The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (51 page)

“Gosh, I’m sorry.”

“Any more questions?”

“Go take your nap.”

“Not yet. Jubal. Now?”

“Certainly.” Dr. Harshaw got up and left.

“Dickie.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“She loves you, boy; she really does. God knows why. But that does not mean that she will tell you the truth or always act in your interest. Be warned.”

“Uncle Jock, it never does any good to warn a man about his wife. Would you accept any advice from me about Cissy?”

“Of course not. But I’m older than you are and much more experienced.”

“Answer me.”

“Let’s change the subject instead. You don’t like Lazarus Long.”

I grinned at him. “Uncle, the only thing that persuades me that he might be as old as he is reputed to be is that it would take more than one ordinary lifetime to grow as cantankerous and generally difficult as he is. He rubs me the wrong way every time. And the bastard makes it worse by putting me under obligations to him. This foot—From a clone of his—did you know that? And that dustup you heard about this morning. Lazarus shot that bloke what’s-his-name who tried to kill me. But Captain Sterling and Commander Smith did, too, and probably quicker. Or maybe not. Either way I had to thank all three of them. Damn it, I’d like to save his life just once to balance the books. The bastard.”

“No way to talk, Dickie. Abby would have trounced you.”

“So she would have. I take it back.”

“Besides—Your own parents never were married.”

“So I’ve often been told. Colorfully.”

“I mean it literally. Your mother was my favorite sister. Much younger than I. Pretty child. I taught her to walk. Played with her when she was growing up, spoiled her every way I could. So, naturally, when she was in what used to be called ‘trouble’ she came to her big brother. And to your Aunt Abby. Dickie, it was not that your father wasn’t around; it was that your grandfather disliked him, disliked him as intensely as—well, as you dislike Lazarus Long.

“I don’t mean Mr. Ames. You got his name but he met and married Wendy after you were born. And we took you and raised you. Your mother was going to come for you, after a year—she said Ames deserved that much—but she didn’t live that long. So Abby was your mother in every way but biology.”

“Uncle, Aunt Abby was the best mother a boy could want. Look, those peach switchings were good for me. I know it.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say so. Dickie, I love all your aunts…but there will never be another Abby. Hazel reminds me of her. Dickie, have you made up your mind?”

“Uncle, I’ll fight it all the way. How can I okay letting my bride risk a caper that she stands only a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of alive? Especially when nobody has even tried to show me why my ways aren’t better?”

“Just asking. The mathematicians are testing another team—since you’re unwilling. We’ll see. Your father was stubborn and your grandfather was stubborn; it’s no surprise that you are stubborn. Your grandfather—my father—said flatly that he would rather have a bastard in the family than Lazarus Long. So he had one. You. And Lazarus went away and never knew about you.

“Not surprising that you and your father don’t get along; you’re too much alike. And now he’s going to take your place, on the team for Task Adam Selene.”

“Our revels now are ended.”

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
1564-1616

Dying isn’t difficult. Even a baby kitten can do it.

I’m sitting with my back to the wall in the old computer room of the Warden’s Complex in Luna. Pixel is cradled in my left arm. Hazel is on the floor, by us. I’m not sure Pixel is dead. He may be asleep. But I am not going to disturb him to find out; he’s a badly hurt baby at best.

I know Hazel is still alive because I’m watching her respiration. But she is not in good shape. I do wish they would hurry.

I can’t do much for either of them because I don’t have anything to work with and I can’t move much. I’m shy one leg and I don’t have a prosthetic. Yes, that same right leg—Lazarus’s leg—burned off just about at the transplant line. Guess I shouldn’t gripe—being a burn job it’s cauterized, not much blood. Hasn’t really begun to hurt much yet, either. Not that white pain like a blow torch. That comes later.

I wonder if Lazarus knows he’s my father? Did Uncle ever tell him?

Hey, this makes Maureen, that wonderful, beautiful creature, my
grandmother!

And—Maybe I had better back up.

I’m a bit light-headed.

I’m not even sure this is being recorded. I’m carrying a battle recorder but it’s a tiny Tertius type I’m not familiar with. Either it was on and I turned it off or it was off and I turned it on. I’m not sure Pixel is dead. Did I already say that? Maybe I had better back up.

It was a good team, the best, with enough fire power that I felt that our chances were good. Hazel was in command, of course—

Major Sadie Lipschitz, strike team leader

Brevet Captain Richard Campbell, XO

Comet Gretchen Henderson, JO

Sergeant Ezra Davidson

Corporal Ted Bronson aka W. W. Smith aka Lazarus Long aka Lafayette Hubert, M.D.—additional duty, medical officer

Manuel Davis, civilian special field operative

Lazarus insisted on being called “Ted Bronson” when he was designated a corporal for this task force. It’s an insiders’ joke, I think; I was not let in on it.

Comet Henderson had been back on duty several months after having her baby boy. She was slender-solid and tan and beautiful and the combat ribbons on her pretty chest looked at home there. Sergeant Ezra always did look like a soldier, once he had legs, and his ribbons showed it, too. A good team.

Why was I breveted to captain? I asked that question right after Hazel swore me into the Corps—got a silly or reasonable answer depending on your bias. Because (said Hazel) in every history book in which this was mentioned, I had been second in charge. The histories did not name others, but they did not say that we acted alone, so she decided on more fire power and picked her team. (She decided. She picked. Not Lazarus. Not some THQ brain trust. That suited me.)

Gay Deceiver was manned by its first team, too—Hilda, commanding; Deety, XO and astrogator; Zeb Carter, chief pilot; Jake Burroughs, copilot/irrelevancy gear—and Gay herself, conscious, sentient, and able to pilot herself…not true of any other irrelevancy craft except Dora (who was too big for this job).

The skipper of the car, Hilda, was under the command of the strike force team leader. I would have expected a hitch here…but Hilda had proposed it. “Hazel, it’s got to be that way. Everybody must know who’s boss. When it hits the fan, we can’t stop to chat.”

A good team. We had not trained together but we were professionals and our CO made everything so clear that we didn’t need drill. “Attention to orders. The purpose of this force is to capture items selected by Davis, and to return them and Davis to Tertius.
There is no other purpose
. If we have no casualties, fine. But if all of us are killed while Davis and his selections reach Tertius, our task is accomplished.

“This is the plan. Hilda places us at the north wall, starboard side to, on the tick, after THQ advises that warp is ready to activate. Leave car in this order: Lipschitz, Campbell, Henderson, Davidson, Bronson, Davis. Place yourselves fore and aft in the bathrooms to exit in that order.

“The computer room is square. Lipschitz to southeast corner, Henderson to southwest corner, Campbell to northwest corner, Davidson to northeast corner. Diagonal pairs cover all four walls, so two such pairs doubly cover all walls. Bronson is bodyguard to Davis, no fixed post.

“As Davis works, filled boxes will be placed in car. Henderson and Davidson will move items to car as directed by Davis, and assisted inside by Deety. Car commander and pilots will remain ready to scram and will assist only by passing items back. Bronson will not repeat
not
move baggage; his sole task is bodyguard to Davis.

“When Davis tells me task is finished, we return to the car with all speed, in reverse order—Davis, Bronson, Davidson, Henderson, Campbell, Lipschitz. Hilda, you will give order to scram anytime after Davis and the stuff he came for is aboard, depending on tactical situation. If there is trouble, don’t wait for anyone. Use your judgment, but your judgment must tell you to save Mannie and his items no matter who gets left behind.

“Questions?”

How long have I been doping off? My Sonychron was an early casualty. The team Hazel picked was—No, I said that. I think I did.

What happened to Tree-San?

The time tick selected was right after Hazel left the computer room on Saturday July fifth. The group picking the tick reasoned that if they were laying for us to arrive at the Raffles, then that antagonist (Time Lords?) would not be looking for us in the computer room. No way to do it earlier than that; Hazel had reported that “Adam Selene” was in the computer room when she was there.

We cut it mighty sharp, almost too sharp; when Hazel was getting out of Gay, she stopped suddenly with me right behind her—waited briefly, then moved out.

She paused because she saw her own back, leaving the room.

I must get word to Aunt Til that Hazel and I can’t make it home for supper.

My head aches and my eyes bother me.

I don’t know how Pixel got aboard Gay. How that baby does get around!

Jubal Harshaw says, “The only constant thing in these shifting, fairy-chess worlds is human love.” That’s enough.

Pixel moved a little.

It’s been nice to have both feet for a few days.

“Richar’?”

“Yes, beloved?”

“Gretchen’s baby. You his fathe’.”

“
Huh?
”

“She tol’ me, mon’s ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Par’dox.”

I started to question her about it; she was asleep again. The compress I had placed on her wound was seeping. But I didn’t have anything more, so I didn’t touch it.

Won’t see Aunt Belden this trip. Too bad.

What happened to my files? Still in my other foot?

Hey! Tomorrow is the day “we’re all dead” if Tolliver isn’t.

The first hour went by with no incident whatever. Mannie worked steadily, changed arms once, started filling boxes. Gretchen and Ezra carried them to the car, passed them in, resumed their posts between trips. Most of this seemed to be programs that Mannie was bleeding off into his own cubes, using equipment he had fetched. I could not see. Then he started filling boxes more quickly, loading them with cylinders. Adam Selene’s memories? I don’t know. Maybe I watched too much.

Mannie straightened up, said, “Does it! Done!” I heard an answering, “
Blert!
”

And they hit us.

I was down at once, lower leg gone. I saw Mannie fall. I heard Hazel shout, “Bronson! Get him aboard! Henderson, Davidson—those last two boxes!” I missed the next, as I was firing. The whole east wall was open; I traversed it with my heater at full power. Somebody else was firing, on our side, I think.

Then it was quiet.

“Rich’r’?”

“Yes, dearest.”

“’S been fun.”

“Yes. love! All of it.”

“Rich’r’…that light, end tunnel.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll wait…there.”

“Honey, you’re going to outlive me!”

“Look for me. I’ll—”

When that wall opened, I think I saw what’s-his-name. Could the bloke who erased him write him back into the story? To clip us?

Who was writing
our
story? Was he going to let us live?

Anyone who would kill a baby kitten is cruel, mean cruel. Whoever you are, I hate you. I
despise
you!

I dragged myself awake, realized that I had fallen asleep on watch! I had to pull myself together, because they might be back. Or, Glory Be! Gay Deceiver will be back. I couldn’t figure out why Gay wasn’t back. Trouble spiking the right time tick? Could be anything. But they won’t just leave us here.

We saved Mannie and the stuff he picked out. We
won
, damn you all!

Had to see what weapons, ammo, were left. I didn’t have anything more. My beam gun was exhausted, I knew. But my side arm? Don’t remember firing it. All gone. Must look around.

“Dear?”

“Yes, Hazel?” (She’s going to ask me for water and I haven’t got any!)

“I’m sorry people were eating.”

“What’s that?”

“I had to kill him, dearest; he was assigned to kill you.”

I placed the little cat on Hazel. Maybe he moved, maybe not—maybe both of them were dead. I managed to pull myself up onto my foot, by holding on to a computer rack, then let myself down again. Despite long practice in hopping at one-sixth gee I found that I was neither strong enough nor did I have good balance—and I was separated from my cane, for the first time in years. It was, I thought, in Gay’s forward bathroom.

So I crawled, careful of my right leg. It was beginning to hurt. I found no weapons with charges. At painful last, I was back with Gwen and Pixel. Neither stirred. I couldn’t be sure.

A week isn’t a long honeymoon and it’s an awfully short married life.

I explored her handbag, which I should have done earlier. She had carried it, slung over one shoulder to the other hip, even into battle.

That handbag was much bigger inside than out. I found twelve chocolate bars. I found her little camera. I found her deadly little lady’s gun, that Miyako—fully loaded, eight in the clip, one in the chamber.

And, down in the bottom, I found the dart projector that had to be there. I almost missed it, it was styled to look like a toilet kit. Four darts were still in it.

If they come back—or a fresh gang, I don’t care—I’m going to get us a baker’s dozen.