by Speer, Flora
“I can tell. It’s much more comfortable now.” The stale odor was gone, and the temperature was nearly ideal. Around the base of the dome a system of indirect lighting shone, illuminating the carved frieze and lending a soft glow to the white room. Narisa could see through the window in the top of the dome that it was night. Tarik had gotten the lights working just in time.
He had found furniture, too, probably in the storerooms they had only glanced into earlier. A table and two low, cushioned chairs had been set out near the couch where Dulan had lain. The original cushions were gone from the couch, as was the thick layer of dust. New cushions covered with blue-green fabric padded the couch. The large central room looked almost like a home.
“Have you been able to get much information out of it?” Narisa asked Tarik, who had turned back to the computer-communicator. She did not suggest trying to call the Capital. Tarik’s earlier anger against her had vanished completely, and she did not want to annoy him again. Nor did she mention her tearful outburst at Dulan’s grave. It would only embarrass her to speak of it now.
“I haven’t had time to begin researching the history of Dulan’s settlement,” Tarik told her. “I’ve been more concerned with our practical needs. When I found the heat source for the water, I discovered it is also used for cooking and for heating the entire building. It’s in a subterranean room and it’s really very ingenious. There are hot springs on this island. The water from them is pumped into the room below this, where it’s stored until needed. I’ll show it to you tomorrow. Fortunately for us, Dulan had turned off the valve that lets the hot water into the tanks, and then had drained the entire system. Once I opened the valve and flushed out the pipes, it worked perfectly.”
“Then we could make hot food. If only we had something to cook.”
“That is just what I’ve been checking.” Tarik indicated the console. “There is a record in here of everything in the storerooms. I’m certain the food we found is safe to eat. So is the water, in case you were worrying, both the lake and hot springs.”
“How wonderful. I’m so hungry, and I never did like those compressed wafers.”
“You won’t have to eat them anymore. Why don’t you use the bathing room while I finish what I’m doing here? Then I’ll clean myself up, and we’ll have a feast.”
“Where is my uniform?”
“I spread it out in one of the storerooms until it’s dry enough to shake off the dirt. Use some of the clothing left in the personal rooms. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Narisa nodded agreement and went to see what she could find. Service uniforms were made of a specially formulated material that kept the wearer warm or cool as necessary, and never needed to be cleaned. When a uniform got wet, as hers had, it needed only to be dried, then shaken hard to release any dirt trapped in the fibers. Aboard ship, with its clean, filtered air, Narisa had never felt uncomfortable wearing the same uniform day after day. But on this planet, after tramping across a desert and through a forest, she found she did not want to put it on again.
She quickly overcame any scruples she had about using the clothing of Dulan’s long-dead friends, and selected a silvery gray robe from one of the drawers in the room she had been using, and a pair of matching low-heeled slippers that had straps only across the toes. They were a little small, but they would do.
Tarik had stocked the bathing room with cleansers, some of them scented, and after washing her much-worn undergarments and hanging them to dry, Narisa luxuriated in hot water and perfume until she felt clean once more. The silver robe she had chosen was simply styled, with a wide round neck and long loose sleeves, both edged with pale blue braid. There was a matching braid sash, which she fastened about her slender waist. It had been a long time since she had worn anything other than a Service uniform. She found she liked the feeling of the smooth, delicate material against her skin and the way the skirt of the gown moved against her bare legs when she walked back into the central room.
“I’ve finished, if you want to bathe,” she said to Tarik.
He was still bending over the console. He looked up as she spoke and straightened slowly. He stared at her like one entranced, taking in every detail of her appearance, from her freshly washed golden brown hair and lovely face to the exquisite robe she wore and the delicate sandals showing beneath the garment’s shining folds.
“‘So fair she takes the breath of men away who gaze upon her …’“ he whispered. “You are unbelievably beautiful, Narisa.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back, stunned by his reaction. No one had ever called her beautiful before. She was absurdly pleased by the compliment. As for his strange, rhythmic words, they reminded her of the broken phrases he had uttered while he was sick and only partly conscious. She was going to ask him about that, had her mouth opened to do so, when he spoke.
“I had better use the bathing room at once,” he said, rubbing his face with one hand and thereby streaking mud more thoroughly across his cheeks. “I’m ashamed to be in the same room with you when you look so lovely and I’m in this condition. I’ll do something about it right away. I even found something to take off this beard. I won’t be long.”
He disappeared into the bathing room and closed the door. Narisa was going to call after him, to ask if he wanted her to begin preparing their meal, but she heard the water running and knew he couldn’t hear her.
Instead she walked across the room to the console. Tarik had left the computer on. Displayed on the screen was an inventory of one of the storerooms. It listed irradiated and dried food. She touched a few buttons, easily calling up more information on food supplies. Listed in order were the dried herbs and spices she would need to make a stew.
The simple machine was remarkably easy to use, and she stood with her fingers resting lightly on the buttons, wrestling with the temptation they presented. The turmoil in her mind was intensely painful. She wanted to obey Tarik. He was her superior officer, and she owed him her obedience. More than that, she had begun to care for him and therefore wanted to please him by doing as he wished. She did not want to destroy the emotion that had led him to call her beautiful, nor end the tender mood that had enveloped them just minutes ago.
And yet she, who had memorized the rule book, knew they ought to have sent a rescue call as soon as they had the machine working. It was wrong, and possibly dangerous, to delay any longer. Should she do what Tarik wanted and wait, or should she follow Service regulations and send a message?
Deep inside herself she felt she had betrayed the Jurisdiction by her admission that the laws could be unjust. Dulan’s story had shown her how cruel the Act of Banishment was. She felt a deep sympathy toward the telepath, not only because of persecution by an unfair law, but because Dulan had suffered from Cetan depredations in much the same way as Narisa had, losing both family and friends.
But the Jurisdiction taught that telepaths were wicked. She felt guilty for caring about Dulan. Perhaps, she reasoned, obeying regulations by sending a message would alleviate her guilt.
Then there was the matter of what the Cetans had done to the Reliance. She owed it to her dead shipmates to return to the Capital and report what had happened. The Service might be able to use the information she could provide, to hunt down and punish the Cetan ship responsible for the attack. The crew of the Reliance deserved that much from her.
They deserved it from Tarik, too, but Narisa was convinced he would find excuses to delay sending a message, if, indeed, he ever sent one. She believed he had become so enthralled by this strange new world, and so eager to remain, that he had forgotten his duty.
She knew her own responsibility to the Service. It had been drilled into her for more than ten years, and she had accepted it, knowing the Service and its regulations must come before anything else in her life. Regulations required her to send a message, and send it at once.
Tarik would be furious with her if she went ahead and did it. His tenderness toward her would end as quickly as
the mist evaporated off the lake at dawn.
Tarik was wrong. He was disobeying regulations.
Narisa could hear the water still running behind the closed door of the bathing room. She forced herself to stop thinking any more of those painful, conflicting thoughts. She pushed to the back of her mind Tarik’s insistence on waiting. She tried to forget her feelings for him. She could allow herself only one thought.
Duty to the Service first. Duty…
She punched in the standard rescue call and held the SEND button down for as long as she dared.
Chapter Six
When Tank reappeared, the exact display he had left on the computer screen was still showing, and Narisa was just coming out of one of the storage rooms with an armful of food packets. She stopped short, staring at him in much the same way as he had looked at her earlier.
Tarik was not only clean, he was shaved. She thought how attractive his sharp-featured face was, long and narrow and rather pale, as though carved out of some fine, smoothly polished stone. He had chosen a deep crimson robe, made in the same simple style as Narisa’s, but left unbelted. The neck and sleeves were edged with wide bands of blue and gold embroidery.
“You look splendid,” Narisa said. “Like some grand ancient ruler.”
“That’s appropriate,” he responded, smiling at her.
“Really? Why?” Narisa returned his smile, but nervously, as she moved toward the kitchen. She knew she had done the right thing in sending the rescue call, and she searched her mind for the relief she believed she should feel after having made that difficult decision.
Even now, somewhere far out in the galaxy, Service spaceships were receiving the signal and determining where it had originated. It was a good thing their instruments could do that, since she did not have an exact idea where she was. But she was certain that Service ships would find them soon.
“I’ll tell you later,” Tarik said, taking some of the food packets she was carrying.
“Tell me what?”
“Why it’s appropriate for me to look like an ancient person.” He laughed at her. “What are you thinking of, Narisa? Your mind is somewhere off in space.”
“No, it’s not,” she said quickly. “I was only thinking about the stew I’m going to make.”
“I’ll help you.” He followed her into the kitchen.
It was a small room, white, as were all the others in this building, and made even smaller by a wide ledge around three sides of it, upon which food could be prepared. A heating surface for cooking took up one section. Narisa reached for the button to turn the heat on, and bumped into Tarik.
“I’ll do it.” He leaned across her, his arm brushing her right breast as he did so. Narisa caught her breath at the contact and stepped back a pace. Tarik turned on the heat, then reached behind her to pick up one of the food packets she had laid on the counter. Narisa was still moving backward when she stepped on his toes.
“Careful, please.” His face was very close to hers.
“I’m sorry.” She turned around and found herself almost in his arms. “It’s cramped in here.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” He made what Narisa believed was an entirely unnecessary reach over her shoulder toward the counter, which brought his mouth to within a millimeter of the sensitive place where her throat and shoulder met. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. “You used the scented cleanser,” he murmured.
“Tarik, please, you’re pushing me against the hot section.”
“Then come here.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her against him. She looked straight into his night-dark eyes. His voice was soft, caressing her when he said her name. “Narisa.”
She knew he wanted to kiss her. She wanted it, too, wanted to feel again the way the pressure of his hard body had made her feel when they kissed in the rain. She fought valiantly for self-control.
“We will never eat,” she told him severely, “if I can’t prepare the stew. And I can’t do that if we keep bumping into each other.”
“Then you stay here.” He moved her to face the heated section of the counter. “And I’ll work over here. We need a good meal first.”
First? Before what? Narisa’s heart began to pound. Did Tarik mean what she thought he meant, that he wanted to make love to her? Lovemaking would mean nothing to him, for he loved Suria, not Narisa. She should never forget that. Tarik might believe they would be marooned on this planet forever, and Narisa would be the only woman available. In that case, it would still mean nothing to him.
But the truth, Narisa admitted silently to herself as she tore open a packet of irradiated vegetables, was that she wanted Tarik to make love to her. She was already entirely too fond of him. She warned herself to be very careful, lest she give away her heart completely, and it be broken. She forced out of her mind the image of a naked Tarik lying next to her on a couch, and directed all her attention to the food she was preparing.
In a surprisingly short time, considering how unfamiliar both the food and implements were, they turned the food packets into an appetizing stew, which sent its delicious odor wafting throughout the building. There were round, flat loaves of dry bread to sop up the juices, and Tarik had discovered a supply of distilled spirits in one of the storerooms.
“It’s not Falernian wine,” he said, opening a glazed ceramic bottle and sniffing at the contents, “but it will do.”
“What is Falernian wine?”
“The Romans used to drink it.”
“Romans?” Narisa looked blank, then remembered. “Oh, yes, on Old Earth. I see now why you said your robe is appropriate. It’s because you can talk about ancient things.”
“Only to you, Narisa. To no one else, not for long years. I love history, real history, not the censored and carefully molded version taught in the Jurisdiction. Most people have no idea what hardships our ancestors endured in ancient times, or how difficult it was for them to leave Earth and settle throughout the galaxy. It’s a wonder the Race survived all the wars and the terrible accidents. There were times when whole planets died.”
“You’ve said that before, that the Jurisdiction doesn’t teach the truth about our past.”
“It doesn’t.”
Narisa, still feeling guilty about her earlier defection from total loyalty to the Jurisdiction, wanted to argue the point, but decided to let it drop in favor of not spoiling his agreeable mood or the meal they were about to eat.
They laid the food on the table Tarik had placed in the central room, along with spoons and bowls for the stew. Tarik found cups for the liquor, and larger ones for a hot herbal drink he had brewed according to a recipe Dulan, or someone, had put into the computer. He pulled out one of the cushioned chairs for Narisa, seating her with a deep bow and a wave of one hand that made her laugh at his exaggerated formality. He took the other chair, across the table from her, and tasted the stew she had ladled into their bowls.
“This is delicious. Far superior to wafers.” He began to eat with the relish of a half-starved man.
“Tarik,” she said, changing the subject, “when you were sick you kept saying the strangest things. The bread, and your talk about wine, reminded me.”
“Of what?” His eyes were twinkling. “Did I tell you all my secrets?”
“Among other things, you talked about a loaf of bread and a jug of wine.”
“Poetry.” He took another mouthful of stew.
“Poetry?”
“It’s like the words to a song, but without the music.”
“I know what poetry is. What you said did not sound like any poetry I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s from Old Earth.”
“Always Old Earth. You were born in the wrong time and place, Tarik.” Narisa sipped the liquor. It had a sweet, fiery taste and made her head swim a little, but she liked it.
“I agree with you.” Tarik broke one of the round loaves of bread into halves and gave her part of it. Then he poured a little more of the liquor into their cu
ps. “I would rather have lived in ancient days, when men made their own destinies and were not forced to obey Jurisdiction laws, or follow the paths laid down for them by others.”
“Do you want anarchy?”
“No, only a little freedom. I have always done as I was ordered to do, Narisa. I had no desire to rebel and be sent to a detention planet. Had I been free to do what I wanted, I would have been a scholar, not a spaceman. I’d have written accurate history, and a little bad poetry, and I’d have been content.”
Narisa was silent, fingering her cup and wondering if Tarik had had too much from the ceramic bottle.
“And you,” he went on. “You told me once you became a navigator to please your father. Had you pleased yourself, what would you have done?”
“I don’t know. I never let myself think about it. I did as I was told to do.”
“Have you been happy?”
“As happy as anyone ever is.” She thought for a moment, considering how much to reveal to him, then said, “Ever since we landed on this planet, I have felt strangely confused. At first I thought it was the effect of the crash. Later, I thought it was the desert sun and lack of water, or the juice we swallowed. Now I don’t know what it is. I watched the sun rise this morning and felt happy just to be in the midst of that beauty. I see one of the birds appear, and I’m filled with delight at its presence. I never cry, yet I did today. My feelings about so many things are changing. Like the way I think of you. I used to -” She stopped.
“Dislike me?” he finished for her. “Don’t deny it; I know you did.” The lack of anger in his tone gave her the courage to say what she otherwise would have left unspoken. Or perhaps it was the liquor that loosened her tongue.
“It was you who resented me,” she said softly. “From the very first. Because of Suria.”
“Suria? What do you mean?”
“Because I was given her post. You wanted her as navigator, not me.”
