Venus Rising

by Speer, Flora

  “We have to get back to the Capital. It is our duty to report to the Assembly what has happened to the Reliance. How are we going to do that, Commander Tarik?”

  “I don’t know. Are there any more food wafers in that package? You see,” he told her gravely, “I am now following regulations. Until we know what food is safe, I will confine my eating to these tasteless things. Or until we run out of wafers and I get hungry. Then I may start experimenting.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find a settlement before then.”

  “Of what? Humans? Cetans? Some other species, known or unknown? Or perhaps we are here alone, the only ones on a deserted planet.”

  “Don’t forget your birds,” she said between bites of wafer. “Or that thing, whatever it was, that drank from the stream. There must be other life forms here, and some of them may be intelligent. We must find a settlement. You need medical care. You look feverish to me.”

  Tarik slid down from his position against the tree to lie flat on the soft moss.

  “I’m tired,” he said. “You, Lieutenant, may follow regulations and keep watch, or you may sleep, too, whichever you like. It’s pleasant here. I’ve had enough to drink and a little food to content my belly until I find something better. ‘A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou beside me in the wilderness…’”

  Narisa glanced at him sharply, but his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep. She was certain, after that speech, that he had lost his wits, and no wonder, considering the events of this long, strange day. Well, the day must be nearly over at last, for it seemed to her the shadows were lengthening. She would let Tarik rest for now, and when morning came she would try to find help for him, and some way to communicate with their superiors at the Capital.

  She drank from the stream again, then sat peering into the increasing darkness. The forest was quiet except for the ripple of the stream and the gentle rustling of the leaves far above their heads as a soft breeze skimmed by.

  Tarik was right, it was pleasant here. Too pleasant for the Empty Sector. It would have been sensible of her to be on guard, even afraid, in such a place as this. But Narisa had no feeling of danger at all, no fear, and she was tired of always being sensible. It was nice to relax and enjoy the peacefulness of the forest.

  How long she sat there, she did not know. Slowly a gentle drowsiness stole over her. Several times she caught herself nodding into sleep. She stretched out, lying on the moss, which she discovered made a wonderfully soft bed, and after a while her eyes closed.

  She awakened from a sweet and remarkably realistic dream of home and parents and sister to find herself huddled against Tarik with one of his arms under her head. It seemed to her it must be early morning, for a few shafts of pale orange sunlight filtered through the thick, leafy boundaries of the tiny clearing where they lay, and a faint mist curled upward from the stream. The air was chilly enough to make her shiver and move closer to Tarik as she sought to return to her lovely dream.

  She had lost the dream. It was gone forever. Perhaps it was because of Tarik’s nearness. Something about him disturbed her still partially drowsy consciousness. In the coolness of the morning, he was much too warm. In fact, he was feverishly hot. All thought of returning to sleep vanished. She touched his flushed cheek. He tossed his head from side to side, muttering broken phrases that made no sense to her. The fear she had not felt last night flooded over her, not for herself, but for him. She might not like him, but he was a fellow human, and if he died, she would be alone on this strange world. She could not let him die, for his sake and her own.

  “Commander Tarik, wake up. Oh, please, please, wake up.”

  He opened fever-glazed eyes, looking at her blankly, and she knew he did not recognize her.

  “But soft,” he murmured, “an angel comes here.”

  “Commander Tarik!” She drew back in surprise, her voice a little sharper than she had intended.

  “Sweet lady, curse me not. I am ill and like to die.” He dropped back into the feverish sleep from which she had roused him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she cried. “I knew you were hurt worse than you would admit. Now what am I to do with you? I don’t know where to get help, and I can’t carry you, even if I did know where to go.”

  She sat there on the moss, trying to recall every bit of medical information she had received while in training for the Service. But it had all been about emergency treatment until a doctor was available, and it depended upon equipment she did not have. Narisa had almost never been sick. She did not remember what her mother had done for her when she was young and ill, and the few minor ailments she had suffered after going to the Capital to join the Service had been cured quickly, in a matter of minutes, with the latest treatments. What did one do with a sick man and no medicine?

  Tarik thrashed about in some feverish nightmare, crying out loudly as he hurt his broken ribs. She touched his forehead. He was on fire with fever. Narisa had not felt so frustrated since she had received the news that her parents had been killed.

  “I will not cry;” she said aloud, as she had said on that terrible day. ”Tears are a sign of weakness. I will find a way to fight this, and I will win. I will.”

  Water would put out a fire. She could put water on Tarik’s face and torso. Perhaps that would help to douse the fever. She stripped off her uniform jacket. Beneath it she wore the regulation undergarment of all females in the Service. This was a cream-colored shirt, scoop-necked and sleeveless, made of a stretchable fabric that molded the body closely and supported the breasts. The material was absorbent, as the heavier outer jacket was not. Narisa pulled it off and soaked it in the stream, holding it in the cold water until it was saturated. Then she wrung it out and brought it back to Tarik. She brushed the straight black hair off his hot forehead and laid the shirt across it, wrapping the ends down around his cheeks and chin.

  “Cool,” he muttered. ``So sweet.”

  She unfastened his jacket. She doubted she could get it completely off in his present condition, but she could open it and put cool water on his chest and abdomen. The safety harness from the pod was still wrapped about his ribs. Narisa checked it, lifting the elastic straps at several places. It did not seem to be too tight, and the bruised skin under it appeared to be unchanged in color, so she left it in place.

  The cloth around his face was warm already. She took it back to the stream to soak it again. After she had replaced it on his head, she opened his trousers and slid them down on his hips to expose his abdomen.

  Tarik was not as obviously muscular as many men, but his body was sleek and trim. She recalled his endurance of the day before, how, injured though he was, he had led them across that endless desert, made her go on when she would have stopped, and with a faith and determination she had not shared had brought them to a safe resting place. Strength, Narisa decided, did not necessarily mean muscular bulk. His body was beautiful, the skin unblemished and smooth. She ran one hand along his side, from chest to waist to flank, momentarily engrossed in admiration and something else, something that began to stir deep inside her. The only flaw she could find was the injury covered by the harness. Then he moaned again, and she withdrew her hand with a guilty start and hurried to put more cold water on his forehead.

  It did not trouble her that she was undressed above the waist. On her home planet of Belta, the human body was considered beautiful, and children were allowed to run about half-dressed during warm weather. She had grown up unhampered by any sense of shame about nakedness, and not until she had joined the Service and met members of Races from other planets had she realized that other people might feel differently.

  She took a few moments to splash water on her face and shoulders before moving upstream to a quiet pool to drink. There she saw her face imperfectly reflected in the deep water. She did not need to see it exactly. As she knew her own body, so she knew her face. She had strong features to go with her tall, strong body. Her face was oval, the skin flushed to a rosy tan fro
m the previous day in the sun. Her mouth was wide, with firm lips, her nose straight but a little too long, her eyes a cool gray with golden flecks. Her hair, a warm golden brown several shades lighter than brows and lashes, was worn parted in the middle and clipped straight all around just below her ears. Service regulations ordered that style.

  Straight hair, straight nose, level eyes, strong body, honest mind and heart, all trained to Service regulations. Willingly. Gladly. Straight, straight, straight. A good officer. A superb, if somewhat inexperienced navigator with brilliant potential.

  With her family dead on Belta, she had dedicated herself to the Service. She knew one day they would meet the Cetans in open warfare and win. Her family would be avenged. In the meantime, she gave all she had to her work, to her navigational studies. She adhered rigidly to all Service regulations, forcing her once free spirit into strict self-discipline, not letting herself consider the questions about the Service, or the Assembly, which occasionally came unbidden to her mind. She had always pushed such questions and the doubts they raised out of her thoughts with ease. She had tried to make herself into a perfect Service officer, and she had almost succeeded. Sighing, she stirred the water with one hand, breaking up the image of Lieutenant Navigator Narisa raDon, and bent her head to drink.

  Tarik lay burning with fever for the rest of the day, and Narisa spent her time sponging him with her dampened shirt. Her efforts made no difference that she could detect. He did not know her. When he spoke, it was to utter strange rhyming phrases she could not understand. Since he was an expert in languages, Narisa assumed he was speaking in some of the many tongues he knew.

  So intent was she on lowering his body temperature that she was only dimly aware of the passage of time. She sensed rather than saw that the orange sun had risen to its zenith. Here beneath the thick canopy of leaves sunlight penetrated only in scattered shafts of orange-gold light, and where the underbrush was thickest, dark shadows persisted.

  Thus it was that she did not see their companion at first. She took her undershirt off Tarik’s chest and carried it to the stream, once more to cool it and wring it out. As she walked the few steps back to him, she perceived a flicker of movement among the bushes at one side of the clearing. She looked in that direction, but saw nothing.

  “Rustling leaves,” she told herself, rejecting the first stirrings of fear. “Good. If a breeze comes up, it will help to cool Tank.”

  She laid the cloth across his abdomen, remembering how, when she was swimming, cold water on her belly chilled her whole body. Perhaps it would work for Tarik, too.

  She leaned back. Reaching behind her without looking, she drew forward and opened the package of compressed food. She took out the two waters that made up a complete meal, then put one of them back. She was hungry, she hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, but she felt she should conserve their supplies. They might be without food for some time, and if he recovered, Tarik would no doubt need plenty of nourishment to regain the strength he had lost to fever and injury. She laid the food package aside, preparing to eat the single wafer.

  It was then that she became certain she was not alone. Someone or something, some unknown presence, had moved from the bushes to stand directly behind her, looking over her shoulder at Tarik. Narisa turned, and then stopped, half sitting, half kneeling, the food wafer still clutched in her right hand. Stunned, she looked up at the creature who stood there.

  It was the green one, an emerald splendor of a bird, its rich, thick feathers gleaming in the dim light. Its shining black eyes were fixed on Tarik. Its long green beak was slightly parted, enough for Narisa to see that it had teeth, neat rows of them, top and bottom. They gave the creature a sinister look.

  Leaping to her feet, Narisa took a defensive posture between the bird and Tarik. The bird was nearly as tall as she was, and she was terrified of it, but she tried to cover her fear with angry words.

  “Leave him alone,” she shrieked. “He’s not dead yet. You can’t have him, or me either. Go away, you monster!”

  Lacking any other weapon, she threw the wafer of compressed food at the bird. The bird caught the wafer in its beak in midair, then laid it carefully on the ground at Narisa’s feet. The delicacy and control in that action stopped her incipient panic. She stood silently while the bird looked from her to Tarik and back again. If this creature wanted to kill them both, it could do so easily with either its beak or its large clawed feet. Yet now she was over her first fright, she could see there was nothing menacing in the bird’s attitude. It was simply curious about them. Narisa thought she must be going mad to believe such a thing, but believe it she did. The realization lay firmly in her mind: This bird would not harm them.

  Behind Narisa’s guardian’s back, Tarik tossed and moaned.

  “He’s sick,” Narisa said. “He may die, and I don’t know what to do. Why couldn’t you have been an intelligent life form?”

  The bird looked directly at her, cocking its head, then turned away. As it did so, one of its wings brushed against her bare arms and hands. The contact lasted only an instant, and when it was broken, Narisa felt an almost uncontrollable urge to put out both hands and touch the bird again. She did not, for she had just seen something she had not noticed while the bird stood quietly with folded wings. Now the wings were open, and Narisa could see that at the last joint on each wing there were three clawed fingers, which were separate from the wing itself and clearly capable of independent movement. It seemed to her that the bird had the bones for three more fingers, but those were incorporated into the last segment of each wing. She had ample opportunity to look, for both wings were fully spread as the bird flew to a branch of a nearby tree and, using the three fingers on one wing, plucked a yellow-green fruit. It flew back to land close to Tarik and laid the fruit next to his head.

  “What are you doing?” Narisa cried. It did not seem at all strange to be talking to a bird. This was like no bird she had ever seen before, and much of her earlier fear of it had dissipated.

  Tarik turned his head toward the bird, his eyes closed, moaning from pain and fever. The bird bent down, and using its beak, gently pushed the fruit toward Tarik’s mouth.

  “You want him to eat it?” Narisa was beginning to understand the bird’s purpose. “But he’s sick. He can’t eat.”

  “Chon,” the bird said. “Chon-chon. Chon.”

  The sound was so sudden and unexpected that Narisa stumbled backward a pace or two. The bird waited. Narisa moved forward again and, kneeling beside Tarik, picked up the fruit.

  “I wonder what it is?” she murmured, turning the smooth yellow-green globe over in her hands. It was perfectly round, with no markings at all except the stem, and it fit easily into her palm. “How do you eat it? Is it safe?”

  It contained juice. That knowledge lay as solidly in her mind as had the earlier belief that the bird would not hurt her. Juice. Tarik needed liquid. The high fever was burning off the fluids in his body, Narisa knew that much. She had tried bringing him water cupped in a large leaf, but he had refused to take it. Perhaps he would drink the juice contained in this fruit. Might it harm him? Did she dare feed him an untested food?

  She barely hesitated. Tarik was going to die soon anyway. She might as well ignore Service regulations and take the risk.

  She found the knife in the tool kit and carefully cut a hole in the fruit. The smooth skin was thick, and she had to press the knife hard. When she finally got through to the liquid center of the fruit, some of the juice spurted out onto her hands. She brought a finger to her lips. It tasted tangy, refreshing, unlike anything she had ever encountered before. Just the few drops that had touched her tongue made her feel happier, more hopeful.

  She sat beside Tarik, lifted his head onto her knee, and when he opened his mouth to groan, she poured a little of the juice into him. He choked at first, but then he swallowed it, and she gave him some more. Nothing happened.

  “How will I know how much to give him?” Narisa asked the b
ird, who stood quietly watching her. Tarik opened his mouth as if asking for more, and she poured the rest of the juice into his mouth. The fruit was empty. Narisa set it on the ground and cradled Tarik’s head in her arms, hoping she had not killed him. She smoothed his hair and laid her cheek against the top of his head, wondering what would happen next.

  She had disobeyed Service regulations repeatedly, drinking untested water, treating a sick man when she had no medical knowledge, and now feeding him some mysterious fruit juice. She could be court-martialed and imprisoned for the things she had done in the last two days, yet the breaking of so many of the rules to which she had held so firmly for ten years was now unimportant. The Service to which she was dedicated, the Capital and the Assembly, Belta and the Cetans, were all part of a distant past that scarcely mattered at all in this strange new place. She still had sense enough to recognize what was happening to her.

  “The fruit,” she whispered to the watching bird. “It’s the juice, isn’t it? I only tasted a drop or two, and I’m so relaxed and sleepy I can’t stay awake any longer. What will it do to Tarik? He drank most of it. I’ve killed him. He was my responsibility, and I’ve killed him.”

  Chapter Three

  Narisa wakened to find herself huddled against Tarik. It must be morning. The sun was still low, and a few shafts of pale orange sunlight filtered through the trees. Beyond her feet she could see wisps of mist drifting up from the stream. She stretched, feeling Tarik’s comfortable warmth next to her, and turned over, pressing her back against his side. She sighed contentedly, feeling remarkably well for a woman who had trekked across a burning desert only a day ago.

  No, not a day ago. She sat up. She had done this before, wakened in just this spot, and Tarik had been burning with fever, and she had tried to help him, and then had given him something … and killed him.