Dragonstar Destiny (8 page)

“It is admirable that you wish to involve my people in the quest for a solution to our plight,” said the Priest. “But I wonder if it is also
wise.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Mishima. He was sitting on a wide mushroom-shaped fixture which served as a chair, but did not look at all comfortable. Becky continued to stand by the entrance, watching them.

Thesaurus flickered his large amber eyes—a gesture which translated as a rough equivalent to a human shrug. “The warrior-caste is ... unpredictable around humans. Visions of the riot and the scent of Warrior blood still linger in their memories. I mean no offense when I tell you that as a group, they still do not really trust humans.”

“I understand that,” said Mishima. “But perhaps this mission will help foster goodwill between us and their caste.”

The Saurian clapped his hands once—a gesture meaning agreement. “Yes, that is possibly just so. However, I think it would be best if you also brought one of my own caste along. A Priest among them would be a stabilizing influence, I assure you.”

Mishima smiled. “Of course! You are most welcome to come with us!”

“No, I do not ask this for myself.” Thesaurus opened his mouth to awkwardly display a lower jaw full of teeth. It was his attempt to emulate a human smile, which, to Becky at least, gave him an oddly fearsome aspect. He’d never make it as a holovision personality with a look like that. Thesaurus continued: “I am too old for such adventures. I would send one of our younger, stronger caste members.”

“Very well,” said Mishima. “That will be fine. Now, tell me, please ... do you have any members of the warrior-caste which you might recommend for the mission?”

The Saurian clapped his hands once. “There is the one Colonel Kemp calls Visigoth. He is one of the caste generals, and is very respected by his men. He has worked very much with the human salvage crews, and it seems likely that he would be agreeable to gather up a band of young fighters.”

“Good. Very good. You will arrange this for me?”

“”Yes, of course.” The Saurian paused, tilted his head a bit to the left, and stared at Mishima for a moment before continuing. “Do you really expect any trouble?”

Mishima shook his head. “Not really, no. But we have learned that we cannot ever
expect
anything on board this ship ... other than the
un
expected.”

“Just so ... ” said Thesaurus.

Mishima spent the next few minutes finalizing the details of the mission, and Thesaurus promised him a platoon of four Warriors and a leader. They would join his team at the main gate the following morning.

Finally Mishima stood and stepped toward Becky, still standing by the entrance. Thesaurus accompanied him and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. The Priest towered above her, and one less familiar with his species might find his posture threatening. But as he looked down at her with a saturnine expression in his eyes, she could sense the concern and sincere friendship in his gaze.

“Your Ian Coopersmith is still in my thoughts,” he said.

“Mine, too.” It was all she could manage.

“It was a strange and beautiful thing he did. As much as my people cannot understand
why
he did it, they will still remain forever grateful.”

“Thank you,” she said, fighting back some tears. Damn it!

How could this utterly alien species touch her so deeply, so quickly? It didn’t seem possible, but it was happening.

Thesaurus flickered his eyes. She recognized the wistful quality of the Saurian shrug. “It is so difficult for both of us, is it not? My caste has tried to educate our people, and I fear that so few of them truly understand ...”

“I know,” said Becky.

“How do you tell that their universe is really a great carriage hurtling through a night so deep, so dark, that it has no end?”

“You simply tell them,” said Mishima. “Eventually they will understand, But if they cannot do that, then they will at least accept it as a fact.”

“Or explain it through their myths,” said Thesaurus.

“Perhaps that may be the best way,” said Becky.

“It is getting late,” said Mishima. “We should be going back.”

“Very well. Thank you for the honor of your visit.” The Priest inclined his head in imitation of a bow.

“Good-bye, Thesaurus. We’ll come see you when we return,” said Becky.

“With good news, let us hope.”

“Let us hope,” repeated Mishima.

* * *

Takamura had not spoken for several minutes as he maneuvered the OTV down a dimly lit path toward the boulevard. The domes and spires of Saurian architecture hunched and squatted in deep shadows on either side of them. The city was settling in for a quiet night, punctuated only by the whine of a single methane-turbine engine. He eased the machine into the field next to the tents of the Enclave and killed the power.

“Want to stop by my tent for some coffee?” he asked softly, not looking at her.

She stared past him, then quickly around the dark field where the shadowed hulk of a partially assembled ornithopter lay amid scattered scavenger parts.

“Well?”

“Oh,” she said, chewing on her lips. “I don’t know. I’m awfully tired.”

She wasn’t ready for this. She really wasn’t. Not now. Not so soon ...

But what was she waiting for? It was funny how you had to remind yourself that there might not be any more tomorrows, that you could, as Ian used to say, wake up tomorrow morning and find yourself
dead.

“I just want to talk to you. I need to talk to someone once in a while,” said Mishima.

“Well...” In the mood she suddenly found herself in, it wasn’t going to take much persuading.

“Look, I won’t try anything ...” Mishima’s eyes were big and pleading.

She smiled. “You
won’t?
What’re you trying to do—scare me off?”

He laughed. “I take that to mean yes, you will come?”

She reached out and touched his smooth cheek, looked into his eyes. “For coffee, yes. And anything else that might pop up ...”

KATE LAY
in her cot, listening in the darkness. She could hear her tent-mate, Joyce Kinsey, stirring in her sleep. But there was
another
sound.

The groaning, twisting noise resonated in Kate Ennis’s head, waking her from a deep, dreamless sleep. Its subsonic vibrations seemed to touch the marrow in her bones, and yet it was dull and loud like distant thunder, echoing through the ship’s interior.

It was an awful sound, like the creaking wood in an old sailing ship, the windswept rafter of an old house. The lower-caste Saurians were terrified by the “ship-quakes” as they were already being called, and Kate was having no success in quieting their fears. Some of the merchant-caste members were becoming surly. They were circulating a familiar prejudice among themselves: that their world had been nothing but turmoil since the arrival of the humans, that perhaps the Saurians would be better off without the humans around.

Kate knew there was more than a little truth in that sentiment. She thought of the Hawaiians several decades after the Europeans had found them: talk about
Paradise Lost ...
! We were doing the same kinds of destructive things to the Saurians, even if there was no one person or policy to actually blame. Maybe it was an unwritten law that when two cultures first meet, the more primitive is going to have to suffer the most.

“What was that?” asked Joyce sleepily. Kate could hear her sitting up in her sleeping pouch, fumbling for her cigarette pack.

“Another ’quake,” said Kate, looking over to see the flare of the self-lighting Virginia Slim as Joyce brought it to her lips.

Leaning out to the small crate which served as a nightstand, Kate turned on a power-cell lamp, and the shadows ran off into the corners.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you warn me you were doing that?” Joyce chuckled in mock-anger.

“Sorry ... I figured as long as we were up and we were talking, maybe we should have some light.’”

“Those noises scare me,” said Joyce. “It’s like the whole ship could be twisting apart.”

“I’ve heard that it’s because of the age of this ship, that the hyperspace flight may be putting ... some stress ... on ... things.” Kate chose her words with care, so that Kinsey would not become more anxious.

Kate worked with Joyce on the Cultural Exchange Committee, and she seemed to have a natural, intuitive gift for communicating with the Saurians. Her job as a lab technician with the IASA Paleo Survey Team was now nonexistent, and she had volunteered to work with the Saurians because it offered her a chance to be doing something at least halfway related to her real vocation. During the past few weeks Kate had become quite friendly with her.

“They seem to be happening more frequently, don’t you think?”

“No,” said Kate. “Not really. I think that’s just people talking—you know; exaggerating.”

“Maybe, but it still scares me.” Joyce dragged deeply on her cigarette, exhaled a long thin plume of blue-grey smoke. “I mean, I try not to think about it most of the time, but this whole
thing
scares me!”

“I know what you mean,” said Kate.

“I mean, really—what’s going to happen to us, Kate?
Where
in hell are we going? And
who
wants us there?”

Kate didn’t answer because there were no answers available. For a short time, the two women sat in the half-light of their little lamp and listened to the madness of their own random thoughts. Kate knew that if she continued the conversation, there would be no more sleep tonight, and she could not afford a full day without enough rest. Being around the Saurians required that she be as alert and involved as possible.

“Well, maybe we should be getting back to sleep,” said Kate.

Joyce nodded and stubbed out her cigarette. “One more thing ... I forgot to tell you earlier because I got in so late... .”

“What?” asked Kate. She hoped it wasn’t going to be a long, involved story. She really did want to get some rest.

“While I was at the wine-making class, I heard Joy Davison remark about Colonel Kemp volunteering for Takamura’s little exploratory mission.”

“You’re kidding.” Suddenly her pulse quickened, and she felt totally awake. Kate tried to put a lid on her shocked reaction to the news.

“No, it’s true. At least, that’s what I heard.” Joyce paused. Then: “So ... are you going to tell Takamura you’ve reconsidered?”

“I don’t know. Do you think it would look kind of funny? This late, I mean. They’re supposed to head out the day after tomorrow.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Kate propped herself up on one elbow, grinned sheepishly. “I guess I do ... I
think
I do.”

“Then go on! Do it! There’s certainly nothing exciting going on around here.”

“You’re right,” said Kate, trying to sound nonchalant. Inside, her heart was racing as she thought of being close to him again. Sister, you’ve got it bad.

“Of course, I’m right,” said Joyce.

“All right,” said Kate. “Maybe I’ll go talk to Takamura.”

Joyce chuckled. “Yeah, right ... and
maybe
this is all just a bad dream!”

MIKAELA
had waited for him to mention it.

It was the night before the expedition was heading off “along the bulkhead trail,” as Phineas had phrased it, and she decided to layout enough rope to see if the Colonel could manage to hang himself.

He had spent the afternoon in meetings with Takamura and the other volunteers, and it was after dark when he returned to the tent. She could tell he was feeling randy, and had most likely planned a romantic send-off, because he arrived carrying a bottle of Robert Mondavi 2007, appropriated from Bob Jakes’s private cache.

She served him a late dinner. And she waited for him to say something. The rope seemed to be getting shorter ... because it was slowly wrapping itself around his neck. No, that wasn’t quite right: the rope was innocent; Phineas was the one doing the wrapping, thank you.

Mikaela smiled to herself as they cleaned up from the meal. Phineas seemed full of small talk, as though he were avoiding mention of the mission. And that was not like him at all, because prior to going to the final briefing, the prospect of some new adventure filled his sentences.

She wasn’t really certain
how
she felt about his silence. It wasn’t that she was really angry with him, or even hurt by his sudden avoidance of the subject. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was thinking of a way to bring up the subject. Perhaps the news had been so
meaningless
to him that he was not even
thinking
about her.

God, she went round and round! What was it about relationships that made us all so crazy?

An hour passed, and the wine had been poured, glasses clinked, and lamps turned low. Considering the romantic limitations of a baggy vendor’s tent, redolent with Saurian exudations, Phineas was giving it his best shot. After kissing her along her arm, and all the way up her neck into the fragrant blond nest of her hair, he reached for the front zipper to her jumpsuit. Mikaela lay back on the cot, arcing her back, presenting herself to him, letting the wine perform its magic. She could confront him later.

Soon their clothes had fallen away, and without speaking they had both decided to make this one last. Each touch, each kiss, lingered and teased. At one point she lay back away from him, tracing a wet fingertip up and down the length of his body. He was short, but not compact; muscled, but trim and sinewy rather than bulky or heavy. As he edged toward his fortieth year, she could detect the first hints of softness, of creases and tucks and rolls, but he would battle them for many years to come. His face was still unlined, and his sandy-brown hair still thick. He was classically handsome and always would be.

When he finally entered her, it was with a gentle confidence. He was always attentive, and careful not to be too rough, too quick. They moved together in the humid night, their sweat mingling, making them deliciously slippery. He cried out when he reached orgasm, and she held him at her breast like the little boy he often seemed.

Afterward, as she lay in his arms, and the wine threatened to carry them off to sleep, she broke the silence with a single, direct question: “Why didn’t you tell me that Kate Ennis is going along?”

At first he acted like he may have already drifted off, but his eyes popped open and he looked at her drowsily.

“For Christ’s sake, Mikaela, are you serious?”

“Just tell me why?”

“Because I assumed you already
knew
it. And it sounds like I was right.”

He turned over, stretching out, as though very tired—which he most likely was. She had to admit his answer made sense, and he certainly was not acting like a guilty man. Still, she thought she might press it a bit further.

“You think you’re so smug, don’t you, Colonel ... ?”

“Smug? No, just tired. Good night, my dear.”

“Phineas—”

“Look.” He was starting to sound more irritated and less sleepy. “I just found out Kate had changed her mind—women have been known to do such things—and it was not that big of a deal to me, all right?”

“Yet it must have been enough of one for you to figure I would already know about it.”

“Christ, you’re on the bloody Council! Of
course
you’d know about it!” He paused, drew a breath, then exhaled dramatically. “Listen: I am not interested in Kate Ennis and have no intention of becoming so—even if she
is
interested in
me,
and demonstrated same by signing on for the mission ... and, oh yes, you were absolutely correct in your prediction, assumption, knowledge aforethought, or whatever you want to call it, and can we finally
end
this silly discussion and get some bloody
sleep!?”

Mikaela almost laughed after his performance. He could be
damned
charming and funny when he wanted to be.

“Very well, Phineas. Maybe I was being a bit too hard on you.”

He harrumphed through the haze of half-sleep. “Maybe you were just being a bit
jealous,
why don’t you admit it?”

“Oh, is that what I was doing? Thank you, my love, I would have never known.”

She waited for a reply, but he had already slipped into an unfakable deep slumber. Not exactly the demeanor of a guilty man. Maybe he was right: she was acting jealous.

And yet, she thought as she reached out to cancel the lamp, I just don’t trust that Ennis woman ...