“Kohl,” she said.
“Bitch,” he said.
Like that, is it? “Kohl, this isn’t you.”
He laughed, then stopped as he swayed. Not because the Tyche under thrust; he was caught in some wind only he could feel. “It might not be the old me, but the new me feels great. Strong.” He breathed in, his massive shoulders rising and falling. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“I’ve got some idea,” she said. Her vision was clearing, and she saw something in his hand. A hypo. “You on the juice again?”
“Better,” he said. “I don’t need the juice. This here,” and he raised the hypo, “is for you. Seems fair.”
“Do not touch me with that shit,” she said.
“C’mon Grace, it’ll be fun,” he said. “I use this stuff on myself all the time.” He reached a hand down to her, and she tried to scramble away, but something in her back snared, and she gritted her teeth. Then cried out, as Kohl lifted her up. “You’ve got no idea what’ll happen to you, do you?”
GRACE.
TOGETHER.
That voice, coming from Kohl, but … not Kohl. Something inside the man? She tried to reach a hand out to him, to push him away, or to feel what was wrong, she wasn’t sure, and he gave her a shake, like a dog with a toy.
“Grace. Grace. We know each other too well for tricks, don’t we?” Kohl’s lips were moving, but Grace wasn’t sure what was talking anymore. The thing inside him, or the man above it?
“Kohl,” she said. “You’ve got to fight it. Get control of it. It’s going to eat your mind.”
“Aw, hell, Gracie,” he said. “They don’t want my mind. They want yours.” And he slammed the hypo home, the hot bright starburst of sensation as the tip entered her chest above the left breast. Above her heart.
Her heart kicked in her chest. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, of pain or pleasure she couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered, the drug made both sensations feel the same. Her fingers curled into claws, grabbing at Kohl’s suit, her eyes wide. The room was bright, bright, so bright, and the light was loud, like a hurricane. She felt her heart stop, then start, then stop again.
A gasp, a great shuddering breath, and then she couldn’t breathe.
“Yeah,” said Kohl. “Quite a rush, innit?” And then he threw her across the cargo bay.
She tumbled through the air, feeling the individual hairs on her head stroke her face as she passed through the air. They were moving so slow, and they felt so soft. Grace had never thought of her hair as soft but it was, silky, like the dawn when it left the night. When she hit the back wall of the cargo bay, it felt gentle, the flash of pain/pleasure rolling up her back, her teeth grating together in bliss, and she tumbled towards the floor.
In the great, impossible distance before she hit the metal decking, her heart started again. In that impossible distance of two meters, it pumped in her chest once, twice, three times. Five. Ten. Ten beats before she hit the ground, her feet under her, her landing perfect, one hand’s fingertips stretched out like a net to touch the same metal her feet rested against. Rested, because gravity was tiny, small, and she could beat it with every step.
“You’re gonna fucken die,” she said, her heart shuddering inside her, frantic, wanting escape.
“Come get some,” said Kohl, opening his arms wide.
They ran at each other. The deck moved under Grace, a ship on the ocean, as the Tyche started thrusting. It didn’t matter where it was going, or how it would get there, because by the time it made it, Kohl would be dead. He reached for her, teeth bared, and she ducked under his grasp, hammering a knuckle in under his ribs. A second strike found the soft spot in his solar plexus. Her third strike was into the naked, vulnerable spot in his armpit. Kohl was still swinging at her, so she went low, legs wide as she brought an elbow up with explosive power into his groin. Those four strikes should have dropped the man.
It didn’t even slow Kohl down, and one of his swings hit her in the side of the head. She fell sideways as something in her jaw clacked out of place, her head rebounding against the decking with a clang. Grace felt the thunk as her jaw popped back into its socket at the same time as she saw the bottom of Kohl’s boot coming for her face. She caught the foot in both hands, twisted, and sent the man tumbling away. Her feet scissored around her and she was back up and on her feet, her mouth open. Grace wanted to bite, to chew, to rend the man.
She would have her way.
“Gracie,” said Kohl. “Can I call you Gracie?”
Grace blinked at him. “Can I call you asshole?”
“Gracie,” said Kohl, “here’s the thing. The drug? It won’t last. And then? We can be together. But it’ll be great! It’ll be … hang on, need the right words. Outstanding? Yeah. Fucking outstanding because finally you’ll understand that your whole damn species are soft. No hard shell, you know?” He rapped on his chest, as if there was an exoskeleton there. Something made of chitin. “We won’t need words soon. Just you and me, Gracie.”
“We won’t need words,” she said, “because you’ll be dead, Kohl. Except you’re not Kohl, are you? You’re…” She faltered. He’s not Kohl. You’re not fighting Kohl, Grace Gushiken. You’re fighting something that’s taken his mind and put it in a box.
If Nate were here, he’d say something like Kohl’s family, and we don’t kill family.
Fuck that. Kohl was gonna die. He was gonna die, and he was gonna die ugly. She wiped drool from her chin and charged again. Grace ran right past the sword sticking out of the decking, because she didn’t need that frail piece of steel. She had her hands, and if they broke, she had her teeth. He wasn’t running at her this time, his stride catching — maybe those crushed testicles are slowing the fucking insect inside him down — but he met her anyway. This time he went low, a kick sweeping at her legs, but she almost danced over the top with ridiculous ease. As she landed, she spun, raising her foot on the way, and catching Kohl under the chin with the heel of her foot. His head rocked back then snapped forward again. His eyes didn’t even blink, he just slammed a fist into her kidney, fast as a piston, hard as a jackhammer. Grace felt that, even through the drug, the shock of it rocking up her spine.
It felt good.
He hit her again — she’d let herself get distracted by the pleasure of it all — so Grace grabbed his hand, wrapping around him like a python. One leg snaked over his shoulder, the other around his chest, and she torqued her body around the arm. Kohl spun in space, his frame crashing into the deck, and she saw two teeth pop free, tumbling through the air like beautiful red and white pearls.
Grace bounced back, one hand on the deck as she somersaulted free and clear. As she went through the motion she saw the decking, really saw it, the soft, beautiful grey of the metal, the imperfections where a hundred footsteps had scuffed it. A bright line scoured across the surface as something heavy had scraped it. As she found her feet again, she saw Kohl rising, his grin bloody.
Her heart kicked in her chest again. Stopped. Started. Stopped.
“Yeah,” said Kohl. “The more you use it, the faster it wears off, you know? You get a … I don’t know, you get practiced with it. Learn when to use it. But it’s your first time. The first time is always rough.”