I listen to your breathing. I know you’re awake, but you haven’t moved. Your hand still rests between my breasts, your nose behind my ear. You’ve lain like this with me, awake, for about an hour. Perfectly still. A calm lies over us both.
A light flashes in the cockpit. We’re at the Lupus system, and you’ll have to go up front, we’ll make landfall in an hour or so. A deep sigh, as you kiss my neck and hold me tighter, before getting up with an almost feline grace, to deal with the matter of getting us where we need to be.
Before dealing with the nervewracking notion of sitting up front with you, I prepare for our assault on McDermott’s home. I don’t need to look at the files anymore, and they’re in a neat pile, on a back counter. We’ll be coming back for them.
The harness is comfortable, and keeps my hands free. I strap the switchblade to my inner thigh. It’s not easy to reach, but it’s not easy to find either. The circle of wire is tucked into the wrist of my shirt. Everything else is in pockets. I throw the dark robe worn on Helion over everything, it will help, in the dark. I keep the bag at my feet.
You have four of the explosives, and carry your own knives. We’re as ready as we’re going to be.
I sit up front, in the co-pilots chair next to you, and try to hide my tension. Out of the cockpit, I made a point of not looking at open space, and there is no time for previously enjoyed distractions. Here I can only sit and watch, my insides a knot of anxiety, as we approach Lupus4. At least it will be dark when we land. We begin the descent.
You look almost exactly the same as the moment I first saw you, on that rooftop. Except you didn’t look scared then. Rifle slung over your lap. You swallow hard as we hit gravity, that pull.
“Are you ready Ava?”
No answer, just a small nod of your head. Your eyes are bright, afraid. I don’t need two hands to land this thing. Your hand is cold, and you hold on to me tightly.
“We’ll be on the ground in a minute, baby, just close your eyes.”