by F. M. Busby
The kitchen seemed adequate-a sink with faucets-storage tank in the attic?-a combustion stove with the pressure tank on one side, and a compact dishcleaner. She found a fair sup-ply of foodstuffs and utensils in the cupboards. And in one corner sat a laundering machine.
The bathroom-she was agreeably surprised-held a fold-ing tub that sat under a shower head, plus a washbasin and covered chamber pot. For cold nights, she thought...
There was no bedroom; returning to the main room she now noted the large bed in a front corner. The two men had gone; Tregare was unpacking his baggage and putting things away in drawers built into one wall.
"How do you like it?"
"Rather well-it is sturdy and adequate. Did you build it yourself?"
"With some help. I'm not the greatest architect you ever saw, but it's stood up to the storms of a lot of winters."
"One thing puzzles me. You have running water-some source of supply. What is the need for the outhouse?"
"Because of the source. The water's near the surface-can't risk fouling it. The hole under the outhouse is heat-fused; it can't leak. Sooner or later, if we were here long enough, we'd have to move the operation.''
"I see. But there would seem to be other solutions..."
"There would be, if I'd built near the edge of the plateau. Just as well I didn't, though. There've been a couple of slides out there since I was here last-I'd hate to lose the cabin. But it'd take maybe fifty aircar loads to bring in enough pipe to drain from this site."
"It is not important." She looked around. "Where did the men sleep? There is only one bed."
"Which suited Main and Anse just fine."
"Oh? Oh, yes-what Deverel said-that we are the new marrieds."
"That's right." Finished with his task, he closed an empty suitcase and pushed it under the bed. "You hungry? I'll fix something while you unpack."
"I will do that later. Now I will watch you and see where everything is kept. I shall enjoy seeing Captain Tregare's skils as cook, but I do not expect you to do it al the time, surely."
He laughed and came to her, and kissed her, but in a mo-ment she said, "We are hungry-remember?" dabbing a last bit of gravy with a scrap of bread, she decided he was not an unskilful cook at ail-whatever he did, he did well. Perhaps...
"Filled up, Rissa?"
"Yes. It was good, Bran." She stood. "Now I will un-pack."
"Al right. I'm going over to the scout for a while-make a few calls and check on whatever's come in since I was here last." He left; leisurely, more intent on thought than on ac-tion, she stowed her things away.
Finished, she found the stuffy air oppressive and tried to open a window. The latch-dusty, obviously long-unused-was too stiff for her fingers. She shrugged and went to open the door instead. The feel of it surprised her; it swung smoothly, but was much more massive than she expected. Now she saw its thickness, and that the wal was considerably thicker than normal. Puzzled, she stepped outside and walked around the cabin. At no window could she look in-their placement and the foundation put the lowest a foot beyond her reach, let alone seeing inside. Back to the door-only one?-that does not fit the rest of it- she climbed the steps, paused in the doorway and considered what she saw.
Placed two feet from the right corner of the cabin, the door opened inward and to her left. She pulled it nearly shut, then slowly opened it. Straight ahead was the kitchen entrance; on the right the end of the table could be seen-but not the seating, nor the sink and cupboards to the left.
To see the bed-in the left front corner, its head against the far wall-she had to come al the way inside. The left rear of the cabin was bathroom, and its door also opened inward and left.
She nodded. No one could come through the door without giving an alert occupant both warning and time to take cover. Now she prowled the place. Only one kitchen window faced the hill behind. She moved around, looking out; the part of that slope that commanded a view into the kitchen was sheer stone cliff. Again she nodded and went back into the main room. There had to be more-she was going to find it for herself.
The two men had changed the bed-a fair job but not ex-cessively neat. She stood at the foot of it. Which side? Oh, yes-away from the wall, toward the bathroom. Tregare would want to move quickly. So ...
Yes-barely hidden inside the bed frame, near the head, she found the holder-and the gun, butt turned toward the foot for right-handed convenience. She pulled it out-a projectile weapon such as Ernol had carried, with an oversized magazine and a tiny bore in the thick barrel. She put it back.
At lunch Tregare had sat facing the cabin's front. She was not surprised to find, in a holder under that side of the table, the first gun's twin. Consistently, the butt pointed to the right. She went again to the door; now she knew what to look for. The three large embossed leather ornaments hung in a pattern slanting down from the door's upper right corner. The lowest was near her right hand as she took the doorknob in her left; she reached behind it and brought out the weapon.
No needle-spitter, this; it was an energy gun, and heavy. Rissa knew her strength, but she could not hold this piece steady, one-handed. Automatically, before replacing it, she checked the charge indicator and found it near maximum. There might be more weapons and there might not-but one thing there had to be. She scanned the floor carefully, lifting and replacing the small rugs here and there-in the main room, then kitchen, and finaly bathroom. She paused to con-firm another needle-gun beside the tub, hidden by a hanging towel, then stood, baffled. Finally she laughed and pulled sidewise at the tub. It pivoted around the mounting that held its plastic water-connections. And there she found what she sought. There was no pull-ring to the trapdoor; only a button in the floor near one end. She pressed it; the spring-loaded seg-ment swung upright with a crash, vibrating for a moment. She looked down; the hole dropped at least twice her height; on one of its glazed sides were metal rungs for climbing. At the bottom she could make out the shadow of a tunnel mouth. This, she thought, explained the need for an outhouse much better than Tregare had done. She closed the trapdoor and would have replaced the tub, but it swung back automatically. Yes-of course-that would be necessary, She had no reason to doubt Tregare's thoroughness, but she checked anyway. Outside and around to the back, looking at the outhouse, she considered its position-largely sheltered in front by the cabin, and from behind by one of the stor-age buildings. Entering it, this time she observed the heavy construction. She was not at all surprised to find, hidden in convenient reach of a right-handed sitter, the now-familiar needle-gun.
the hills brought sunset early. Expecting Tregare's return, Rissa looked through the assortment of kitchen supplies and chose foods for the evening meal. When she heard him at the door, she had an improvised stew simmering. She went to meet him and they embraced.
"Well.' Keep yourself busy this afternoon, Rissa? Or maybe take a nap?"
"I found much of interest. Your defenses here are . . . im-pressive. At first, when we arrived, I noticed nothing-but when I began to be curious..."
He grinned. "What all did you find? Now I'm curious."
In proper order, she told him what she had found, and how. "I did not go into the tunnel-nor, since I had no idea where to look, search outside for the other end. It is simpler to ask."
"Yes. Well, the tunnel-it's about a hundred meters-brings you back up behind a storage building, in a gully that gives cover if you have to run for it. About halfway-a litle less-is a side shaft up to a camouflaged pillbox-looks like just any other hummock, but its guns cover the front ap-proach to the cabin."
"Most thorough. And now-what did I miss?"
Tregare laughed. "Less than I expected-even if I'd set you looking."
"There is more, though?"
"Nothing much-except maybe the real reason this cabin is exactly where it is. From the ridge up there, we're at the precise minimum angle so that if anyone wants to swoop in and drop a bomb and not overshoot-he has to slow down enough to be vulnerable himself, to some little fleabite mis-siles
I've got planted down a little farther out. From the front or sides of course, they'd have no chance-over the ridge was the tricky part." Rissa nodded. "I am most impressed. But, Bran-are we then in such danger, that your precautions must be so thorough?"
He gripped both her shoulders. "Rissa, I take a lot of pre-cautions I may not need to-if you mean, do I expect to have to use them. I learned that at UET-give them credit for a few good ideas-and maybe improved on the principle a little. When I built this place-had it built-helped build it-I was playing in local politics just a bit, and the situation was con-siderably stickier than it is now. But I don't regret any of the work, wasted effort or not." He released her. "For one thing, word got out-and prob-ably improved in the telling-about what I was doing. It's always good to give the opposition the worries."
"Opposition? Is it anyone I should know about?"
"Not now. One got wiped out as an oligarch, and the rest are running hard as they can to stay in the same place." He sniffed the air. "You started dinner? Good-I wouldn't mind fixing it, but I'm hungry enough that I'm glad I don't have to wait while I do it."
"Yes. So am I. Hungry, I mean. Shall we?"
From a cupboard Rissa had not yet inspected, Tregare brought a bottle of wine. "Let's be a little festive; all right?" Over the meal, he told her of his own afternoon. "It's the delay that makes it rough," he said. "From Inconnu's orbit the message lag is about eight hours. Doesn't sound too bad, right? But the only times either of us can send is when the sender's pointing the right way when the receiver wil be, eight hours later."
Her brows came together, then she nodded. "Yes-I see it."
"Gonnelsen-my First Hat, remember?-he tried to get a better sync on his orbit, out of the computer. But with the length of Number One's day, it didn't fit-he'd be inside the planet he's orbiting!"
"So your communications are irregular."
"Damn near nonexistent. It'll improve, oddly enough, as that planet gets farther away." He pushed his empty plate to one side.
"One piece of good news, though. Inconnu got a clear copy of a message that came in here garbled a few days ago-too weak a signal to punch through atmosphere."
He leaned forward. "You won't appreciate this yet-but it was from Lefthand Thread, two months out, and homing! Which means it's a lot closer than that now."
"Left hand? That is good?" She played up to his baiting.
"The Escaped ship you heard about, that I practically took by force. I had reason-Marrigan was going to take it out in unsafe condition. We can't afford to lose any Escaped ship-so I sort of strongarmed him into selling. I was younger then-crude methods were al I knew."
"At any rate, you took Lefthand Thread."
"Not exactly. I took Spiral Nebula-which had been UET's Wellington, to start with-and rename'd it. Damned near caled it Hogan's Goat, it was so fucked up-but we fixed it.'
"And this ship is coming here?"
"Or to rendezvous with Inconnu-depends on the ships's situation. But it's moving now, Rissa-it al starts to move!" She looked at him-his face flushed, eyes widened-and said, "The plans you have mentioned, Bran-this is part of them?" His eyebrows lowered. "I'l tel you al of it, Rissa-soon as I know if there's a hell's chance it might work. Al right?"
"Could I not help you decide?"
His palm slapped the table; wineglasses jiggled. "Sure-when I know enough to ask the right questions. Right now, too many loose ends. Even before those damned aliens showed up."
"I could guess your plan, I think-but until you wish it, I will not." She rose and put her dishes into the cleaner; when she turned to fetch his, he was bringing them.
He had left the glasses. He said, "Let's finish this in the other room," and took bottle and glasses to a small table there. He arranged two chairs and they sat. After he poured, he looked first at the window before him, then over his shoul-der at another. "Those things should be curtained, for night. We can't see out, but somebody could see in." He looked at her. "Can you sew? There's some material in one of those bottom drawers."
"You have needles? Thread? What of hanging rods?"
"Hell, I don't know. Welding rod, off the scout-I could bend the ends and drive them in the wood. But the sewing-"
"If necessary I will staple the cloth together, as you fasten your papers. I do not mind having to improvise."
"Yeah, I've noticed." Looking down at his wine, he sipped it. "New subject. Rissa-you're here because you want to be?"
"You did not carry me to the aircar. In fact, I carried part of my own luggage and climbed inside quite without help." His hand moved, swirling wine in the glass. "You're not making this easy, are you?"
"I mean to make no difficulties. What would you ask?"
"Do you want to go to bed with me?"
"I do not expect either of us to sleep on the floor, Bran."
"Why won't you give me a direct answer?"
"I will, when you ask a direct question."
"All right! You want to fuck with me, or don't you?"
"I do-of course I do, or I would not be here."
"Then why didn't you say so?"
"I thought the matter was clear enough."
He came around the table, and raised her to stand upright. She accepted and returned his kiss-then his clothes and hers fel to the floor unheeded and she was on the bed, looking up at his taut, unsure smile.
He began gently-that much he had learned on Inconnu- but gentleness was only prelude. Their coupling was not unduly brief but, for her, was done too soon. She felt her body move to respond-but then they lay quiet, her response stopped short of fulfillment.
He sighed. "You didn't make it, did you?"
"Not this time. But I began to, Bran. So do not be in too great a hurry-nor will I-and one day it will be as we both wish."
He was off her and across the room, then back with bottle and glasses. He placed them on the bedside stand next to the intercom unit and sat on the bed beside her. His fingers stroked her belly; they reached a ticklish spot; she laughed and wriggled. Then she saw that he touched the scarred area.
"That was done at the Welfare Center. Does it disturb you?"
"Would it disturb you if I fathered heirs elsewhere and brought them home for you to raise?"
"I am not ready for such a task. Someday, perhaps-" She sat up. "Bran! Needing heirs as you do, why did you marry me?" And why have I not told him?
He lunged toward her, pushing both hands into her hair and gripping it. His face pressed against her, his lips between her breasts. His shoulders shook-and only when he raised his head did she realize he was laughing.
"Several reasons," he said. "More than you know. But the one you're asking about-well, one time on Inconnu when you were studying the control room and pretending not to, I took your hair dryer apart. I thought it was pretty bulky to travel with, but I didn't expect what I found."
"Then-you knew?"
"I'd seen a reverser before, yes. So-"
"Bran-I said, I am not ready-"
"You don't have to be-yet. I don't know how to work the thing, anyway; sure as peace I hope you do. No-the only problem is, will you be ready before I leave? Or will I have to leave sperm in the freezers that came with the zoom-wombs?" Unbelieving, she looked at him. "You would father a child you could not see for-perhaps-decades?"
"It wouldn't be that long for me, of course. But what kind of choice do I have?"
"If I go with you-"
"Where I'm going, that's not possible."
"I can go anywhere you can! If you say I cannot, we shall not remain married."
"As you are now, you could-sure. But, Rissa-combat's no place for a woman at the heavy end of pregnancy, or with a young baby. Look-be reasonable-you-"
She lay back. "If you ever tell me your plans, perhaps I will know which of us is correct. Now-may I have some more wine?"
after a silent time, she said, "Bran? What were the other reasons? Why you wanted this marriage, I mean." He looked at her. "On the ship-you got to me.
Two things I like are guts and honesty."
"I was not so honest with you."
"Tari Obrigo, you mean? That's not important; you were in hiding. And you'd hardly trust a pirate with anything as valu-able as the reverser." He shook his head. "The only thing that didn't fit was why you let me bluff you into bed in the first place."
"I could not chance it that you were not bluffing-I needed to reach Number One. To oblige you in that way seemed a small matter. The body's acts count for little when there is no feeling."
"Yes-I had your body but not you. Except maybe the last night..."
"That night, Bran, I did feel. I am glad you knew it."
"Yes. Well, then-when Liesel wanted the marriage as a political move, I thought, all right, here's a chance to see if there's anything to it. Then she told me about the duel, and then I saw it-you scared hell out of me, you know that?
When dal Nardo almost had you, I swore he wouldn't outlive you five minutes!"
"As, of course, he did not. But then?"
"You know the rest. I said I wouldn't touch you until you agreed, and you told me who you really are, and-you suit me, that's all."
"And as I had hoped, I find that you suit me also, Bran Tregare."
She watched him; he was picking at the edge of the bandage. "Bran, are you ever going to tell me what has happened to your face?"
"Huh? Oh?-I'd forgotten I still had this on." He got an edge of tape between thumb and forefinger and pulled the bandage free. A few fragments of scab still clung to his cheek; he brushed them away. Where the tattoo had been, Rissa saw a patch of new pink skin.
"So that was it-you have had the markings removed."
"Yeah-about time I quit wearing UET's brand. Especially as the unofficial promotions weren't done too well." He grinned. "You know why I had those added? Well, we were on a course that happened to point at Stronghold when I overstretched my Drive. Chasing a UET ship-caught it and took it, by the way. But the Drive was in trouble-even the best grade of tuning couldn't stop the deterioration. We might have reached a Hidden World and might not-but here's Stronghold; why not try it? We faked some papers and the ship's insigne, and the needle to my cheek made me a captain. But the colors weren't right-you saw. So I logged a mutiny attempt by men long dead-and Gonnelsen had to bash me a bruise to hide the difference, along with a fat lip to make it look better." He laughed. "I told him, 'here's your only chance to hit a captain and get away with it, so enjoy yourself!' "
