Aura Overload

9 – Out for Breakfast

Hector walked around Sass, watching as she breathed. She was doing well—better than the day before, at least. He’d enjoyed the last few days, training with her, recalling the things he’d learned from his Invicti instructors and the various mentors they’d assigned him. He’d never taught anyone before.

That’s not true, his critical inner voice reminded him. He had to give his surly alter ego the point; he’d spent some time training the members of the Conti security team, especially Stefan and Aiko.

Sass continued her castle breathing, her timing perfect, and Hector decided a distraction was in order. “What color do you want your aura to be?”

Without hesitation, Sass replied, “Red,” and her breathing changed.

Hector reached down and flicked the back of her neck, resulting in a solid thwap.

“Ow!” Sass cried, slapping her hand over the spot and glaring up at him. “What was that for?”

“You need to focus; tune out distractions.”

“You’re a distraction? I thought you were my instructor!”

Hector held his hands on his hips, turning his face to the morning sun. He closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth as he replied. “Well, you can listen to me; you can even respond, but you must always maintain the rhythm of your breathing.”

“You expect me to maintain these counts while talking?”

He shrugged. “It’s the next step.” He glanced at his time display and sighed, holding a hand out to her. “Come on. That’s enough for today.”

Sass gripped his hand, and he hauled her to her feet. “Kindness? From you?” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. She was flushed and, even after half an hour of breathing exercises, drenched in a sheen of sweat. The humidity probably didn’t help; the greenbelts nearby—part of the local terraforming efforts—were heavily watered, and the air processors constantly pumped moisture into the atmosphere. It wouldn’t be so noticeable, not in the generally arid Martian environment, if the processing plant weren’t so close.

“I’m kind,” Hector protested, gesturing to the gate. “In fact, I’ll take you to breakfast.”

She glanced at the house. “Just me?”

He nodded. “I want to talk to you about a few things.”

“Oh right. Before you leave,” Sass groaned. “I can’t believe tomorrow’s the day. I thought we’d have a lot more time.”

Hector grunted in agreement. It was true; the Rift’s quickening had caught everyone by surprise, and the week he’d had with Sass had gone quickly—a blink of the eye, really. “We’ll have more time after the raid.”

“You say that now, but who knows what’s next. Depending on your success, maybe you’ll be high enough level to hit up the trench—jump into some of the big tournaments, or—”

“Come on.” He nodded toward the house. “Put on some clean clothes and we’ll head out. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

Sass clamped down her complaints and turned, jogging toward the door. Hector watched her, then turned his face back toward the sun. He’d already had a quick shower and changed into a clean tracksuit. Now that Sass was getting the hang of her breathing—at least when she concentrated—he liked to leave her alone for a while to practice.

“Did you call us a cab?” His voice was barely a murmur, but that didn’t matter to Evie.

//Yes.//

“We’ll go to the Hen’s Backyard.” It was a brunch place that he and the others had discovered on his third day in the little research town. “Also message Lemon and tell her—”

“Tell me what?” Lemon asked through the screen door.

Half of Hector’s mouth turned up in a smile as he shook his head. “You should consider a career change—maybe spying or assassination.”

Lemon pushed the door open and stepped down. “Going somewhere? Sass barely managed a ‘good morning’ before she jumped in the shower.”

“Yeah, I wanted to take her for breakfast—talk about some things she should work on while I’m gone.”

“Just Sass?” Lemon moved a little closer.

Hector drew his thumb along the short stubble on his jawline. “Kit awake?”

“No. Don’t worry; I don’t need to come.”

He opened his eyes, turning away from the sun to look at her. “We’ll talk tonight.”

“Want me to have Orin pick up some meat? We haven’t grilled-out since that first day…”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

She was wearing denim overalls, and she tucked her hands into the pockets, swaying slightly from one pink sneaker to the other. “Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Lemon snorted. “So much for improving your conversation skills.”

What does she want? A dissertation on my emotions? He sighed. “The team is decent. We might have casualties, but I’m not worried about myself.”

“Even with the lack of preparation?”

“This isn’t anyone’s first run.”

Lemon nodded, and her eyes shifted, her expression going from pensive toward relieved. “Do you think we should talk about…” She looked to the side, searching for the right words.

Hector helped her out: “About what you should do if I don’t come out?” He chuckled. “I said we’d talk tonight!”

“What’s to talk about, though? If you die in there…” She glanced back toward the house, and he knew she was thinking about Kit, about how she’d support him if she weren’t working as Hector’s…assistant? Manager? He didn’t know exactly what to call her, but it didn’t matter.

“I was going to tell you I’ve had Evie set up some dead-man protocols. If I don’t return, my Imperial bit-vault will transfer to your name.” Lemon’s eyes widened, but Hector wasn’t done. “The IRC—”

“IRC?”

“Imperial Rift Commission. They make teams buy life insurance policies for every member. Grando won’t love it, but I’ve made you my beneficiary. If I die, just take Kit and disappear. Head down to Tharsis or one of the other big cities. Get him into a decent school—private, not corpo or Imperial.”

Lemon reached out to grab his arm, squeezing him at the elbow. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I’ve only got a few friends, and you’ve got a kid to look after.”

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled herself into him, giving him a hug. “Thank you for thinking of us, Hector, but let’s not…I dunno, let’s not need that insurance, yeah? Just do your job in there and get out.”

“That’s the plan.” Despite himself, he gently returned her squeeze. It felt nice, that hug—he had plenty of human contact with Sass and the rift team, but there was a distinct difference between a hug and a chokehold or arm-bar. He savored the warmth for a moment, but she pulled back, breaking the illusion. When she smiled up at him with tears in her eyes, he said, “I made you cry.”

“It’s just…my life has changed a lot since you came into it. Sure, it would have changed regardless—when my mom died, I mean. But still, this is better. Much, much better.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from NovelFire. Please report it.

Hector looked into her eyes, enjoying how the pale gray picked up the blue in the sky. He liked that about her eyes—how they reflected the most colorful thing around. “You’re a good influence on me. When I get out of the rift, we’ll move onto something different, but I won’t be leaving you behind. Not unless you want me to.”

“Just…” She shook her head again, giving her thoughts away as she glanced at the house. “Yeah, of course, Hector. I want to keep working with you. It’s just…”

“Don’t worry about Kit. I’ll never put him at risk.”

“What about—”

“Ready?” Sass called, charging through the door, sending it flapping back against the side of the house as she leaped off the stoop.

“We’ll talk later,” Lemon said, giving Hector’s arm another squeeze.

“Coming with, Lemon?” Sass asked.

Lemon shook her head, looking down, so her bangs—much longer than when Hector first met her—fell over her eyes. “No; have fun. Bring back some sweet rolls for the boys.”

Hector pushed the gate open. “Come on.” As Sass bugged Lemon about some food for herself, he started walking down the road. His mini-map told him the cab would probably converge with his path at the next corner.

Footsteps crunching on gravel told him Sass was jogging to catch up, and when she was beside him, she announced, “She’s so sweet.”

Hector glanced at her. “Lemon? Yeah.” He pointed to the corner. “Cab’s here.”

She followed him to the car and climbed in behind him. As it pulled away from the curb, she asked, “So, why do you have time for breakfast?”

Hector shrugged. “Light practice today. Just going over equipment this afternoon so we’re ready bright and early.”

“Are you—”

“Don’t ask me if I’m nervous.” Hector glared for a moment before he cracked a smile. “Lemon just put me through all that.”

“Well, I’d be nervous!” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Why’d you ask me that?”

“What?”

“About my aura color—what I’d want.”

“Because I know you think about it too damn much.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?”

Hector watched through the window as rural plots of land gave way to neighborhoods. “It doesn’t matter what you want—doesn’t matter what you do. Your aura will be your aura.”

“So? I can still…I dunno, dream.”

“Well, don’t dream about red, because…” He sighed, shaking his head, realizing he was sounding like an asshole. He glanced at her, saw she looked a little stricken, and tried to save the situation: “It’s not you. That’s all I mean.”

Her eyes widened. “Not me?”

“You’re not a killer, Sass. Sure, you can do what needs to be done, but let’s be honest; you got that tattoo because you wanted something to hide behind when you had to be tough.”

She stared at him for a long minute, then turned to look out the other window. After a few deep, slow breaths, she said, “I’m not as good as you think I am.”

“It’s not a matter of good and bad, Sass. It’s a matter of personality—of spirit. You’re better than a red. I’m not saying you’re not a good fighter; you’re courageous, smart, and you can take a hell of a beating. I’m just saying—I’ve met reds. I am one.” Hector shrugged. “You’re better.”

“You keep saying better, but all the stories, all the serials—everyone’s scared of a red. All the reluctant heroes, the ones who clean up the town or rescue the kids or whatever—always a red.”

Hector clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Reds are uncommon, and they are born fighters.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “People romanticize.” He looked at her, trying to shift the direction of the conversation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a gold aura. The way you are with Kit and Lemon—maybe blue, but I don’t think so.”

He shook his head, wondering if he’d said too much already, but as usual, his damn tongue had a mind of its own with Sass. “You have excellent instincts in blade fighting. You’re tough as nails, too…maybe orange or rust. Hell, maybe gray—steel if it shines. I don’t think silver…”

As he spoke, Sass’s smile returned, and her eyes welled with unspent tears. When he trailed off, afraid he’d stuck his foot in his mouth again, she turned to the window and stared out. The silence stretched for several long moments, during which Hector tried to think of a way to explain himself better. Then Sass turned and punched him in the shoulder. “You’ve been thinking about my aura more than I have!”

Hector chuckled. “Well, it’s interesting to me. I’ve mentored people in the past, but no one who hadn’t found their aura yet.” He’d given up pretending he was just a kid like Sass, but he hadn’t let her in on all his secrets. He was pretty sure she, like many people he’d met, assumed he’d gone through a recent rejuvenation.

Tentatively, she said, “I’ve been doing a little research on Lemon’s deck.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The most common aura, at least according to the Imperial database, is yellow, then blue, green, orange, gray, purple, and then the metallics and absolutes, which are even more common than red for some reason.”

Hector nodded, shrugging. “You realize there are variants of all of those? Purple, for instance, is a broad category—everything from pink to indigo. Some are more rare than red.”

Sass shook her head. “There are variants of red, too, Hector, and one like yours, bright crimson, is very rare.”

He waved a hand. “Doesn’t mean shit, anyway. I’ve seen yellows pummel silvers, and I’ve seen a black get destroyed by a blue. Color rarity is only important in the stories you read.” As he spoke, the cab pulled up to a curb, and he realized they were at the restaurant. He opened the door and got out, Sass close behind him.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” she said, almost sing-song like, as she put a hand on his shoulder and grinned up at him. Her skull tattoo was almost nonexistent, which he took as a positive sign that he hadn’t upset her.

He sighed, glancing at the restaurant, and then he froze, a scowl creeping over his expression as his eyes focused on someone sitting at an outside table. “Go get us a seat, would you? I see someone I want to talk to.”

He started walking and maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe his mind was too occupied for it to register, that Sass’s skull tattoo came back in full effect and she hastily looked away, nodding as she hurried into the restaurant.

###

Alec’s voice came through comms: “Should be pulling up any minute—drone clocked them turning onto Cassidy a few seconds ago.”

“Good,” Iris replied, subvocalizing. “Now cut comms and don’t call again until I reach out.” She didn’t want to risk Hector noticing anything untoward while she spoke to him. She was taking a risk. The timing wasn’t ideal—but she didn’t want to lose the opportunity.

The thing was, Iris hadn’t realized how quickly the next raid was approaching, and she wanted to plant a few ideas in her mark’s subconscious before she lost contact with him for—however long the raid might take. According to Tribune Calderon, just a few days, but then, the rift was behaving strangely, wasn’t it? Iris didn’t like leaving things to chance.

She tapped the mirror function on her crystal-glass, smoothed her hair back, straightened the silken, peach-colored tie under her perfectly pressed white collar, then leaned back, affecting a disinterested expression as she thumbed through the local news feeds. In her peripheral vision, she saw the cab pull up, saw a pair of individuals step out, and then she felt Hector’s gaze on her. Angels, he’s intense!

Maybe her expression betrayed her, but she liked to think not. She cleared her throat, as though she’d just noticed a tickle, then reached for her tea, sipping delicately. When she set the cup down, a shadow loomed over her table, and she squinted up, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. “Hector? Is that you?”

“Sparling,” he said, and though his voice was little more than a whisper, it felt like he was growling.

“Um, just Iris, please.” She pointed to the chair beside her. “Won’t you sit? How funny running into you here!”

“Is it?” Hector asked, tilting his head and stepping to the right to block the sun from her eyes. “Funny?”

Iris smiled with genuine relief, lowering her hand. “Not funny, I suppose. Just surprising. Why are you in Kessler’s Reach?”

Hector’s eyes narrowed and then, like a switch had been thrown, the buzzing animosity seemed to disappear, and he sat down, even slouching slightly as he leaned an elbow on the table. “Why are you?”

“Recruiting! My father’s always on the lookout for new talent, you know—if not for the games, then for the RMC tournament.”

“Here?” Again, he tilted his head, one dark eyebrow lifting, drawing her gaze to the icy blue eye beneath it.

“Why not? These rift raiders are an adventurous sort, and some of them have genuine talent with aura. Speaking of recruiting, have you thought about my father’s offer?” To cover her nerves, she picked up her cup and sipped again. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he threw her off. Even when he was slouched, a relaxed expression on his face, she could feel the heat in his gaze.

He watched her sip, watched her set the cup down, and then shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m still mulling it over. I’m here for a rift, so we’ll see how that goes. Might be a moot point.”

“What do you—” Iris, of course, knew what he was hinting at, but she wanted to give him the satisfaction of being caught off guard. She leaned forward, eyes wide. “You ought not go in there! Not if there’s too much risk!”

“Anyway,” he said, ignoring the comment, “I’ll reach out to your father if things look promising. We’ve still got a few months, yeah?”

Iris smiled, adjusting her posture as she smoothed her skirts and crossed one leg over the other. “There’s time, of course, but my father employs talented trainers. Are you familiar with the games?”

She hadn’t expected to surprise him with such a simple question, but for the first time he seemed a little flustered as he cleared his throat and shook his head. “Not really.”

“Well, they’re not all about combat. I mean, of course there will be combat, but there’s much more to it. They’re called games for a reason. Each city hosts a different event, and every season they change things up. The idea is to keep the challenge fresh, and the viewers seem to love it. Anyway, my father’s trainers have spent thousands of hours studying the past events; they have insider tips on the direction each city is leaning, and, of course, they help prepare the men and women in his, um, stable—I hate that word—for the most likely eventualities.”

Hector frowned, reaching up to rub the faint, dark stubble along his jawline. It made a sandpapery sound in Iris’s augmented ears. After a moment, he nodded. “That’s a lot to think about.” He gestured toward the restaurant. “Anyway, I’ve got someone waiting.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

As he stood, Iris hurriedly followed suit, reaching out to grasp his arm. At first, it looked like he might pull it away, but something flickered in his angry-seeming eyes, and he held still. Iris, suddenly feeling like she was touching a wild animal, cleared her throat and said, her tone low, “Would you mind if I sent you my contact information? I’m worried my father’s many secretaries might give you the runaround.”

Hector looked into her eyes for a long, nerve-wracking moment, and then he nodded and tapped his temple. “Sure. Port’s open.” With that, he pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked into the restaurant.

Iris sighed shakily, suddenly finding her armpits and palms damp. When she sat, her knees threatened to give way halfway down. “Angels,” she breathed, reaching for her tea. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just been granted a reprieve—a temporary one.