“I’ll give it a shot,” Dan said, shrugging.
“Not today, McKelvey,” Sheila cut in. She stomped into the alcove and grabbed Dan’s arm, tugging hard. “Let’s go. Something we have to take care of.. .”
He dug in his heels, refusing to move. “The boss wants me to fix this.”
“Hell! He didn’t mean this moment! We have kilotons of prelims to do before we can even think about digging into the dome’s guts. Translating that wall takes priority. The results might tell you how to open this friggin’ door, so come on!”
Dan hoped Praedar would overrule the blonde. To his dismay, the Whimed said, “Yes. Ruieb-An. Translations are needed. Go. I understand.”
“I’m glad somebody does,” Dan muttered.
Sheila tapped his shoulder, digging into the flesh. “That means us, fly boy. The two of us rubbed Ruieb’s nose in his mistake. We’re the ones who have to fluff his sideburns. Quit stalling.”
Grumpily he followed her out. As they walked through the string-marked entry room, Kat eyed them with concern. “Take it slow, Sheil,” she said, then shifted her glance to Dan. “You, too.”
That didn’t bode well. The blonde needled him constantly while they prepared for the trip. Dan tried to let her nitpicking and nagging roll off his back, but it wasn’t possible. She scraped his already-taut nerves raw.
They were in the skimmer, ready for lifting, when Sheila found yet another way to irk him. She said, “Maybe we just ought to drive up and find the Vahnajes instead of taking this thing.” He gawked at her, astonished, and she went on slyly, “The winds are tricky in that gorge where they camp out. You might splash us.”
“I’m no amateur. I can handle arty landing site. And have you looked at the time?” Dan demanded. “It’s midday. I’m not driving anywhere in this heat, Whitcomb. If you want to, fine. Go alone!”
“No taste for adventure, huh?” She grinned mischievously and fed nav coordinates into the skimmer’s boards. “What are you waiting for?”
He got them airborne without further conversation. Dan didn’t trust himself to speak for the entire ride.
The Vahnajes were roughing it ten kilometers northeast of N’lac Valley. From the prerecorded coordinates Sheila had provided, Dan knew this had been a favorite sulking spot for Ruieb-An throughout the years of the expedition. As the skimmer neared the canyon, they encountered the winds Sheila had mentioned. Dan let the little craft sideslip, then touched down without a hitch. Only readouts told them they were on the ground, he’d brought her in so smoothly. “This where you wanted to park?” he asked with mock innocence.
“It’ll do.” And Sheila climbed out. His annoyance building again, Dan followed her to the lutrinoids’ camp. They were almost there when the blonde said, “I hope you talk Vahnaj. I won’t waste my time interpreting.”
“I can manage,” he retorted, seething.
Some Vahnajes were eating when they arrived. Pale with anger at being caught doing such a filthy thing in front of humans, the Vahnajes hastily hid their food and rose to greet their guests. Ruieb-An’s crew stood rigidly erect, hands clasped tightly to their slender waists, their expressions coldly reserved—the very picture of proper lutrinoids. However, unlike the compulsively neat Vahnaj diplomats and traders Dan had met on his past travels, Ruieb’s bunch was rumpled and dusty. Even such a fastidious species had trouble staying clean on a frontier world.
Bowing opened negotiations. They exchanged “Honored Persons” and “Esteemed Colleagues” for more than half a local hour. These social forms were as obligatory as N’lac handshakes.
The canyon was shaded, but still oppressively hot. Ruieb made the ferrans suffer another hour before he offered them water and food. Naturally, the aliens averted their eyes while the humans indulged. The water was tepid, the food bland, though ample. It was obvious the Vahnajes were living fairly well during their self-imposed exile. Dan wondered if they kept a gourmet camping kit packed at all times, ready for when they stormed out of the complex in a snit.
Refreshments finished, the Vahnajes’ hospitality must be praised at great length for another hour of polite murmuring, bowing, and scraping.
How had the Vahnajes ever got anything done on their own planet, let alone had the get-up-and-go to conquer space and conduct an active interstellar trade?
Different modes for different species, Dan conceded. This leisurely, excessively ritualized style had served the Vahnaj Alliance well enough to enable them to pioneer at contacting younger races such as Homo sapiens and Ulisorians. They were in the forefront of sector-wide trade and efficient enough at conducting their age-old cold war with the far more aggressive, quick-acting Whimeds. However irritating their behavior to non-Vahnajes, plainly, die system worked.
It was late afternoon before Sheila could steer talk around to the reason for her visit. The Vahnajes knew why they were here. They had enjoyed making the Terrans grovel.
“Much shame, Honored Ruieb-An. Pla chur nyo re sterla.” Ruieb was fairly fluent in Terran English, But he forced Sheila to deliver the apologies in his language. The game went on until she decided she’d smoothed the aliens’ feathers enough. Then the blonde switched to Terran. “We regret our unseemly actions. We request that you return to the expedition, Honored Ones.”
Dan had done his share to that point, putting in apologies now and then in his skimpy but adequate command of Vahnaj. As weary of the time-wasting as Sheila, he jumped in, trading blatantly on his family connections. “Indeed. I would be at fault if I did not beg you to agree, Esteemed Ruieb-An. Vahnaj scientific mastery has been admired on all Terra since the days of my kinsman Todd Saunder.” The lutrinoids chirred, visibly affected by the magic name. Dan hammered at the point. “Todd Saunder, you know, discovered the first Vahnaj interstellar probe to my Mother World. Relations between our people were begun. I would follow my kindred’s many examples of friendly cooperation with the great scientists and explorers of the mighty Vahnaj Alliance. Please. Will you not maintain the link that binds my family to your species?”
The Vahnajes were teary-eyed. Dan made a passing-off gesture to Sheila and whispered, “Your turn.”
Recovering her poise, she hurried to describe the discovery and opening of the small dome. When she mentioned the wall inscriptions, Ruieb couldn’t hide his interest. He wriggled in anticipation, his sideburns fluffing with eagerness. “Honored Whitcomb, it is ... urr. .. per-haps use-ful if we re-turn.”
“Very useful,” Sheila agreed, and elbowed Dan.
“Oh, yes, very useful!”
Nevertheless, the powwow dragged on till sundown. Having dithered so long, Ruieb decided his people might as well wait and go back to camp tomorrow. After all, they shouldn’t be hasty.
With exquisite courtesy, the Vahnajes invited the Terrans to stay for another meal. Both sides were relieved when Dan and Sheila begged off. They made their escape to the skimmer before Ruieb could think of any further reasons for bowing and scraping.
While Dan flew them homeward, Sheila contacted the complex, relaying the outcome of their parley. Rosie took the message and promised to pass on the word. “Nothing much happening here at the moment. You peacemakers needn’t break any speed records getting back.”
As the circuit winked off, Dan said, “In that case, I’ll detour by Fiona and ran my regular checks. Okay?”
Sheila said contemptuously, “Why should I object? I figure small amusements for small minds.”
He boosted power feed, channeling his anger. They zoomed past wind-sculpted rocks, banking steeply along cliff faces. Instead of being fearful, Sheila laughed, thrilled by the tooth-popping ride. She taunted him, and his anger grew. The woman sneered at everything he did. She’d offered no thanks for his help at the powwow, and now she was in a thoroughly nasty groove, jabbing him with putdowns about his flying skills and intelligence.
When they landed at Fiona, Dan hurried into the cabin, hoping he’d find anomalies that would hold his attention long enough for him to coo
l off. He was determined not to blow up at Sheila. That was probably just what she wanted! Damned if he’d give it to her!
Unfortunately, the self-repair servos were working fine, with monitors in nominal ranges and comps purring.
Sheila sauntered up the ramp. Dan pretended to concentrate on the screens, wanting an excuse to avoid facing her. Tension was a vise, tightening around him. Sheila prowled the cabin and hold access tunnel noisily. Then she came forward and dropped into the second chair. “So this is your precious ship. The way you rave about this hulk, anyone would think it’s a yacht, not a—” Dan spun around. “Hunk of junk? Spacegoing coffin? For your info, she’s a damned fine starhopper!”
“Hah! So you’re one of those pilots who just loves his vessel. How kinky.” Sheila stretched voluptuously, her breasts jutting. “You’re too close to your darling to see her straight. For instance, facilities. I’m used to modern appointments. The supply ship that takes us out to conferences has brand-new flight couches. I’ll bet this tub’s equipment is years old..
He got to his feet, glaring down at the blonde. “What’s this all about? Having fun, insulting me and my ship?”
She stood up and moved very close. There was something new in her manner—sexual challenge. Sheila swiveled her hips seductively. She toyed with Dan’s belt, saying “Call it a test, handsome. You’re too damned easygoing. I had to find out if there was any fire in there. And there is! You’ve been so busy tinkering with the machinery. How about tinkering with my equipment for a change? We never did take that stroll. Kroo-ger! Are you still waiting for that? Believe me, romping bare-ass in the desert is no fun. I speak from experience.”
“No doubt.” Dan fought a rising hormone level. “Tests, huh? Crazy mean ones.”
The pressure of her breasts and hips was overwhelming his resistance. By now his erection was painfully obvious to both of them. Sheila grinned. “Crazy, because I like to spice up plain old-fashioned fornication?”
“The insults, the bitchiness ...”
“Got you mad, didn’t they? Physiological data prove that anger-aggression responses are quite similar to—”
“Screw your data,” he growled, and gave in to the inevitable. Normally, Dan preferred lighthearted romps. But Sheila’s tactics had made that impossible. Reflexes took over. They were rutting animals, ripping at clothes, tumbling into the pilot’s web chair, Sheila was eager, yet continued to scratch and sham kick, as if she couldn’t shut off the bitch act even though she’d gained her objective. Her face contorted with ecstasy.
Locked in the rhythm of pelvic thrusting, Dan realized with a small part of his brain that she had manipulated them back to these gonadal basics. Sheila reveled in the results, loving the violence and lack of finesse. Physical urgency swept her, removing traces of civilization. Then he, too, was caught in her frenzy.
Release was a shuddering collapse. They sprawled in the chair, savoring detumescence.
Gradually Dan became conscious of the outside world, the silent, glowing banks of monitors, the servos, and exterior scans of the desert and the stars winking into view above the darkening mountains. Sated, but badly rattled, he sat up. Sheila stretched once more, sighing in contentment.
“Very good. You’re a real beast, McKelvey, when you’re sufficiently prodded. That must be how your family got its rep. The Saunder-McKelveys—Earth’s champion achievers. Drive. Ambition. Animal instincts.”
“I’m hardly a champion,” Dan muttered. “Do you mind if we don’t do this quite this way again? It isn’t my...”
“Sure it is.” Sheila drew her short-cut fingernails lightly down his chest, making him shiver. “All it takes is pushing the right buttons. Admit it. You had fun.”
“Yeah, but...” He forced a weak smile, regarding her curiously. “Tell me, if we had taken that stroll the night of the tale-telling, would it have ended up like this?”
“Probably not. We’d have had an ordinary romp, which is tame, from my point of view. I’m adaptable, though. We’ll do it your way, next go-around,” Sheila finished, her blue eyes twinkling. She fetched two cups of caffa from the food storage unit and returned to the chair, snuggling cozily beside Dan.
Bemused, he said, “You’re nuts.”
“Sure! What else could I be, with my upbringing? The whole Kruger 60 Settlement was a mess from the word go. Our elders spent decades in frozen stasis to reach the planet. They expected to make history as Terra’s first interstellar pioneers. But FTL was discovered while they were en route. They were obsolete before they landed. That warped their attitudes, and that of their kids.
“Picture it. When they left Earth, humanity’s only contact with aliens was a single Vahnaj Ambassador. By the time they arrived on Kruger 60, Terrans were all over the starmap, wheeling and dealing with races the Hiber-ship crew hadn’t even known existed when they launched.
“Oh, they were taken care of, nursed along, until they could cope. The Saunder-McKelveys had a guilty conscience. Your grandfather and Brenna Saunder invented FTL and wrecked my parents’ dream. So Brenna turned Kruger 60 into a reservation. She guarded us poor anachronisms from the world-grabbers while we tried to catch up with the settlers who had a head start on us. In other words, we were a charity case.” Sheila’s joking tone didn’t hide her bitter resentment.
Dan eyed her thoughtfully. “Yeah, my dad was part of the family team assisting the Krugers after planetfall. He reminisces about those days. Says the Hiber-ship bunch were real fighters, sure to prosper.”
Sheila drew her legs up, clasping tanned arms around her knees. “Huh! The main thing they prospered at was breeding. That was first on their agenda—hatching kids in a hurry to build a viable colony. The Hiber-ship project was a polygamous design —studs and harems, all genetically cross-calculated. It worked. Healthiest kids in space! But hell, the way other Settlements treat us because of that system, you’d think we bred with slime worms!” She gazed into nothing and said, “I admit, when I was growing up, there were times when I had trouble remembering which woman was my mother. But I always knew who my father was. He reminded us of it constantly. Captain Derek Whitcomb, the hero,” she intoned with heavy sarcasm.
“I hadn’t realized... wow! A decorated Fleet officer and member of the original FTL breakthrough group, and commander of the Hiber-ship. He was a hero,” Dan said.
“Still is, to hear him tell it.” Sheila’s expression was sour. “Don’t forget. He’s still in good shape, even if he was bom in the 2040s. Being frozen let him skip a few decades. Nowadays he spends most of his time whining about how he was cheated out of his place in the history„vids. But it was his own option. He bailed out of the FTL project too soon. Your kin got the glory, and all Derek got was Kruger 60 and his harem. Not a bad deal, despite his griping. He still gets a chance to do some tupping, when Kruger Council wants an older bloodline cross to mix the gene pool.” Again her manner was a blend of admiration and scorn.
“He was luckier than one member of the FTL team,” Dan said softly. “My grandfather.”
“Morgan McKelvey. But people idolize him. They pity us Krugers.”
“They pitied Morgan, too,” Dan said, “when he got mangled in that early FTL test flight. Every pilot’s nightmare. He came out alive, but in a plastic body. Some glory! Is that what your father wishes he’d shared? At least he’s alive and romping. Morgan only survived the accident by a few years, and he never...” He touched Sheila’s hand and added, “He couldn’t have done what we just did.”
“But he had kids. You’re his grandchild.”
“Oh, yeah. The Saunder-McKelvey dynasty must go on. They selected four women to bear Morgan’s kids. Artificial insemination from cryo-preserved sperm. My dad got Morgan’s genes, but none of that Saunder-McKelvey financial knowhow. He’s been broke since I was twelve. I might as well have been a Kruger kid, despite my name,” Dan finished.
There was a long silence. At last Sheila said, “Interesting. Gives the Saunder-McKelveys a personal touch
, not like the news releases. Just the same, there’s a difference—for one thing, Kruger’s mixed-up generational factors. By normal reckoning, I ought to be your father’s contemporary, not yours. I’m out of synch with the rest of humanity.”
“It’s happened to others,” Dan reminded her. “Look how much prejudice Anthony Saunder had to overcome because he was a clone of Todd’s brother. That was tough. Yet he changed people’s way of thinking in his favor.”
Sheila shrugged impatiently. “He always had the family to fall back on. So do you. That’s being part of the time stream. The stasis trip took that away from the Krugers. For us, Day One was planetfall. Before then? Nothing. I’m a settler from nowhere.”
An odd smile twisted her mouth. “A psych scanner once told me that was why I took up xenoarch. According to him, my entire career is a subconscious quest to become part of mankind’s time stream, to belong. Maybe he was right, but he sure was a lousy lay,” she said, laughing.
Her unpredictable mood shifts confused Dan. He empathized with her problems, but felt wary. “I hope I’m not,” he muttered in response to her last statement.
Sheila gave him a lingering kiss. “I said you were good. Don’t fish for compliments.” Her expression softened and she said, “I’m sorry for being such a bitch. I hate myself for doing that, but I can’t seem to help it. I’ll make it up to you. Maybe I’ll tell Olmsted what she’s missed and send her your way. Kat needs to cut loose and she’s not going to get that from Praedar—not the way she wants it,” the blonde said.
Dan supposed a casual, share-the-wealth sexuality was typical for someone bom and bred in a polygamous settlement. The idea shook him a trifle, though. “You needn’t advertise on my account.”
Juanita Coulson - [Children of the Stars 04] Page 13