Sixteen

[keaalu]

     Completely contrary to all his expectations, and rather surprising him, Slipstream found he did feel a little better, after talking to his friends about his problems. Huh. How about that. Mirii teased the information out of him, and Rasa interpreted it – and the medusi was surprisingly intuitive, for someone who knew so little about his past.

     The monster, the crushingly powerful blue giant with the mouthful of teeth? Perhaps, Rasa had suggested, it represented the way he was allowing his personal demons to get the better of him. His subconscious mind had simply chosen the tangible thing he feared most to personify all the things that frightened him. Whatever else he might say about it, whatever public front he put on, however much he puffed himself up and tried to look fearless, invincible… he was scared, of a lot of things. Of failing his sister, his aunt, his family – even the father he still partially resented, in some deep down place in his mind. Of failing himself, by not achieving what he had set out to do. By allowing his fear and self-doubt to weigh him down, make him dither and make poor decisions, blunting his abilities, he was leaving himself as little more than a fearful child, unable to see the bigger picture, to make intelligent judgements. Just… running blindly away from all the monsters that he should have been able to defeat if only he could just stop worrying about whether asking for help made him look weak.

     As for those horrific scenes his mind had dealt out involving the pretty redhead…? Well, maybe his subconscious mind knew he was slowly losing her – that his personal demons were slowly destroying any chance of actually getting to know her. The longer he remained afraid of her rejection, afraid of looking silly and inexperienced and embarrassing himself, afraid to even just approach her? The further away and more unreachable she was getting. If he didn’t get the courage to step up and finally say something, he’d lose her in real life, too. She’d find herself a partner who wasn’t scared of their own shadow.

     I’m not a bad mech, he consoled himself, for the umpteenth time. I can be someone she can be proud of. Just as soon as I’ve done this, proved I am capable. Proved I’m not my father. As soon as we get back, I’ll-… I’ll…

     Bury yourself in work and try to pretend she doesn’t exist, his demon interrupted. Slipstream could easily visualise the unkind smile curling the monster’s thin lips upwards.

     No. I’m going to make an effort, this time, he argued, silently, concentrating on banishing the demon. I bet she’s a nice femme. She won’t bite. All I have to do is learn to talk to her. Once we get to know each other, it’ll be fine. Unlike some people, I won’t have to abduct and drug her, and mould her into something else, just to feel confident talking to her.

     As though to emphasise the point to himself, he shot Firewire a scowl. The smaller mech sat across from him, knees tucked up and optics offline, a heavy-duty power cable running down from the nape of his neck to an outlet in the vehicle’s wall, his air-conditioners humming peacefully while he recharged. Slipstream gave him a resentful glare; in spite of his cuffed wrists, the orange mech actually looked pretty relaxed. How dare he look so at ease, so comfortable! The urge to kick him in the head had been rising all afternoon; the younger mech squashed the desire with some difficulty. Behave, Seem. You’re a nice mech. A good mech. A sweet, kind-natured mech who’s been put in a difficult situation and got stressed out. Right?

     …Yeah, Seemy. Tell yourself that enough times and you might even start to believe it.

     Almost before he realised he was doing it, his hand had strayed to his subspace and plucked a crystal out of his meagre remaining fuel supply. For a moment or two, he just looked at it – a pleasantly muted cobalt mass of small crystals, moulded into a ball. Back home, to the untrained optic, it was easily mistaken for a simple ball of confectionery, sharply delicious little fulminating crystals suspended in a polymeric fuel base, but Slipstream knew better. The depths flashed with an intense, fractal blue in the pre-dawn gloom, as he moved his hand.

     I don’t want this, he reminded himself. I don’t need this. Do I.

     His dealer’s voice spoke up in the back of his mind – a ghost, but not from the past. ’ Course you do, Seemy. Just a little pick-me-up, eh? Think how much better it’ll make you feel.

     His pumps cramped painfully, squeezing on empty air, as if in sympathy. All right. Just a little bit. I could break a tiny bit off. But not all of it. I need to save it. I might need it, later-

     “Ooh! Pretty! What’s that?”

     Rasa’s unexpected voice made him jump; reflexively, he closed his hand around the ball. “Oh, um-... hi, Rasa.” He forced his fingers to uncurl. “What’s what?”

     The medusi gave him a smile. “That in your hand. What is it?” she poked, gently, leaning closer to get a better look at the glittering object in the blue mech’s hand. She might not have been a typical laima in the political sense, but she was more than typical when it came to other aspects of her psychology.

     “Oh, um... Fuel crystal,” he replied, trying to carry off an air of quiet disinterest, rolling it back and forth in his palm. “I’m starting to get a bit low.”

     “Not hungry?” She settled nearby with her own ration bar in her hand, using her teeth to shred the flimsy plastic wrapper.

     For a change, Slipstream didn’t bother to argue that ‘hungry’ was an inappropriate description; he merely shook his head. “Not for this.”

     “Ah.” Rasa rapidly cottoned on to what he was implying. “It’s, um… not just fuel, then?”

     He shook his head. “It’s called ‘Tempo’. It’s, ah… it’s a stimulant.” He averted his gaze, and added, softly; “Not a very legal one.”

     Rasa surprised him by looking sympathetic; the usual response to finding out he used was a critical one, back home. “I’m not going to think any less of you because of it, Seem,” she said, gently, scooting across the floor to sit next to him. “I might not have known you long, but you’re a pretty upstanding person, I reckon. Besides, sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do, if he wants to survive in this world, right?”

     Slipstream studied his knees, reluctant to meet her gaze – almost wishing she’d shout at him, just because he felt he’d know how to react to that. He felt abstractly guilty for not already mentioning it to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t intentional. I just-...” Just what? Forgot? “Blue kinda has a stigma associated with it. I got used to not telling people.”

     “Hey. Don’t worry about it, all right? You don’t have to explain yourself. Trust me, I know plenty about what this sort of stuff does to a person.” Rasa gave him a sad smile, and covered his large blue fingers with her own small chocolate-coloured ones. “I’m just sorry it happened to you-”

     “Don’t be,” he cut in, shaking his head. “It’s my fault. My choice. I knew what I was getting into.” He closed his fingers around the precious ball of Tempo, as though removing it from sight removed it from temptation. “I heard all the stories, I knew all the risks.” He snorted a disbelieving laugh. “My parents gave Lou and me all the information we could possibly want, because they only got together in the first place because of this stupid smelt... and I still let myself get hooked on it.”

     “… maybe you need to look for a silver lining in it, eh?” Rasa suggested, gently. “If not for... Tempo, was it? ...your parents would never have got together in the first place.”

     Thinking about family always upset his internal stability. Tightening his fingers, almost unconsciously, he could feel the lump of dangerous candy pressing into his palm. It made his pumps flutter, uneasily. “Yeah, some bonus that was. Mortal enemies who ended up jammed in each other’s laps because of a shared addiction, who use fighting as foreplay and are a laughing stock through the whole district. My sister and I were an ‘accident’.” He snorted, humourlessly. “Figures that the product of a drug-addled union would end up prone to a whole rash of bad ideas of his own, huh-”

     “Hey, Slips. Stop that, yeah?” Rasa scolded, with a smile. “How about you give yourself a little credit?” She stroked his shoulder, and could feel the tiny trembles making his plating vibrate. “You’re not ‘addled’, or full of bad ideas. You and your sister must have been something worth looking after if your parents are still together, too, right? All those hundreds of years later?”

     “Well-… yes-… I just-”

     Rasa smiled. “Then why are you so worried about what people think? Who cares if they fight, if they’re still in love? With a lifespan as long as your people have, and they can still tolerate each other’s company? I’d say that was a triumph! I mean, some of us dirty biological have a hard time making it to just a couple of years.”

     Slipstream studied his closed fingers. “They’re only still together thirty centuries later because my stupid father disappeared right off the face of the planet for all but a few years of that.”

     “So? He was gone for what...” Rasa hastily added it up on her fingers, “about three thousand years? Wow. And she still loves him. Kept that memory alive the whole time.” She smiled, sadly, and leaned closer to him. “I know it’s hard, and I don’t want to belittle you, but… you’ve gotta count your blessings, Slipstream. You’ve got a supportive family, parents who love you, a good job... From what I’ve seen, I figure you work too damn hard! But you’re a good guy. You’re honest, you’re dedicated, you’re passionate about what you do – you’re… okay, so a little emotional, maybe, but that’s not a bad thing. Besides, I can hardly take the moral high ground, can I?” She scrunched her flat nose into an ironic wrinkle. “Before my husband betrayed me, damn his lying eyes? I used to make that kind of stuff. Legal, sure – didn’t make it any less addictive.” She shuffled up closer, peering at his fingers, and held out her own palm. “Can I look at it? It’s not... not poisonous, or anything?”

     “Uh… I guess, if you want? I think it’s pretty inert.” Slipstream managed to persuade his fingers to open; the lump of dangerous confectionery dropped a fraction of an inch into Rasa’s hand, making her whole arm briefly sag.

     She weighed it in her hand for a second or two, the unexpected mass taking her by surprise. “It’s heavier than I figured it’d be,” she admitted. “Like a ball of lead, or something. Must be pretty energy-dense.”

     Slipstream nodded, quietly. “I can run for about a day on one of those,” he confirmed. “I just-… try not to get so depleted that I need to.” He glanced briefly at Firewire. “I-I mean… with proper partitioning, and good housekeeping, I can run almost indefinitely on what I can pull off the grid, like he’s doing. But Tempo messes my energy handling up. I run through my supplies faster than I can replace them, and need actual physical fuel to make up my deficit.”

     Rasa rolled the Blue carefully from palm to palm. “I never imagined that chemicals would affect a computerised brain.”

     “They don’t. The crystals are just fuel.” He propped his head on his hand, watching her. “It’s the nanites in the microfilm – the, uh... oily, shiny look to it – that do it.”

     “...the what-ites?”

     Slipstream met the blank expression and smiled in apology. “Uh-... Nanites are tiny machines. They’re like… very-specifically-engineered viruses, I guess. They contain little bits of supplementary programming that temporarily overrides my own – helps me work harder, faster, get more done, blah blah blah.”

     “What happens when it runs out?” Rasa wondered, and the mech’s silence was all the answer she needed. “Does it damage your programming, at all?”

     “Not… not that they’ve told me.” And I’ve hit it pretty hard in the past, you’d think I’d have sustained some damage if it was going to do any. “My firewalls purge it back off pretty efficiently, it just... takes a day or two to do it.” He vented stale air and let his hands flop back to his lap. “And afterwards I’m usually a mess. Withdrawing upsets my gyroscopes, alters the pressure in my fuel lines... and that’s aside from the fact it wipes out most of my energy.” He tore his gaze away from the little crystal in Rasa’s palm, and moved his hands so he sat on them.

     She closed her fingers, hiding the Tempo from view, recognising his discomfort. “Would you like it back?”

     He nodded, awkwardly. “I want to take it now, Rasa. It’s making my insides unstable. I want to take it, so I can feel better.” He fidgeted. “But if I do, I’ll be vulnerable, because I’ll run out, a-and it’s not fair to make you put up with me withdrawing. Besides…” He shot her a glum look. “I don’t want to waste it. I don’t have much. I might need it, especially if Lara’s in trouble. You know? That little bit of oomph might be what stands between me and success.”

     “Now now, what did I say about not discrediting yourself?” Rasa scolded, gently. “You got to where you are on your abilities. The drugs are just... muddling the picture. You don’t need to define yourself by what you take. Besides.” She gave him a look, and offered; “you had a reason to start, right? It’s not like you said ‘hey world, I’ve got nothing better to do’.”

     “Circumstances weren’t really in my favour,” he agreed, quietly. “I mean… I was… having a bit of a rough patch. Ama had been attacked, and Day was missing, and-… I was feeling low, not maintaining my energy so well…” He studied his fingers. “Well, it was an unfortunate coincidence. A friend and I were introduced to our dealer when he moved into our dorm.”

     Rasa made a face and held out the crystal, gingerly. “I guess saying ‘no’ wasn’t an easy option.”

     Slipstream smiled, bitterly, accepting the crystal of blue ruin into his palm. Not an option at all, he agreed, internally. “Not really. And being exposed to his propaganda every day didn’t help.” He closed his fingers around the Tempo and tucked it back into his subspace. “I don’t use it often. Just when I need a bit of… of… pep.” Which is every day, back home. I’m only moderating my use here because I don’t have a lot left. “I didn’t bring a lot with me.” Couldn’t afford it. “Didn’t think I needed to. Brilliant idea, huh. Who knows when I might need it?”

     Rasa shuffled closer and gave his fingers a squeeze. “Listen, hon, I know it’s hard work. At least you’ve recognised that it’s a problem, because now you can do something about it, if you want to. Right?”

     “Right.” He turned his hand ever so slightly, and very gently returned the little squeeze.

     Mirii waited until Rasa had retired to the main control cabin to pore over the maps before finally slipping down from her high perch to sit beside her giant friend. A watercolour sun had just crept up past the horizon, the fine morning mist taking away some of its fiery intensity, and just enough light streamed between the clouds to turn his ordinarily dull, grey skin an elegant roseate hue. “Is everything all right?” she murmured, gently.

     Slipstream surprised her with a little smile. “It’s fine,” he confirmed, and actually sounded like he was being honest for a change, not just saying it so they’d leave him in peace. “I was just talking to Rasa.”

     “I know. I saw.” Mirii’s thin lips curved into a smile. “Did you find it beneficial?”

     His expression quirked into something a little more amused. “I guess. It was just talking. You know?” He moved his arm out of the way so she could tuck up a little closer. “Doesn’t always have to mean something.”

     She made an amused, semi-disbelieving noise and relaxed into his side. The peaceful silence gave her the opportunity to study his expression via the reflection in the window; he was watching the scenery flash past, his expression mostly inscrutable.

     His face was something of a contrast to the rest of him, she mused – almost incongruous, when compared with the hard plating and heavy armour that made up the bulk of his exterior. Most of his structure was solid and unyielding, built for strength and durability – and visibility, if his vibrant colouring was anything to go by. Even his dexterous hands were tough, built from diamond-hard alloys – the durable polymer that sheathed them looked like it was solely to keep the joints clean and improve his grip, not to soften their appearance at all.

     His face, on the other hand… A sort of tough-but-flexible dove-grey polymer made up the bulk of his features, with the occasional access seam punctuating it, but otherwise his face was smooth and finely contoured, his expressions driven by tiny actuators and synthetic musculature hidden beneath the surface. Similar to her own features, in fact. Except his mouth, which fascinated her - her own species almost lacked lips altogether, and for all their efforts to the contrary, Rasa’s kin weren’t much better off, so the flat-faced giant’s mobile, expressive mouth was a source of constant fascination. Danura was right. He is rather handsome.

     ...she couldn’t quite bring herself to feel guilty for thinking it. I can appreciate the beauty in something without being unfaithful, she excused herself. There are many things which are pleasant in looks – admiring them does not mean I love my Sei any less.

     ...and yet, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him?

     That was enough to trigger her guilt. Admiring was one thing – considering being adulterous was something else entirely. Besides, it wasn’t really fair to be sat here ogling him while he was still so vulnerable. Shouldn’t be sat here ogling him anyway! Should be supporting him, because that was what he needed. Underneath all that anger, all that stress? He was really quite sweet. All that awkwardness, and prickly temper? Just armour, for a genuine, honest, anxious spark, scared of leaving himself vulnerable. Should not take advantage of him, Mirii. That was not how you were brought up!

     …at last she realised he was watching her watching him, and she looked away, sheepishly.

     “What?” he wondered, quietly.

     “I was just… thinking,” she excused herself. “It is not important.”

     “Sure?” He brushed his hand down her short hair, amusedly, and tickled a finger behind an ear. “Who was it that said talking about your problems helps resolve them?”

     Mirii smiled, shyly, and let her voice drop to a humble murmur. “It really is not important, but… for a non-Kiravai, you are rather attractive,” she confessed.

     His eyes brightened to an embarrassed white-lilac, startled. “Uh-... thanks,” he stammered. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

     “Clearly,” she joked, and bumped him with her shoulder. “I would say am sorry for embarrassing you, but…” She smiled, shyly. “It shames me to admit I do like that little self-conscious smile you have, so I am not that sorry.”

     He mumbled a little pleased-sounding something, and looked away, shyly.

     “Slipstream?” She leaned a fraction closer, lowering her voice. “Um... May I…?”

     “May you… what?”

     In reply, she lifted her small hand towards his face, and when he made no move to stop her, traced her fingers over his lips, just to satisfy herself of how they felt. Cool and dry to the touch, but soft, yielding – softer than she’d anticipated, in fact. More like very high-quality leather than a synthetic polymer. She could feel the energy that rippled beneath the surface as their electric fields intersected.

     “Satisfied?” he wondered, quietly, amused by the sensation of her little fingers on his face while he spoke.

     “Not quite,” she lied, leaning a little closer and adding her other hand. “You are unlike anyone I have known before. I should like to make the most of this.”

     His smile broadened, shyly, and he kissed her fingertips. “Flatterer.”

     She smiled back, and nosed his cheek. “Perhaps. An honest one, though.” She ran her fingers carefully up his antennae, and felt a small tremor pass through him.

     “For someone so unlike me, you’re very attractive, too,” he murmured, quietly.

     His lips were close enough that she could feel them stirring the air as he spoke, and an unbidden image flashed into her mind – those big soft lips, warm smoky-charcoal grey, attractively full and elegantly pouty, mouthing gently down her neck and across her shoulder, electrifying her bare skin. She had to resist a shiver, wondering the image had come from, and hastily banished the thought, settling in his lap to watch the scenery pass by, with a humble, apologetic grin.

     Slipstream smiled back, and brushed his fingers through her hair. “How much longer, do you suppose?”

     He seemed oblivious, but his hands were most distracting! Gentle, but almost controlling, weighing softly against her, making a response difficult to come to. “Last I spoke to Rasa, she was anticipating it being another few days,” she managed, at last.

     He disguised the little sigh of disappointment a bit better than normal. “I hate just sitting here,” he commented, needlessly. “Helpless. Useless. I want to go ahead and get to work, and I can’t even do that.”

     Mirii curled against his chest, and ran her fingertips over his stern angles. I am sure I could keep you occupied. “Perhaps you should get some rest,” she suggested, feedback spiking through her chest as his large hand stroked down her arm and came to rest on her hip. “So, um, you may be operating at optimum efficiency once we arrive?”

     “Perhaps,” the Policebot agreed, reluctantly. “Sounds like a good plan.”

     He was probably not even aware he was doing it, she recognised, as they settled again – unfamiliar with creatures so much smaller than himself, just supporting her in his lap so she could look out of the window with him, but… The involuntary possessiveness in his manner left her feeling strangely… electrified? Anticipatory. She forced herself to concentrate instead on the clinical chill of the morning air, rolling in through the open window, and the watercoloured scenery ambling past, and amuse herself with daydreams instead.

* * * * *
     Celerity brushed her fingers lightly across her friend’s shoulder, and offered a small, apologetic smile when she turned around. “You said you had some news?” Apology had softened her voice until it was barely above a whisper.

     “I didn’t think you were awake enough to remember that,” Wen teased, gently, clasping her friend’s large hand in both of hers. “You fell asleep almost immediately afterwards.” Beat. “Maybe I’m just that boring.”

     Celerity’s optics brightened, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean-... I was just-...” She floundered briefly in search of an excuse that wouldn’t humiliate her further, but it refused to surface. “Your news?” she prodded, instead.

     Now was Wen’s turn to smile, self-consciously, and drop her gaze to her hands. “Last night, Juris asked me something very important,” she said, sounding almost guilty. “You remember I told you we’ve been, ah… meeting up at functions like these on a semi-regular basis?”

     Celerity nodded agreement. “Because he’s a reporter,” she said, then smiled a small, knowing smile, and added; “although I don’t think that’s the entire reason you meet up with him. Right?”

     “He’s asked me to be his,” Wen confirmed, with an excited smile. “To join his family, to make our partnership official. We’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and... he finally decided it was the right time to ask me.”

     “You’re... bonding? Is-... is that what you mean?” Celerity wondered. A strange hollow feeling (that she couldn’t quite define, and instantly felt bad about) had opened up inside her.

     “I’m not sure what that means. I... suppose it’s the same thing? Saying he’s asked me to be his mate sounds so primitive, and ‘soulmate’ is far too... over-dramatic.” Wen smiled, and shrugged, apologetically. “He’s invited me into his family, as his life partner. To-... to legally recognise our relationship, so it’s more than just two romantically-entangled friends meeting up at work every now and then. Is that the same meaning as you know?”

     “I suppose bonding is... similar.” Celerity nodded, settling her bulk to the ground. “Not many of my people do it, these days. The fussy old romantic in me thinks it’s a shame, even though it makes sense.” She smiled, sadly. “It’s pretty hard to reverse, and... well, war, and all that.”

     “I guess that means you’re not?” Wen perched on one of the large knees.

     “Ha! No, not me.” The big female laughed, although it came out sounding frustratingly forced. “Look at me, taking over like this. I’m sorry, Wen. I shouldn’t be so selfish. This is about you, not me.” She leaned down closer to her friend and brushed their cheeks together. “I’m so glad you’ve found a place outside here. You deserve it, so much more than anyone else.”

     “But-…?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “There’s a ‘but’ coming. Spill it, love.”

     Celerity directed her gaze away sideways. “I’m just being sentimental,” she apologised, with an awkward smile. “Just thinking how fortunate it was I never asked Dack about it. It’d be quite awkward right now if we had bonded, heh. We’re probably light-years outside of each other’s sphere of transmission. Losing contact would be... difficult.”

     “So it’s more than just a legal technicality?”

     “Yes.” Celerity shook her head, then chuckled. “Although I’m not sure exactly what it entails. Not many go in for it, these days. Too much risk, apparently.” She studied her fingers – the elegant, smooth pale turquoise that had covered over all the old dings and scratches in her plating, the new velvet-smooth friction pads on the underside. She’d not been so new-looking since... ever, it felt like. “Not many seem to know enough to ask, either. War makes you forget things like this.”

     Wen gave her a very long, probing look. “…you sure that’s what’s got you upset?”

     Celerity arched a brow. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

     “You’re telling me you’ve only just now decided to get sentimental about not bonding with the man you love? After enduring more than a dozen of my lifetimes not daring to even tell him you loved him in the first place?” Wen gave her a little reproachful look. “Come on, Lara, give me a little credit here. My feelings aren’t that delicate.”

     Celerity averted her gaze. “I just… don’t want you to go,” the bigger femme admitted, huskily. “And it’s not right for me to be selfish like this, to-to lean on you like this. You’ve lived through all this abuse, survived all the atrocity, and devoted so much of your life to other people, and no-one’s ever thanked you. How dare I be so greedy? So clingy? So… single-minded to think I should be able to lay some sort of claim on you? You’re not just my friend, you’re everyone’s, and-… you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be out of here, with Juris, living a normal life!”

     Wen closed her hands around Celerity’s gesturing fingertip. “Please, sweetheart. Be honest with me. I don’t need you to make excuses for why you can’t tell me, because you’re scared of hurting me.”

     In spite of her efforts to maintain the opposite, Celerity felt her shoulders sag, involuntarily. “I just-... You’re not his trophy.” It was hard to keep the static out of her voice. “You’re my friend and I need you.” She hugged her friend against her in a gentle but inescapable grip. “I can’t do this alone. I’m stuck in a rut that’s thousands of years in the making and I’ve only got this far because you helped me. Without you, I’d be stuck down a mine, somewhere, shovelling rocks in the dirt and dark. If you leave, I’ll-... I’ll fall apart.”

     “Aw, Lara, don’t sell yourself so short,” Wen soothed, hugging back as best she could. “I just pointed you in the right direction, once or twice. The only rut you’re genuinely stuck in is the one that makes you think you’re just a slave to your programming.”

     “But I-”

     “Ah-ah!”

     The little exclamation startled Celerity back into silence.

     “Stop thinking ‘I can’t’, because I promise you can.” Wen scrutinised the pale face, and was reassured by the way the blue eyes had stopped trying to avoid looking at her. “You survived a war, for goodness sake. Survived thousands of lifetimes of fighting, were instrumental in ending it, and still ended up a likable, balanced person. That you’re having trouble adapting to all this?” She waved a hand to take in the entirety of the Pit. “Holies, I’d be more worried if you just sat down, accepted it, and stopped resisting all Pabs’ wiles. Nobody should just accept all this so long as they have a functioning sense of normality.”

     Celerity mumbled and backed down, guiltily. “Wh-when is it going to be?” she wondered, quietly, trying to steer the conversation back into easier territory, settling down in her alcove. The usual handful of chatty, attention-demanding younglings had already clustered around her, so it took a little more attention than normal to make sure she didn’t sit on any of them. “The-... the ceremony? Or-... whatever else it entails.”

     “As soon as he’s got Pabishka’s signature on the paperwork, releasing me from her ownership.” The words left an unpleasant taste in her mouth – owned. Only things and animals were owned – but the dysphoria didn’t last long. Soon, she’d be a free woman - free to do what she wanted, where she wanted, with who she wanted! “We’re hoping to have a little ceremony on one of the bigger islands in the Western sea, before the month is out.”

     “So soon?” Celerity straightened, surprised. “Doesn’t-… doesn’t it take planning? I-I mean...” She scratched down through her memory files for the scattered little tidbits of information she’d found and carefully filed away about human ceremonies. Just in case. “I heard it takes a long time to arrange. All the legal things alone take months-”

     “I think Juris has been planning it for a while, in the hopes I’d say yes.” Wen blushed and puffed out her feathers, self-consciously. “I think he wants to get me away from here, as well – as quick as he can.” She gave her friend’s hand a little squeeze, and smiled. “Would you like to come, Lara? I have no family, except those friends I’ve made here.”

     “W-we barely know each other,” Celerity stammered, touched. “I couldn’t intrude on something so important.”

     “You wouldn’t be intruding, and I’d like you to come,” Wen emphasised. “You’re my friend.”

     Celerity let her gaze wander away, almost ashamed to meet the smaller woman’s eyes. “I’ve not been a very good friend lately, huh,” she mumbled. “Just thinking about me all the time.”

     “The fact you’ve been having a rough few days isn’t going to suddenly make me not want to be your friend any more,” Wen scolded, affectionately. She gave her friend’s face a long, serious scrutiny; the blue eyes remained dimly sombre. “Lara? If you don’t want to come because I’ve hurt your feelings-... I’m so sorry. I could never apologise enough. I don’t want to seem like I’m just... rubbing it in, after what we talked about earlier.” She clung to the large blue hand, offering her most imploring of ‘sad puppy’ looks, and rested her cheek against the big fingers. “But please don’t exclude yourself because you think you’re not good enough. Nothing could be further from the truth. You’re as worthy as any of my friends.”

     “I’m sorry.” Celerity lifted her in her cupped palms, and leaned their heads together. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Wen. I’d be honoured. I just-… don’t want you to get in trouble with Pabishka. She might put a nix on it.”

     “Perhaps.” Wen smiled, gently, and gave her cheek an encouraging bump. “But then, knowing Pabs, she’s equally likely to agree to it, if it means she gets Stojan’s support.”

     “Stojan?”

     “Juris’ father. He’s… well, not quite Nuori-level powerful, but he’s certainly rich. Just the sort of person Pabs would fall over herself to get her claws into.”

     Celerity managed a wan smile.

     “Besides.” Wen let her voice drop to a whisper, barely audible. “There’s one more thing...” She climbed to the big shoulder, under the pretence of tidying the slight kinks out of Celerity’s aerials but in reality wanting to get closer to her audio receptors. “I want you to come along so we can try and work on getting you out, too. If you’re out from under Pabs’ claws? We’ll be far more likely to be able to do something for you…”