Pawn’s Gambit by Timothy Zahn

damn girl had cleared out, sure enough—and probably helped herself to everything she could get her hands on. I’d been a naïve fool to leave her here alone. “Heather!” I barked, the name tasting like a curse.
    â€œI’m back here,” a voice called faintly.
    I started, and after a second I went outside and made my way to the rear of the cabin. Sleeves rolled up, Heather was standing by the hand pump that brought water from the nearby stream and sent it into the storage tank on the roof. She smiled in the direction of my footsteps, her face glistening with sweat. “Hi,” she said. “I was just taking a break. How was the hunting?”
    â€œFair; we’ve got squirrel for supper,” I told her, trying to keep my voice casual—hard to do when you’re feeling like a jerk. “Also brought some corn. Why aren’t you in bed?”
    She shrugged. “I’ve never liked being a professional freeloader. Besides, you forgot to pump any water last night.”
    I hadn’t forgotten—I’d just been too lazy—but I hadn’t expected her to notice. The tank usually held enough water for three or four days, though I tried to keep it full. “Well, thanks very much. I appreciate it.”
    â€œNo charge. You said you had some corn? Where did you get that?”
    I started to point north, remembered in time the gesture would be wasted. “About a mile upstream there’s a hollow right behind a small waterfall. The creek comes from underground at that point and stays pretty cold even in the summer. I use the hollow as my refrigerator. In winter, of course, it’s more like a freezer.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” Heather nodded, “although it’s kind of far to go for a midnight snack. I’ll bet it’s fun keeping the animals out, too.”
    â€œIt was, but I’ve pretty well got that problem solved.” I suddenly realized I was still holding the squirrel and corn. “Come on, let’s go inside. You look tired.”
    â€œOkay.” She seemed to hesitate just a second, then stepped up to me and took my arm, letting me lead her back into the cabin.
    Another surprise awaited me in the living room. Heather had neatly folded my blanket and laid it at one end of the couch; her satchel, some of its contents strewn around it, sat at the other end. In the middle lay a shirt I’d torn just that morning, neatly mended.
    â€œI’ll be darned,” I exclaimed in delight, unaware of the pun until after I’d said it. “How did you know that shirt needed sewing?”
    She shrugged. “I heard you getting dressed this morning, and right in the middle of it I heard something tear. You muttered under your breath and threw whatever it was onto the couch. When I got up I found the shirt and used a needle and thread from my sewing kit to mend it. I hope the thread doesn’t look too bad there—I had no idea what colors I was working with.”
    I opened my mouth, but closed it again and instead reached for the shirt, my cheerful mood suddenly overshadowed by an uncomfortable feeling creeping up my backbone. Dimly, I remembered the sequence of events Heather had described, but it seemed too incredible that she should have pieced such subtle clues together that easily. Was it possible she wasn’t quite blind?
    There was a way to check. Still holding the shirt, I walked over to the window, loosening my belt with one hand until the big brass army buckle was free. The sun had come out from behind the clouds and light was streaming brightly through the glass. I turned slightly so that I was facing Heather and twisted my buckle, sending a healthy chuck of that sunlight straight at her eyes.
    Nothing. She didn’t flinch or even blink. Feeling a little silly, I let the loosened buckle flop back down against my leg and held up the shirt for a close examination, trying to pretend that that