Alexandra Syato palmed shut the door to her quarters. And paused. She frowned. It only felt as if seconds had passed since she’d stood behind Len on the Theseus, watching the atmosphere of Uranus churn around them. Callie’s chatter had filled the air—the woman could waste breath like no one Syato had ever met—and her gossip had swiftly mixed with the throb of klaxons, white heat and light…
Now Syato stood outside her room, dressed for the Millicent.
How was she going to her club? Lawe wasn’t due back from his run to Galatea for another week. And one didn’t…trawl for flesh at the Millicent. It was bad manners.
She rubbed at her brow, easing the tension of her thoughts. Her memory was flawless, eidetic. Time didn’t just…disappear. She pressed her thumb to the ident-chip on her palm and the implant below her ear pulsed. “Connect me to Captain Frederick Jannes.”
“Syato?” His deep voice, abrupt as always, burst against her ear. “What?”
“I need to account for the crew.”
“I have the ship in dock. Official downtime for the next seventy two hours.” And he cut the line.
Syato took a calming breath and reminded herself why she worked on the Theseus. The money. Jannes was a good captain and more importantly had luck on his side. He’d held his crew together for longer than other mine-ship captains and that stability had secured them all a good living. She pushed herself away from the metal door. A better living than other captains she could name.
She straightened her shoulders and strode down the long, narrow corridor, cut into the rock and ice of Miranda’s core, weaving her way between the other residents of the interior habitat block.
The artificially grass-scented air eddied around her. She pulled it deep into her lungs, finding a freshness that the Theseus couldn’t hold. Three standard days of downtime. Her insides fluttered. Until she remembered that Lawe was off-planet. Still, she moved forward and couldn’t seem to make herself turn back to her room.
In the noise of the corridor, the shuffle of boots, the chatter of people and the answering hum of technology, her heels clicked against the smooth stone of the floor. The sound was a reminder of where she was going, the rhythm matching the quickened beat of her heart. Her shoes, made from the finest Jovian leather, only came out of their box for her time in the Millicent. Wearing them, she stopped being Syato, the Theseus’ purser. She became someone else, someone desired. Someone sexual.
Her lips thinned. And Captain Rhearden Lawe was millions of miles away. She pushed her palms down over the length of her silk wrap dress, her fingers stiff, the sudden anxious need surprising her. She flexed her fingers. Her luck usually ran better than that.