Page 124 of Alien Burn

The connection ended. Dhomhes stood looking at the blank display, then called for his lead.

There was a great deal to do before anyone could leave.

The transport available to them had hauled ore often enough to consider passengers an unreasonable demand. Its captain confirmed capacity and flight readiness with the weary patience of a male who had already explained that a hull could be sound without being beautiful.

Dhomhes sent guards to inspect it and arranged two escorts.

The remote platform would keep the loading away from the residence's public approaches. Ground transport could bring the volunteers in groups. The receiving staff would prepare rooms without circulating a passenger list through every office that might like to see one.

He gave the commander the transport arrangements. The residence inquiries would continue through the existing team; no one would abandon a lead because the passengers had moved.

“And Roemary?” his lead asked.

“Travels with the others. Her requests go through us.”

“Will she object?”

“Almost certainly.”

The male nodded as if this had been the most reliable information in the briefing.

Dhomhes made one more call before leaving the room.

Sereya answered with her hair loose over one shoulder. The sight interrupted him for a thoroughly inconvenient heartbeat.

“We're moving everyone,” he said. “To the refineries. The dark side.”

She searched his face.

“All right. What do I need?”

No argument. No demand that he promise nothing bad could happen. The trust in that simple question felt heavier than the transport.

“Your things. A warm layer, if they've given you one. Staff will help anyone who needs it.”

“Are you coming?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders lowered a little.

“I'll be ready.”

“I'll come for you when your group is called.”

“You have everyone to look after.”

“I know where your room is.”

She smiled. He carried the sight with him through three more calls and an argument about an access road.

When he reached her door, she was ready with a small bag and a folded wrap over her arm. She had pinned her hair up again. One loose strand brushed her cheek.

His hand lifted toward it, then stopped. She had offered him her bag, and he was standing here with an ache in his fingers to touch her cheek. A whole afternoon with her. He felt starved for something as ordinary as that.

“What?” she asked.

“Your hair.”