Page 37 of Red Scale Daddy
Loklo stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That is depressing.”
“I am portable.”
“That is also depressing.”
I sling the duffel over my shoulder and scan the room once. Not because I expect to miss it, but because leaving without looking would be cowardice dressed as efficiency. The blanket is rumpled. The wall screen is cracked. One boot print stains the far wall from a night I came home drunk and decided gravity had insulted me. Nothing here asks me to stay.
Loklo says, “You could choose something else.”
I turn off the room light. “I know.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I know that too.”
We walk back down together. At the side exit, the bar lies behind us in half-darkness, waiting for morning or trouble, whichever has poorer timing. Loklo holds the token like he still wants to throw it at my head.
“Come back,” he says.
The words are blunt. No decoration. No joke hiding inside.
“I’ll try,” I tell him.
His eyes search mine, and whatever he finds does not satisfy him. “That answer is garbage.”
“It is the best one I own.”
“Acquire better things.”
“I’ll put it on the list.”
He steps aside and opens the door. Cold station air spills in, carrying fuel vapor, metal dust, and the distant salt-sour breath of too many species living under recycled atmosphere. “For the record, if she gets you killed, I am haunting her ship.”
“You are not dead.”
“I will become dead out of spite. Do not test my commitment.”
“I’ll warn her.”
Loklo gives me a narrow look. “No, you won’t. You’ll make it sound charming and then she’ll threaten my tax compliance again.”
“She threatened your tax compliance?”
“She has the soul of a government audit.”
I laugh as I step into the corridor. “You like her.”
“I like dangerous women from a safe distance. You should try it.”
“I’ve never been much for safe distance.”
“That,” Loklo says, letting the door begin to close, “is the whole damn problem.”
The door seals between us before I can answer.
