by E J Frost
tunnels again, so there’s not much we can do
about it.
“Okay.” She carries the box up the
Marie’s ramp, but she checks it first, my
cautious kitten. Her smile tells me we got
what we wanted.
She brings me a bulb of water when she
returns to help me unload. Operating the
funnel is a one-man job, though, so there’s
not much she can do other than stand around,
watch and slurp my drink.
After I unload the last crate, I move to the
base of the Marie’s ramp and reclaim my
water. She’s left me most of the bulb, so she
was only taking tiny sips. Probably just to
tease me. She gives as good as she gets, my
kitten. I hold my arm out and tuck her against
my side when she comes to me. She turns her
face into my shoulder. Catches my sweat-
dampened tank in her teeth and tugs on it.
Then kisses my chin. “I like it when you’re
sweaty,” she murmurs.
I cup the back of her head. Stroke her
stubbly hair with my thumb. “Naughty
kitten,” I say absently. I’m watching the
tunnel. All the darker now for having three
crates stacked in front of it. Is there
movement in the shadows? A flash of white
fur? A gleam of claw? I can’t be sure, but I
think so.
“C’mon, kitten.” I lead her back up the
ramp. “We’re done here.”
Kez peers back at where I was staring.
Then glances up at me anxiously. “Is there
—?”
“Dunno.” I tap the ramp controls. Listen
to the hydraulic hiss as it closes behind us.
“But we got what we came for, so it’s time
for us to go.”
“Okay.” She slips her hand in mine.
Smiles up at me as we walk towards the
cockpit. Without hesitation. Without
question. That immediate, unblinking trust
she’s given me right from the start. I squeeze
her hand.
“You ready to take us out of here?”
She chews her lower lip for a moment.
Considering. She was watching me closely
as I took the ship down. I don’t have any
concerns about her ability to fly us out of
here, but I’m not going to push her if she
feels it’s too much.
She nods firmly.
“Then you’re driving.” I steer her
towards the captain’s chair.
Kez sits cross-legged on my workbench,
polishing one of the spare bones, watching
me cut the first knife. The bones the rats have
provided are stripped clean: no meat or
gristle left on them. But they’re not smooth,
and shaping the knives will be easier with
smooth stock, so Kez rubs the bones with the
polishing cloth I’ve given her.
She doesn’t show any squeamishness at
the task. She sets to it in the same practical,
straightforward way she does everything
else. Yet another thing I love about her.
“You ever come across anything you
couldn’t do, kitten?” I ask without taking my
eyes off the laser I’m using to cut the bone.
“Mmm?” She lifts her face, obscured by
an opaque breather that covers her from nose
to chin. I’m wearing its twin. I do not want
either of us breathing human bone dust.
“Splinters. I can’t pull out splinters. Not out
of myself. Not out of Ape or Nevie. I just
can’t do it. Makes me sick.”
“Splinters.” I try to wrap my head around
this foible. She can sit there calmly sanding
down a dead man’s bone. She can take on an
orclas with only a couple of threads of
monofilament. She can deal with her friend
puking and shitting all over her during Hex
withdrawal. But she can’t pull a piece of
wood out from under a layer of skin.
“Uh-huh. Your turn. Is there anything you
can’t do?”
I consider it for a moment. There are a
few things I haven’t done. Could I do them if
properly motivated? Probably. “Eyeballs,” I
say finally. “Anything to do with eyeballs.”
The chopdoc on Cayster had to knock me out
before I’d let him near my eyes. I didn’t mind
him cutting up my face while I was
conscious, but I was not letting him open up
my eyeballs. “And spiders. I’m not a huge
fan of spiders.” I never got to meet any of
Phogath’s rectal worms, but I met plenty of
the planet’s arachnids. The little green ones
that tunnel into your mucous membranes to
lay their eggs were the worst. I had to have a
batch of those cut out of my sinuses. That
was not a good day.
“Spiders and eyeballs?”
“Next subject,” I growl, not wanting to
think about spiders and eyeballs, particularly
not in conjunction.
“Have you ever done this before?” she
asks, tipping her chin at the bone I’ve cut in
half.
I examine the cross-section. There’s a
good amount of compact bone, which is what
I want for the knife. The honey-combed
spongy bone and marrow are no good to me.
Although I hear the marrow is edible. I’ll
leave that to the Mirrormen. “Not exactly.
I’ve used animal bones as weapons.” Mostly
as clubs. “I haven’t carved knives before.”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Yeah.” I glance at her. Have I kept her
that completely in the dark? If so, she doesn’t
look perturbed. She sights along the side of
the bone she’s been polishing, nods in
satisfaction, and turns the bone over.
“See this ridge?” I slide my forefinger
along the outer edge of the bone. “That’s
where it’s thickest. I’m gonna use that part,
so try not to polish too much mass away.”
She nods. “Aye-firmative.”
I examine the bone half I’m holding
again, decide where I’m going to start the cut
and set it back in the magneclamps I’ve stuck
to my workbench. I trim off everything but
the compact bone first and cut myself a
working blank. The knives are going to have
to be shorter than normal throwing knives to
fit my forearms. I prefer a twenty-centimeter
knife for throwing. These are going to have
to be about sixteen centimeters. Anything
longer than that and I won’t be able to bend
my wrists and elbows with the knives in
place. As long as I stick my target, that
should be long enough.
I’m also going to have to throw spear
style, which is not my preference. I get better
results with a quarter spin. But the spin
requires some weight at the back to ensure
rotation and the thicker I make the hilt, the
more bone I have to shove under my own
skin. So I end up with a design that’s more
like a damned dart than a knife. But it
> balances the competing factors.
I stay with the laser until I’ve got the final
shape and all I need to do is hone the edge.
The dry bone is easier to cut than the steel or
thermium I usually work with, but, I discover
as I begin roughing out the second blank, it’s
full of organic inconsistencies, and a thin
spot on the second blank causes the hilt to
fracture irregularly along one edge as I cut.
“Fuck.” I pull the blank out of the clamps
and toss it onto the bench next to Kez.
She frowns at it through her breather. “I
take it it’s not supposed to look like that.”
“No.”
“Well, good thing we’ve got spares.” She
hands me the one she’s been working on,
which is yellower than the previous two
bones, but when I cut it through, has
wonderfully thick ridges of compact bone.
I cut two blanks out of that one, and when
I trim the first blank into a rough, I know
these are my knives. “Musta been a milk
drinker,” I tell Kez, running my fingertips
over the dense, yellow bone.
“Or a runner,” says Kez.
“Yeah, you figure your bones look like
this?”
She sniffs. “My bones are much prettier
than that,” she says, stretching her legs in
front of her and pointing her toes, free of her
boots and encased in soft peds now that
we’re back indoors. “Probably not as long,
though.” She takes the unpolished bone and
holds it against her thigh. She’s holding it
backwards, so the head and trochanter
protrude past her knee. About six centimeters
past her knee. “Man?” she asks.
“Or Amazon.” My kitten’s fairly tall for a
woman, so the original owner of that bone
must have been over two meters. Or had legs
up to their neck.
She holds the bone out and examines it in
the strong mid-day light streaming through
the big windows overlooking the river. “It’s
funny to think of this being under my skin.”
“Not as funny as thinking about it bein’
under my skin.”
She puts down the bone. “How’s that?”
“Knives I’m carving go under my skin.
That’s how I’m gonna get them into the
meeting with Tyng. All they’ll scan is an
extra pair of bones. Lots of Mods have
those.” I might even have a few. I’ve never
checked.
Kez stares at me for a long moment.
“You’re fucking with me.”
I shrug. “Nope.”
“You are not sticking that—” She grabs
the broken blank and waves it at me. “Under
your skin!”
“Not that one. It’s broken.” I finish
trimming the blank and pop the magneclamps
to release it. I turn it over in my hand, testing
the weight and balance. It’s already pretty
good. Now let’s see if it takes an edge. I
know from experience that bone shards are
fucking sharp, so I’m hopeful.
“Hale!”
“What?” I thought we were finished with
that last subject, but Kez evidently has more
to say.
“I’m serious. Listen to me. I had no idea
that’s what you wanted the bone for. You
can’t do this. What – how . . . wait, is that
why Doc Gray is coming here? Is that the
favor? You’re going to have him implant
these under your skin?!”
“Yeah.” I flip on my grinder and let it
warm up while I move over to where Kez is
sitting. I push her legs apart and lean in
between her thighs. Peel down our breathers
so I can kiss her. “An’ you’re gonna sit next
to me an’ tell me how brave I am while he
does it.”
“No, I’m not!” Kez protests. She twists
her face away, but I cup her neck, draw her
back to me and kiss her until she stops
whining.
“I might even want you to kiss it better
once Doc Gray is done.”
“This isn’t funny.” She pushes at my
chest, but she doesn’t put any strength behind
it. “I can’t let you do this. Please, Hale,
don’t.”
“It’s done, kitten.” Well, half-way at
least.
“No, he hasn’t cut fucking holes in you to
stick those in.” She gestures wildly at the
blanks sitting on the workbench. “We’ll get
them in some other way. Please, I don’t want
you to do this.”
I catch her hand, push up her sleeve until
I find the spot where I cut her to give the rats
their blood-price. I rub my thumb over the
healed wound. “Remember this? Remember
bleeding so I’d have safe passage outta the
rathole? You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even
flinch. You think I got any problem doin’ the
same for you?”
“I don’t — it’s not —” She shakes her
head and glances around like she’s looking
for some other answer. She also looks like
she’s about to cry.
“Kezra.” I pitch my voice deep and use
her full name so she’ll know I’m not playing
around now. “I’ve got no problem with this.
It’s not the first time I’ve cut myself up for
the cause. This is a better reason than I’ve
ever had before—”
“No,” she says so low it’s almost a
moan. “You’re going to cut big holes in
yourself all because my stupid brother cannot
keep his stupid dick in his stupid pants.”
I cup her face in my hands. Lift her head
so she has to look up at me. “They’re going
to be small, surgical holes. That’s why Doc
Gray is doin’ them. An’ I’m doing this for
you, not your stupid brother. Definitely not
for his stupid dick.”
That gets me half-a-smile.
“C’mon, kitten. This is one of the best
plans I’ve ever come up with.” It blows my
escape from Tol Seng away. All that
required was strength, some of the skills I
learned in S.A.W.L., and a lack of other
options. “You gotta admit, Tyng will never
suspect.”
“Because no one else is crazy enough to
implant knives under their skin.”
“Are you so against this ‘cause stickin’
‘em under my skin is like a splinter?”
She snorts. “I’m against you mutilating
yourself. You’ve already got a huge hole in
your shoulder from where my sister shot you,
and now you’re going to have two more big
holes because of my stupid brother—”
I cut her off with another, deeper kiss
before she winds up again. “My shoulder
feels fine,” I tell her when I let her up for air.
Which is true. Doc Gray did a great job with
it, which makes me confident about having
him cut the sheaths. “An’ this is gonna be
fine. Now, how ‘bout
we go back to the part
where you tell me how proud you are of
me?”
She slides one arm around my neck and
tilts her face up for another kiss. Which I
give her. There are probably some things
better than kissing my kitten, but I can’t think
of any right at this moment. “I am proud of
you,” she whispers against my mouth. “Don’t
ever think I’m not totally blown away by the
way you keep saving my ass. I just wish you
didn’t have to.”
I chuckle. “For the record, daily ass-
saving gets a little old. But I’m fine with it
occasionally.”
“But it has been every day,” she points
out.
I stroke her cheeks with my thumbs.
“Yeah, it’s been every day. But I figure once
we’re done with Tyng, things are gonna calm
down. As long as you don’t go promisin’
flesh to any more drug lords. An’ as long as
your brother doesn’t stick his stupid dick in
any more drug lords’ daughters.”
“I’ve learned my lesson. No more flesh.
Ever.” Kez shakes her head ruefully. “Ape?
Who knows. But I’m done pulling his ass out
of the fire all the time. He’ll have to live
with the consequences of his own actions.”
She looks at me squarely. “I’m not letting
anything threaten this. You and me. Not
ever.”
That gets her a very deep kiss.
After enough kissing that the little
monster starts to rumble, despite how
chapped he is, I return to my knives. I stick
our breathers back on, drag Kez off the
workbench, over to the grinder, and keep her
pressed to my back as I shape the edge on
each of the three blanks I’ve cut. She leans
against me, arms around my waist, rubbing
her cheek between my shoulder blades. She
doesn’t distract me. Just adds immensely to
my enjoyment of what I’m doing.
The first knife I make isn’t one from the
yellow bone. It’s thinner and lighter. I toss it
around for a moment after I’ve sharpened it,
testing the weight, then give it an
experimental toss at the far wall, at a line of
pseudowood that frames the two huge panes
of glaz overlooking the river.
I don’t expect it to stick. My throw
wasn’t particularly good and I didn’t put
much force behind it. But it does. The bone
bites into the pseudowood like a long white
fang and hangs there, quivering.
“That’s not a bad knife,” I tell Kez,
before turning to sharpen the two others.
Kez does hold my hand while Doc Gray
