Since I have been booted from The Romance Studio Diva Contest, I can now make my first entry a free read! Yay! Hope you enjoy it. It’s a first for me - a science fiction based romance.

The Black Glove

The first thing Serai noticed about him was the glove. The single, black leather glove on his left hand. They stood together in the lobby of the Sector Twelve Cooperative waiting for the Magnalift. It was late. Almost curfew. She was always cutting it close. But writing reviews about music in the underground clubs, the hidden places was how she made a living, so she risked it most nights of the week.

This man was different than the usual dweller in Sector Twelve. With his long, dark duster unbuttoned to expose an expensive tailored white shirt. The close cropped hair. The shiny shoes. And that glove.

Her gaze traveled once more to his hand. She imagined the touch of smooth leather gliding up her arm. Soft. Gentle.

She shivered.

The door to the Magnalift spiraled open.

The stranger held out his ungloved hand, gesturing she should take this first car. The other hand he hid beneath his duster. Before the door shut, their eyes met. He gave her a sideways smile, which didn’t quite reach his brown hooded eyes.

A pang of regret hit her. Men like that didn’t come around here very often, and chances were he probably wouldn’t be back.

*****

Serai sat in her cramped co-op with her eType on her lap. The lights would be out soon. Rolling blackouts were common nowadays. Writing as fast as she could, she wanted to meet her deadline for Hot Metal, the most popular underground magazine on the streets. A guide to experimental rock and the regulated clubs still allowed to feature them.

As she finished up her review of Liquid Space, the strains of a violin interrupted her thoughts. The usual pap the upperclass fawned and preened over. She couldn’t stand it.

She tried to block it out. Focus on her words. But the notes drifted down into her co-op from above.

A new tenant?

Her previous upstairs neighbor had been hauled away by the Authority. He had been quiet.

How was she supposed to concentrate now? With only a few minutes of light left?

Serai picked up a book and threw it at the ceiling. “Shut up!”

The music only grew louder, the notes plaintive and pealing.

Not in the mood for games, she headed out the door. She would give him a piece of her mind. The Cooperative was like a rabbit warren, room stacked on top of room, thin walls.

It was each dweller’s responsibility to think of his neighbor.

This time, instead of waiting for the Magnalift, she took the stairs. It was only one flight up.

Looking at the numbers on the doors, she figured out which was her upstairs neighbor and pounded on the cold metal surface. “Hey, I want to talk to you.”

The door slid open. The man with the one leather glove stood in the doorway dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama bottoms, a violin in his hand.

*****

“It’s you,” she said. “You can’t be my new neighbor.”

“I’m Niko. Come in.” His voice was smooth and low. He tucked the violin and his gloved hand behind his back. The glove went halfway up his arm, more like a gauntlet.

When she hesitated, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. The door whooshed shut behind her.

She struggled in his grip. “Hey.” Who did this man think he was?

“Sit.” He directed her to a sofa, black leather, like his glove. “Just listen. I need someone to listen.”

“I don’t want to listen,” Serai snapped. “I want you to be quiet. I have deadline to meet and…”
Niko lifted the violin to his muscled shoulder and began to play. At first, she was determined to hate it. Music for the upper classes, the more educated, the more advantaged. The ones in charge of the blackouts and the curfews. But then he played a sad progression of notes. He closed his eyes and moved with his instrument. His gloved fingers managed well on the strings. To watch him play was like watching a dancer. His body tensed when the tension built in the music. His breath stilled when the notes rose.

So high and sweet she thought she would cry.
Music like this she had never heard. It struck something inside her.

When the piece ended, he put down his instrument. “And what did you think? Was it any good?” His aquiline nose divided his face into two perfect halves. One half aglow in the dim lamplight, the other black in the shadows. His expression was unreadable.

“Beautiful.” She got up from the sofa and took a few steps toward him. “But why do you wear the glove? Wouldn’t you play better without it?” Her hand reached out to touch his gloved one.

He pulled it away.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Why not?” She touched the black leather tentatively. There was no warmth under her fingers. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Don’t call it a hand.” He searched her face. “Do you promise not to be afraid?”

She nodded, wondering what could be so frightening about a hand.

He yanked off the glove. “It’s a thing.” A metal appendage with rivets and exposed wires was attached to his arm. “It can press the strings, but it can’t play. Not like I used to.”

“Oh, it’s cybernetic.” With fascination she touched his metal fingers. They twitched. She wondered how they would feel on her body, in her body. “I thought that was a myth.”

His eyes closed when she brushed her cheek against his metal palm. “You can feel that?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“And this?” She kissed it.

“Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper now. Their bodies just inches apart.

He opened his eyes and drew her to him. His mouth came down on hers, and Serai lost herself in the strange sensation. Man and machine. Metal and flesh.

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