Caine Black Knife

love it: the badge of valor.”

“Yeah. . sure. But. . I don’t think the pain loves me back. .”

I swear if I’d lived through this, I would’ve finally quit smoking. I really would.

We lie together in silence for a while. The darkness is a comfort now.

I remember once my dad saying, on one of his bad days-I think it was a belt he beat me with that time, but I’m not sure; the beatings all kind of blend together-but I remember lying curled up on my cot, bleeding, shivering with hurt and shame, and I remember him saying in that thick dripping lunatic’s voice: Just think about how good you’ll feel once you stop hurting.

I thought it was a joke-one of those harsh psycho attempts at humor that were the way his love for me would try to punch through the walls of his bad craziness-but, y’know, right now I wonder if he knew something I’ve never figured out until just now. Because now that I’ve stopped hurting, I feel great.

More than great.

Because I’m still naked with Marade, and her skin is infinitely soft over spring-steel muscle, and her taste is still on my lips and I’m not busted up anymore.

And I felt it-felt it through the Healing. Felt it like an arc of lightning through her hands into my heart. She somehow managed to find a way to love me.

Oh, lord. Holy stinking crap on a stick. That didn’t take long. Better roll over. If she touches my dick by accident, she’ll think I pulled a knife.

She’s shivering. It’s not cold here.

Her shivers grow into trembling, then to shaking, and her breath hitches into quiet, half-stifled sobs, which gives me a soft-on faster than naked pictures of my grandfather.

I’ve heard some guys get hot for women in tears. To each his own, I guess, but I think that’s kinda sick. Something about Marade sobbing like a little girl is as wrong as the feeling of her hand inside my belly.

“Hey-hey, Marade, come on. .” I scoot around her-leaving some ass skin on the rough stone of the floor, but forget that-and slip my arm around her shoulders. She buries her face in the hollow of my neck. Tears trickle down my chest. I hold her and stroke the long dusty cascade of her invisible hair, murmuring the same kind of meaningless shit I used on Stalton.

And it works this time, too.

“I just. .” she murmurs against my throat as her shaking slowly quietens, “I just keep thinking- hoping-dreaming that they might somehow take pity on us. . that they might bring us home.”

I know which they she’s talking about: the bosses. Our bosses. “They don’t do that. Not for us. Not ever.”

“But they-sometimes, sometimes they do. Emergency transfer. You know they do. We’ve all heard-”

“Only for stars. Big stars. Bigger than any of us will ever be.”

“You don’t know that. They could-they might-”

“Marade-” I hold her closer. Even through the dust and sweat, the scent of her hair-

I better forget that shit before I turn into one of those kinda sick guys I was ripping on a minute ago. “Marade, listen. I didn’t tell you this before-or anyone-because, y’know, I didn’t know for sure that any of you were. . in our line of work. But those guys-those two guys the Black Knives were chasing? The ones who led them here? What did you think happened to them?”

“I–I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it. I suppose I thought the Black Knives caught them.”

“No. They were pulled. Transferred home.”

She stiffens against my chest. “Pulled? They were-”

“Yeah. They were-like us. In our line. Sort of.”

“But-see? Don’t you see? That’s what I was talking about-”

“No. It wasn’t an emergency transfer. I’m pretty sure it was planned.”

“Planned-?” She’s gone breathless. I’m not having an easy time of it myself.

“I’m pretty sure they were bird-dogging us. That they led the Black Knives here. On purpose. For the bosses. Because we were here.”

“That’s-that’s not possible. They don’t do that kind of-they wouldn’t.”

“You sure? Think about it: at least three, maybe four or five of us. Or more. Nobody major. Nobody even big enough that we’d ever heard of each other. It costs a lot of fucking money to train and transfer us. How can they- the bosses, our sponsors, whatever-how do they recover their investment, when none of us’ll ever be big enough to generate our own audience?”

“You’re saying-you think-”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh, great Khryl-oh my fierce courageous God-”

“Yeah. This Adventure . . our Adventure-” I shake my head, helpless to soften this much.

Or at all.

So I just say it. “It’s a snuffer.”

“You can’t-you can’t know this-”

“Know it? I can feel it. So can you.” And something about this strikes me funny, in a frostbite-on-the-balls sort of way. My laugh comes out bleak as our future.

“There are people back home who’ll pay a lot to be us while we’re tortured to death. That’s what we are. All we are. Victims in a snuffer.”

Now I get Stalton. Really get him. I understand about not going out like a punk.

“Then-” She pulls away, just a little; her impossibly powerful hands still rest lightly upon my collarbone and my pectoral. From the shift in the soft timbre of her voice I can hear she’s turned her face from mine. “Then we shouldn’t give them the satisfaction. We should just. . die. Die here. Like Rababal. Right here in this room. In the darkness. My weapon is on the floor; your clothes and that last knife of yours are beside them. You are an assassin. I know you are. If I asked you, Caine-if I asked, would you-?”

“No.”

“Caine-”

“No.”

Through the palms of her hands I feel her tremors flickering back to life. “Must I-if I beg-”

“Not a chance. Not you. Not ever.”

And please God don’t let her ask what she could do to persuade me. I’m afraid I might tell her.

So before she can get around to it, I pull her close. This isn’t my Comfort the Sobbing Chick hug.

This is my Can You Feel My Heart Beating hug.

Her breasts spread softness across my chest, and I put my cheek to hers and I whisper, “I have a better idea.”

“Caine-I don’t-”

“Remember what I said, back when this started?” I turn into her just enough that she can feel the motion of my lips against her skin. “I always have a better idea.”

“But-”

“No. Listen to me. If we die here, here in this room-shit, that’ll just prove they were right about us. Don’t you get it? Why should we do those fuckers the favor of confirming their shit-ass opinions?”

Now her arms go around me and they tighten like a playful anaconda. A trace of awe colors her murmur. “Wait-I understand. That’s it-what you’ve been after. This whole night. Ever since you saw them in the badlands. Your insane boldness. The lunatic confidence, the screw-you attitude. The speeches. Walking out to face the Black Knives alone. .”

“Goddamn right. That’s the best revenge we have, you get it? The only one we have. People used to say the best revenge is living well. Dying well is almost as good.”