Cat and Company (9 page)

Devlin insisted she attend the dinner. “I’m not an idiot, Catherine. The only reason I was invited was to get you to visit them.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

“Perhaps not,” Devlin said, with a small smile of his own. “For once, my fame is taking second place and I
like
that, so don’t let me down. They’ll lynch me if you don’t go, too, so put on a pretty dress—print one if you have to, the
Hana
has energy to spare—and let me enjoy just one night not being the focus of the room.”

The problem was, Catherine couldn’t dispute his reasoning. She had been the center of attention more than once in her life and she knew how claustrophobic it became after a while. Devlin was a successful man, the sole reason the Varkan had legal rights as sentient people, which had earned him the devotion of the Varkan and the approval of humans for his peace-keeping diplomacy. He still worked tirelessly on behalf of Varkans everywhere so his fame and his popularity had soared every decade since.

She understood completely the pleasure of being able to blend into the background and relax, just for a while.

Reluctantly, she dug out a presentable pair of pants that were not the usual spacer’s leather and discovered a pair of forgotten evening shoes at the bottom of the tiny closet in her stateroom. She printed a silk shirt to go with them, as Devlin had virtually ordered her to dress up. Besides, looking as good as she could would honor her hosts. Connell, at least, would notice and maybe even applaud.

The whole time she was getting ready, she speculated. Would Bedivere be there, too? How would he look? Would he have changed?

Finally, she turned on the mirror display and asked for a three-sixty, minutely critiquing her appearance. She realized the hard band of tension was back, squeezing her chest. Her stomach was tight, too.

Was she really going to do this? It was madness. Why put herself through it? It was better to disappoint Devlin.

With ironic timing, the door alerted her that Devlin was outside the stateroom, waiting. Catherine sighed. He was early. Five more minutes and she could have been back in her boots, off the ship and heading toward Celestial to see if that little spacer’s bar in the center of the village was still running.

Right now, a triple shot of
anything
sounded very good.

She let the door open and Devlin came in, his gaze sweeping over her from head to foot. His eyes grew warmer and his expression appreciative. “Ready?”

“No,” she said truthfully. “I’ve just run out of procrastination ideas.”

“They’re your friends,” he reminded her. “I’m the excuse. You’ll be fine.”

“After a shot or three,” she said shortly. “There’s a lot of history standing between me and them.”

“I thought you might say that,” Devlin said gravely. He brought his hand out from behind his back. There was a silver cup in his hand. “Single malt, planet-produced and eighty years old. One shot, neat. I thought it would be better received than flowers.”

“Oh, you beautiful man,” Catherine whispered and reached for the cup.

“Bear in mind I offer this only for courage,” he said, giving it to her. “You shouldn’t take it as encouragement to go on one of your infamous benders. I’d rather not have to carry you home tonight.”

“As if you’ve ever actually carried me home.” She knocked back the shot and sighed as it burned its way down her throat. The smoky sting was heavenly and she could feel herself relaxing. Just a little.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Why is what?”

“Why have I never had the privilege of carrying you off anywhere?”

Catherine put the cup aside and faced him. “It’s not a privilege, Devlin. Not when I have to be carried. I respect you too much.”

“Ah.” He nodded, his expression grave. “Respect. I see.”

Catherine gave him a smile. “You like that I don’t adore you unreservedly, anyway.”

“And that you are a better shot than me, yes.” He waved toward the door. “Ready, now?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

* * * * *

Catherine knew a way to the old city that by-passed Central City where the markets and public squares and event arenas were and where the thickest congregations of people would be found. She led Devlin through the service corridors and old drop shafts up to the first module, then through the park to the entrance to the admin area and their old suite.

The closer they got to the suite, more she dreaded the coming moments. Finally, they were there, facing the big door. With surprise, Catherine noticed that it had been changed from the blank red metal-shelled and riveted door. This one was carved and decorated faux wood.

Of course they would change things while she was gone. They probably changed things
because
she had gone. She was realist enough to know that people got on with their lives even when she wasn’t there.

The dark skinned woman with very short black hair who greeted them when the door opened was a stranger to her. “Mr. Woodward, Mr. Shahrazad,” the woman said. “I am Zoey, Yennifer’s AI. Please come in.”

“You have a name?” Catherine asked, startled.

“Yennifer finds it more convenient to deal with me through a human façade.” Zoey waved toward the end of the room. “Please.”

Catherine let her gaze sweep around the room as they moved toward the far end where there was a low dais and a big table indicating the dining area. Or meeting area, she suspected. The table was set for a formal meal.

The big room was nothing like she remembered. The style was something she vaguely recalled being described as gothic a long, long time ago. Even then, it had been a revival of a revival, of yet another iteration of a timeless fashion. It wasn’t something that Catherine would ever have chosen for herself, but that was probably the point.

The knot in her gut twisted a little tighter.

There was a group of people standing and talking in front of the table, below the dais. She scanned the faces. Brant, looking formal and yet still in black. Connell, looking even more formal and grand in trousers with gold stripes down the side, knee high boots and a jacket with even more braiding. Despite the differences in clothing, Brant and Connell looked almost identical. Brant must have been through a recent regeneration to be wearing his hair so short.

Lilly was wearing another beautiful dress that swept the floor, while Yennifer’s dress was wisps of blue and lavender floating around her like a cloud.

Nichol August was the plainest dressed among them, even compared to Brant. He wore a white shirt and simple trousers. His hair was slicked back and for the first time Catherine noticed that it was combed back and styled in almost the same way Devlin did his hair. His free arm was around Yennifer’s waist, which explained why Nichol was there.

Everyone held a drink and turned to watch her and Devlin approach.

Catherine scanned them again. That was all. That was everyone.

The tension in her gut loosened and she relaxed. She even found she could smile at them all. After all, it really
was
good to see them. These people had been close to her for a long time and she liked them, which was more than she could say for many people and even some Varkan.

Brant held out a glass toward Catherine. “Look what I found waiting for you,” he said with a smile.

The glass had no stem. “Whiskey,” she breathed. “You know me too well.”

“Aren’t you glad I do?”

“And this is for you,” Connell told Devlin, holding out a similar glass. The liquid had an amber color, not deep gold like the whiskey.

“Brandy?” Devlin laughed as he took the glass. “Connell, you are a grand sight for these tired old eyes. How are you? I see you’re still wildly experimenting with clothes.”

Connell grinned. “It’s half the fun of waking up, wondering what to wear that day.”

“You and Brant are even more peas in a pod. Don’t glare at me, Brant, you know I’m right.” Devlin grinned and drank, because Brant really
was
glaring.

Lilly stepped around to Catherine’s side. “Do you like what I’ve done with the suite?”

“It’s…very you,” Catherine admitted.

Lilly grinned. “It’s over the top and I just loved it when I first did it. Now I’m starting to get itchy again.”

“What will you do next, do you think?”

They fell into conversation about historical decorating styles and the best styles for branding purposes that also gave everyone who lived in the suite a sense of home, which turned the conversation over to clothing, the one area that Catherine rarely bothered with, yet it brought Yennifer over and even Zoey hovered on the edges.

And just like that, the party had begun and she had been eased into the middle of it. She found herself laughing and talking and it was like old times, until she heard Bedivere’s voice behind her.

“Hello, Catherine.”

All her warmth and good cheer froze. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Catherine wasn’t even sure she could turn around to face him.

Everyone else had stopped talking. They were looking at her.

Or Bedivere.

She wasn’t sure how she got herself to turn around. Somehow, she did.

He was standing just outside the group, his hands by his sides. Her gaze roved over him as she hungrily absorbed details. The plain dark blue jacket, the tiredness that etched his face and shaded his eyes. The shadow of a beard.

What had happened to him? Something had cast a darkness over him.

Whatever it is, it’s your fault
. The voice was clear in her head. Too clear.

Then she remembered to speak. “Hello, Bedivere.”

His gaze wasn’t moving away from her, not by an inch.

Devlin came over to stand beside her. She could see him in the corner of her eye. “Bedivere! They didn’t tell me you were back. I thought you were still off roaming the stars or wherever you went. You must have plenty of stories.”

Bedivere’s gaze flickered toward Devlin, then came back to Catherine. “A few,” he said stiffly.

Connell moved into the space between Devlin and Bedivere, looking at Bedivere. “Are you staying?” he asked, his voice very low.

The way he was holding his shoulders and his back toward them made Catherine think of security guards and crowd handlers. Was Connell fending her and Devlin off? Even just mentally?

Bedivere finally looked at Connell. His eyes narrowed and the thin furrow appeared between his brows that Catherine recognized. He was in pain.

Her heart ached, as a cold vise squeezed it.

Bedivere shook his head. It was a tiny movement. His gaze moved past Connell and settled on Devlin. “I have something else that needs doing,” he added. “I just wanted to…say hello.”

Her innards all leapt in alarm. She wanted to protest. As much as this was hurting, she still didn’t want him to leave.

He was turning away. At the last moment, his gaze came back to her, then he was walking away. Leaving.

The door closed behind him and she could hear it fit back into the sealed frame and lock down securely because the room was utterly silent.

Devlin stirred next to her and turned back to look at everyone else. “He looks...”

Ill. Abused. Sad
. Catherine closed her eyes.

“All of that,” Brant said softly and she jerked in surprise. Brant was anticipating what Devlin would have said, not reading her mind. She kept her back to everyone, clawing for balance, trying to find a way she could look at them again and keep this evening going.

“What happened to him?” Devlin asked and the horror in his voice matched what she was feeling.

“No offense, Devlin,” Brant said, “I don’t think he’d want us to tell you. Especially not while Catherine is listening.”

She shuddered. Seeing Bedivere hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be. It was far worse than that.

Devlin’s hand curled around hers and squeezed and that reminded her of why she was here. Devlin craved an evening of being normal. Right. She hastily wiped her cheeks and turned to face everyone again. She even managed a smile, summoning it with sheer willpower. “Is there any more of that whiskey, Brant?” she asked brightly.

Brant nodded and took her glass. Slowly, the conversations started up again and when they moved to the table to eat, Devlin held her back and wiped her cheeks with his sleeve to remove the last of the moisture there, then helped her sit, his hand warm on her shoulder.

She was grateful for his silent empathy. It helped.

A little, anyway.

* * * * *

The park was almost completely silent. Even the stream stopped running late at night and there was no night breeze to rustle the leaves, although there were bugs and small animals, introduced to keep the biodome stable. Bedivere could hear them rustle among the bushes in the dark.

Above the trees was the night sky with the unwinking stars, crossed by the support struts of the dome.

Brant found him there some time later, long after he’d got himself under control and the shaking had stopped. The cravings were still crawling through him, making his nerves shriek. It would take sleep and solitude for them to subside, now.

Brant lowered himself down onto the grass next to him and planted the bottle firmly, so it wouldn’t fall.

Bedivere sat up, staring at Brant’s silhouette. The only ambient light was starlight and it wasn’t enough to even see his face, yet Brant’s outline was unmistakable.

“Connell told me,” Brant said, his voice rough. “So I know how hard that was for you.” He pulled a glass out of his jacket and poured from the bottle and held the glass out to him. “I can’t make it go away, but I know how to deaden just about anything.”

Brandy. “Escape with alcohol instead?” Bedivere said, taking the glass. “I’d become an alcoholic in a week.”

“Not if you never drink alone.” Brant pulled another glass out of the other side of his jacket with a flourish and poured. “That’s what friends are for.”

The tears formed abruptly, catching Bedivere by surprise and making his eyes ache. His throat, too, as it worked hard against the lump there. His shoulders shook and he fought against the wave of self-pity and loathing that shook him in the face of Brant’s simple words.