Connor’s hand slipped under her shirt. Her fingers found the still-healing scar on his torso, skimmed it and moved on, lower, between his legs. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, pinning it above her head. She let him. When his lips reached her nipple, she forgot everything else.

After they’d washed up and moved to bed, Connor turned to his side, faced her, and said, “Happy belated birthday.”

Welga returned his smirk with one of her own. “Thanks. I think you made up for the shitstorm that was March twelfth.”

“There’s one more gift, something I need to show you… in person.”

He sounded positively nervous. What the hell was he going to ask? Oh, Christ, don’t propose, Connor. I thought we agreed on no marriage, no kids.

He handed her a piece of printed paper from his bedside drawer. She quirked an eyebrow at him before reading:

Your joint application to relocate off-planet has been approved for residency on Eko-Yi Station. You have two seats on a launch from San Francisco on March 24, 2095. You will remain on-station for the period of one month, during which you will be evaluated for fitness and genetic suitability for microgravity environments and related treatments. Upon approval by Eko-Yi Station Council, you will be granted residence status. The council reserves the right to deny residency for any reason, including but not limited to: lack of medical fitness, incompatible psyche, lack of necessary skills.

“Shit,” Welga said.

Connor grinned. “We finally won the lottery.”

“Shit.” Back in ’88, after they quit their intelligence jobs, they’d considered moving off-world. A fresh start, like she’d dreamed of when Mama died, except that by 2088, she could make it happen. Connor had no family ties. His father had died of a heart attack when he was sixteen, and his mother fell victim to a designer virus in 2086, barely a year after Welga and Connor got together. Welga had met her once for Thanksgiving, when she’d taught Welga how to make a sourdough starter. Welga had kept hers going ever since, a living tribute to a great cook.

“Well, the timing is about as bad as it could get,” she said.

“Why? Platinum’s about to dump you anyway. What’s a few weeks early?”

“The Machinehood! We can’t leave in the middle of all this.” She waved in the general direction of the outside world. “They pulled me off R and R early. They need our help. And what about the rest of your contract with Platinum?” Being two years younger than her, Connor had plenty of time left to work as a shield.

He shrugged. “I’ll terminate it.”

“It’s employment,” Welga said. “It’s steady coin that you can’t get any other way.”