Behind her, Brant cleared his throat loudly. “I would have left, but you’re both standing in the doorway.”
Her cheeks heated. She was blushing, something that she thought she had forgotten how to do.
Catherine moved around Bedivere and he swayed out of her way. “Cat,” he said softly, but she shook her head and kept going. Her stateroom beckoned, a safe haven from everything, including her thoughts and her betraying body.
Chapter Seventeen
While Bedivere stood indecisively in the doorway, Brant opened the locker next to the food dispenser and pulled out the bottle of ten-year-old brandy he had spotted there some weeks ago. The seal was broken, but barely anything had been taken out of it.
“You look like you could use this,” he said and poured two fingers and held the glass out toward Bedivere.
Bedivere shook his head. “I should…” But he stayed in the doorway. His expression was that of a man that had just had his face slapped, or been sucker-punched.
Brant knocked back the brandy in one big swallow, hissed and poured again. “We’re mid-jump and three weeks from emerging. There’s no navigating or piloting to be done and anything else that happens, Lilly can take care of it. Sit down, Bedivere. Drink.”
Bedivere moved stiffly over to the table. He bent and picked up the condiment dispenser off the floor and put it back on the table. He straightened up the containers that had slid across the top and fallen over, as Brant put the glass in front of him and got a second out of the holder.
Brant pulled a chair around to that side and sat down himself.
Bedivere rested his fingertips on the rim of the glass. “I don’t normally do this.”
“Do what?” Brant asked curiously.
“Drink with others when I’m….” He shrugged.
“You drink. I’ve personally poured you into bed. Sit down, Bedivere. You’re not going to know how this goes until you try it.”
Bedivere considered him. “Unburdening my soul? Isn’t that what Staffers encourage? Confess your sins and be forgiven?”
“It’s not my place to forgive you for anything. You’re a grown man. You get to feel better by making amends instead of asking for forgiveness. Will you sit down? You’re making me uncomfortable having to crane my neck to look at you.”
Bedivere looked amused. “So stand up.” But he sat and picked up the glass and looked at it. “Never have got to like brandy all that much.” He tossed the heavy-duty slug back like it was water and didn’t even hiss. Then he pushed the glass across the table, clearing a path through the detritus with his fingertips and left it in front of Brant. “But I should give it an honest try, shouldn’t I?”
Brant raised his brow and poured more, then pushed the glass half-way back. He poured himself another few fingers, to save the bother of pouring again later.
Bedivere picked up his. “So what happens next? I get to spill my innermost thoughts while you nod in agreement?”
“There’s therapists for that,” Brant said. “I’m just having a drink. It’s been a long day.”
“It has,” Bedivere muttered and drank some more.
“I’m curious, though,” Brant said. “Do you kiss everyone to avoid an argument?”
Bedivere’s gaze stayed on his glass. “Generally, I prefer kissing to arguing. Don’t you?”
“I haven’t kissed anyone in so long I can’t even remember any more,” Brant said.
“Is that your way of asking for one?”
Brant shook his head. “I don’t like kissing someone I don’t know.”
“But that’s one of the best reasons to kiss them.”
Brant sat back. “We’re not talking about kissing anymore, are we?”
Bedivere grinned. “I like sex. I like how quickly it lets you get to know someone.”
“I’d rather get drunk with you,” Brant said flatly and pushed the bottle across the table.
“Not your type?” Bedivere picked it up and poured.
“I don’t bed people who are emotionally unavailable.”
Bedivere paused, the bottle in mid-air He looked at him, startled.
Brant drank. “You either fuck everything that moves because it keeps up a nice shield of fake intimacy that no one can get past, or someone has already got past the shield and you’re in complete denial.”
Bedivere put the bottle down slowly. “We’re not talking about sex anymore, are we?”
Brant gave him a big smile. “Bright lad.” He drank deeply.
“I don’t get to fall in love,” Bedivere said slowly. “That’s not…it isn’t something I get to do.”
“Just watch and absorb, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just out of curiosity, how long have you known Catherine for?”
“Ninety-nine standard years and a few months. And now you’re not changing subjects, are you?”
“Ninety-nine years. That’s a long time. And you two have never…?”
Bedivere looked genuinely shocked. “No.”
“Is that because you already know her so well, there’s no need for sex?”
Bedivere glanced around. Toward the door.
“Oh, you can get up and walk away from this table,” Brant assured him. “But that’s not going to take you away from what’s making you want to go.”
Bedivere was breathing harder now. He stared into the brandy.
Brant finished off his glassful and put the glass down gently. “One of the two of you needs to stop pretending. Or you’re just going to go on being unhappy for another ninety-nine years.”
“I’m not unhappy,” Bedivere said quickly.
Brant leaned forward. “You’re not happy, big guy. You’re not even content. You stay tucked away inside this ship, up on the flight deck, like all the navigating and pilot skills in the galaxy are going to make up for the big hole in your middle.”
Bedivere got to his feet, showing only the slightest hint of clumsiness. “You don’t understand. Things like…love and…” He shook his head. “It’s impossible,” he said flatly and walked away.
Brant didn’t try to make him stay. He watched Bedivere’s retreating back and poured another drink. “Impossible? Glave said the human race was doomed, too,” he murmured and drank.
Chapter Eighteen
Drusiss II, Drusiss Binary. FY 10.070
They emerged from the gate into normal space at just under light speed, with relativistic tremors rippling through the ship and the artificial gravity barely able to compensate. It was one of the highest risk defense maneuvers Catherine had ever seen, but Bedivere hadn’t even discussed it with her. He sat at the controls, his expression grim and his gaze on the readouts.
He had been avoiding her the entire jump. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d spent most of his time on the flight deck and while he was there, there wasn’t any reason for her to check in. It was just a coincidence that they had not run into each other anywhere else on the ship, especially the common room. But that might be because she had spent a lot of time in her stateroom.
Most of the time, Catherine had been reading and researching. The search for the answer to “what’s next?” had suddenly felt urgent and overwhelming. After all, she reasoned, this next stop at Drusiss would be the last stage of her commitment to Bedivere and would severe all her current connections and relationships. She needed direction.
But no answers had presented themselves and she had found herself mired in mindless entertainment instead. History books. Novels. Vapid shows that had been distracting for as long as they had lasted. She even worked her way through every painstaking report Lilly had sent the College and had come to the conclusion that Lilly was quite as young and innocent as she had first seemed.
They had not resolved how the Federation had found them so quickly on Sunittara and while that remained a mystery, there was always a chance the Federation would re-acquire them at the other end of the jump. Despite that risk, Catherine was almost relieved when th
ey emerged from the jump into normal space, even at the structure-bending velocity Bedivere was using.
He quickly realigned the ship, sheering around the gravity well of the smaller of the two stars, which didn’t diminish their speed at all. He curved off on a flattened hyperbolic course toward the planet Drusiss II, the only inhabited one in the system.
Catherine stayed on the flight deck long enough to establish that there were no Federation ships for as far as their sensors could reach, which was a lot farther out than the ship’s original specs listed. Then she called Brant and Lilly to the common room.
Brant was the first to arrive.
“Drusiss in two hours,” Catherine told him. “I thought it was time to let you in on the need-to-know stuff.”
Brant’s smile was touched with cynicism. “I didn’t think we were here for the manolillies.”
Manolillies were Drusiss’ major export and the card that had dealt them into the Federation. The flowers were sensitive to pheromones and would change color to match the nearest person.
“I adore manolillies,” Lilly said, coming into the room. “Growing up, I thought I had been named after them. What color do they turn for you?”
Catherine grimaced. “A dreadful puce green that reminds me of vomit.”
Brant grinned.
“They say you can make them change the color they display for you,” Lilly said. “If you eat acid-based foods, they do. I’ve seen it.”
“I think I’m acid enough, thanks,” Catherine said dryly. “Sit down, both of you.”
Brant sat on the edge of the upholstered bench on the far wall and leaned on his arms. “Of course, Drusiss is famous for one other export,” he said.
Lilly frowned. “Illegal mules? That’s a myth, isn’t it? Everyone knows about it, so it can’t be true.”
“Normally, I’d agree,” Brant said. “But we’re not here for the flowers and Drusiss offers nothing else.”
“You mean they really do farm illegal mules? Here? When everyone knows about it?”
“They’re called bootleg mules,” Catherine said. “A couple of centuries ago, if you needed a bootleg, this was the only place to come. After a few College and Ammonite raids—” She glanced at Brant, but he just stared straight back at her. “—the number of farms dropped down to almost nothing. But the trade never completely evaporated. Brant, of course, would have known about that as an enforcer.”
Brant crossed his arms. “The directors thought it was better to let the few farms that survived stay in business and keep an eye on them. It was useful to know who wanted a bootleg mule.”
“Did that monitoring include spies on the ground?” Catherine asked.
Brant considered her. “Did you hire me for my combat skills, or my enforcer history?”
“I’m going to need combat skills,” Catherine assured him. “It’s just happenstance that you’re an ex-Staffer. You offered that as a selling point when you took the job, so you can’t withdraw the expertise now.”
Brant scowled. “They weren’t using spies when I was with them. That doesn’t mean they don’t use them now.”
Catherine gave a small shrug. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway. I don’t think the Staff of Ammon are in the Federation’s pocket any more than the College is. I’m just wondering what you’ll do if you spot someone you know.”
“Ignore them, most likely. I’ll be too embarrassed about what I’m doing,” Brant said bluntly. “We’re really buying a bootleg mule?”
“We really are,” Catherine said.
“He couldn’t get one the normal way?”
“No. Don’t ask me why because that’s something I won’t explain. The people we’re dealing with are understandably twitchy, which is why I wanted you along. Lilly, I’m going to need you there, too. Once we have the mule, it will be up to you to make sure it gets back to the ship.”
Lilly twisted her hands together. “All right,” she said softly. “Can I ask a question?”
Catherine nodded.
“The College told me your first stop inside the Federation, three years ago, was Harrivalé, where you went through a full course of rejuvenation. But it takes years to grow a mule to full maturity.”
“Harrivalé was the first and only world where I registered as me,” Catherine told her. “But Drusiss was our first stop. We’ll be picking the mule up early.”
“Then you’re not just going to steal someone else’s mule?” Brant asked.
Catherine held her face still, hiding her shock. “No. It’s Bedivere’s mule.”
“Then if you’re just buying a bootleg mule, why do you need me?” he asked. “If you ignore the fact that you’re not using a registered and certified mule farm, which tends to annoy the Federation, it’s a straight-forward business transaction.”
Catherine headed for the door. “Dirtside in a hundred and twelve minutes. It’s cold on Drusiss, by the way. Wear your warmest.”
* * * * *
Lilly turned her head slowly, taking in the countryside laid out beyond the cargo ramp. “Oh…it’s beautiful! It’s so…”
“Bucolic,” Brant said shortly, looking out as he checked the charge on his fletchette gun and shoved it back into the holster on his hip. Catherine wondered if he had concealed weapons anywhere else on his body, but she approved of the open display of weaponry. The LDA was a superior fletchette weapon and the nano-fletchettes it fired tended to make even the meanest enemy pause to reconsider.
She was going in with no open weapons, but that was the point of having Brant with them, especially as Bedivere refused to carry any weapon at all, even a concealed one for emergencies. Bedivere stood behind them on the ramp, wearing a heavy fur-lined coat and boots. He hadn’t spoken to her since appearing at the top of the ramp and striding down to where they were prepping to leave.
Catherine thought he looked tired, but she had learned long ago that trying to coax him to take care of his physical needs was like trying to contain a supernova. His stubborn streak would kick in because he thought he knew better than anyone could advise him.
So she ignored the hint of darkness under his eyes and looked out at the landscape.
They were deep inside the green belt, the rich farming land where food crops and the essential manolillies were grown. There were fields of them here, all budding and close to maturity. Without the influence of a nearby human, the buds were all a pale green color and their conical shapes were waving in a fresh wind blowing from the nearby hills, bobbing atop the long stalks. The wind swept over the fields like an invisible hand, stroking the flowers so they bent like napped fabric, showing sweeps of darker, then lighter patches.
There was what looked like a farmhouse with a good collection of barns, stables and out-buildings all around it, about three kilometers ahead.
Bedivere had landed the ship straddling a stream, to avoid damaging any of the crops on either side. The chances that their landing had not been noted were next to zero and as she studied the farmhouse, she saw a trio of ground cars pull out of the yard next to it and head in their direction, kicking up plumes of dust that were swept away by the wind.
“We’re on,” she murmured and took one last glance at Bedivere.
He caught her glance, but his expression didn’t change. “I suppose it’s too late to say I’ve changed my mind?”
Catherine felt her jaw unhinge and her lips part in surprise. Then she spotted the smallest of warm twinkles in his eyes. “You’re joking!” Relief touched her. If he could joke, then his distance and moodiness wasn’t as dire as she had been imagining it to be.
“I’m joking,” he confirmed softly.
The ground cars were coming closer. There was a cart track paralleling the stream that the ship’s landing struts were planted upon. The cars were at the far end of the track.
“Let’s meet them away from the ship,” Brant suggested. “I don’t like the idea of them being close enough to lob some exploding nasty into the interior.”
/> “There’s a thought,” Bedivere murmured and strode down the ramp and stepped out onto the ground. They followed him as he struck out down the track.
There were manolilly crops on either side. Lilly veered off toward the side of the track to study them. As she bent over them, the buds in front of her changed to a soft pink color. The color rippled outward in a semicircle. She laughed and the pink turned darker and shimmered outward again, until it faded slowly back to soft green.
“Amazing,” Bedivere said. He had come to a stop in the middle of the track.
Brant was behind them, guarding their rear. “I thought you said the lillies turned puce green for you?” he called out.
Catherine looked at him and he pointed to the field on the other side of the track.
She turned to look. So did Bedivere. The manolillies closest to her were a soft, deep purple and the color was spreading out like a glorious spill of ink.
“They’ve never done that before,” she murmured. “It must be Bedivere who is affecting them. Look, the point where the change started isn’t directly in front of me.”
“It’s not in front of me, either,” Bedivere said, from his position five meters down the track.
“It has to be both of you,” Brant said.
“I’ve never heard of two people changing them at once,” Lilly said.
The noise of the ground cars was growing louder.
“About sixty seconds,” Brant murmured and his hand tightened on the grip of the gun.
They waited.
The cars halted fifteen meters away. The canopies opened on all three, but only one person got out. He was a short, grossly obese man, dressed in an oversized coat that made him seem even larger. The tiny boots protruding beneath the hem of the coat looked childlike and incapable of carrying his weight. But he walked swiftly toward them, his completely bald head gleaming in the fitful sunlight peeking through the clouds overhead.
“Girisha Matsushita, it is good to see you once more,” Catherine called out.
“Katrina Sheraton! You bless my household and my presence!” He strode right up to her and held out his arms.
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