The Snare (Huntress of the Star Empire Episodes 4-6)

by Athena Grayson

  “How—” She scowled and lifted up something that looked like a Guerran’s elbow. “This is a waste of my time.”

  “I assure you, my lady, there is a system that is at once complex, transparent, and sublime.”

  “You mean you label it and throw it on a pile,” she translated.

  “I never!” His fur bristled. “The very thought indeed! I am an experienced cataloger of useful items. ‘Throwing it on a pile’ as it were, would be an insult to the usefulness of the items I find.” He sniffed. “I have a system.”

  Treska dropped a ringlike object and it clattered uselessly to the bottom of the huge pile of parts. “How can you live in such chaos?” She dropped to her rear end and sifted through the pile.

  “My dear, the universe itself is chaos. Entropy is the antithesis of life.”

  “So is chaos.” How could anyone live like this? Yesterday, she had a plan. Sure, there were setbacks, like being bird-napped and ditched in the middle of nowhere, but as Enlightenment had proven, even nowhere was somewhere, and she could almost believe that the setback was a gift in disguise. “There has to be some sort of fathomable order here.”

  “Randomness is itself a kind of inscrutable order.”

  “Okay, the philosopher bit is starting to wear thin. I still have two loaded trank-darts.”

  The purring chuckle of the Mauw told her just how seriously he took her threat. She shook her head and kicked a tarp off another pile of useless junk. Her temper must be intimidated by all this crap to have not shown itself. Or maybe her mood was just better than usual since there was no psypath around to prickle it.

  The tarp slid down to reveal a pile of beautifully-crafted objects. “Oh!” she said, crouching down. Immediately drawn to the iridescent loveliness of the delicate pieces, she picked up what looked like a water pitcher. “It’s lovely.”

  Enlightenment’s nose twitched. “And not at all an actuator for a starship,” he said. “See how the frustration of salvage becomes an adventure?”

  It was impossible to stay sour in the face of such an attitude. “I give up,” she said. “What is it?”

  “That collection there is a series of common items found in Hathori temples across the system. They really aren’t very high-quality, so they’re little more than junk. Mass-produced and commonplace. And quite illegal under your Union laws. However, since we are far from the Capitol, a stash of sub-standard quality trinkets is hardly worth the notice of a skilled and trained specialist like yourself, hmm?”

  She snorted. “Nice try.” She looked around, waiting for inspiration. “But, since I am here for an actuator, I could be persuaded to overlook these items. Considering they’re well away from public access, and they’re technically buried in a cave on a remote outpost of a world.” She shot the junk dealer a coy glance. “Let’s say a forty percent discount on my actuator.”

  “Twenty.” He stepped closer, until his whiskers almost touched her nose. He had lovely, golden eyes behind those magnifying spectacles. It was true what was speculated about the felinoid species—they bore a primitive grace even in the most civilized situations.

  “Thirty-five.”

  “So the rumors of the unassailable integrity of the Huntress lose some of their sheen.” A feline smirk. “Thirty.”

  “As I’ve been reminded so many times since hitting the ground on this dirtball, Guerre is only a provisional member of the Union. I don’t have to follow the rules here. Thirty,” she said, holding up a tangled snarl of chains and rings that jingled merrily. “And you tell me what the hells this is.” She liked the way the cut electrum glinted in even the washed-out light of the floodlights in the cavern.

  “Done. That right there is an article of clothing sometimes worn by Hathori priestesses.” Enlightenment shook the chains a few times and the contraption righted itself.

  “Of course. I see.” She really could see. The large ring was the right size to go around a humanoid neck, and the chains would drape over the shoulders and torso. “Impractical,” she pronounced. “The chains’ll never stay together.”

  Enlightenment blinked. “That’s the point,” he said. “For a Hathori, clothing exists to enhance her beauty and arouse the senses. It can’t do that if it covers so much of her up.” He bared his teeth in a grin. “The chains play peek-a-boo with her loveliness. It’s quite arousing.”

  She dropped the thing like it was on fire. “That’s—scandalous.”

  “Not for a Hathori,” he said mildly. “That thing is downright conservative. The starsilk robes they wear are much more revealing.” He sighed. “Ahh, the beauty of a Hathori.”

  “Trashy purveyors of pure vice,” she said stiffly. “And vice puts people at risk. It attracts danger.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. The best kind.” His slitted eyes twinkled.

  She slid down from the pile. “I don’t get you at all,” she said. “How can you live like this? How can you live without doing a damn thing to protect yourself?”

  The Mauw scrambled up another pile, his powerful limbs flexing beneath his spare clothing. “Life is not to be lived behind protective shielding. Even starships know that, else you wouldn’t have to raise their shields manually.”

  “Shields aren’t in constant use because of the energy drain,” she said. “Basic starship principle.”

  “Exactly. Having one’s personal shields down allows one to act as part of the universe, rather than something apart from it.”

  “Yeah, a part that gets shot in the back and disintegrated, maybe.” She glanced back at the pile of Hathori castoffs, still curious in spite of herself. “So what’s this funny-shaped bottle for?” The curvy ewer seemed to be made for sitting on its side, at an angle, instead of straight up like a regular bottle.

  “That is an ewer for the serving of Emera, the native wine of Hathor.”

  “Booze, huh?” She picked up the ewer by the handle and noted that the odd tilt to everything made it very easy to hold with one hand. As if it were intentionally balanced.

  “One should never defile Emera’s legendary experience with the moniker of ‘booze.’ Emera is something sublime.”

  “Good booze, then.”

  “Honestly, madame Treska, you wound my sensibilities.”

  “You’re lucky I haven’t put trank darts in your ‘sensibilities’ yet,” she said.

  “Emera is the liqueur served only in the holy temples of the Hathori people. When it is poured over the skin of a priestess, her body chemicals alter the liqueur’s properties. It is a—transformative experience.”

  Her eyes widened and curiosity in spite of herself prompted her to ask, “You actually did that? In a Hathori temple? With a Hathori woman?”

  Enlightenment’s whiskers twitched. “Not technically,” he said.

  “Oh. Whew.” She sighed with barely suppressed relief. It could stay legend that way.

  “There were three of them. And one of my pridemates was with me.”

  That did it. She slapped her hands over her ears. “I want that actuator for free now.”

  “Why is it so difficult for you to accept the need for pleasure?” He paused in his searching to regard her with serious, feline eyes. “That individuals have need to share in sensual pursuits.”

  Her cheeks heated up. She wasn’t used to talking so frankly. Training had centered around driving even the thoughts of vice from her mind. She rubbed her forehead, surprised that the Voice hadn’t made an appearance yet. “It’s not that at all,” she said. “Vice creates weakness. Pathways that open us up for attack. The Marauders would never have attacked Union space if there weren’t such…vice to tempt them.”

  “I do realize that you may have been overexposed to the propaganda but I assure you, the existence of enjoyable pursuits is not the reason the Marauders attacked the Union.”

  “How do you know?” She shifted through the pile and pulled up a pair of bracelets made of delicately-chased gold wire and jeweled cabochons. She slid one on her arm and held it
out, admiring the way the jewels caught the light. What am I thinking? A wrist-shooter looked much better on her arm than some stupid wire and shiny rocks. Even if her fingers looked slender and feminine next to the wire. She shook the bracelet off and it dropped to the pile. “You weren’t there, on Prime, when it happened.” She picked up another piece, this one a hand mirror whose back was inlaid with copper curves and imitation rubies. She flipped it over and looked at herself. In the mirror’s tarnished surface her image looked milky and pale, the lines of her face softened. In spite of the bruises from the crash, and the hard week she’d been having, she almost looked—attractive. I hadn’t thought that Hathori made other people look and feel beautiful, too. No wonder they were such a desirable people. She flipped the mirror back over, letting the rubies flash and gleam. “You weren’t there when the sky rained fire.”

  “Alas, no,” Enlightenment said, sitting down beside her. “I was living on a Jumpgate waystation, though, when the Marauders Jumped through. Our waystation was wiped out without mercy.” He took her hand in his, and it seemed like a natural thing to let him. The pads of his feline paw-hands were leathery and supple, but warm. “The Mauw lost whole clans when the Marauders began hitting the waystations. But our leaders did not turn their fury inward.”

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “It’s impossible to keep people safe when they refuse to stop acting dangerously.” She turned her head to look at him. His tawny eyes met hers steadily. “I don’t know why you’re so easy to talk to.”

  “Perhaps because I do not fear you.” He used a clawed finger to trace a delicate line over her palm. “You are quite used to being feared, aren’t you?”

  She gave a gentle tug, but he refused to let go of her hand. “Only the guilty have to fear me,” she said. “A Vice Hunter’s duty is to protect. Especially when citizens can’t help themselves.”

  “Don’t you think that’s up to them?” he asked.

  Curious question. “Who wouldn’t want to be kept safe? Are you saying people actually prefer being put in constant danger? That they’re okay with just tossing out their good fortune for the Marauders to target?”

  He appeared to consider her question very carefully. “Tell me, do you think the Union could protect Guerre from a Marauder attack?”

  She frowned. “Of course. Once we get ships to patrol—”

  His brow ridges rose. “It would take the Union some time to reach Guerre. We’re not located near a main Jumpgate. There is no one out here to help Guerre. We cannot afford to rely on the Union. Nor do we wish to.”

  Logic told her that Enlightenment’s words were flawed. That his thoughts were—wrong, somehow. How could someone not wish for the power and protection a government like the Union could provide? To choose barbarism? To choose to be alone and defenseless? “It doesn’t make any sense. Even if the Union isn’t there immediately, knowing that the Union protects you is—”

  “At best, an empty comfort in the face of reality,” Enlightenment finished for her. He dropped her hand and rose from his seated position. “I believe I’ve given the database enough time to provide us with more likely locations of your actuator.” He leapt nimbly from their pile of artifacts to the next one and then to the floor, headed for the door to his office.

  Alone, she found herself reaching for that mirror again. She gripped the handle tightly. Was it true, what he said?

  Of course not, she told herself. The Union’s been there for me when I didn’t even have memories to rely on. I have to be there for the Union.

  Treska sifted through the pile again, this time retrieving a small wide-rimmed dish, whose burnished-brass surface glowed warmly in the light. Slender openwork slits dotted the flat rim of the dish, just at the edge of the bowl. Unlike most of the pieces, this one felt less like mass-produced everyday equipment and more like an heirloom. She wondered if Enlightenment knew about it. “This one looks old.” She rubbed the tarnished edge of the dish and saw silver beneath the black.

  “Simple brass,” he replied. “It can’t be worth much. The Hathori are quite capable of working pure artistry with finer and rarer metals.”

  She flipped the dish over. “No, look.” She put her fingers on the edge of the dish and turned. Silver slid against brass with a peculiar metallic friction, and from the slits in the rim of the dish sprung thin strips of silver in the shape of lotus petals. Fiberoptics at the edge of the petals flickered to unsteady life. “It’s a lotus bowl.”

  “Egads, you’re right.” Enlightenment peered at her from over the tops of his spectacles. “You certainly know your history of Vice. Lotus bowls haven’t been in use for at least three hundred years. Confiscated one, have you?”

  “I—” for a nanosecond, the room shifted, and she remembered hearing the metallic slide and snap of petals opening and closing. Her fingers remembered turning the rim of the dish over and over and— She stared down at the odd little cup in her hand. “I must have, several years ago.”

  “Come now.” He held out a pawlike hand and helped her to her feet. “I find a brief respite does wonders for one’s cognitive abilities, not to mention one’s ability to recognize visual cues that indicate they have found what they’re seeking.”

  She glanced back at the pile of unconventional treasures. “I don’t suppose an actuator is going to be in a Hathori temple’s cast-offs.” She turned to him. “I don’t suppose you have another one of those cluck-bird packs, do you?”

  He offered her a wholly feline, fang-toothed grin. “Oh, even better. Sweet and sour Barthenian roamer fry-up. Guaranteed to taste fresh off the grill.”

  Enlightenment was as good as he promised, and the food was good, even if it had a little of that preserved aftertaste. With Barthenia being at least a two-day trip towards the Jewel, fresh Barthenian anything wasn’t going to be something that happened in reality anyway.

  They ate on the living level, and Treska felt a mild sense of guilt for eating not at a table, but reclining in a giant pile of well-stuffed pillows. It felt wrong, somehow, but in a totally harmless way. A rebellion with which she could be comfortable. After eating, she gave into the urge to flop backwards into a complete sprawl, enjoying the absence of hard rocks or a haptic-feedback piloting couch that wouldn’t hesitate to shake her to the point of retching just to warn her when the necessary hadn’t been cleaned in awhile.

  She turned the rim again and the fiberoptics darkened and the petals slid back into their housing, leaving the bowl unadorned save for the openwork slits. She couldn’t shake the sense of familiarity the motion gave her, but she honestly couldn’t remember coming across many Hathori at all. Vice Hunters encountered them, of course, but she seemed to be on differing missions than the ones that encountered Hathori. She spun the rim back and forth, faster and faster, her fingers moving of their own volition. It was a race, she thought. To see how fast she could open the flower and close it again. And there might be a treat hidden inside one time. There was always the hope.

  “Remembering an adventure?” Enlightenment asked.

  She shook her head. The treat tripped something in her mind. “No. It bears a resemblance to a therapy sphere I used. You turn the sphere and match the shapes and it opens. A child’s game.” Although she couldn’t have been a child when she used the sphere. She didn’t remember a childhood. But she did remember the therapies. Dozens of them, aimed at teaching her to walk, to move, to breathe again after her body had come back from the brink. And the medications. “A treat falls out if you guess the shapes in the right order.” No, not a treat. Pain medication. Show progress in exchange for pain relief until the pain relief didn’t motivate you anymore. “It must be that.” She held out the dish.

  “Hm. If you say so.” He pushed it back. “You keep it. It’s undoubtedly worth a little on the black market, but since I don’t do that sort of thing—” his whiskers twitched. “Perhaps you could have it enshrined in a museum.”

  Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir, she thought. I never d
id get to make up the Hathori unit. The Director had pulled her from training that week and sent her to Medical. It was the first week of taking her inhibs at full-strength and Doctor Rimana had wanted to run extensive tests, just in case she experienced reactions. The Director had seen to her education that week, and his subject matter should have been fascinating—the fast-tracking of the new Articles of Union and Basic Civilized Sentient Rights laws, and the Revised Defense Initiatives that would release the old Star Empire from the dangerous weight of its own corruption. But his cybernetic monotone would have driven her crazy if she had to spend one minute more than a week in his company. The man might be a brilliant director and a civic visionary, but he was a damn boring teacher.

  “I don’t think the Union is interested in preserving much from the old Star Empire.” She glanced at the pile of artifacts. “At least, not this part of it.”

  “And you don’t find an unusually high level of denial in that?”

  She shook her head. “We rebuilt after the attacks. That’s what the Union is. We rebuild. We get rid of the burdens of corruption and make ourselves stronger, better, and safer.”

  Enlightenment shot her a sideways glance over the tops of his spectacles. “The Capitol couldn’t have rebuilt its strato-scrapers without the ‘burden’ of the old bones that survived the attacks. What was left of you? From what bones did the Union rebuild you?”

  Reconnection

  Micah reached the cliffside opening large enough to accommodate a man—or a Mauw—and dragged himself inside, sprawled flat on the floor while his chest heaved and his muscles shook. He wasn’t sure how long he lay like that, gasping like a fish and hoping the feeling would come back to his cut and bloodied fingers, before he heard an amused voice.

  “I’m sure I would have remembered acquiring a psypath-shaped welcome mat.”

  Micah took his time opening one eye and peered up at the slender Mauw. “I’ve been called a pushover before, but never a welcome mat. I’ll add it to my list of epithets.”