It did.
“Repair additional maintenance androids,” he decided.
“Yes, Captain,” the Ship replied.
Ruis whistled through his teeth. He was Captain. He tapped his finger on the map where the DNA Room was located. It was a huge room filled with samples of all the life of Earth, information on papyrus and film and “bubbles.” Encyclopedias of instructions and diagrams.
A tingle of awe ran up his spine at the thought of all that knowledge available to him. So many options for his learning and his life to follow that he struggled to choose what to do first.
But he knew what he wanted the most. He wanted to see D’SilverFir. The feel of her body under his hands had only made him want more.
Samba entered and jumped onto a cabinet. She hooked a paw in the door and something fell out. She peered down at it. When Ruis saw the satchel from his old rooms, he scowled. That was his shame. Heat flooded him as he flushed with guilt. He didn’t like the way his gut twisted, either.
What’s this? She jumped down.
The two Earthsuns rolled out. Ruis grimaced. He’d have to return the gems to Stickle, the man who mistreated his apprentices. No way to avoid it. But the jewels had meant a lot to Ruis—they had meant safety from Bucus, days spent working with his mind and hands instead of his arms and back, being beaten by his supervisor.
He glanced at his watch. It was an ancient thing he’d found and fixed when a youth, depending upon a tiny spring to work. Ruis had replaced the insides many times, altering it and the face to reflect the seventy minute septhour and twenty-eight-hour days. A Celtan “timer” used Flair technology to measure time, impossible for him to wear.
Evening was falling. Soon he could leave the Ship and use the shadows of the autumn dusk to augment his cape.
He was taking a chance in returning the T’Birch necklace. His jaw clenched at the thought of the noble. The Birches had voted for Ruis’s death. He could feel the red tide of anger rise.
Ruis swung a fist at the wall, and it connected with an absorbent panel the Ship had fashioned for him. He pummeled the strip until his breath came fast and his fury died.
Then he showered, grimacing wryly. Outside the Ship he couldn’t afford to be reckless and vengeful against the nobles. That was a battle he could never hope to win. Outside, all the power was with them.
But here, he ruled. His lips curled back from his teeth as he thought of the vengeance that he could have on the nobles, on all of Druida, if he liked. For a moment glittering temptation beckoned. He liked the feeling of power, let it flood his body and surge through his blood.
A moment later he set aside the false lure. His culture had abominated him, but he’d developed good qualities: pride and honor, love of the ancient Earth technology. The cost of vengeance was much too high. His image of himself as different and better than the nobles would be shattered for all time.
On the Ship he knew the folly of revenge, but when he was outside with a price on his head, moving in a civilization that despised him, his anger would strike again. He would have to be more careful of his own emotions than of the guardsmen of Druida.
A clank came from the workbench. Samba trotted along it, a silver necklace in her mouth. When she reached him, she dropped it and spit out some shiny pieces of Earth mechanicals.
Ruis raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
Samba sat on her haunches and moved the pieces around, setting them in a line near the necklace. Tonight we go to the big playhouse.
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin regally and stared at Ruis with green eyes. All Cat Fams have necklaces—
“Collars.” His brows drew together as he ran through the Fams he knew. She was right.
Jewelry. Is a Rule. D’Ash says so. Samba sniffed.
“I see.” He looked at the silver chain he’d found broken in the dirt and repaired. Neither the chain nor the little bits of metal and colored enamel were valuable to Celtans. Samba would be safe wearing them.
“All right.” The same pride that demanded he dress like his true status required that his Fam have a collar. Ruis wiped off the Earth parts with a rag, then strung them on the chain that was slightly larger than Samba’s neck. He loosened one link in the chain. “I’m going to make it so if it catches on anything, you’ll break free.”
“Yesssss,” she vocalized. My price for doing what you want tonight.
Shocked, he started, then laughed. He’d heard rumors that cats charged their FamPeople for errands.
“Agreed.” He smiled. He wouldn’t indulge in physical revenge, but a little embarrassment of his enemies was another matter.
GreatLady D’Birch was going to the opera tonight. Before he was caught Ruis had strategized on how to return the necklace. He knew the T’Birches’s habits. Right now the gown D’Birch would wear tonight hung in the empty bespelled T’Birch laundry shed, being restored and freshened. It was simple for him to enter the shed, loosen a sleeve seam, and slip the necklace inside.
How everyone would stare when the loose threads of her sleeve pocket broke and the emerald necklace she’d accused him of stealing tumbled out!
Samba purred as he fastened the collar around her calico neck, smoothing fur under the piece.
She pranced around the quarters, tinkling. His heart tightened. He loved her, this plump cat. She was beautiful in her collar, and enjoyed it more than D’Birch would ever prize her emeralds.
That thought led him to the image of GrandLady D’SilverFir. He needed to see her, just to remind himself that not all nobles were arrogant, overweening, and selfish. Anticipation lodged in his bones. He was sure she’d be at the opera.
Enough thinking. Time to act. Ruis went to the closet and took out the light-bending cloak. Just like himself, it contained no psi-based spell. Just like himself, it was made of interesting stuff. Just like himself it was something Celtans didn’t comprehend.
You and I go play.
He glanced down at Samba. “You know the plan.”
Yessss. Her whiskers bobbed in satisfaction.
Pausing beside the intricate Captain’s desk, he scanned the functioning lights. Each day the Ship brought a new program on-line. He was learning the technologies bit by bit. A blue holo light glittered. Ruis ran a finger through it. “The prophecy program has been initiated,” a low, sultry female voice said.
Ruis jumped back, then laughed shortly. Prophecy! The whole world revolved around psi powers he didn’t have. He snorted and reached through the holo of a whirlwind of cards to cut the light beam and abort the program.
One card spun in the holo, enlarged, then became animated. A man and a woman walked hand-in-hand. Ruis froze. The man looked a bit like him and wore what Ruis recognized now as a lieutenant’s uniform with pentacle shoulder patches. The woman was small and voluptuous with tumbled black hair and a heart-shaped face.
A wall near them toppled.
Ruis cried out.
The man grabbed the woman and jumped aside. They stood, disheveled and with minor, bloody scratches.
Ruis noted their blood looked darker than his own.
“Love and Danger walk the night. Be careful, Captain,” the female voice said.
Prophecy. He didn’t believe in it.
Samba sniffed. Cards are the old-fashioned suits. She looked up at Ruis. We be careful. She planted a paw on the door button and marched out ahead of him, tail swaying. She glanced back with slitted eyes. I watch. Let’s go play.
Ruis followed slowly. Prophecy. It wouldn’t work for a Null, would it?
Alone in her den, Ailim dropped her head back against the chair. She rested her eyes until duty nagged her and she looked down at the wretched ledger sheets on her desk. Primrose whined to be lifted to her lap. “Be careful of my gown.” Ailim lifted Primrose eye-to-eye.
Me love You. Me go to opera?
Ailim groaned. She preferred instrumental music. Lately she’d been listening to new artists that mimicked the sounds of the Colonists�
� journey to Celta, “spacewave” music. The odd bells and bongs, a trifle metallic, pleased her and fed some deep need. Her liking of the strange music was her little secret.
Primrose’s eartips quivered as if trying to lift. Me go in Your sleeve pocket. Me be very good. Me not snore.
Ailim laughed and petted her Fam. “Your snore won’t drown out this sort of music. It’s some ancient incomprehensible Earth thing, high-pitched singing by a bunch of rotten characters about their miserable lives and nasty plans.”
“I have never heard Das Rheingold described in such a way,” Aunt Menzie said coldly from the doorway. “I trust you aren’t taking that disgusting furry object.” Not bothering to close the door, she advanced until she was in front of Ailim. Hectic color mottled Menzie’s cheeks, yet shadows rested under her eyes.
Primrose whined.
Ailim gathered her thoughts to reply to Menzie’s last question. “Yes, I’m taking Primrose with us to the opera. As Cona says, it is the fashion to parade Earthpets.”
Menzie snorted. “Fashion can be awkward. Ah, I wish to drop a word in your ear.”
Ailim stared. Aunt Menzie trying to be tactful? The woman had never bothered to be anything but rude. Ailim lifted her chin. “Yes?”
As Menzie smoothed her damask skirt, her ring-encrusted fingers flashed in the light. “I want my daughter Cona to make a HeartMate match.”
Impossible. Who would HeartBond with a woman like Cona? “Oh? Have you had indications in your divination system that such a union is upcoming? You use runes, do you not?”
Menzie frowned. “There is evidence of an impending important marriage—”
“Perhaps it is Cona and Donax.”
“I don’t like that match. He is beneath her—”
“They are nearly equal in status. He is the son of a man who will become T’Reed. She is the great-great-niece of a former T’SilverFir,” Ailim pointed out. “Donax has tested high in financial Flair and will be extremely wealthy one day. So will D’SilverFir if we keep him in our Family.”
Menzie’s eyes glittered. She clutched her pursonal that Ailim sensed contained the baleful amulet. Since they were leaving the Residence, Ailim said nothing.
“Hmmm.” Menzie stroked her bag and she shook her head.
“What does Cona’s divination system say?” Ailim asked.
Menzie stared down her nose. “Cona leaves her prognostications to me.”
“She doesn’t practice daily divination and meditation?” Ailim was aghast.
“And you do?”
Ailim flushed. She’d been conscientious in her meditations, but her auguries always showed responsibility, duty, financial worries, burdens, and Family quarrels. The prophecies had been too depressing over the last month to face anymore. “I meditate in the HouseHeart,” Ailim said.
“Ah, yes, the HouseHeart, the most sacred place in the Residence.” Menzie’s voice became more guttural. “I wanted to talk to you about it. Cona was lucky and had quick and easy Passages, so she didn’t connect with a HeartMate.”
In other words, Cona’s Flair for dress design wasn’t great enough to trigger the deep emotional traumas. Each of the three Passages tested an individual to the core before freeing major Flair. Ailim’s had come early and she’d barely survived.
“I want permission to use the HouseHeart to determine if Cona has a HeartMate,” Menzie said thickly.
“No.” The word spurted from her lips before Ailim could frame a more diplomatic reply. She petted Primrose, tangling her fingers in the puppy’s silky hair. Tension hummed in the air. “So long as you have the amulet, the HouseHeart is closed to you. As is the D’SilverFir ritual grove by the river.”
“You can’t forbid me. It’s my right to use the HouseHeart once a year for three and a half septhours!” she screeched.
“True. But I can set conditions. You must leave the fetish outside the gates of D’SilverFir estate before you will be allowed in the HouseHeart. I will not have an alien object tainting D’SilverFir sacred space, particularly since I will be visiting the HouseHeart every day until my title confirmation and loyalty ceremony next week.”
“No.” Menzie fisted her hands and pounded on the desk.
Ailim stared. She’d never seen Menzie so out of control. “You are not yourself. Perhaps you should stay home tonight.”
Menzie shut her eyes and shook her head as though shaking insects away. When she opened her eyelids, the blue looked faded. “I’m going.”
Ailim lifted Primrose and tucked the pup deep into her sleeve. “Very well. But I am concerned for your health. I’ll call a Healer to examine you.”
Glaring with her usual vigor, Menzie curled her lips. “No.”
“Yes. I am responsible for the health of my Family.”
Donax put his head inside the door. “Our glider is here.”
“Thank you.” Ailim rose.
Primrose wriggled and popped her head out of Ailim’s sleeve. Out. Singing. Fun.
Menzie turned on a precise heel and stalked from the room, not deigning to notice Donax.
When Ailim drew up to him, she asked, “Are you interested in marrying Cona?”
He nodded.
“I don’t suppose you would care to make a HeartGift?” Ailim asked.
“For Cona?” His snort was deeper than Menzie’s, but just as disdainful. “Not likely. I don’t have a HeartMate this lifetime. No suggestion of it during my Passages to free my Flair, so I didn’t make a HeartGift then. And I’m not a damn fool like T’Ash to suffer through another Passage.”
He sounded far too cheerful about not having a HeartMate, a partner to love and cherish. Ailim would have been depressed at such news. That realization startled her. Had she such romantic notions, still, at her age? She did.
But she didn’t know whether she had a HeartMate. Her Passages had taken place early in her childhood, before puberty, so she’d never felt any sexual or love connection with another.
Donax escorted her from the room. “I’ll settle for a wife, not a HeartMate.” He grinned. “A marriage alliance will suit me fine.”
Ailim sighed. “You’d best invest in some jeweled baubles from T’Ash.”
His scowl gratified her.
Ruis and Samba stood in the shadow of the Opera House’s huge pillars framing the edge of the large terrace. He’d chosen the spot carefully. The oldest stones would bear his Nullness for a couple of septhours before the first few layers of spells were affected. He’d also calculated the distance between himself and the opera-goers. They’d feel a low irritation, but wouldn’t be able to define it as Nullness impinging upon their auras.
Large family gliders belonging to nobles whispered to the curb on their cushions of air. Naturally, Ruis had never ridden in one. He stared, wondering about their working parts. Vehicles came and went as he focused on their manufacture and propulsion, ignoring the people who disembarked.
Ruis petted Samba as they waited for the D’Birch glider vehicle to arrive. At the appropriate moment Samba would jump at D’Birch, tear her sleeve, and the emeralds would roll out.
A corner of Ruis’s mouth quirked. It had been as easy as he’d planned to insert the necklace into the thick hem of the dress sleeve. Now his own play was about to begin.
He knew that the “found” emeralds wouldn’t change his own circumstances. He’d been banished more for being a Null than for his breaking of any Celtan law. So embarrassing D’Birch was the sole satisfaction he’d get from this night’s work—and the knowledge that he’d kept his own code of honor.
Samba fluffed her tail up, arched her back, and hissed. He followed her gaze to see his uncle a few meters away, lecturing his head-bowed wife.
Ruis’s gut clenched. His body jerked in checked movement as he stopped himself from instinctively plunging forward to bury his fist in the man’s soft belly. Except for the trial, Ruis hadn’t seen Bucus for years. His uncle was overweight and out of shape. He never had to fight for food scraps and make
do with whatever diet he could scavenge. He never had to keep a sharp eye out or maintain a honed body to run from a murderous enemy.
The idea of pouncing on Bucus like Samba pounced on a mouse in a park sizzled through Ruis. He could see his own fists pummeling the man, hitting him until each and every one of the razorslits, each backhanded slap, each hurtful blow to Ruis as a boy was paid for in full. The image was so sweet he could taste it, rolling around in his mouth like the richest candy.
He took a step forward. Samba grabbed his trous leg in her teeth. The little ripping sound sobered Ruis. To attack his uncle would be suicidal. There were guardsmen near the door, and most nobles had their own Family guards.
In the past, assaulting Bucus might have been worth punishment. But not now. Not when Ruis had the Ship. And Samba. And the thought of more moments with D’SilverFir.
Ruis slid back into the shadows and steadied his breathing from the ragged panting of anticipatory battle. Cool air settled his hot blood. He looked at his uncle and knew that someday Bucus would fall under his vengeful fists. Ruis smiled.
“MMMrrrffoww,” Samba growled, then spit out cloth. D’Birch comes.
So she did, sweeping up the stairs in an overdress of white and gold, stiff with embroidery and the twinkle of small gems.
Ruis smiled again. His pulse sang in his ears. A little payback would come due tonight. He’d taken the D’Birch necklace when it had slid off the GreatLady’s neck, but now he could return it. The damned necklace that the noblewoman believed was worth his life.
“Ready?” he asked Samba.
“Yessss,” she said. She flexed her claws, hopping a bit. The light in her eyes matched that which might be in his own.
As D’Birch climbed the last step and lingered to see who was on the great portico and who was arriving, Samba moved. The cat streaked across the marble-squared pavement to catch the lowest drape of the woman’s left sleeve and tug.
Silkeen ripped. D’Birch screamed. Samba flattened her ears. Tumbling from the gown, jewels flashed green and gold.
A jolt of exhilaration arrowed through Ruis. Done! The plan carried out, GreatLady D’Birch caught in a malicious lie. She hadn’t been able to sense him when she’d lost the emeralds, but had blamed him anyway. Now they were returned and her words at the trial would mock her.
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