Blaedergil's Host by C.M. Simpson (reading well .TXT) 📕

gym mats,” he said, exasperation running through his tones. “For sparring, you idiot. Stars above, why anyone would want to try and bed you is beyond me!”

“Hey!”

“Nice to see Odyssey haven’t beaten the smart ass completely out of you—and that’s good, because that brings me to point two. You’re back on my ship.”

He reached down and took hold of my right wrist, using the grip to pull my arm out from under my head, and then pinning it under his shin.

“This means you do as I tell you to, and you talk to me, if you have a problem.”

He took my left wrist, deftly hitting the nerve point to turn my arm numb below the elbow. Then he took it and pinned that beneath his left shin. After that, he leant down so his mouth was close to my ear.

“I have orders to walk you out an airlock if you don’t live up to expectations.”

I froze. The airlock, again? And he did? I felt him lift off me, and then the weight of his boot in the middle of my back, as I started to turn over.

“And now we have that out of our systems, you and I have an assignment. Delight says it’s just your style.”

He lifted his foot off my back, and moved to stand in front of my head.

I raised my face enough to watch, and saw him extend his hand.

“If you’re finished pissing about,” he said, “there’s a briefing to attend.”

A briefing, huh?

I got up slowly. One thing was for certain, the adrenaline from our little spat had driven the last effects of the drug out of my system. Taking his hand, I resisted the urge to use it for support while I slugged him in the face. Instead, I let him help me up.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do, either. I didn’t like being bullied—by him, or by the organisation that had insisted on keeping me. I cleared my throat, let go of his hand, and made a show of straightening my clothes.

He watched, and I swear he was amused.

“So,” I said, when I found my voice, again—and worked out how to keep it steady, “what do you need me for?”

4—The Mission

“No,” I said, ten minutes later. “A thousand times, no. Walk me out an airlock. Shoot me now, but this?”—and here I gestured wildly at the screen—“This is not happening.”

“Come on, Cutter.”

Mack took a step towards me.

“No,” I said, and took a step back.

I stroked my right hand down my left arm, then my left hand down my right arm, and backed up another step. I might have said my guts were churning, but they weren’t; they’d turned to ice. I was going to vomit ice-chunks all over Mack’s nice clean floor, if I couldn’t calm down.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I can’t do this,” and I despised the quiver that ran through my voice. “Not this.”

And I backed up the two steps I needed to get me to the door. Heavens knew where I thought I was going to run to. I slapped the panel meant to open the door. Nothing happened. I danced back a step, giving the panel another smart smack as I did so.

Still it didn’t open.

“Goddamnitall!” I shouted, and Mack was on me.

He pounced, sliding in sideways and scooping me into the circle of his arms. I turned and faced his chest, and he wrapped me tighter.

“I can’t do this,” I said. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

He didn’t try to do anything, just held me tight, until I wound down.

“You can do this,” he said, holding me still. “You can, and you will.”

Why the Hell he should care was beyond me, but he didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything. Of course, he didn’t let me go, either. I just stood there, registering two things: first, that he had bent forward to grab me; the second, that he was incredibly warm... and strong... and far too aware of the tricks I’d need to break free.

When I hadn’t said anything for over a minute, he sighed, and straightened up.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go over it, again.”

I tried to kick free, but his arms tightened, crushing the breath out of me, so I let myself go limp.

“Right,” he said, carrying me back to the table, and carefully settling me in a chair beside his own. “Take a good long look at the map. Tell me how many ways there are to get in.”

I knew what he was doing, but I went along, anyway. You never knew; I might find an alternative to what they were suggesting. At the end of an hour, even I had to admit there really was no other way in.

By the end of an hour, I also had to admit that there wasn’t anyone else.

I slumped in the chair, and rested my head against my right hand, leaving the left on the table in front of me.

“So, you agree, then?” Mack said, and I sighed.

I wanted to disagree. I very badly wanted to disagree. There was no way in Hades I wanted this job. Not in all the worlds.

“Isn’t there anybody else?” Even to myself, I sounded tired.

Mack draped an arm around my shoulders, and I let him. In anyone else, I would have thought it a play, but Mack had made it pretty clear he wasn’t that way inclined.

“We could find someone else,” he admitted, “but you’re the one who needs to pay off a massive training debt, and there’s a pretty hefty bonus attached to this job.”

That was news to me.

“How big a bonus?” I asked, then added, “And how much of it is mine?”

Mack named a sum that would take out half the training debt in one fell swoop, and I have to admit I was pretty tempted.

“But...” I said.

“So, you’ll do it, right?” he said, and it wasn’t really a question.

I felt his arm tighten around my shoulders, and turned my head. It was all the time he gave me,