Revolution Gone Wrong (Patreon)

Yeah, that's a terrible title.  I have no idea what the title of this is, but I'm working on a new idea.  The problem with Claimings and Aberrant Magic is that it is damned hard to get a publisher to pick up a series.  I can self publish Aberrant Magic in May when the rights revert to me, but Claimings doesn't make enough money to justify the costs.  So that will be a Patreon exclusive.  I will finish it, and probably write a lot more snippets and short stories than you would have gotten with traditional publishing.  However, I need a book to get me into a new house.  

I considered taking a break from m/m and using this forced change to branch out into m/f.  Three chapters in, I hated it.

I'm trying again, this time going back to my m/m roots.  

Vash Wen always fought for the underdogs, using his education in galactic law and finance to help bring justice to the edges of society--mining colonies, exploration stations, and other isolated corners of humanity.  His campaign was the spark that started a fire of change on the huge sprawling station above the mining moon of Buriat, so when he was asked to come help them establish legal contracts with the establishment, he jumped at the chance.

However, life is far more complex than good guys and bad guys.  Once on the station, Vash is faced with an increasing complex situation, and that becomes even more difficult to navigate with the arrival of the husband his parents chose. After years of funding Vash's social activism, they set an ultimatum--marry or lose all access to funds.  Vash cannot walk away from the disaster he helped to create, so he accepts Liku Blakney as his husband--sight unseen.  When Liku turns out to be both gorgeous and dumb as a boulder, Vash must figure out how to work around his mate in order to complete the job he has set for himself--ending the very revolution he helped begin.

The surface of Buriat slowly drifted under the ceramic window. This part of the station had circular walks around the enormous viewport into space, and while Vash normally wouldn’t pay attention, the inner surface of the ceramic had an elaborate spiderweb crack. As the massive moon drifted below the station, the damage followed the edge of one of the aluminum salt deposits. 

The newly formed corporation had removed other evidence of yesterday’s fight, but the enormous window that provided shoppers with a grand view of the mining moon would cost more than the mutineers would want to pay. However, most people would not risk being anywhere near if the window took a second blast. Space-worthy ceramic was formed in layers to provide additional protection from vacuum; however, with the inner ceramic cracked, the next explosion could sent a large chunk of the public square out into space where revolutionaries, criminals, abusers, and innocent could all freeze to death before their bodies slowly fell into Buriat’s gravitational well where they would be ripped to shreds.

A pair of brown-shirted guards walked the long promenade. Several shop owners came out, quick to offer free goods, but they waved off the offers of admiration or bribery. However, when Vash moved into their path, both stiffened as if he were some subversive prepared to attack them. Considering that Vash had worn his running clothes today, he clearly wasn’t armed. He couldn’t fit a food ration in his shorts. Still, he gave the guards a chance to close the distance without rushing toward them.

“Is that safe?” he asked, gesturing toward the damage. 

The two guards exchanged cautious looks and stopped several feet away.

“Engineering has seen to it, sir.”

“That’s less than reassuring.” Vash sighed and took out his communicator. “Who has approved this area for the public?”

Again, the guards looked to one another as though unsure of the answer—or unsure about Vash’s right to ask it.

“You two are not shining examples of the new management’s brilliance, are you?” Vash asked. He sighed and attempted to hide his growing fury under an arrogant frustration and disgust with life in general.

“You need clearance to discuss station security, sir.”

“Clearances. Right. This is management is inordinately fond of its clearances.” Vash rolled his eyes and put his communicator back in the chest pocket. “If I get sucked into space and frozen, my family is suing.” 

“Complaints can be lodged in the commander’s office,” one guard offered, and then they both hurried down the promenade toward the merchant storage area.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” a woman in a nearby stall offered.  Her body suggested either youth or impressive cosmetic surgery, but her skin had a tissue-thin appearance that Vash associated with age. It might be genetic, but Vash suspected long-term corticosteroid use. Some companies put the medicine in the water to avoid the debilitating effects of space allergies. When the body had no allergens at all to contend with, it had the bad habit of growing allergic to life.  

“I’ve seen worse,” the woman added when Vash didn’t respond. “Back when the old company ran this place, we had three asteroid strikes so the whole window was white with cracks, and it held.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Vash said sarcastically. “How did you get the Eztek Company to replace it?”

The woman’s smile was equal parts glee and malice. “We threw ‘em out the airlock and watched their heads explode on the vid. Then we bought a new one.”

Vash stared at the woman, horror robbing him of his words for a few crucial seconds. He finally cleared his throat. “I think I would rather try a different approach to get the commander to repair the damage.”

The woman laughed—a sound that came dangerously close to a cackle. “You wouldn’t get the commander into an airlock anyway. He’s too smart for you.”

“No doubt,” Vash said with a self-deprecating smile. “I wouldn’t want to cross wits with the man.” Vash backed away from her and offered her a respectful nod before he started jogging again. His footsteps thudded against the carpeted decking as he completed his run. He mentally marked three shops that had slaves chained up front for passing customers to jeer at. The anger and violence grew worse every day. A turn and he entered living quarters.  The carpeting that dulled the noise ended, and now every step ended with a sharp slap of plastic sole against metal.

Vash pushed himself faster, bypassing a lift in favor of the emergency stairs. They spiraled up, and Vash attacked each step. He passed two floors before he stopped outside the secure entrance to blue level. Out of breath, Vash stopped on the landing and leaned against the wall. His gasps echoed in the cold air. For the thousandth time, he wondered what the fuck he was doing. What was he doing on this God-forsaken station? What was he doing getting involved in politics? What was he doing getting married? 

Well, that last one had a rather simple answer. Not a good answer, but a simple one.

Vash pulled out his communicator, pressed his thumb to it and then slid the whole device into the security reader. The door clicked open and Vash walked slowly toward his quarters. He needed silence to center himself, so of course Nian appeared at the first cross-passage.

“What is this I hear about you marrying some man from Jannah?” Nian fell in next to Vash. Nian had followed Vash out to the station in the search for entertainment that could compete with the drugs he had given up, but some days Vash wished he had stayed home on Yelneshta where he’d been safe. Here Nian didn’t even seem to notice the growing instability and danger.

Vash shrugged. “It seems you know everything. Like you said, I’m marrying a man from Jannah.” Vash walked a little faster. Sometimes that would make Nian sigh in frustration and wander off somewhere else for his entertainment. Not today.

“If you wanted to get married, you could have asked me.” He sounded almost hurt, and Vash stopped and studied his friend. “I was under the impression you were against commitments,” Nian finished but he added a sly smile that ruined his illusion.

“And I know you’re against commitments that last longer than one night.”

Nian’s smirk grew wider. “I’ve kept you happy on more than one night.” He looked Vash up and down in a salacious leer that made Vash’s dick sit up and take notice.

“And you’ve vanished the next morning.” Vash kept the tremor out of his voice. Even if they were compatible in bed, Vash’s parents never would have approved of any match, so if Vash had announced a marriage contract to Nian—even a temporary one—his parents would have cut off the funds immediately. Vash couldn’t afford to live on the station without support, and he refused to leave. Not now. Not yet.

“It’s not that I didn’t appreciate plowing your ass…” Nian let his words trail off.

“My very fine ass,” Vash corrected him.

Nian’s smile grew warmer. “Your excellent and perfectly rounded fine ass,” Nian amended himself, “but I was under the impression that you decided to be married to your accounting sheets.”

Turning, Vash headed for his door. “One of us has to make money for the other to mooch.”

“I resemble that remark.” Nian followed Vash into the apartment. 

Vash tucked his communicator into his shirt pocket and dropped down onto the couch. Running the stairs had been a horrible idea, and now his trembling legs threatened to refuse to carry him to the shower. “And you will continue to resemble it after my wedding.”

Nian flung himself across Vash’s largest chair. “I find that once people marry, the mooching and the ass-plowing come to a rather abrupt halt.”

“The ass-plowing certainly will, at least until such time as Liku and I decide if we’re compatible and come to an arrangement about whether to have a sexual or celibate marriage.”

Nian dramatically arched his back and let his limbs hang over the arms of the chair as though dead. “Oh God. A celibate marriage. Save me from the horror.”

Cooney came to the door and stood for a moment, but Vash waved him away. 

“If he and I are not compatible,” Vash said, “I’m sure I will call you to come do your Farmer John impression.”

Nian sat up. “My what?”

“Farmers. Originally they used plows and tended plants in the ground.”

“Ah. We’re back to plowing.” He arranged his limbs into a somewhat normal arrangement for a human using a chair.

“We are. Or we aren’t, not until I know what sort of farmer my husband might be.” Vash ignored the fluttering in his stomach. If he ever had a plan this stupid ever again, he hoped someone would hit him over the head until he fell unconscious. Then he could wake up after the urge to do good acts had passed.

“You don’t know what sort of plower your husband might be?”

“I do know he plows a wide range of fields. He said as much in the marriage application. My parents made the arrangement.” Vash’s butterflies turned into attack squadrons flying sorties against his liver.

“Now I know you’ve lost your mind.” 

“I’m ready to start making a future.”

“With a random man your parents chose.” Nian threw his hands up into the air.

Vash shot to his feet. “With the heir to Rose Industries and Mining. RIM has resources my parents could never provide, and I have a good eye for business. This is a chance for us to see how well we work together—personally or professionally. It’s a five year contract, not a life sentence.”

Nian got up and got right in Vash’s personal space. Vash was taller, but Nian had a presence that commanded attention. “I should lock you in your room and chain you to your bed for your own protection.”

“Chains,” Vash said in a low and carefully controlled voice, “like plowing, are temporarily off the menu.”

For a second, Nian pressed his lips together, but then his flash of genuine emotion passed and he gave an exaggerated eyeroll. “Were you involved in choosing this husband, even a little?”

“I’ve been busy.” Vash turned to the drink dispenser and ordered an electrolyte refresher.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“Take it as an ‘It’s none of your business.’” Vash drank without turning around.

“I’m the one whose plow has been put out of commission. That is my business.” Nian’s exaggerated mourning was like the whine of an out of tune engine. 

“You have plenty of other ground to plant your seeds in. I hear there is a young man with the revolutionaries that has caught your eye.” Vash turned and gave Nian an overly sweet smile.

Nian grabbed his crotch. “It’s not called an eye, not unless that’s some new slang I’ve missed.”

“I would call you a whore, but you give it away.”

“Yes, and if I’m a whore, what would that make you?”

“In possession of poor judgment?” Vash guessed.

After the briefest second, Nian narrowed his eyes. “The next time you need your field plowed, I’m making you pay for that.”

“For all you know, Liku is an expert plower.”

Nian snorted. “You do not keep up on gossip.”

“Meaning?” Vash cringed. He shouldn’t have asked. The whole reason he had avoided telling Nian was to avoid the man’s incessant gossip. 

“Brez has a friend on Jannah named Inski, and she says he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen. Broad shouldered, well-formed, soft spoken. She also says Liku is the dumbest lifeform on the planet, and she’s including the protozoa. You’re going to last minutes before you want to kill him.”

“And I should take your word on this?” Vash tried to keep his voice light, but he did appreciate wit in a partner—that was one reason why he liked Nian despite his every bad habit.

Nian wilted into the chair. He was feeling dramatic today. “Apparently you don’t take my word for anything or you would have asked me for the good gossip before signing a contract. Unless you haven’t signed yet. If that’s the case, there’s still hope.”

“Who would come all this way without a signed contract? It’s an expensive and long trip for a first date.”

“So you signed?”

“Yes.” And Vash was trying hard to remind himself that his personal preferences were unimportant compared to the work he needed to do—or the work he needed to undo.

“Well, that’s it then. The Blakney’s have foisted off their damaged son, and you are stuck babysitting for five years. I hope you have access to some of that famous RIM wealth, because if you don’t, you are going to hate yourself the morning after you wake up married to Liku Blakney.”

“The way I hate myself after I sleep with you?” The words slipped out, but Nian didn’t seem to take them seriously.

“When is the last time we slept? I have better things to do to you in a bed than allow you to sleep. But if even half of what I’ve heard is true, this Liku’s voice will put you to sleep. I’ve even heard that he might be damaged genetically. His parents are in a group marriage with three men and one woman, and they might have tinkered with the genome to get everyone’s contribution to fit into one baby. That might explain his excess of stupidity. Could you use that to get out of the contract?”

“If we planned to have a child, and I had evidence of genetic defect, probably. However, we aren’t planning a child together, and it would be rather difficult for us to accidentally get pregnant without the use of a uterus, so it’s a moot point.”

Nian let his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling. “I know you, Vash. You’re a smart man. Your brain is going to catch the stupid if you hang around with someone this dumb and boring.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I’ve heard his reputation. I don’t need more.”

Vash stared at Nian. Ever since they’d come to the station, a gulf had grown between them. He wanted to confide in Nian, to tell him the whole reason why Vash needed this marriage. He needed the RIM resources and the financial support of Vash’s parents. He couldn’t leave this job half-done or he would carry the deaths of more people than he could. He wasn’t strong enough to survive that. However, Nian’s discretion didn’t even last to the end of his nose. And that flaw trapped them in these roles where they could only talk about that which didn’t matter. “Does that mean you aren’t coming to the ceremony?” Vash asked.

“You didn’t invite me.”

“You haven’t spoken to me since we fought a month ago,” Vash countered.

“You were rude.”

“You were embarrassing to stand near.”

Nian looked over at Vash. “Now you’re just being unkind.”

“Would you have treated a dog the way you treated that woman?” Vash asked. He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted, but he couldn’t reconcile the happy, goofy Nian he’d grown up with to a man who had humiliated a woman for sport.

Nian waved his hand as if none of it mattered. “She was happy enough to be out of her cell that she didn’t care.”

“I did,” Vash said angrily. He’d asked Nian to stop, and been dismissed with a joke and a jeer. That’s when he’d known he couldn’t trust Nian. Not really. “You know how I feel about cruelty.”

“It’s not as if the company flunkies don’t have it coming. Hell, you were making speeches about the mistreatment of workers. You filed the paperwork to bury the Eztek Company in lawsuits.”

“They deserved every court injunction and every fine. What they were doing to their workers was unforgiveable.” Vash still believed that with every ounce of his soul.

“Exactly. That woman helped oppress your beloved underdogs.”

Vash put his glass down and moved right in front of Nian. He needed his friend to hear this. “That is why she deserves prison, not your games.”

Nian rolled his eyes as if Vash were being particularly annoying or amusing, or both. “Can we please not argue about this again?”

The moment for any real conversation passed. They lived in different worlds now, and as much as Vash mourned that, he couldn’t lose track of the mission. “So we should go back to arguing about my husband?” he asked, his light tone inviting Nian to continue teasing him.

“Yes. Exactly. Although honestly, I would say we’re arguing about what an idiot you are, but six of one, half a dozen of another.” Nian held out his hands as though judging relative weight.

“Do you want to come to the joining ceremony?”

Nian looked up at Vash for a time, seemingly thinking it over. “I’m going to make fun of him,” Nian warned.

“And I won’t defend you if he either makes fun of you back or simply punches you in the throat.”

Nian grinned. “Oh. Cold.  I like a man with a cold heart and a big dick.”

Vash rolled his eyes.  “Two o’clock. Red deck, level three, docking B-110.”

“I’ll be there in my best Farmer John outfit,” Nian promised. Or maybe that had been a threat.