Boralene

by Nathan Jones

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” The silvery-haired woman abruptly straightened, her familiar seductive banter returning. “So, we have the setting and the formal attire. Where's this grand banquet I was promised?”

  He grinned and stood from his chair, bowing. “One moment.”

  Part of Tycho's preparations for the meal included his determination to do as much of it as possible by himself, without Eva's or Loran's help. He'd cooked the food entirely on his own, although under Eva's expert direction, and now he fetched the food cart from the ship and brought it over beside the table, deactivating the stasis field that kept the food as fresh as if just prepared.

  “Our first course for the evening,” he murmured, settling their plates at their settings. The dish was a small portion of salad greens topped with crushed walnuts, dried cranberries, and shredded cheese drizzled with a light vinaigrette.

  Tycho resumed his seat, trying not to be obvious about watching closely as his guest took her first bite of the dish. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she voiced no complaints and didn't show any sign of displeasure; he was worried that even as hard as he'd tried, his cooking wouldn't be up to snuff.

  An even bigger relief was that she seemed back to her usual self, engaging in light banter as they took their time eating the salad. Soon it felt as if there'd never been any friction between them, and Tycho relaxed and let himself enjoy the lovely woman's company.

  After he cleared away the salad plates he fetched the next course, simple seared steaks, whipped potatoes, and boiled carrots in a sweet sauce. Callista complimented the appearance of the dish, which puffed up his chest a little. Unfortunately when she took her first dainty bite of steak the expression of displeasure he'd been dreading appeared on her lovely features.

  “Hmm,” she murmured with her mouth full, chewing thoughtfully. “Unevenly seasoned. Was it Loran or Eva who cooked this? I've had food that doesn't suit my tastes before, but this is the first subpar dish I've ever tasted.”

  Tycho tried to hide his blush of mortification. “Actually I prepared it myself. Eva has been teaching me to cook.”

  Callista froze, eyes widening in horror as she realized she'd just unintentionally delivered him a direct insult. “Oh,” she fumbled, her usual self composure nowhere to be seen. “Well in that case this is a stunningly good effort.”

  He snorted, doing his best to keep the mood light. “Yeah, I have a feeling even with help I'll have to practice for lifetimes to get anywhere close to adequate, and even then I won't measure up to a companion.”

  The silvery-haired woman leaned forward and rested her hand atop his. “The fact that you actually bothered to do it yourself for my sake speaks volumes,” she said quietly. Then she grinned, also seeming to want to lighten the mood. “All of this, in fact. A handwritten letter delivered directly to me, then a meal you cooked and served yourself at one of your favorite locations on your world?”

  She trailed her fingers along the back of his hand, smoky eyes dancing, and her voice became a languid purr. “I knew you had a romantic side, Tych, but I'm beginning to think you might actually be a hopeless romantic. I'll admit I'm a bit jealous.”

  Tycho flinched at the word, then cursed himself for reacting to it. Unfortunately Callista noticed and withdrew her hand, sighing. “I guess even water under the bridge takes a while to drift out of view,” she murmured.

  He reached across and took her hand, holding it firmly. “Not too long, I hope.”

  Callista squeezed back and gave him a subdued smile. “The sooner the better.”

  He nodded and lightened his tone. “Want to get back to our subpar meal?”

  “Mmm.” Her smoky gray eyes abruptly began to dance again. “You know what sounds especially romantic for a meal like this? How about we feed each other?”

  Tycho wasn't sure how exactly that was romantic, but he had to admit it sounded fun. And with luck it would distract her from his poor cooking. Grinning, he speared a carrot on his fork and offered it across the table to her, with a bit of adjusting managing to get it into her waiting mouth.

  He also dripped sauce across the entire length of tablecloth and onto her chin as he did. Callista laughed and dragged her chair around to sit beside him. “There, less distance between us,” she said as she reached across to pull her plate in front of her and began cutting a bite of steak for him.

  He had to admit he liked the sound of that.

  The meal probably took twice as long as it should have with them trying, and at times failing in ways that left them both laughing, to transfer the contents of their plates into each other's mouths. But finally he was able to clear away the plates and fetch dessert, a simple layer cake that had unfortunately ended up lopsided, although he'd tried to cover that up with frosting.

  Callista had no complaints about the taste, however, and even seemed to enjoy that it was probably richer than it should've been with the liberal use of frosting. She also seemed to enjoy deliberately missing his mouth and smearing the frosting all over his face, giggling at his reactions. Which left him no choice but to respond in kind.

  Tycho wasn't quite sure how, but at some point during their impromptu food fight the silvery-haired woman eased her way onto his lap and settled there comfortably as they fed each other the last bites of dessert. She did it as comfortably as Eva ever had, so Tycho didn't even feel too surprised or awkward at the sudden intimacy.

  Or at least not much; the feel of Callista's lithe figure in his arms was distracting, and the heady perfume she wore that subtly teased his senses even more so. So much that when he missed her mouth with the last bite of cake from his plate it was on accident.

  She didn't seem to mind, casually scooping the dollop of frosting from her cheek with a finger and popping it into her mouth. Then she gathered frosting off his nose and, before he had time to do more than blink in surprise, popped it into his mouth.

  He stared into her smoky eyes as she withdrew her finger, keenly aware that their faces were only inches apart now. Those mysterious gray depths began to dance mischievously after a moment, and Callista leaned forward with her lips parted.

  For a startled moment Tycho was sure she was about to do something silly like try to lick the frosting from his face. Then her mouth pressed to his and her arms lifted to settle around his neck.

  Tycho kissed her back fiercely, lifting his arms to wrap around her and pull her close and feeling the soft, warm skin of her back beneath her silky dress. In that moment he was certain that now, atop this mountain peak, was when they were finally going to share the intimacy he'd been craving and had held back from, fearful of an uncertain future.

  He wasn't worried now, though; if there was one thing he could be certain of it was that he loved this woman. He was ready to share everything with her.

  But after only a few seconds Callista pulled back with a soft gasp, gently pushing away from him. To his confused disappointment she disentangled herself from his arms and slid back onto her seat, primly lifting her napkin to begin cleaning her face. As if to highlight her sudden distance the subtle hint of perfume in the air faded away.

  “Since we're being so old-fashioned about all this,” she said, trying hard for her usual bantering tone, “is it safe to say we're courting?”

  The word was unfamiliar, and he had to briefly pull up his personal display to check it. The definition he found made his heart pound in his chest, and his hand shook slightly as he raised his own napkin to begin wiping the frosting off his face.

  Courtship: The period in which a romantically interested couple get to know each other while deciding if they're a good match for marriage.

  Marriage. That meant Callista did consider this relationship to be something more than a passing fling or casual friendship.

  “I suppose it is,” he said eagerly. “I'll have to start bringing you flowers and sweets.”

  The silvery-haired woman still appeared flustered. “Oh. I meant that as a joke.” She gave
him a slightly forced smile. “Although the prospect of gifts is delightful. Also the idea of following such an antiquated tradition is certainly a romantic one, and you know what a sucker I am for that.”

  Tycho smiled back. “Apparently I am too.”

  Callista set down her napkin and stood. “Until our next visit, then,” she said.

  “Oh.” Disappointed that she seemed so eager to leave, he stood as well and offered her his arm, escorting her back to her ship. There he summoned up the courage to lean forward and press his lips to hers again, hoping to rekindle at least some of their earlier passion.

  She kissed him back for a moment, then stepped away and looked up at him. “Just one thing, Tych.”

  Her expression made him suddenly uncertain. “Anything.”

  The silvery-haired woman drew in a sharp breath. “I thought you should know that it wasn't just for your sake that I was on board with taking things slow. If anything, I want to take things even slower than you do.”

  For some reason her announcement settled an odd weight on Tycho's spirits. “Oh. Well good.”

  As if sensing his sudden despondency she shook her head. “Listen. We're two humans having a real life romance, possibly the first in thousands of years. There's a lot of uncertainty here. We both have our own priorities and some of them may not align. We're going to be dealing with feelings we never experienced before, like my sudden spat of jealousy. We'll make mistakes. We might get sick of each other.”

  “Never,” he insisted fervently.

  Callista's smoky eyes regarded him sadly. “You can't know that. And we might run into other unpleasant emotions, other conflicts, that eventually push us apart.”

  Tycho didn't like to admit it but he'd certainly considered those possibilities. “Are you saying it's not worth it?” he asked with a sinking heart.

  “No!” Callista hesitated, looking a bit frustrated. “I'm saying we not rush this until we figure out what this is. Like you've been doing this whole time. That we become close friends, really get to know each other, before we decide to be more.”

  He had to admit he felt strangely relieved by the thought; maybe it was cowardice, but he couldn't help but think that if they made no mistakes then there was no chance of their relationship suddenly disintegrating around them. And the best way to avoid mistakes was to be very, very cautious. Not cowardly, of course, just . . . prudent.

  “Does this mean you're going to stop trying to talk me into the nearest bedroom all the time?” he asked wryly.

  To his relief she laughed. “That wild flirtation is half the fun, darling.” She slipped forward and pressed her lips to his again, just a brief peck, then turned and started up the ramp, calling over her shoulder. “See you soon, I hope.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Signals

  Tycho was pulled out of blissful dreams of Callista by Eva quietly but insistently calling his name and shaking his shoulder.

  With a groan he rolled away from her and buried his face in his pillow. “Bad night for an unexpected amorous awakening, Eva,” he grumbled, waving irritably for her to go away.

  But his companion persisted. “It's a priority notification, my love.”

  That got his attention, and with another groan he twisted his head and blearily opened his eyes. The pale blur of her face framed by a smear of strawberry blond hovered above him, impatient for him to wake up.

  And no wonder. Pretty much the only thing priority notifications were used for was personal emergencies, and even then only the time sensitive ones. Sudden visions of his mother or father or Callista suffering some tragic accident tore the last of the grogginess from his mind and he forced himself to sit up.

  Eva held a basin of water out for him, and he hurriedly splashed some in his face and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What is it? Who's it from?”

  She hesitated. “Your work coordinator AI.”

  For a moment Tycho thought she must be playing a prank on him, but her expression was completely serious. “A priority notification from my work AI?” he repeated incredulously. “What could it possibly have for me that's worth waking me in the middle of the night and scaring me half to death thinking some personal tragedy has happened?”

  His companion shrugged. “Some new finding. It seems to think it's significant.”

  “It better be or I'm replacing it,” Tycho grumbled, dragging himself out of bed. Eva offered him some clothes but he waved them away and stalked out of his room; he'd be going into his sensory deprivation vat anyway.

  When he settled into the body-temperature water within the vat the temptation to fall asleep again was hard to shake off, and considering that he was about to dive into the mentally demanding challenge of his work he didn't want to go into it tired. So after the vat's hookups had settled into place and pulled him down into full immersion he wasted no time ordering the rig to inject a neurostim.

  He tried to avoid this when he could, and not just because of the stigma of being considered a stimmer. First Diana, then Loren and finally Eva, had all been very effective at encouraging him to avoid habit-forming activities. Thanks to their sage advice he viewed them as a crutch, a distraction or even a replacement from experiencing life, rather than the enhancers they were often touted to be.

  And even though the medical technology was in place to reset the mind out of such addictions he didn't like to view himself as so weak willed that he'd ever need to do so.

  Wine was one of the few exceptions Tycho allowed himself, and usually only as a compliment to his evening meals. Even the night where he'd mildly overindulged and enjoyed Eva's company was rare.

  Because he so infrequently used the neurostim it hit him in a giddy rush, especially given his groggy state. Within moments he found himself exceptionally alert, thoughts sharp and focused and flowing quickly from point to point. He also became distractingly aware of the sensations of his simulated body, same as he would of his real body if he'd stimmed outside full immersion.

  That hyperawareness had led to some intense experiences the few times he'd indulged himself while on neurostims, but that was another potential trap of them: everything felt dull and boring without the stims and his quality of life took a marked nosedive. He didn't enjoy that brief high making everything else seem perpetually low.

  So the first thing he did once the stims hit him was disable the sensory input of his simulated body, his consciousness becoming disorientingly numb and detached, before entering his work node and plugging into the data stream in slowest slowtime.

  At which point Tycho quickly found that his work coordinator AI hadn't been mistaken; it only took a few moments of examining the anomalous readings it displayed for him for his heart to nearly stop beating in his chest, then begin thundering in pure excitement at what he was seeing.

  The deep space drone in the barred spiral galaxy he was surveying, the farthest humanity had sent out into the unknown, was picking up radio waves.

  Which wasn't significant in and of itself, of course. The universe was full of radio wave sources, most already thoroughly researched. But these particular radio waves stood out for a number of reasons: First, they were weak. Not weak because they came from a distant source, or faint because they were being obscured by other phenomena, but because very little power had gone into producing them in the first place. That pointed to a phenomenon unlike any stellar source.

  Second, they hadn't been detected by any other drones. In fact the projected source of the radio waves weren't far at all from where the probe had detected them, certainly less than a hundred lightyears and probably closer to half that. That meant the source had been emitting those radio waves for less than a century, the briefest of flickers in cosmological time.

  Third, the radio waves were complex, information carriers, and held a distinct pattern. Even the probe's initial examination, and that of the AI the probe had sent its data to, strongly suggested that messages were being carried on those waves. The AI was already making strid
es to crack the code and decipher their meanings.

  In summation a weak, new, nearby source of complex waves with unnatural, irregularly repeating but distinct patterns. Those were the classic theorized hallmarks of signals produced by extraterrestrial intelligence.

  For the first time in Tycho's life he was seeing something new in the cosmos. Something he'd been hoping to see from the first, and the very reason he'd taken on the job of examining data from exploration drones in the first place.

  Humanity had just discovered it wasn't alone in the universe.

  Preliminary analysis, he thought to the AI. Immediately data flooded his senses, everything the drone had picked up and all the progress the AI had made in examining it.

  His immediate reaction to the findings was one of slight disappointment, which he hadn't thought possible under these circumstances. The AI confirmed that the radio waves were carrying audio and, for the most recent signals, visual information. But the excitement of that news was offset by the fact that both audio and visual signals fell strictly within the spectrum of light and sound that would be visible and audible to humans.

  It wasn't unthinkable that an alien species might have senses within that visual and auditory range, but the fact that it was an exact match was less than promising. However, the means by which the information was carried was crude, pointing to a level of technology humanity had advanced past over a hundred thousand years ago. Technology that was barely above the level of banging rocks together or lighting signal fires.

  That spoke to a mystery that was worth investigating.

  The drone had already redirected to make for the source of the signals. Tycho settled in with his mind plugged into the data being fed from it and continued his examination, directing the flood of information to various human work nodes in relevant fields for closer, more technical examination while he tried to figure out the big picture of what exactly he was seeing.