With another shrug, Taribo said, “Whatever you say, boss. It’s all the same to me.”
Alistair notified Wellesley about Mordecai’s likely intentions, as well as Odin and his former subordinates, none of whom were enthusiastic about pushing a confrontation with Issicroy just yet. By the time the canyon widened to create the great river valley, Mordecai and Frank were being followed by suspicious men and one woman.
The Gaian evening ritual was over. The valley was in darkness; only a few torches burned in cave entrances and on the rope bridges spanning the canyon. Only two men did they see near the river, stragglers busy replacing a fence post and determined to finish before ending their work for the day. The men peered through the darkness at what were to them the indistinct forms of Alistair’s party, not overly suspicious, no doubt figuring nothing more than that a hunting party was returning late.
Near the base of the canyon wall was the market, but the various tents and stands, struck for the night, were in a different arrangement. Alistair figured this sort of thing was continual, like sand dunes in the desert that displayed a new pattern after every windstorm. Two men, an African and an Oriental, sat smoking on a wooden bench in between a bare wooden frame that tomorrow would be covered by a canvas. Two orange dots waxed and waned in the darkness as the men inhaled the smoke from their cigars, relaxed and idly chatting before turning in for the night.
As the group approached, the two fell silent, the Oriental man folding his arms over his chest. The African uncorked a canteen and took a swig from it, then replaced the stopper and set it back down on the bench beside him. It soon became apparent they were content to watch without speaking. The Oriental took a long pull from his cigar, and the burning end cast a faint, orange glow on his face.
“We wish to buy horses,” Duke finally said, his tone gruff.
“That can be arranged,” said the Oriental, his accent British. Neither he nor his companion moved.
“We wish to buy them now,” Duke added. “So, start arranging and we’ll make it worth your while.”
Taribo jingled his money pouch. The two looked at each other, shrugged, and finally the Oriental stood up and, unhurried, headed for one of the ground level caves. The African took a pull from his cigar and another swig from his canteen but said nothing.
Mordecai pulled away from the group and Alistair exchanged a look with Wellesley, who nodded in understanding. The half-Caucasian, half-Oriental, rifle in his grasp, stood facing the façade of the complex of caves. With the faraway waterfall as the only other sound, the crunch of Alistair’s moccasins on the crusty dirt and gravel must have alerted him, but he did not react, even when Alistair stood shoulder to shoulder with him to take in the view of dark façade punctuated by torch light.
Turning his head to look at the former chieftain, Alistair said, “It would be suicide to attempt it.”
Mordecai blinked once, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a snarl.
“I’m not saying you don’t have some revenge coming, but now is not the time. Not if you want to live through it.”
Frank came to stand on the other side of Mordecai, and he gave Alistair a defiant look. Mordecai himself did nothing. Satisfied he had the willpower to resist his urge, and realizing he was not going to get a conversation out of him, Alistair left the two of them alone.
A few minutes later, the Oriental returned, accompanied by a handful of men, each leading a few horses attended by assistants busy saddling the steeds as they walked. While the Oriental man sat back down on the bench next to his companion, the various horse merchants introduced themselves to the group, a few making nervous but polite comments about the rifles and handguns, and haggled over prices. Since no clear leader with control of the purse strings was presented to them, each merchant latched on to a different member of the party, extolling the attributes of his mounts and hoping he was speaking with someone of importance.
The decision making process was inevitably comprised of bickering, a bickering on the outskirts of which the merchants hovered, ready to intervene with the right suggestion or observation, diffidently proffered, to sway the result in a direction more favorable to them. In the end, they bought a horse for each to ride on – including one for Bert – and three more to carry equipment. The immediate result of the purchase was a significant lightening of their load, as nearly all of the iron coins they brought with them were turned over to the merchants. All parties left pleased.
The merchants retired to their abodes, dropping, before they left, a few coins in the hand of the Oriental man. Alistair’s band took to their mounts and headed east, following the river through the canyon, eager to put some distance between themselves and Issicroy. The two smokers remained on their bench, as placid and unperturbed as before, finishing their cigars and booze, exchanging the occasional comment as if nothing at all had interrupted.
***
After taking the relatively flat ground of the canyon floor a ways, they bedded down for the night, a moment Alistair faced with no small amount of anxiety. He could not have explained why he felt so nervous. The illogic of it confounded him, but despite a great effort spent reasoning with himself, pleading with his jittery muscles and sweaty palms, when the time came to lay down he found himself as tense as any spring, for some reason dreading yet also desiring Giselle’s presence. This she bestowed on him like the previous night, lying down in the crook of his arm after flashing him a smile he fumbled to return. Again, she failed to explain herself, merely resting her head against his shoulder, as calm as she could be. Again, Alistair lay in agony, fervently desiring at least some verbal exchange to acknowledge the new arrangements and frustrated with the way his mouth dried out whenever he considered broaching the subject.
The next morning, they rushed through breakfast and continued their journey. Having extracted information from the resigned Bert, they used what he told them to plan their route north and accordingly turned in that direction after the canyon gradually whittled itself down to a ravine. Passing out of Issicroy, they entered tribal territory but saw no one. They saw signs of inhabitants but it soon became apparent they were being avoided. They came upon meager habitations – little more than lean-tos – and small patches of farmland. Most gave the impression of a recent presence, like when one walks into a room and finds a rocking chair still moving back and forth. In a land dominated by nomadic tribes who little tolerated each other let alone individuals or small communities who did not swear fealty, their reticence to be seen by a band of heavily armed warriors was understandable.
After two days of hard travel north, the land flattened out and trees became more common. They met no one, and saw no greater sign of the tribes than a series of hoof prints, days old, sweeping east. From the summits of hills they could see the dense forest to the north, its tree tops wreathed by mist in the mornings, the occasional bird skimming over the leaves and letting out a cry to break the stillness. It was a matter of opinion where exactly the forest began. Like a planet’s atmosphere slowly grows thicker as one descends to the surface, the trees became more numerous and grew closer and closer together.
Alistair, who had experience in the wilderness from Kaldis, noticed signs of greater animal habitation the denser the trees grew. Their first full day in the woods, during their midday break, he broached the topic of a hunt and some scavenging. Their stores were not critical, but were beginning to dwindle, and Taribo and Wellesley agreed to the idea and repeated the suggestion to the others.
Ryan approached Wei Bai and Duke, both of whom were seated on the ground, their backs to the same tree. Wei Bai was engaged in a short nap, his arms folded and his head tilted back against the bark, while Duke, his moccasins off, was busy giving himself a foot massage. Without preamble, Ryan addressed them.
“Alistair thought it would be a good idea to replenish some of our food supplies. Do you… have hunting skills? Or know about plants and stuff?”
Duke gave no indication of having heard, but Wei Bai
opened his left eye and considered Ryan for a moment.
I have hunted since I was a young boy. I have often hunted on this moon as well.” The left eye closed again.
Ryan, uncomfortable, blinked once and shifted his stance. With a shake of his head, he said, “I only speak English.”
“I only speak Mandarin,” replied Wei Bai, this time not bothering to open his eye.
“Listen, guy, I know you understand English. So…” He made a gesture meant to prompt the Mandarin to speak. “How about speaking in a language I can understand?”
“If you wish to talk to me, why don’t you learn a civilized language?” Both eyes remained closed.
“I just told you I can’t—”
“He has hunted since he was a child,” said Duke, dropping his left foot and focusing on the right. “He’s hunted on Srillium too.”
“And he can’t tell me himself? In English?”
“English is a quaint language. And ugly.”
“I’ve asked him that myself,” said Duke, groaning as he worked at the sore muscles in his right foot. “I’ve told him no language can match English for universality.” He paused in his massage to stare directly at Wei Bai. “More people speak English than any other language.”
Like a wagon on a well traveled path whose wheels fall into the habitual ruts, Wei Bai, eyes flashing open, plunged into the debate.
“Whether you concede the point or not, it is a well established fact that Mandarin is the most spoken tongue in the galaxy, and little wonder.”
Duke snorted. “It’s a monosyllabic bunch of pings, pongs and nonsense noises. Entirely unfit for modern speech. If we hadn’t rescued you with a Latin alphabet you’d still be waiting to use your first typewriter! And it is manifestly not the most spoken language in the galaxy. English claims that honor and your desperate denials don’t change that.”
Wei Bai chortled with unconcerned amusement. “Gaia save us if English should ever boast of more speakers than Mandarin. The quality of a man’s thoughts is limited by his language. I would fear for progress itself should the galaxy come to be populated by inhibited men, condemned to brutishness by a language that smothers intellect.”
“Shall I list the great English-speaking thinkers for you?” asked Duke, raising a hand as if preparing to count on his fingers. “The artists? The philosophers? The inventors? The scientists?”
Wei Bai pretended to look at a watch on his wrist. “I have ten seconds. Tell me twice.”
“We’ll break for dinner in the middle.”
“So, basically,” interjected Ryan, “he can hunt, but don’t pair him up with someone who can’t speak Mandarin?”
“You can pair him with me,” said Duke, dragging his gaze from Wei Bai and looking at Wellesley. “He can go ming-ling-wong-hong-songing through the forest while I catch us some dinner.”
“Ming-ling-wong-hong-song,” repeated Wei Bai with a bemused expression. “An improvement over English!”
Three pairs of hunters left camp. Alistair left with Giselle, Duke with Wei Bai, and Mordecai and Frank formed the final pair. Left in camp to guard Bert were Caleb, Odin, Taribo and Wellesley.
Armed with a concussive gun, set for a wide range at the cost of some force, Alistair stalked the forest, accompanied by Giselle who was not armed at all. Her presence was, as far as the hunt was concerned, entirely superfluous, for she had no way to fell prey and Alistair was more than fit to carry home the kill. Her chatter was the only sound loud enough to cover the crackle and snap of twigs and branches she broke underneath her feet. He would have considered her presence wholly counterproductive, except he had the remarkable insight that she offered to accompany him for motives unrelated to catching dinner. The mere thought, a sort of inchoate realization, caused him to break out in a sweat that felt like tiny beads of ice on his skin, the result being that Alistair, an indifferent conversationalist under the best of circumstances, was well nigh mute.
With her hands unburdened, Giselle was free to pick at stalks of grass or flowers she came across, tearing off petals and leaves and letting them flutter to the ground to create a sort of floral wake behind her. This she interspersed with chatter of a non-demanding nature, little thoughts and observations requiring no response. Occasionally she would look at Alistair, often caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and always shined a sweet smile on him. If she caught his gaze square on, he returned the smile with a fleeting one of his own. If he managed to avert his gaze soon enough that he might plausibly argue he did not see her smile his way, he returned no smile at all.
In his altered state, he would have been sore pressed to find an elephant if one had been roaming about. His attention was fixed on Giselle, the only forest creature he saw. When her brazen amiability forced him to look away, he ceased to notice anything at all. In those moments he saw only because his eyes were open, but he observed nothing, instead turning his concentration inward, but she waited for him there, too.
Mammal species subject to predation adapt by evolving eyes on the side of their head, which bestows a more ample field of vision. Alistair could have made do with just such a help right then. He lacked also the light swiftness of a gazelle and the thick hide of a hippopotamus. Camouflage was quite beyond him. The former concubine, as she prowled around the defenseless ex marine, moved smoothly, confidently, a lioness without competition who could choose the moment when she brought down her prey. Alistair was left with sweaty palms and a dry mouth, and eyes that widened whenever she gave the slightest indication she was going to make a move.
“Alistair, did you leave behind a girl on Aldra?”
Alistair cleared his throat and swallowed. “You mean… a girlfriend?”
“Or a wife.”
“No. I didn’t… I didn’t have… no. No one.”
“No one claims you as her own?” She tossed her flowers on the ground.
“It would be a moot point, anyway.”
“I suppose so.”
For all his nervous alertness, and for all the noise she had been making, the short conversation distracted him, so that he was unaware of her approach until she was right behind him. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to turn around. He obeyed though the weakness in his legs made him fear he would collapse. Then both her arms were around his neck, tugging him down even as she stood on her toes to press her lips against his. They were rough lips, long worn by weather and lacking products that soften skin, but he could not have imagined a more wonderful, albeit terrifying, feeling.
The rush of blood to his head threatened to make him faint, so he did not take an active role in the kiss. She released him with a smile, and he stood like a novice actor on stage, lines forgotten but too inexperienced to extemporize, though he knows the unbearable silence is probably worse than anything else he might do. Giselle, equal parts fascinated and touched by his extreme gracelessness, took pity and rescued him with another kiss. This time, he shuddered and exhaled heavily through his nose. She suppressed a laugh and gave him another smile.
“Alistair, have you ever done this before?”
He might have managed a verbal answer had she not slipped her straps over her shoulders and pushed her clothes down to her ankles. This new assault left him without the power of speech. It was all he could do to stiffly shake his head no. A feeling of infinite pity welled up in the breast of Giselle, no stranger to men and the intensity of their needs, and the sensation manifested itself on her face. She grabbed his hand and placed it on one of her breasts. Alistair, the valiant soldier, marshaled enough nerve to paw clumsily at it, at which point Giselle took his face in her hands and, pressing her naked form against him, delivered a knock out kiss that ended with him sitting on the ground and her straddling his lap.
Finally, tardily, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him as a familiar feeling built inside, a feeling that this time went unaccompanied by frustration.
“You don’t mind doing this with an ei
ghty year old woman, do you?”
He laughed at the absurdity of the question, a laugh that, tempered by the receding but still present nervousness, came out as a strangled giggle. Infected by the silliness of it, she laughed too, until simultaneously, their laughter died out and they were left staring into each other’s eyes, noses nearly touching.
With one more kiss, she stood up in front of him, placed a caressing hand on the back of his head, and with her left leg stepped over his right shoulder, bringing his face into her where her hair tickled him. He was engulfed by sensations for which nothing could have prepared him, and these produced the most fantastic head rush he had yet felt. He kissed her, ineptly but sincerely, and she purred more for his benefit than her own. He kissed her all the way back until he was lying on the ground, and while she perched on his face, he kissed her some more. His arms fell limp and outstretched, and his legs, loosely bent, lay on the ground.
She gently grabbed at his hair, fondling his scalp, prepared to move slowly from station to station so he would get his fill. Willing and compliant, the massive ex marine, so powerful, let Giselle guide him, and all thoughts of catching dinner were forgotten.
***
A man recently fulfilled is not an object of admiration among his less fortunate mates. Instead he attracts their scorn and they laugh at his faults. This was even more true on a prison moon where women were outnumbered more than nine to one, and the evidence of Alistair’s guilt was abundant. He returned from the hunt happy, rather than serious and with nothing more than a stupid grin on his face. His sleeping arrangement with Giselle had not gone unnoticed, and his new demeanor and habit of blushing when they shared a smile led to an instant realization among the others, who took to snickering.
“He’s grinning like a goddamn virgin,” muttered Frank, not seriously believing how close he was to the actual truth.
Even Ryan and Taribo, inclined to be happy for their friend, were nevertheless toughened men, veterans of combat and crime, and had to concede that his mawkish display was unbecoming. Alistair himself never noticed anything amiss among his mates.
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