“Thank you very much,” Kestral nodded, then gestured meaningfully at Mark, who returned the gesture and headed off to inform the others. “Once we have everything offloaded and get the ship secured, we’ll be glad to join you there.”
“Excellent,” Ferrin replied. “Anyone in the warehouse can tell you how to get there. We’ll see you soon, then.”
“See you soon.”
As Ferrin turned to leave, Kestral turned back to the Mary. She could see Mark speaking to Tirri and Angel, from their perches on the cargo loaders, and the two of them appeared to be happy to hear the news. Glancing Sarander’s way, she saw him return her glance with a look of satisfaction. She couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of a genuinely happy crew, and she barely refrained from showing her exultation as she headed for the cargo bay to help unload.
~
Kestral led her crew happily down the corridor of the main building, where a guard had directed them to the reception. The five of them had taken the time to clean up a bit and put on fresh clothing, not knowing exactly how the rest of the people at this reception would be dressed.
When they walked into the room they had been directed to, they all stopped and looked at those who were already there. To a man and woman, all of them wore the straight robes they had seen on Ferrin earlier that day. There were few variations on this robe design, other than two obvious aspects: One, the robes seemed to come in every color of the rainbow, irrespective of the sex of the person wearing it; and two, men’s robes all seemed to have horizontal piping decorating it, while women’s robes had similar but diagonal piping. In this assemblage of local costuming, the crew of the Mary stood out strikingly, and all of them had a hard time deciding if their conspicuity was a good or bad thing under the circumstances.
They were soon noticed, of course, and momentarily, they were greeted by Ferrin again. “Hello, Captain… so glad you could all come,” she said pleasantly.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Kestral replied, taking her hands in what she had already divined was a common greeting gesture.
“Please,” Ferrin said, sweeping her hand to encompass the room. “There are refreshments, and I’m sure there are many people who would love to meet visitors. Allow me.”
And Ferrin suddenly stepped past Kestral and moved next to Mark. Positioning herself next to him and taking his hand in hers, she pulled him in the direction of a distant table surrounded with people. “Coel has so few visitors, you see. I’ll bet there will be a great deal of interest in you all. And especially handsome men like yourself. You are the pilot, I understand…?”
“Uh, yes,” Mark smiled, allowing himself to be led along. “Call me Mark…”
Kestral and the others watched bemusedly as he and Ferrin strolled away. Moments later, they followed them into the reception room. They were quickly surrounded by friendly people, and as Ferrin had surmised, there was a great deal of interest in each of them. They were offered plates of food, all of which tasted either sweet, or spicy, but not much between… and delicious fermented juices. Somewhere, light music played. All in all, the atmosphere was very cordial and comfortable.
In short order, Kestral and her crew found themselves to be the nuclei of fluctuating small and large groups, Tirri and Sarander being the only ones who stayed close together. Kestral, Mark and Angel especially found that they were not only centers of attention, but that there seemed to be no shortage of handsome men and women who seemed keen on attaching themselves to their arms and acting as their personal hosts or hostesses.
As the reception wore on, the questions directed at Kestral’s crew slowly waned, and they were able to start asking a bit about their hosts. Coel, it was revealed, was populated with approximately two million people, a very small number compared to most terraformed planets. It was explained to them that the small population was due to the need for genetic manipulation of the inhabitants to be able to survive on the planet in its early stages of terraforming, a process that was difficult and time consuming, and could not be done on large populations at once. This also explained the typically dark complexions of the Coelians, skin tones that would have been typical of Earth's equatorial areas... a result of the genetic manipulations of Coel, not of a common ancestry or region of origin.
Further, the original genetic manipulations were no longer needed on Coel, now that the terraforming process was finished, and Coelians were already beginning to mix with non-altered humans from other colonies, sparking the beginning of a recent rise in the planet’s population.
Coel’s chief export was expertise in fabricating and calibrating atronic control systems. The atronic systems were essential to balancing the opposing fields in a tesser drive and creating the time-space “compression” that propelled vehicles beyond light speed. And Coel’s systems were some of the best in the Galarchy. This seemed to be a surprise to everyone but Sarander, who was very familiar with Coel’s reputation as premier atronic designers. “The atronic systems in every Quicksilver-class ship are designed here,” he commented knowledgeably, earning him impressed and proud reactions from his hosts, and from Kestral.
The atronic design process depended on the application of certain composites to the fabricating machinery, which allowed the Coelians to produce essentially pure systems. It was the unfinished ores the Mary had brought, that would be applied to the composite process and increase their production capacity significantly. And as the entire planet profited from selling atronics, it was clear why everyone was so appreciative of their delivery.
“Well,” Kestral said, “it’s obvious what Coel gets out of this delivery. Did finished atronics products pay for it?”
“Not this time. It is payment for me.”
Everyone turned at the sound of the reply. The man who had appeared at the fringe of the group was tall and broad-shouldered… that much, at least, was apparent under the Coelian robes he wore. His grace was evident as well, from the way he glided forward. Many Coelians’ faces stopped smiling, and assumed an appearance of respect, even reverence, as the man approached and stopped near Kestral.
“My name is Moamet Jones,” the man introduced himself, and offered his hands to Kestral.
She accepted them. “Carolyn Kestral.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said politely.
“The pleasure is mine,” Kestral replied. “How do you mean, the ore is payment for you?”
Moamet Jones smiled at the question. “Allow me to be specific. I have a piece of equipment we’ll exchange for the ore. I am the person who runs the machine. I will be taking it to Deep Abignon tomorrow. So, in a way, the ore is payment for me.”
“I see,” Kestral said. “What is the equipment for?”
Moamet Jones smiled at her, and under his robes, came the slight impression of shrugged shoulders. “I’m sorry, but I cannot say. It is classified. Need to know. That kind of thing.”
“I understand.” Kestral returned his smile, and raised her drink to him. “Well, I wish you a safe trip to Deep Abignon.”
“Thank you,” he bowed. “And I wish you and your crew Godspeed on your next journey. Tell me: Do you know where you are bound for after you leave here?”
Kestral smiled wryly. “I have no idea, Mr. Jones.”
“Please, call me Moamet. If you have no immediate destination, you should definitely take advantage of the time to enjoy our city. It is especially beautiful to see at sunset.”
“Is it?” Kestral cocked an eyebrow his way.
“I do not leave Coel until tomorrow,” he said, offering a dazzling smile. “If you’re interested, it would be my pleasure to show it to you.”
“The pleasure would be all mine,” Kestral assured him. She glanced about to check on her crew: Angel was engaged in lively conversation with a small crowd of people, not a few of them being beautiful women; Sarander and Tirri had apparently paired off with another couple, the Coelians apparently fascinated with Tirri’s exotic feathered appearance, and were deep in
to an intense conversation about something; and Mark seemed to have a comely young girl practically grafted to his side, a predicament he seemed to have no complaints about whatsoever. Mark happened to notice Kestral’s glance, and he gave her an encouraging nod, plus a nod in Moamet Jones’ direction.
Kestral turned back to Jones and said, “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
~
“Ready? Here it comes.”
The sky over the city was already a deep hue of red, the setting sun a monstrous disk on the horizon, and easily dim enough to allow Kestral to gaze directly at it. As she watched, the sun changed, growing visibly larger and brighter in moments. At the same time, the deep red of the sky was replaced with an almost painfully vibrant orange, growing brighter by the second, as if the entire sky was about to spontaneously combust. Then, the orange rapidly faded, the sun visibly shrank, and dusk rushed upon them faster than it had in any sky Kestral had ever seen.
“Beautiful… incredible,” were the only words that would come to her. She looked at Moamet Jones in delight. “It always sets like that?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling proudly. “It’s a natural atmospheric effect, due to the unique composition of the upper atmosphere… not that I can tell you any more than that. It doesn’t happen to be my discipline. But they tell me that our sunset is one of the prettier ones in the Galarchy.”
“It’s certainly within the top three, I’d put money on that.” Kestral turned and put her back to the balcony wall, as the natural light rapidly dimmed and artificial lights began glowing throughout the city. “And it is a beautiful city. I hope your business doesn’t keep you from enjoying this often.”
“On the contrary,” Moamet Jones told her. “I enjoy traveling. It’s nice to see new places and things. And it helps you to better appreciate what you have at home.” He waved at the city beyond.
“That’s true,” Kestral agreed.
“Do you have a place you call home?”
“Not at the moment,” she replied. “I’d been in the Rangers for almost ten years. Now I guess the Mary is my home. I haven’t set down any roots in awhile.”
“Well, I’m sure your time will come,” Jones nodded, smiling. “After all, there is no rush. You have many years ahead of you.”
Kestral regarded him and considered his words. “Yes,” she finally replied, “many years.”
“On Coel,” Jones said, “we like to say: Today is the first day—”
“Of the rest of your life,” Kestral finished for him, laughing. “That’s an old Earth expression, too.”
“Hm. So that’s where we got it,” Jones nodded wryly. The darkness almost obscured his features, but Kestral could still see his eyes shining at her. “Something else we say around here: There’s a reason some expressions never go away.”
“It’s a very good expression,” Kestral admitted. “Words to live by.”
“I wonder how many other expressions we have in common?” Jones asked.
Kestral moved closer to him. “We should find out.”
They walked about the city for hours. As the evening wore on, Moamet Jones entertained Kestral with stories about the city, about Coel, about its history. He was intelligent, charming, occasionally funny, and always focused on her… something that was not wasted on Kestral. To be sure, the events of the day had been very uplifting: Delivering her cargo successfully; her crew giving the impression of being willing to stay on, or at least not intending to simply bolt on her; the attention lavished upon them at the reception; all of these had put Kestral in a powerfully positive mood. So it was no wonder that this handsome, charming man was also beginning to have a more powerful impression on her.
Eventually, they ended up back at the building where the reception had been held, and where Ferrin had told them guest quarters had been set up for the Mary’s crew. An officer directed them to the quarters that had been set aside for Kestral, and she and Jones made their way to the wing on the east side of the building.
They arrived at the quarters, and the door opened automatically when Kestral placed her hand on the announcer plate on the wall. The quarters were made up of multiple suites, the main suite featuring a sumptuous entertainment area, including a luxurious pile of pads and pillows in the center of the room, and a large balcony overlooking the city. Kestral’s overnight bag had been placed in the room, at the door to what appeared to be the bedroom beyond the main suite.
“It’s beautiful,” Kestral smiled, and turned back to face Moamet Jones.
Jones smiled down upon her and said, “The night does not have to end just yet, does it?”
Kestral smiled, but shook her head. “You did say you had to leave very early in the morning… you said you had things to prepare.”
Jones blinked, and his smile faded. “Well… yes, but… but I thought… I thought we…”
“We did,” Kestral told him. “And I had a wonderful time. But you do have duties, and you should attend to those.”
Jones seemed mildly taken aback, but after a few moments, he nodded his assent. “You’re… probably right. I should go. Carolyn Kestral, I had a wonderful time, too.”
He bent his head down, and Kestral kissed him softly. Jones lingered on the kiss, cradling her head lightly to keep her from pulling away too soon. Then, he removed his hand, and straightened up.
“Good night, Carolyn,” he said quietly.
“Good night, Moamet.” Kestral took a step back, and allowed the door to close.
Jones stood there a moment longer, his eyes darting back and forth as if trying to figure something out. Then, muttering a soft, “Damn,” he walked away from Kestral’s door.
8: Change of Plans
When Kestral awoke, it was already morning, which saddened her. She had been interested to see if the sun put on as much of a show upon rising, as it had in setting. But she had been up late, so it was understandable that she had slept through it.
She was also disappointed that she had made Moamet Jones go. After such an enjoyable evening with such a handsome and charming man, she had actually wanted him to stay the night… in fact, would have loved nothing more than to finish such a wonderful evening making love to him. And he clearly had not wanted to go, either. But he had told her how important his duties were, and she had not wanted to risk the chance that she would hold him up the next morning. It was a shame: Chances are, she would never see him again...
Kestral did not get out of bed right away, but instead allowed the experiences of the night to replay in her mind, before thinking about her next tasks… namely, to set up another run, and to make sure she still had a crew to make the run with her. The latter thoughts eventually put her back into a businesslike frame of mind, and she let the events of last night pass into memory. Then she reached across the bed and grabbed a small com from the lapel of her shirt.
“Mary, can you hear me?”
“This is Mary,” came the voice over the com.
“Mary, please access local databases through Terra212 networks. See if you can find a cargo run for us, ready to leave from here anytime, or from a nearby planet within the next few days.”
“Understood.”
“Is the rest of the crew on the ship?”
“No,” came the reply. “Angel Shakra is the only member of the crew currently aboard.”
Kestral considered Mary’s words, and tried not to make assumptions… after all, they all had guest quarters here, and Kestral had not given them any specific time to return to the Mary, so there was no reason to expect them to be back on board yet. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I’ll check your progress when I arrive on board.” She switched off the com and replaced it in her shirt lapel. Finally she threw the covers aside, got up, and padded into the bathroom to wash up.
She took her time washing and dressing, as there was no reason to rush. She remembered parts of the city that she had visited the night before with Jones, and that she’d considered seeing in full daylight later
. As it seemed like the perfect time, she decided to take a scenic route back to the ship. Picking up a piece of fruit in a small basket in the main room of the quarters, Kestral headed for the door. She took her first bite as she opened the door to leave.
The sight that greeted her outside of her door made her stop, fruit still jammed into her mouth, and stare. The sight was Moamet Jones, standing there with a large silver case. He was not smiling at her… indeed, a slight frown furrowed his brow. He had apparently just walked up to the door, as his hand was poised alongside the announcer plate, and had not pressed it only because Kestral had opened the door first.
Moamet Jones looked at Kestral, and said simply, “I need to talk to you.”
Kestral finally pulled the fruit out of her mouth, so she could speak. “I thought you were going to Deep Abignon this morning!”
“I was,” Jones nodded. “That’s what I have to talk to you about.”
~
Mark O’Bannon walked leisurely along the tarmac to the landing pad where the Mary waited. He had a broad smile on his face, and he carried his overnight bag lightly on his shoulder, outwardly indicating that he’d had an extremely enjoyable evening.
Between his looks and his friendly personality, Mark had always been the kind of person to attract members of the opposite sex to him as if he had been magnetized. Before he’d known it, one Coelian girl had insisted on spending the night with him, while another had spent a considerable amount of effort making sure he didn’t leave the party so soon. The two of them had finally managed to drag Mark off to his private chamber, where they all enjoyed the attentions of each other. Mark had been delighted to discover that, underneath those column-like robes, Coelian girls had considerably more curves about them, and knew how to use them. Mark had devoted his efforts to using them liberally, until the second girl had retired in exhaustion, and the first girl had spent the rest of the night under his exclusive attentions. He’d been sorry to go, but he promised to make every effort to see her if he should manage to return.
The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker Page 9