Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  I, on the other hand, wasn’t so crazy about the idea. Reever’s main motive for joining the crew, I suspected, had nothing to do with getting a free ride, and a lot to do with me.

  “Are you trying to be funny?” I asked.

  Reever simply gestured for me to proceed him into the gyrlift. He was always so calm, so controlled. I could smack him just for that.

  The gyrlifts whirled around the outer hull spirals, transporting crew members from one end of the ship to the other. The concept that you could walk one corridor and tour the entire ship from top to bottom always confused me. Apparently Jorenian engineers had planned vessel construction very cannily. How the tech involved worked was far beyond the limits of my attention span.

  It worked, that was the important thing.

  The Sunlace resembled an elongated Terran nautilus sea shell in design. The hull was one big, revolving corkscrew, while the vessel’s stardrive had the capability of boring through dimensional barriers. That enabled the Captain to whisk the Sunlace away from any threat in a hurry.

  A shame I couldn’t do the same thing whenever Reever showed up.

  I shouldn’t have felt that way about another human being, but Reever wasn’t exactly an ordinary Terran. He’d been born and raised in space, and had traveled extensively around the galaxy with his parents. During his childhood, something had happened that prevented him from displaying normal human emotion. Or maybe he never learned how. Reever didn’t exactly gush at length about himself.

  He turned to me. “You are scheduled for the sojourn to NessNevat.”

  “Yeah, I am. Have you ever been on this planet before?” I hated to make small talk. I was lousy at it.

  “You haven’t been accessing your relays again.” At my blank look, he frowned. “I sent you a concise briefing on the planet’s native inhabitants.”

  “I’m so sorry.” A lie. “I’ve been busy.” The truth. “Why don’t you give me the short version?” Wishful thinking.

  “According to available commerce reports, the NessNevat are humanoid, warm-blooded, five sensory, verbal, highly intelligent life-forms.”

  “Why are we relying on traders for data?”

  “They have had the only contact with this species. The information appears to reflect relatively accurate accounts.”

  I didn’t question his opinion. Duncan Reever’s parents were the first intergalactic anthropologists to leave Terra. He knew more about alien species than anyone on the ship. I’d never even met a nonhuman until I’d left Terra.

  He continued briefing me. Knowing him, I’d eventually hear the entire textdata on the NessNevat, down to how many crops they planted per season, or whatever. I held up one hand when he took a breath. “Never mind. Why are we stopping here?”

  “The NessNevat species are not on the Jorenian database. The Captain considered our close proximity to be an excellent opportunity to make initial contact. The planet is one of the few in the region with compatible fuel sources, as well.”

  “Sounds great.” I stopped the gyrlift at level ten. “Excuse me, I’m going to get something to eat.”

  Reever followed me out. “I’ll join you.”

  Lucky me.

  Located three levels below the Medical Bay, the Galley was a popular gathering spot for communal meals and conversation. Although a portion of the crew (like me) usually dined in their quarters with their families (unlike me), others preferred a more sociable atmosphere. Part of the level was sectioned off and used as a recreation area. I spent considerable time there losing my credits to Dhreen and Xonea at the whump-tables.

  Reever and I went to the prep units, and selected our meals. The usual post-shift tension, combined with worrying over Fasala, had ruined my appetite, so I chose something light.

  “Healer Cherijo.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall, stunning Jorenian woman walking toward me. I didn’t know her name, but judging by the color of her tunic, she was one of the teachers. Since I couldn’t make a clean getaway, I set down my tray and waited.

  A Terran gazelle bounding across the Serengeti would have looked knock-kneed compared to this goddess. My envy of the natural, graceful beauty of the female Torins was a familiar pang now. They were both ethereal and earthy. Long-limbed. Generously curved.

  Oh, to be honest, they were all goddesses.

  This one possessed exquisite features: feathery black brows, slanted white-within-white eyes, lush lashes, an aristocratic nose, and sculpted lips. Emerald gem clips studded her thick crown of intricately coiled raven tresses. Her embroidered aquamarine tunic was immaculate. More green gems winked at her ears, wrists, and fingers.

  I could hate her without much effort, I decided. “Hello.”

  I got the usual supple gesture of salutation in return. I couldn’t do that, either. Not without extensive remedial training.

  “Ktarka Torin,” she said, introducing herself. “Educator, Talot Province.”

  The Jorenians liked to give me name, occupation or rank, and birthplace when we chatted for the first time. I had no idea why. “What can I do for you, Educator Torin?”

  Ktarka smiled at Reever, who stood waiting next to me. “I desire but a moment of your time, ClanCousin. The educator staff would very much like to give you this.” She thrust a small folded package into my hand. “A token of our appreciation.”

  I unwrapped it. Inside was a pendant, the kind Jorenian females sometimes wore attached to their vocollars. The dark, polished stone felt cool against my fingers as I touched it. I knew better than to refuse. Jorenians were very sensitive about things like personal gifts. “This is gorgeous, Educator. Thank you.” And why was I getting it?

  She took it and attached it to my vocollar. “You devote much time to the children, Healer. The teaching staff has been negligent in expressing our gratitude.”

  All I’d done was play some games with them and put together a sandbox for the littlest ones. “You really didn’t have to do this. I think I have more fun than the kids do.”

  She adjusted my vocollar, then smiled. “You are as generous as you are wise.” With another fluidic gesture, she returned to her table, where four more educators sat beaming at me.

  “The crew has grown extremely fond of you,” Reever said as he dialed up a strange-looking concoction of vegetables and protein for himself.

  “No kidding.” I gave the educators a little wave.

  We sat down and I eyed his meal. Whatever he had programmed resembled organic refuse. It smelled worse. It couldn’t be a Jorenian dish. Their noses weren’t as sensitive as mine, but they still functioned.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Serada baked with shredded nyilophstian root. A favorite of mine from childhood.”

  “Your childhood where?” I leaned over and sniffed.

  Yep. I’d smelled nicer backed-up disposal units. “A waste-recycling facility?”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate. Reever was an expert at that.

  “I need to program a meal for you sometime, Reever. Remind me.”

  My own selection smelled great, but was too hot to eat immediately. While it cooled, I sipped my herbal tea and nibbled on a synwheat cracker. The silence went from there to noticeable.

  I tried again. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “There is no problem I am aware of,” he said, giving me another of those enigmatic looks.

  “You just felt like having a meal with me?”

  “I desired your companionship.”

  “Uh-huh.” I tasted my dish once more. The prep unit had successfully incorporated my recipe program. It was delicious. He still wasn’t talking. “Well, here I am.”

  “Yes.”

  This was going to be as challenging as performing open cranial surgery while wearing a blindfold. “Did you have a particular topic you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yes.”

  Make that a blindfold and one hand tied behind my back. “What is it?”

  “I
would like to know your impressions of the Jorenians.”

  That was innocuous enough. “They’re an interesting people. Great to work with. Extremely friendly. Why?”

  Reever lifted his server of tea and gazed over the rim at me. His eyes were nearly as dark as mine today. I didn’t look into them for very long. A soul could get lost in there.

  “Would you prefer less attention from the crew?”

  I shrugged.

  Reever swallowed. Replaced the server. Took a bite of his baked garbage. He chewed it and swallowed again. A faint line appeared between his light brows. “This is not as I recall. My data must be in error.”

  “At least. Here, try mine.” I held out my spoon.

  He looked like a man being asked to sip hydrochloric acid.

  “Liquified synprotein, reconstituted vegetables, and carbohydrates. A dash of sodium chloride. Go on, Reever. Try it. It has to be better than that stuff.”

  Cautiously he tasted it, and his eyes widened.

  “Good?”

  “What do you call that?”

  “Chicken noodle soup.” I gestured toward the prep console. “Go dial some up for yourself. I left the program on the main menu.”

  He left and returned a moment later with his own bowl. The serada was summarily disposed of. I was glad I didn’t have to smell it anymore.

  My turn to initiate polite conversation. I noticed his skin tone was paler than it had been on K-2. No botanical gardens for Reever to dig in on a ship. At last! A neutral topic.

  “What have you been doing these past weeks, Reever?”

  “Extending the linguistic database. Exploring the ship. Interacting with the crew.” He finished his soup in record time. I was impressed. Not one slurp. “And you, Cherijo?”

  “The same, work, finding my way around, making friends. Though I keep getting lost and everyone wants to be my friend.” The intense way he watched me made me self-conscious. I lifted a hand to smooth my hair, then dropped it. “Stop doing that.”

  “Stop doing what?”

  “Staring at me.”

  “I’ve missed you, Joey.”

  The words hung between us. His fair head inclined as one of the crew greeted us in passing. I tried to think of a witty reply. Encountered a blank wall.

  “Reever, I—” I downed the rest of my tea in one gulp.

  “You always do this to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  My lips thinned. “We get to a certain point in the conversation, then you get enigmatic and call me Joey.” And here I’d put all that effort into making polite small talk, too.

  “I have no demands. Only a request.”

  Oh, this I wanted to hear. “What?”

  “Will you spend some off-duty time with me?”

  Now I was getting suspicious. I knew what part of me Reever was really interested in. The convoluted grey stuff between my ears.

  From the first moment we’d met on K-2, Reever had repeatedly established a connection between our minds. Through that telepathic link, he could completely paralyze my body, and access my long-term memories. That was how he’d discovered I was a genetically engineered clone.

  This ability of his didn’t thrill me. In fact, after the first time he’d done it, I’d punched him out.

  Reever claimed he’d never achieved that type of link with another human being before. He could even do it without touching me. Another first. The unique connection we shared was, beyond a doubt, the only attraction I held for him.

  Or was it? Suddenly I felt rather warm.

  He repeated the question. “Will you spend some time with me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Cherijo.” One badly scarred hand crossed the small gap on the table and took my wrist. I pulled back automatically, but he held on. “No. I won’t force you to link with me.”

  “Good idea. You wouldn’t look good with lukewarm chicken noodle soup all over your face.” I let my hand stay where it was, for the moment. Why was it so damn stuffy in here? “Just what do you want, Reever?”

  “I am human,” he said, while his thumb moved back and forth over my knuckles.

  The small, intimate gesture had the most embarrassing effect on me. I could literally feel the color creeping up my damp neck. “Uh-huh. And?”

  He threaded his long fingers through mine. “We share more than you will admit, Cherijo.”

  Okay, I knew what he meant. Although I’d been created in an embryonic chamber, I had the same natural, healthy urges of any human female. Reever knew that from personal experience.

  I felt a trickle of sweat inch down my cheek. “I take it you want more than just the pleasure of holding my hand.”

  “Yes.”

  He’d had more than that already. Reever, manipulated by the Core life form, had attacked me in an isolation chamber back on K-2. Assault quickly turned into a weird kind of seduction. I didn’t cherish the memory of what Reever and I had done on top of that exam pad. That didn’t mean I’d forgotten what it had felt like. In fact, parts of my body were reacting in much the same way right now.

  I cleared my throat. “You’re interested in the more . . . biological stuff.” What was wrong with me? I was acting like a overly hormonal adolescent.

  “Yes,” he said again.

  You’re not a virgin, I reminded myself, so quit acting like one. Kao and I had spent one glorious night together, the memory of which I would cherish forever. All Reever had to offer were one-syllable answers. I need a lot more than that.

  “You refuse.” His hand began to withdraw.

  Feeling distinctly reckless, I decided it was time to ignore my pride and Reever’s lack of human emotion. I needed him. Certainly that was more important than pride now. In fact, it was all I could think about.

  I snatched his hand with mine, and forced my fingers back through his. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

  The words came from him, with great difficulty. I could almost hear them being dragged out, kicking and screaming not to be uttered. “I want you to be with me, to share your experiences. I want to know you, to talk to you. I want to touch you. I want to link with you. I want—”

  “Okay.” I wanted some of the same things. Especially that touching part. “Good enough.”

  His fingers tightened between mine. “You will spend time with me?”

  That was one way to put it. Could he sense the way I was burning up inside? Was that sweat beading above his lip? “Sure.”

  The cold eyes warmed a degree or two. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I felt shaky, but there was no backing out now. Every nerve ending in my body was demanding some attention. What a relief not to have to think about it. I slipped my hand from his and rose from the table.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked me as he stood.

  He needed an appointment? Unmanageable demands surged inside me, overriding what was left of my usual caution. “Come back to my quarters with me. Now.”

  I don’t know who was more shocked. Reever, who had admitted he wanted me, or me, the amateur seductress. I tried not to ruin my suave moment by taking back my offer the moment it left my lips.

  Duncan looked like I just kicked him where it hurts Terran males the most. His pupils enlarged. When he got the words out, they were raspy. “You are sure?”

  Did I really have that kind of effect on him? “No.” I held out my hand. I thought that was better than shrugging off a corner of my tunic and fluttering my eyelashes. “Come on.”

  We walked back to level nine and stopped at my quarters. Before I could open the door panel, he took my shoulders and turned me around. I stared at the collar of his tunic, and bit into my lower lip.

  “Cherijo. Don’t be afraid of me.”

  Did I want to have sex with him? Yes. Did I want him to play the protective male calming the hysterical, near-virginal female? No. I had some pride left. Somewhere. Not to mention enough heat streaking through my vessels to melt an infuser tube.<
br />
  “I’m not afraid of you.” I hauled him by the arm into my rooms. Jenner greeted us with a casual yowl as he scampered out into the corridor. I adjusted the lighting, then leaned against the wall panel for a moment, dizzy with need.

  This was wrong. Wrong. I needed a distraction. A delay tactic. My head examined. Why was I doing this? It was him, definitely him. Every time Reever came near me, every nerve ending went on full alert. What could I do to keep him away until my head cleared . . . ? My prep unit! “Would you like something to eat? Drink?”

  “We just had a meal.”

  Okay, maybe my disc collection would buy me some time until I got my libido back under control. “Do you like Terran historical music?”

  He was right behind me. “I have no preferences,” he replied, and moved closer.

  “What about archaic jazz?”

  “I’ve never heard any.” Each word puffed a breath against the nape of my neck.

  I swallowed a groan. “Sit down. Jazz is the only audio art form ever produced on Terra.” I selected a disc. “We’ll start with Miles Davis. He played the trumpet like an angel.”

  He didn’t sit down. He started touching my hair. “Angels are characters in religious mythology.”

  I let myself enjoy the feeling of his fingers against my scalp. “Wait until you hear Miles. You might change your mind.” Davis’s subtle syncopation colored the air with cool, dark sound. Reever’s hand gripped my waist. No, don’t do this, I thought, and swiftly turned to my prep console. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No”—he started coming at me again—“thank you.”

  “Well, I could use a server of tea.” He knew I was stalling and knew I knew he knew. My thought patterns were beginning to degrade. Fast. “Did you know on Joren they brew some varieties of saltwater vegetation and—”

  “Cherijo.” His hands touched me again. This close, I could smell him. Clean, masculine, familiar. Human. “Calm yourself.”

  There wasn’t a system in my body that was functioning normally. “I’m calm.”

  “I am not,” he said. I could feel his heartbeat accelerating just above my left shoulder blade.