Into the Churn

by Hayley Reese Chow

Ezren muffled a horrified squeak with the sleeve of her sweater. She would have to ration the meager stash of contraband she brought with her until she found a way to smuggle more in. Seriously, when did they get to the good part of this deal?

But she wasn’t completely alone. And that made all the difference.

Yeah, we all know you’re one of the most talented royalers we have; your mom is a Belethean household name, and you’re easy on the eyes. You should be chaffing VSoc gold! But the way you present yourself…” She plucked at his holey t-shirt, wrinkling her nose at his baggy plaid pajama pants. “Sweetheart, we have got to work on your image.”

Still, his eyes stuck on the suit on the workbench. It was the smallest one they had, and he’d still have to mod it to her size. Though it was an older model, it was light-years better than the one she’d worn at the tryout. And honestly, he’d been looking forward to seeing what she could do in it.

Foster chuckled. “If she’s going anywhere, she’ll definitely be running.”

His right hand spasmed, and he squeezed it with his left, turning toward her. “Maybe we should just hope she chooses Grady instead.” But even as he said it, something in him tightened. What if she didn’t choose him?

The human whirlwind skidded to a stop only a few feet from where Foster stood, and she bent over for a minute to catch her breath.

Foster considered the possibility that her usual oversized sweater was, in fact, a normal-sized sweater. Did all of her clothes swallow her that way?

Resisting the urge to intercept him, Foster watched as Grady offered his hand with a smooth grin.

Grady explained to Ezren with another smile that made Foster want to punch him in the face.

“No, I love Belethea.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I just love it a little more when I’m actually on it instead of in a bubble. But, one day, when the terraforming is done, we’ll be able to run as far as we like.”

And a seed of panic bloomed in his chest. Because he knew at that moment, without a doubt. He was totally going to shaft this up.

She smiled up at the holopro like a proud mother of a newborn.

With a flick of her hand, an image of Ezren and Foster sailing through the teal sky on the terrasail popped up on the holopro. Ezren’s mouth dropped open. The photo had captured them from afar with the massive navy funnel clouds churning behind them, making their dark figures look fragile and desperate and… well, rather miraculous.

This was a new kind of busy. Aggressive, violent, and totally vindictive. Like someone had suddenly thrown a pair of chainsaws into her carefully crafted routine.

“But for some reason, her suit malfunctioned. We don’t really know what happened, but it didn’t even send out a distress call.”

She knew the kind of invisible wounds survivor’s guilt could leave… and despite Foster’s stoic recount, she imagined his were far from healed.

“I know Sylvia had to warn you I’m not the popular one. Grady’s strong, motivated, and a sponsor favorite. He would be the better pick.” “Not for me.” She paused and her cheeks warmed, her gaze darting to the floor. “If I have a choice, I mean.”

“Here’s to team Hart/Sterling.” She took it, her hand sliding over his warm, smooth palm, her fingers barely able to squeeze around it. “I like Sterling/Hart better.”

Suns. Had she just picked a doubles partner? Or a boyfriend?

But this time, he had to do a double take, because this girl looked totally unlike the Ezren who had tumbled out the door the day before. The light acne that had dotted her forehead had disappeared overnight, her hair now sported bright highlights of magenta and tangerine, and he could’ve sworn even her eyelashes looked longer.

Based on how the training sessions had been going, Foster was sure none of them were terribly surprised at the standings, but Ezren went pale beside him anyway. Foster’s jaw clenched. Was this really necessary?

As if sensing his train of thought, Ezren edged just a little closer to him. He wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand but stopped himself.

“Oh, that’s rich. Foster Sterling is worried about watching out for a teammate.”

Ezren’s body trembled with shock as she found Foster’s gaze. “Sh-sh-should’ve l-l-listened.” “It’s fine. We’ll get it next time.” With gentle, smooth movements, he lifted her onto the stretcher. “I promise.” Ezren nodded as the stretcher rose in the air once more, her stare not leaving Foster’s. “N-n-not… l-l-last.” “Just for starters.” And strangely, he meant it. They could be better than that. They would be better than that. For her? For himself? For Vieve? He wasn’t sure.

While she enjoyed the physical activity, the constant state of being behind made her head feel like it was going to implode.

Still, at least she’d made a small difference for the ones she loved the most. That made it all worth it. And Sam thought she was cool. Which would probably never happen again.

“No, we’re going to get out of here.” “Out of here? And go where?” He smiled, his eyes glinting in the luminescent glow of the goggs perched on his head. “Didn’t you check the weather today?”

She’d always joked with Micah that the Belethea fashion was to put on as many clothes as possible.

“I’d still be here. Just me, the mining bots, and the storms.”

Outside, Casolla’s spidery webs of volcanic channels glowed bright orange between the wisps of racing clouds in the night-darkened plain, the grass swaying like dancers in the oddly gentle breeze. She rested her forehead against the blast-proof plastic. “I’ve missed it so much.”

Ezren’s shoulders caved in at the thought. Belethea was a challenge, yes, but she had so much to give. The terraforming effort was closer than most people realized.

With that, Ezren hurtled into the blackness, running with her first step. Her stare latched on the highest point she could find, and she launched toward it, every stride new and free and strong. Obrone, Dreitis, Crion, and Casolla peeked in on her through the clouds, like old friends saying hello.

Grinning wide, she let him catch her, his hands snagging her by the waist and whirling her around. His crinkled eyes shot wide as she seized his hand and slid down an incline until they tumbled into a heap, laughing until she could scarcely breathe.

They ran and climbed and leapt until Ezren’s goggs protested with a chirp, telling her they could go no farther. She turned, looking down on the metal bubble of Petraskis. Then she spread her arms and screamed, loud and long. Just because she could. Laughing, Foster stepped up beside her, his gaze meeting hers before he turned and yelled with her. And together they howled at the Belethean sky.

The omnipresent line between his low brows had softened, and though he wasn’t smiling, he had a relaxed, almost peaceful glint to his hooded eyes. A five o’clock shadow edged his sharp jawline, and he shot her the smallest of grins.

She stopped short, willing herself to blend into the crowd, the wall, anything. She was small—forgettable. But the broad-shouldered, six-foot-something royaler next to her definitely wasn’t.

“Ah, always nice to meet another friend of Ez’s. I’m Foster Sterling.”

“Well…” Foster stopped and put his hands on either side of the wall next to her, pinning her in. Ezren leaned against the wall, eyes round with surprise and a sudden heat scorching through her whole body. He leaned forward with a smile. “It’s all about what you’re comfortable with. The more real we can make it feel, the more sponsors we’ll get.”

All thoughts of anything else that had happened that night flew out of her mind as her gaze flicked to his lips. Were they really doing this? A shock of anticipation tingled through her fingers.

In the last few months, Foster had been there for her every day—always there with a steady hand, a wry comment, or a knock on her door in the still-dark morning. He’d grown to be more than a friend. He was her double, her rock, and she couldn’t risk messing that up. Natural was easy, safe.

Foster tugged at the high collar around his neck, internally cursing the team policy that required formal dress to stand in front of the press for two minutes before traveling in a storm truck for twelve chaffing hours.

Foster adjusted the flat cap on his head, feeling absolutely ridiculous. While he loved Belethea for the most part, he still wondered why they couldn’t go for the more practical jumpsuit fashions that the spacers loved.

Although on some level he’d known that his feelings for Ezren simmered well beyond friendship, something about that night had brought them crackling to the surface. The smile that had lingered on her face, the way she’d fit so naturally under his arm, how her breath had tickled his cheek as he leaned toward her… And in his mind, he couldn’t help but close that distance between them. Over and over.

The only reason they were even afloat was thanks to a herculean effort by Ezren’s VSoc savvy friend.

This was their first real exhibition as doubles, and if they didn’t make something happen—it would be their last.

The doors to Carmella hissed opened, and Sylvia strutted out like a proud parent. Her cape flowed behind her, and uncountable layers of ruffled skirts waved around her boots.

A magenta braid laced with flowers ran to an elegant bun behind her head, and a whorling gold design rimmed her eyes, making them shine like polished opals. She wore a low-cut corset, with black lace running up her arms to meet in a collar around her neck. A full skirt, short in the front to show off the laced thigh-high boots, rustled around her as she took quick unsteady steps.

Sylvia caught his eye, smiling at his slack jaw as she herded Grady and Bex toward the gate.

Ezren sidled up next to Foster, and he struggled to find something to say. She looked… amazing. But she also looked like an entirely different person. She glanced up at him with a grimace, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. Okay, still the same Ezren in there.