"A gun?"
RC turned up the corner of her mouth as her hand explored him, tugged at his pubes, tested his shaft, cupped his testicles. "That's what I've always called them. Men take a lot of pride in them. Wave them around. They can be dangerous if mishandled." Something of a Texas twang came into her voice. "They shoot. Hell, you've got a real rifle, Knox." She began to stroke him, gently, before turning on the bed. Her nipple left a long, electric trail across his stomach. Her mouth met her hand, and he swelled in excitement. "Big game," she giggled, a string of saliva linking them.
He lay there, enjoying himself, until it occurred to him that Malia Carrasca's baby-his baby, their baby, was due soon. His orgasm, while apparently thrilling to RC, was just an empty series of physical sensations.
* * * *
Valentine was on his third glass of water and was reaching for the pitcher again when he heard a knock.
RC rose and slipped a robe on her slight shoulders. "Melanie probably wants the room back. Don't worry, you don't have to leave until you feel like."
"I should be off anyway," Valentine said.
"Mel, gimme a break, woul-" she said to the door as she opened it. Duvalier stood there, her hair tucked in some kind of bag and a mask of creamy mud on her face. "Oh, Ty, hi... I've got company."
"I know, RC. Can I talk to him, in private? I need him to do something so I can surprise the Number One on his birthday."
"Umm, yeah ... I guess."
"Just five minutes, sweetie."
RC looked at Valentine, hurriedly pulling up his trousers. "Knox, you remember Ty?"
"The singer from last night? Check her for forks," he said. "I'm sorry. I was a little drunk last night, Miss, uhhh, Bright. I didn't even know the general's birthday was coming."
"Thanks, sweetie," Ali said. She put a finger to her lips. "Shhhhh, okay? Secret mission."
"My lips are sealed," RC said, grabbing a basket of towels and soap and moving into the hall.
"Not hardly," Duvalier said, closing the door and shooting the lock.
"Tanny Bright?" Valentine said, after sweeping the balcony and the hall with hard ears. It was early morning, still; all he heard were RC's footfalls.
"I told him my real name is Ronny McDonalds, which he thought was even funnier. You missed my second number. Was she worth it?"
"I didn't know you could sing."
"Since this shit started I've sung in three different clubs. I'll let you in on a trade secret: The less she wears, the worse her voice can be. You look a bit green this morning."
Valentine poured himself more water, and offered his fellow Cat a glass, but she shook her head. "The 'hero's brandy' wasn't agreeing with me. I didn't even try to keep it down. My stomach generally knows best. Are we going to talk about anything important?"
She lowered her voice until it made no more noise than the breeze through the shutters. "God yes. I'm still active, under Mantilla. Are you in his contact group too?"
"I understand you're active under Hamm." He used sign language for this, the motions coming slowly thanks to brain-fog.
She switched over to hands as well. "Don't go there, Valentine. I thought you wanted to talk shop."
"You're right. Sorry, whatever you're doing is for the Cause. No, I'm not active. I was delayed getting back from Texas. I didn't return until just before Christmas. It's been nothing but disaster ever since."
Her hands again: "I just found out about you being here when I hit town. Southern Command got the report you sent with Finner. The overrun was already in full swing when I came up from New Orleans. I got the women and kids from your crew out. It's a story I don't have time for. They're safe down at Steiner Station."
"Steiner? Hal Steiner? Lots of rice paddies and a little fortified town?"
"That's the last place I was before this assignment. Steiner's place ... it's grown. He's trying to feed and hide thousands of refugees in those swamps, plus a chunk of what's left of Southern Command. Got it all phonied up to took like a little Kurian Province. It won't last forever."
"I know," Valentine audibilized this time, though he kept his voice down. "I've got the newest battalion in Hamm's division."
Her hands fluttered like fighting birds; she'd always been better than he at signing. "You say it like it's your fault. It's not. Being mistress to not one, but two, count 'em, two generals and an oily restaurateur wasn't in my plans when I got tasked with infiltration. Mantilla's one of us, too. Not a Cat, but he reports directly to the Lifeweavers. I haven't had the chance to tell him about you."