Force Majeur
by Juxian Tang (translation by Juxian)
Part 2
He knew his master. He knew he had to serve him, was created for that – and he did his best to fulfill this task. Everything else – the things that stayed beyond the borders of his unfaithful memory – was unimportant and therefore dangerous. He preferred not to think of it.
He loved his master. His master, when looked up at, from the kneeling position, seemed so huge and strong, and it was right, because he was the master – the one who owned his life.
He tried to please his master. Sometimes he managed to do so – his body, so imperfect, still could bring satisfaction to his master. Then the master was contented, took him to his bed and slightly brushed his fingers over his ear, saying:
"Good Killie, good boy."
But sometimes his lips failed to be gentle enough, and his poses were not elegant enough – and then the master was angry. The master's anger made him feel small and weak, curl into a ball, covering his ears with his palms. But even at those moments he knew that he had to accept his master's anger with the same gratitude as he accepted his caresses.
And the master was never angry for long. After that he took Killie onto his lap, patted his arms – and at this moment, feeling his master's hard shaft inside, Killie felt especially good – he wasn't scared, he wasn't lonely.
He didn't like to be alone. Even being with the servants was better than being alone – even though they mocked him, calling him an idiot and saying his memory was empty like a sieve. But it wasn't true. He remembered his name. He remembered how to serve his master. And there was nothing else he wanted to remember.
Of course, there were dreams too. In his dreams everything was different. He was different. He didn't have a master, there was no one but him and a few of his companions – and together they flew along the night streets, riding fast machines, feeling wind on their faces.
He woke up crying after such dreams – because he couldn't understand how he dared to see such things, how he could even imagine the world without his master. And yet deep inside, he still would like to know if that feeling of wind, and speed, and road could be real. And he cried also because he somehow knew that he would never find out.
And then he did something wrong. He didn't remember what he'd done – he only remembered that his head ached, so terribly, and then came darkness, and he was falling through it. But he knew that what he'd done was really wrong, worse than his usual misdemeanors that would make his master simply whip him with a belt.
This something made his master's gaze serious and sad – and he didn't take Killie onto his lap anymore and didn't caress him with his soft hands smelling with sandalwood and tobacco.
The darkness came several more times, and after that the master took him to a clinic. Killie remembered how he was put on a narrow long table that suddenly moved into a big white machine. His master patted his hand and said:
"Don't be afraid, they'll just look."
He still was afraid but he didn't show it. Later the master and the doctor talked for a long time, and Killie sat at his master's feet, his head on his master's knee, and his master's fingers combed through his long hair.
At first the doctor said many complicated words, Killie didn't understand what they meant. And then he said:
"Do you want us to put him to sleep?"
His master's hand froze.
"No. Not yet," he said.
They returned home, and a few days later a man came and took Killie away – to the place with many people who looked at him and touched him. He didn't like their voices and unfamiliar faces – his head started aching because of them. He wanted his master to come and take him back home.
But the master didn't come. Instead of it Killie had many masters now. He lived in a small room with a locked door that opened only when his masters came. There were so many of them, and always the new ones, that Killie despaired to remember their faces. Sometimes there were two or three of them; sometimes they liked to hurt him – but they never caressed him after that.
The darkness came more and more often – and it made his masters angry. Sometimes he came round after this darkness – feeling hard kicks to his ribs, hearing curses.
"Fuckin' idiot, what's wrong with you?"
He didn't know what was wrong, what he had to apologize for – that was why he didn't say anything, just curled tighter, covering his head. He wanted to stay like that – curled, hiding from everything – he wanted to stay like that even when they didn't beat him.
He started looking forward to the darkness. It was his friend, taking more and more of his life. He no longer feared to fall into it. Sometimes it seemed he could almost see what was there, at the bottom – lights in the darkness.
And sometimes he thought he would stay in this darkness forever one day. His fall would be complete. And maybe there, below, the fast machines were waiting for him, and his friends, and the wind in his face.
There he would be free.
Katze knew what he was supposed to do. No, he didn't want to do it – but the option was so simple, so logical that he just couldn't stop thinking of it. If he could tell himself it was impossible, senseless – what a relief he would have felt. But no matter how he tried to make himself forget about it, it didn't help.
At home, sitting in front of his computer, Katze for a moment touched an old-fashioned turning calendar in a metal box, near the keyboard. It showed the date of the day before yesterday. He turned the disc quickly, setting the right time.
Just two days... how he wanted to turn them back and avoid doing all those stupid things. Or at least one of them, the worst – he wished he'd never asked his mother that question. But now it was too late.
He opened the file with Iason's contacts. There they were. Nathan Hazall, Federal Government.
He dialed, habitually covering the trace of his call, replacing his face on the monitor with another one, completely inconspicuous.
"Customs service of Terra. Can I speak to Mr. Hazall?"
"Mr. Hazall is out of town now. Can I help you?"
"I don't think so. I'll call him later."
No, I won't call him. Thanks Jupiter, he isn't there...
"Yes, sure. He'll be back from Amoi the day after tomorrow."
He thanked the amiable secretary-girl and disconnected, cursing inwardly. He didn't want to know where Hazall was, he already started believing that he'd done everything he could do today, and the rest he could put off for later... for never...
Hazall always stayed at Park Hyatt; and if he hadn't changed his habits, he was there now. Katze called the hotel, still hoping – maybe he wasn't there at the moment, or maybe he wouldn't accept the call.
"Hazall on line."
The monitor lit up, showing Hazall's face, chin set against his intertwined fingers. The pose was strange and only a moment later Katze figured out that Hazall was lying on his belly. Two young pets, a boy and a girl, were massaging his back. The boy wasn't Killie, and Katze felt a sudden, extreme disappointment. He tried to see something else behind Hazall in his luxurious room – but it seemed there was no one else.
Well, he didn't expect it to be that easy, did he?
"I don't know if you remember me," he said. "Iason Mink introduced us to each other a while ago. I'm a pet dealer."
He quickly added an image of a dealer ring on his hand, in case it was visible. It was not good that he used Iason's name for it but... Iason was dead; it didn't matter for him, did it?
"How can I help you? Or do you have something to offer?" Hazall said quite amiably. He blinked happily under the hands of his pets. "You're late, though, I've already made my purchases and I'm leaving tomorrow. However, if you have something really special to offer..."
"Actually I wanted to offer you to sell, not to buy." Katze smirked. "Remember the pet you got from Mr. Mink half a year ago – with the eyes of different colors? Are you particularly attached to him? The thing is that I have a customer who would gladly buy this exemplar and is ready to give a very good price." What am I doing, Katze thought – and yet he kept talking in the same calm, business-like voice. "He expressed his wish to buy a pet with different eyes, and I recalled yours. He offers an exceptionally good price, really."
Hazall grunted a little when the boy's hands slid over his nape. The girl leaned towards him, letting her hair caress his back.
"Exceptionally good, you say."
Katze waited.
"I'm sorry I'll have to turn down your offer, Mr.... what was your name, you said? Not because I didn't like it, obviously. But I don't have that pet anymore. I sold him a couple of months ago. However... if your customer is interested, it seems I saw a female with different eyes just yesterday at the auction. I paid attention to her... you know, when I was a child, I had a little friend with one eye blue and another one brown. I used to feel so sorry for her, I thought her eyes must have hurt. I still have this tender feeling when I see this anomaly."
Katze kept pretending he was listening – and couldn't understand where this tormenting feeling of loss had come from. As if he were close to having something – and it was torn away from him.
"Yes, Mr. Hazall, thank you..."
"So, would you like to know where I saw her?"
Katze felt that a little more – and he wouldn't be able to keep a civil expression.
"I'll... I'll call later," he reached for the button.
"So, it is not about mismatching eyes," Hazall said with a sudden satisfaction. His gaze was not sleepy anymore, became sharp and glittering. "You need that particular pet that was given to me, Katze?"
The name made him flinch. Iason had really introduced them one day, but it was such a short meeting, he was sure Hazall didn't remember him.
"I can provide you with the information on him," Hazall continued. "I even won't ask why you need him. Just a little favor, on account of future contacts. You are still doing the job Mr. Iason mentioned, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"So, if necessary, we'll find a common ground, right?"
"By all means, Mr. Hazall."
"Great. So, that pet – Killie... Do you know why I decided to get rid of him? Iason Mink always made perfect gifts, but that time – surely by accident – the pet was flawed."
"His memory was erased," Katze whispered.
"Oh, that was not a flaw." Hazall smiled happily. "I don't care for breaking pets with character. I'm an old man, I like comfort," he pointed at the pets who worked on him, "and peace. That pet was sick. He had fits – not epileptic but something similar. At first I thought it could be healed but the fits repeated more and more often and I had to sell him. I liked him but when a pet starts thrashing at some intimate moment – you have to admit it, it's not very good for one's potency."
"What kind of fits?"
"They say it is a side effect of memory erasure – when the erasure is made without finesse. Didn't you know about it? I was told such things happened. So, I sold him."
"Where?"
"Into the Reeno system. Of course, I didn't inform them about Killie's little defect." Hazall winked. "The rest of the time he was as good as ever."
"What branch of Reeno?"
The Reeno system was the biggest interplanetary network of pet and slave trade.
"I sold him to a dealer – I think it was the Central department. I'm sorry I can't give you more comforting information, Katze."
"You have helped me, Mr. Hazall."
"Nathan. Just call me Nathan. Perhaps we'll have closer contacts in the nearest future, why be so official?"
"One last question, Nathan. You haven't changed his registration number, have you?"
"No, of course I haven't. Why would I?"
Katze said good-bye and disconnected – and slammed his fist against the table. The ashtray bounced, turning over, spilling the cigarette butts. Katze glared at it with disgust.
Wonderful, wasn't it?
Wonderful; just two hours ago he recalled that he had a brother... and here it was, people already tried to manipulate him, give him favors, favors he'd have to pay for. It was what he was afraid of – what he tried to avoid for years. As soon as something became important for you, others started using it against you, started using you...
He couldn't afford it; couldn't afford to let Killie's existence become his Achilles. Damn it. Resting his forehead on his palm Katze touched the disc of the calendar again. For so many years he didn't even think about his brother. And now... Why did he have to do it? Not because he felt something for Killie – Katze had despised him when meeting him – and now Killie was a different man altogether – not even a man, just a wreckage, with his memory gone.
"I had to sell him," he recalled Hazall's voice. "He was sick."
What a stupid sentimentality to keep thinking about it. During last two days Katze just didn't seem himself As if something shifted in him.
Without looking at the monitor he entered the Net again and opened the database of pet registrations. Here it was, the pet D508M... first owned by Iason Mink... given to Nathan Hazall... departed from Amoi...
It took just a few moments to compose an inquiry and to find a number of the Reeno branch. That was it. Now he really couldn't do anything else.
Now he could calm down. And wait. Or forget.
19:30
There was just a tiny bit of mascara at the bottom of the tube. Sliver neatly spat onto the brush and started rubbing it against the walls of the tube furiously. The steps behind him approached, his mother's reflection appearing in the mirror.
"Don't go today," she put her hand onto his shoulder gently, not to push him. Sliver sighed. It was so tempting – to skip work, stay at home instead of freezing his ass off in the street.
"I didn't go yesterday."
"So what, you can settle it tomorrow. We have money now." Her voice became dreamy.
Oh yes, her fantasies again. The money they had found on the table gave a push to her usual ideas – that Sliver would meet "the right guy" some day – the guy who would take him away from here. It made Sliver angry; why should he meet the right guy if she hadn't ever managed to do it? What was the point of dreaming when they had to survive? And this money that seemed so much now – after a few days it would be gone: paid for the flat, for Tommy's medicines – the kid had a never-ending cold, for food.
"I'll fry popcorn and we'll play poker," she added – knowing perfectly that he wouldn't be able to resist it.
"Oh... all right."
Who would be able to resist, really.
"Cool, Romi!" She hugged him briefly and straightened.
"Marcia! Marcia, are you home?" The door creaked, opening, and Sliver's expression became sour. So much for popcorn.
He could see his mother's face in the mirror – helpless, ingratiating, looking at him pleadingly. But he wasn't in the mood to spare her. Resentment overwhelmed him.
"What's he doing here?"
"But Romi... Tommy is his son... he has the right to look at the baby."
"Look at the baby? That's the only thing he does – looks. And takes your money!"
"But Romi..."
He couldn't bear it anymore, he threw the mascara onto the table with fury – and was frightened at once that he might've smashed something from his make-up possessions. His anger was gone, only pity remained. He shouldn't have said it; shouldn't have reproached her for spending his money – the money he earned.
But this fucking Hinley... He already was in the room, cooing over Tommy's bed. When Sliver's mother came up to him, he turned to her, walked up with a wide smile, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Hmm, you look so good I want to lick you."
It was a lie, and Sliver knew it – his mother didn't look good in her warm terry bathrobe and with an old scarf on her head. But Hinley lied so easily – and it was exactly why he could twist Sliver's mother round his little finger.
A year ago, when Tommy was born, Hinley had accepted him as his own. Then Marcia was so happy – and Sliver also was impressed, because usually no one did that. But now, a year later, when Sliver was older and more experienced, he started thinking more and more often that Hinley had done it to secure his place in Marcia's bed – women weren't falling right and left for him, with his pockmarked face and thinning hair he wore in a braid. And plus to a free fuck his visits gave him free food as well, and other pleasures.
"How is my queen today?"
"Fine," Marcia blushed.
"And my little son. Ooh, he's not so little anymore!"
"If you paid a bit more attention to him, you would notice he's coughing for three weeks," Sliver muttered.
"Ah," Hinley turned to him as if just noticing him. "The little bitch is still at home?"
There had been time when Hinley thought that Sliver's occupation could be useful – and even had asked him to search the houses of his customers – for anything that could be useful for the Committee. At first Sliver was enthusiastic about this idea and even tried to do it at one place – very nearly escaping being caught. He was so scared he refused to do it again. Then Hinley called him a coward and a traitor and never missed an opportunity to jeer at him.
It was unfair, Sliver thought, because he liked what the Committee wanted to do, he really believed in it... but why did such an asshole as Hinley had to be its leader?
"Romi isn't working today," his mother said.
"His problem," Hinley shrugged. "I wanted to ask you, Marci. We have a meeting tonight but in the headquarters it's so cold – my ears are freezing off. I told our guys we'll be meeting at your place."
Sliver glared at him. He "told" them; he didn't ask for permission. But... it was not like mother ever said no to Hinley.
And maybe it was not so bad after all. The meeting of the Committee at home – it was wow! It was fascinating. But Sliver still kept seething with silly childish resentment.
"All right," his mother said thoughtfully. "But you'll need something to eat, won't you?"
"Oh, don't worry your pretty head. Make some tea, sandwiches, something. You're a smart woman, you'll think of something. And while they are not here yet, I'd eat something more substantial." Hinley licked his lips in anticipation. "What's that smelling so nice, soup?"
"Yeah, start guzzling," Sliver muttered quite loudly.
"Romi!"
"I see. Grudge a bit of bread for your stepfather." Hinley looked at him peevishly. "The Committee fights for such brats like you, so that you could get the rights, like Tanagura's citizens have – and you don't want to share a slice of bread with me?"
Sliver felt going red but said stubbornly:
"I earn this bread – and you, by the way, haven't ever worked in your life."
"Earn it by spreading your legs! A hard job, what to say!"
"Hinley," Sliver's mother looked at them both helplessly. "Romi! Please don't fight."
"Fight? With this little shit?" Hinley spat.
Enough! Sliver got up abruptly, put on his boots noisily, grabbed his coat.
"Romi, where're you going?" his mother gasped.
Didn't she know where?
"To work."
"Sure, he can't even miss a day. A night, that is." Hinley giggled. Sliver desperately resisted letting his tears spill. He ran to the door, stumbling – and nearly fell onto an entering man. A strong hand grabbed his upper arm, keeping him on his feet.
"Careful."
"Hi Guy."
Biting his lip, Sliver looked up at the calm face. Guy... Guy was different – not a windbag like Hinley. Guy had really done something – he'd blown up that place, Dana Bahn – and a real blondie with it – and had lost his arm there. The empty sleeve particularly impressed Sliver – it was an inarguable proof of Guy's deed being real.
If other people in the Committee were like Guy – for some reason it seemed to Sliver everything would be different then. Guy was... a real hero. And surely Sliver couldn't keep from staring at him at every chance he had. He hoped that some day he would hear Guy telling about Dana Bahn – but till now the man hardly ever mentioned it.
"Hi Sliver." Wow, Guy remembered his name! Sliver flushed with pride. "Hi Marcia."
Guy walked into the room, followed by several more people.
"Didn't even have time to bite something because of you." Hinley glared at Sliver.
Hovering at the door, Sliver hesitated. After all, he'd already decided he'd skip work tonight, right? And even if he went there, it'd take him half a night to walk to the downtown.
He sighed and gave in.
"I have an important information tonight," Hinley said when everyone took their places – the members of the Committee around the table and Sliver on the sofa, trying to make himself imperceptible enough for them to forget about him. "Our work has reached a crucial point. We were noticed. And we were promised help."
For a few moments all the voices became a joint noise – and Sliver felt as much enthusiasm as others. Until now he hadn't believed that the Committee could really achieve something. It was a beautiful dream – like his mother's fantasy about "the right guy" – but deep inside Sliver knew that it would never come true.
Long ago a rebellion against Jupiter had been suppressed – and it cost extremely dearly for the rebels. And yet, yet... someone had tried. So, it was possible, wasn't it?
"Who promised you? What kind of help?"
Hinley held a dramatic pause for a few seconds.
"Important people. They know what we do – and they are ready to help. And not only with money. We'll just have to rise at a definite moment."
"To rise – and to make Jupiter look at Ceres again?"
Sliver's eyes opened widely. Guy said it – and in such a skeptical voice! Wasn't he supposed to be glad that finally... Hinley also seemed to sense the tone.
"You don't like something, do you?"
"I don't like everything. I don't like to feel like a puppet in someone's game. What kind of people are they?"
"Important people, I told you."
"Important people who deal with mongrels?"
"So that's how you call us – mongrels?"
"That's what we are."
"You're just scared!" Hinley hissed and stopped short, understanding he'd said something wrong. "Of course, what you did in Dana Bahn was a serious thing, but Guy, I think you've changed. People change and you... you became soft."
It's not that, Sliver thought, Hinley was wrong. Guy wasn't scared – for some reason Sliver was sure of it.
He watched how Guy took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one. It seemed he could easily do it using just one hand. His face was very calm, even peaceful. There was a gray strand in his hair on the right side, pulled into a ponytail with the rest, dark hair.
He exhaled smoke – and at this moment his closed, strangely sad face reminded Sliver of another face that he had seen so recently, also through the veil of smoke. For a moment he even had to close his eyes at the strong and unexpected feeling at the thought of Katze. If only he could see him again. Of course, everything his mother fantasized about "the right guy" was bullshit, no point to think about it. But if only he could...
"You say that as if we have something to lose!" Hinley blurted out. "As if anyone in Ceres has something to lose!"
"I don't have anything to lose, that's right," Guy said. A smile flickered on his face, almost condescending – as if Hinley were a small child who didn't know what he was asking for. "But others... it's so easy to ruin even what's left."
"I'm not afraid," Hinley said. A few voices rose in agreement. "Your cautiousness is misplaced here. We'll rise when we're told to."
"Who will tell us?"
For a short while Hinley looked as if he doubted whether he should answer. But he apparently really wanted to say that aloud.
"People... of the Party."
"Blondies?" The chair rattled on the floor as Guy pushed it, getting up. His calmness was gone completely.
"These blondies aren't like that," Hinley mumbled in displeasure.
"You're a cretin."
"And you watch your mouth!"
"Cretin." It seemed Guy didn't hear him. "Don't even think of getting others into it. Why did it even come to your mind that you could trust blondies?"
"They need us. They'll help us – and we'll help them."
"They might need us, it's true. But that they'll help us... No blondie – not a one blondie has ever done anything to a mongrel," it seemed he had problems with saying those words, as if something was stopping him.
"That's what you think," Hinley said peevishly. "We'll vote for our decision."
"Without me." Guy's voice became cold and empty again. He walked to the door.
"Wait, you can't leave like that, we'll need you! We'll have to blow up a couple of things..."
The door slammed shut. Hinley turned back to the table, looked around at those who stayed and straightened his shoulders.
"Well. I hope he'll change his mind. And if he doesn't... good riddance then. Does anyone else want to leave?"
No one moved and Sliver pressed himself to the back of the sofa even tighter.
"Then let's vote," Hinley said.
Somewhere far away something was ringing. Without opening his eyes Katze tried to find the alarm clock and make it shut up but then he recalled he didn't set it at all; besides, it wasn't morning. Katze blinked at the yellow electric light. Someone was ringing at the door.
Quarter past eleven at night. Great – he'd fallen asleep in his clothes, on the couch. Usually he didn't have such a messy habit. And naturally, now he felt horrible.
He shuffled to the door, trying to bring himself in order at least minimally – so occupied with it that he didn't even think who it could be. He should have been wary of night visits, after what had happened the night before last – but he thought about it only after opening the door.
Raoul. Katze's breath hitched. Separated from him just by the threshold, standing on the badly lit stairs, Raoul seemed particularly impressive – some creature from another world, with his height, long golden hair and haughty curve of his lips. He almost could be taken for another dream.
A few moments it took Katze to deal with surprise were enough for Raoul to grow impatient.
"May I come in after all?"
"Yes, sure... eh, good evening."
Katze stepped back, letting him in, casting a glance at himself in the mirror. You look great, pal. Like you were sleeping on a couch, huh? He followed Raoul to the room, quickly covered the couch with a plaid. But Raoul surely didn't pay attention to such details.
"I..." Katze again didn't know what to say. "Thank you for everything."
"I just wanted to check if everything's all right."
The voice was cold but the words had a strange meaning. Raoul has come to check? As if it were such a natural thing.
"Yes, thank you. I left you a note..."
"I haven't been at home yet."
Katze looked at him in surprise. Something was not right. But... he should assume Raoul knew what he was doing. Apparently everything made perfect sense for the blondie.
Raoul stood in the middle of the room, silent, his gaze cast down – and Katze didn't know what to say either, waiting for Raoul to continue and at the same time feeling almost hypnotized by his presence. Iason had never visited him, and Raoul... he was so different from everything around! Katze had never been concerned how his apartment looked like. But now he was keenly aware how ugly it was. As ugly as he himself was in comparison with Raoul. But it was supposed to be this way, it was right, a blondie and a former furniture...
Raoul pulled off his gloves in a somewhat nervous gesture and rubbed his hands slightly, as if he was cold.
"Would you like some coffee?" Katze suddenly remembered his responsibilities as a host. Surely he didn't think Raoul would want to drink coffee at his place – it would be unheard of – but he had to offer.
"Tea."
"All right."
In the kitchen Katze suddenly recalled that he forgot to offer Raoul a seat. But really, did a blondie need his offer to make himself comfortable? Stupid thoughts... He filled the kettle, yanked the cups from the shelf – too abruptly, nearly breaking them – opened a cupboard and frowned. Perfect; what is he going to feed the stray blondie?
Katze bit his tongue, holding a nervous laughter. No wait, there was nothing funny in it. Soon he'd find out what Raoul was after – and Katze could swear he wouldn't like it. But even so – it'd be better to know than to quiver in apprehension... and let his thoughts take some strange turns when he looked at the golden strands of Raoul's hair.
He took the tray to the room. Raoul wasn't sitting but standing at the table, holding a small figurine Katze had gotten from someone many years ago, still in the orphanage. Three monkeys: see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. One of a few useless things Katze owned. In Raoul's long fingers the figurine seemed tiny – so easily crushed into powder – but his touch, Katze thought suddenly, was careful, almost gentle.
It seemed Raoul wanted to say something but he didn't.
"Tea, Mr. Am."
Raoul sighed, putting the figurine down – not to the place where he'd taken it from – and walked to the armchair. Katze poured tea to his cup and sat in the opposite armchair, on the other side of a small table.
"Would you mind if I smoked?"
"Not at all." Raoul gave him a strange look and continued, as if absent-mindedly. "Are you going to take any legal measures? Against the police."
Katze flinched, nearly breaking the lit cigarette, and made himself relax. He didn't want to be reminded about it – didn't want to, please, let's leave it behind, don't drag it up again...
"If you need it, Julius will give you the number of the doctor who..."
"I won't take any measures."
"Why?" Raoul's voice became slightly surprised.
"Well... as you said, Mr. Am, I'm a black market dealer. If I start a case against police, it'll attract attention to my main business. Besides, should I mention what happened, my reputation would be ruined. And," suddenly Katze decided to discuss it right now, "since we're talking of the black market – am I right that you've come to talk of its elimination?"
He raised his eyes; Raoul was sitting absolutely straight, with a piece of sugar half-soaking in tea in his fingers. Sugar was melting slowly until it crumbled. Raoul looked at his fingers as if he saw them for the first time and licked them.
"If you want to destroy the market that Iason Mink considered prospective," Katze continued resolutely, "no one can prevent you from it. But I... I'm very grateful for everything you have done for me – and yet I won't participate in it."
Yes, go on, he encouraged himself mockingly. Anger him, argue with him. It's so reasonable. But... he seemed to stop doing reasonable things a while ago.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Am, I can't..."
"Why do you think I care about the market?" Raoul's golden eyebrows drew together. He brought the cup to his lips, sipped the tea and frowned, apparently scalding himself – then angrily put the cup back onto the saucer.
Katze looked at him, realizing how dangerous it was to anger the blondie with such a direct stare and yet unable to look away for some reason. Something in Raoul's face, with his frown and his lips pink from the hot tea, was almost hypnotizing him.
"You want to ask me why I've come here then?" Raoul suddenly spoke with force. His eyes seemed dark like the autumn sky, and even the blonde strand falling across his face didn't manage to soften this heated, offended gaze. "You tell me!"
"What?"
"Why don't you tell me why I have come!" Raoul's voice rose. Katze's eyes widened, which must have got on Raoul's nerves particularly. "Don't pretend – you know perfectly well what I'm talking about! You know what I mean – of course you couldn't forget. What was it? What did you do to me that for so many years I..."
Years? Katze was ready to say he didn't know what it meant; damn, it'd surely make Raoul even angrier but he really didn't know. And then he suddenly remembered, and he stopped short. It couldn't be...
It couldn't be. It was almost ten years ago – such a long, long time ago – when Katze still had been a naive, silly boy who thought there was so much interesting around him, just reach and take. It was before Iason caught him – and marked him – and won his heart forever.
And in any case, it didn't mean anything. Katze never thought it did – he wasn't so stupid to even think about what happened. Nothing happened, right? Nothing that could have caused such personal anger of Raoul. Only that night Raoul had behaved like a spoilt child – and he could have seemed funny if his eyes hadn't been so suffering. And when he was throwing up in the bathroom, Katze suddenly had felt a fit of keen pity towards him – the feeling that the blondie would hardly forgive him if he knew about it.
He remembered Raoul's distraught sight and his shaking lips and then, in the darkness, Raoul was trembling – even though his arms around Katze's chest were like steel – so strong they seemed to be able to crush his ribs easily. And yet they weren't hurting him at all.
He never thought about it – next day and all other days – he'd forbidden himself to think about it. But still, something must have changed that night, as since then Raoul could never be just another blondie for him.
Surely, for the sake of his own safety, Katze had no intention to mention to him about it.
"I don't remember anything I shouldn't," he said looking down at his cup. And, after a tiny pause, he added. "I don't remember anything you wouldn't want me to."
"Don't lie to me!"
One swing of the arm and the sugar basin slammed against the opposite wall, breaking into several pieces. Katze felt he couldn't raise his eyes – as if Raoul's closeness suddenly became physically oppressive, as if his anger weighed upon Katze. Now he was really scared. And distressed as well – he didn't want Raoul to be upset, on the contrary, he wanted to let him know there was no danger, his secret was safe.
"I just need to know!"
To know what?
And at the next moment Raoul suddenly was over him, his hands clenched on Katze's shoulders, yanked him up. It was useless to resist, he even didn't have time to react – and there he was, pressed to the wall, and a strand of Raoul's hair nearly brushed over Katze's cheek. Raoul's eyes – huge and blue – were so close, looking at Katze as if not recognizing him.
He's terribly... beautiful, Katze thought – and clang to this thought, tried to hold onto it – because his body pressed to the wall, caught in the steel grasp of Raoul's hands, was reacting in its own way, jerking convulsively in panic. No, don't think about it... don't remember how yesterday they held you and you couldn't get free. Don't be stupid...
But he couldn't help it. Suddenly it seemed to be getting dark, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth. Katze felt how Raoul's fingers stuck into his upper arms even harder – because he started sliding down the wall.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
The beautiful face changed, now it seemed puzzled.
"Katze?"
The hands let him go – Raoul stepped aside. Katze found the elbow rest of the armchair by touch, sat down onto it, barely keeping himself from doubling over like a broken marionette. His temples were wet.
"Did I hurt you?" Raoul's voice reached him. Was he concerned? Katze hastily muttered:
"No, just... vertigo."
"I apologize."
Katze looked up sharply, unable to believe it. Raoul was apologizing? Panic was going away, leaving just weakness in its stead. And shame. What a fool, couldn't control himself, embarrassed Raoul... wait, did he really think so: Raoul was embarrassed because of him?
He looked at Raoul openly, since the blondie turned away, again staring at various things on Katze's desk. Raoul's arms were crossed on his chest, as if he tried to shield himself from something. It seemed he was hesitating – maybe whether he should just leave – and Katze felt strangely ambiguous, both wishing him to leave and regretting it.
"I always thought that unforgivable weakness starts when you encourage your desires instead of doing what you should do."
Raoul turned back – his voice was calm and distant – but his face wasn't. There was just sadness in it.
"It is what happened to Iason. I'm not so stupid to make my own mistakes – I'm capable of learning by the mistakes of others."
"Naturally," Katze said in a neutral tone. "It is most reasonable."
"And if I had any desires that contradicted common sense, I would have enough willpower not to let them turn into Achilles, right?"
"Of course, Mr. Am."
So, everything was pretty clear. The more surprised he was when the next phrase Raoul said, in a cold, business-like tone, was:
"I need a comprehensive report on the state of the black market. Tomorrow."
Two weeks later, 4:00
Do you know that...
Do you know that in twenty percent of cases the object of forced memory erasure doesn't survive it?
Do you know that from those who survived, five percent cannot control their bodily functions and fifteen percent are not suitable even for the simplest tasks?
Do you know that twenty percent of those subjected to forced memory erasure die within one year? And no one survives longer than five years?
It sounded like a monstrous article for inquisitive people. "Amusing statistics". Katze leaned back in the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. The air in the room was thick and gray with smoke.
It took him two weeks to get this information – it was so top secret that sometimes he wondered why it existed at all. But it did exist – Jupiter adored numbers. There was even a special department processing these data.
He wasn't supposed to look into it – why would he need to know such things? Finding information that was too dangerous was a risk Katze didn't like. But he had nothing else to do; the answers to his inquiries from the Reeno were negative. Katze sent new inquiries, to other branch offices. It was just a mechanical work: send a message, wait for an answer – find a negative answer. Nothing else.
His energy demanded some outlet.
Or maybe it wasn't even energy but the tormenting unrest that Katze tried to suppress at first; he reminded himself that there was a limited number of stupid things he could do in a certain period of time, after all.
But his curiosity – the curiosity that had made him once hack the secret files of Tanagura from the terminal in Iason's house – and nearly caused his death – now it made him go through the Net until he found this info...
But why was he so surprised, really? People probably knew about it – Hazall mentioned it, not with exact numbers but nevertheless. Anyway... who cared about those who were misfortunate enough to bring memory correction onto themselves? If something happened to them, who would complain? The owners of the factories and estates where the slaves with erased memory worked? Because it was where the better part of the objects went after the procedure. Only very few of them could become pets. One could say Killie was lucky.
What Katze didn't know yet was how many such "operated" objects were exported from Amoi to other planets. He was sure pets were the main item for export. It looked like slaves with erased memory could be another, a very profitable one. Perfectly utilitarian. If someone was subjected to memory erasure, why not to use them to the point?
Exactly what Iason did to Killie. No... exactly what Iason and Katze did. Right.
You did it.
Now live with it. Deal with it. Correct your mistakes – if you can.
He didn't want to think about it; he couldn't – because if he let himself focus on his guilt, it would crush him. And Katze set some kind of protective barrier in his mind and refused to go further. He was doing what he could – and it was enough, had to be. And obtaining information was what he could do – what he did best.
Katze took a sip of cold coffee automatically. The taste was horrible. Ah yes, he was shaking off the ash into it. He took another cigarette and lit it.
The bad thing was that if these statistics were correct, he didn't have much time left. Or Killie didn't have much time left. And he, Katze... What was he going to do after all? What could he change? Could he return his brother his memory? Even Raoul wouldn't be able to do it.
Nothing could be changed. Perhaps nothing could have been changed even then, seventeen years ago, in the orphanage – when he'd turned away from a funny, as his mother said, boy – and let him grow into the little monster Katze met sixteen years later.
"If you say no, I can't guarantee anything," he had said to Killie, and Killie jumped on to his offer.
And now even that unscrupulous boy didn't exist anymore. There was nothing. Katze turned the disc of the calendar with too much force and the dates clicked, changing, until only zeros were in the windows. Zero.
Live with it.
But what else could he do? He lived – by day doing his business, meeting Raoul in the evening – and who cared what he did at night? So far Katze managed to keep these two halves of his life separate.
He wondered if Raoul knew what consequences the memory erasure had. But of course he hardly cared what happened to ordinary people, and for blondies there was no such statistics. Maybe there were no consequences for blondies. But if so, then why that night – many years ago, after his first memory correction – Raoul had been so upset – so shaken that all his defenses went down, leaving him open, vulnerable?
Katze promised to himself – and to Raoul – never to think about that night and Raoul in bed with him. But of course such promises were made to be broken. Especially when he was seeing Raoul every day.
And that was exactly what was happening. Since the day when Raoul had come to Katze's place, he continued demanding this or that document Katze was supposed to bring him. Katze knew Raoul hardly read those papers but what could he say? If Raoul wanted him to prepare those reports, Katze had to obey. Until, a couple days ago, Raoul said, looking at him:
"I'm wearing you out with these documents, aren't I? You look like you don't sleep at all."
It wasn't Raoul's fault but Katze didn't have time to say that when Raoul added:
"Don't prepare anything anymore. Come tomorrow, we'll discuss..."
Discuss something. Didn't matter. They both knew it was not important. But this knowledge should be hidden and never mentioned.
Everything was simple, wasn't it? Raoul thought he had a weakness – and to fight this weakness he, for some reason, needed to see Katze all the time. Well, Katze didn't mind. If Raoul wanted to use him as a means to calm down his nerves – why not? Katze was used to it. He'd been turned into furniture to be convenient for blondies. All right, he wasn't a furniture anymore – or was he? Maybe it was what he'd always be.
He told himself he wasn't bothered at all; whatever Raoul did would be just a small repayment of Katze's debt to him. And Raoul didn't even do anything. What could he do? He was a blondie, Katze was a furniture – a completely different league, even to think something was possible would be stupid. Katze knew that Raoul's temporary fascination with him would pass – and likely sooner than later.
He told himself that the only thing he could afford feeling was feeling nothing. As long as Raoul wanted to see him – let it be so. It was pleasant to be at Raoul's place, nothing more. Looking at Raoul, with his killing beauty of a blondie, was more than pleasant. Yes, look... but don't touch. Don't think, don't want anything else.
Strange, he even thought once that he and the blondie were somehow similar in that. Blondies also could only look – could even probably feel something, some excitement, when they looked at pets. But they could never touch, never want.
Something else would be equally insane from his side and from Raoul's side.
Iason once had broken those rules. And Riki had never known any rules. And they both died. A good lesson for everyone else.
A sudden memory came over him, of one of those meetings, when Raoul came up to the desk where Katze put the papers – and reached for something, and their hands touched by chance... and froze. Katze didn't know why he let it go on – maybe taking away his hand would be impolite? And he pretended he didn't notice anything, engrossed in the documents on the desk – and Raoul did the same. And Katze felt with his hand how quickly and deeply the pulse beat on the inner side of Raoul's wrist.
It seemed to him he felt this beating for so long – for eternity. But it couldn't be. They touched just for a minute, half a minute even. They moved away from each other when the door opened and Raoul's furniture, Julius, appeared with a tray in his hands.
"I didn't ask to serve us tea," Raoul said harshly. The furniture blushed deeply and pointed at Katze, without looking:
"He did."
And for some reason Katze didn't say anything. Stupid boy.
One didn't need to be particularly observant to notice Julius' jealousy. But what could Katze do? Tell him that his misgivings were groundless – Katze wasn't a threat to Julius? Or remind him that for furniture to harbor any feelings towards the master – apart from the wish to please him – was a suicide?
Who could forbid feeling? And when Katze was a furniture himself – hadn't he sometimes – if only in dreams – hadn't he thought about Iason – Iason, unbearably beautiful, with the whip in his hand, as Katze looked at him kneeling and warm blood trickled over his face – and he thought Iason's gaze was the last thing he saw in his life?
This fear, this trembling... sometimes in Katze's imagination it mixed with another trembling, with heat in his chest and in his groin. Of course, it wasn't physical... not quite physical.
Strangely – he didn't fear Raoul. He understood, of course, that a blondie was a blondie – and yet towards Raoul he felt something different; and much more dangerous potentially.
Because no blondie would ever forgive him if he knew what sadness Katze sometimes felt leaving Raoul's house, those suites of rooms, with Raoul sitting at the computer. Sometimes it seemed to him Raoul wanted to call him back – and didn't do it. Sometimes Katze desperately wanted to stay. Because he didn't like Raoul being alone – and he knew Raoul felt alone. He felt... sorry for Raoul.
But he couldn't say anything, right? What could he offer Raoul? Himself? He was a defective goods, with damaged body and even more damaged soul.
Let it be just as it was. Let him start boring Raoul finally – and then it would be over.
Katze lit another cigarette and felt sick. He'd smoked too much tonight; two empty packs and one half-empty – too many even for him. And it was five in the morning; damn.
He rose and walked up to the window. Air conditioner failed to deal with the smoke, he needed to let in some fresh air while he showered and then... sleep. He started opening the window – and stopped still.
The sky behind the window was still dark – the sunrise came late those days – but the street below was lit with yellow electric light. And between two street lamps, in front of his house, a slight figure stood, shifting from one foot to the other.
It couldn't be!
Katze nearly slammed the window shut with surprise. And... damn, damn, what the fuck... he hastily ran out of his flat and down the stairs. Probably it was just a... hallucination?
But it was no damn hallucination; the little brat was still standing in the middle of the street, his hands buried in the pockets of his short jacket.
Sliver's eyes opened widely when the door creaked and Katze appeared in the street. Just look at him... long coal lines on the eyelids and blindingly brilliant lipstick. Fully armed.
"Waiting for someone?"
"Ooh Mr. Katze..."
Ooh what a coincidence. Was passing by, at five o'clock in the morning, stopped for a moment to lace my boots – and now you...
Instead of answering Katze snorted and grabbed the boy's upper arm, pushing him towards the house. Sliver obediently followed, like a clockwork doll. There was a thin layer of ice on the fur of his jacket.
Katze kept silent in the elevator – hoping that, for Jupiter's sake, the neighbors didn't hear anything; and even tried not to look at the boy although he felt Sliver's wondering, intent gaze on his face. Only after Sliver was inside his flat Katze let his anger loose.
"What are you doing, you fool? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
The boy looked at him rubbing his shoulder and Katze wondered if he grabbed him too hard. Maybe it was just a nervous reaction. Sliver's barbarically made-up eyes blinked in bewilderment.
"Why the fuck were you standing there?"
"I... I..."
"Don't you work at night?"
"I... I've finished for tonight..."
"And what? Decided to walk a little? Nice weather? Warm, sunny?"
The little idiot was blue with cold, one could see it even through the make-up.
"Don't you know what they can do to you in this neighborhood if they catch you? Don't you remember what you are? They'll shove a knife into your belly and it'll be their right."
Katze shivered. He knew it was true. If he hadn't looked out of the window, if someone else had... in the best case they would call for police. In the worst, would decide to teach the mongrel a lesson themselves. If he hadn't looked out of the window...
"Everyone's sleeping, Mr. Katze," Sliver said softly, as if it could calm Katze down. "Only your window is always lit."
Always? A sudden thought struck him – how many times Sliver had come here by now? Katze never had looked out of the window at night. Silly brat.
"So what?" he said in a calmer, more peaceful tone. "Why have you come here? To look at my window?"
He saw Sliver suddenly flush, nearly to tears, and his eyelashes covered in a thick layer of mascara trembled. His mouth opened slightly, he took in full lungs of air as if going to start a long string of explanations – and said nothing.
But what could he say? Everything was damn clear.
"Listen to me." Katze touched his shoulder. He shouldn't spare the boy – had to make it obvious his little tricks were guessed. "Don't try to manipulate me. Or fish for pity. I know perfectly well what's happening in your head." He rapped the tips of his fingers against Sliver's forehead slightly. The boy flinched. "Don't count on me. You don't know what kind of a man I am – and I want you to know that I'm not the man you should think about. If you think that when I see you, I'll be so touched that will allow you to twist me round your little finger – you're oh-so-wrong."
Sliver was biting his lip – so hard it seemed he was about to bite it through – and his eyes, caught by Katze's gaze, became more and more desperate. Katze shook his head. Perhaps the boy hadn't realized why and what he was doing.
"Trust me. If you need a permanent customer with money – look for him somewhere else."
"I don't..." Suddenly Sliver jerked, freeing from Katze's hand. His face became angry and unhappy but he didn't cry. "I didn't want anything from you! I don't need your money! I don't need anything from you at all!"
He spurted, past Katze, to the door, started fumbling with the keys, sniffing so loudly that Katze knew he was about to start sobbing. Katze looked at his narrow shoulders and black hair falling onto the thin neck – at the desperate abruptness of his motions.
Riki, he recalled suddenly. Wasn't Riki like that? Of course, he had been older when Katze met him – but hadn't he been just as foolishly proud, just as secretly wanting to break out of Ceres? Didn't they all dream about breaking out? Riki had been ready to do the most dangerous tasks to stay in Tanagura. But it wasn't police or rivals who killed him.
Riki died when a blondie interfered his life – a blondie who by his position was so far away from Riki's as if there were an abyss between them. All the time while Iason owned Riki, Katze begrudged the boy, both secretly and evidently, for "pulling down a blondie to the level of a pathetic human". But if Riki had ruined Iason, then Iason also had ruined Riki, even earlier.
From their first meeting Riki was poisoned by the blondie's closeness. He could have run – but he looked for Iason himself, he'd brought it onto himself. And how could one blame him?
How could one blame Sliver that the boy had mistaken Katze for what he was not – that he hoped Katze would help him to change his life? Not everyone was as lucky as Katze was – for him freedom cost just a small surgery.
"Wait." he grabbed Sliver's shoulders. He wasn't going to apply force but the boy twisted like a snake, desperately resisting. His face was blind, unrecognizing – it seemed he didn't even notice whom he was pushing away. "Stop it."
"Let me go... let me go..." his small hands pushed at Katze's chest as he tried to break out of Katze's grasp in panic. Katze wasn't going to hold him too hard, just instinctively tightened the grip – and heard a short squeak. He let go immediately – but Sliver didn't attack the door anymore, he sat down on the floor in the corner, huddling into his jacket.
"All right?" Katze asked softly. "Calmed down?"
The boy's head was lowered, messed up hair hid his face. He nodded, downcast.
"Fine." Katze squatted near to him, slowly reached his hand, hesitating whether he should push Sliver's hair away from his face. Sliver's eyes glittered through his fringe when he raised his head.
"I didn't want anything..."
"All right, all right, I know."
"Really!"
"I believe you."
"I was just thinking all the time... maybe it was that... wanted to know."
"I'm sorry."
Katze wondered whether it would look wrong if he picked up Sliver. The boy looked like a nestling, huddled in the corner seemed even smaller than usual. Of course, he wasn't a child – twelve years old in Ceres was by far an age of responsibility. And yet... for a moment Katze thought what if Sliver could be his son... a son he would never have... Then Katze would protect him.
Finally he pulled Sliver by the shoulders, raising him up onto his feet.
"Let's go. You're shivering. Need to get warm."
He suspected the boy was shivering not only because of cold – but decided not to return to this topic.
"Go wash your face and take a bath. You know where the bathroom is, don't you? And I'll make tea for you."
For some reason Sliver didn't argue but obediently walked to the bathroom.
Listening to the noise of water, Katze made tea and, after searching in the fridge, some toasts. Sliver likely needed to eat something after the night of work. The water stopped and only some splashes could be heard. Katze put the food onto a tray and walked up to the door.
"If you're in the tub, then stay as you are. I'm coming in to bring you your supper... I mean breakfast."
He opened the door carefully. Fortunately Sliver really was in water, among the flakes of pink sweet-smelling foam – Katze didn't even know he had something so peach-scented, must be from the samples he got by mail. Sliver's face was clean and he wrinkled his nose funnily, looking at Katze.
"What's so amusing?"
"Breakfast in the tub – that's cool."
"Enjoy."
He put the tray onto the shelf above the tub and walked to the door.
"Mr. Katze."
"What?"
A hand splashed on the water.
"I'm clean."
"I know."
"I mean I'm..."
"I know what you mean. Eat your toasts."
Sliver sighed and splashed in the water like a fish, sitting up. His narrow shoulders emerged from the foam. Katze glanced at him and froze, feeling his stomach clench. Sliver's left shoulder was all black and purple with a huge bruise, going down to the forearm. No wonder it hurt him when Katze held him.
Sliver reached for the tray, not noticing Katze's gaze.
"What happened to your shoulder?"
"Ah? Now it's okay, just a bruise. It's nothing, you don't mind, right?"
"Was it a customer? It didn't happen at home, did it?" Why was he asking...
"Uh huh," Sliver confirmed, slurping tea. "Not at home."
What was the point... It was not like Katze could do anything.
"Fine," Katze sighed. "When you eat and wash, put this on." He put a pajama jacket onto a chair. Everything else of his clothes would be too big for Sliver.
"I'll be very quick," Sliver promised.
"Don't be."
In the room, making the bed for Sliver, he cast a glance at the computer. During last days it became his habit to check for messages from the Reeno at any opportunity. And now, as if hypnotized, he checked his mail again and found the mailbox empty.
Should be expected.
For Jupiter's sake... what was he doing? A sudden wave of disappointment washed over him – the realization of absurdity of his actions became so clear that Katze felt weak. The empty monitor glimmered in front of his eyes. He leaned against the back of the chair waiting for this almost physical feeling of erroneousness to pass.
Why was he trying to find Killie? What kind of redemption was he looking for? It was too late to change anything there, he couldn't help Killie, he could only relieve his situation in some way.
But in his bathroom right now there was another boy from Ceres – and for him it wasn't too late. Katze still could help him, could do something for him, change something. So why was he rejecting everything that was not about Killie? For what brotherly feelings?
He didn't love Killie – and now it was too late to try. And he could love Sliver, not sexually but like a brother...
But he couldn't stop. He couldn't abandon Killie. Whatever Killie had been before their meeting, what he was now was fully Katze's fault. And he knew he wouldn't be able to live with it – to live without doing everything possible to rescue Killie from where he was now. It was not even for Killie's sake but for his own sake.
He couldn't betray his brother once more.
Barefoot steps made him turn. Sliver stood in the middle of the room and looked at him. The pajama jacket was strategically unbuttoned, hiding only his groin. Katze ignored it as well as Sliver's inviting stare.
"Go to bed. Now. You sleep on the couch."
He waited for Sliver to obey, then switched off the light and went to shower.
"And by my return you are to sleep. On the couch. Is it clear?"
"Yep," Sliver muttered.
Katze was sure that after the long night the boy would fall asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow – that was why he tried not to make noise when coming back from the bathroom. The sky behind the window started getting grey. He crawled into the bed and stretched out tiredly.
"Mr. Katze..."
In the twilight he could see Sliver's dark head raised from the pillow. Something in his voice didn't let Katze scold him and send him to sleep again.
"What?"
"You don't like me – at all?"
Katze sighed. His hand reached for a cigarette on its own volition and he stopped it. Enough for tonight.
"Is it because of my hair? Because it is black?"
"You have nice hair."
"Then what?"
He didn't know what to say. Nobody ever asked him such questions.
"You're just too... young."
"You like older men?"
Oh God.
"Yes. Probably."
"But I can – I can do everything! I'm experienced!"
"It's not the case."
"If you just give me one chance!"
His voice sounded so insistent – as if he really wanted it. But Katze knew why Sliver pleaded so desperately. It was the only thing he had to offer – the only thing, as he thought, that could attract Katze.
"I'm not sick, I never do it without a rubber – well, almost never."
Except for the cases when some bastard, like the one who'd mauled his shoulder, made him.
"I'm just not your type, right?" Sliver added quietly.
"No, you're not."
"Ah." And because of this sound, so understanding, so doomed, something broke inside Katze. "I see."
"No, you don't see anything." He rose on his elbow, looking into the darkness. "It's not about you. It's about me." Wait, you're not going to tell him... he doesn't need to know. "I'm just not the kind of man you need. I'm not the kind of man anyone needs. I would... disappoint you."
On the coach Sliver puffed like a hedgehog.
"Believe me," Katze said. "I'm just not the kind of man who can make anyone happy. And let's sleep."
Sliver seemed to be about to say something but then didn't. Katze closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, it was already cloudy morning. Sliver tossed and turned on the coach. Katze thought he should send the boy home. But instead of it he spent half a day with him – at first they had breakfast and then they went shopping, and he made Sliver choose something warmer to put on. It was a waste of time but for some reason Katze liked it.
He came home in the afternoon and automatically checked the messages, almost without hope. And the reply was there – that yes, the pet D508M was on Dygor, in one of the brothels.
For a few moments Katze looked at the screen, his mind blank. It wasn't unexpected, it was the result of his search, he wanted that. Why then was he feeling as if he couldn't move, as if everything inside him turned into ice?
It went on just for a few moments, though. Then he turned the screen off and straightened. Well, he'd done everything he could on Amoi. Now he had to go to Dygor.
"He's over there, Mr. Am," a young man with pink hair showed Raoul his way. He wasn't an android, the restaurant didn't keep androids as waiters, they said it was their way of expressing respect to the customers. But for Raoul it didn't matter. He thanked the man briefly when seeing on the second floor, in a shadowy corner of the arcade, the man with a cigarette. The smoke raised in thin streams in front of Katze's face, making him appear even more distant.
Raoul touched the rails of the stairs, slowing his steps for a moment. Katze didn't see him – he looked somewhere far away with slightly squinting eyes. So rarely did he have a chance to see Katze just like that, unguarded, so rarely did Raoul allow himself to look at him without being afraid to arouse suspicions... though if anyone could suspect anyone in anything here, it would be himself. He restrained himself... as if it were possible to be with Katze and at the same time to believe that it means nothing.
Katze's motion as he stubbed his cigarette was sharp, nervous – why hadn't Raoul noticed it before? Or maybe with him Katze acted differently. Now he looked so tense – his eyelashes half-lowered, his mouth compressed tightly. He took another cigarette, shook his head slightly for his hair not to get into the flame of the lighter – and Raoul thought that in the last weeks he'd learned to recognize this gesture... as if this knowledge of Katze's habits and gestures, of the tone of his voice mattered at all.
Katze looked up at him.
"I'm late."
"It's all right." What else Katze could say? Raoul said it just to start the conversation – that was all.
Strange, yesterday the idea to dine out seemed so attractive. It was illogical – instead of hiding his contacts with Iason's former furniture Raoul seemed to want to declare it publicly. And not even because in public he hoped to be less inclined to make stupid things.
He wanted to be with Katze somewhere they could be seen. As if Raoul derived some perverted pleasure from it. Let them look... Let them see them together. Of course, everyone would think it was a business meeting, no one would dare to think anything else.
Katze carefully suggested yesterday that they should choose something more confidential – and that was why Raoul, out of sheer stubbornness, chose this luxurious club he'd visited with Iason so often.
It was stupid, of course. And now, looking over the low table at Katze who didn't seem to notice blondies or other high rank citizens of Tanagura around them (it seemed he didn't even particularly pay attention to Raoul either), Raoul didn't know what to do. There were no salutary documents they could pretend to discuss.
"Did you order something?"
Katze pointed at the cup of coffee.
"Anything else?"
"No."
What was wrong with him? Katze had never been impolite. Well, he wasn't impolite now – just distant. As if there was a wall between them, and Raoul couldn't get through it, didn't feel Katze near.
The feeling of loss that came over him at this thought was surprising. He really wasn't going to wonder what happened to Katze, why he behaved so oddly... why he'd smoked his next cigarette in a few short drags.
"Iason liked this place," he said instead.
It seemed Katze came round for a moment, looked at the glass arcades and brightly lit hall.
"Yes," he said. "I remember."
The waiter came up soundlessly, bringing Raoul's wine. He didn't even touch the glass looking at Katze with annoyance. Jupiter, what was wrong with him, really? As if he were here – and at the same time not here. Raoul didn't like it. In his presence Katze's attention should've been undividedly his. He was a blondie and Katze was... And yet what he felt was not just exasperation because of proprieties infringed. It was that his expectations were failed to live up to. Raoul wanted this dinner to be something special – he didn't know what kind of special but he wanted it to be.
Stop it, he told himself. If you don't like something, then leave, no one makes you stay here. Leave – and never arrange any meetings with this mongrel, this ungrateful...
"I'll need to leave for a few days," Katze said suddenly.
Raoul bit his lip. It was unexpected how strongly and painfully something clenched inside him.
"Where?"
"For Dygor."
Why was he going there? Business? Raoul didn't remember Dygor mentioned in the black market documents. And if it was business, why Katze was like that now – so... lost?
"What for?"
"I need to meet someone there."
"I don't permit you."
This time his words reached Katze. His look became surprised, almost defenseless. Raoul frowned, quickly looking for an explanation of his words. There was no explanation – except that he suddenly knew he definitely didn't want to let Katze go. But on the other hand, why did he need to justify his decisions?
And what if... suddenly this thought struck him: what if Katze was meeting someone there – what if he had someone on Dygor? Of course, Katze was a castrate but weren't there perverts who wouldn't care? What if someone wanted Katze... and Katze wanted this man too?
But why should Raoul be bothered? He reminded himself that of course he shouldn't be, he shouldn't care at all what Katze did in his free time. Katze was nothing – it was beyond Raoul's dignity even to think about such things, it would be stupid to think.
He wouldn't fall so low. After all, he managed to control himself, all those days. His tactics worked. He met Katze but that was all, and sooner or later he would have enough of it. Sooner or later Raoul would get rid of this feeling of shaken equilibrium that overwhelmed him every time when he thought of Katze.
At this moment the equilibrium was shakier than ever. And all reasonable, right thoughts – Raoul couldn't focus on them, couldn't think them to the end. All he felt was a hot, painful resentment.
It was unfair! Katze couldn't... with anyone... didn't have the right...
"I can forbid you to leave Amoi. Can put you on the black list. I have the right to do so – for security of the planet."
"Mr. Am." Katze's voice sounded careful – as if he tried not to destroy the flimsy balance... as if he expected Raoul to explode at any moment. "It's just for a few days. I really need to go."
He 'needed'. He didn't say 'I want to go'.
"It doesn't have anything to do with Amoi security, believe me, Mr. Am. It is..." For a moment it seemed to Raoul Katze would explain everything to him now. But instead of it he said. "It is personal."
Raoul felt as if pain exploded in his head. Shell-shocked, he desperately clang to a cold and alien thought: you shouldn't be bothered by it, there is no reason to feel like that – but he couldn't do anything, it was stronger than him. He felt like a sheet of crumpled, torn paper taken by the wind, unable to stop.
Straightening, Raoul said coldly:
"Leave your personal matters to yourself. I don't want to hear about your... bed affairs."
But you wanted to know, you asked him...
For some reason he couldn't even see anything, just heard Katze sharply inhale, as if Raoul said something what startled or hurt him.
"Get out," Raoul said in an expressionless voice. "I don't want to look at you anymore."
That was right. Should have been done it a long time ago. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again, he wasn't going to let a mongrel occupy a part of his life. He would behave properly – so properly that Jupiter would be proud of him.
His vision was still somewhat dim but somehow he noticed Katze to get up – silently, without hesitation – and walk away.
"No. Wait."
Katze turned back; his long dark-red bangs swayed with the movement and fell over his eyes again. His face was so calm – as if he didn't care what Raoul said at all.
"If you want me to permit you to leave," Raoul said vindictively, "you will do anything I want. You'll have to... earn this permission."
Katze's gaze became frozen – such that for a moment Raoul was startled: he didn't expect his words to affect Katze that much. And till now he didn't even know what he was going to do. But the effect of his words intoxicated him. He suddenly felt that it was really so: not only Katze would do anything Raoul would order – it was as if Raoul himself got a permission to do anything he wanted. As if some secret fear ebbed, leaving him with a feeling of incredible lightness.
And this lightness was mixed with a cruel joy.
Katze didn't say a word, just stood in front of him; even his pose didn't change. But with some flair Raoul could sense that under this apparent calmness his body almost vibrated.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Katze said.
"Let's go." Raoul got up.
He was too impatient to wait till they got home – walked instead to the private rooms in the western part of the arcade. Katze accompanied him, his gaze lowered – very quiet. But Raoul knew there was no peace in him. He was more likely petrified, and his face, very pale, seemed a mask under the strands of red hair.
They entered the room and Raoul locked the door. Katze stood there, looking down – and seeing this lifeless face Raoul felt such anger that he wanted to hit him. Just to cause any reaction, other than this anguished obedience.
Katze was afraid of him. All right, he should be. Raoul liked it.
All his life he'd been taking the fear and cringing of humans as his due. He was a blondie – and all others, who didn't belong to the elite, should fear him. But Katze... seeing him afraid was an absolutely different feeling. It was... exciting. It seemed to make hot waves go through his body. And below, in his groin, he felt the special pulling.
He had never felt something like that simply because he was close to someone – even not to a blondie. And Katze was a mongrel – and crippled. What was happening? But anger and sweetness of arousal were nearly unbearable.
"Strip," he said.
For a moment Raoul himself was surprised that he ordered that. He'd seen Katze naked before – only Katze didn't know that. Then Katze hadn't been defying him, hadn't done anything to anger Raoul. He had been weak – broken and humiliated – completely defenseless against anything Raoul could have wanted to do.
Humiliation... maybe that was it? Raoul knew what was the worst for Katze – and it was exactly what he was doing.
Katze didn't say a word; but Raoul noticed how he gritted his teeth. He took off his jacket in a measured motion and put it over the back of the sofa. He didn't look at Raoul. His gaze seemed to be turned somewhere inside. And there was no anger on his face, just doom. He looked like he'd always known it would happen.
But how could he know it? How dared he? A few minutes ago Raoul himself hadn't known what he'd do.
Everything had happened so quickly. He wanted to hurt – and now he was doing it and enjoying it. Maybe he wanted to revenge himself for the pain he'd used to feel at the thought of Katze. For all the pain he'd ever felt.
Katze pulled his sweater over his head. Raoul was already looking forward for more, could imagine how Katze would stand in front of him, naked, with his shoulders painfully straight, with this distant gaze – he would stand there, knowing that Raoul could see him.
He imagined how he would order Katze to lean over the table and then... then he would find relief for this hot surge between his legs, would feel the warmth of the body accepting his pulsing, burning cock.
Then Katze wouldn't matter. There would be no breaking of Jupiter's rules. He would be just a thing Raoul would enter – just a thing Raoul would use to derive pleasure. A thing that could be torn, broken, crushed – without consequences.
Raoul wanted it. He wanted to turn Katze into a thing.
Like they had done it – those who raped him in the police station.
He recalled Katze's blood on his fingers – and how Katze would have slipped down on the seat of the car, had Raoul not caught him. He remembered Katze's trapped gaze, his voice so desperate in the attempts to sound calm.
Did Raoul want to see that gaze again? He knew what would happen, didn't he? Katze would let him do whatever Raoul wanted – and then would leave as if nothing happened – even if he were hurt, even if Raoul tore him – which could happen, easily. And what then?
What will you do then?
Katze still stood with the sweater caught around his arms – as if trying to cover himself till the last moment – and Raoul stepped towards him, reached out and grasped his face making Katze look into his eyes.
He sensed that special fragility of human bones under his fingers, and the knowledge how easily he could break Katze's jaw, crush the bone – made Raoul clench in pleasure that ran through all his body, and in strange sadness that filled him with this thought.
Katze's eyes seemed empty – as if he wasn't even inside this body that kept breathing and moving. But no, of course he felt and understood everything. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they seemed colorless – and all his face was terribly pale. Raoul looked at this face, at the scar crossing the cheek – looked until he felt Katze making small, convulsive movements – as if he unconsciously tried to get free from Raoul's grip.
Raoul yanked his face up, not letting him move.
"Is it really so important for you to go to your Dygor?"
He didn't know what answer he expected – and would it change anything? Katze's white lips moved.
"For Jupiter's sake," his voice was soft, as if he couldn't take enough breath. "Do whatever you want. Just please do it faster."
Katze's arms caught in the sleeves of the sweater were between them – but it seemed to Raoul he could feel heat and trembling coming from Katze's body, could feel how Katze's ribs moved with convulsive breaths. And under the thin bones of those ribs Katze's heart was beating wildly – and Raoul seemed almost to be able to hear it.
And it was the ultimate truth. It was what he wanted. He didn't want to hurt Katze. He just wanted to be near. But why did he then...
He stepped aside. He couldn't even raise his eyes, he muttered looking down:
"I don't want to do anything. You may dress."
He couldn't look at Katze. It hurt. It was the pain that he expected to feel for a long time – but only now it finally reached him with full impact. Loneliness.
He'd always been alone. And his affairs with Leon and Iason had changed nothing, only created an illusion of intimacy. And now even an illusion was gone. He was alone and knew it – and he knew it would always be this way.
Near to him, Katze quickly got back into his sweater. Now he'd take his jacket and leave. But for some reason Raoul couldn't hear the steps. He turned carefully.
Katze was sitting on the floor by the wall, his knees raised – as if he couldn't stand anymore, as if relief had taken the remnants of his strength. His face tilted up seemed completely white and his eyes black like ink stains – and this way Katze looked incredibly young, almost like a teenager.
"I think," he said in a very coarse voice, his eyes avoiding Raoul's gaze even as he tried to sound humorous, "I'm awfully messed up."
Raoul saw how he reached into his breast pocket for cigarettes – but the cigarettes were in the jacket and the jacket was on the sofa. With some strange impulse Raoul walked up, took the jacket and gave it to Katze.
"Thank you," Katze said.
And then Raoul felt something broke in him – it was almost physical. He wasn't going to do it, didn't know what happened – but suddenly his legs gave up and he was on his knees, in front of Katze, hugging himself as if he were cold. He was shaking – and this trembling almost immediately became so intense that Raoul couldn't control his breath, it was almost like sobbing.
No, Raoul couldn't cry. Nonsense, blondies didn't cry, especially because of... he even didn't know how to cry, these were just dry and ragged sounds – but it seemed his chest was exploding with pain. He hugged himself tighter, trying to suppress those noises unbefitting for a blondie – but it got only worse.
And suddenly arms wrapped around his body, hot and strong, pulling him closer – and Raoul didn't know why he didn't resist, why he submitted to these arms. Inside him there was only cold but Katze's body pressed against his was warm and alive. And the arms held him, replacing the embrace of his own arms. Katze's palms slid over his shoulders, patted him, fingers combed through his hair, as if Raoul were a small child who needed to be patted and comforted.
But what could he do, he really needed it; it made him feel so good.
"Raoul," he heard the voice, as gentle and insistent as the hands that caressed him. "Hush, Raoul..."
He gritted his teeth trying to calm down. He should've controlled himself. But he didn't want to – he wanted to let himself go.
"Raoul..."
His name. Katze called him by his name. And it was good, it was right – he sobbed again with pleasure this thought brought him.
"Say it again," he mumbled.
"Raoul. Raoul."
The fingers caressed his temples, carefully combed his hair – and leaning against Katze's chest, Raoul closed his eyes.
Could it really be like that? So good... Was it what he'd feared? He didn't fear anymore.
He didn't know how long they sat like that. Finally Katze gently moved away from him. Raoul saw his pale, smiling face. How beautiful he was when he smiled... only he didn't smile often. Then Katze pushed strands of hair away from Raoul's burning face.
"All right?"
Raoul nodded obediently and pressed his cheek to this palm. His fingers were clenched on Katze's sweater and didn't let go. Yes, he was behaving like a fool and he knew it, he'd broken propriety so many times. Only he didn't care.
"Let's go to my place?" Raoul said shyly. Partly he expected Katze to refuse.
"Fine."
In the car he pressed to Katze again, he put his head onto Katze's shoulder and felt how the man's arm wrapped around his.
Just hold me, please don't let me go.
Damian was too disciplined a driver to show his interest in what happened in the backseat. Raoul thought about putting the screen but he didn't want to move, didn't want to let Katze go even for a moment. Besides, nothing happened, right? Katze just touched his hair, that was all... though it was by far enough to disgrace Raoul among the elite for all his life.
He smiled; the thought came and left. Katze's warm fingertips slightly touched his temple and Raoul couldn't think about anything else.
"You're not angry with me?" he whispered but in reality he wanted to ask: do you feel good with me? Will you stay with me? Katze stopped still and Raoul went quiet, unexpectedly unsure in the answer he would hear. Then Katze pulled him closer again.
"What are you doing to me..." he said.
"I wanted it for so long," Raoul murmured and suddenly knew that it was true.
They left the car. Raoul still couldn't stop holding onto Katze – but there was no need to stop. At home no one could see them but a few androids and Julius.
"So what was it you wanted?" in the bedroom Katze looked at Raoul. His palm carefully cupped Raoul's face and his intent eyes seemed very dark.
"I... I don't know," Raoul whispered. "But you won't leave me, will you?"
"No." He heard laughter in Katze's voice. "I won't leave."
And it was enough. Raoul let Katze get him in bed. The light went off and suddenly he felt Katze lay down next to him, behind him – and his arm wrapped around Raoul, pressing him closer. Raoul heard a whisper, a warm moist touch of breath on his temple – and it was the best that happened to him this evening.
"Sleep."
In his dream he was in the past. In one of those evenings spent in the brilliant blue parlor of Iason – and Leon's fingers caressed the stem of a wine glass as if it were something alive, as if touching warm skin.
"You surprise me, Leon," Iason's voice was cold and calm and full of irony. "I have a feeling you yourself don't know what you want. You don't mean that you are ready to give up the privileges of blondies for the sake of... forgive me, I seem to fail to understand what for."
"You are right, the tight control over the genome made us perfect. But because of it we lost our ability to perfect ourselves on our own."
"You lack any freedoms?" Iason asked maliciously. "Come on, share with us your opinion – what is so important that you lack in comparison with ordinary people? Possibility of procreation?"
"Well, if anything, I suppose we might be grateful to Jupiter that she allowed us not to connect sex with the necessity of breeding." Leon snorted. His long fingers touched Raoul's hair, stroked it with the same condescendingly tender gesture as he was caressing the glass. "Isn't it true, my little one?"
Raoul blushed and lowered his eyes hoping that his pink face wasn't noticed – hoping that maybe Iason hadn't noticed Leon's gestures. Why did Leon have to remind all the time about their relations?
However, usually Raoul rather enjoyed it. His mentor was gorgeous; one could be proud of having such a lover. He liked the way Leon so openly admitted their relationship. But in Iason's presence... for some reason Raoul wasn't so proud of it.
"I just mean that our perfection made us too lazy," Leon continued. "Too satisfied with life. We don't have an incentive to improve."
"And what about competition?"
It seemed to Raoul that Iason said this word with emphasis.
"Ah, competition. Isn't it the most primitive stimulus of all?"
Leon reached out and caught the wrist of the nearest pet, one of those who fondled each other in the middle of the parlor, and dragged him closer. The boy's eyes were round with excitement and fear when he felt the blondie's hands hover over his body, without touching.
"Let's take pets..."
"You don't need to take them literally," Iason said laughing.
"We all know they will tear each other's throats if they think each other rivals. It doesn't mean that they strive to perfection."
Leon's fingers ran over the pet's back, slid between his buttocks in a short caressing gesture – and then he pushed the pet back to other participants of the mini-show.
"But even pets have more opportunities for growth than we do," Leon finished.
Raoul froze looking at him with wide eyes. He probably looked as frightened at this moment as the pet had been.
Leon never stopped surprising him. Actually, adult life surprised Raoul in many ways all in all. They had been taught one things, one set of rules – and in real life it turned out that some rules could and should be broken but there were other, unwritten rules. It was almost as complicated as applying theoretical knowledge of mental correction in practice.
However, he had good mentors at his work place – and in the society life Leon was guiding him, for which Raoul was grateful to him. Leon took him along to the clubs, introduced him to the right people; Raoul accompanied him when Leon visited his acquaintances.
The invitation from Iason Mink included both of them.
Iason... Raoul admired him secretly and for a long time. He was the same age as Raoul but graduated two years earlier. Of course, they hadn't been friends at school – Iason was rising too swiftly, he barely had noticed Raoul. But even now, when Raoul was an adult, independent man... he still wasn't in the same league with Iason.
And there was Leon.
But what did it have to do with it?
"Bravo, Leon." Iason dryly clapped his hands a few times. "I was looking forward to seeing what you'd come up with. So, we should envy pets. What an original idea. Oh, and Raoul, please pay attention," he added suddenly in a softer voice. "Because all that nonsense Leon fed to us was exactly for one purpose – to impress you."
Raoul looked up at Leon with surprise. Leon was smiling but his smile was somewhat stiffened.
"You are Leon's only audience, Raoul."
"At least I know when to stop, Iason," Leon said.
"I hope you do, Leon."
They don't like each other, Raoul suddenly thought in bewilderment. They visit each other, talk, play chess – but they dislike each other. He didn't know why – was it professional? But Leon Tan was the chief of security and Iason Mink was a counselor – how could they be connected?
"As for your pets, they are really pretty," Leon said and there was nothing but courtesy in his voice. "Would you sell me that one, with blue eyes?"
"He'll be my gift to you," Iason said.
"Oh no, don't. Better give him to Raoul – he should start forming his harem and he doesn't know whether to start with boys or with girls."
Raoul flushed again. Did Leon have to make him look like an idiot?
At night in their bed, between the intercourses he still couldn't keep from asking:
"Do you really think blondies lack something?"
Leon held him down, gently but firmly – as always. His hands dug into Raoul's hair, gathering handfuls of strands, crumpling them.
"Well, there is at least one blondie who definitely lacks nothing," he whispered hotly, kissing Raoul – and these funny words, and the hot weight of Leon's body made the dying fire of arousal inside Raoul flare up again. He moaned into Leon's mouth when the blondie's fingers touched his nipples. And the questions were no longer important.
And then he got another invitation from Iason. He thought Leon was going to be there as well – but Iason was the only one who met him in the parlor.
"Thank you once more for the pets," Raoul said awkwardly. "They are lovely."
"I'm glad you enjoy them."
"So... Leon is late tonight."
Iason got up, walked up to him – Raoul felt like a rabbit caught in the front lights of a car, dazzled, unable to move. When looked at from afar, Iason was unbearably beautiful. Close, his beauty was destructive.
"Leon isn't coming," he said taking Raoul's hand – and Raoul obediently got up from his chair. "But can't we do without him?"
And when Iason's mouth touched his, it was ice and melting metal, and Raoul stopped thinking, stopped fearing – simply forgot about everything else.
That first time with Iason... he couldn't even tell how it was. Everything was like in a mist, and when he came round, it was over, and Iason held him in his arms, kissing him, combing his hair away from Raoul's face.
"You have to go. Leon will be looking for you."
After that there were other trysts. Iason entered his blood like poison, like a drug. Sometimes Raoul was ready to give anything for the feeling of silky white strands touching his skin, for his name said in Iason's soft, serious voice: "Raoul," as if Raoul really meant something for him.
And with Leon, giving in to his insistent caresses like he used to, Raoul felt such shame that sometimes it seemed he couldn't bear even a minute more of it. Physically it was better than ever. And in his soul... it seemed it just couldn't be worse.
But it turned out it could always be worse.
Iason Mink accused Leon of inappropriate behavior. Leon issued counter accusations. They both chose Raoul as a witness.
Jupiter called for him. At first he denied everything. Those conversations with Jupiter... he'd never known it could be so scary when you couldn't give her what she wanted.
Lying with him in the bed, Leon said:
"You're doing right not giving your testimony at once. Your loyalty won't cause any doubt when you finally confirm accusations against Iason."
But Raoul resisted Jupiter's questions not because he had some devious plan – but because he couldn't say anything. He couldn't condemn either of them. He needed them both!
Iason didn't push him. Raoul didn't even meet him, spending all his time with Leon.
And then Jupiter suggested brain scanning – as it was done if a witness didn't cooperate. Raoul knew that it would have consequences, there could be brain damage – who would know it better than him? He was afraid of losing a part of himself, of his intellect, his memory.
The last day he spent outside the city, on the ruins of the scientists' base on Amoi. The wind was particularly strong there, nearly knocking him off his feet. But Raoul liked it; he liked cold and resistance of the air.
He had to choose. Could he sacrifice himself, hoping that the scanning would be less damaging? Well, he was a coward – he couldn't risk it. Should he sacrifice Leon then – Leon who was always kind to him? Or Iason? Iason – dazzling, cold – and it was why his rare tenderness was especially irresistible.
Leon was beautiful. But no one could resist Iason.
Raoul touched his lips, his body, remembering the hands of the others touching him.
Whore... liar... traitor.
And yet Jupiter... in the seeming objectivity of her questions Raoul could feel what answer she wanted from him.
Next day Raoul gave his testimony. And Jupiter charged him with his first personality correction. It was Leon sitting in the correction armchair.
Raoul moaned remembering the gaze of huge, black-in-blue eyes of Leon in the slit of the helmet. The helmet covered his mouth and Raoul thought how good it was that Leon couldn't talk. Of course, sometimes the patients tried to talk but their words were hushed, incomprehensible. But Leon was silent – he only looked – until the machine started working, and then his eyes dimmed, became distant and empty. It was how they stayed when the procedure was over and the assistants helped him to get up and walked him to rehabilitation, to try to return to him a part of what he'd lost.
Then Leon just slid his gaze over Raoul, not recognizing him. And till now Raoul didn't know what hurt him more, what caused his nightmares – that accusing gaze of Leon – or this forgetfulness.
He woke up shivering, habitually biting the strand of his hair not to make a sound. No one would hear him all the same but he hated losing control, he didn't want to hear his own scream. Only his breath was coming out in loud, ragged gasps.
Suddenly in the darkness someone's arms wrapped around him, pressing him tighter to the warm, narrow body – and Raoul heard a soft whisper, felt quick fingers touching his hair.
"That's it, that's it, don't anymore..."
Don't anymore... These words made no sense but there was a strange force in them – and somehow Raoul started relaxing, letting those hands hold and keep him.
Never – never did he wake up from his nightmares like that – into the warmth, not alone. Even when Iason was alive, before Riki – they never slept together, never stayed in the same bed for a night.
Raoul turned, catching Katze in his arms, rising over him on his elbows. He couldn't see almost anything, could only feel the warmth and hardness of the thin angular body under him, the fabric covering skin. Katze was dressed. But it was not important – much less important than the feeling of his soft hair when Raoul lowered his head, snuggling his face into it, pressing his cheek to Katze's.
Again he could hear – feel – the sound of Katze's heart resounding through his own chest, and for a while Raoul forgot about everything else, just listened to it. Katze's hair smelled with cigarettes but also with Raoul's own smell that surrounded them in bed – and this mixture seemed to him so unbearably exciting that he shivered.
There was again this heaviness and heat in his groin.
He felt how Katze's body tensed when he felt Raoul's arousal. Something clenched in Raoul's chest. It wouldn't work, Katze would refuse him. Raoul knew he wouldn't insist if it happened – wouldn't be able to. He was stronger than Katze, he knew he could do anything if he wanted. But he wouldn't do it.
That night when he'd come to Katze's place – he remembered how his touch had nearly made Katze pass out. Was it because of what had happened at the police station? What if Katze reacted the same way now?
He touched Katze's face hastily – his skin was dry, his eyes opened – Raoul felt trembling eyelashes. And his lips were half-opened too, the breath hot and fast.
"I won't do anything wrong to you," Raoul whispered stroking his face. "If you want me to, I'll let you go."
I'll let you go – even if my body, my mind beg me not to.
In the darkness the thin hand flashed white, rising to Raoul's face; fingers touched his cheek.
"I..." Katze whispered. "I trust you."
His lips were hot and dry and opened without resistance when Raoul leaned down, entering Katze's mouth with his tongue. His own heartbeat became so strong that he couldn't hear anything but the noise of blood in his ears. And this warm mouth touching his was the only thing Raoul could think about – his tongue against Katze's. He felt the hand plaited through his hair – not pushing him away but pulling closer – and he knew everything was all right.
He was able to let Katze go only to start struggling with the clothes. Under the fabric Katze's skin was hot and smooth like silk. For a moment this sensation made him dizzy, he stopped. Carefully, as if unsure, Katze touched his shoulder.
And this small caress made Raoul cry out, as if in pain, so sharp was his excitement.
"What?" Katze asked quickly. His fingers drew back.
"No," Raoul whispered. "Touch me please. Or don't you want to?"
"I want to," Katze said. "But you... I don't understand..."
For the first time his voice sounded so vulnerable that Raoul's heart skipped a bit. He leaned to Katze's face with hasty kisses, stroking Katze's chest with his hands, following the hard thin lines of his ribs to his belly.
"You're so..." he whispered, "so amazing."
He felt Katze laugh – and the fingers touched Raoul again, slid along his neck.
"I want you... and you?" It was a risky question, Raoul knew the answer, could feel Katze's limp cock under his own painfully hard one.
"Don't mind it," Katze whispered. "It's always like that. It is not because I don't want to."
The thought, suddenly very painful, scalded Raoul. So, Katze couldn't feel anything...
"And you never – never?"
"Actually no," Katze smirked. "If something works, it usually isn't worth the effort."
But it still could work, right? It seemed encouraging to Raoul. Katze caught his wrist.
"Don't," he whispered. "I feel good without."
Raoul felt sad because of it – and yet he was too excited, too eager to go on to keep insisting. He leaned to Katze's chest, kissing his nipples. The little movement Katze made arching towards him filled Raoul with joy.
"These clothes," Raoul breathed out. "Do something, please."
Katze chuckled – and did something, undressed without hesitation while Raoul was shedding the rest of his clothes. Katze wrapped his arms around him. For an instant Raoul froze, startled with this contact of bodies – and that moment Katze took initiative, his fingers and lips sliding over Raoul's body, moving lower, until his hot moist mouth wrapped around the head of Raoul's cock.
Raoul shuddered, convulsively thrusting his hips forward, unconsciously gripping Katze's hair, pushing his head down. Next moment he came to his senses and let go, but Katze's mouth kept sliding over his cock, tight and hot.
Why did it feel like it had never happened to him before? With others Raoul had done different things, including this one – and yet he was sure he'd never felt such impatience, such almost painful need. He gasped, sobbing, repeating:
"Katze, Katze..." and at some moment his body clenched and he felt as if liquid fire was going through him, bringing unbearable pleasure – and relief.
Now Raoul could discern separate sensations – Katze's tongue sliding over his softening cock, carefully touching the opening on its head. He stroked Katze's hair until Katze let him go – and then Raoul pulled him up, into the ring of his arms.
He felt slightly salty taste on Katze's tongue. He sighed with pleasure, feeling warmth and pliancy of the lips opening for a kiss. This mouth, this slim body he held, cool softness of Katze's genitals pressed to his own slightly moist cock – he wanted to relish every moment of it, wanted to memorize every tiny sensation.
But it wasn't their last time, was it? There would be more. No one needed to know – but Katze wouldn't reject him, right? Raoul thought he had to promise Katze something, to make him feel safe with him.
"I will never do anything you don't want me to."
I will never do anything like I did last night... or like they did to you at the police station... I will touch you only if you want it.
Katze's lips pressed to his temple.
"I know," Katze said.
Something soft and tickling fell onto his cheek. Still half-asleep, Katze tried to push it away, and his fingers got caught in the soft silky threads. Then he realized that he felt a smell enveloping him – fresh, lemony, slightly bitter. Like a sea, he thought even though he didn't know how the sea smelled.
Then he opened his eyes – and the gaze that met his was also like a sea – blue and clear. Raoul hastily gathered the strands of his hair falling onto Katze's face.
"I didn't want to wake you up."
"But you did wake me."
Katze smiled and at the next moment Raoul hugged him, pressing him to the cool silk of his clothes. He was fully dressed, his hair done as usual – and it was the smell of his perfume that Katze felt all around.
"Already going?"
"I have to."
"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
Raoul shrugged slightly; the gesture came off somewhat apologetic.
"I liked to look at you while dressing. And you don't have to hurry, do you? You can keep sleeping."
His fingers touched Katze's cheek – and Katze wanted to turn his face to kiss Raoul's palm. But doing it by light, when Raoul was looking at him and Katze again realized the imperfection of his face and body – it was so difficult, almost impossible. Raoul sighed.
"When do you leave?"
"I don't know exactly, it'll depend on the flight. Today or tomorrow."
"And when will you be back?"
"I hope in a few days."
Do you want to go with me? Suddenly it came to Katze's mind to ask it – but of course he didn't. The elite had responsibilities; Raoul couldn't leave everything just like that.
And Katze couldn't ask him; he had to do it alone.
"All right," Raoul said quietly. The smile on his face was weak. He leaned down again, this time touching Katze's lips, then walked out and closed the door.
Even though Raoul told him to keep sleeping, of course Katze was not going to do it. He sat up in bed, suddenly remembering that he didn't have a scrap of clothes on.
For a short while his usual wish not to see his own body, cover it as soon as possible receded. He looked at his bare arms remembering the feeling of Raoul's fingers on them. His skin still burned a little with Raoul's kisses.
How could Raoul want him? Raoul who was so flawless – Raoul who'd been with Iason once... how could he be satisfied with Katze's body? It was astonishing. But it was so. Katze could just believe in it. He brought his palms to his face and inhaled the smell of Raoul's hair.
Like a dream... No, even in a dream he'd never dared to imagine something like this, even in a dream he'd always controlled himself. There had been time when he had dreams about Iason – but his sub-consciousness didn't let him imagine anything beyond reality, anything but that moment when Iason had been supposed to kill him but spared his life. Raoul's closeness during last weeks also made him have a dream or two but he kept denying it.
But what happened between them... Katze fell back onto the pillows, closing his eyes, allowing himself to live those moments once again.
He would never forget it. Even if it was their only time – and he had to be ready that it had been their only time – he would remember of it for his whole life.
He dressed and slipped out of the house without breakfast. Probably Julius would bring him fresh clothes and serve him but Katze felt he wouldn't be able to meet the little furniture's gaze – or just didn't want to see jealousy in Julius' eyes.
He needed to drop back home, change and order a ticket for Dygor. If there was a flight today, he would go today. Damn, he didn't want to go anywhere. But every day of delay meant another day at that place for Killie, five or six more clients.
He got out of the car and walked to the doorway of his house when the window of a vehicle parked at the sidewalk slid down slowly.
"Katze?"
He turned around, frowning. Hearing a stranger call him by his name meant nothing good. The driver was a man of ordinary appearance, easy to forget – but Katze was sure they'd never met before.
"Yes?"
"There is no point for you to go to Dygor."
"What?"
"Your brother is not there anymore."
Katze's hand bringing a cigarette to his mouth stopped. The cigarette fell onto the sidewalk, unlit.
"How can you know that?"
"If you want to know more, please get into the car. I'll take you."
He felt that the man was just a pawn, no point to try to press on him. For a moment Katze hesitated. He could refuse – could just do what he was going to do, not listening to anybody. But if he came to Dygor and Killie was not there... what would he do then?
But what if it was a trap? And yet who needed to come up with something so complicated if they just wanted to kill him?
He got into the car. The screen rose separating him from the driver, taking away the chance to ask questions.
The car drove completely soundlessly, only slight swaying reminded him that they were moving – and the changing city landscapes behind the window.
Eos? Where they going to Eos? The car stopped in front of a tall building. The door opened. Katze got out and looked up. A glass dome on the top of the tower seemed aflame against the grey sky.
"This way, please."
The trip upstairs in the outside elevator seemed endless. On the very top Katze was let into a strange room crowded with glass screens catching the light, refracting it under various angles. At first he didn't see anything except for those screens and his own dim reflections.
"You are a reasonable man, Katze, I'm not disappointed."
The voice sounded from nowhere – and only a moment later Katze discerned a silhouette at the window. A tall man, long white hair, a glass of wine in a gloved hand. His heart skipped a beat, clenched with unbearable pain. Iason?
But the voice was different, the words sounded in a different way – and when the blondie turned, showing his profile, the illusion dispelled completely. Just passing similarity, nothing else – this blondie was older, his eyes paler blue.
"You don't waste your time questioning those who cannot answer you," he continued. "But frankly speaking, I never doubted you. It is due to your admirable reasonability that we noticed you."
"I was told that my brother is not on Dygor."
With his peripheral sight the blondie must have caught a glimpse of Katze convulsively reaching for a cigarette.
"Yes, smoke if you want," he said but Katze decided against it. "Yes. Your brother isn't there anymore. Aren't you surprised how we know it? But you've probably guessed. We watched you. We followed your search for your brother. And our guess turned out to be somewhat more successful."
"Where is he now?"
"We have him," a cold, direct gaze in a slight net of wrinkles stopped on him. It was difficult to bear it but Katze could do nothing else. "By the way, you should be grateful to us. We saved his life, at the last moment. The master of the house got tired of his fits and was going to sell him for a video session. I suppose you know what I mean – those snuff videos. Usually particularly disobedient slaves or pets who outlived their time are used for them – bringing money to their owners for the last time."
The unhurried voice made Katze feel as if there were nails knocked into his temples. He didn't want to think that it really could have happened if he were too late. Perhaps the blondie lied – please, let it be a lie...
"Where is he?"
"In a special clinic. His condition is very bad, if you are interested."
The pause continued for a few seconds. Katze knew he had to ask this question – the whole conversation was for its sake. But it was so difficult to say that.
"What do you want?"
The blondie's pale eyes flashed with blue flame.
"At first you probably should see this."
One of the glass screens darkened – and there was an image on it. A park – a mass of green trees – not Amoi for sure, but Katze didn't know enough about other planets to define which one it was. The camera moved towards a white building in the park. Then there was a room – a bed, a man on this bed. Reddish curly hair framed his pale face with bluish shadows under the closed eyes. Arms like thin twigs – and a needle in a vein.
Katze didn't remember well how Killie looked. Just a recalcitrant boy – most likely handsome enough to pass for a pet. Katze barely remembered him – didn't have a need to remember. Was it him? This emaciated being with a waxen, haggard face?
"I hope you recognize him," the blondie said with irony and Katze flinched.
A nurse took out a catheter from Killie's arm, attached another syringe to the needle and injected some medicine. A few moments later Killie's semi-translucent eyelids trembled and rose.
Or course it was Killie. Katze knew it – not only because of the mismatching eyes, the strange combination of colors that made the boy's look slightly wild. He simply knew it. Killie's eyes were widened and dark under the trembling eyelashes – so tired as if even being conscious was hard for him.
"They mostly keep him on soporifics. It slows down the deterioration of his brain somewhat," the blondie commented.
"What do you want from me?" Katze asked turning away from the screen.
"Directly to the business? All right, I like this attitude. Well, we need your hacker talent."
Katze kept silent – what could he say?
"There are many brilliant specialists in Tanagura but you, Katze, you are simply better than anyone. You have a talent, a flair – and luck, which is also important."
"Thank you for a compliment but..."
"I see, I see. But you don't need to deny it – we know your skills."
Did he mean the files Katze had hacked while being Iason's furniture? He thought no one knew about it. And it was such a long time ago.
"Lately you became more careful. But it is understandable – Iason Mink cannot cover for you any more. Yet I wonder how long it would take you to enter the security system of Amoi now, having the up-to-date software."
It sounded like a rhetoric question and Katze didn't doubt that he would be informed exactly how long it would have to take him.
"You want to get into the confidential plans of Amoi government?"
"Not quite," the blondie smiled. His smile seemed a mask put on in a wrong way – the muscles contracted but the eyes stayed cold. "We want you to penetrate the interface of Jupiter."
His words were a death sentence for both of them, Katze thought. Just for an intention like that he would be turned into a brainless slave with destroyed memory and the blondie would be subjected to such a correction that his consciousness would be in splinters.
"Is it even possible?" Katze asked.
"It is necessary."
"Your insistence doesn't affect the feasibility of the task."
"My insistence..." the blondie's lips again moved apart in a smile. "I agree, being too insistent is often senseless. Some of us didn't think so – that is why – please accept my apologies for that episode at the police station. However, I suppose it was all to the best. If not for that, you wouldn't have achieved such closeness with Raoul Am."
So, what happened at the police station was not an accident. Katze felt his face flush. He should have guessed. He would have guessed – if only he could cope with his disgust and think of it.
The blondie's words about Raoul Am finally reached him.
"Mr. Am and I have strictly business relations," no matter if the blondie believed him, Katze had to say it. "I simply carry out various orders from him, as I did for my former owner, Iason Mink."
"Oh," a small knowing smirk flashed on the blondie's face. White strands tossed away from his face fell onto the silk of his clothes. "They are so alike, Iason Mink and Raoul Am, aren't they? The same type of character, of personality, right?" His voice was thick with irony. "But it doesn't matter anyway. We want you to block the connection with Jupiter," he continued in a business-like tone again. "You will have the most advanced devices. You will install the program activating the block when a certain code is entered."
It is a rebellion against Jupiter, Katze thought. His vision swam. He looked at his hands trying to hook in reality. His fingers trembled, just a little.
"Isolate Jupiter," the blondie finished.
"Why?" Katze whispered. It was a question he didn't really want to be answered.
"Why? But you know why, don't you? Jupiter's power outlived itself. For a long time already she has been controlling the situation through harsh dictatorship and not because her rule is necessary. Do you know that Amoi is the only planet out of all former colonies of Terra that is controlled by a computer? You can say she created us," the blondie continued. His intent gaze fixed on Katze. "But the mother who destroys her children should be eliminated. Remember what the ancient Jupiter did to his father Cronos. And I will never believe that the idea of overthrowing Jupiter disgusts you. Didn't Jupiter turn your predecessors into nothing, into powerless, defenseless beings – and you inherited this powerlessness. You are from Ceres yourself, Katze. How much injustice did you see in your life?"
"And you are going to build a world of equality and happiness for everyone."
The blondie laughed.
"And do you suppose it can get any worse than it is now? At least Ceres doesn't have anything to lose."
"Don't talk of Ceres." Katze was surprised with the sharpness of his own answer. "I will never believe that you care about Ceres."
"Well," the blondie said politely but his eyes became icy. "It is your right not to believe. But one thing is obvious – if Amoi changes, Ceres will change as well. Don't you want to participate in it?"
Like I have a choice, Katze wanted to say. If he were left a chance to refuse, he wouldn't be given this information.
Katze looked at the screen again. Killie's eyes were still opened but the eyelids seemed heavy and his gaze became distant and unfocused.
"You have decided for me," he shrugged.
"I'm glad you understand us so well," the blondie nodded. "So, you will have to do it using Raoul Am's computer. You have an access to his house, don't you, Katze?"
The words scathed like a blow. Katze flinched, unconsciously raising his hand to his cheek, as if feeling the whip on his face again.
"But why... it can be done from any place – if it can be done at all. Why to risk using someone else's computer?"
"I have not suggested you to give me advice what and how to do," the blondie said coldly. "You will use the terminal at Raoul's place – it is a necessary condition."
His voice seemed to come from afar. Katze felt blood beat in his ears. But strangely his thoughts suddenly acquired complete clarity.
"So, this it the whole point, isn't it? You don't care if Jupiter is overthrown. For you it is even better if I can't do it – the most important is to try. It is just your fight for power – you try to get rid of those who took power after Iason's death. And compromising Raoul is the easiest way."
"Shut up!" the blondie's voice became sharp like a knife and so loud that Katze fell silent. The blondie's eyes flashed and Katze thought he would strike him now. "Well..." suddenly the stare softened. "You are really smart. But I have to say that for you it is better if your hacking attempt is successful. And the way we are going to deal with the results shouldn't concern you. Just do what you have to."
"No," Katze said.
"No what?"
"I will not do it. I will not do anything that can ruin Raoul."
"I will never do you anything you don't want me to..." he recalled Raoul's unsteady voice, the lightest touches of his fingers on Katze's face.
"We expected this answer," the blondie shrugged. It seemed Katze's words didn't anger him at all, only bored. He pushed a button on a small remote control device and the image on the screen started fast forwarding swiftly. At some point the blondie stopped it, returning to the previous speed.
The same nurse reappeared on the screen, with one more syringe. Katze watched her inject the medicine into Killie's vein.
The effect was monstrous. Killie's eyes opened again – and Katze saw how incredibly huge his pupils became. And then a horrible spasm arched his body. He screamed – in a stifled, almost inhuman voice – like a wounded animal screams, and this scream kept going as long as the spasm did. Then Killie slumped down on the bed limply.
But it was just the beginning.
The spasms followed one after another, breaking his body – and now Killie screamed without stopping – piercingly, desperately. There was foam on his lips and his hands clawed into his chest wildly. Katze noticed Killie's eyes – completely back and nearly insane.
"This medicine activates hyper-sensitivity of nerves," the blondie said, and his voice, calm and low, could be heard even through Killie's shrieks. "Simply speaking, he becomes so sensitive to the smallest irritation that even the light, even the feeling of the fabric against his skin cause him unbearable pain. And you can imagine how he will react at some stronger stimuli. It might go on for hours, until he loses consciousness. Or until he gets another medicine, neutralizing the first."
"Please. Please." Katze couldn't look, couldn't listen to it – he pleaded, defeated. "Give him that medicine."
The screams stopped suddenly but when Katze looked he just saw that the blondie switched off the sound.
"A particularly interesting feature of this medicine," the blondie continued, "is that it can be used repeatedly. I don't know how long it is left to live for your brother. But even this rather short term we still can make unbearably long for him. That is, you can, Katze. Will you take this responsibility?"
"For Jupiter's sake... stop it."
Only now did he realize that he was looking at a record – and no matter what he would say, how hard he would plead – it would last as long as it had lasted – as long as they wanted. And even if he hadn't argued, if he'd agreed at once – they had already done it to Killie.
"However, I might be wrong about your emotions regarding this. As far as I know you only met your brother several times. And it was partly with your assistance that he got into his present state."
It was almost... overkill. Katze was already defeated.
"Perhaps you can still share a bed with your lover and enjoy your life even when your brother goes through this hell."
"How can I know Killie is still alive?" he whispered with numb lips.
On the screen the nurse at last injected another medicine – for her to do it, two men had to hold Killie. Killie went limp. His eyes rolled up. The nurse carefully wiped the bloody foam from his lips.
"This was recorded today – look at the time marker. Why do we need to kill him? Rest assured, if we do kill him, you shall witness every moment of it, Katze."
Oh yes. Katze suddenly heard his own nervous laugher.
"As soon as you do what we ask, you will get a ticket for a flight and instructions how to find the clinic. You will be free to take your brother away. Probably you wouldn't want to go back to Amoi but it is not our business, you can go wherever you wish."
"Why should I trust you?"
"But you don't have a choice, Katze. And Raoul..." the blondie turned to the window and his voice sounded somewhat dreamy. "I don't have to say that but I will. I'll take care of my little Raoul."
What you are most afraid of always happens. He was so afraid that when people discovered his weakness, they would want to manipulate him. He thought he had a foretaste of it when Hazall hinted at the expected counter service. He thought it was what happened yesterday when Raoul told him that he had to earn the right to leave Amoi. But those were phantom fears. When it really happened, Katze had neither choice nor defense.
He had to pay for his weakness. He had to pay for his mistakes. Either he or Killie had to pay.
Stopping, Katze raised his face looking at the gray low sky above him. Having left the domed tower he didn't take a taxi, didn't actually notice where he was going. It didn't matter anyway.
It seemed to get warmer. It was raining now, not snowing. The cigarette in his hand soaked and died out. He dropped it.
Killie. Katze couldn't betray him for the second time. The blondie was right – he wouldn't be able to live with it. But did he need to live? Only it was not a way out either. He couldn't die knowing that they would do it anyway, that they would revenge themselves upon Killie for Katze's escape.
So, there was no choice.
There had been choice seventeen years ago, when he had turned away from his brother. There had been choice even last year when Killie had offered his services to Iason. And now... now he had to live with the choice he'd made then.
It was a debt he had to pay.
It took him five hours to settle his business matters on Amoi. He had to do it quickly – until rumors started spreading. His heart clenched several times when he had to give away to a stranger's hands what he'd created for years – contacts, leads, orders, dossiers.
But... there were worse losses.
In the end he couldn't take anything but money with him – and he could count only on this money after he'd take Killie away from the clinic. A part of the funds he transferred to anonymous accounts he could use at any place; a part he used to buy a small house on a planet that didn't have an extradition agreement with Amoi. Katze didn't doubt he would become a hunted criminal after he'd do what he was going to. And he and Killie would need a place to live.
Between meetings he dropped home. The indicator of a call blinked insistently. The answering machine turned on.
"So, you've left after all." Raoul's voice strove to be calm – and yet it couldn't hide disappointment. "Oh well. You could've at least called."
What are you doing... you're breaking my heart.
Katze tensed as if Raoul could sense his presence in some way.
He had to do it. He was already doing it. And Raoul... Raoul would find a way out. He was strong – Raoul himself didn't know how strong he was. Katze couldn't bear thinking of him. He didn't dare. He thought about other things, urgent matters he had to finish.
Before his last meeting with his most loyal contact he got to Ceres. At some moment he thought about visiting his mother – but looked at the watch and knew there was no time.
He put the money in two envelopes and gave to the contact, with the addresses they should be delivered to. The address of his mother the contact knew – and Sliver's house would be easy to find. This money was not enough, Katze knew it, but at least it would do for a while.
There was one more place he had to visit. Well, 'had to' was actually an appropriate expression – he thought he couldn't leave Amoi without going there for the last time.
The wind hit with a piercing sound, sharp like a blade, when he left the car. Steel beams made a constant, thinly ringing noise and it seemed that the ground under his feet, layered with metal, was also trembling. Katze blinked – the wind was so harsh his eyes started tearing.
During last months he'd been here twice. Sometimes he thought it was wrong, he should have been here more often – didn't he want to die here, right in this place, with those two? But he lived. And Iason and Riki didn't care if he came here. And Dana Bahn... when he looked at it, he saw only that: ruined constructions, wrecks of concrete. Not a monument, not a tombstone – just stones and metal. He couldn't think of Iason while standing here. In other place, at other time, he remembered Iason and Riki much clearer, sometimes so clearly that it was almost unbearable. Dana Bahn – this place seemed to separate him from them.
But if he were never to come back to Amoi, he had to come there for the last time. If he couldn't say goodbye to those who lived, he could at least say goodbye to the dead.
The wind was cutting his eyes and Katze blinked tears away – and only at this moment he noticed a dark figure against grey stones. A long ponytail of dark hair streaming in the wind – and an empty sleeve of the coat. Katze froze, on the verge of turning away and leaving, unnoticed.
He didn't want to see anyone – Guy least of all. A sharp sting of hatred habitually entered his chest – even though now it was not so sharp as five months ago, when anger and grief were the only things Katze felt. Since then these feelings became somewhat duller.
A piece of broken brick creaked under his heel. Guy turned round. Too late. Katze walked towards him slowly.
For a few seconds Guy simply looked at him – nothing changed in his face, his eyes stayed the same... empty. For a moment Katze felt surprise – it was not the Guy he remembered; the gaze of that Guy had been anything but empty.
But people changed. Guy had a white strand above his temple, Katze noticed a moment before the man turned away.
He probably didn't want to see Katze either. They both came here to be alone. But it happened that they met.
Katze didn't know if Guy blamed him for the loss of his arm. It wouldn't have happened if another doctor, more professional, had taken care of his hand. Of course, he couldn't be taken to a hospital, it would be too dangerous – but Katze could try and find a better doctor, also capable of keeping a secret. He just didn't want to try. A small concession to the desperate hatred he felt to Guy – a small, pathetic revenge that Katze had carried out with someone else's hands. Riki wanted him to take care of Guy... Riki who got the right to die next to Iason. Well, Katze fulfilled his request – probably just not in the best way.
However, it was likely Guy didn't know anything. They never talked after Katze had brought him to Ceres, just after the anaesthetic stopped working. Though Guy probably knew what Katze felt. Anyway, after that one question about Riki, he didn't say anything anymore.
Hating Guy was easy. Blaming him for everything was natural and Katze did so without thinking, without doubting. Only a while later his hatred got mixed with something like pity.
And now when they stood side by side and looked at the place where they lost those who never belonged to them – the hatred was gone. Perhaps they were more alike than Katze wanted to admit.
And in any case Guy's crime was nothing like what Katze was going to do.
Guy shifted, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. For a moment Katze glanced away – and when he looked back, the pack was offered to him.
He wanted to refuse; but who was he to refuse taking something from Guy's hands? His own mistakes and crimes weighed on him. He took a cigarette. Guy clicked a lighter. The wind blew the little flame away and Katze raised his hands shielding it.
"Do you often come here?" he asked, unexpectedly for himself. His voice sounded strange, and for a short while it seemed to him Guy wouldn't answer. Guy shrugged awkwardly; the gesture was lop-sided.
"No," he said. "Why? I never forget about it anyway."
These words... Katze suddenly understood that Guy said exactly what he himself was thinking but didn't dare to express.
They both didn't need to come here. They carried everything that happened along with them every day.
And the thing Katze was going to do would always be with him as well.
"But I haven't learned to live with it," Guy added.
He said it as if not for Katze – and Katze looked at him in surprise. Again the emptiness of Guy's face struck him.
"My life," Guy said, "lies here."
Yes, Katze thought, it was true. Guy did blame him – but not for becoming a cripple; for saving his life. For not leaving him under the wreckage. Unintentionally, Katze did revenge himself on Guy – punished him in the cruelest way.
"And you?" Guy asked suddenly.
Me what? But Katze knew what Guy was asking about. How do you deal with it? Did you find something to live for?
Yes, he wanted to say. I've found a man I love. And I've found my brother. And it is why I'm doing something I will never redeem in my life.
"I don't know," he whispered. It was not an answer but Guy nodded.
"It's all right. Maybe it is not long to wait."
Katze frowned. There was something in these words... as if Guy knew something – something more than the bitterness of their personal tragedy. But could it be? It must've been just imagination. Guy was a madman from Ceres whose hour of triumph was a murder, and now he was just living the rest of his life – alone, in emptiness.
"I have to go," Katze said although it was an unnecessary comment. "Farewell."
Guy raised his hand in a parting gesture.
And only when Katze made some steps, he suddenly called for him.
"Katze."
Through the noise of the wind, Katze could have pretended he didn't hear – but he turned. Guy's face stopped looking like a mask, became strangely vulnerable, somewhat confused.
"Katze, I have to tell you something. I don't know what to do with it – and if anything can be done at all. Perhaps you can."
Was it something important? Guy had never asked him for anything before.
"All right, tell me."
"No." Guy shook his head. "Not here. I... I need to think some more."
"As you wish."
"Let's meet tonight. At eight."
"Fine. At eight at Demo Uno Bar."
Guy nodded. Katze walked to the car.
At eight. It was a convenient time – he had enough time to pick up the devices the blondie had promised him and check how they work. And after meeting Guy he would go to Raoul.
Katze waited for Guy at Demo Uno till quarter to nine. Guy never came.
Cold drops of rain hit his eyelids, ran to the corners of his eyes and slid down like tears. But he didn't cry; the pain was dull and distant, existed somewhat separately from his body. And his disappointment was just as dull and distant. He couldn't do it – wasn't able to. He didn't tell Katze...
Guy tried to open his eyes but the eyelids seemed too heavy, impossible to raise. He was so weak – his strength was leaving – almost left all together – with the trickles of blood running from under his body to the gutter.
A dead end street, bags of garbage around. A good place to die.
Though, it was a proper end of his life. Strange, he so much wanted it to happen sooner – did his best to die, risked as he could – even got into those games with the Committee. The only thing he didn't do was to take his own life. He couldn't shorten his punishment this way.
But when it did happen, it turned out Guy was not ready. And he didn't have enough time. Just an hour till his meeting with Katze... and he could have told everything there, at Dana Bahn. But he hadn't done it – and would never do now. And he even didn't know if it mattered at all.
Blood under his palm was hot but the cold already got under his coat, entered his bones making him shiver. Pain came in a wave – sharp, piercing and sweet – and was gone, leaving a metal taste in his mouth.
One knife to his back, two to his belly – and they hadn't managed to do him away. He remembered the steel toe-cap of Hinley's boot slamming into his side as he fell onto the ground – remembered a hand grabbing his hair, turning him face up – and wetness of spittle on his cheek.
"Die, traitor."
He didn't have time to become a traitor – he was just going to. If he had told about everything when they were at Dana Bahn... Probably he would be dead anyway then, but it wouldn't have mattered. He just didn't know he was watched, didn't know Hinley suspected him.
If only... There were so many of those "if only" in his life. Sometimes Guy imagined how it could be if he hadn't made all those mistakes. Or if he hadn't existed at all. Such an alternative variant of history. Riki would have been alive. And there wouldn't have been this unceasing regret.
And even today... everything could have been different if only he'd agreed to meet Katze earlier... if only he hadn't turn to this empty street, shortening his way... if only, hearing steps behind, he had trusted his instinct and prepared to fight.
But he just turned round – and saw Hinley and two other men – and all of them were comrades in the same business – or they thought so. Guy let them come closer. Hinley smiled.
"Going from a supermarket?"
"Yes." Guy raised a parcel slightly. And then there were knives – and Hinley's hoarse breath:
"Wanted to betray us... thought we wouldn't know..."
They left him on the sidewalk, even not bothering to strike him one more time, cut his throat. He thought that maybe it was not over yet, he could get to people... to Katze. But he managed to crawl only a few meters – leaving behind a black glimmering trail on the asphalt – and that was all.
Shame... he was always weak, never could finish anything. Riki then dragged him out of Dana Bahn, despite the pain, despite what Guy had done to him. And Guy couldn't even cope with his own body. But he really couldn't.
Katze would never know what he wanted to tell. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he had. Maybe it was just nonsense – fantasies – and Guy imagined a threat that was not there. Maybe Katze wouldn't be able to do anything anyway. But Guy didn't know anyone else who could.
Force Majeur... He remembered those words ever since they seemed to him just a mysterious combination of sounds. He was thirteen and he ran away from the orphanage, having decided that it was better to try to survive in the streets of Ceres than to stay in that hell for another day. But Ceres was hostile, and the weak were beaten there harsher than in the orphanage – and cold and hunger were exhausting.
One day he was walking, not knowing himself what he looked for – some food or a warm place – or he simply walked because he was afraid to sit down and fall asleep. Somehow he came to Dana Bahn and crawled inside. He always had a flair for secret places. He found a room where the headquarters of the conspirators once had been.
At first he treated it just like a shelter to wait through the rain – and there were crackers in vacuum packs that were eatable even after so many years. It only felt strange to eat the food hoarded by people who were long dead. But later, after he got warm, he became interested.
He found papers – plans, documents. A plastic wrap kept them almost intact. He started reading. In the orphanage he'd never been inquisitive but those notes... Everything he knew, he got to know from them. He remembered by heart almost everything he'd read there and sometimes, years later, it happened that some part of the papers suddenly became clear to him.
From these records he got to know that it was impossible to catch the signal inside Dana Bahn. From these records he got to know how to make explosives – and how to locate them to ruin the walls of Dana Bahn – it was one of the rebels' plans in case of defeat. Then he didn't know how he could use it... he used it later.
His secret made him strong. He left his shelter and won his place in the streets of Ceres. Soon he found friends, he became a gang member. He started living in Ceres and only returned to his shelter from time to time.
Guy revealed his secret to just one person – the boy he thought his best friend. What was his name? Kevin? Yes, Kev. And then, coming to his place some days later, he found Kevin and several other boys looking through the things, touching everything.
He didn't say anything, didn't even let them notice him – and what could he say? But his secret – the only thing he owned – was desecrated. He didn't need something everyone could touch.
At night he returned and burned everything – all the papers, all possessions that were there. He looked at the fire and swallowed tears – he felt so sorry for everything he'd once owned. But he preferred it not to belong to anyone – if it couldn't belong to him alone.
He became Kevin's enemy since then – and this enmity continued until two years later Kevin slammed into a wall on his bike. And then Guy met Riki. And Riki – alive, real and strong – made him forget about the loss of dead things.
Only later he destroyed Riki as well – made him a dead thing – because of his jealousy, of his crazed possessiveness. Maybe Riki could have forgiven him for it – Riki always forgave him. But Guy could never forgive himself.
He'd blown up Dana Bahn using the knowledge he'd got from the notes. The knowledge that was locked in his head waiting for its hour. But he also knew about other things – things he recalled now.
Force Majeur circumstances – the reason why the rebels had yielded then, why they had lost the only chance to win. Force Majeur – the condition that the scientists had added to the codex. 'In case of rebellion, revolution, civil war, mass unrest... the only law is Jupiter's orders. If Jupiter's functions are threatened, she is programmed to apply extreme measures, up to the means of mass destruction.'
The rebels hadn't dared to bring her to that – and sealed their own fates this way.
Guy recalled it at his last meeting with Hinley and the Committee. What Hinley was going to do by order of someone from the elite – it was exactly what could provoke Jupiter.
Hinley said Ceres had nothing to lose. But there was always something to lose. Even if just life itself.
But Guy's life was so senseless that he couldn't even do such a simple thing as pass the information to someone who could do something about it. He'd doubted for too long, was too indecisive.
Well, he would never know how dearly his mistake cost.
But this thought was not comforting.
Pain pushed him from inside, like a living creature – and he felt blood splash out of his mouth through the clenched teeth. Not long to wait... Was it what he had said to Katze today? Only he didn't mean this street filled with garbage and this damned rain.
Light steps reached him – splash of water under the heels. He didn't know who it was – maybe Hinley came back to finish him off. Or maybe someone who could help? Guy wanted to call but he couldn't, he just choked on blood. The steps came closer – and suddenly he knew – he recognized this lightness, this almost dancing walk. With a desperate effort he raised his eyelids – and through the darkness and the mist he clearly saw a bright face and serious dark eyes.
"Riki?"
"Yes. Of course it is me."
He had so much to say, to ask, but blood filled his mouth, and all Guy could manage was:
"Did you wait for me?"
"Yes," Riki said. "Of course I've always been waiting for you."
Guy saw something dark in his hands, opening like wings – and he knew what it was. Riki's jacket – shielding him from the rain – as it had been then, when Riki met him at the door of the police station. There was no rain anymore – it was warm and peaceful – and the pain was gone too.
"Come with me," Riki said. "Now we'll always be together."
Katze looked at the watch, put several coins on the bar stand and walked to the door. He had given Guy his chance – obviously it didn't make sense to wait longer. And he didn't have more time.
Darkness came early in this part of the city. The sky seemed black-and-yellow, reflecting the lights of street lamps and signs. Katze got into the car, glanced back for the last time, checking if Guy was coming – and taking one more look at the places he would likely never see again.
He stopped the car at Raoul's house, looking at the lit windows for a few moments. What if the blondie wasn't there? Suddenly Katze desperately wanted it to be so, was ready to pray to some deity for it, only he didn't know what deity... not Jupiter, in any case.
Don't think of it. Just do what you have to.
He entered – met by Julius, with darkened eyes and tightly compressed lips.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"He will see me."
Katze knew it and Julius knew it as well – and when Katze slightly pushed him away, Julius didn't resist, just hissed like an angry cat. Katze walked right to Raoul's office.
Raoul sat in front of the computer – and for a short while until he saw Katze, Katze could watch him. His face with an intent gaze and slightly frowning eyebrows seemed strangely defenseless. Raoul's fingers constantly pulled a long strand of hair – and this childish gesture made Katze's heart clench.
Don't think. Don't look.
At the next moment Raoul raised his eyes – and leapt up. Katze didn't expect this abruptness, these arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.
"Have you already come back?" Raoul asked hastily.
He could have nodded – it didn't matter – but for some reason Katze couldn't lie.
"Not quite."
But Raoul seemed not to notice – he was too glad to pay attention. Glad? Perhaps it was a wrong word. If Katze allowed himself to think about it, he could have said that Raoul was happy. But of course it was absurd, it was impossible – who he was to make Raoul feel happy...
And it didn't matter anymore because soon it all would be over. Whatever Raoul felt about him, tomorrow morning he would only hate Katze.
In bed, rising over him on his arm, Raoul stared at him for a long time.
"What?"
"You have such an interesting face."
"Sure." Katze smirked, slightly wiggled trying to get free. Raoul's fingertips touched his cheek.
"No, really. You're not like anyone else. We blondies are all somewhat similar. And you are special."
Special indeed. Not everyone was capable of smiling, answering your kisses – knowing that this night he would destroy your life.
He kissed Raoul's broad chest, feeling Raoul's hastened breath under his lips, slight trembling going through him and a short moan, almost cry that Raoul made when Katze's lips wrapped around his cock.
He froze for a moment. He would never forget this sound – would never forget anything he felt at this moment – how Raoul's body arched in the ring of his arms, how the blondie's fingers twined through his hair, how Raoul repeated his name again and again. He would never forget it – but would never dare to remember.
Raoul fell asleep pressing against him – and under his weight Katze's arm went numb. But he didn't want to move. He lay, gently stroking Raoul's hair, looking at the careless face and slightly trembling golden eyelashes.
But he couldn't wait too long. He got free, got up, dressed and walked downstairs.
The house was silent, the light put out. The monitor blinked blue in the darkness. Katze sat down, touched the keyboard feeling the familiar tingling in his fingers.
Once he'd said to Riki that penetrating Tanagura's secrets gave him an illusion of erection. Then it had been the only excitement he wanted. But even now – even though everything inside him clenched in hatred for himself for what he was doing – his mind still found an intoxicating pleasure in the difficulty of the task he had to fulfill – and in the knowledge that he would be capable of doing it.
Once he had needed half a year to accomplish a much easier task. But he'd become better – and the devices he got from the blondie were fabulous. His fingers flew over the keyboard, the only sound in the quietness of the house.
He didn't know how much time passed. By the slight numbness of his body he supposed he'd spent several hours like that. But there still was time until morning. The blue screen was the only source of light in the room – the only thing Katze could see – and he kept seeing it even when he closed his eyes.
And then he thought he could see something – someone else. He raised his head, seized with a sudden apprehension – and saw a thin hand pointing a shocker at him.
Julius... He should have expected that – the boy was always suspicious about him. For a moment Katze stared at the pale face with flaring nostrils, at the dark, hot eyes.
Thanks Jupiter, he thought, I won't manage to do it after all.
"I always knew you just used him, you shit," Julius whispered. And those few moments were enough for Katze to shove his hand into the pocket. He shot the paralyzer through the cloth – saw Julius' eyes get huge and surprised as he still tried to activate the shocker. But the next moment he went limp, falling down like a rag doll.
Katze turned to the computer again. He couldn't waste time.
Half an hour later everything was over. Katze clasped his fingers, massaging the joints, looking at the screen for the last time.
Well... since he compared hacking to intercourse... why not continue the analogy?
He got up. Julius lay on the carpet like before, his thin arms and legs helplessly crossed. An hour or two more and he would be able to move. The paralyzer affected his vocal chords as well, so he couldn't make a sound – but Katze was still hearing something.
He lowered to one knee, looking at Julius' face. Trickles of tears constantly slid over the boy's cheeks. His mouth was half-opened, the tip of his tongue feebly trembling between his teeth. Katze thought he knew what Julius tried to say.
"I hate you. I hate you..."
"I'm sorry, kid."
He touched Julius' wet cheek and walked out. No one else was there to stop him.
He dialed a number from the street phone and received a code of a safe with the documents he needed. He left Amoi at 5:30 a.m.