Song of the Navigator Read Free Page B

reached up to break the hold around his neck. Whoever held him was huge, his arm didn’t budge.
    Tover kicked at the assailant’s leg and the man swore. Tover bolted toward the soldiers who rushed the stage. Tover was yanked back, and he heard the unmistakable rev of a thermal pistol charging. He felt cold steel against the back of his neck.
    â€œGet any closer and the navigator is dead!”
    Tover froze in surprise. He knew that voice.
    He tried to lift his head, get a look, but then he was jerked up forcefully by his collar and the man held him painfully, arm nearly choking him at the neck. The humming pistol steadied in the man’s left hand, point blank at the base of Tover’s skull.
    Adrenaline rushed through Tover’s body. He turned slightly and caught a glimpse of a face he knew very well. Cruz, his occasional lover and serious crush, no longer looked like a respectable engineer from Harmony corporate headquarters.
    He wore green fatigues and a bloodstained bandana around his head. He’d been injured, his temple oozing blood. Without a suit, the man’s scarred, muscular arms were clearly visible. And most shocking, he wore bulky metal breath clips on the corners of his nostril and mouth. A respirator meant he wasn’t a native oxygen breather. It didn’t make any sense.
    â€œDon’t move,” Cruz hissed in Tover’s ear. Tover complied, mostly out of shock. How many times had he allowed this man to fuck him? Two dozen? Three dozen times? There had never been even a hint of malice in his touch.
    â€œWhat the fuck is wrong with you?” Tover whispered. “It’s me, Tover!”
    The absurdity of having to identify himself nearly made Tover laugh. The entire atrium had his picture in holograms, his name flashing in bright colors in celebration. There was no way Cruz could be mistaken.
    But the gun against Tover’s neck was no mistake.
    The soldiers in front of them slowly lowered their weapons, their visors darkened in combat mode. One of them held their hands palms out in a gesture of supplication to Cruz.
    â€œLet the navigator go,” the soldier said.
    Cruz’s hold around Tover’s neck tightened.
    â€œLet me go,” Tover repeated. His gravelly voice shook.
    â€œTake me to Jarrow,” Cruz ordered. He pressed the front sight of the pistol harder against Tover’s neck. “Fourth level, second loading bay.”
    â€œDrop the gun!” one of the soldiers shouted to Cruz. The crowd behind the peacekeepers surged back from the violence.
    Tover didn’t have to help Cruz. He could have jumped himself out of Cruz’s hold easily, right behind the line of soldiers—only his shock had prevented him from doing so before.
    But now Cruz pressed his lips against Tover’s ear. “Help me. Please,” he whispered.
    Tover clenched his eyes shut.
    â€œPlease,” Cruz said again. There was a catch to his voice, a desperation that Tover was unfamiliar with. He shifted and made eye contact. Cruz’s face typically remained a study in masked indifference, but at the moment his beautiful brown eyes were wild with terror. And with that fear, he didn’t look like a bloodied terrorist wielding a gun and threatening Tover’s life. He looked like the first man that Tover had ever asked to spend an entire night with him. He looked like the man Tover had grown to anticipate more than anything else in his mundane rut of a life on Dadelus-Kaku Station.
    â€œI need your help or I’m dead,” Cruz said.
    â€œHold on tightly,” Tover growled. “Don’t let go.” He wrapped his arms around Cruz, and Cruz returned the embrace. It felt awkward, this pose, like lovers coupling in front of an armed audience. But it still wasn’t tight enough. Tover’s self-generated orbifolds were small. He lifted his leg and wrapped it around Cruz, pulling the man flush against him. Tover closed his eyes.