Stars in Her Eyes

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  The transmission ended. He turned back to his video receiver and the steamship below. Emily was on the screen. He stared at her face, so fascinated by the golden stars in her eyes that the vapor encasing his constantly changing form glowed with a sudden brilliance. She was talking to someone, her whole face shining with passion. She was animated, radiant, alive in every sense of the word.

  And she was his! Not just his mission, but his soon-to-be-lover!

  Suddenly, the receiver blinked to life again, throbbing a warning from Starcommand. “Severe atmospheric disturbance! Danger! Danger! Danger! Abort mission! Repeat: Abort mission! Return to mother ship immediately!”

  The message caused an unheard-of reaction. For the first time in his life, the Starwanderer experienced true emotion as he read it. First pain, then rage, and, finally total, outright rebellion. Going against all his programming to obey orders without question, the Starwanderer switched off the receiver, ignoring the alert. He disregarded the direct orders without a second thought. He had no choice.

  Emily mattered—only Emily!

  He was far too entranced by the starry-eyed Earthling to fly off into deep space before he had even made contact, before they had ever had their chance to blend.

  He adjusted his viewing screen to a wider range. Now he had a clear picture of Emily, head to toe. He could hardly believe his own visual intake. Replacing her usual dull black was a shimmering, glittering costume of silver, tinted all over with the colors of sunset. Her breasts swelled in all their tender glory out of the bodice, only their shy peaks hidden in the folds. Tantalized, he was considering switching over to ultravision so that he could see through her shimmery wrapping. Then something else drew his attention.

  “Could it be?” He zeroed in for a closer view.

  There, draping Emily’s lovely throat, was an article he’d not seen in many Earth centuries—a precious icon thought to have been lost when Atlantis sank into the sea. He had been right about Emily. She was indeed special if she possessed that magical relic.

  Adjusting the audio sensor, he sat back, filling his vision with Emily, hanging on her every word, and reacting with a jealous ache at the obvious interest that another Earthling, Jonathan Webb, was showing her.

  Suddenly the Starwanderer noticed the large clear-glass skylight centered directly over the captain’s table. With such perfect access, he could do far more than simply observe Emily. Readjusting his scanner, he chuckled softly as he set the beam on its lowest power impulse—a setting he privately called “caress” because it was just a fraction softer than the one he thought of as “fondle.” Then with careful precision, he zeroed in on a tiny pleasure point that throbbed at the left corner of Emily’s softly smiling lips.

  A quiet ping sounded on board the spaceship as his beam made direct, perfect contact. The soft warmth of Emily’s flesh set the Starwanderer’s vapor pulsing erratically.

  “By the moon and stars!” he moaned, wanting the feeling to go on and on.

  Through his own aroused haze, he watched Emily’s reaction at the other end of this unearthly kiss.

  “Oh, my!” she murmured to herself. Her eyes went wide, and her smile trembled slightly.

  When he saw the pink tip of her tongue flick out to touch the spot his beam had just caressed, he quickly adjusted his aim and fired again. This time, a tremor went through Emily’s body, and she blinked rapidly. She brought the tip of one finger delicately to her lips to touch her tingling tongue. Then she glanced toward the skylight, almost as if she knew that he was there.

  The Starwanderer felt himself pulsing with a hot, blinding brilliance. If the slightest peck of his beam—set only to caress—could do this to them both, what would happen if he dared stimulate the glowing pleasure points on her full lips? As for their blending, could either of them survive such ecstasy?

  “I mean to find out, Emily,” he warned. He chuckled, then laughed aloud in devilish glee.

  2

  Emily knew someone was watching her—the same someone who had been casting looks her way since their first night out of Liverpool. The man’s name was Jonathan Webb, and she knew from their brief encounters on deck and their longer conversations each afternoon in the ship’s library that he was in the diplomatic service and was returning to Washington after completing a two-year assignment in London. She knew, too, that he was Virginia-born, Harvard-educated, unattached, and probably the most charming and devastatingly handsome man she would ever meet. Tall and strapping in a graceful, totally masculine way, Jonathan had rusty-blond hair worn a bit longer than was currently fashionable, and the most dazzling pure-blue eyes that had ever gazed into her own. When he looked at her, he seemed to be seeing right into her heart. He respected her position as a widow, yet he let her know tactfully that he was more than a little interested.

  She glanced across the table and caught him staring at her again. He smiled slightly, and at that very moment, she could have sworn she felt something caress the side of her mouth. She gasped softly and looked away, her heart fluttering at a furious rate. How had Jonathan done that to her?

  There was no denying that he could take her breath away with a mere glance, and he had done so more than once since they had departed Liverpool. What she didn’t understand was how she could actually feel him touching her when she knew he couldn’t possibly have done so.

  “Oh!” There it was again—that feeling, that tingling. The very tip of her tongue this time. She reached up and touched the sweetly throbbing spot with her finger. Surely, Jonathan hadn’t done that, nor would he have thought of doing such a thing.

  Who or what, then? Emily wondered. She glanced about, spying an odd green glow at the skylight overhead.

  “Is something wrong, Mrs. Larchmont?” Jonathan asked. She noted how formal he sounded. In private, he called her Emily—sometimes dear Emily.

  “It’s nothing, Mr. Webb, but I do appreciate your concern.”

  When she smiled at him, she thought she felt his boot nudge her slipper under the table. Once again, she felt a tingle and a flush.

  As flattering as Emily found his attention, this casual shipboard flirtation made her feel slightly ill-at-ease. As Heatherbee had so pointedly reminded her earlier, her husband, Sir Harold Larchmont, had been dead for less than a year. Heart failure had whisked him away following a spirited camel ride from Cairo, after they climbed the great pyramid of Cheops under a broiling Egyptian sun. She had hardly had time to get accustomed to widowhood. Now, suddenly, she found herself casting off her mourning black like some frivolous-minded maiden in order to entice another man. She’d even been so daring as to wear the deeply cut gown of changeable moiré taffeta that was the softly blended silver, mauve, and purple of a pigeon’s throat in order to show off her figure and the ancient Minoan necklace to best advantage—for Jonathan.

  Shocking! she told herself, then smiled at him again.

  As she sat at dinner, engaging in light conversation with the five other ladies and gentlemen at the captain’s table, she knew that Jonathan was once more taking her measure. She could almost feel his gaze lingering on the gold and jewels that adorned her throat, and at the rosy rise of flesh that swelled below the priceless necklace. Aware as she was, she smiled a bit more brightly as she half listened to Dame Carlington’s dull diatribe on the latest preparations to cure la grippe, waiting for her chance to launch a more interesting topic.

  Captain Sidney himself came to her rescue. “Mrs. Larchmont, we’ve missed your delightful company in the dining room until now. I’m sure I speak for the entire table when I say how pleased we are that you could join us tonight. I’m sorry your secretary, Miss Heatherbee, is still indisposed.”

  When Emily inclined her head slightly toward the speaker, the ebony waves of her upswept hair gleamed blue-black in the light of the electrified chandeliers overhead. “Thank you, Captain Sidney. I’m most happy to be here. As for Miss Heatherbee, she sends her regrets. I’m afraid she’s no ocean voyager.”

 
Solicitous nods and murmurs of “mal de mer” went round the table.

  “Might I inquire about that necklace you’re wearing?” the captain continued. “It is truly an astonishing piece of art.”

  Emily placed one delicately shaped hand at her throat and spread her fingers lovingly over the golden web. “The necklace was a gift from an archaeologist on the Isle of Crete, a friend of my late husband.” Her unusual eyes—luminous green with a perfect, golden star around each pupil—seemed to shimmer with excitement as she spoke of her experiences. “As most of you have undoubtedly heard, I’ve spent the past four years working as a scribe to Sir Harold Larchmont. As his wife also,” she added, rather as an awkward afterthought. “During our travels, we visited many ancient sites in Italy, Greece, Egypt, and, of course, the recent digs on the Isle of Crete. This necklace was found there among other relics at the site of the Palace of Knossos, and it is thought to be over four thousand years old. A gift to his queen from King Minos himself.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “It is also said to possess magical powers. Old legends tell that it can bring the dead back to life and call the stars down from the heavens.”

  A general gasp of admiration mingled with wonder went up around the table.

  “What are the stones?” the captain asked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that pale liquid-green. Why, they almost seem to glow with an inner fire.”

  “I’m told they’re probably a rare variety of amethyst, since those gems were a favorite on Crete.” Emily smiled brightly again, this time her starry gaze coming to rest on Jonathan Webb. “Each gem is a perfect, tiny pyramid.”

  “Amazing!” said Jonathan.

  “Yes, quite,” Emily agreed. “But most amazing is that this artifact was allowed out of the country. It was given to me in trust, for fear that it might be confiscated by the Turks who are now threatening the island. The necklace could never have been placed in safer hands. Once I return to my home in Washington, this treasure will be promptly locked away in a vault at the Smithsonian for safekeeping.”

  “Such a pity!” Jonathan said almost to himself.

  “Pardon me?” Emily glanced his way again.

  “I meant only that the necklace seems to fit you so well. A woman of timeless beauty should always wear priceless jewels.”

  Emily stared down at her plate, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks at his compliment.

  “Your late husband was writing a book, I believe?”

  With Jonathan’s extravagant flattery still warming Emily’s cheeks, Captain Sidney’s question struck her as a slight reprimand, although she was certain he didn’t mean it that way. She was simply oversensitive to the fact that Sir Harold had succumbed only eight months ago, and here she was, dressed to the nines, enjoying herself as if she’d cared nothing for her husband. Well, that wasn’t true. She did miss Sir Harold. But not as a woman would miss her lover. Their marriage had been one of strict convenience, so that she might travel with the elderly classicist without raising a single Victorian eyebrow. Her uncle’s old friend—a confirmed bachelor, well into his sixties—had needed someone to accompany him, to keep efficient notes, to see that he took his heart medication at the appointed times, and to remind him to eat. She had handled all those wifely duties, but no others.

  He had been a dear old man. He had told her with his last breath that he could never have chosen a more pleasing way to go, “halfway up the crumbling tomb of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh with a beautiful young woman at my side.” In those last moments, he had instructed her, too, to finish his book for him and then to set off on a search of her own—a search for love.

  So, even if she had flirted a bit with the handsome Mr. Webb, she had nothing to be ashamed of, Emily reminded herself.

  Smiling at the captain, she said, “Yes, Sir Harold was writing a book. It’s finished now and with a publishing house in London, so my work is done, and my husband’s name will long be remembered.”

  “What are your plans now, might I ask?” Jonathan Webb’s question sounded almost too eager.

  “Once we arrive back in the States, I’ll return immediately to Washington and resume my former duties as hostess for my uncle, Senator Thomas Middleton.”

  “Oh, my word!” gasped Dame Carlington, nodding her silver-gray head until the diamonds in her tiara winked brightly. “Why, I’ve known Thomas forever. And his good friends the Castines, as well. You know they’ll be celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary shortly. Will you attend that gala with your uncle, my dear?”

  “Certainly,” Emily answered. “That’s one reason I’m returning to America now. I hear the Castines are planning a dinner in their garden, hoping that those strange lights in the sky we’ve been reading about in the papers will put in an appearance to entertain us.”

  “Ah, yes, yes!” said the ruddy-faced captain, his excitement growing. “I’ve kept a close eye on the heavens this trip, hoping to spot one of those wandering apparitions. I assume you all know that these dazzling objects in the sky were first noted over Sacramento on November seventeenth of last year. In the following months, they have been sighted all up and down the West Coast. After causing a brief flurry in Tacoma, Washington, they’ve been moving ever eastward, with reported sightings in six states. Strange, indeed!”

  “Yes, I’ve been watching the skies, too,” Emily said. “I thought I saw something this evening shortly before dinner, but then it disappeared. I’ve read all the newspaper accounts from the States about these ‘great airships’ with keen interest. I find the thought of travel through the air intriguing, although it seems impossible.”

  The other diners nodded their heads.

  “Well, I agree with William Randolph Hearst’s pronouncement in the San Francisco Examiner,” Dame Carlington declared. “That the wild stories are ‘probably due to liquor.’”

  Jonathan too, had been keeping abreast of the latest fantastic tales. “Did any of you read what that fanciful reporter stated in the Chronicle—that the lights are actually the lamp of old Diogenes, still searching for an honest man?”

  Everyone laughed, except Emily. The greenish glow she’d seen through her porthole remained on her mind. Stroking the Minoan necklace lightly with her fingertips, she said thoughtfully, “I saw many exotic things in my travels with Sir Harold—things that tested one’s imagination to the very limits and, at times, beyond. In past centuries, strange lights in the sky were thought to be ‘angelic messengers.’ In our enlightened times, we call them ‘airships’ or ‘dirigibles.’ Whatever the name, something is out there. In my opinion, life comes in far more shapes than we know. It would be folly to assume that we represent the only beings among the myriad stars twinkling in the boundless heavens.”

  “Then you really believe someone is up there?” Jonathan asked.

  “I want to believe!” Emily declared. “And there is much evidence. Ancient Chinese writings tell of a ‘land of flying carts’ inhabited by one-armed, three-eyed people riding fiery winged chariots. Alexander the Great and his army were said to have been harassed by flying objects back in 329 B.C. An aerial ballet was witnessed over Nuremberg, Germany, in 1561, and a similar event took place in the sky over Basel, Switzerland, only five years later. Then, of course, there are many such stories in the Bible—Elijah’s chariot of fire, Jacob’s ladder into heaven, Ezekiel’s vision of the winged creatures and their four-wheeled vehicle.”

  “My, my! I never knew we had so many heavenly visitors,” Dame Carlington muttered, glancing about as if she might see something flying through the dining saloon.

  “Well,” Emily concluded, “I’ll tell you all this—if one of these strange crafts happens to land in the Castines’ garden, I shall be the first to welcome our heavenly visitors to Earth.”

  “And I’ll be right beside you,” Jonathan Webb joined in enthusiastically. He fished a crisp white envelope from inside his coat and showed it all around. “My invitation to Senator and Mrs. Castine’s party arrived only the day before
I left London. I was so pleased to be welcomed back into Washington society that I’ve been carrying it about for safekeeping.”

  “My, won’t this be jolly!” Dame Carlington exclaimed. “It will be a reunion of sorts for the three of us. And will you wear that fetching necklace, my dear?”

  “I hadn’t thought…”

  Emily’s answer was interrupted when the Union Star gave a mighty lurch to starboard. At the same time, from somewhere in the bowels of the vessel, came a frightening grinding of gears. Several people in the huge dining saloon screamed. There was a general clattering of silverware and crashing of china. The chandeliers flickered, then went out. The only bright spot in the room was an eerie greenish glow shining down through the skylight.

  Captain Sidney rose abruptly from the table with a curt “You’ll excuse me, please.”

  Moments after the captain rushed out, a blaring alarm sounded throughout the ship. The blast was so loud it was heard three miles straight up.

  But the Starwanderer already knew what was happening below. Thrusting to full power, he covered the distance separating him from the sea faster than light could travel.

  While his scanner raked the confused scene on the deck of the ship, one thought throbbed through his mind: Emily…Emily! Save Emily!

  3

  With an agonized, almost animallike groan, the Union Star settled deeper into the sea. Crystal chandeliers swayed violently, then crashed to the tables below, showering the dining room with glittering shards. Passengers went sliding in a wash of broken china, spilled wine, and sea water.

  “What on earth?” Emily cried.

  The sudden shift jolted her out of her chair. She clutched the table to keep from sliding beneath it. In the process, she took a sharp blow to her head from a tumbling teapot. The whole world seemed to be turning upside down. Where was the calm of moments ago? Where was the pleasure of charming dinner conversation and light flirtation with a handsome man?