Cat Star 04 - Outcast

by Cheryl Brooks

  Sleep was a long time coming that night, but when it finally crept over her, Bonnie had another dream about Lynx. In it, he was walking away from her, and she was calling to him, but he never looked back and never even slowed down.

  Awakening with cold tears on her cheeks and feel­ing a despair that went far beyond what she should have been feeling, the rational part of her mind knew that the whole thing was just plain silly. He couldn't possibly mean so much to her after such a short time. He might have saved her life and helped her out a great deal, but he'd never been nice to her. She'd never even seen him smile. It was illogical; she should have grown to hate him, not love him! Still, it was impos­sible for Bonnie to imagine ever truly hating Lynx. The man had been a slave; at the very least, he deserved her compassion.

  She was doing her best to understand him, but it was hard to understand a man who wouldn't talk. He must have had some bad experiences with women, but what kind? Bonnie hadn't had much luck with men, either, but she had always managed to come through the hard times reasonably unscathed.

  Or had she? It was possible that the chip on her shoulder was every bit as big as the one Lynx car­ried. Running her fingers through her cropped locks, Bonnie remembered feeling just as much enmity toward men as he seemed to have toward women. Lynx had changed that by possessing all of the attributes Bonnie was searching for in a man—with the possible exception of the most important one.

  In an attempt to divert her mind, Bonnie took the worn speeder parts, went through the catalog, and or­dered new ones. Lynx might never love her, but if he could get that speeder running, he would be worth his weight in gold.

  As her pregnancy progressed, Bonnie was so exhausted each evening that even if Lynx had come seeking her company, it wouldn't have been very enjoyable—for either of them. Each market day she went walking into Nimbaza with her wares. She made a lot of money, chiefly due to Lynx's help. With more time to devote to tilling and planting, she was now able to grow more vegetables and herbs, and with Lynx providing a steady supply of rats, the enock egg production had doubled. With the money she earned, she paid her bills, and what­ever was left over, she split evenly with Lynx, some­times even giving him all of it. Bonnie lived in fear that the mines would start hiring again and that he would hear of it and leave her, so she knew she had to pay him as well as she could.

  The weekly trek into Nimbaza was hard but en­joyable for Bonnie, and though Zuannis knew there was something troubling her friend, she kept those thoughts to herself, focusing instead on preparing for the new arrival.

  "I still have the clothes my children wore when they were young," Zuannis announced. "Would you like to have them?"

  Bonnie smiled as she looked at Zuannis, trying to imagine the size of any infant she might have given birth to and decided that the clothes might fit her own child in about three years. Still, it was better than noth­ing. "Sure," Bonnie replied. "I've made a few things, but I probably don't have nearly enough. You know how it is."

  "Never enough time, is there?" Zuannis said airily. "Which is why I have offered. I'll have Joachen bring them by before you leave today. How is Lynx faring?"

  Zuannis always asked, and Bonnie always replied, "Fine. Working hard, just like always."

  Zuannis shook her head sadly. "He needs to come with you to market sometime," she said. "He is too iso­lated. It would do him good. Or perhaps I should bring Joachen with me the next time I visit."

  "He might like that," Bonnie said. "But he sure doesn't like it when Salan happens by! I mean, he actually disap­pears! Must be able to smell her coming or something."

  "Zetithians have very good noses," Zuannis said knowledgeably. She had met Lynx a few times at the farm, and the fact that he could sniff out the aroma of her freshly baked bread was a testament to the fact that there was nothing wrong with his nose—though she still re­mained convinced that there was something else wrong with him—something hormonal, perhaps.

  Bonnie knew just how good Lynx's nose was and merely nodded her agreement, preferring not to get into another discussion of Lynx's apparently nonexistent libido.

  Market days were both a blessing and a curse for Lynx. He could work without Bonnie's disturbing scent in the air, but while she was gone, he envisioned all manner of dire consequences. He wished the speeder parts would come soon, and though he told himself that it was only because he wanted to work on it, the truth was that he knew just how far it was to Nimbaza.

  "Pregnant females should not travel alone," he mut­tered to the chickens, but at the same time, he balked at offering to accompany her. She'd never asked him to, and he reasoned that this was a good enough excuse, but couldn't escape the feeling that it wasn't. "What if the child comes early?" He knew there was usually some traf­fic on the road—especially on market days—and doubted that anyone would pass her by and not come to her aid, but it still worried him, and he wished Bonnie's farm hadn't been quite so remote. Her friend Zuannis had come by a few times, and that girl from the dairy, Salan. So far, Lynx had managed to avoid Salan, but had to admit that he liked Zuannis. Of course, the main reason for that was that Salan smelled like a female in heat from a kilometer away, while Zuannis smelled of fresh bread.

  Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "Not that it matters," he said, realizing that he was now talking to the animals more than he did to Bonnie, or any other person, for that matter, and he wondered how much longer it would be before the mines would hire him. It wasn't as though he didn't enjoy the work he was doing—if he hadn't been working for a female, it would have been just fine, especially since it involved maintaining her farm implements. It might not have been as glamorous as some other occupations, but he loved working on machinery. It was straightfor­ward and unemotional; machines only required cer­tain, specific things, unlike women whose minds he had yet to understand, though he'd lived among them for years.

  Bonnie was a little different, however. He had to admit that she wasn't like other females, and if he'd met her years before, he might be feeling differently now. She was nice to him, she was lovely, and she smelled like heaven. If only...

  Then one day Bonnie got a call from Drummond. Jack was coming.

  "Said she'd be here for the next market day," Drummond reported. "You need to bring that boy with you."

  "Boy?" Bonnie echoed. "I'm not sure, Drummond, but I think he's older than I am."

  "Maybe," said Drummond, "but he seems like a boy. You know: tall and thin with big eyes and curly hair?"

  Bonnie knew this was true, and it made her wish that

  Lynx had been a boy—still young and innocent. He might have liked her better.

  "He still working out all right for you?"

  "Sure. He's a—" she paused there, letting out a long breath. What was he, anyway? A blessing? A big help? A godsend? A curse? "—good worker."

  "Well, you be sure and bring him then," Drummond urged. "Cat and Leo will want to see him, I'm sure."

  "And I'm dying to see Jack again too," Bonnie said. "She's... well... you know Jack."

  "Yeah, I know Jack," he said, chuckling. "She's one of a kind."

  Bonnie might have been a farmer, and Tisana might have claimed to be a witch, but how did one describe Jack? A shrewd trader, she was tough as shoe leather with a mouth like a drunken pirate and a heart the size of a red giant star. Maybe she would have some sugges­tions for dealing with Lynx other than letting him go on living like a hermit. Or perhaps Tisana could put a hex on him—after all, she was a witch—though Bonnie didn't think that she counted hexes among her powers. She could talk to animals and start fires with a glance, but to the best of Bonnie's knowledge, magical spells weren't part of Tisana's repertoire. She did know a lot about herbs, though. Maybe she could brew up a potion that would improve Lynx's disposition.

  Bonnie decided not to tell Lynx about Jack's visit, because even though he knew the other Zetithians ex­isted, she wanted his meeting with Cat and Leo to be a surprise—just to see if it would squeeze so
me sort of spontaneous emotion out of him—something other than the ones she'd already seen.

  The evening before market day, the cart was loaded except for the fresh eggs, but by day's end, Bonnie still hadn't asked Lynx to go with her. Recognizing that she was putting it off intentionally didn't make it any easier; she was still afraid to ask him. As a result, it was after dark when she went out to the shed.

  "Lynx?" she called from the doorway. "I need to talk to you."

  Lynx turned on his lamp, and in the dim light, Bonnie could see him, backed into his corner and pull­ing a sheet up over himself as though trying to disap­pear into the wall. It took Bonnie only a moment to realize that he had to have been naked, because his wet clothes were hanging from the harvester droid; she could hear the water dripping onto the hard floor. Her mouth went dry in an instant, and her first im­pulse was to rip that sheet right out of his hands. She stared at him as he lay there, but he was nothing like she'd imagined him. His hard body wasn't beckoning to her, nor were his eyes, which clearly warned her not to take another step closer. No, she thought regretfully, he would never let her catch him naked, no matter how much she might want him to.

  Anger, mingled with irritation at being caught in just the sort of situation he most wished to avoid, colored Lynx's voice. "What do you want?"

  Bonnie knew it was a bad time to ask, but hadn't really expected him to snap at her. Still, her reaction to seeing him in bed was more disturbing than she would have cared to admit, and the thought that she might have interrupted a "private" activity didn't help matters. "It's nothing serious," she said quickly. "You don't need to get up. It's just that I need you to go with me to Nimbaza tomorrow."

  "You have never needed me before," Lynx pointed out.

  Bonnie bit her lip, hoping that Lynx couldn't smell what the thought of ripping that sheet off of him evoked. "I know that," she said evenly. "But I need you to go with me this time."

  Lynx wasn't a bit happy at the prospect of the trek into town. Walking beside Bonnie while being constantly bom­barded with the suggestion that his body refused to consider would be pure torture. Unfortunately, she was his employer and paid him to work. If she needed him to accompany her, he could hardly refuse. "What would I do?"

  He would probably thank her in the end, since he would be meeting Cat and Leo, but his obvious reluc­tance had Bonnie's eyes stinging with tears. "I just need help," she said miserably. "You might not have noticed, since you haven't even been in the same field with me in weeks, but I'm getting bigger every day, and my feet are swollen up like a couple of melons. I feel awful, and I still have to walk into town!" She hated to beg and re­ally saw no need to, but she did it anyway. "Please come with me, Lynx. I need you."

  The trace of desperation in her voice triggered a re­sponse so automatic that Lynx had to take a moment to control it before he could reply. It was a tone that women had often used to manipulate him in the past— knowing that he was a sucker for it—but he refused to let it affect him now. Even so, Lynx knew he had no choice but to comply. "I will come with you," he said, but the note of resignation in his voice only served as fuel to feed Bonnie's despair.

  "I wish I could understand you, Lynx," she said sadly. "But I haven't got the first clue." She turned to go, but paused as another thought struck her. "By the way, have you been eating the food I've been giving you, or are you just using it to trap the rats?"

  Lynx stared blankly at her, unable to imagine why Bonnie would think he hadn't been eating—and also why she would be asking him that now. He'd eaten every scrap of food she'd ever given him, and he was still hungry. If his stomach had ever been completely full, it must have been before the war. "I have been eating it."

  "Well, you sure could've fooled me," she muttered. "The plate comes back clean, but I never get so much as a thank you, and you're still as skinny as a rail. Would it kill you to even acknowledge the fact that I'm—oh, never mind! It doesn't matter; I don't know why I bother." Waving a dismissive hand, she said, "Just be ready to go in the morning, okay? And you might wear the clothes I gave you—clothes that I made for you my­self, I might add—instead of those rags you seem to be so fond of."

  Lynx was beginning to wish he'd just said "yes" to begin with, because then she would have already left, and they wouldn't be having this discussion. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything more, but the fact that she was irritated with him for no good reason egged him on. "Is my work not to your liking?"

  "What?" she asked, momentarily diverted. "No—I mean, yes. Your work is just fine. I haven't seen a weed in the garden in ages. The alteration to the enock pen was an absolutely brilliant idea, and feeding them rats has got them laying eggs like crazy. Things have been run­ning smoother than they ever did. Why do you ask?"

  "You are angry with me," he replied.

  She sighed. "I think it's more frustration than anger," she replied. "And it isn't because you don't do a good job!" Pausing a moment to take a deep breath, she went on, "It's lonely here, Lynx! I get the occasional visi­tor, but it isn't the same as... well, you might enjoy the solitude, but I certainly don't, and this was never how I intended to live when I came here with Sylor. I know that working for me wasn't what you had in mind, and I'm really sorry you don't like women, but, Lynx, it's not my fault! I've done the best I can to make you feel comfortable here, but you still act like I'm no better than the dirt under your feet. I just wish it could be different, that's all."

  "I cannot be your lover," he said abruptly.

  Bonnie stared at him in bewilderment. She must have missed something. "What? Who said anything about being my lover? I mean, look at me, Lynx! I can hardly move! The very last thing I need right now is a lover, and if you're smelling any 'desire,' it certainly isn't coming from me!" This wasn't true—she knew it, and he prob­ably did, as well—but Bonnie saw no point in admitting it when it was so abhorrent to him. Letting out a deep breath, she looked at him beseechingly. "I sure could use a friend, though. Would it kill you to try?"

  If the look on his face was any indication, it probably would have.

  "Oh, just forget it," she mumbled. "I give up."

  Chapter 7

  The hike into Nimbaza was a silent one. Bonnie was still wishing that Lynx would at least talk to her, but the fact that he hadn't worn the clothes she'd given him didn't offer much in the way of encouragement. Bonnie couldn't understand him at all. To her, it seemed that having gotten a job working for her was one of the best things that could have happened to him—the min­ers didn't have that great a life; the pay was good, but the work was hard and being stuck in a mine all day didn't appeal to Bonnie in the slightest. She'd given him a good job that had kept him from being deported, and he was acting like he'd been sent to prison. The whole thing made her want to pull out her hair, not just cut it.

  Bonnie mulled it over for the entire eight kilometers to Nimbaza and came to the conclusion that perhaps she'd been going about this all wrong. She'd obviously been too nice to Lynx and should be demanding a little more respect, if nothing else. She should be starving him into submission, not trying to fatten him up for market. No, she couldn't starve him—Bonnie didn't have the heart to starve the male enock who'd tried to kill her— but she could cut down his portions. That way, if he got hungry enough, he might appreciate her more, though she doubted it.

  Then she remembered the cookies and figured she ought to feed him more, not less, because just the thought of Lynx hoarding cookies made her want to cry all over again. That was the problem, she told herself; she was just too emotional right now. If she hadn't been pregnant, none of this would have gotten to her. She wouldn't have cared whether he ate anything or not as long as he did what she expected of him.

  Lynx knew Bonnie wasn't very happy with him, but considered this to be a good thing. If she disliked him enough, she wouldn't feel desire, he wouldn't have to smell it and be reminded of the effect that the scent of a woman should have had on him. He hadn't explained just why it was that
he couldn't be her lover. He'd left that to her imagination.

  Still, Bonnie had been good to him, and he'd repulsed her. He was well-fed and had money in his pocket for the first time in what seemed like his entire life, and she was the one responsible for that. He was sorry for upsetting her, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he'd apologized, she might have begun to desire him again, and he didn't want to take that risk.

  Trying not to think about her, he focused on the money instead. When he'd worked in the mines of Paemay, he hadn't considered the money he earned to be his own; it was being saved for his passage to Terra Minor, and he rarely spent any of it unless it was ab­solutely necessary, even to the point of going hungry most of the time. He'd had a goal back then, and he'd been single-minded enough to see himself through some difficult times.

  But it was different now. He had money, but no real reason to spend it—or even save it—and the dream of buying his own land seemed so remote. He told himself that it wasn't true, that he could do it eventually, but he was having a hard time convincing himself.