by Chris Reher
He gestured back toward the shuttle. “I will take Kira onto our usual outing. Meet me back on the airfield in four hours."
“Beautiful child," she said.
Tychon turned to observe him fondly. Kiran waved to them through the window. "Like his mother."
"I didn't know you're partnered."
"I was married," he said. "Delphians have strange customs."
Nova tried to read his expression, not sure if he was joking this time or just cynical of currently popular mating habits. "You're not, uh, married anymore?"
"She's dead."
Nova bit her lip, a dozen well-meant platitudes forming in her mind. They got no further when she saw the blank look on his face. He had made a statement, nothing more; her sympathy was neither wanted nor appreciated.
She watched him board the shuttle, beginning to realize that, with each day that passed, her early impression of the controlled, disciplined Delphian commander was crumbling away to show her something, someone who wasn't so much different from anyone else she knew. Just as the highly decorated pilots of her former squadron on Ud Mrak had turned out to be no more than rough, tired and fed up soldiers, so this man was beginning to show himself as something that was almost Human.
Still musing, Nova turned her attention to the center. It was, indeed, a handsome piece of luxury. Part hotel, part commerce center, it offered anything its visitors could want with charmless efficiency. She visited a spa for a long and very hot bath and then shopped for clothes that were either practical or entirely decorative. Before heading back to meet Tychon, she sent a message to her father and ordered a few supplies to be shipped back to the Eagle along with her purchases.
* * *
She found the Major near his plane where a few mechanics were busy with the landing gear. He cocked his head when she joined them, his eyes on her clothing.
“You like it?” She touched her freshly styled hair and turned to show him one of her finds, a low-cut tunic of a breezy fabric worn over snug breeches.
“Did you get suitable clothes for K’Lar Four?”
She nodded, a little disappointed by his reaction and then immediately berated herself for her vanity. What did it matter what the Delphian thought of fashion? “Did you enjoy your time with Kiran?”
“Yes,” he said and closed the ship’s door. “Let’s head to the meeting.”
They left the busy, modern side of the city for the busy, ancient quarter that still went about its business much like it had for hundreds of years. The two pilots moved slowly in response to Feyd's high gravity as well as the torrid heat that felt much like wading into an oil slick. Humidity enveloped them like a hot bath and no breeze moved to cool the sweat on their bodies.
Despite the discomforts provided by Feyd's weather, Nova enjoyed their stroll. She had spent many years either on a military base or on a mobile station where holidays were things that other people enjoyed. It was a welcome adventure to walk through these narrow streets that had never felt the heavy hand of a city planner.
The houses were open and airy, large windows allowed a view of whole interiors, and top stories often had no walls at all but only a roof supported by stone pillars and curtains for privacy. She was amazed to see that livestock, too, occupied some of the roof rooms. But then, while every house had at least a small kitchen garden, there was no space for stables and pens between the buildings.
It was wonderfully disorienting to walk through these crowded, ancient streets and then to look to the horizon where graceful skyscrapers rose above the Union quarter, the air whirring with arriving and departing traffic. In the distance hovered cloud-swathed volcanoes, their slopes covered in jungle growth.
And everywhere she looked, people went about their business of shopping, selling, strolling and thieving, threading their way through alleys and stifling heat, oblivious of the wonder in which Nova observed them all. It was difficult to distinguish native from Terran and Centauri here. They looked so very much alike that Nova decided that those individuals that wore the warmest clothing and did not seem to fight gravity with every step must be native Feydans. Tychon attracted some attention, Delphians still being a rarity in this sector.
Unexpectedly, the street turned into an open market. Tychon led her into a sort of public house where they sat on rough wooden benches and were served a sticky conglomeration of fatty meat, sauce and vegetables, all of it wrapped carefully in a sheet of what appeared to be bread. A tankard of warm, spicy ale completed the menu, which did not vary from one table to the next. Both of them passed on a platter of what appeared to be roasted insects.
"Archaic," Nova commented. "But so so very good."
They were served by a mute Chayko male, a slave mark livid on his thigh. Nova furrowed her brow. Had she been in uniform she would have confiscated the slave and arrested the owner. But then, had she been in uniform this Chayko would not have been sent to serve them.
She passed the jug to Tychon before remembering that most Delphians did not impair their minds with spirits.
"Be careful,” he warned. “I imagine that you have not had anything but space slop in a long time."
"I haven't had a lot of things in a long time," she replied.
He tilted his head. Amusement lit his eyes.
She blushed. "I meant, well, I've been on a base for so long..." she frowned defensively. “Where is your mind at, anyway?"
He suddenly grasped her wrist.
"Hey!"
"You cannot eat that." He took a piece of fruit from her hand. "Only cooked food for you here, Human."
"I should have thought of that!"
"No harm done, Greenie." He looked past her shoulder to greet a short, squat woman who had come to their table. They spoke too rapidly for Nova to make out more than the gist of their conversation. Apparently, a Union liaison had been abducted by Tharron's men and was to be traded back for a spy held by the Union.
Not a chance, Nova thought.
Tychon turned to her. "I have to go with this one for a while. She doesn't want to be seen with both of us. Do not go far from here. Meet me here in one hour. If I am not back, go back to the Eagle for clear air or, better yet, find a place where they sell respirators and pick up a supply. We will need to visit Feyd fairly often."
Nova grumbled at this but agreed. The market outside with its fascinating people made up for being excluded. No doubt he would brief her later.
She strolled among the stalls, stopping often to chat and examine the wares imported from any place accessible to traders who were often willing to take an uncharted jumpsite in their search for profit. In that way, they were the Union's best unpaid source of explorers.
The vendors of Feyd offered an incredible variety of things for sale. There were fine costumes in rich fabrics made on Pelion and Nebdan, intoxicating wines, pastes and tobaccos of Feyd itself and hundreds of gadgets and novelties from other worlds. Pebbles gathered in the Outlands were set like jewels in rings and headbands. Shaddallam leather, more supple than silk, was sold at outrageous prices to those that could afford it. Nova gaped like a child at tame grush cats and the colorful birds of Genen and smiled indulgently when she saw peanuts transplanted from Earth to Trans-Targon and sold here as aphrodisiacs. She tried not to stare at the many travelers from distant places who did not consider themselves part of the attractions.
A mild feeling of lightheadedness began to annoy her. It was probably time to return to the Eagle but she could not quite remember why. No one sold respirators here and nothing reminded her to buy one to filter the still, pollen laden air of Feyd. It had not occurred to her to head uptown in search of a dispensary. The heat of the day made her drowsy and she slowed her steps, soon only ambling along her way, her eyes and thoughts flitting over the many strange things to be seen. Time passed as she watched an artisan create a miniature flower out of sugar and she would have stood there for hours had not a sudden commotion startled her.
"Dun uragla, ragla!" a man shouted after a
thief. The boy, no more than ten or so, raced toward Nova, a smile of mischievous glee on his face. He knew that he would get away and Nova stood aside as he passed, watching his escape. The crowd was now either cheering or cursing the boy or the merchant, Nova did not know which.
A group of people joined the chase and Nova was pushed out of the way. Her hands found no hold as she sought to keep her balance. The high grasses of a ditch beside the road softened her fall and a heady scent wafted up, a sweet odor that carried with it a sharper taste of herbs.
Someone helped her to her feet. Nova looked at the grass stains on her hands and shirt and laughed. What a strange, amusing day! Still chuckling, she wandered on, away from the crowd. She seemed to have lost her parcels of purchases. That seemed funny, too.
It occurred to her that there might be something that she should be doing. The crowd soon thinned and after passing the crumbled remains of an old wall, Nova found herself outside of town. She saw a few vineyards in the distance and a fork in the road that led into a small stand of woods. It would probably be cooler there, she thought, walking onward.
She came upon a stream that meandered through the little forest, deepening in this glade before it broadened on its way through the city. She sat down, watching the running water, the way it bounced off rocks and glinted in the filtered sunlight from above. The day seemed to grow even hotter as she dreamed quietly, occasionally rubbing her skin where the irritating dust of the roadside flowers had adhered. No one was near and she felt very sleepy.
Then someone called her name. Perhaps she should answer. What was his name again?
* * *
"Nova!" When she had failed to appear both at the inn and the airfield, Tychon had looked for her in the market, soon very worried. Nearly six hours had passed since they had arrived on Feyd and he knew that unless she was using a respirator she would by now be in great danger. Luckily, her height and the deep red of her hair had made her easy to describe and remember to the people he had asked. Some of the natives had seen her wander off toward the distant vineyards.
Lying there, she seemed asleep, one arm trailing in the water. The long hair had come loose, as brightly reflecting the dappled sunlight as was the surface of the brook. Her usual, intent expression was gone, replaced by a gentle smile that softened her features.
"Captain!" he called, more concerned than annoyed by her lack of response. "I told you to stay nearby."
She raised her head, opening dilated eyes. "It's so much prettier here."
Tychon knelt beside her. "What are you..." He noticed traces of the shimmering powder on her robe and hair. “I told you to stay away from the flowers!"
"You are always telling me things. Who can keep track of them all?" She sank back and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we get to Feyd."
He shook her arm. "Come now, back to the ship."
She did not reply.
Tychon pulled the bottom of his shirt over his face and inhaled deeply, several times, filtering the pollen-rich air through the fine fabric before rolling her onto her back. Covering her mouth with his, he forced his own breath into her lungs.
Nova opened unfocused eyes. "A strange kiss to say hello," she murmured, smiling. Some of his hair had fallen over her face and she touched it thoughtfully.
He cursed quietly, knowing that there was humor in this somewhere and hoping that he'd find it pretty soon. He continued to give her of his air, all too aware that her hand had dropped onto his thigh.
At last she squirmed away from him. "Stop it! Enough!"
"Take your clothes off," he breathed.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"You have spores all over yourself." He pulled his own shirt over his head and tore one of the sleeves from it. He ripped its seam and then tied the fabric around the lower part of her face to fashion a filter of sorts. "Get rid of your blouse and then get into the water. Wash that stuff out of your hair."
"I fell down back there," she mumbled and followed his direction. While the water was not exactly cold, it was still a relief to step into the brook.
Tychon sat on a rock and watched her carefully, ready to come to her aid. But she was more conscious now, not about to faint as she had seemed earlier. "Is that army issue?" he asked, eyeing the thin shift that was all that covered her now.
Nova splashed him, then aimlessly paddled her hands through the water lapping at her waist. "I bet if I sat down I'd just float away," she said. "When do we get to Feyd?"
He sighed and stepped into the stream to push her below the surface. The water felt wonderful and he let himself drop back to soak his head. When Nova came up, gasping for air, the sheer material of her shift had turned transparent. Tychon prayed to all of his gods until he was sure that most of the poison had rinsed away. Finally, he pulled her out of the creek and covered her in his shirt.
She swayed slightly on her feet but remained upright. “You know, I always thought Delphians would be blue all over,” she said vacantly. Her fingertips touched his chest. “But you’re not. You just seem cold, Ty. Can I call you Ty, Major?” She watched her hand move upward to touch a long strand of hair plastered to the smooth skin of his chest.
"Captain!" Tychon moved out of her reach. "Damn!" He continued to swear while they made their way back to the road into town.
“I don’t feel very good,” she said, stumbling. Her feet seemed too big for the ends of her legs and kept getting in the way as she tried to keep up with his long strides. He flagged down a passing skimmer to take them back to the ship. Their damp attire caused more than a few curious stares from the Feydan natives and their multi-planetary guests.
Tychon half-carried her up along the Eagle’s short cargo ramp and into the main cabin where he placed her onto the lounger. She closed her eyes once he had fastened an oxygen mask over her face.
The xenobiologist at Feyd’s largest clinic took an unnerving amount of time to be found. When she finally appeared on Tychon’s screen she seemed to take some pleasure in instructing the Delphian about managing his Human staff on Feyd. She glanced at the vital data that he transmitted and assured him that the spores Nova had absorbed would soon be out of her system. Her ability to use her neural interface would not be impaired. Before also assuring him that the tab for her services would be sent directly to Union administration, she forwarded a directive to have an additive to the oxygen he was already giving Nova sent to the ship.
Relieved, Tychon closed the connection and returned to where Nova lay sleeping. He watched her for a long while, recalling the lovely sight of her wading in the stream. He shook his head and resolved to drop in on a friend at their next destination. Until then a cold shower would have to do.
Chapter Three
This was a hopeful day on Shaddallam, quite likely the day that would blast through this uneasy tension like the first crash of lightning at the end of a summer's heat wave. Tharron's foul mood would break, finally, although some of those gathered here doubted that it would be for the better. The rankless officers of Tharron's inner guard whispered among themselves, daring to speculate on what was about to happen.
They had cursed the day on which their commander had learned of the legend. Since that day, he had focused all of his attention and most of the few good agents he possessed on finding the truth of the myth. While they had managed to carry on Tharron's smuggling and extortion operations, no progress had been made in their fight against Union dominance. They had lost their foothold on Aram for good this time and negotiations with Feyd had stalled. The Targon scheme would surely end in disaster unless Tharron, their figurehead, was there to turn their advice into orders.
They all agreed, although the thought would not pass their lips in fear of Tharron's spies, that the rebel leader was obsessed with a fairy tale.
Since hearing the legend Tharron had passed but one order: Capture alive a person that would confirm the story. Not a difficult order until one considered that the only person that could answer Tharron's burning questio
ns would have to be Delphian.
There were no Delphians among Tharron's men. His warriors were Rhuwacs, his pilots were traitor Centauri. His agents, spies and advisors were Terran, Feydan and a very few K'lar. His household staff were Shaddallam slaves. Delphians were barely cooperating with the Union and would certainly never consider Tharron's employ.
Tharron had fumed for weeks, taking out his ill temper on his servants and advisors alike. It had proven impossible to capture a live Delphian in combat. During the skirmish on Aram, one fighter plane had been taken but her pilot had turned out to be Centauri. At last, in order to appease Tharron, a detail had set out for Delphi. Pe Khoja had simply landed in a rural area and captured a farmer alone in his field.
Tharron's men were confident that this prisoner would answer to Tharron. Their leader would finally realize that the legend was, after all, just a legend. This madness would end and Tharron would return to the business of reaping great profit from war-torn Trans-Targon.
There were a few among his staff, so very few, who did not share the others' disbelief in the story. Pe Khoja, the Caspian, was one, Tamotsu Comori, the Terran, another. It was they who had decided to abduct the hapless farmer, not because of the truth he would tell but because someone like him would not know the truth.
So today, all hoped, their troubles would be over. Self-satisfied, Tharron's men stood in a loose semi-circle around their leader who sat expectantly on a raised bench as if on a dais, the focus of everyone's attention. As always, he wore a long, simply-cut robe reminiscent of those worn by his nomad kinsmen on K'lar but made of far more luxurious fabrics. Massive arms were adorned with broad bands of precious metals. His hairless head was painted with intricate designs calling upon the gods of his people. In a fine mood, he had ordered everyone outside and the prisoner brought to him there.
A good day, Tharron thought, letting his eyes roam about the garden. The old man and his family that he had evicted from their stately home had created a lovely oasis of eternal spring deep within the jungle of Shaddallam’s lowlands. Outside the high garden walls he could hear his men, a comforting sound. The entire town had been evicted to make room for them. Shaddallam was an ideal planet on which to establish headquarters. It could be months before the Union's scouts found them here.