No Other Love (7 page)

He had left Sibirna with his parents’
approval and their fervent wish that he never return. They had
another son who would carry on the bloodline, and they thought
Herne was a disgrace to his family. The time of his medical studies
had been a difficult period, but eventually he learned to direct
his Sibirnan hardness toward the disease or the injury he was
battling, which left him free to treat his patients with the
kindness they deserved until they were well again. Herne knew he
had become a good physician.

As for women, there had been a few, and might
have been more, since women seemed to like his brown-haired, rugged
looks. Certainly he would have welcomed a companion who would love
him and no other. But Herne had carefully stayed free of serious
emotional entanglements because of his growing disillusionment with
the rigid Jurisdiction laws and with anyone who could accept them.
He had sensed that a day would arrive when he would want to leave
the Jurisdiction, and then a woman would only be an
encumbrance.

In his disenchantment he was no different
from anyone else now on Dulan’s Planet. Like the other colonists,
he had seen it as a place where he could begin a new life. But he
had brought his past with him, and the inner battle continued
between his harsh and brutal upbringing and the gentler nature he
ached to set free.

To Herne’s left, not far from the island
shore, rose the cliffs where the Chon lived. He watched the birds
soaring on the wind, diving to snare fish from the lake, then
winging back to their caves in the rock. Here, with the mountain in
the distance, the lake at his feet, and the Chon going about their
business, he could usually relax. But not today, not while Merin
crowded his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to banish her. He
could still feel the way her soft lips had moved against his mouth,
the heat of her tongue when he touched it with his own. But then,
before she could begin to respond completely, came her implacable
withdrawal from him and her scornful words. Never before had he
continued to want a woman who had shown so positively that she
wanted nothing to do with him. He could not understand his own
reactions.

After a while he decided there was no point
in wasting any more time staring at the landscape. He wasn’t going
to feel better no matter how long he stood there. He ought to go
back to the building and get to work.

With a rustle of emerald wings, a Chon
settled on the pebbly beach near him. It was so large that Herne
and the bird were of a height, and when he turned toward it, the
Chon regarded him with its head cocked to one side, as if it were
studying him.

“All right,” said Herne, kicking a stone into
the lake, “since you are supposed to be so star-blasted
intelligent, why don’t you give a friend some advice? Why don’t you
tell me the reason Merin is so withdrawn from all emotion and what
I can do about it? Why can’t I reach her? And while you’re
answering questions, tell me what really happened at Tathan and why
that creature in the grotto looked almost like Merin. Would you
know if I were going mad? Would you tell me?”

The bird stood quietly, watching him from
shining black eyes.

“Shall I touch you, the way Osiyar does?”
Herne wondered, taking a step forward. The bird did not move. If it
wanted to, it could peck out his eyes with its long, toothed beak.
A swipe of its wing would dash him to the ground. Herne lifted one
hand, but something in him, some deep Sibirnan inhibition, kept him
from touching the bird.

“There is – was – a golden statue in Tathan,”
he said, and stopped speaking because the bird’s head had moved
closer to his.

For an instant, for just a flash of time, as
soft green feathers brushed against his cheek, Herne’s mind was
filled with the image of that white hall in Tathan, of the statue
of a Chon, and of people, men and women and a few nonhumans, all in
brightly colored robes, crowding the hall, mingling with the Chon.
Even in that brilliant assembly, the birds of green or blue shone
like fabulous gems. Herne imagined he saw himself standing beside a
woman in a gorgeously jeweled gown. Then suddenly the picture was
gone and he felt as if his brain had been forcibly torn out of his
skull. Drenched in pain, he stumbled toward the rock where he had
been standing, reaching out with both hands to hold onto it and
thus support himself.

“What does it mean?” he gasped.’

“What does what mean?” Osiyar appeared from
among the trees and walked down the beach toward Herne.

“That bird – my head is splitting.” Herne
rubbed at his forehead.

“I shouldn’t wonder.” Osiyar regarded him
calmly. “I saw what you were doing and I would advise you not to
try to communicate with the Chon again. Sibirnans don’t have the
right kind of minds for telepathy.”

“Believe me, if I survive this headache, I
won’t ever forget that,” Herne promised.

“What were you trying to learn?” asked
Osiyar.

“Just what you’d expect,” Herne replied in a
sour voice.

“The Chon and I are telepaths, not
magicians,” Osiyar chided him. “If you want your fortune told, you
must look inside yourself. If you want to know another person’s
thoughts, ask that person.”

“And what do you suggest I do,” Herne
demanded, still rubbing his aching head, “if I ask and I’m given no
answer?”

“Then you have a choice to make,” said
Osiyar, smiling at the bird. “Give up the question. Or ask it
again, in a different way.”

The Chon bobbed its head up and down, then
ruffled its feathers. Herne laughed in genuine amusement

“Does it understand us?” he asked.

“Every thought,” said Osiyar, his hand
reaching toward the bird.

“Perhaps I’ll take your advice.” Herne
suddenly felt much better. “Yours and his. I’ll wait for a while
and ask the question again.”

* * * * *

The predicted snowstorm arrived on schedule
and lasted for a day and a night. By the second morning more than a
foot of dry, crunchy flakes had accumulated on the island, and the
heavy clouds suggested more would fall before long.

Merin was given the job of clearing a path
from the headquarters building to the shuttlecraft on the beach.
With the snow so light in texture, the work was easy. Soon she was
well beyond the central clearing, working her way through the
swathe of leafless trees and bushes that ringed the island. When
she heard the sound of boots on snow behind her, she
straightened.

“Medical supplies for the shuttlecraft,”
Herne said, indicating the boxes in his arms.

He brushed past her and continued on his
errand while she stood gazing after him. She did not lift her
shovel again until he had disappeared through the shuttlecraft
hatch. By the time he re-emerged she had shoveled all the way to
the beach and it had begun to snow again. Herne stopped beside her.
Glancing at him, she saw a flash of humor in his eyes.

“Did you ever have a snowball fight?” he
asked, pulling off his gloves. “Or have you ever washed with
snow?”

“No.” She did not add that either sounded
like a foolish activity to her.

“Does it snow on Oressia?” He bent to scoop
snow into his hands.

“Sometimes.” She remembered large, wet flakes
falling into the gray Southern Sea, and the sharp edge of a seawall
softened by a blanket of white, until Herne’s actions snapped her
back to the present. “What are you doing?”

“Asking the question in a different way,” he
said, his words only mystifying her further. “This stuff is too dry
to make good snowballs, but not too dry for a nice wash. Hold
still. It won’t hurt.” His hands were full of snow. He raised them
to her face. With a gentle, almost tender motion, he began to rub
the snow against her skin.

Merin was so surprised by this unexpected
gesture that she could not move. She was blushing again. She could
feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, and the snow was wonderfully
cool and moist as it began to melt. When he rubbed a little of it
on her forehead flakes fell on her brows and lashes. The wet drops
trickled into her eyes, blurring her vision. The outline of Herne’s
face became unclear….

An instant later she saw him more precisely.
Behind his head the sky was a deep purple-blue, and a late summer
sun shone upon them. Herne’s face was tanned; he was grinning at
her, white teeth flashing, his eyes crinkling with laughter. She
knew him so well, knew the feel of his warm skin beneath her
fingers, knew what it was like to be held in his arms. The way she
felt inside was familiar to her, too, the warmth, the lightness, as
though her brain would burst with the intensity of it. Sunlight and
warmth. Peace and comfort. And something else, an emotion she had
never experienced, yet an emotion so familiar to her that it was an
intrinsic part of her being.

“Merin.” In the warm sunshine, Herne’s hand
brushed her cheek….

“Merin?” The sky was gray and cold. Delicate
snowflakes fell between them. Herne wiped half-frozen moisture off
her face. “Well, how did you like your first snow-wash?”

“I – I’m not sure.” Snow had fallen into the
neck of her jacket and melted there. She shivered. “Did you – did I
– have we been here all the time?”

“Right here on the path.” He looked at her
with that intense, wary gaze of his. “You’re almost as white as the
snow. I didn’t think a little bit of cold would send you into a
state of shock.”

“It wasn’t the snow,” she began, wondering
how she could possibly describe to him what had just happened – or,
perhaps, what she had just imagined. She was spared the need for
explanation when Alla came down the path carrying more boxes of
medical supplies.

“I thought you were working in the
shuttlecraft,” Alla said to Herne in an accusing tone. “I came to
help you. What have you been doing to Merin? Her jacket and coif
are soaked and she’s shaking with cold.”

“It’s nothing,” Merin responded, pulling
herself together and trying to sound normal. “Herne was only
demonstrating an ancient Sibirnan custom.”

“It looks like an unhealthy custom to me, if
it involves standing in the cold in wet clothing. Don’t either of
you have any common sense?”

“Alla, let me help you with those boxes,”
Herne said after another hard look at Merin.

“Put on some dry clothes, Merin,” Alla
advised, heading toward the shuttlecraft.

Herne followed her through the hatch, but
Merin stayed in the same spot for a time, staring after him and
trying to decide what it was that had just happened to her.

* * * * *

“Osiyar,” Merin said when the evening meal
was done and they were the only two left at the table, “are there
residual effects after your thoughts have touched another’s?”

“Rarely, but they can occur.” Osiyar sat back
in his chair, folded his arms, and waited serenely for Merin to
continue.

“I saw sunshine and felt warmth on a cold and
snowy day,” she said.

“Perhaps it was only a memory of your own,”
Osiyar suggested.

“I had never seen what I saw then,” Merin
declared, “nor felt that emotion, either.”

“Was it unpleasant?”

“No, only unfamiliar. But it was unacceptable
to me. I should not have felt what I did.” She knew Osiyar would
understand what she was trying to say, even if she could not
describe the emotion exactly. “I was somewhere else for a moment.
The sun was at a higher angle in the sky. The light was
different.”

“How do you feel now?” Osiyar’s sharp blue
eyes probed into hers.

“Perfectly well,” she said. “It’s as though
the episode never happened. It only lasted for an instant. Still, I
thought I should report it to you.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Osiyar advised,
smiling at her.

After Merin left the table, Tarik sat down in
her vacant seat.

“I heard,” he said. “Has it anything to do
with Herne? She has been rather pointedly avoiding him this
evening.”

“She is changing,” Osiyar said. “They both
are. It was inevitable after Tathan. They need time now. Just a
little more time….”

The Kalina

The spaceship
Kalina
was a captured
Cetan vessel, refitted at Capital in order to carry the colonists
to Dulan’s Planet, and rechristened in honor of Tarik’s mother. Now
in permanent orbit above the planet, the
Kalina
was never
left unattended. Each colonist was periodically expected to serve a
four-day stint aboard the ship. As he did with other routine
duties, Tarik allowed the computer to make random selections of
personnel for this purpose. Gaidar and Suria had just completed
their turn on the
Kalina,
and Merin was assigned to the next
four-day period. Herne was to be her partner.

She wished she had the courage to ask for a
reassignment. Always before she had gone aboard the
Kalina
with another woman. The thought of spending four days alone with
Herne was terrifying. How could she possibly maintain the necessary
tight discipline over herself if he was there, trying to touch her,
to put his mouth on hers? The memory of his mouth and his tongue
left her weak-kneed and breathless; the images of him standing in
the sun and touching her cheek, of him beneath gray skies gently
washing her face with snow came to her unbidden and far too
often.

“You needn’t worry,” he told her, as if he
could read her mind. “I won’t attack you. The last thing I want to
do is hurt you.”

“I’ll get my luggage. I won’t be long.”

He watched her bow her head and walk away to
her room. If she was upset about this assignment, he was even more
disgruntled at the prospect of spending days alone with her. He saw
only continuing frustration for himself.