Free City Wars by Dennis Palumbo Page A

head from the pillow.
    She said, “Your body is an instrument you use very well. In that way, we are much alike.”
    He got up on an elbow, grinned.
    “At the risk of ruining the moment, Cass … do you get like this every time you screw?”
    Cassandra laughed softly. “I’m sorry, Jake. Sometimes I … well, I like to examine how I feel.” Her hand caressed his bicep. “Would you tell me how you feel?”
    “The truth?”
    “Of course.”
    “Like I was put through a wringer.”
    She smiled, gave him something good to look at in her eyes. “We Guardians have a myth to uphold.”
    “Consider it upheld for at least another decade or two.” He bent and kissed her lips. Her arms came up, he felt the swell of her breasts as she moved beneath him.
    “I don’t think so, Cass. Not so soon.”
    “We’ll see,” she said. “Unlike a Guardian, you may not be aware of all you’re capable of.”
    He was grinning as she reached for him.
    And for the second time, he knew of her graceful strength, and how good it was sliding into her, finding with her the slow, tortuous rhythm. Near the end he would gasp at what her taut muscles could do when he thought he was spent, when he thought— Then he felt her deep deep shudder and her small adroit hands touching him in places his mind had not known and he exploded within her.
    And he had no thought of time, or the night, or the want of dreams.
    Bowman turned his head.
    “Away from the warring,” Cassandra said, “you are a beautiful man.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “The war,” she said. “The struggle. You believe you need it.”
    “I’ve never said that.” He wondered where she was going.
    “You don’t have to say anything. After I’m with a man a certain amount of time … in a certain way … I can trust my instincts.”
    He said, “I accept war. And the consequences of war. It’s the way of the cities.”
    She considered this.
    “As Guardians, we are conditioned to accept only what nature has structured for us. Laws of physics, the cycle of regeneration. What humankind decrees is not subject to this acceptance.”
    Bowman grew annoyed suddenly, and therefore careless.
    “I wasn’t aware that the Order included philosophy in its curriculum,” he said easily.
    Cassandra turned to him, suddenly cold in her nakedness. “Perhaps my instincts were wrong. Perhaps you’re like the others, Jake. I’m sorry.”
    “Cass, what are you—”
    “You think of us as death-dealers, killing machines … and in bed, whoring machines.” Her smile waswithout humor. “Yes, I know the myth and all its specifics.”
    Bowman said, “Not you, Cass.”
    She held him with her frank eyes.
    “Ours is a way of life, Jake. An avenue of commitment. To guard, to serve as a Guardian, is to make the rational choice to protect those who function as leaders in society.”
    He spoke hurriedly. “I know that, Cass. You don’t have to recite from the manual.” He touched her breast. “Look, maybe I—”
    He hesitated. It had been a mistake. He felt hot suddenly; exposed.
    “Jake …?”
    Bowman pulled himself up and sat on the bed. His words were slow and deliberate.
    “During the War,” he said, “two men in my command were killed by a Guardian. I know that doesn’t mean anything now … or shouldn’t … but—”
    Cassandra drew her knees up under the sheets, touched them with her forehead. He saw her as a different woman then, small and fragile.
    “You see how it was, Cass. Why I feel … felt—”
    “There were mercenaries, yes,” she said. “We knew of them. They shamed all of us in the Order. The fact that a Guardian could renounce his—”
    “Cassandra …” His voice was low. “That was a long time ago. Like the War.”
    “They were all caught, you know. At least, we think so …”
    Bowman took her head in his hands, drew her to him.
    “Come on, Cass. We’re screwing this up. That’s crazy—now.”
    Even as he said the words, he was afraid to think