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THE TRAITOR AND THE DAGGER

Two weeks later we had assembled most of the needed machinery for the ship. Kit and Doc—I never knew where they planned it or how they contrived it—had procured it. Now one, now the other of them showed up, bearing parts or something on our wish list.

I didn’t know how the Energy Board—or Castaneda—felt about it, nor did I want to know. We’d arranged so that only the four of us could come in and out of the bay, and, because Zenobia managed to be even more paranoid than I was—a feat that ranked up there with the great deeds of humanity—we’d rigged hidden cameras that kept watch on the ship night and day.

We needed only a computer now, strong enough to make calculations and do the piloting but simple enough to be wiped bare of all data before we got near Earth. The data would be in our own heads and safe from discovery.

I had been given to understand, through Kit’s mind-talk, that getting a computer for the ship wasn’t as simple as walking into a shop and walking out with the required computer. It wasn’t even as simple as ordering it, special order, from some manufacturer. You see, Kit, and particularly Doc were afraid of subtle sabotage induced by our enemies, if anyone knew the computer was for us.

Have you found it? I asked, as I emerged from the ship to find him leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep in the pocket of his dark red pants. The tunic he wore with the pants was a bright green that made me think of absinthe, but there was nothing for it, and I’d got used—kind of—to my Cat’s taste in clothing. Kit wasn’t the worst of it, for that matter. Every Cat I knew had horrible color sense. Kath didn’t seem to be able to wear anything not covered with spangles. And at least Kit’s tunic matched his eyes. Sort of.

The computer? he asked, straightening and smiling at me while giving me an all-over appreciative look.

I smiled at him and nodded. I’d never expected to be loved. I know what I am and that most people would prefer chewing their own arms off at the elbow to being married to me. But Kit not only loved me. His eyes went all soft and…interested, even when I was coming out of a ship with coolant gel all over my hands and wearing sweaty, stained, baggy coveralls.

Doc Bartolomeu thinks he can get it this evening, Kit said. And we’re hoping to leave tomorrow early.

So soon?

Kit nodded, pressing his lips together. The sooner we leave, the less time there will be for funny business. Doc thinks that they…Castaneda and whoever else, are planning something.

What would the something be?

Who knows? We thought they meant to sabotage the parts we brought on board, but we’ve been very sneaky in procuring them…He smiled, a little, and for just a moment looked too young. At least Doc has been. So sneaky he’s left me out of the loop most of the time. It’s all high cloak and dagger, and I’m sure he’s enjoying himself. The little I’ve done involves taking a message to so-and-so and bringing a message back and being in a certain place at a certain time. He shook his head. I think the Doc is a romantic and is trying to live out one of those adventure books he reads all the time. But I do think we’ve been secretive enough. Even I have no idea where the parts…or the computer, are coming from.

At least I wasn’t the only one who’d been left out of the loop. I tended to feel left out, but in this case so was Kit himself. So, why the urgency in leaving?

Because Doc Bartolomeu is afraid if they can’t get in by sneaky means they’ll do it bluntly.

Bluntly? I asked. How…how could they do it bluntly? You mean, they might just kill us? Wouldn’t that be murder and set off a blood feud?

His expression turned momentarily bleak. Don’t ask me how he knows this or who his informant might be, but Doc thinks that the plan, when we landed, was to blow us out of the sky. Since the dock controller forced their hand, they couldn’t do that, but there are accidents that can be…He swallowed. That could be arranged. A few hours without power during the night and my family compound would contain nothing but corpses. A fleeting smile. Or at least they might think so, though Jean has made arrangements, but all the same…The less time we give them to strike, the less danger we can bring to my family, or to the people who are helping Doc. Zen’s family, fortunately, immigrated to the Thules a couple of years ago. So she only had her husband.

And he’s dead, I thought, half to myself and half projecting. I was not exactly mad-fond of Zenobia. For one, she didn’t give me a chance to be. Sometimes, I had inklings that there might be a nice, perhaps even friendly woman under the brittle shell of silence and distance, but no more than glimpses. It was clear that for some reason she didn’t consider me someone to confide in. Either this was her normal character, not unlike Kit’s, who sometimes gave the impression one should pull the words out of him with a corkscrew, or she was suffering from shock at the death of her husband.

If she was still in shock at her husband’s death, half the women, at least, would dissolve in garrulous conversation, confidences and clinging.

Oh, maybe it’s a stereotype, but it’s always seemed to me that women seek community more than men. Not that I was typical in that. And apparently neither was Zenobia.

Of course, it was always possible that she was madly in love with Kit—I shielded my thoughts from him carefully to avoid that leaking—and that she resented my presence or was only waiting to slip a knife between my ribs once we were in space.

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Oh, he called her Zen and she called him Kit, and they seemed cordial, but only in the way old friends who didn’t have much in common could be easy with each other. It was friendly but not personal. Unless she was one hell of an actress, in which case she could have forced herself to fake friendship with me.

Kit had put his arms around me and was looking at me with an odd expression. “Thena!” he said, in voice for once, mingling amusement with just a hint of shock. Which was when I knew my thoughts had leaked.

Before I could play dumb and ask him what had shocked him, Zenobia appeared from inside the ship. “I think we might as well call it quits for the evening,” she said. “We can’t do any more tonight. Kit, would you mind giving me a ride back to my lodgings? I sold my flyer yesterday and took a cab in.”

Kit raised his eyebrows. “Sold…you’re not expecting to survive this trip?” He looked genuinely alarmed.

She smiled and shook her head, one of the most natural expressions I’d seen her make. “Oh, no,” she said. “Not that. Remember though that I’m newly single. When we come back, I’ll just move nearer the Center, so maybe I can meet some nice Cat someday.” She sighed. “Not that I really…I don’t know how I’ll manage, without Len, but I’d like to go to space again…” She shrugged. “I don’t…I find I’m not fond of being confined to Eden. I never fit in here, in many ways. Earth is worse, I know, but it is different. Which is part of the reason I volunteered for this.”

“Perhaps,” Kit said, “you can just find a friend who agrees to go with you to space? There are many people…in your situation right now. Unfortunately.”

“What?” She said. “And set all the tongues wagging? No, thank you so much, Cat Sinistra. I note you didn’t take a friend to space when you were widowed.”

“Not when people thought they were risking life and limb to go out with a potential murderer,” Kit said, and his smile had just the hint of bitterness he must have felt at living under suspicion of having killed his first wife. “But you don’t have that taint. And besides…” He shrugged again. “I mean, you must know everyone who is free. Surely you’d know if there’s anyone you wish to marry.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “No one, unless they’re importing Cats from elsewhere,” she said, and then quickly added, “If you excuse me, I’ll go wash my hands and change.”

Part of me wanted to follow her, and not just because I wanted to ask what she meant by importing Cats from elsewhere. Was this a snide remark at my Earth origins, or did she mean something else, perhaps just exasperation at being part of a small group of people for whom necessarily marriage and career were linked? But Zenobia had yet to confide in me on anything.

She shared specs and discussed tools and parts freely—hampered only by the fact that anything that could possibly interest anyone else we typed in a pad and passed back and forth rather than speaking where hidden pickups could catch a word. We were fairly sure there were no hidden sound and vision pickups, but we couldn’t be absolutely sure, and it wasn’t worth taking a risk.

I washed my hands at a station in the room, and pulled off the coveralls. Under them, I wore a practical dress of some fabric that fell into perfect folds after being crushed under my coveralls all day. And which had smell-mitigating properties, so I probably wouldn’t smell as I should after a day of hot, heavy work.

I was freeing my hair from the pins that held it up during work letting it fall in its natural shoulder-length curls when I felt Kit’s arms around me. I turned to face him, within the circle of his arms, and he kissed me. Or I kissed him. It is a minor miracle of telepathy that a married couple can feel when the other means to kiss without either saying anything. Even non-engineered couples.

The kiss was more comforting than sexy, which means Kit had read my mood, and knew what I needed. As I pulled back for breath, he said, “It will be all right, Thena. It really will.”

I took a deep breath, realizing how insecure of this I felt, and mind-said, What if it isn’t? What if Jarl didn’t have notations that help us grow the trees? What if we can never come back? What if Castaneda takes over Eden and makes it into his little fiefdom? What if everything we have, everything we love, is lost?

He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed fractionally. We’ll do it. We’ll manage it. We’ve already cheated death, Thena. We can do it.

What if the notes don’t exist?

They will. Doc said they exist. And we’ll find them—if we have to go to another universe for them.

I gave a little gurgle of laughter more out of surprise than humor. And how do we get around the fact that the Good Men of Earth are either guarding them or very interested in them?

He grinned at me and kissed my forehead. Afraid of the Good Men of Earth? Thena, my love, this is not like you. Maybe you need more red meat. They’re the ones who should be afraid of you.

Are you afraid of me?

A chuckle. No. I wouldn’t have you behave any differently.

We were kissing again when I felt someone else nearby. Zen, of course. Kit must have sensed it too, because he sprang away from me, as I stepped away from him. If I looked as sheepish as he did, we were a sorry sight, like juveniles caught necking. But Zen looked perfectly natural.

She was wiping her hands on a disposable rag. “If it’s easier for you two,” she said. “I can take a cab from the door. I mean, if you have plans.”

I don’t know why, but the fact that she said it naturally, without the slightest hint of salacious meaning, made it worse. I felt heat and blush climb from somewhere around my navel to my face. Kit looked away, but smiled and said, in a reasonable imitation of his normal manner, “No, no. It’s fine. We have no plans beyond spending the evening with my family. If you want to come with us, and have dinner…” He nodded. “I mean, my parents know you as well as they…I mean, they’ve seen you grow up and they’re very fond of you, and Doc is coming over for dinner anyway. It’s by way of being a celebration, or…or a farewell dinner or something.”

The “or something” was probably correct, since it never seemed to occur to any of the Denovos that we would not be able to return victorious. So they were celebrating—in anticipation of—our victory, as well as saying goodbye for a time. I felt like this was surely the way ancient adventurers were sent off, when the village had no idea of what dangers they might face but knew, because they were the best of their people, that they couldn’t help but succeed.

Zen hesitated. She frowned a little, her eyebrows gathering over her perfectly straight nose. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Finally, she shook her head, and her eyes acquired that extra hint of reserve that was common around me, even if not always around Kit. “No, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it, but I…” A deep breath. “I’m a member of no family. And besides, I have plans for the evening.”

There was something so…ice-queenish about her, that I couldn’t wonder what her plans were. I was sure, in any case, that the stars would burn cold and vacuum swallow the universe before I knew what they were.

Kit lowered his head just a little. “If you’re sure,” he said, and put his arm around my waist. “But I warn you that there is chocolate cake. Or at least that’s what Doc said there would be. Don’t complain to us afterwards that you didn’t get any. The supply of chocolate we could get on the ship is limited.”

For just a second I thought that Zen was going to tell him what he could do with the chocolate cake, and it wouldn’t be pleasant. Then her frosty expression melted, and she said, “I promise to hold you harmless of my lack of chocolate, Cat Sinistra,” she said.

The ice having melted, we left the room, which both Zen and I verified was closed behind us, and walked along the empty corridor that led to the more populated part of the complex. We didn’t talk, because when you’re afraid your words are being picked up by listening bugs, noted down and marked for examination, you don’t talk. Particularly not when the subject taking up all of your thoughts and all of your concerns is something that you think the powerful people in your society are against. You shut up and walk along.

Kit and I didn’t even talk in our minds, partly because one could usually see when Cat and Nav were talking to each other mentally. Or at least I could tell when Kit’s family were doing it. There was the expression that seemed to indicate that people were looking inward, or somewhere that no one else could see. And there was the slightest of lags between stimulus and response.

It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone watching us to realize that we were talking to each other. And if we did that too much, they’d come to think we were hiding more than we were. In fact, they might think we knew far more than we did know.

So we walked along the dark corridor, all three sets of footsteps echoing over the high, vaulted ceilings and the vast, dusty emptiness.

Because only a patch, corridor-wide and maybe ten feet ahead of us, was lit, while the lights went off behind us, we were in a moving island of light in a sea of darkness, both light and darkness making the other seem more intense.

It is important you know this, because they couldn’t have found a more perfect setup.

Zen walked slightly ahead of us, her hands in her pockets, managing to look absurdly graceful and feminine in her baggy coveralls and flat heels.

Kit and I followed behind, holding hands, each lost in his own thoughts. I was thinking that my time in Eden, despite all the trouble, had been the happiest of my lifetime, and hoping I could come back. And hoping Eden would go back to being what it once was.

Which would depend on our succeeding and removing Castaneda’s would-be dictatorship from power.

It all happened much too fast. Well, much too fast for me. I’m not a Cat. Neither is Zen, of course, but she reacted first, stopping ahead of us and reaching into her pocket for…what?

Then Kit shouted “Thena!” And jumped on me, taking me down with him, covering me.

I’ve said before that Cats move very, very fast but this was something else. They always give the impression, to the untrained eye, of having teleported from one place to the other. You only know that’s not what happened, because—even though your eye can’t transmit the message to your brain fast enough while it is happening—you retain memories of its happening. You remember the Cat crossing the intervening space.

The minute Kit jumped on me and took me down with him, to the dusty dimatough floor, where my head hit, hard, I entered speeded-up mode, my heart beating madly, my senses sharpening.

When I was very little, and for the time I was on Earth, I didn’t know why or how I was different, I just knew I was. When in fear, I would go into what I used to call my “speeded-up state” in which my movements seemed to become too fast for even trained people to follow. It was this, and my general charming and yielding disposition, that had allowed me to survive a childhood beset with military academies, reformatories, and mental hospitals.

I wasn’t as fast as an Eden Cat, I knew that. I’d tried it out on Kit, and even after I knew how he was doing it, his speed still seemed to border on supernatural. But I was faster than normal people. Much faster.

I was suddenly aware of people beyond that illuminated square on which we stood. More than one person, moving around, as though…as though maneuvering for attack. I was aware of Zen—though I couldn’t see her—taking something from her pocket. And I was aware of a blue ray crossing the air and…hitting someone.

I knew it had hit because I could smell singed flesh and hair. Kit tightened his grip on me.

Stop, I said. Let me go, Kit. I wriggled out of his grasp and onto the floor, feeling in the pockets of my dress for my burner. Ahead, more rays of light burned. I couldn’t see Zen at all, didn’t know where she was. Had she gone into the dark space? How, when it was rigged to respond to our heat or movement or sound? But if it was rigged to respond to that, why hadn’t it responded to our attackers? I’m not a child. I can defend myself.

I’d found my burner. It was a little job, little more than the length of my right hand, and slightly thicker than my index finger.

Eden, in general, was a very safe place. Yeah, okay, so murder was legal, but there were far fewer murders here than anywhere on Earth with the same level of population. Probably because retribution—in the form of a demand for compensation or a blood feud—could come from anywhere at any moment. I thought the latest statistics counted something like a murder a year.

Most duels were carefully announced and arranged days in advance. It wasn’t as though anyone wanted to risk their being thought murderers.

So, why was I carrying a burner in my pocket at all? Even if it was a little and thin one?

Listen, if you had grown up as I had, you also wouldn’t be able to function without some form of self-defense weapon at hand.

With the burner out, I burned in the general direction the last ray of burner fire had come from, and then someone else shot, and someone else again, and I tried to burn where the light came from as it extinguished.

It was a stupid and futile endeavor. Do I need to spell it out? I was in bright light, while they were in darkness. And I was trying to pick them out. This was one of the most disastrous setups in the history of battle tactics since the Roman army had gone off chasing a herd of cows to which Hannibal’s generals had tied lanterns. I couldn’t win and they couldn’t lose.

Behind me there was a muffled sound, and then “Thena!” in Kit’s voice, echoed both mind and voice together.

“Kit,” I said, and tried to crawl back to where he was, only right at that moment all the lights cut out, and I wasn’t sure where he was.

The corridor echoed, huge and dark, and full of footsteps.

In fact, in the absolute darkness, I couldn’t tell if the footsteps were approaching or retreating. I couldn’t tell what was happening at all. I could only hear the footsteps and feel at the gritty floor with my bare hands, as I crawled back and forth, calling “Kit!”

He didn’t answer, which was bad enough, but there was worse. I couldn’t hear him breathe. And that was just wrong.

I’m not going to claim to have supernatural hearing, but as a Mule I did have slightly sharper senses than normal humans and I should have been able to hear him breathe.

Panicked, lost in what had to be just over twenty square feet of darkened hallway, I felt around, and crawled so fast I felt like I was dragging my knees on sandpaper. I hit something hard. It went skittering into the darkness and then hit something else—possibly, from the high, clanging ring of ceramite on dimatough, the wall of the tunnel.

Steps and the zap of firing weapons distracted me, and I concentrated on ignoring them. I could hear only the loud, pounding, insistent, beating of my heart. And then I tried to ignore that, half sitting up, my fists clenched on my thighs.

“Kit!” Kit. KIT! There was no response, but now I could hear it, the very, very faint breathing coming from nearby. I felt in the dark, in that direction, and found Kit’s hand. I knew it was Kit’s hand, not only because it felt like Kit’s hand, but because our wedding ring was on it. We had lost my ring on Earth, but Doc had replaced it, and we both wore broad gold rings with roses cut into the outside and the words Je Reviens engraved on the inside. That was archaic French for “I’ll return” and the name of the starship that had taken the Mules out of the solar system. Also, incidentally, not a bad motto for a marriage.

Kit’s hand felt warm and alive, which was good. By following his arm up with my hand, I reached his shoulder, then by degrees, his chest. It wasn’t wet or bloodied, or anything, which was good, and by laying my hand on his chest, I could feel his heartbeat, fast but regular, and then I was following his body up to his shoulder again, and shaking it. “Kit, Kit, Kit?”

There was no response. He didn’t move. My hands started, as if of their own accord, examining him.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Something was terribly wrong. I felt up and down his body, taking note of a wet spot on his inner thigh just up from his knee. A large wet spot which wasn’t good, because it was around the area of the femoral artery and the feeling of the wetness was sticky like blood, and besides, I could smell blood, sharp and tangy and metallic.

But no one loses consciousness from being hit on the thigh. Unless…he’d lost consciousness from hitting his head when he’d fallen. No, wait. He’d been down already, having jumped on me to take me down and protect me. Idiot. When he was the one they wanted to get and he was at far greater risk. And yet, if he hadn’t done it, he wouldn’t have been Kit.

My hands had found the top of his boots and started up again, upwards, fast, feeling his chest, his sides, all the way up. On his arm there was another wet-sticky point, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding nearly as fast.

And then up, up, up his neck, with the pulse of life beating fast and decisive at its side, and up up…

I stopped. I stopped before I realized what I was feeling—it was impossible. It couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. Things like this didn’t happen to me. Not to Athena Hera Sinistra, only daughter of Good Man Milton Alexander Sinistra. Not to a Patrician of Earth. Some things had been worse for me, but I’d always been kept from utter catastrophe, which this was.

Kit’s temple was not only wet. It seemed to be pouring out blood. My fingers, feeling gingerly, found the edge of a hole on his temple. And blood was pouring out. I could feel it on my bare knees as it pooled on the floor. I refused to believe that was blood, but it felt like blood, warm and viscous.

I put my whole hand down in the puddle by Kit’s head, then I brought it up to smell. Blood. It was blood. It was Kit’s blood.

Both my hands grabbed at his shoulders and shook him, before I could get control of them. My voice rose high in a sort of wail, as I screamed, “Wake up Kit, wake up. Oh no, oh, no, oh, no. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.”

Less than a couple of minutes ago—I was sure of it—we’d been headed out of the Energy Board complex, ready to go to dinner, ready to lift off tomorrow. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. If I closed my eyes…If I wished really hard…we’d still be there, still walking down the hallway. We’d be going home. We were going home. Kit had saved me from near death, and this wasn’t going to separate us now. What a stupid way to die when we’d braved Earth and Daddy Dearest.

What a stupid way for him to go when he’d got me back from the brink of death by radiation, when I’d been revived despite having been as nearly cooked from inside out as a human being could be and still live.

From a long, long way away, as if from someone else’s head, a thought leaked into my panic. Head wounds bled like the devil, and Kit needed emergency first aid right away. He wasn’t dead. I must make sure he didn’t die.

I pulled back at my hair, frantically, trying to remove it from my eyes, so I could see the bracelet on my wrist which had a dialer built in. Since an attack on us last year, when I didn’t have a communications device in sight, I always made sure to wear at least two. But I couldn’t see to dial.

My hair being pulled back made no difference, of course. I wasn’t a Cat who could see in the dark. And Kit couldn’t dial, and Zen…I didn’t even have any idea where Zen was. In the dark around me, there was no sound, not even breathing.

I twisted the dialer by feel, blindly. At least Doc’s number was easy. It was his personal number, which meant he would have it on whatever receptor he carried. He was supposed to be at the Denovos, he was—

“Hello?” As Doc Bartolomeu’s voice answered, loud in the still darkness, I realized I would give my position away by speaking, but it didn’t matter. I’d already shouted.

“Doc, Doc, please. This is Thena. Kit was hit. He’s bleeding to death. We’re—”

“I know where you are,” he said. “I’m coming.”

“How…how?”

“Zen told me,” he said. “I’m just outside the complex. Don’t worry.”

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