War Games (24 page)

You’re damn right it was!

And it worked just the way we’d planned. We coasted in an elliptical orbit out to Iapetus. It took seventy-two hours. But the extra time was worth it. I had never made love in zero G before. Apparently Grychn had. She knew all kinds of tricks. Makes you really appreciate Newton’s Laws.

* * *

Our course had been perfect. Our intercept was precise enough so that we only had to make one orbit around Iapetus before landing. During that orbit we donned spacesuits and spray-painted over the camofilm of the ship and reattached identifying numbers and running lights. Our ship became the
Kestral,
out of Nyssa. We became a Lord and Lady on holiday.

We landed at a small spaceport on the edge of the Ice Mountains. There are only two kinds of mountains on Iapetus—Ice Mountains and Rocky Mountains. One hemisphere is covered with frozen ammonia and hydrocarbons.

The other is barren. A huge crater explains the reason, and also why Iapetus’s orbit is inclined—the heat of an ancient collision had vaporized the ice on one side. It was slowly creeping back. Maybe in another billion years the Moon would be evenly sheathed in ice again.

Iapetus had not been colonized. A few mines operated in the Rocky Mountains. Mining was not profitable in the Ice Mountains. There was one city, Atlas, that served both miners and tourists. A few resort domes catered to hydrocarbon snow skiers. Mostly purists.

But Iapetus was rather out of the way. Which suited me fine.

War, elves, combrids, and spooks were all far away.

The timestone waited.

We were safe.

WE CRAWLED
out
of our acceleration chambers and showered together to remove residual shock gel. Grychn had a couple of pair of space coveralls stashed aboard. We each pulled on one of the body stockings. Combat armor and battle packs were left stowed in a locker-battle dress would have attracted attention had we worn it. Iapetus was at peace. There was a small combrid garrison in the Rocky Mountains, but their only duties were to settle squabbles among miners and to discourage rebel pirates from using Iapetus as a base. Neither Grychn nor I could pose as combrids on R&R. So it was better to stow away that gear until we needed it.

Grychn had also left some jewelry aboard. She put on a necklace of singing pearls and sapphire earrings. Sonic diamonds, emeralds, and rubies glittered from her fingers and toes. I restricted myself to a single gold earring and my turquoise chargering. No sense being ostentatious.

Besides, I preferred that people look at Grychn. That way, they’d be less likely to notice me.

The spaceport was located in a valley at the edge of the Ice Mountains. A dusty plain stretched for twenty or thirty kilometers to the east, gradually rising to butt against the first range of the Rocky Mountains. Spatters of nickel/iron glinted from their peaks.

The domes of Atlas and two floating towers lay to the west of the spaceport, sitting on the floor of a box canyon, surrounded by snow-covered peaks. Their summits rose steeply to over three thousand meters. The highest was El Diente, marked by a fountain of plasma squirting into space—a gimmick used to attract people to a nightclub on its summit. Glaciers of hydrocarbon/ammonia ice started high in the mountains and ground out of valleys to end in crumbling cliffs less than a hundred meters from the first dome. Skiers made graceful S-turns down the glaciers. Roostertails of hydrocarbon powder rose behind them.

We left the ship and walked across fused obsidian, past rows of parked space yachts, and entered an airtube. We were whisked a couple of klicks away to Atlas, coming out in a commons dome. There was no customs agent—Atlas was a freeport village.

Shops ringed the periphery of the commons, with an open mall in the middle of the dome. A park with grass and flowers and real trees from Earth lay in the center of the mall, with its own stream and waterfall. Songbirds sang from the trees. The mall was crowded with people. Skiers who had finished for the day strolled about, dressed in shining body stockings. Nonskiers loitered, waiting for après-ski to begin. Call-bodies lounged on park benches, displaying their wares to miners rotating back to Atlas for R&R.

Atlas was originally a mining town, and still was for the most part—that was typical of settlements on the outer moons. Prospectors came first, lured to inhospitable climes by the chance of instant wealth. When a lode was struck, a town sprang up overnight, as more miners poured into the area. If the ore was high-grade, a mining town could be quite lavish, as its miners could afford to import the best of everything. But when the mines played out, miners moved to other strikes. With nothing to support the local economy, stores and shops and saloons closed as their proprietors followed the miners to the next lode. The mining town was abandoned. There were hundreds of such ghost towns scattered about the outer moons.

Although the active mines on Iapetus were now deeper in the Rocky Mountains, Atlas still serviced them, as it had the only deep-space port on the Moon. Even if it hadn’t, Atlas was in no danger of becoming a ghost town. It had been turned into a resort. The Ice Mountains of Iapetus boasted the best hydrocarbon snow in the System and the most vertical drop to ski. Skiing fanatics came billions of kilometers to try the deep, light powder snow. A skiing vacation on Iapetus had become
de rigueur
for the nobility of Old Earth, as well as for wealthy commoners.

Some of the best skiing was found in the Horseshoe Mountains that surrounded Atlas. The domes of ski chalets grew like giant mushrooms at the foot of the mountains. A hundred-floor hotel tower had been built next to the Anaconda Tower, to accommodate the less affluent. More shops and restaurants and nightclubs were required to cater to skiers.

Liftubes snaked up sheer cliffs to the heads of glaciers at the mountaintops. Skiers could then glide for kilometers down those glaciers. The more adventurous could go on hoverbus ski tours into the interior, getting off on the top of mountains to ski virgin powder that might not have ever been tracked before. For those wanting solitude, the Ice Mountains were the place to go—they were still largely unexplored as well as unsettled.

Atlas was a mixture of the old and new: a raw mining town blended with the pseudoelegance of a resort, whose shops catered to any perversion imaginable.

Grychn and I strolled across the mall hand in hand—a Lord and Lady on their ski vacation. Our faces were still a little haggard from peptide addiction, but the hollows around our eyes had filled in. Bony prominences still showed under our body stockings, where muscle had not filled out yet. But not enough to attract attention. Lords and Ladies sometimes played rough games themselves. Maybe we’d come to Atlas for a rest from those. No one would think to ask. Nor care.

Water babbled in a brook. A warm breeze rustled the leaves of trees. Birds flitted from branch to branch, singing the songs of spring. We passed beautiful call-bodies, but did not look with lust. Pathics touched our minds fleetingly, then withdrew. Peppers smiled behind the windows of their parlors, teeth shining blue, but those also we could resist. Mnemone fumes wafted from other doors. Chips skittered across green felt gaming tables. I could even resist their lure. There would be time for those games later, after I’d found the timestone.

We left the mall and walked through a short tunnel that led to the Hotel Atlas lobby. I registered us as a Lord and Lady, using a name I hadn’t used for a long time. But the name matched the chargering I wore on my finger and there was still considerable money in that account. Neither the name nor the account had ever been compromised. I left the hotel bill open. A Lord would be expected to run up other charges. Our lack of baggage did not draw comment.

We rode up the liftube to the ninety-ninth floor.

Our room commanded a good view of the Ice Mountains—I’d wanted that. A
bottle of champagne stood in an ice bucket. I poured two glasses. We lay together on wombskin, sipping wine. A real fire burned in a glass fireplace, radiating warmth into our bodies, blending its heat with that of the wine.

Soon body stockings lay in a heap on the floor.

Wine-wet lips kissed mine, then moved to kiss other places. I let myself relax. We were safe.

My lips sought places that pleased. My tongue touched softly. Smooth skin rubbed against mine, then melted into my flesh. Tactile sensations blended. We were one again, like when we played the mindgame—no, more like when we piloted the gravship. I knew how she liked to be touched, because I was touching myself. Her fingers and lips and tongue were mine, touching me. We made love to ourself, going slowly, savoring each sensation, cherishing each thrill.

A long time later, we coupled, and that also lasted forever. My flesh entered; my flesh yielded to the penetration, as though it had folded back on itself. My mouth kissed itself. Delicious friction stretched tactile fibers; waves of peristalsis squeezed tight. I knew when to thrust deeper, when to withdraw. I knew when to open my legs and when to wrap them tight around my waist. My fingers knew what places to touch, what orifices to enter.

My nipples tightened. A flush burned across my chest, rising into my neck. I played reflex arcs like an orchestra, gradually building nervous tension, until neurons sang with energy. Secretory epithelium exuded. Ducts and vesicles became tumid. Glands stretched tight against their capsules. Then they could hold no more. Parasympathetic ganglions discharged like chain lightning. Smooth muscle contracted. Sphincters opened. Spasms rippled down and around my penis, synchronized with the contractions of my vagina—semen was pumped from within and without. Male and female orgasms were linked in reflex arcs, one triggering another, like a sexual seizure. The frenzy gradually ebbed. Warmth flowed between my legs. I lay quietly, arms wrapped around myself.

Slowly, we became separate again.

Grychn lay beside me with one leg draped over mine, resting her head on my shoulder. Her breath tickled in my ear.

“That was nice,” she said. “ Much better than in the mindgame—that was real.” She licked my ear. “You were good.”

“Was it me?”

“Oh, yes. You
entered
me.” She laughed at her double entendre. “I mean, I’m sure it was your mind that came into mine, bringing with it your perceptions.” Her fingers made circles on my chest. “How long have you been a pathic?”

I thought for a moment. Nels had been right, then. Some of it began to make sense. “Just now,” I answered. I felt a tug in my mind—a faint call. Something waited in the cold for me.

“Latent, then.”

“That’s what Jain Maure said my psyche tests showed.”

“I wonder what made it surface now?”

“The timestone. Nels told me it could bring out latent abilities. “

She paused. “I’d almost forgotten about it. Everything is so peaceful now.” She looked at me seriously. “Why don’t you forget about it, too? We don’t need it. There’s lots of places we could go. Let’s just have a little holiday and be on our way.”

“I’ve come too far to give up now. Too much has happened. I’ve got to find the stone.”

“But don’t you see? It’s become an obsession with you. Why?”

“I don’t know. At first it was because I’d seen my own death and was afraid of it. Then it was as a means to obtain power. But I’m not sure now. Except that I’ve got to find it. I’m sure about that.”

She kissed me. “I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave you now. I’m not going to lose you again.” She settled in closer to me. “Have you ever thought that the timestone is looking for you? That it is drawing you near? That it wants you to find it?”

The fire cast flickering light about the room.

I closed my eyes. Dim urgings nagged my mind. Yes, the thought had occurred to me. But I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do about it.

* * *

That night, the dreams started.

Faces rose to torment my sleep: my own, with eyes of shattered ice, teeth like icicle shards, covered with frost like blue fur; my brother Robrt, eyes bulging, tongue bitten off, blood oozing from his nose; Henri, laughing while we hung, his aquiline features contorted with glee, fire burning from steel eyes; Vichsn, with delight sparkling from retinal reflections; Jain Maure, with copper eyes and full, red lips; my parents, white as marble statues, but at peace; and Grychn—though I couldn’t remember what she looked like, I knew she was there also.

The faces superimposed on each other, becoming confused. I couldn’t sort out one from another. I knew meaning had to be hidden in the puzzle—if only I could put the pieces together. But a key part was missing. Without it, the rest remained jumbled fragments.

Gradually they dimmed, leaving me uneasy with their memory.

* * *

The next day nightdreams were almost forgotten. We went shopping. Grychn bought several new ski outfits. She even talked me into buying one—a body stocking of shiny blue polymer. She said it made me look dashing. We also bought us each a pair of gravskis, poles, and boots.

Then the shopping became serious. I bought a set of topographic maps of the Ice Mountains and two sets of war surplus cross-country skis, and rented a skimmer for a week. The other survival gear we would need we already had stowed in battle packs aboard the ship.

We ate lunch in the café atop the Anaconda Tower. Over coffee, I looked over my maps. Nels had told me where she’d hidden the timestone—in an abandoned mine shaft in the steep canyon between Sunshine Peak and Mount Themis, the two highest mountains on Iapetus. I found the area on my map. It was a remote region, with no camps or habitations within a hundred kilometers. The canyon was inaccessible except on skis—even a hovercraft would have trouble landing on such steep slopes. Which was why Nels had hidden it there.

Grychn had been looking out the window while I looked at my maps. As I folded the mylar sheets, she said: “Let’s go skiing for a half-day. There’s still lots of powder left.”

I looked down to the slopes. Why not? We needed the diversion. “OK,” I said. “Let’s.”

Fifteen minutes later we were atop Peak Nine.

A glacier ground its way down a canyon, to end in ice cliffs. Vertical drop was around three thousand meters. The grade was between forty-five and ninety degrees. A hundred-percent grade was a sheer cliff, so ninety percent was pretty steep. In the low gravity of Iapetus, the slopes had to be fairly steep to get any decent velocity. P-grav generators in our skis also helped augment downward acceleration.

All day the slight heat of the distant sun caused hydrocarbons to sublimate, forming a thin atmosphere. At night, the cold caused them to recondense into snow. Thus, each morning, a new layer of powder snow lay ready for skiing.