Venus Rising

by Speer, Flora

  “I think,” Narisa said, “that we ought to try talking to some of the top Service officers. They always enjoy fighting Cetans, and they would certainly like to have Starthruster. They might listen to us.”

  “Not while you have a Cetan for a friend,” Almaric told her.

  “Gaidar is not a friend.” Narisa still could not accept that idea. “But he is an honest person who has dealt fairly with us, and both Tarik and I gave him our word he would not be harmed by anyone at the Capital. We are therefore obligated to keep him safe, no matter what it takes, no matter who does not believe us.”

  “I want you to know I do believe you.” Almaric looked upon Narisa with growing respect. “I admire your honesty, and the faithfulness with which you are determined to carry out your word. Please believe that not all Members of the Assembly are as foolish as our Leader and his friends.”

  “Tell her all of it, Father,” Tarik urged. “You know as well as I do that Tyre and his adherents are something more than foolish. Corrupt and incompetent would be a better description.”

  “I wish you would choose your words more carefully.” Almaric was silent tor a moment. Then, seeming to make some inner decision, he continued, speaking directly to Narisa. “Unfortunately, you and Tarik and Gaidar have been caught in my political conflicts with Leader Tyre. He and his friends were predisposed to disbelieve your story because my son told it.”

  “Surely you have your own adherents among the Members,” Narisa said.

  “I have. Most of them wisely kept silent today, not wanting to rouse Tyre to some hasty action that would be unfavorable to any of you, or to me. When the question of your punishment for defying the Assembly is raised, they will vote with me: Tyre is well aware of my growing power. That is why he released you and Tarik to me, to pacify me and my friends, and perhaps also to put us off guard.

  “Tonight and tomorrow,” Almaric continued, “I will meet privately with several close friends who I feel certain will be as alarmed as I am by your story. We can gather a group of like-minded Members together, and through protracted debate we will eventually force the entire Assembly to agree that something must be done.”

  “We don’t have time for political maneuvering,” Tarik said impatiently. “The Cetans are gathering near Belta right now to refit their ships.”

  “Belta is many light-years away from the Capital,” said Kalina, who had been listening silently yet intently to the discussion.

  “Haven’t you understood, Mother? With Starthruster installed on each Cetan ship, Belta is only two days away from the Capital.”

  “Then,” said Kalina calmly, “there is only one thing to do. Send for Halvo. “

  “I tell my fellow Members that Kalina is the secret of my success in the Assembly.” Almaric actually laughed, much pleased with his wife. “They think I am being modest, yet you have just heard the proof of my assertion. Were this room not completely secure, had anyone recordings of our conversations in here over the last forty years, I would stand unmasked. Halvo is exactly the person to help us.”

  “I should have thought of him myself, Father, and so should you,” Tarik said ruefully. “Where is he?”

  “Just one day from here,” Kalina replied. “What more natural than for a mother to want both her sons home at the same time, especially when they have been away for so long? I will transmit a message to him at once. I will use the secret words we agreed upon to let him know it is an urgent call. He will come.” She rose and headed for the door.

  “Do you mean Admiral Halvo?” Narisa asked, impressed. Tarik had never mentioned his brother’s name to her. “He is your son?”

  “He is,” Kalina replied proudly. “Is there anything else you wish to say before I open the door? Almaric? Tarik?”

  “I will go to find my friends from the Assembly.” Almaric rose, too. “If they are alerted, there may be something we can do when Halvo arrives.”

  “Father, a request. Will you ask Jon to visit me?”

  “Your old teacher? Yes, certainly.” Almaric paused by the door. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “A few minutes here, to speak freely with Narisa.”

  “Seal the door after we leave,” Kalina told him. “When you have finished, Narisa, there will be a servant in the corridor to take you to your guest chamber. Tarik, your old room is being prepared for you.” She came back to kiss her son again before leaving him alone with Narisa.

  She had stood up when Tarik’s parents did. She watched him seal the door, uncertain what he would say or do. He looked so serious.

  “The most important thing to remember, Narisa, is that every room in the house, except this one, probably has at least one eavesdropping device hidden somewhere in it. That is why this room is essential. You cannot speak freely outside it, not even in the garden. Somewhere in the Assembly chambers, some adherent of Leader Tyre is listening to every word he can hear, hoping we will say something to prove our story a lie, or discredit my father.”

  “I will remember. Tarik, I am truly sorry I sent out that rescue call. You would not be in danger from the Assembly if I hadn’t done it, and it’s clear to me our coming here won’t make any difference to the Jurisdiction’s defenses.” She wanted to tell him she now knew he had been right in everything he had said about the Assembly, and probably about the Service, too, but Tarik stopped her with words and actions.

  “I am not sorry.” He caught her face between his hands. “You did the correct thing, Narisa. If you hadn’t, no one would know about the Cetan plan until it was too late. I was angry because you sent out a message without my express permission as your superior officer, and because I wanted, very foolishly, to stay on that peaceful planet, alone with you. But you were right, and I was wrong and selfish. Difficult as our situation is, we belong here, trying to convince the Assembly we are telling the truth, doing everything we can to save the Races who live within the Jurisdiction. We will find a way to do that. I know it.”

  “I miss the planet,” Narisa said, “and the birds. Especially the birds. At the end, I wanted to stay there, too.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Just the two of us, alone together. At least we are together now. We have this short time, if nothing else, my love. Until the Cetans come.”

  She was hypnotized by his purple-blue eyes, by his wide, tender mouth so close to her own. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he brought her face, still clasped between his hands, forward until their lips touched lightly, separated, then met again more firmly.

  They were shaken by a gust of passion so intense neither of them could resist it. They clung to each other, swaying, until Tarik caught her beneath her knees to lift her off her feet, and they sank together upon the soft Demarian carpets. Tarik pulled open the clasps of her jacket, searching for her breasts, while Narisa tore at his uniform, and then her own, wanting his hot flesh on hers. All the time their mouths touched as both were unwilling to lose that sweet contact for an instant. Finally they were naked. Narisa’s hands roved over his beautiful, tightly muscled body, while he caressed and probed gently with his fingertips, driving her wild with ever-rising desire. They came together, fitting so perfectly they might have been two halves of one body, and Narisa cried out in joyful release, hearing Tank’s answering cry, and then his murmured words telling her he loved her, loved her, loved her….

  “And I love you,” she whispered back, and felt his arms encircling her even more tightly, felt his mouth on her throat and cheeks, and then her lips, and they ended their love-making as they had begun it, with their lips touching lightly again and yet again.

  Narisa was conducted to the guest chamber that would be hers by a tiny Demarian maidservant, a creature scarcely out of childhood, who said, between giggles, that her name was Chatta. Narisa’s room, like the rest of the house except the secure room, was ornately decorated in typical Jurisdiction style, with dark green and deep red covering walls and floors and oversized carved furniture. The windows were long and narr
ow and heavily draped in red and green fabric so that little natural light could enter. This lack was offset by black metal torchieres placed at intervals along each wall. The upward flaring light from these lamps cast strange patterns on the carved molding where the walls met the ceiling, and made dark shadows around draperies and furniture. The bed was huge, covered with a dark green fabric that seemed to absorb most of the artificial light. Narisa had never thought much about decor or furniture, but she suddenly felt oppressed by her surroundings. She found herself longing for the serene simplicity of Dulan’s glistening white island retreat.

  “The bathing room is here,” Chatta announced, giggling again. “My mistress Kalina has ordered fresh clothing to be brought to you, so you may wear something other than your uniform for the evening meal.”

  Narisa, who had followed Chatta through the pointed archway into the next room, nodded without listening very closely to what the maid was saying. She could not take her eyes off the tub. It was big enough to hold at least six people. In contrast to the gloomy dark red walls of the bathing room, the tub was of deepest green stone, with lighter green streaks swirling through it. The openings for water were gold, shaped like the heads of Demarian leopard-wolves, and there was a twisted gold railing along one side of the three steps that led down into the tub.

  “I would rather swim in the lake,” she said, sighing.

  “We have no lake here,” Chatta said with a giggle, turning a lever to start the water flowing. She opened a green glass bottle, letting a heavy odor fill the room. “Do you wish scent?”

  “No,” Narisa said hastily, wrinkling her nose. “Nothing. Just plain water and plain cleanser.” She should not have mentioned the lake. She had to remember Tarik’s warning about eavesdroppers, and little Chatta might report anything she said.

  Chatta added cleanser to the bubbling water. Narisa pulled off her uniform and underclothes, folded them neatly on a carved black and red bench, and then stepped into the tub. She sat on the lowest step and let the warm water foam up about her shoulders. She felt pleasantly relaxed after her love-making with Tarik. She did not want to think about what might happen to both of them, and to Gaidar. Just for a little while she wanted to revel in being a woman in love. She slipped dreamily backward into the water, wetting her hair. As she lifted her arms to begin washing it, Chatta started giggling again. Narisa wished the silly girl would stop. She was beginning to break Narisa’s peaceful, romantic mood.

  “Oh, Mistress Narisa,” Chatta said, laughing and pointing one small finger. “You are hairy.”

  “Hairy?” Narisa stopped scrubbing her head and stared at the maid.

  “Your arms,” Chatta said between giggles. “And your legs, too. I noticed them when you undressed. How very funny. I have never seen a woman so hairy.”

  “It’s not funny at all,” Narisa said patiently. “Commander Tarik and I were marooned without supplies. We haven’t been able to take our pills for more than eight days. Of course I have hair on my body, and he has a beard.” It had started growing once again after they left the island, for the Cetans favored beards and did not stock the pills aboard their ships. Tarik looked as rough-faced now as he had when they first reached Dulan’s island.

  “I saw him.” Chatta continued her giggling. “Commander Tarik looks almost as fierce as a Cetan warrior. Isn’t it fortunate the pills are only for body hair? It’s not like the ancient days. Now we have an injection each year for the other, and we don’t have to worry about forgetting and breaking the law.”

  “You are too young to talk about such things,” Narisa said, starting to wash her hair again. But Chatta would not be silenced.

  “Next year I will have my first injection,” she announced proudly.

  Narisa recalled her own excitement when the time came for her first annual injection. It was an important turning point in life for every boy and girl. The law Chatta had mentioned dated from the days, centuries before, when a series of medical advances had made overpopulation a problem on all but the most inhospitable planets. The Assembly had passed a law requiring every citizen of the Jurisdiction, of whatever Race, to have an annual anti-fertility injection. The same law made it necessary to apply for permission before reproducing. The law had worked well. Jurisdiction population had stabilized. In some places it had actually dropped off in the last century or two with Cetan raids destroying large numbers of the Races, but the Assembly had never bothered to repeal the law. The Assembly, Narisa reminded herself sourly, disliked any kind of change. The Reproduction Law had been in effect for so long that most people accepted it without question. But Narisa had lately begun to question a great many things. She floated in the warm, soapy water, wondering what it would be like to have Tarik’s child, to hold a tiny body in her arms and know the two of them had created it with their love.

  “Mistress Narisa?” Chatta’s giggly voice broke into her dreamy thoughts. “What shall we do about your body hair? It is not fashionable, you know.”

  “I do look awful, don’t I?” Narisa found her own laughter matching Chatta’s. “Can you find me some shaving equipment so I’ll be presentable tonight? Remind me tomorrow to ask the Service for another supply of pills.”

  The gown Chatta brought her to wear was of heavy dark green fabric, intricately draped and folded and gathered on the left shoulder with a huge red stone clasp. Every possible edge of the dress was decorated with a wide band of dark red embroidery.

  As she followed Chatta through gloomy deep green corridors and down wide red stone staircases, Narisa felt dragged down and encumbered by the weight and complexity of the garment. At least her right arm and shoulder were bare. She had refused to wear any of the heavy jewelry Chatta offered to her, but she had given in and allowed the little maidservant to draw her hair into a thin gold band, which held the golden brown tresses away from her face, pulling them up onto the back of her head.

  Chatta also insisted on painting Narisa’s face, lining her eyes with wide streaks of gray powder until they looked deep and mysterious, the gold flecks in the gray irises showing clearly. Then Chatta tinted Narisa’s cheeks and lips with coral polish, and buffed all her nails with a matching coral powder. High-heeled slippers in a shade to match the dress completed her costume. Narisa, accustomed to flat Service boots, found it necessary to negotiate each steep, polished stone stairway with great care.

  Along their way they were joined by two of the guards who had accompanied Almaric’s party from the Assembly chambers to his house. The men said nothing; they simply fell into step with the two women, one ahead of Narisa and to her left, the other a little behind her and to her right. Their positions served to remind Narisa she was a prisoner. She could not, for instance, walk through the main entrance, which she saw just ahead, and stand on the top outside step breathing fresh air, which was what she wanted to do. She felt as though the dark colors and heavy decor of Almaric’s home were stifling her.

  Chatta looked frightened when the men appeared. She was pale as she turned to the left, away from the entrance, and beckoned Narisa to follow her down a corridor. She showed Narisa to a wide double door of black carved wood. There she stopped.

  “I was told to bring you here,” Chatta said nervously. “I will return to your bedchamber to wait for you there.”

  The maidservant fled, and one of the guards opened the doors for Narisa. She walked past him, into the room where they were to eat. It had shiny black floors, deep red walls and a series of black and gold lamps hanging from the ceiling over a long table of polished red stone. But this room was not as oppressive as the others she had seen, because one long wall was a series of pointed arches opening onto a wide terrace. Beyond the terrace lay a garden, with a fountain splashing into a tiny pool. It was a carefully tended garden, and artificially heated in this cold season on the Capital planet, but over-cultivated or not, it contained the fresh growing plants and trees for which her spirit longed. She went through an arch onto the terrace, her guards following at a disc
reet distance.

  Tarik was there in Service uniform, shaved and with his hair freshly trimmed. He was so handsome her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He came to her at once and took her hand.

  “You look,” he said, “like a wealthy and very elegant Demarian woman.”

  “I feel most unnatural.”

  “I remember a simple silver-gray robe.” His night-blue eyes twinkled. “A robe you did not keep on for very long.”

  “This one would be more difficult for you to remove.” Her heart was thudding hard in her chest. How she wished he could unclasp the red stone brooch at her left shoulder, unfold the fabric and unfasten all the clips and clasps and loops of her gown to free her from its weight, and then take her hand again and lead her out into the garden, under the trees, amongst the low-growing flowers and the sweet-scented leaves. When he smiled at her, she knew he felt the same way.

  He touched her lips with his fingertips. The gesture was as gentle as a kiss, yet silenced anything else she might have said, recalling her to the present, to the elderly man who stood behind him, and to the guards waiting in the shadows of a nearby archway. Then she remembered with a start just where they stood, and that it was unsafe to speak too freely.

  “This is Jon Tanon,” Tarik said, “my old teacher and a dear friend. It was Jon who first awakened me to the uses of history.”

  Narisa held her breath. She hoped Tarik would say nothing to betray his opinions about the Jurisdiction version of history. Not with the guards standing so near. She and Tarik and Gaidar were in enough trouble already. They didn’t need anything else for the Assembly to blame on them. To her relief, Tarik launched into a funny story about his school days, during which Narisa was able to study the elderly man.

  The teacher was short, plump, with white hair thinning on top, blue eyes and a round pink face presently wreathed in an infectious smile as he listened to Tarik’s account of his student days.