Chapter 40

           ItwasSharya,alloveragain.

           WedustedofffromthetoweroftheHendrixanhourafterdarkandswungawayintothetraffic-specklednight.OrtegahadpulledthesameLock-MittransportI’driddenouttoSuntouchHouse,butwhenIlookedaroundthedimlylitinterioroftheship’sbelly,itwastheEnvoyCommandattackonZihiccethatIremembered.Thescenewasthesame;Davidsonplayingtheroleofdatacomofficer,facewashedpalebluebythelightfromhisscreen;Ortegaasmedic,unpackingthedermalsandchargingkitfromasealwrapbag.Upaheadinthehatchwaytothecockpit,Bautistastoodandlookedworried,whileanothermohicanIdidn’tknowdidtheflying.Somethingmusthaveshownonmyface,becauseOrtegaleanedinabruptlytostudymyface.

           "Problem?"

           Ishookmyhead."Justalittlenostalgia."

           "Well,Ijusthopeyougotthesemeasuresright."Shebracedherselfagainstthehull.Inherhand,thefirstdermallookedlikeapetaltornfromsomeiridescentgreenplant.Igrinnedupatherandrolledmyheadtoonesidetoexposemyjugular.

           "Thisisthefourteenpercent,"shesaidandappliedthecoolgreenpetaltomyneck.Ifeltthefractionalgrip,likegentlesandpaper,asittook,andthenalongcoldfingerleaptdownpastmycollarboneanddeepintomychest.

           "Smooth."

           "Fuckingoughttobe.