Free Rogue-ARC by Michael Z. Williamson Page B

would be out of contact for a while. She kept the screen turned away from others and used earbuds while she cruised and hopped whatever nodes she wasted time on. I spent that time staring at the ceiling above the bed trying to parse the chart I’d printed and had lying on my chest. Or, I went into the shower and pretended to be alone. Then she took her ridiculously long showers (okay, but she started it) and I did my nightly random node hop for mental relaxation.
    Then we went to bed and I pretended I was only pretending to be interested in this woman in such a way people would think I really was, with her warm back against mine. I hadn’t had a bed partner in years, and that had been my then-little girl. The last adult partner was even more years.
    During the days, I took a few more potentials off the list here and there. Some were definitely not targets. Either removing them would put someone more potentially dangerous in place, or destabilize something. While I was sure he could do multiple hits, his MO was one, then move. Rushing to get multiples would be risky. Of course, he might elect to start doing that. He hadn’t so far, though. Some I deleted on gut feeling. They were potent and had enemies, but had enough friends that killing them would generate support for them and ill will for any competitor trying to benefit after the fact.
    By three days out I narrowed it down to 126 people who might be worth killing for enough money, and who might have enemies with that kind of money.
    I leaned back, sighed and rubbed my eyes.
    “Dan,” she said.
    I stretched and looked over. We were traveling as Dan and Cynthia Charles.
    “Can I offer some advice?”
    “Please,” I said.
    “You’ve been alone for a decade. It shows. You’re instantly edgy around anyone else, and can’t share. You also can’t express yourself.”
    “Probably,” I agreed. I’d been expecting commentary on my list. Not on that.
    “This is a nice ship, and it’s culturally Freehold, not just a flag of convenience.”
    “Right. And?”
    “Go spread someone,” she said.
    I blinked.
    “You need company, and you need to unwind. Go to the spa, take a div, and get your head back on a bit straighter.”
    I almost blushed. Not because I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed not to have thought of it. Also, that I was so obviously having trouble with people.
    “Keep the advice coming,” I said.
    Yeah, that was a good idea. I got away from her, which was good for all kinds of reasons, and I got some physical sensations and synaptic rushes that really did help.
    The spa had real leafy plants, wood veneers and scented air with attractive people in tasteful form-fitting clothes and elegant accessories. It offered everything from plunge to massage to fairly exotic sex. All I needed was human companionship, and that was easy enough.
    I feel guilty about one thing. Bjirka, as she was known professionally, seemed to have a pretty good time herself. I wasn’t sure if it was real or an act; either was possible. However, I kicked in Boost and three segs later I knew it wasn’t an act. Every muscle in her body cramped and spasmed and her grin was still a meter wide when I left. They’d counted our doses on active duty, so we never got to try that. Physically, I got a bit more thrill from it. Psychologically, it was very satisfying. As they say in show business, always leave them wanting more. She was pretty much annihilated.
    The part I felt guilty about was that I’d picked her because she looked a bit like Silver. It was a grudge fuck by proxy.
    I felt even more guilty when I got back to find Silver had ruled out three more possible targets.
    However, I was able to sleep better, and I was more relaxed. Actual human contact is necessary to mental well being.
    The jump between systems was as disorienting as I remembered, and I was out of practice. My reflexes and coordination were shot, and I had trouble even standing. A nap straightened me out, but it was