The Man-Kzin Wars 02

had ever felt for the kzin. Worse even than he had felt for himself, for a long time.

“So what do you need?”

“A way into the Datamonger's Guild for a start.”

Yarthkin looked thoughtful. “That's easy enough.” He realized that Ingrid had been holding her breath. Bad. She wants this bad. How bad?

“And any other access to the— to networks.”

“Networks. Sure. Networks. Any old networks, right? Want into Claude's system? Want to see his private files? What else would you like?”

“Harry—”

“I can do that, you know. Networks.”

She didn't say anything.

“Help. You want help,” he said slowly. “Well, that leaves only one question.” He poured himself a drink in Jonah's water-glass, tossed it back. “What will you pay?”

“Anything we have. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Of course. When do you want me?”

“Ingrid—”

“Not your conversation, Belter. Get lost.”

The club was dim, with the distinctive stale chill smell of tobacco and absent people that came in the hours just before dawn. Yarthkin sat at the table and sipped methodically at the Verguuz; it was a shame to waste it on just getting drunk, but owning a bar did have some advantages. He took another swallow, letting the smooth sweet minty taste flow over his tongue, then breathing out as the cold fire ran back up his throat. A pull at the cigarette, one of the clove-scented ones well-to-do Baha'i smoked. My, aren't we wallowing in sensual indulgence tonight.

“Play,” he said to the man at the musicomp. The Krio started and ran his fingers over the surface of the instrument, and the brassy complexities of Meddelhoffer lilted out into the deserted silence of the room.

“Not that,” Yarthkin said, and knocked back the rest of the Verguuz. “You know what I want.”

“No, you don't,” Sam said. “That's a manti-manti mara,” he continued, dropping back into his native tongue: a great stupidity. “What you want is to get drunk and manya-manya, smash something up. Go ahead, it's your bar.”

“I said, play it.” The musician shrugged, and began the ancient melody. The husky voice followed:

“… no matter what we say or do—”

A contralto joined it: “So happy together.”

They both looked up with a start. Ingrid dropped into a chair across from Yarthkin, reached for the bottle and poured herself a glass.

“Isn't there enough for two?” she asked, raising a brow in response to his scowl. The musician rose, and Yarthkin waved him back.

“You don't have to leave, Sam.”

“Do I have to stay? No? Then it's late, boss, and I'm going for bed. See you tomorrow.”

“Where's the Sol-Belter?” Yarthkin asked. His voice was thickened but not slurred, and his hand was steady as he poured.

“In the belly of the whale… Still working in your office.” And trying not to think about what we're doing. Or willl be doing in a minute, if you're sober enough. “That's a pretty impressive system you have there.”

“Yeah. And I'm taking a hell of a chance letting you two use it.”

“So are we.”

“So are we all. Honorable men, all, all honorable men. And women. Honorable.”

“Hari—”

“That's Herr Yarthkin to you, Lieutenant.”

“If you let me explain—”

“Explain what?”

“Hari, the rendezvous time was fixed, and you didn't make it! We had to boost, there were hundreds of lives riding on it.”

“Oh, no, Lieutenant Raines. The ships had to boost, and we had to keep the kzin off your backs as long as we could. Not every pilot had to go with them.”

“Angers was dying, radiation sickness, puking her guts out. Flambard's nerve had gone, Finagle's sake, Hari, I was the best they had, and—” she stopped, looking at his face, slumped. “Long ago, long ago.”

Not so long for you as for me, he thought. Her face was the same, not even noticeably aged. What was different, where did the memory lie? Unformed, he thought. She looks… younger than I remember. Not as much behind the eyes.

“Long ago, kid. How'd you get here?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Probably I wouldn't. That raid—”

She nodded. “That raid. The whole reason for that raid was to get us here.”

“For God's sake, why?”

“I can't tell you.”

“It's part of the price, sweetheart.”

“Literally, I can't,” Ingrid said. “Post-hypnotic. Reinforced with— the psychists have some new tricks. Hari, I would literally die before I told you, or anyone else.”

“Even if they're taking you apart?”

She nodded.

Harold thought about that for a moment and shuddered. “OK. It was a long time ago, and maybe— maybe you saw things I didn't see. You always were bigger on romantic causes than the rest of us.” He stood.

She got to her feet and stood expectantly. “Where?”

“There's a bedroom upstairs.”

She nodded. “I've— I've thought about this a lot.”

“Not as much as I have. You haven't had as long.”

She laughed. “That's right.”

“So now I'm old—”

“No. Not old, Hari. Not old. Which way? The stairs over there?”

“Just a minute, kid. So. Assuming it works, whatever you and the Belter have planned, what afterward?”

“Once that's done it doesn't matter.”

“Sure it does.”

“Well, we brought a ship with us. Nice boat, the best the UN's making these days. Markham's keeping her for us, and then we'll do the guerrilla circuit afterwards.”

“Markham? Ulf Reichstein-Markham?” An old enmity sharpened his tone, one less personal. “A legitimate bastard of a long line of bastards, who does his best to out-bastard them all. He'd cut your throat for six rounds of pistol ammunition, if he needed them.”

“Didn't strike me as a bandit.”

“Worse. True Believer… and you can whistle in the wind for that ship.” She smiled. “That ship, you might say she has a mind of her own. Really; we've got a hold on it.”

Then you'll be off to the Swarm, Yarthkin thought. Playing dodgem with the ratcats, you and that Jonah. Flirting with danger and living proud. There was a taste of bile at the back of his mouth. Remembering the long slow years of defeat, strength crumbling away as one after another of them despaired; until nothing was left but the fanatics and the outlaws, a nuisance to the enemy and a deadly danger to their own people. What was the honor in going on with the killing when it had all turned pointless and rancid? No more than in taking the amnesty and picking up the pieces of life. But not for you. You and