Happy Sunday, everyone! Whew, that last chapter got a lot of reactions!

Before I get into the whole Lemon & Hector thing, let me quickly point out a change I am making thanks to your feedback:

Some of you rightly pointed out that Demon is a man who values self-control, so unless he was really slipping, falling back into his old habits, he probably wouldn't have been drinking at the party. That wasn't the direction I intended, so I'm going to revise that bit to show him NOT drinking alcohol.

Thank you for catching that. I think I let it get past me because as I was writing, my mind was already on the Lemon encounter! So, regarding that...

I thought long and hard about this scene, and it just feels right to me. As with the Demon thing, sometimes I get it wrong, but in this case, I really put myself in the characters' heads and this was what the story wanted.

Talking about my writing is fun for me, so if you're interested in a little more of my thought process, please read on, otherwise feel free to skip this:

I completely sympathize with the people who wanted this to be a gentler, maybe more romantic encounter, but Hector's not ready for something like that; it would be disingenuous. I think I've done a good job showing that he cares about Lemon (prior to this, I mean), and he also believes that his trajectory is basically like that of a missile. He sees himself blowing up at the end, hopefully spectacularly. Why would he hurt Lemon by acknowledging his attachment to her? Why would he let her think that there might be something there for them to build? He doesn't believe that.

With that in mind, he would, at this stage of things, reject a romantic advance. So, if Lemon wants something more--something physical--she has to push it. She has to be the instigator and she has to break down his resistance. Lemon wants him that night; she cares about Hector at least as much as he cares about her, and she's painfully aware that he doesn't think he can/should have her.

When she says "just...just take me!" she's voicing her frustration and literally giving herself to him. The scene is supposed to be messy, it's supposed to show Lemon forcing the issue because she knows what she wants, and she believes Hector wants her, too. She believes that he deserves some pleasure, even if he seems hellbent on denying himself.

Of course, this story has cyberpunk roots, and we have a flawed MC with lots of emotional baggage, and he can't just lie there and be happy. Don't let that lull you into thinking you can predict the end of the story, though; if you've read my other cyberpunk, I don't always go with a sad ending--I like a little hope mixed in with my dystopia...

As always, thank you for reading and for all of your support! Now, let's get into today's chapter. :)

-Plum

30 – Later

Hector didn’t sleep, and when the stars outside his patio doors faded slightly, and the midnight sky turned deep gray, he decided he’d get up. He’d been exhausted, but he felt fine; good food and meditative thoughts seemed to have allowed his regenerative abilities to shine. When he sat, he was as stealthy as a cat, just a whisper of flesh on sheets, and still, he heard Lemon murmur and stir.

Her voice sent tingles up and down his exposed spine. “You don’t have to run away. I’ll leave.”

“I’m not,” he said, standing and walking over to his closet.

“Running, or leaving?” she asked, shifting to her side so she could more easily watch his shadowy progress through the room.

“I got enough running yesterday.” He winced inwardly; was he making jokes? Lemon didn’t respond, and he hurriedly got dressed—fatigues and a sweat-wicking long-sleeved shirt. When he came out, Lemon was propped up on the pillows, the white comforter pulled just above her breasts. “We should—”

“Talk?” she asked, smiling sardonically. “I told you, Hector. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’ve got a lot on your mind—a lot to do. I’m not fragile.” She punctuated the words with a yawn and a lazy stretch.

Hector walked back to the bed and sat on the side. She’s bluffing, right?

//Are you asking me?// Evie’s voice was shrill with stress.

No.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lemon said. “You didn’t do this.” She pointed at him and then herself. “This was something I wanted; don’t try to take that from me.”

He stared at her for a long minute, the pale outside light making her gray eyes look like silver. All of his convictions, all the promises he’d made himself, every red-tinged thought about killing Lucien and those who’d worked with him—those who’d pulled his strings—they all faded to a background buzz in the face of those eyes, of that half-smile as she sniffed, and forced a tiny shrug.

“I’m sorry, Lemon. I’m sorry I can’t do things right for you. You deserve someone who wakes up happy, who wants to take you to breakfast, and who has time to…”

As he trailed off, Lemon stretched out her slender arm and curled her long fingers around his hand. “Listen,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you’re not in the right place for this. In your head, I mean. That’s something you need to work on because I don’t think everything’s so set in stone—not as much as you do. I know you’ve convinced yourself that you have to die, but I think you need to come around to the idea that maybe you don’t.”

“I made promises, Lemon. If you knew…if you knew what they did to me—”

“So tell me!”

Hector’s instinct was to deny her, to stand up and walk away, but something in him resisted. He was going to tell Gladia, wasn’t he? Did Lemon deserve less? He opened his mouth, and he really thought he was going to do it—tell her everything about himself—but maybe he paused too long, and Lemon figured he was trying to come up with an excuse, because she spoke before he could.

“I hope you’ll talk to me about it, eventually. Maybe whatever memory you’re killing yourself for doesn’t mean as much as you think—or maybe it does, but maybe there are other things that mean more.” She nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s something you need to think about.” Before he could protest, or even really say anything more, she turned over and pulled the comforter up to her chin.

Hector watched her for another minute, listening to the sound of her breathing. For a few heartbeats, he thought about pressing forward, spilling his guts, but she’d spoken so confidently and dismissed him so convincingly that he felt like the moment had passed. Later, he promised himself, and then he stood, picked up his boots, and let himself out of the room.

In the quiet hours before dawn, while everyone else was either asleep or keeping to themselves in their rooms, Hector made his way down to the gym. He was pleased that the security AI opened the door for him without a fuss, and when he stepped inside, the overhead lights clicked on, one after another, illuminating the enormous space. He went to the far corner where the weight machines were set up.

Without a word, and purposefully without much thought, he set to work, using the baselines Burton had established to push his body to near failure. It was good, honest work, and it was mindless, which is what he craved. When he finished, and he walked, rubber-legged, out of the gym to stand in the morning breeze, he felt better.

He hadn’t solved any problems, but the exertion had reminded him he was alive, and that was something. He was closer to his goals than when he’d been floating around, a bodiless ghost inside a chip, forgotten by history. As long as he was breathing, he could figure out the rest.

Those were the kinds of thoughts he mulled over as he cooled down and let his regeneration work. He was thinking about breakfast—healing muscles in minutes instead of days took fuel, after all—but then he saw Burton approaching, and he remembered Sparling’s promised armory.

“Burton!” Hector waved the man over, watching as the old coach took his time, sipping a steaming mug as he walked.

“Raring to go, I see,” Burton said before slurping another mouthful of coffee. The smell of it made Hector jealous.

“Sparling said I could borrow a knife.”

“That right?”

“Yeah. He said you’d show me his armory.”

Burton shrugged and led the way into the gym, walking toward a hallway Hector hadn’t explored. “What’s the plan?”

“I’ll have some friendly duels with some of Loyal’s men—try to sniff out a traitor.”

Burton stopped short and turned to regard him. “There’s a traitor?”

Hector tilted his head, surprised. “Sparling didn’t talk to you about it?” The more he thought about it, the more he realized that neither Gladia nor Sparling seemed to have mentioned their little dustup to anyone.

“Not yet…”

Hector nodded, motioning for him to keep walking. “I’ll explain on the way.” He didn’t see any point in keeping secrets from Burton, so he made good on the promise.

As the coach worked through three different security protocols on a heavy steel door, he glanced at Hector. “So you knew this guy way back, huh? That tracks, I suppose. If I’d fought with someone enough times, I’d recognize their style.”

“Yeah.”

“And you want a knife so you don’t have to give away your aura color, uncommon as it is.”

“Right.”

The door finally opened with a series of thunks, and then Burton pulled it wide. “If you’re up against people of that caliber, you’re probably going to get Sparling’s blade ruined—aura defenses and aura weapons don’t tend to treat mundane weapons kindly.”

Hector shrugged. “So give me a couple of good knives, but maybe no family heirlooms.”

Burton chuckled, stepping into the armory. It was a good-sized space, lined with shelves and racks, and Hector estimated the number of guns—from blasters to needlers—at close to two hundred. The rear wall was hung with swords, knives, batons, and even antique-looking things like polished wooden clubs etched with fanciful patterns and colorfully painted.

“Some of these are from Old Earth,” Burton said, “and if you believe Grover, it’s the smaller of his two collections.”

“Is the other one at the mine?” Hector asked, running his eyes over the swords and knives.

“Yeah, that’s what he told me. He’s got a hell of a house up there—so they say. I’ve never been.” He gestured to the wall of blades. “What strikes your fancy?”

“Any similite alloys?” Hector knew from experience that similite, because it was naturally able to channel aura, could disperse much of the damage an Aura Blade could do. His blade could probably sever a similite knife, but it wouldn’t be easy, and if he weren’t ready for it, the wielder could turn his attack.

“Good question.” Burton cleared his throat and said, “AI? Wake up.”

An unfamiliar voice joined the conversation, masculine and gruff. “I am here, Carl Burton. As you’ve been told, my name is Ord.”

Burton snorted, lifting a bushy eyebrow. “It’s not a normal name. You expect me to remember that after a year?”

“It was only four months ago that you last asked me for my name.”

Hector wanted to be amused; he wanted to enjoy the back and forth between the old coach and the cantankerous AI, but he couldn’t. He was still feeling raw about his fight with Gladia and then the…encounter with Lemon. More accurately, his betrayal of what he thought was the right thing to do. So he pointed to the rack and said, “Ord, are any of these knives made with similite alloys?”

“The Jim Dent bowie has a high concentration of similite in the alloy.”

“Jim Dent?” Hector asked, running his eyes over the knives until they settled on a bowie-style blade. It was a large specimen, boasting a broad, single-edged, thirty-centimeter blade with a clipped point. It wasn’t a showpiece; the hilt was some kind of black, ridged polymer, and the crossguard was thick and utilitarian.

“The craftsman’s name,” Ord replied. “Mr. Sparling acquired that weapon at auction in Tharsis just a bit more than five years ago.”

Hector lifted it off the display pegs. He gripped it, stabbing it forward in a couple of quick thrusts. He liked the feel. “I’ll borrow this. I have Sparling’s permission.”

“Noted, Hector Valerius. Please verbally acknowledge the borrower’s agreement: you’ll return the weapon intact in a timely manner, or pay its replacement value.”

Hector snorted softly, looking beneath the rack at some storage bins. “Agreed. Is there a sheath?”

“Yes, as you seem to have deduced, you’ll find one in the topmost bin there. The one marked C12.”

“Here,” Burton said, “I’ll help.”

The two of them lifted the lid off the bin and, after a little searching, Hector found the knife’s perfect match—a flexible black sheath that would fit nicely on a belt. “That’s settled, then,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll need another, considering this one’s a similite alloy.”

Burton grunted his agreement. They closed up the container and then left the armory, returning the AI equipment manager, Ord, to his solitude. Back in the main gym, Burton looked at Hector and said, “Well? You want to spar with those boys today? They should be off bed rest.”

Hector shook his head. “Give them another day to cool off. I’ll work with Sass today. Besides…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m going to need some time to talk…strategy with Gladia.”

“I won’t argue—not after what you did out there on that trail. You’re more ready than I thought you were, and I think you’ve already put in some work this morning, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen—” Burton pointed to the knife in Hector’s hand—he hadn’t worn a belt. “—I know you’re a better fighter than I am. I know you’ve probably got some kind of plan in mind, but if you’re trying to hide your aura, that means you can’t do much at all. Even a Speed Boost will make it flare.”

Hector grunted, looking toward the ceiling. He’d had the same thought, and though he wanted to be confident, he also knew he would have to limit himself. “I can suppress my aura—to a degree.”

Burton arched an eyebrow. “How much? Do you have any strong abilities that you can hide?”

Hector didn’t want to talk about his Apex Trance, but he almost did, wanting to reassure the coach. As he started to open his mouth, though, he heard the dictum of his old mentor, Marius Velox, echoing through his mind, “If your enemies don’t know what you can do, they can’t prepare!” Hector closed his mouth, then cleared his throat and said, “I’ll be able to manage some small boosts. It’ll be enough for a duel.”

“Fair enough. Worse comes to worst, you can always just go all-out. If they see your aura, it won’t be the end of the world. There are other fighters with red auras, after all.”

Not too many named Hector, I bet. Hector pushed the thought aside and clapped the older man on the shoulder. “I’ll go find Sass.”

“Right. Later, then.”

Knife in hand, Hector walked back up the path toward the house, and when he got there, he could smell breakfast cooking in the kitchens. Evie messaged Sass for him, and he was waiting for her, figuring they’d eat something before getting started, when Freddy came out of the house and approached him.

“Hector,” the kid called out, waving. He looked good—cheerful and well-rested. He wore a sparring jumpsuit, and when he jogged over, his voice was breathy and upbeat. “Burton’s going to work with me today—some one-on-one time!”

Hector held out a fist, and Freddy bumped his knuckles against it. “That’s good. Pay attention to how he strategizes; watch how he’s always a few moves ahead.” A thought occurred to him, and he said, “I didn’t see you last night. Didn’t feel like a barbeque?”

Freddy groaned, shaking his head. “My mother. She was in a mood and wanted to talk. We ate in her suite, and she went on and on about trust. I swear she reviewed her life’s story with me—all the cousins, the aunts, the uncles, and even my grandmother who betrayed her in one way or another.”

Hector frowned, irritated that he’d managed to point the guns of guilt squarely back at himself with a seemingly innocuous question. “Your grandmother, huh? You mean her mother or your father’s?”

“My mother’s. Dimitra Ventress convinced my grandfather to remove Mom from the will—me too. If you ask my mother about it, I’m sure she’ll give you the details, but basically, my father wasn’t on Dimitra’s approved list of suitors.”

“Dimitra…” Hector frowned. The name was familiar, but he was struggling to place it. “She’s been around a while?”

“She’s ancient. My grandfather was, too, of course, but when his ship crashed, they couldn’t recover his neurodeck.”

“So, your grandmother—she’s at odds with Loyal?”

Freddy nodded. “She’s the head of the other Ventress faction.” He frowned at Hector. “Honestly, man, for a guy so mixed up in all of this, you really should talk to my mother more.”

Hector couldn’t stop the short, bitter laugh the kid’s words evoked, and he clapped him on the shoulder, nodding. “You’re not wrong. I think I’ll talk to your mom today. You seen her up and about yet?”

“Yep. She’s seeing Flint and them off.”

Hector grunted. “Where’s Flint going?”

“He’s taking some messages to the relay and then escorting a few people into McRae.”

Hector narrowed his eyes, digesting the information. McRae was the name of the nearest town—named after the rancher who’d owned most of the nearby land back in the day. “Supplies?”

“Yeah, I guess. Lemon and Kristy are going. They didn’t mention it?”

Frowning, Hector shook his head. “They’re leaving now?”

“Yeah, that’s what my mom said. She’s supposed to meet me for breakfast after. You wanna join us?”

“Maybe,” Hector said, already walking toward the house. The vehicles were, for the most part, parked out on the drive that passed by the shuttle pad. He was just stepping in through the back doors when Sass spotted him and came jogging over.

“Morning, Hector. Evie messaged me.”

“Uh, right. Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure!”

Hector smiled at her instant agreeability. “I have to talk to Gladia about something, so can you go ahead and eat breakfast without me? Freddy’s out there on the patio. Eat with him.”

“Oh, um, sure…” He could tell what she was wondering—was he canceling their training together?

He nudged her shoulder with his knuckles. “Then, tell Freddy to get busy with Burton, and you hit the weights. Get yourself good and tired. After that, I’ll find you.”

She nodded, her smile returning. “Yeah. Not a problem.”

He looked her over, saw she was wearing an outfit similar to Freddy’s. “Good. We’re going to work hard today—‘bout time you started getting a little more effective with your aura.”

Despite the thorniness of his words, Sass’s smile grew significantly wider. She looked like she wanted to say something, but her tongue got twisted, and she just nodded, turned, and strode purposefully toward the kitchen.

She’d make a damn fine soldier.

//Invicti material?//

Definitely.

Hector hurried to the front of the house, out the door, and then down the path to the drive. He was a little annoyed to see one of Gladia’s SUVs—brought in on the second shuttle—pulling away, already past the end of the paved drive and stirring up dust as it hummed toward the horizon.

Gladia was standing there on the concrete, arms folded, watching it go. Hector could smell her perfume—something floral with deeper hints of spice. Some kind of resin… He couldn’t put his finger on it, so he cleared his throat and walked closer to her.

When Gladia turned to regard him, her face was neutral, but whatever nanites she might be harboring in that expensive body weren’t up to the task of masking a full night without sleep. She looked tired. “Good morning,” she said, taking up the loose tail of her olive-colored scarf and wrapping it loosely around her neck.

“Flint?” he asked, nodding toward the now-distant SUV.

“And some others.”

“Lemon?”

“Yes. She’s determined to buy a PAI, and I can’t blame her. I’m not sure how she keeps up with everything she’s responsible for without one.”

Hector nodded, and though he kept it off his lips, he doubted he kept the frown out of his eyes. He didn’t dispute the idea that Lemon should upgrade her data port and get herself a personal AI; he was just annoyed that he hadn’t suggested it, and that she hadn’t spoken to him about it. He’d been busy, though, and their recent time together hadn’t involved much talking…

“Something I can help you with?” Gladia didn’t try to temper the chill in her voice, and Hector might have left then and there, but he felt like he’d been doing too damn much running lately.

“I’d like to talk to you, Gladia, if you’ll give me the chance. I think…I think you deserve to know more about me.”

It was amazing what a single thought—a single idea—could do to change the way a person looked. In an instant, Gladia’s expression changed from distant resignation to eager anticipation. The strangest thing was that nothing outwardly changed. She didn’t smile; she didn’t lean toward him. Maybe her nostrils flared slightly as she inhaled, but the real change, the thing that transformed her, was the light in her eyes. One moment, they were dull; the next, they sparkled, and if you asked Hector to explain the mechanism, he would have failed.

“Do you mean that?” she asked. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Hector replied. “Let’s sit down—it’s not a quick story.”