Star Spring

by David Bischoff

  “The marvels of technology toward a better bar,” Todd said, even as a full glass of wine emerged from the membranous material before him.

  “I’ll be more careful this time,” Veronica said, picking up her wine, sipping it daintily. “It was just such a shock to get high so soon. This place is marvelous.” The lights below them in colloidal suspension throbbed with a low gentle bass voice: “Thank, you, madam.”

  “I’ll have another glass of wine, bartender.”

  “May I remark, sir, that the alcohol content of your blood is presently approaching an unstable condition.”

  “That’s okay,” Todd replied. “I don’t think I’ll be driving home tonight.”

  * * *

  The Effervescence Room had filled.

  Heads canted upward, waiting.

  When it arrived, the Insertion was an explosion of jittering, silent colors, arcing across the surface of the Star Fall. It was as though someone had taken scissors, cut the vessel from the fabric of space, and dumped it into a pool of electric sparks, bubbles, and zizagging tubing that blared intricate patterns of multi-textured light.

  A collective expulsion of breath; a moment of silence and awe. The lights danced with cosmic intricacy, were suddenly engulfed by a starless gulf that flittered with specks of energy like the screen of a burnt-out TV picture tube.

  A spontaneous burst of applause thundered in the chamber.

  Slowly, the blister substance fogged, then fully opaqued. It was not healthy to stare into the raw stuff of Underspace. A force screen separated the Star Fall from the actual mathematically alien world, where the laws of physics were skewed.

  “It’s a mystery,” Todd said softly after the reaction had died down to appreciative murmurs. “It’s still pretty much beyond comprehension, Underspace. Physicists are still exploring its nature. All they’ve been able to do so far is to establish the systems and rules whereby craft protected by stasis fields can enter it, navigate their way to a spot corresponding to the place in the regular universe where they wish to go, then punch back through.”

  “A different universe?”

  “Essentially. I must admit, I’m not much on mathematics, but from what I understand, Underspace has something to do with our plane of existence. Black holes, gravity, psychic phenomenon.”

  “All the outré stuff?”

  “Exactly. Granted, most of it—clairvoyance, telekinesis, precognition, magic, sorcery—has been hokum throughout the ages. But who is to say some of it wasn’t real? Even now, the experiments with espers somehow links them with Underspace ... which is essentially all around us, all the time. It’s the literal proof of the need for a science of metaphysics, something only philosophers and theologians have dealt with previously.”

  “You mean, if there’s really a Heaven, really a Hell ...”

  “Not precisely. I mean that this is where we get our conception, our intuitions if you will, of powers beyond ourselves. No doubt our interpretations are fairly primitive.” He sighed. “Still, from what I understand, not many people are pursuing these investigations into the exact nature of Underspace. The human populace spread among the stars seems more interested in their individual concerns, thinking of Underspace totally in practical and economic terms. Just a necessary shortcut in trade routes. It changed the Morapn race, you know.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Altered their goals, apparently. Made them uninterested in further territorial expansion. Somehow it physically altered their genetic makeup, turning their thoughts more toward the contemplative.”

  He shifted his gaze to her. “Now then, O new passenger. How about a walk through halls of wonder?”

  She smiled and stood and the frilly stuff of her dress rustled like a breeze nuzzling a dryad’s leaves.

  “I’d love to,” she said.

  * * *

  They hovered awhile in silence amid the Floating Gardens, regarding the shifting airscape of the flowering vines and trees of this biosphere. Around them, discreetly distant in grav-cars, mere silhouettes against the muted backdrop of light canopies and the glow-blobs nestled among the foliage, were couples serene and murmuring, seeing only each another despite the beauty that surrounded them.

  Todd Spigot, however, was scared stiff.

  He looked at Veronica. Chin on hands, she perched on the edge of their car, listening attentively to the susurrations of this shifting, grav-controlled forest sculpted so exotically. He had run out of things to say. Rationally, he knew what he should do. He should grab her. Breathe poetry into her ear. Stroke her stipple form with light fingertips and generally, as Cog might say, “emit seductive radiations.”

  The paralysis had entered him slowly as they had quietly toured parts of the ship. Time prohibited an extensive journey, so they had stopped at a waterworld, lingering only for an artificial sunset on a romantic beach, watching the waves play leapfrog onto sand glittering with jewels; then, briefly, in the concert hall, to take a few moments of Mozart. Throughout their walk, Veronica had become progressively more quiet, aloof, thoughtful. Uncomfortable with the silences that would often engulf them, Todd tried to fill them with talk that seemed to him more and more inane, frantic grasps at straws to save the evening.

  It had started so magically! So right! Now it seemed to be degenerating pitifully, this delightful lady losing interest in him entirely. Where had he gone wrong? Did he have some sort of psychic curse similar to Philip Amber’s—only instead of death to people, his meted out death to romance? Yet it had all started out so absolutely splendidly, he delivering witty suggestive phrases, she laughing, enjoying herself. He’d almost propositioned her then, things were going so well. But no, that would be much too forward, too aggressive. A gentle, flowing evening was what had been called for, he’d thought. Take it easy, take it slow. This was not a quick-grope lady. This was someone he wanted to know for a while, if not longer.

  However, as they’d walked through the Aquarium Exotica in the water biosphere, and he had started talking humorously of his bleak and quirky youth, she had clammed up. Oh, not unpleasantly.

  She uttered brief “really?’s” and “oh dears!” and she had laughed, but she seemed, to him anyway, to be withdrawing, only vaguely attentive to him, as though thinking of something entirely different. A slow panic had made his words less smooth, less humorous, more desperately confessional and awkward.

  He was miserable. He knew he’d botched it. Might as well just pack it in, call it a night, shake hands with Veronica and go shed tears into his cold pillow. Clearly she’d lost whatever interest that had sparked between them.

  Oh, Spigot! he thought. You did something wrong.

  He didn’t even have any Dutch courage zinging through his veins anymore. If he did, maybe he’d just make a teensy pass ...

  The very thought shot terror through him. She’d refuse, of course, rejecting him. Better nothing at all than rejection. He’d been rejected too many times ...

  Limned now by a vague rosy light, her expression was unreadable. That frown-pout again, dammit. Unnerving.

  “You’re very thoughtful,” he observed.

  She arched an eyebrow coolly. “Am I? Sorry. I must be terrible company.”

  “No! I’m enjoying your company.” He felt uneasy, wishing the cars had portable bars or something.

  “Still, it is late. We should go.”

  Todd nodded, having expected that suggestion. By voice control he ordered the car down. The plushy seated vehicle slid through a floral path, as though being slowly swallowed by a rainbow maelstrom of paint.

  Quietly, they found the tube-car station.

  “Well,” Todd said, trying to keep the gloom from his voice. “It’s been fun.”

  “Would you like to come up for a drink before you head back to your room?” she asked in a noncommittal voice.

  “Sure,” he said, expe
cting her to take him to some bar.

  They rode the tube-car, which deposited them in a passenger section. “I have some very nice gin I smuggled aboard with the cigarettes,” she explained in a small voice.

  They went to her compartment. Pretty much the same as his, Todd noticed. A single, Spartan, for a luxury cruise. She increased the illumination slightly, then went to her table, upon which stood a bottle of Gordon’s gin, half full. She poured two glasses. Added ice. Presented one to Todd.

  They sat and sipped.

  “Sometime I’d like to see you work,” Todd said, trying to make conversation.

  “Okay.”

  The ice clinked as he took another swallow, trying to drown his queasiness. “Really nice stuff.”

  “My favorite.”

  “Mine’s beer, I think.”

  “Oh.”

  Deadly silence. The way she was acting, Todd had the feeling that she’d slap him even if he just kissed her goodnight. Still, there she was, breathtakingly pretty. Her prettiness cut straight through his heart. Her scent—cinnabar and tobacco—made him lightheaded.

  She seemed glacial. Todd made a couple more conversation gambits, without success. Finally, he finished the last drop of gin, set the glass down on the counter beside him.

  “Well, I guess I’d better go,” he said, standing haltingly, smoothing his pants.

  She stood as well, still holding her drink.

  “Good night.” He braved a step to her, a peck on her cheek. She did not respond.

  “Can I see you some other time?” Not likely, Todd thought even as the words dropped from his mouth. He could tell she was bored stiff with him. Nervously, he looked into her eyes, which held a puzzled expression. “Certainly,” she said. “But ... but if you’d like to ... you can stay ...” She almost whispered the word, as though hopefully. “... longer.”

  The astonishment petrified him. He could only stand and stare, open-mouthed.

  She stepped up to him, leaned her head against his chest, the scent of her hair delicious in his nostrils. Automatically he put an arm around her. She seemed small and vulnerable against him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that I shouldn’t be this way, but I find— it very hard to ask for—affection.”

  “But I thought—” Todd said. “You seemed so distant, I thought you’d lost all interest.”

  “I’m used to aggression. You’re not very aggressive, except in ... quirky ways.” She smiled up at him, slid slowly around so her breasts brushed the bottom of his rib cage. He could feel nipples hardening. The excitement was almost unbearable. “You haven’t answered my question, Charley Haversham or Todd Spigot, or whoever you really are.”

  “Yes! Of course! I meant to explain all that and quite forgot ... the bit about my identity ...”

  “You talk entirely too much.” Her arms found their way around his waist. Her head tilted and her lips blended wistfully against his, lightly wet, tasting of gin and enthusiasm.

  Tongue touch, shimmer of hair. Eyes, hands; a gentle dance of brightness and sensation. Her scent seemed a mysterious genie, granting wishes. Warm and electric in his arms, she moved in perfect cadence to the music that seemed to swirl through him, fleshly synesthesia.

  “You’re a dream,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered with the touch of his breath. She threw her hair back; its ends whisked teasingly up Todd’s face.

  “Lights,” she murmured, turning, striding liquidly away.

  “Camera?” Todd asked a little breathlessly, sitting on the bed’s end.

  “Action!” she purred. Lights dimmed to where only the shadows of romance were cast. Like some anthropomorphized feline, she strode into his arms. “Touch me between the shoulder blades,” she instructed.

  His hands groped, found something not cloth, not flesh. Fingered it. A feathery hiss of released energy, and the substance of her dress drifted lightly onto him as she pushed him back into the pillow. Now she was a lithe silhouette against the dim light, like some heavenly succubus, breaths low and excited. She took his hands and traced her sides with them. Ribs, waist, hips: like a human vase. An intuitive force took hold. He seemed to drift into a timeless absence of self. Totally immersed in her, he let his fingernails gently stroke the smooth skin on the inside of her thighs. She took startled inhalations.

  She squirmed provocatively farther up his body, pinning his shoulders down. She leaned over him, her newly freed long hair draping into his face like a tunnel into dark intriguing pleasure. She let the perfumed hair drag over his mouth and nose, then drifted it down to the side of his head. Her lips found an earlobe, kissed it gently, then slipped her needle tongue into its groove and played it like a record. His head was propped so that he could view her perfect back sloping to her rounded rear, the vague light soft satin on downy hair diving into mystery.

  Her voice was husky. “I want those clothes off. Now.”

  She slipped them off and curled up, eyes bright, beside him.

  “Right!” Todd pushed the word through a dry mouth. He began to slip from his coat, then stopped and glanced down at the sprawl of feminine contour snuggling kittenishly into the bed. “Hey. I helped you.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I like to watch.” Last word with playful humor. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m nervous, that’s what’s wrong.”

  “Silly. Come here.” She tugged him to her and kissed him so expertly that his ears seemed to ring. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in charge. Here, give me that coat.”

  Kneeling bare on the bed, she pulled. “It’s caught,” he said. Suddenly the sleeve slipped off, sending Veronica tumbling off the edge with a thump and a yelp.

  “Dammit,” she said. “I try to be sexy and something like this happens!”

  She scrambled up and leaned disconsolately on the bedside, blowing back a curl of hair from her eyes.

  Todd, for the first time in several minutes, was not looking at Veronica, however. He was staring aghast at the clock on the set of drawers.

  11:56 blazed on its face.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “I didn’t know it was that late!”

  “Uh oh. I can hear the pumpkin line coming up—” She sat on the bedside and wrapped herself in the bedspread.

  He had promised Cog that he would meet him at the Star Bar at midnight. What a wretched mistake! Here he was, making love to the most beautiful woman he’d ever met and—

  “Another assignation?” she said moodily.

  “I did promise someone I would meet them, yes,” Todd said morosely. Then he brightened. “I told you, I’m here under cover, right? That my name is actually Todd Spigot.”

  “Yes. Something about saving worlds ...”

  “Doubtful this time. This is a meeting with an associate to relay information he might have dug up.” Todd made sure that he sounded like he knew what he was talking about—which he didn’t. “I suspect it won’t take any more than a half hour.”

  Veronica perked up. “Oh! Well, then!” Clutching the cover close to her, she slipped to his side and smoothed a hand down his arm. “In that case, I’ll be waiting for you!”

  “You’re a sweetheart!” he said, and he kissed her warmly. He picked up his jacket. “I’ll be back soon as I can.” He turned and slammed into the closed door.

  Embarrassed, he fumbled for the Open switch and turned a farewell grin her way before he stumbled out in a fog.

  * * *

  The omnicleaner slumped over the wood bar, a frothy Mr. Clean soda in a claw-like appendage.

  Todd tripped in, immediately noting why Cog had chosen the place for the meeting: the bar was practically deserted. In a dark corner squatted a group of Jent humanoids, gargling incomprehensively over some unearthly matter. A few stray, widely spaced solitary drinkers sipped pick-me-ups. Perceiving Todd’s entrance, the robot bartender, wearing a tattered apron
marked STAR BAR and splattered with mustard and ketchup, hummed up and placed a metal paw over the free lunch jar.

  “What’ll you have, buster?” the machine said in a voice that sounded like Humphrey Bogart’s corpse.

  “Gin!” Todd cried, exultant. “Gin! I’ll have some wonderful, stirring, gorgeous gin! In a glass with one ice cube.”

  Beaming, he sidled onto the barstool beside his otherworldly companion. A delirious glow of anticipation auraed him; a flush painted his cheeks a cute pink. This was shaping up to be the most exciting evening of his life. He could almost feel Veronica’s slender fingers tracing the outlines of his face, hear her voice echoing in his subconscious.

  “Cog!” he cried. “Cog, I’m so glad you brought me back on the Star Fall.”

  Optical units swung his way. “You’ve been drinking, Todd.”

  “Quick! Tell me what you’ve got to tell me. I’ve got to go.”

  “You’re late.”

  “I’m here, but I won’t be for long. So let’s proceed with this conversation ...” The box-shaped bartender rolled up and sluggishly set the glass before Todd.

  “Put it on my tab,” the omnicleaner said, dismissing the thing, which crunched away over peanut shells, unoiled limbs squeaking. When Ort Eath had created the Star Fall, he’d included everything possible—including shady dives. The Star Bar was one of the last remaining, mostly because its tacky atmosphere seemed to please some of the artists on the journey.

  Cog—or rather, Cog’s disguise—swiveled back to regard Todd. “You’ve found a woman, huh?”

  Todd dropped a half-ounce off the gin and smiled blissfully at the machine. “Cog, a look at this lady would even get you excited.”