leader. That does not seem fair. The desert tribes all have their own leaders to help them defend themselves. The gangs in Atsa are doomed to remain disorganised.’
‘The system is meant to keep whoever’s at the top, at the top,’ Callista explained.
She was lying back against his pillow while he was seated at the very end of his bed. He found the view of her dark shirt creeping up her navel to be reward enough for losing most of the space to her. Her cotton pants hung low on her hips, but she seemed to be making sure that they gave no more ground in either direction. Sandsa regretted his own attire. His sleeveless shirt, which contained the Maria symbol, caused him no problems. But the leather pants Bock had pressured him into selecting from a storage closet full of stolen clothing were tight and pulled uncomfortably across a piece of his anatomy he had never considered an issue before.
‘So if you do manage to knock out the reigning clan, you deserve to take over,’ Callista went on. ‘And why do you keep bringing up the deserts? I thought you said you’d given them up for something…better?’
She added a slow, salacious wink at the end of her sentence. Sandsa wished he could have responded to her with something more comforting than a pained smile. He had felt her in his dreams again the night before; she had stood on the crest of a dune, watching and judging him as he walked in circles, never finding what he sought.
‘What is it the Maria do, then, if they do not rule the streets?’ Sandsa asked.
Callista snorted and started wriggling her feet against his side. ‘Do you think we fight just for the glory of it?’
‘Please do enlighten me,’ he invited, capturing a foot with his hands and easing the boot off so that he could begin a teasing massage that deepened as her sighs became less indignant and more appreciative.
‘The Alcazaar are the worst of the bunch,’ Callista told him, her previous humour leaching from her beautiful features. ‘If it wasn’t for the unwritten rules — you know, don’t kill civilians, no fighting in the No-Go Zone, stop fighting when it gets light — they’d hurt people. Innocent people. And one day they might be powerful enough to break those rules without fear of the governor or the Chippers.’
Sandsa pressed his lips together for a moment. ‘You said the Alcazaar have been the reigning clan for fifty years, ever since they triumphed over the Maria. Is our clan only interested in regaining old prestige or do they actually intend to protect the people of Atsa?’
‘Can’t it be both?’ she asked, jerking her foot out of his grasp.
‘I suppose it can,’ Sandsa conceded, stowing his hands on his lap. ‘Alright. Why do the clans fight each other when they could band together to depose the Alcazaar?’
‘Would you share that much power with someone else?’
He thought of standing on multiple dunes across the galaxy, his great tornadoes ripping sand from the ground and up towards the sky — and she would be beside him, her fingers wound around his, enjoying the magnificence of the deserts.
‘Depends,’ Sandsa said.
‘The clans have fought each other for centuries; they’re not going to stop and make nice now,’ Callista said and pressed her lips to his.
He returned her kiss with fervour, exploring her mouth, indulging in her sweetness. Sandsa bucked when one of her hands delivered a sly slap to his backside.
‘Taking liberties, are we?’ Sandsa asked. He hiked her shirt over her stomach, raised one eyebrow and then dove in to deliver a raspberry to her bellybutton.
Callista tore away from him, shrieking with laughter. ‘Enough! I surrender!’
‘Hmm, so I have learned today, from my wise and learned teacher, that the Maria may be defeated entirely by the application of one’s lips and breath upon their stomachs,’ Sandsa said, tapping his chin with two fingers.
Callista snorted. ‘Defeated? I think not!’
She tackled him back down onto the bed and straddled him. Sandsa had no wish to move or retaliate because he was enjoying the sparkle in her brown eyes and the rise of her breasts when she arched her back just so. He had seen much flesh as a god in the desert but it had never interested him. Now, though, he wanted to lift her shirt higher, to the globes that awaited his view, his hands…
Callista was kissing him again, her fingers pincered over his wrists, and he lost himself to the sensation of her hips grinding against his.
But then she suddenly stopped.
Sandsa made a noise of protest.
‘Your turn to be the teacher,’ Callista said, grinning as she retreated to the other side of the bed.
‘I disagree — I don’t think we’re done,’ Sandsa retorted.
She laughed. ‘Oh, really?’
But Callista made no move to escape him when Sandsa crept up to her and delivered a deep, languid kiss. Her hand was cool against his skin as it slid along his bared stomach before raking over the dusting of hair on his chest. He had never given much thought to his nipples until they were tweaked and tickled in a fashion that seemed designed to drive him mad. He disposed of the shirt. It was a hindrance.
She bore him down and he fell backwards slowly, as though passing through sand, then surrendered to her. Her lips were now travelling down his jaw to plant open-mouthed kisses on his bare shoulder. Sandsa watched as her wet caresses dropped further still to touch a nipple.
‘Callista,’ he gasped.
Her teeth grazed the tender nub before she latched onto it. Desperate for something he couldn’t define, he sat up and tugged her shirt over her head. The tie fell out of her hair and her brunette tresses sailed over her chin, briefly shielding the mischievous grin she threw at him. The tight grey band on her chest did nothing to hide the hardening peaks beneath the fabric. Sandsa caught her gaze and she froze, uncertainty gripping her thoughts.
Gently, he coaxed his way up her abdomen with soft, chaste kisses, pausing only to dip his tongue into her navel. His lips reached the edge of the cloth that kept her breasts from his mouth.
‘Sandsa,’ she whispered.
She stood abruptly and yanked her shirt back on, expression stony. Without another word, Callista turned and stalked outside. Sandsa started to follow her but then winced at the tightness of his pants; he had wondered how manoeuvrable they would be in combat. Now he knew he needed something more flexible — especially if he intended to explore more of Callista.
Sandsa calmed his ragged breathing and hurried out of his room. She wasn’t in the corridor. But Subofficer Ala was. The leader of the Maria leaned against the wall, one foot propped up behind her and a mug in her hand. Sandsa stilled. If Ala had been drinking spirits instead of coffein, he might have found her in a more pleasant mood.
‘What happened?’ she demanded.
Sandsa frowned. He had bared himself to Callista, his mind so terribly exposed that she could have glimpsed his origins. But she had only seen…
‘She found out my name,’ Sandsa realised.
Ala’s one good eye narrowed. In her he read protectiveness for Callista and anyone else she deemed unable to defend themselves in war or in matters of the heart. Sandsa shrugged and added a small smile, hoping that would settle the matter.
‘You’ve gotta be careful with her,’ Ala told him. ‘She’s not been with a man yet. She’ll be clingy enough without the sex.’
‘I…I was not trying to…’
Sandsa wondered if his wrestling with Callista a few minutes beforehand had been a prelude to that. He hadn’t been thinking about sex. He had merely wanted to divest Callista of those annoying clothes so that he could see all of her, touch all of her…
Ala snorted in a sceptical fashion. Sandsa was appalled to feel his cheeks grow hot. How could she read his thoughts, lacking any powers as she was?
‘If you hurt her in any way, I’ll put a bolt between your eyes, Bolt,’ she cautioned him.
‘I doubt you could kill me,’ Sandsa remarked. ‘But you needn’t worry. Hurting Callista would only hurt me.’
‘Alright,’ Ala said, apparently reaching a decision. ‘Report downstairs to the armoury. Keep Bock out of trouble and get a piece for yourself while you’re there.’
Sandsa started moving past Ala, then paused to glance over his shoulder. ‘I suppose you would not believe me if I said I was just as inexperienced in these matters as Callista.’
Ala’s cheeks tightened. ‘Right now I only care about your experience with shootin’ things. Now go get a lasgun.’
***
Callista dodged the lasbolt an instant before it was fired right at the back of her neck. She dropped ahead of the one that would have hit much higher — and blown out a piece of her skull through her forehead had it been on a more potent setting. Whipping around, she lashed out with her hand. The third red bolt paused in front of her palm, as though considering its next course of action. Callista glowered at it, mentally threatening the lasbolt with a list of obscene words.
Then it hammered into her hand and she fell awkwardly onto her side, grunting as her joints connected with the hard floor of the training room. Ignoring the bruises and the pain accompanying them, Callista rolled over just in time to avoid another blast of energy.
She shot to her feet, eyeing the device as it hovered several paces away, readying its next low-powered shot. Callista closed her eyes, excluding herself from the stare down, and kept her arms pinned to her sides. The vision she summoned gave her three seconds to deflect the bolt with her powers. She only needed one.
She opened her eyes, taking in the scorch mark a full metre from her feet, and smiled, pleased that she could use her powers without lifting her hands like a Chipper.
And then she felt him.
Callista groaned and tapped the tiny communicator nestled in her right ear. ‘Bock. Tell me Sa — Bolt isn’t with you. I came down here to get away from him.’
‘Hey, Ala sent him down — just bad timing, I guess,’ Bock’s voice chirped back at her. ‘What’d ya do to my drone? I’m gettin’ all sorts of weird error messages.’
‘Maybe it glitched, Bock.’
‘I only just stole it the other week!’
Another voice ghosted into her ear through the device. ‘You are improving, Callista.’
Callista threw her earpiece to the floor, left the training room and walked over to the lasgun target range to see Bock tempting Sandsa with the higher powered (and much less precise) weapons that Maria boys seemed to enjoy using. Bock was wearing thick, dark sunglasses, no doubt a souvenir from the previous night when he had entered a battle he was always ill-prepared for: a drinking competition.
Sandsa’s blue eyes were twinkling in her direction. Callista stifled her exasperated sigh.
Bock didn’t seem to register the growing tension and kept prattling on. ‘Now, you might want to get somethin’ a little less showy, but I prefer the heavier stuff meself…’
‘I think this weapon is more than adequate,’ Sandsa said, indicating a small lasgun, much like the one Callista had selected as a replacement for herself a few days ago.
She smiled down at the floor.
‘You any good with a lasgun?’ Bock asked Sandsa.
‘Never fired one,’ Sandsa answered.
‘Well, if you get the middle of this target first go, I’ll shot meself,’ Bock said, loading up an intermediate target.
Callista felt the ripples of power surrounding Sandsa as he strode up to the line marked on the floor. He lifted the weapon and loosed a lasbolt — off by a good three paces, but Sandsa used his powers to curve it towards the target until it punched a blistering hole into the centre. Child’s play, Callista realised with unease. How long had he been using his gift? Who had taught him?
Bock lifted his sunglasses up onto his forehead, staring. ‘Huh. And that’s your first time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Try this one,’ Bock said, arranging a much harder setting. This target sat behind bars of deflective lasers that weaved in multiple directions. ‘I’ll shoot meself for sure if you get it.’
Callista smothered a laugh. The kid — young man, she corrected herself — had no idea what he was getting into. As far as she knew, Bock had never honoured his bizarre bet. Sandsa lined up the shot. Took it. Got it.
‘Holy Creator shit,’ Bock breathed. ‘Wanna try somethin’ bigger?’
Whatever weapon Bock brought out for him, it took Sandsa barely a few tries to perfect it. This went on for a full hour until, finally, Bock stood back, admiring the belt he had strapped around Bolt. The thin strip of leather drooped under the weight of the various weapons Bock had given him. Callista suspected that Ala hadn’t sanctioned quite so many.
‘You’re sure to be the next Clan Leader!’ Bock declared.
‘If someone else doesn’t beat him to it,’ Callista said and stormed away.
Simmering, she paced on the road outside the building, her eyes aching from the unexpected brightness of daylight. Water filled her vision which she told herself was from the glare. When Sandsa fell into step beside her, he said, ‘I’m sorry. I feel…that it is something you wanted. To be Clan Leader. It’s your dream.’
‘No less stupid than my dream of leaving this rock to hit the asteroid mines,’ Callista growled, turning around at one streetlight, far less mournful now than when it needed to chase the shadows of night away. ‘I’m rich folk pretending to be a clansperson and they all know it. There’s plenty here who are better than me. Even you — and you’ll always be better than me at everything! These powers, these weapons…I just…I just wish I was at your level.’ She sighed. ‘I guess you’ve got a better chance at becoming Clan Leader.’
She stopped walking and buried her face in his chest, willing away her dark thoughts. Sandsa embraced her, saying softly, ‘Not all dreams are stupid. And we don’t need to stay in Atsa. We can go anywhere. Any planet.’ He chuckled. ‘Any asteroid. You name it.’
Callista said nothing, merely tightened her hold on him.
***
Now as silent as Callista, Sandsa took her hands in his, turning them over to study her bare palms. If he wanted to spend his life with her, he needed to mark her with the binding scars and soon. But how soon? Sandsa felt something for Callista, but he wasn’t sure it was enough to last eternity or if she would ever return his feelings. He tried to peer ahead, to look into her future, and was disturbed to find he was unable to do so. His own future was similarly impossible to see.
Sandsa pressed his lips to her forehead, concealing his uncertain frown.