by Jody Wallace
“Gotcha.” Su grabbed his wrists before he could fall. “Four more rungs.”
Between the two of them, Wil slumped out of the tube and onto the walkway beside her. He lay on the floor and sighed, his long eyelashes two circles of black exhaustion on his cheeks.
She’d not paid enough attention, pushed him too far. What level was this? The walls were bare black stone, bumpy and untreated, but the flooring was grooved metal. Damp. Some rust. Pathway over a crevice? The tunnel network had existed long before Su was born, and the builders had taken advantage of all the natural caverns they could.
If she recalled correctly…there was a large chamber ahead. A central meeting area. Should have benches, facilities. Better hiding places than right beside a ladder. There were only so many false trails and switchbacks that would confuse DNA-seeking goggles and a murderous casino boss.
Su wrapped Wil’s arm around her shoulder and stood, using the strength in her leg to lift them both. All that muscle on him made him heavier than he looked. Wil muttered something, his breath hot on her neck, and they shuffled forward. The satchel he’d carried dangled awkwardly, so she untwisted the strap and let it drop. She’d fetch it later.
“Pumpkin?” she called. “Are those guys anywhere close?”
It felt ridiculous to call to a cat for help, but if it weren’t for the cat, Wil could have seriously hurt himself. Hells, they might both be dead. Then again, she was in this situation because of the cat, and so was Wil.
“They’re having their own trouble. Come this way,” Pumpkin urged, trotting toward her from where she assumed the meeting chamber was. He reached them and rubbed his body against Wil’s calf. The tip of his tail curled like a question mark.
“How did you get ahead of… Never mind.” Su half dragged, half begged Wil through the crevice ahead of them, grateful for the rough flooring and the steady footing it provided. It opened into a wide, low chamber with tables, benches, porta-privies, and crates of broken lighting. Here the stone had been leveled enough that the metal flooring was no longer necessary. The room smelled of machines and dirt.
The fact that the porta-privies weren’t stinking up the place suggested this area was not currently in use. It was too far from the tunnel itself. There was always the chance they might run into tunnel workers and get help. The tunnelers and road crews belonged to a union themselves, to which all other unions paid fees. The tunnel workers would have gotten alerts about the explosion so they could begin the clean-up.
There could be people besides the bad guys already looking for them in the mountain. Now that Wil had caught full cryo lag, they’d have to find a spot to wait and see who found them first.
A quick jog down the corridor both ways confirmed there were no other hiding spaces where she could conceivably drag Wil. The tunnel wasn’t monitored all day since it tended to be stable.
Unless trucks exploded inside it.
After Su stacked the broken lights, crates—nice ones, though not her design—and supplies in an artful heap that looked like it was supposed to be there, she dragged Wil’s sleeping form into the hidden space behind them. She’d lined it with emergency thintech blankets. The caverns were warmer than the outside due to some geothermals, but nobody would call them toasty. Certainly not warm enough for sleeping comfort.
As for herself, she’d considered leaving Wil behind and finding a way out of the mountain to call for help, but if he disappeared, she’d never get paid. This whole fiasco would be one huge setback with no reward.
While she felt a bit like a certain greedy uncle of hers, putting profits before people, at the same time, wasn’t sticking with Wil, guarding him, no less, putting the person equal to the profit?
So she perched at his feet on a mound of old coveralls and messed with her comm. Static, of course, but it gave her something to do besides fret, stare at the cat so he couldn’t disappear, or curl up beside Wil and lose whatever tiny advantage posting a guard could give them.
“I will watch over your sleep,” the cat offered, but she just smiled.
“I’ll be fine.” Trash Planet days were longer than most space stations and gen ships, and she wasn’t at the end of her energy levels. It made calculating passage of time interesting when communicating between sectors, but there were computers for that.
“The cretins are still nowhere near here,” Pumpkin assured her.
She didn’t ask how he knew. But there was another piece of information that might come in handy. “Why did you pick me?”
The cat watched her from the closest bench, where he sat perched on the edge like a decorative lamp. The drip of water and buzz of light fixtures were the only noises besides Wil’s soft breathing.
“I could reach you,” Pumpkin said. “I can’t reach all humans. You have a clean soul. I knew you would help.”
“Clean? Come on. You’re saying I’m a sucker.” That had to be it. She’d never been clean in her life. Like her parents before her, and theirs before them, she was a Trash Planet recycler. A digger of garbage. A compiler of castoffs. Her life was closer to clean than, say, an organics recycler or an assassin or any member of the Tanks Union, because those bastards were all dirty, farking jerks, but it was in no way some shiny example of human existence on the Rim. She might occasionally lend a hand, but that didn’t make her clean. “Why can you talk and do all these things?”
The cat hunkered down, wrapping his tail around himself. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
“Can all cats do it?”
“I’m obviously quite special,” Pumpkin said.
He hadn’t answered the question, of course. “Why do you need Wil to get all that money for you?”
Pumpkin’s ear twitched. Did that mean anything? What about his crouching? His intense staring? Reading a cat’s body language was nothing like reading a human. “Food, wine, and women?”
“You…are you wanting a female cat? One like you or the other kind?” She’d already inspected the cat with her goggles tuned to every frequency she could dial, and in every setting, he read as a standard blob of mammalian life. He was fuzzy around the edges, like any creature that had traveled by Q-ship recently, but who knew where he and Wil had been before they’d wound up here?
“I’m joking.” He slow-blinked her. “I need money for the same reason anyone needs money. To obtain essential items for survival.”
“You must need a lot of items for survival.” In passing, Wil had mentioned a few numbers that they’d been raking in. She didn’t make that much money in four hundred days. Trash Planet residents used a barter system with each other, but they did need DICs for off-planet goods—and to pay employee salaries and union dues.
“You have no idea,” Pumpkin said.
“And you aren’t going to tell me.” She flipped her goggles back down, just for fun. He had a steady heartrate, faster than hers, higher temps, very sharp claws and teeth, and pupils that adjusted rapidly to any change in illumination. The goggles registered him as a low level threat.
She sort of wished he would come sit on her lap again so she could—touch him. His silky fur. The moment she’d placed her fingers on his coat earlier today, she’d realized why ancient humans had kept cats as companions. Why Obsidian Rim richie riches saved up their DICs to have their very own Earth’s Conservatory kitty. Petting the warm fur, earning the approval of the otherwise aloof creature, was so relaxing she didn’t even want to cuss.
But she suspected those kitties were nothing like Pumpkin. She still wanted to pet him, though.
“All right, fine,” Pumpkin said. He stood, stretched his body like an elastic band, and jumped off the bench, ambling to her side as if it was the least important thing he’d ever done in his life. He sat down just out of her reach. “What will you give me?”
“Um.” Had he been listening in on her brain? That could be embarrassing. She had no doubt she’d eventually harbor some lusty dreams about Wil and his oh so gloss body, so she really wished there was a way
to put a stop to Pumpkin’s mindreading. “I’ll give you pets.”
“Will you give me a promise?” he asked.
“You’re the one who needs help from me,” she protested, taking the goggles off and sticking them in her satchel. “Why should I give you something just because I may have had a stray thought about how nice your fur is?”
“I know you think Wil’s fur is nice, too,” Pumpkin said. “But you can’t have him. He’s mine.”
She straightened her spine, starting to feel the press of a long day in her vertebrae. “What are you talking about?”
“You can’t keep him here. I need him. I want you to promise me that you won’t bind him to you.”
“I can’t…” Su wished she hadn’t put her goggles away because they would hide her face and her blushing cheeks. Though why did that matter? The cat could read her like a holo-text. “I may find him attractive, but that’s hardly binding. I just want to help you. And him. For money.”
“You say that now, but human women want to keep Wil.” The cat glared at her as if she was already planning to sign Wil to a contract with her box factory. Because she totally needed to hire a dance teacher to refurbish cases and folding crate mechanisms. “He is also clean inside, like you. But I need him more, and we have a mission.”
“I don’t need him,” Su said. “I have everything I need. I mean, if I can get my truck replaced and a little extra.” She had the garbage scow to think of, which represented her dream of being able to tow junkers from space herself without having to share them. All of her loot had blown up with the truck.
“You have no mate or family,” the cat observed. “Humans want mates. Those who do not want mates tend to want cats. The human drive for companionship is—”
“I don’t need a family,” Su said tersely, “and don’t go reading my mind on that matter.” She’d made her own family at her factory, a better family, with her crew. They understood loyalty because they depended on each other, instead of just having expectations of each other.
Pumpkin blinked at her. “Very well, but I am going to need you to promise me you will not distract Wil from our mission.”
“What’s your mission?” she asked, just in case she could catch Pumpkin unaware. Admiration for Wil’s appearance and manners didn’t translate into keeping him for herself. The cat might be able to glean info from human minds, but he was no expert.
The cat’s eyes half closed, and he eased within petting range, settling himself in her lap. She buried her fingers in his fur, and warmth flowed through her body. She thought of Wil behind her, helpless, and knew that she and Pumpkin would guard him with their lives.
“My goal is to make a lot of DICs,” the cat said.
“I have no reason to distract you from that.” When she stroked the cat from head to tail, a tiny rumble of satisfaction—a purr—traveled from Pumpkin into Su. Of course she wouldn’t bind Wil to her. As if she could. The cat was barmy. Wil would never want a friendship, or anything, with a Trash Planet picker. He was used to sophisticated elites, dancers, artists, educated and wealthy citizens. The shining people of the Obsidian Rim, not the dingy riffraff. Which was fine.
All she had to do was keep in mind that Wil and the cat were responsible for the loss of her cargo and her truck and the current threat to her life. Not that it was truly Wil’s fault. He, like anyone, just wanted to keep breathing. Also wasn’t his fault Casada was trying to steal Pumpkin. Who wouldn’t?
Well, she wouldn’t. She was already in enough of a jam because the cat had chosen her. Bind Wil, indeed. She couldn’t imagine how much worse things would get if she remained in the cat’s company for long.
What else would she promise for five minutes of these delightful purrs? This feeling that everything would be all right? Even as she thought of her truck, as she remembered the roaring flames, Pumpkin twisted in her lap, offering the creamy underbelly that was somehow softer than his back.
“Scratch under the chin,” Pumpkin said in an almost drunken voice. “Yeah. Both sides. Now down the belly. Oh, dogs, not that far. Better. There. Fingertips. That’s gooooood.”
It was. It was so good. The next thing she knew, Su was waking up in the dark hollow beside Wil, the cat sprawled out across both of them. Pumpkin twitched in his sleep like an old man chasing skirts. Wil breathed deep and even. Silence and warmth surrounded them. She felt far less concerned than she should be about what time it was and why nobody was standing guard. Yawning, she cuddled the cat and the man closer and drifted off again.
Chapter 6
The sound of crackles and static woke Wil from a dream about dancing in Seva Plaza when he’d been more inclined to enter competitions than teach for them. He opened his eyes and tried to stretch, but a weight trapped him in place.
“Pumpkin, get off,” he muttered, shoving the lump aside.
It wasn’t a cat. It was a person’s arm, connected to a shoulder, connected to a…
“Take your hand off my breast,” Su whispered. “I’m trying to listen, and that’s super distracting.”
His memories rushed back like the waves in Vorona’s oceans. The garbage freighter. The woman. The explosion. Running from Casada and some bristly monsters. Ladders. And then cryo lag.
He blinked and tried to decipher where they were and what Su was listening to. They were in a dark hole with light at one end. Above them were crates and wires. Su was cuddled against him in a way that no doubt had more to do with body heat than affection, but he appreciated it. The hissing noises that had woken him sounded mechanical. And growing closer.
He patted her arm, unable to see much of her face in the dark. “Apologies. What is that?”
“I think it’s a sweeper. I’m gonna check.” She wriggled off him carefully, only kneeing him in the groin once, and backed out of their hiding place.
Now that the pleasure of Su’s embrace was gone, his body felt like he’d performed in The Celestial Eons of Vorona thirty nights in a row—stiff, sore, creaky, and old. From the smell of the mech oil and dirt and the rock wall on his left, he assumed they were still inside the mountain. But he was warm, bundled in silver thintech, and reluctant to move.
And where was that damn cat?
“Right here,” Pumpkin said from his feet. “Can you get up now? You sleep more than an old dog.”
“Is it safe?” Granted, his and Pumpkin’s definitions of safe weren’t always the same, but if the cat was talking, there wouldn’t be other people around.
“As safe as a ship full of cats,” Pumpkin said.
Wil rotated his feet and ankles, waking the muscles of his legs. Did the same with his fingers and arms. “Considering what I know of you, that doesn’t sound safe at all.”
Pumpkin curled his tail into a hook and disappeared. Joints popping, Wil folded himself out of the makeshift bunk. Outside it was colder, though the air held a hint of oppressiveness he didn’t remember from before. Not that his recall was a hundred percent. A low ceiling of natural rock was crisscrossed by wires and shoddy lights. Benches and tables were the room’s primary furnishings along with some porta-privies. He availed himself of one before heading in the direction of the motorized noises, where he presumed Su had gone as well.
His heroine knelt before a boxy robot, the back panel off, her hands deep in its innards. The noise came from the whirling treads, which slowed into silence as he approached.
“That’s got it,” she said. White letters stenciled on top of the robot said BRISTLEBACK RANGE TUNNEL MAINTENANCE. “Now to rewire the little bugger.”
He’d seen models like this, albeit more sophisticated, in domes and space stations. Used for mapping and scanning, they explored with great efficiency and sent the information to a central database. There was generally a huge fine for messing with them. Who would need to map the inside of a mountain that was already built?
Or was this bot for scanning—looking for life forms? For them.
Su shook her hair out of her face. The dark mass wa
s tangled from their night of sleep. He’d thought her hair was remarkable yesterday, and today put yesterday to shame. “I’m going to tap into the communication array and see if I can get a call out.” Her hair fell into her face again, and she glanced up at him. “Can you…”
“Of course.” He moved behind her and smoothed the hair out of her face, gathering the mass at the back of her neck. This was why most dancers favored short hair. When they needed drama for performances, they wore wigs.
“How did you know what I was going to ask?” she said, bending over the machine. “Did Pumpkin tell you?”
“No, you just looked like your hair was annoying you.” The backs of his fingers rested against her skin, and everything inside him felt warm.
She twisted with the multitool, prying loose some wires that she connected to her antique handheld comm. Though she was intent on her work, she carried on a conversation with him. “Does Pumpkin often tell you what other people are thinking?”
“When it will benefit us.” The cat couldn’t read every human with complete clarity, but persuading was another story. He didn’t need to know what cards were in their hand to convince them to botch the game. “That’s how we scam the casinos. Sometimes he pushes people to make bad plays, pushes the pit boss to look the other way, that sort of thing.”
“I would have thought they kept close tabs on cheating. You managed it for nearly four hundred days?”
“People try to cheat the casinos using technology, not cats.” It had amazed him as well, and then he and Pumpkin had gotten cocky. Well, Pumpkin had started out cocky, but they’d grown too comfortable with their system. “No technology in the world could decrypt what Pumpkin and I were doing. It took people spying on us.”
“Technology could spy on you.” She rested on her haunches and flipped up the comm antenna. “Technology let them chase you down.”
