The 97th Step

by Steve Perry

  The planets and wheelworlds either toed the line or had their feet cut from under them, as simple as that.

  After a time, a kind of status quo evolved; don't rock the boat and draw attention and you can do what you want—within limits. Make too much noise, however, and you get squashed. Squeaky wheels got replaced and not lubricated.

  And, the instructor continued, while no official publication listed it as such, the recent turn of the Twenty-fourth Century marked what the Siblings considered the beginning of a time to be known unofficially as the Declination. No one could say for certain, but according to integratic predictions, this phase of galactic history would mark the fall of the Confed, and either chaos or some interim form of voluntary planetary association would exist until a new system came to power. History, the teacher said, is as cyclic as a sine wave. What rises eventually falls.

  Pen listened with half his attention. Before coming here, he had never paid much mind to politics, and while he had been becoming more and more interested, the incident with the gun loomed over him with the intensity of one of the afternoon tropical storms. The intricate dealings of power theory paled against the hard plastics and spun fibers of a gun in one's hand. Besides, the practice of integratics was restricted to those in Full Shroud, a state which had, before today, lain years ahead of him. After today…?

  Eventually, the class ended. Pen hoped it was recorded somewhere so he could restudy it later, for he retained only a small part of the teaching. Assuming, of course, that he would be around to study anything after today.

  Outside, the last rays of sunshine were fading into a fast-arriving tropical night. He didn't feel much like eating, so he went back to his room. He carried a sense of foreboding with him, as tangible as the mask he wore.

  The door was open, as he'd left it, but as he approached, he felt the presence of someone inside.

  It was Moon.

  She stood at the window, back to him, but he knew it was her. Despite the shroud, he could have picked her out of a dozen other siblings in full array, simply by the way she held herself while standing still.

  Moon turned, sensing or hearing him arrive.

  He was surprised to see her. She had never come to his room before.

  "Your door was open," she said.

  He nodded. "I leave it that way most of the time. An old habit."

  "Would you close it, please?"

  Uh-oh. She wanted this private, and that made his scrotum shrink and ridge, going cold. The gun. It had to do with the gun. Was she going to throw him out of the order for his reluctance to use it? Or, worse—for his ability to use it so fucking well?

  When he had closed the door and turned back to face her. Moon said, "We know all about your past, Pen."

  With that, she reached first to her side, then her neck, and unfastened the closure strips that kept her manto, the outer cloak, in place. She unwrapped the sheetlike garment and allowed it to drop onto the floor.

  Pen could not have been more stunned if she had sprouted wings and flown around the room. She stood there in jacket and pants, with the pouched utility belt, the yuyo obi, wrapped around her waist. After three heartbeats, she untabbed the belt and lowered it to the floor next to the cloak.

  "We know about the killings. Your lover, your partner, your ex-friend."

  With that, she untabbed the gi jacket and shrugged it off.

  "We know all about your days as a thief, and your travels as a laner. We also know how hard you tried to help Bennet Gworn after he was captured."

  She pulled the scoop-necked long-sleeved shin over her head and tossed it aside, then bent slightly and removed her long pants. Now, she was dressed identically to Pen, in First and Second Layer Undershroud: a short-sleeved shirt and short pants, boots, an undertunic, briefs, and zukin, the thin and silky hood. As he watched, she continued to remove these articles of unique, almost alive fabric. It was as erotic as anything Shar had ever done in her strip dances, and his erection throbbed against his belly, feeling like a block of wood. What the hell was going on here? His excitement was tempered with dry-mouthed fear. What was she doing?

  "We have all the psyche reports on you since you arrived, plus the deepsleep and narcoscan tests. We suspected how you would react to a handgun. We were prepared for you to refuse to use it."

  She was down to tunic, briefs and hood, now, the boots just having joined the pile of clothes on the floor next to her. Her legs were shapely, and he could see the muscles slide and dance under the skin when she shifted her weight. Her skin itself was so pale veins made blue lines under it. Most of her body hair had been depilated, and she looked as smooth as a newborn baby.

  Dry? Pen's mouth was sand and ashes and the dust of centuries when he tried to speak. "Th-the gun. It was a test? The order was checking to see if I could overcome my revulsion for it?"

  She pulled the tunic off over her head. Her stomach was flat and hard-ridged, her arms well denned, her breasts small and underlaid with thick pectoral muscle. She hooked her thumbs into the briefs and slid them down, stepping out of them and letting them lie in a black pool at her feet. Her undepilated pubic hair was jet, tight curls that made a stark contrast to her white skin, a dark and willowy nest.

  Save for the hood, she now stood naked before him.

  He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anybody, anywhere, any time.

  She reached up and caught the fastenings on the left side of the hood. "The test was personal," she said.

  "It was to see if you would be able to overcome your distaste of the weapon to avoid compromising me. And you did."

  Moon unfastened the closures on the hood and unwrapped it from around her face. Her hair was cut short, but it was as dark as her pubis, black and curly. She smiled. His eye for detail catalogued her features and they were less than perfect: her nose was thin and slightly askew, as though it had once been broken and not repaired. Her teeth were straight and white, but her mouth was a trifle wide. She had high cheekbones, almost an Oriental cast, and laugh lines crinkled deeply the corners of her eyes. Nothing about her was classically beautiful; taken together, however, the overall effect of her facial features was striking. Whatever objectivity he might have had fled when first she had removed her cloak. Staring stupidly at the nude woman now in front of him, Pen could not recall ever seeing anyone more lovely, not even Shar. Beauty came in different forms, and Moon's was unique.

  She dropped the zukin, took a deep breath, let it out, and smiled. "You have the potential to be the most extraordinary sibling in a long time, Pen. And I know you want me." She turned and walked to his bed, sat on it, then lay down.

  Later, when he thought about it. Pen thought he must have surely set some kind of record for getting undressed. It seemed that one second, he was standing there feeling a mixture of awe, lust, stupidity and absolute surprise, and a second later, he was lying naked next to Moon, grinning like a wirehead on full pulse current. He thought about that later—when his mind returned.

  Moon lay next to him, propped on one elbow. She idly stroked his shoulder. Pen responded by leaning over to kiss her, feeling her mouth flower beneath his again.

  After a time, he leaned back and smiled at her.

  "So, I take it you enjoyed yourself?" she said.

  "Any more fun than that would have killed me," Pen said, grinning. He chuckled. "Of course, I've been practicing mentally for months."

  "I know. I felt the wind from your panting on my back often."

  "It showed, huh?"

  "Some."

  She lay back, keeping one hand on his arm, and stared at the ceiling. Pen could not have said how much time had passed, but it was full dark outside, and it felt late. As if he cared about anything outside this room.

  "Why do you leave your door open?" she asked.

  He rolled slightly to one side and nuzzled her armpit. The dark hair there was silkier than that between her legs.

  "That tickles!"

  He pulled back slightly, then slid
one hand down the length of her body, then back up to touch her face.

  He felt like a man who had been awarded his heart's desire, and for no reason he could readily understand. That she would be here, relaxed under his touch, actually enjoying it. It amazed him. "It's funny," he began, "you'd think a thief would lock up everything. Not me. I grew up in a house where doors were never shut inside. My father used to say nothing could be hidden from God, so there was no point. I didn't know at the time that my mother had refused to sleep with him for years, so he had nothing to hide, either from God or me. I rejected God, along with a lot of what my father tried to beat into me, but I never dropped that one habit. Odd, isn't it?"

  She dragged her fingertips down, over his chest and then his lower belly. It gave him a chill.

  "I have a question for you," he said.

  "Sure."

  "Why did you do this? Make love to me?"

  "Because I wanted to. Because there is something about you that attracted me from the first time I saw you."

  "Yeah? So, why'd you wait so long?" The question was not serious, but she gave him a serious answer.

  "I had to be sure. I've felt attracted to a lot of people, but it takes too much energy to pursue that very far. For me, sex has to be part of something else."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as love."

  That one rocked him. Love? He didn't know what that was. He felt desire for Moon, even now, when the flesh was certainly too weak to do more than smile and remember. He felt good to be around her. He respected her abilities, as a fighter and teacher. And now, as a lover. It had been intense. But love?

  "I don't think I'm worthy of that," he said. It made him sad to say this, because he was afraid it would destroy this precious moment in his life; sad, because he wanted very much to please this woman, as long as she would have him. Sad, because he thought it was true. He was unworthy.

  "I know you don't think so," she said. "But you are, nonetheless. You haven't learned how to love yourself yet. You don't know who you are." She sat up and swung her legs around tailor-fashion, to face him. "Have you ever heard of Emery, the Earth philosopher? Twentieth or Twenty-first Century. 'When you know who you are, you know what to do. You know when and where to do it, and with whom.' "

  "Never heard of him. Interesting philosophy. Did this guy tell you how to get to know who you are?"

  "In a way. That's part of what we're trying to do with the Siblings. First, we try to teach each other; then, we try it on the rest of the galaxy."

  "Doesn't sound easy."

  "No," she said, bending down. She did something with her hands, a soft and fluttery motion.

  "I think you're wasting your time there—" he began. After a few seconds, he grinned down at her uplifted face. "Jesu, it's a miracle! You've brought it back from the dead!"

  "Dead? Ah, Pen, it was only a little tired. I'll see if I can't kill it this time…"

  She laughed then, and he joined her. To hell with philosophy. Some things had to be experienced directly, and words only got in the way.

  "Oh, yes!"

  If there was a Heaven, surely he had achieved it.

  But even through his pleasure, he heard that tiny voice in his mind—the voice that belonged to the part of him that watched all that he did, and would never be still.

  You have thought that before, Mwili. Or Ferret. Or Pen, whatever you choose to call yourself.

  And it has never lasted, has it? And it never will, either. Face it.

  No, he told it mentally. Go away. Leave me alone!

  Perhaps the voice stilled. Perhaps not. Either way, he lost the sound of it in the surging wave that crested and carried him to new places with this new woman. For a few moments, at least, the sound went away, along with the darkness, the worry, the memories. He and Moon danced the oldest man and woman dance, yin and yang, and all else was less than a shadow.

  For a few moments.

  Twenty-Four

  PEN AND SPIRAL were on their way into "town." A shipment of electronic parts had arrived at the port, and as the two were on maintenance detail this week, it fell to them to fetch the supplies. Spiral drove the four-wheeled ground vehicle, a lumbering relic that jolted the two men at every bump or hole on the ill-kept surface of the road.

  "What are you grinning at?" Spiral asked.

  The top of the GV was down and the breeze from their motion was soggy, but welcome. Pen now wore all eight items of Undershroud, the long-sleeved shirt and long pants of the Third Layer covering the First and Second, and despite the breath-ability of the fabric, was warm in the direct sunlight of the morning.

  "Grinning? Was I grinning?"

  Spiral laughed. "Like a cheetah with a fresh kill. You could be wearing three hoods and it would show.

  You've been doing that a lot the last few months. Staring off into space and looking like you've discovered the punchline to some grand cosmic joke."

  Pen chuckled. "Not me."

  Spiral hit a particularly deep rut, and the GV jolted its two passengers. If not for the restraining safety belt, Pen would have been bounced clear of the seat.

  "You hit that same hole every time—does it have some special significance for you?"

  "Reminds me of a girl I used to know," Spiral said. He accelerated the GV on one of the few straight stretches of road between the order and their destination. "I don't suppose that Moon would have anything to do with your attitude lately?"

  "Moon?"

  "Come, come, Pen old boy, you don't really think the rest of us are all blind, do you? You've been discrete, but—really! I suspect if we could harness the sexual energy you two have been spending, we could shut down the power station."

  "Spoken like a true Second Layer retard," Pen said. Unlike Pen, Spiral still wore the short shirt and pants of Second Layer.

  "Ooh, nasty! Well, my lord lofty and mighty Third Layer Pen, you won't see these arms and legs except in the swimming pool, come next week."

  Pen glanced at Spiral, interested. "Really?"

  "I test in three days. Want to get in on the score pool? Take a hundred percent and you'll clean up."

  "I'll clean up the kitchens for a week with that kind of brainlock. A hundred? Hah! Who do you think you are—Von?"

  "Well. Ninety-five, maybe."

  "Yeah, sure. Eighty, maybe."

  "You cut me deeply. Pen."

  "I was there when you asked Jade the difference between a Confederation factor and a senator, Spiral."

  "It was a joke."

  "I'm sure the class thought so. We had to sit and listen to Jade drone on for another forty minutes."

  "You have no sense of humor."

  "I think I'll take seventy-five for your score."

  "Your dick should rot off."

  Pen smiled. He liked Spiral. Hell, he liked everybody these days. The man was right—Moon was the difference. Not just the sex, though that was fine, but the whole process of being with someone, sharing parts of the day, talking about things that meant nothing to anyone else. And she was teaching him things.

  He wanted to please her, so he studied with renewed intensity, worked to learn all the things she thought he should know. It was a strange mix of teacher-lover-friend, his relationship with Moon. He had never known anything like it.

  The GV rounded the last turn before the prefab orange storage sheds appeared. As civilization went, the enclave of the Siblings was head and shoulders above the port and its surroundings. A few of the natives had stayed on the island, and they seemed to gravitate to the port. There was a small store, a bar, and little else, outside the port, save for the storage sheds, and those usually empty. The Siblings did export small amounts of food—copra and wine, mostly—more for appearances than for need. The order had a way of finding money. Although no one had ever asked him to do it, Pen had eventually deposited most of the stads he had stolen into the order's account. This was his home now, these were his people, and what was theirs was his. It only seemed fair that it wo
rk the other way. The biotech lab had an expensive cell injection gun now, due to his contribution. And the newest students carried bug and rain repellors courtesy of a jewel theft on a planet light- and real-time years away. It made Pen feel good to do that.

  "Uh-oh."

  Pen pulled himself from his mental wanderings to see what had disturbed Spiral. The cause would have been impossible to miss.

  Just ahead were four Confederation Jumptroopers, wearing tropical whites, and carrying short, brutal-looking carbines. As Pen watched, two of the troopers, a man and a woman, detached themselves from the other two and walked toward the local bar. Spiral drove the GV past the remaining two troopers, who watched it pass. Next to the main building of the port. Spiral pulled the GV to a halt, stopping the electric motor. The cooling metal ticked as the two siblings looked back at the troopers.

  "The Confed rep must be here," Spiral said. "He comes out a couple of times a year.' *

  "I've never seen him," Pen said.

  "Usually Von—Moon, now—sends somebody to take care of him. He gets a 'gift,' drinks or tokes until he's moronic, then leaves. Looks like he brings an escort squad to fly him home. I've never seen troops here before, either. He's probably in the pub."

  "Moon didn't mention that he'd be here," Pen said.

  "Think because you two share a pillow she tells you everything?" It was another of Spiral's jokes, but Pen felt somehow as if he'd been slighted. Why hadn't Moon told him, since she knew he was going to the port?

  "Come on. Let's get the supplies and get back."

  Pen glanced away from the troopers at Spiral. "You sound nervous."

  "Nan, not me. I just don't much like being around soldiers." He was silent for a moment, then, "I used to be one."

  "Yeah?"