Metcalfe was there when they arrived on the boat deck. Having dismissed the usual dockmaster, he was orchestrating the approach and docking maneuvers himself. He informed the Captain that Mors' small ship had emerged from the conjugate gateway and was matching speed with Titan, in preparation for gently clipping onto her docking rings with mechanical waldoes.
Kaya moved to stand at Metcalfe's shoulder, and began to offer helpful suggestions, which he enthusiastically declined to employ.
Atal wondered if this would be a good time to remind Kaya that she was not in love with Metcalfe. He also took the time to wonder, once again, why he found himself interested in her relationship with his executive officer.
Most fathers of the Inner Worlds had no more interest in their children's potential sex partners than in their favorite flavor of ice cream. On Quintil, children received sexual instruction when their psych evals indicated they were ready. A child's first partner was generally another child close to his or her own age, but with at least a year's sexual experience. Inexperienced sex partners could inadvertently cause a virgin initiate pain, and that was to be avoided. Initiates generally picked their training partner after reviewing the files of five or six candidates and being given a chance to view their images, hear them speak, smell their scent, and even taste simulated saliva and caress simulated flesh, if desired. All this happened before the initiate met his or her partner in person, to avoid awkwardness or hurt feelings.
Usually, the field of candidates was divided into an equal number from each gender, and studies showed that this practice resulted in a fifty-fifty split between initiates having a heterosexual or homosexual first encounter. This distribution was, according to conventional wisdom, proof positive that the human animal was naturally bisexual, and that all gender preferences were programmed by environment. This claim did not take into account that initiates spent their lives, up to that point, being told it was healthy to be evenly bisexual, of course.
Those who were not naturally bisexual – Atal himself had been such a child – were put through special training. If an aversion to (or disinterest in) homosexual contact was deep-rooted, an initiate's candidate field was populated only by partners of the opposite sex. This gave the initiate a pleasant and encouraging introduction to the mysteries. The initiate would then be required to participate in homosexual sex to prove that he was wired correctly.
Perhaps it was an artificial practice, all this teacher-supervised sex. Then again, Atal had often thought, perhaps it made too pedestrian an act which should have emotional tension and mystery interwoven in its fabric. He had often thought Kaya too disinterested in the subject. She'd taken little notice of other boys or girls growing up. She was more interested in Atal's career. She'd had sex when the doctor told her to, and when, such as with Blaurich, she thought it would create a scandal or annoy her father.
Metcalfe was the first male she'd noticed was a male. Possibly it was his alien origins – the attraction the primitive beast holds for some. Anyway, they looked well together. She was small, lean and dark, with laughing eyes and a fierce intensity. He was likewise on the small side, with a trim body he held like a coiled spring. Surprisingly, to those who had only the stereotypical image of Terrans by which to judge, he was also quite handsome. They seemed a matched set. Certainly, Metcalfe had always seemed to think so.
The red warning light which indicated zero pressure without the airlock warmed to amber, indicating that a docking seal had been completed, and pressure was equalizing between Titan and another vessel. In complete silence, for the airlock was too well sealed and shielded for the hiss of atmospheric gases flooding its inner chamber to be heard, the light cooled to green. Then the inner airlock hatch cycled. Metcalfe's eyes left the Captain's daughter, possibly never to return thence, for it was not the aged Professor Mors who emerged first.
Atal had met Dr. Pallas, the Professor's assistant, before. Metcalfe and Kaya had not. Although he was no gawking teenager, the Terran's dark eyes widened visibly as the Phaetonian woman's lithe, sculpted form, seemingly undaunted by gravity heavier than that of her native world, emerged. Atal didn't need Phaetonian telepathy to know that Metcalfe was immediately smitten, nor that his daughter, while also aware of the other woman's beauty, was aware of her fellow midshipman's reaction, and was not completely comfortable with it.
And Pallas was beautiful. Phaetonians could tend to look unhealthy, focused as their culture was on developing the mind. Professor Mors himself looked frail. Cernaq, while certainly not ugly, look somewhat like an elf out of Tolkein. They all had an ethereal quality to them, with their delicate bone structure, milky pale skin and white blond hair. Some compared them to the mythical Terran angels.
Pallas was all of the good physical qualities of a Phaetonian personified, and more. She did not look as though she might break. With a simple, black coverall stretched over her tall form, she looked, rather, like a toned and healthy black panther. The yellow cat's eyes of the Phaetonian only added to this image.
She smiled as she recognized Atal. "Hello, Captain." Her voice was quiet, low and cool. It didn't suggest disinterest or dry amusement, as Cernaq's did, merely reserve. Its reserve also hinted that, perhaps, there was a passionate core beneath the surface. Atal couldn't help but admit to himself that this woman fascinated him. He could understand the reaction of Metcalfe, who had yet to stop staring.
"Doctor Pallas. Welcome aboard."
She did not take his hand. Phaetonians didn't. Often, they kept their hands clasped behind their backs when they met new people, to make it clear they didn't want to touch. The resulting enhanced mental contact could be uncomfortable for them.
"Thank you. Mors is directly behind me. He's... " She quirked one corner of her mouth in a wry smile. "Signing an autograph for the pilot."
Atal chuckled. "Some things never change. I told him to use military transport."
"He says it's wrong for the government to take business away from the private sector."
"Some things really never change."
Mors emerged at that moment. Atal's old friend and mentor was strong and tall as ever, a commanding presence, though he looked as old as time. Unlike his young assistant, he took Atal's hand and pumped it happily. He did this often, and Atal had never been sure if it conveyed a measure of comfort with the individual in question, or simply a measure of the greater power of Mors's psychic shields, when compared with those of his countrymen.
"Well, Jan! The Border doesn't seem to have done you any harm, you look well. Settled in yet?"
"Hardly. How are you, Professor?"
"Old. Old as hell." He gestured at the girl. "If it weren't for Pallas, I might forget to keep breathing between sentences, or I might wander out the airlock."
Pallas assured Atal that this was far from the truth, while Kaya and Metcalfe, their argument over the docking console completed, came over to greet their former teacher. Metcalfe's eyes were still riveted on Pallas.
Mors smiled broadly when he saw them, grasping one of their shoulders in each hand firmly. "Mr. Metcalfe, and Ms. Atal. I trust you're both pleased with your new assignments?"
"It's a step up from Arbiter, Professor," admitted Metcalfe.
"Don't underestimate the benefit of any assignment, my young friend. All of life is a learning experience, and even the unpleasant parts eventually contribute to the good. In my case, the displeasure of growing infirm is balanced by the joy of watching all of you grow into your own. And, in Pallas's case, a dull business trip will afford her the opportunity of associating with people closer to her own age."
"I've looked forward to this trip, Professor. And I hardly find your companionship lacking."
"Still, child, you've spent too much time listening to an old fool philosophize. My standing order on this trip is for you to acquaint yourself with Jan's officers. They're some of the best the Inner Worlds have to offer."
"I'm sure they have better things to do than serve as my personal escorts," sa
id Pallas, favoring Metcalfe, for the first time, with her gaze.
Metcalfe blushed, though the assembled company was polite enough to ignore it. He knew an answer was expected, however, and attempted to give it. "Um... no. I mean yes. That is, Doctor, any friend of Mors's..." He looked to his companion. "Right Kaya?"
"Right what? You didn't say anything." She laughed quietly, and said to Pallas. "But I'm sure, in your case, it's the thought that counts, isn't it, Doctor?"
"Call me Pallas, please."
"Pallas. I think we'll be quite happy to show you..." She looked meaningfully at Metcalfe. "...anything you want to see."
Atal cleared his throat. "Mr. Metcalfe has arranged quarters for you both, of course. He'll be happy to escort you –"
Mors shrugged. "I know my way around this ship pretty well. I think I'll remain with you for a bit, Jan. Pallas, you'll be all right?"
"We'll take good care of her, Professor," said Kaya cheerfully.
Then he took Atal's arm in the manner of the frail old man he wasn't, and led the Captain away from the young people. "Then, come, Mr. Atal. Let's see this Captain's promenade that had the taxpayers in an uproar."
This exchange told Atal something new about Pallas. Phaetonians were known to be naive. Most of them, off their planet, avoided the company of humans who might be sexually interested in them. The old Phaetons tended to make sure any chance of their juniors being alone with a human in such a situation was avoided. Mors, the old spy, had to be well aware of Metcalfe's attraction to his assistant. The fact that he not only allowed but encouraged her to be alone with the boy said that he trusted her to take care of herself. And that said that Pallas was a very special young Phaeton. Mors's trust was never known to be misplaced.
"I sense," Mors continued, "that something is distracting you, Jan. I'd like to hear about it, if it's not prying."
"Are you reading my mind, Professor?"
He smiled. "No, son. Only your face. I do know how to mind my manners. Besides, if you make a habit of reading every mind around you, too often you read something you wish you hadn't."
* * *
Twenty minutes into their tour of Titan, an urgent page summoned Kaya to engineering. Amid much grousing about her subordinates' and co-workers' utter lack of competence, she left to straighten out what ever needed straightening. This left Metcalfe alone with Pallas, and an awkward silence ensued, broken only by Metcalfe's occasional terse explanations of some aspect of the ship, its care, its feeding and its relevance.
The silence was not to last. As they rounded a bend in the gently curving corridor, they encountered Aer'La, hurrying toward the main cargo holds. Despite his very real desire to make Pallas like him, Metcalfe was relieved to see a familiar face.
"Aer'La! I'm glad we bumped into you. I'm showing Professor Mors's assistant around, and –"
He stopped as he noticed that Aer'La's own welcoming smile had vanished as she looked at Pallas. Her eyes narrowed. Her lip curled. Her fists clenched.
"Hello, Bos'n," Pallas said coolly.
"You two know each other..." Metcalfe began. "Where –"
Aer'La cut him off with a hiss of pure hatred. "Blondie. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Mr. Metcalfe is showing me the Titan."
Aer'La considered that, and looked at Metcalfe. He got the distinct impression that she didn't think he was safe with Pallas, and that Aer'La was trying to decide if she needed to kill the other woman to protect him. Fortunately, she didn't seem to decide that drastic action was necessary. If she had, he wondered if he could have stopped her.
"Just stay out of my way," she said finally. She took a step closer to Metcalfe. "I hear you had some trouble earlier."
Had everyone heard? Metcalfe wondered. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
Aer'La nodded. "Still, if they're willing to double up on you on the first day, I'd watch it. I'd be happy to... discourage them for you."
"I don't need a bodyguard, Aer'La," he said, his irritation throttled up by the presence of a beautiful woman during this exchange.
"Okay... but be careful. These pedigreed lapdog types fight mean." She looked pointedly at Pallas as she said this, then went on her way.
"I'm... sorry," said Metcalfe when she was gone. "I can't say I haven't seen Aer'La behave that way before, but – I think something's bothering her."
"She dislikes me intensely," Pallas replied. "She has since the moment we met."
"Where did you meet?"
"On Arbiter, last year."
"Where was I?"
"I believe you and the others were on an assignment off ship."
"She really doesn't like you."
"No. And I'm not sure why. I can only gather that she resents my level of education, or the fact that I've had better opportunities than she has. It's a pity she lets her feelings descend into envy. She should allow the accomplishments of others to motivate her to improve."
"Spoken like a true Phaetonian," said Metcalfe. "Your deity would be proud."
"We have no deities," Pallas said. "Blind faith is irrational."
"I was referring to Ayn Rand."
"She is not a deity. She is merely one of the philosophers whose work was instrumental to the development of Phaetonian culture. We value her application of Reason. We don't worship her."
"Maybe we can debate that later. And maybe you and Aer'La will give each other another chance. She's a good person, really."
Pallas looked critically down the corridor where Aer'La had gone. "Goodness is a relative term, but most systems of measuring personal worth recognize that violent behavior is detrimental to the individual and to society. Your friend's thoughts are... extremely violent. Chaotic, even. There's less rational organization of her thought processes than in most human minds."
Metcalfe said nothing, although the word 'human' had caused him a mental shudder. Pallas looked at him as if he had spoken.
"She isn't human?"
He shook his head. "I suppose there's no point trying to deny it. We... don't talk about it."
Pallas was silent for a moment, and Metcalfe realized she was probing his thoughts.
"You're supposed to ask before you do that," he said.
"Sorry," she said, though she didn't look sorry. "I have a habit of assuming that free-floating thoughts are being offered up to be read."
"Free-floating thoughts?"
"It's a telepathy thing."
"I wouldn't understand."
She nodded agreement. "So, Aer'La's a Varthan feral."
"Shhh!" Metcalfe hissed involuntarily. "I mean... we keep that quiet."
"A secret?" She wondered, then, answering her own question, added, "Because she could be repatriated if discovered." At his look of annoyance, she added, "And I'll try to stop reading your mind."
"Thanks."
"It's just that it's an easy mind to read."
Metcalfe stammered, then gave a bewildered laugh. "I'm... not sure how to take that."
"Oh," Pallas said, genuinely surprised at his offense, "it's a compliment. It means you know your own thoughts well, and they're organized clearly. It's the sign of an adept, analytical mind."
"Well... then thank you."
"Unlike Aer'La's," Pallas went on, "which is really quite a mess. I didn't pick up much of her background from her mind, because it would require great concentration to find useful information amongst all the emotional impulses she emits. That may be partly the result of her lack of education."
"Trust me," said Metcalfe, "Aer'La had an education."
"I'm sure. As a sexual servitor. Hardly what I'd call consciousness-raising. Hardly what I'd call an 'education.' More of an indoctrination. She's been raised in a de-humanizing manner. I suppose that's why the signal to noise ratio in her brain is so very poor."
"So... emotions are 'noise?'"
"From the standpoint of gathering useful information, yes. That's not to say they can't be beneficial. Tell me," she said, abruptly changing the subj
ect, "can Aer'La read minds?"
"Not that I know of. Why?"
"I detected some measure of jealousy in her, brought about by the fact that you and I were here together."
"Aer'La? Jealous? I doubt it. Especially of me."
"But you've had sex with her," Pallas said evenly.
Metcalfe felt his face go very hot. "Uh... yes."
"Sorry. That's very clear in your mind... and becoming clearer as I speak."
Pallas's eyes widened.
"You have very vivid sense memories of your encounters with her."
"Could we change the subject, please?" asked Metcalfe. "Like maybe back to why you thought Aer'La could read minds."
"Oh," said Pallas, as if it were obvious, "because it would explain her jealousy. She sees you already as a sexual partner. If she could also see in your mind how very much you'd like to be my sexual partner, it would explain a reaction of jealousy." As an afterthought, she added, "In so primitive a mind."
Metcalfe was both speechless and unable to look Pallas in the eye.
"Weren't we going to finish the tour?" she asked innocently.
* * *
The captain's promenade was located on the outer skin of Titan's life globe, adjacent the captain's cabin and office. The point of the private promenade, like its larger cousins, the passenger and officers' promenades, was to allow human beings to see something other than walls and monitor screens and holograms. The captain's promenade served the additional purpose of letting the captain separate himself from his crew while relaxing. To some captains, this was a necessity of command. To others, it was merely a status symbol.
Titan was an old ship, nearly as old as her current captain. She'd been refit and refurbished many times, to keep her at the cutting edge of speed, safety, defensive capability, and luxury.
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