by Jody Wallace
“No kids or, you know…a partner?”
“Not yet,” he told her, watching one expression after another cross her face in rapid succession. She was so far from the cool, composed sales associate who had kicked him out of the Tank Union headquarters that he wondered how she could be both people. What had it taken for her to hide her real self to do her job every day?
After a final pat, she released his shoulder and leaned back again. “But you want those things?”
That was a more personal question than he liked to answer. Giving people particulars often resulted in them taking advantage of him later. He’d only known Briar for a few days, and she confused him, for sure. But what would it hurt to be honest about something that had no connection to the problem at hand?
“Sure, I want those things, but if I don’t get them, it’s no reason to be disappointed.”
“Huh,” she said, as if this was the first time she’d considered such a philosophy. The high-speed train zoomed out of Yassa Port as they passed the time in small talk. Grey, flattened hills dotted by scrap heaps or boxy buildings were the only scenery. “Trash Planet factories, a lot of them, support families. Children are our future, and so on and so forth, and if the factory treats them well, maybe they’ll want to work there. We don’t attract a ton of immigrants since we make our living in the garbage, and we do not cater to slavers or indenture. Workforce is always at a premium.”
“Lots of places in the galaxy are harsher than Trash Planet,” he observed. The things he’d seen in Gizem Station made his skin crawl. Oka Conglomerate, even as it worked its own citizens hard, had shielded him from the realities of the Rim. What happened when your community wasn’t a community? When folks with more power preyed on you and everyone else, and there was little you could do?
“I know,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “I hate that those people don’t have the wherewithal to travel here or realize it’s an option. We’d take ‘em, if they could. And their families. I really think we should work harder at galactic recruitment, but none of the unions can agree on how.”
The box factory did have a lot of kids running around. Not in the factory itself, but in the barracks with their guardians or parents. It was one reason he’d begun to lower his barriers—the balance of folks was akin to the space stations in Oka. Gizem had been a strange, adult wasteland as far as he was concerned. “Are all of the factories like Su’s place?”
“Some aren’t family-friendly.” She pulled a face, and the rumble of the train increased as they crossed through another port. “Like the toxics. You won’t find many families in Hazer because the work tends to make you sterile. I mean, apprenticeships, sure, but those aren’t little kids.”
“Tank Union?” he asked.
Her expression smoothed as she thought about her former employer—back into the salesperson veneer. Which was different from the enthusiastic educator persona she’d donned in the Sikong as they attempted to outwit Steven Wat and his hired hands. “It’s a factory by factory thing in Tank.”
“What about people not with unions? Like Han-Ja?”
“Oh, his family disowned him,” she said with an eye roll. “As far as I know, he doesn’t have a permanent partner or any kids. Some children end up in one of the crèches. I grew up in the one in Yassa Port.”
Oka Conglomerate had those, as well, places designed for children to be cared for if their guardians wouldn’t or couldn’t. No shame in it. When his grandparents had passed, his father had taken a second job to pay off medical bills, and Lincoln had spent about a year in a crèche.
Before Lincoln could think of a way to politely ask what a crèche in Yassa Port was like—some questions led to painful answers, and he didn’t want Briar to be in pain—Mighty sneezed and squirmed, waking up. Lincoln parted the fabric to give him breathing and talking room before the cat had to ask.
To tell the truth, the cats didn’t need to push him, because he was a sucker for them anyway. Or at least this one.
“What’s happening?” the cat asked with a slur. “Where are we?”
Lincoln scratched him between the ears. Mighty liked to wake up to some pets, followed by a snack, except they didn’t have a snack. “Headed to the box factory. How do you feel?”
Mighty yawned in his face, giving him a snoot full of cat breath. “That was better than nip. I can’t wait to tell the rest of the cats.”
Mighty crawled out of Lincoln’s coveralls and he zipped back up, but not before he noticed Briar looking at his chest under the tatty shirt.
Her gaze dropped to the cat when she saw him watching. “Tell the rest of the cats what, exactly?” Briar asked Mighty.
“To visit that marvelous room.” Mighty stretched out his body, a long, lean snake of black fur with paws and teeth. His front claws dug into Lincoln’s leg, but the coveralls protected him.
“That’s not a good idea,” Lincoln said. “You attracted some attention.”
Instead of expressing any regret, Mighty placed his paw on Briar’s leg to encourage some pets. She obliged, of course. “Can you procure us more of the substance to have on the ship? Queen Bea has missed nip so much. We have no more, and we haven’t found any signs that it’s being grown in the Rim. Savages, humans are savages, letting catnip go extinct.”
Of all the things humans had destroyed in the Obsidian War, this nip substance was hardly the most tragic. No one knew how many lives and civilizations had been destroyed, since the tales were told by the few survivors.
Considering gen ships were still being found to this day, some tales had yet to be told.
“I suppose we can, but…” Briar exchanged an eyebrow raise with Lincoln, or, rather, she raised her eyebrows and Lincoln lowered his chin. “Do you remember what happened?”
Mighty nudged her hand to ensure the pets kept coming. “Of course I do. I pushed the busy man to cooperate, and I tell you, he was easy to convince. He wanted to help anyway. Now you must tote me near the weaselly Steven Wat so I can find out where he’s hidden our power converter.”
Lincoln didn’t know what weaselly meant, but since the cats were born long before the war, their speech was sprinkled with many foreign things. It didn’t phase him. People all over the Rim had developed new languages and lingos, like Oka. “Not gonna be simple to get close.”
“I can hardly push him from a distance.” If there was skin to fur contact, the pushing and mindreading became easier. Like right now, with both him and Briar petting Mighty as if they couldn’t resist the lure of his silky coat. “You take Dear Barbara’s case, I read his nasty brain, then I perform some light theft.”
“Nu-uh. You don’t know if you can skip with the power converter through whatever safe he’s got it in.” Lincoln tucked his hands under his legs. How could he tell Mighty that he’d gotten so stoned in the hookah room that he’d writhed on the table and shouted about his very existence with people watching? Good thing the cat could glimpse his and Briar’s thoughts and know they weren’t lying. “There’s something we need to explain.”
“You could explain why we’re headed away from where this Steven character is. We have work to do. Make an appointment with him. It won’t take five minutes. If I can’t steal it, I’ll put him to sleep and you steal it. Then I’d like more mota.”
“They won’t let Lincoln or myself onto Tank Union property, even with an appointment,” Briar said. “And you don’t need to be anywhere in public when you’re high on mota.”
Mighty lifted his chin higher to allow better access, his eyes slits of pleasure. “Public? I was hidden from all of those oblivious humans.”
“You knocked over a hookah and yelled at everybody,” Lincoln said, losing some of his patience. “We had to pretend you were a robot.”
“I did no such…” Mighty paused and Lincoln felt a tiny pressure in his mind as the cat checked his memories. Lincoln allowed it. “Well. That’s an unfortunate side effect.”
“No kidding,” Lincoln muttered.
Mighty pranced into Briar’s lap, headbutted her chin, and pranced back into Lincoln’s lap. The cat’s concern that he’d nearly gotten them all in big trouble was minimal—which in turn increased Lincoln’s concern. Did the cats not understand consequences? How had they managed to remain under the radar for two years? “Here in a moment, I will skip to the ship. Do you need any messages delivered?”
“No, I guess we’re just stuck on the train. We’ll be passing the waystation where Steven’s supposed to make the swap with the slaver scum. We could scope it out while we have a chance,” Briar suggested.
Lincoln hadn’t known that about this Express line, but it made sense. The Mire sprawled between Yassa Port and Bunk Port along with another district that was hillier.
“It won’t come to a swap. We’ll ambush him before he gets on the train,” Mighty said, shifting his attention to the landscape outside the window, dull under the late afternoon cloud cover. His ears and whiskers perked. “Then we steal it. I used to watch all sorts of holo programs about these things.”
“A possibility.” Lincoln’s arm, with his hands shoved under his legs, pressed against Briar. He knew more than he liked about the execution of scams and cons, but only after he pieced together what had happened in the aftermath. “Would take careful planning.”
“Do you know a lot about planning heists?” Briar asked Lincoln archly.
“More than I like,” he admitted. “Mostly from the losing end, but it eventually sank in.” He hadn’t been conned since the last big one, not even in Gizem where con artists and crooks were a DIC a dozen. Was it irony that he might be on the other side of a con soon? “Heists tend to be intricate. They need time to set up.”
“You have time,” Mighty said. “Between here and the Bristleback Range is an ice storm that has blocked the tracks.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Briar said. “It’s not the cold season yet. How did you hear this?”
Mighty turned from the window and slow-blinked her. “Read a guy’s thoughts. The passengers in the carriage in front of us are all looking up the weather map on their tiny computers.” The cabin car was four cabins wide, with double hallways, and the economy cars held even more people.
“We can’t afford to lose that much time. We need to get to the factory,” Lincoln said. If it was true, the conductor would have announced it over the intercom system. Probably. He’d only been on the Express a few times, and the intercom was pretty sketchy.
“I could go to the factory instead of the ship and create the plan,” Mighty offered. The intercom sputtered as if in response to Lincoln’s hunch, but the words were too garbled to hear. “I can take your preferences into account. Lincoln is harder to read, but you are clear as a bell, cat friend.”
Her cheeks turned pink. She blushed easily, but what had the cat just glimpsed inside Briar’s head?
“That’s not reassuring,” she said.
The tip of Mighty’s tail curled in what Lincoln thought of as his happy hook. “I like it, and that is what matters.”
“I want input into any plans that involve me,” Lincoln warned. He was rarely part of the plans that affected his life—he just adapted. He hadn’t even known there were jobs on Trash Planet. Lincoln had welcomed Frank’s offer because it was better than staying on Gizem, but he hadn’t had a hand in creating the opportunity.
This undertaking with the gen ship parts, however, was partly his doing. He’d assessed the Catamaran. He’d figured out why the sleepers couldn’t be woken. He’d let everyone know the situation was urgent.
He didn’t want to fall short. Trash Planet was a chance to be a new man—a man in control of his destiny. It was time to be on the winning team.
Mighty studied Lincoln, yellow eyes unblinking. He could tell the cat was trying to persuade him of something, and he didn’t appreciate it. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” The cat’s tail coiled around his paws. “Stop being right? I’m afraid I cannot oblige. The plans must go on without you.”
“Then loop us in,” Lincoln said. “You and the other cats skip back and forth so we can take part. Comms won’t be secure for this.” Lincoln’s input was needed, because Su and Hoff were both so damned straightforward they couldn’t handle this thing with Steven Wat. They’d want to beat him up and take the piece, and that would never work.
“That sounds like a lot of wasted energy,” Mighty said. Briar stroked one fingertip down Mighty’s chest and leg, ending at his paw. “We will devise the plan without you, but fear not. As a cat, my judgment is more rigorous than humans.”
“Come on, Mighty,” Lincoln said. “We’re a team. Don’t be like that.”
“You’re a cat who didn’t realize he would become so high on mota that he nearly exposed the Catamaran,” Briar told him sternly. “And you keep disappearing when we need your abilities. What I’m saying is—you don’t know everything about this world yet.”
“I know that bristleback babies are delicious,” Mighty said, raising his paw to lick between his toes. His claws curved inward like the tiny knives they were.
“That’s…out of nowhere.” Lincoln frowned. “Aren’t those the endangered animals in the mountains you aren’t allowed to hunt?”
“Humans aren’t allowed to hunt,” Mighty corrected. “Contrast this with how ship rat pinks have to be eaten the day they’re born or their poisons are quite upsetting to the stomach.”
“I don’t understand,” Lincoln said. Mighty wasn’t pushing his thoughts, but cats had more than one way to redirect the world to their liking. What was the little devil up to besides shocking Briar?
“I might not know everything about this world, but you don’t know everything about it, either,” Mighty said. “Or about cats. Or about saving the Catamaran. Or about each other.”
“About each other?” Mighty didn’t usually confuse him this much. “I mean, we…”
“Oh, she is thinking about mating with you,” Mighty said just as casually as he’d informed them that the cats had decimated the population of endangered bristlebacks. The galaxy-wide Species Preservation Association that monitored the creatures would not be happy. “Not many of the humans in the factory want to mate with you, Lincoln. Neither does Dear Barbara. Pumpkin has told me that pair bonds are very important to humans, so it is something you should discuss. A good mating can be very relaxing. It’s so much better now that we cats have awakened.”
The more Mighty talked, the more the heat waves of awkwardness poured from Briar’s body. Lincoln couldn’t decide what to look at, so he settled on the luggage.
At least now he knew Mighty’s goal. Distraction. Big, big distraction.
“I’m going to pretend you never said these things and would not be so incredibly rude as to reveal my private thoughts about another person without my permission, since it’s my choice to share such things,” Briar gritted out in the meanest yet most convincing voice he’d ever heard from her.
Mighty quit washing his paw. “It’s rude to encourage you to mate? But it’s so nice, and I want my friends to have nice things.”
Lincoln’s skin prickled with embarrassment. He did not need the body temperatures of Briar or Mighty to heat him up at the moment. “Very rude.”
“Don’t tell people what you read in other people’s heads unless it’s to solve a crime or something,” Briar said, losing a lot of her eloquence. Lincoln couldn’t blame her. He felt dumbstruck himself. Mighty had never done such a thing in front of him. Had it been a diversion or an honest mistake?
Mighty regarded them with surprise and chagrin, from his pinned ears to his hunkered shoulders. You had to read a cat’s whole body, not their face. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I will not advise humans about mating again. I suppose even a wily old cat like me has things to learn. I always thought it was a shame you couldn’t smell when your love was interested, like we can.”
He began to purr and headbutted Briar until she relented and pet him. Next he headbutted Linc
oln, and when he scritched the cat, his hand accidentally touched Briar’s. They both yanked away as if burned. “I hope that you can forgive me.”
“Sure.” Lincoln would probably forgive Mighty anything, but he wasn’t the one the cat had put on the spot. Briar didn’t speak, but she did nod.
Apparently satisfied, Mighty hopped to the floor, flicked his tail, and winked out in a blip of blue. Lincoln could feel Briar not looking at him as resolutely as he was not looking at her.
He hadn’t let himself think of her sexually. Much. But learning she had those thoughts about him, whether idle or serious, definitely woke up that part of his brain. With the challenges before them, romantic feelings, which would inevitably follow the sexual ones since he already liked her, would get in the way.
Maybe later, though. After this? He could try a real relationship. Like his parents had, and his grandparents. He almost looked at her, to see if she was looking at him, but instead, she started talking.
“I’m sorry, but I’m kind of a perv, okay?” Briar blurted into the tiny, tense room. “It’s nothing personal. I just think about sex a lot and you’ve been around. I promise I don’t have expectations of you or anything.”
He didn’t need the cat to tell him Briar wasn’t being entirely honest. “It’s okay to expect a few things.”
She held up a hand as they both stared forward, at the teetering stack of luggage, instead of risking eye contact. “I don’t, I swear. I just have this wild imagination. It incorporates everything. Everybody. I like romance holos, sexy ones, that kind of stuff, it’s good entertainment. If I hadn’t been in sales, I might have been a script writer.”
“I like romance holos,” Lincoln said, fumbling for a way to change the subject. He’d meant to explain that she could expect him to follow through with helping the cats and stopping Steven Wat, but the words hadn’t bubbled up fast enough. “Do you have any favorites?”
“Ah.” She bit her lip. Okay, he could see her in the corner of his eye. “Shoot for the Stars?”
“But he dies at the end,” he complained. “That is not a romance.”
