“You did hate them for seeing beauty when there was none.”
He shrugged, then winced at the ache in his shoulder.
“As you will, m’alba. I am going to bed. Please, let yourself out.” Gilhame drank down the last of his wine and bowed as he rose from the table, then left.
Gilhame sensed a faint stirring in the suppressed personality whose body he inhabited. The original man flooded him with the pain of rejection by his own family. Seated on the edge of the bed, he pitied the misery of his host-man.
Gilhame heard the whisper of the portal as Alvellaina left. He realized that he missed her, but was too caught up in the emotions of the suppressed ur Fagon to feel more than a vague regret. He removed his garments, hanging them neatly as he had been taught at the Academy, remembering how he had prized his first uniform, his first leal clothing.
Alvellaina stood at the portal. She had walked to it, opened it, then closed it again. She leaned against the wall, leeling excited and frightened at the same time. Her nipples were hard under her uniform. ‘My body has its own mind,’ she thought. ‘Well, maybe I won’t go up in smoke.’
She turned, pulling the net off her hair and fluffing the curls with her fingers. Then she released the closing on her uniforms and folded it neatly, putting it on a chair. She walked towards the bedroom door.
Fhere was a tiny noise behind him. Gilhame spun around, half-crouched, hands raised to strike. Alvellaina came into the room rather slowly. He straightened up, feeling somewhat foolish, as she walked up to him. She stood directly in front of him, wearing a faint smile and nothing more. He could feel her breath on his chest and smelled her sweet scent. “I told you I had made up my mind,” she said.
“You should never come up behind a trained fighter without giving him some warning, my dear. I might have hurt you.” He said the words huskily as he looked at her small, high breasts.
“Scold me later. Right now I think I would like to be kissed. Or don’t you want me to kiss you?”
Gilhame slipped an arm around her gently and waited lor a moment. There was no feeling of resistance. He kissed her brow very tentatively, then her cheek and finally
her mouth. She responded by putting both arms around him and pressing her body against him.
“When you decide something, you really do it, don’t you?” He asked. “Now, just what are you up to?” Gilhame had the distinct feeling that he had lost control of the situation.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. Just kiss me again.”
He did, and she kissed him back, as she had not done the first time. It was an eager kiss, unskilled, but responsive. He drew back and looked down at her, suspicious at her sudden capitulation. The matter, he decided, was definitely out of his hands. He was not sure he liked that.
After several more kisses, she drew him towards the bed. She slid in beside him and pressed her body against his insistently. Alvellaina caressed his chest and kissed his throat.
He ran his hand along the long, smooth stretch of her leg, filled with the suppressed desires of the previous weeks. His own needs nearly blinded him. But he forced himself to proceed slowly, waking her body into excitement.
That first coupling, between the skilled man and the completely untutored girl, was as painful and as awkward as such things usually are, but neither partner was left unsatisfied. Gilhame was as gentle as he could be, and found her eager but unsubmissive. His patience was rewarded finally by a sharp cry of pleasure.
Afterwards, she pillowed her head on his chest, stroking it and humming softly to herself. All he could see was her mass of curly hair and her elegant hand on his chest. Her face was entirely out of his view.
“I. . . feel I should warn you, m’alba, that if you continue to do that, I shall be moved to repeat my performance.”
“Promise?”
“Greedy wench. Trying to make up for lost time?”
“Not exactly.”
“Will you tell me now just what prompted you . . . great cosmos, I’ve been seduced! Not that I was unwilling, you understand.”
“Good. Think how mortifying it would be to have the great Admiral ur Fagon crying rape.”
“True. I doubt my reputation would stand the strain. Now, stop distracting me and tell me what this sudden change of heart is all about.”
“It’s not sudden.”
“Oh?” He smiled at her as she turned her face up to him and gave her a kiss.
“It’s all very confusing. I wanted to hate you. And I did for a while. But, after you saved Derissa’s life . . . I . .
“This is a wonderful way to show your gratitude, but I don’t require charity.”
“It’s not gratitude. If it was that, then Derissa should be here, not me.”
“I don’t think Pers would like that, do you?”
“Him? He’d give you anything you wanted, including Derissa. And I don’t believe she’d mind. She’s more flexible than I am—and more realistic. She saw past the monster long before I did.”
“Eros and Psyche.”
“What?”
“A very old legend, older even than we. Eros was the god of love, son of the goddess Aphrodite, who was the goddess of love. And Psyche was the most beautiful wom-an in the world. Aphrodite didn’t much care for that, since people began comparing her beauty to Psyche’s. Anyhow, I tos saw Psyche and fell madly in love with her, which annoyed his mother no end, and he married her. Only, for reasons which elude me now, poor Psyche was not allowed to see him. She thought he was a terrible monster. But her curiosity got the better of her, and one night she stole into his bedroom with a candle. Imagine her surprise when her monster turned out to be a very comely young man.” “Did they live happily ever after?” She sounded like a little girl with that question.
“Not immediately. Aphrodite, being the petty, jealous female that she was, made Psyche perform some nearly impossible tasks. But, eventually, yes, Eros and Psyche were reunited—happily, one assumes, if living with those particular gods and goddesses can be called happy. They were a fractious bunch, always cheating on one another and tossing thunderbolts about. It always sounded rather noisy and uncomfortable to me.”
“Well, you are not the handsomest man in the cosmos.” “Thank you.”
“But you are not quite ugly, either.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”
“Don’t be smug.”
“Sorry. I am still stunned by your about-face. Of course, I don’t know why I should be. I have never understood women. I don’t know any man who does. I still suspect you of some ulterior motive.”
“I just. . . decided to try being grown up.” She kissed his throat. “I am tired of being called a spoiled brat. What happens if I do this?” Alvellaina asked as she slid her hands down between his legs.
“For a virgin, you are very knowledgeable.”
“I read a great deal.”
He grasped her and kissed her with all the pent-up frustration of many weeks. She answered in a way that made argument or even talking impossible for some time.
He knew there was some reason he should not sleep, but his eyes refused to stay open. Alvellaina was awake, saying soft words he could not focus on.
Roses and apples. He drifted into a light dream. And saw her again, the beautiful golden-haired woman with the branch of apples in her hand. Her blue gown was bright with stars, and she lifted her branch in benediction.
I am the ancient Apple-Queen.
As once 1 was, so I am now,
Forevermore a hope unseen
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.
Ah, where the river’s hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer’s joy.
The. words comforted him, and Gilhame passed dreamless sleep.
Chapter XVII
Gilhame snapped awake. He was alone in his bed and wondered if he had dreamt the whole encounter. What if it had been a
var hallucination? No. There was a faint smell of roses on him, and a bright red hair coiled into the black ones on his chest.
Then Alvellaina came into the room, carrying a tray with two mugs on it. She had put on the dressing gown embroidered with obscene dragons. It was too big in the shoulders and almost too long for her, but he thought she looked wonderful.
“I must have fallen asleep,” he said as she set the tray down on the bed. “I wasn’t supposed to.”
“I know. You were disobeying your own orders. But Gurian had already found Gyre’s little presents, so I didn’t wake you. You snore, you know.”
“Do I? One night of passion, and already she’s complaining. Presents? Plural?”
“Plural. His troopers ‘left’ three oxy tanks, only they weren’t.”
“Is my staff reporting to you now, Admiral?”
She giggled. “I am not trying to wear your hat, Admiral. No, a yeoman brought a written report from Vraser and I peeked. Drink your tea.”
“When I am old and useless, I shall write my memoirs. All old fighters do. I shall call them, Under the Pard’s Paw:
My Life and Loves.” He sipped his drink as ordered. “The rest of the fleet?”
“Every ship has now been checked—and they all had the same kind of oxygen cylinders in with the battle gear. But Vraser doesn’t know how to dispose of the stuff. So, drink up and think.”
“Where is the . . . what did Gyre call it . . . ingarit, now?”
“In an unmanned shuttlecraft out in space. Vraser says that was the best he could think of.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Oh, only a couple of hours.”
“Do you know, I am very tempted.”
“Tempted to do what? Stop looking at me like a hungry beast and pay attention. Well, don’t. I haven’t kissed you in hours!” Alvellaina surrendered with poor grace to the demands of his hands. But she kissed him until they were both breathless. She pulled back. “You are more easily distracted than I would have believed. Tempted by what?” “Besides you? Oh, just the notion of sending that shuttlecraft over to Gyre’s flag about 1400 today. Then he could do himself in—and my hands would be fairly clean in the matter. But, I can’t wait. There are lots of good men who would die with him.” He gulped the rest of his drink and got out of bed.
Two minutes later he emerged from the bathroom still drying his lean body. Alvellaina had curled herself up on the bed and was finishing her tea. Gilhame pulled on his duty uniform.
He found the report next to the communicator and flipped through it. He sent for Frikard and punched up some data on the computer while he waited.
Alvellaina watched him. “I take it you have a solution?” “Yes, I think so. Next time, wake me. I love you to distraction, but you aren’t trained to make command decisions.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No, not really,” he smiled at her. “But we’d better have one thing clear before we go any further. The fleet is my prime responsibility. Nothing comes before that. If an alarm comes in the middle of making love, I go. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” It was a sad whisper.
“I know. It is very hard to play second fiddle to a bunch of ships and men you don’t even know. I wish that it were otherwise. But these people serving under me deserve my best.”
She looked at him very sternly. “It’s alright, Gilhame. If you didn’t put them first, you really would be a monster. That was my father’s mistake. He was willing to kill your men to get at you. I just forgot for a moment who you are— and thought you were like other men.”
“Perhaps, someday, I can be. Here’s Frikard.”
“Oh!” Alvellaina got off the bed, fled into the dining room and returned clutching her uniform. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I like my privacy.”
“Good. I do too.” Then he left her and went to let Frikard in. “Good morning, Ven. Have you gotten Vraser’s report?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No need to look so grim. Have two destroyers escort the shuttlecraft. Tell them to drop out at these coordinates. There’s a nice red dwarf very close to the exit space. That should cook the little buggers, but if it doesn’t, no matter. There’s no decent planets around that star, anyhow.” “Very good, sir. However, I just got word from Gretry VI. The whole planet has gone berserk. Someone started tossing nukes. It looks like the same thing which happened at Copia. Except someone kept his head long enough to get word out.”
“I see. Any report on the movements of the Nabatean fleet?”
“No, sir. It seems to have vanished.”
“The devil you say! Where was it last seen?”
“The Nabatean Fleet left the Telfar system two days ago.”
“Telfar?” Gilhame went to the computer and got some coordinates. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“We only just found out ourselves.”
“Who took over Gyre’s patrol on the Nabatean sector while he was at Attira?”
“No one, Gil. He left behind eight of his heavies under Captain Millaise,”
“That old bastard? And where are those ships right now?”
“They’ve vanished too.”
A slow smile played over Gilhame’s face. “Where were they?”
“They left Gretry twelve hours ago.”
“I rarely indulge in vain regrets, but I suspect I should have killed Guthry Gyre years ago. My old martialist at the Academy, Nikodar—remember him?—always said that clemency to your enemies was a fatal form of stupidity.” “That was one of his favorite maxims.” -“It was. Well, let’s see what this marvel of a machine has made of all this data.” The screen of his computer was printing a list of several planets and suns, each followed by a number indicating probabilities in response to Gilhame’s query. “Suesoo. Well, that makes sense of a sort. It’s just inside the Faldarian sector. It’s fairly isolated. Hasn’t it been in contention between the Emperor and the Nabateans for quite some time?”
“Yes, Gil. It’s more like a Nabatean colony than a Kardusian world.”
Gilhame punched another query. “And it will take us fourteen hours to get there from our current position. Let me see. Where would they go?” He jabbed some more buttons. “Of course. I’ve been away from home so long I’ve forgotten the sector configurations. Gemna! The crystal supplier for half the Empire. The loss of that would cripple Kardus for years. They won’t use that fake curthel stuff there. Too destructive. The curthel threat is a diversion. I see the pattern now. We have been ordered to Gretry?” “We have.”
“It was so sweet of Marpessa to tip Guthry’s hand. Set course for Gemna, signal the Admiralty that we expect an attack there and get rid of that shuttle.”
“What about Admiral Gyre?” Frikard was still worried.
“What about him? He can tag along or not, as he wishes. I’d blast him to bits right now, but I don’t have time. We may be able to beat the Nabatean forces to the Gemna system, but not if we stop to slap Gyre’s hands.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have 1 ever led you wrong, Ven?”
“Well, not wrong precisely.”
“But, you are worried.”
“If Gyre renegades, we are badly outnumbered, even with the Coalchee.”
“That’s very true. Well, I shall just have to see if I can’t remove his stinger. Set the new course. I’ll deal with Gyre.”
Alvellaina came out after Frikard left. “I heard what you said. Just what are you going to do?”
“I am not sure. Bluff. Lie. Confuse. Where is the weak point in old Guthry?”
“Would he come here again?”
“It is possible.”
“Couldn’t you just ... do what you did to my father? Keep him here?”
“I could, if I knew for certain what his subordinates would do. Your father was a single individual, acting alone in one sense. In fact, I’ll never understand why he came on board the Dragon at all. Oh, I am sure he intended to be long-gone befo
re the battle began. But I must know if Mafrin and Dunegan are in on this . . . conspiracy. Mafrin’s very able, Dunegan is an unknown. I must also assume that sur-Melasar is admiral of the Nabatean fleet. He is more than able; he’s brilliant. Is there any more of that tea?”
“Yes. I’ll get it. What about. . . using some var?” “Too many variables. I’d only see what I wanted to see. Of course, that might be actual, too, but I’d rather not take the chance. Still, it gives me an idea. Thank you,” he said as she handed him a steaming mug. “I must say, you have a certain glow about you this morning.”
She smiled at him, then looked a little grave. “It was almost as nice as I had been led to expect.”
“Only almost?”
“I was very . . . tense.”
“Were you? I did not notice. I shall try to be more aware the next time. Will there be a next time, m’alba?”
. “Yes. And stop my-ladying me. You’ve said ‘Alvellaina’ in your sleep often enough.”
“Dearest Alvellaina! The light of my life! I hope I never give you reason to regret not keeping me at arm’s length.” “You will, but I will learn to live with it.” She smiled an odd, secret smile which disquieted him. “You don’t snore very loudly. ”
“That’s good. I would not want to disturb your beauty-sleep.” The communicator beeped. “Answer that, will you? I have a premonition it is dear Guthry.” Gilhame strode across the room, opened the niche, tipped some var into the crystal cup, poured it back and closed the receptacle. He tousled his hair and rubbed his eyes until they watered.
“Admiral ur Fagon’s quarters,” Alvellaina said to the little screen.
“Let me speak to him!” It was Gyre, angry by the sound of his voice.
“One moment please. I’ll see if he can come.” She stepped out of view of the machine and looked at ur Fagon. “What are you up to?” she hissed.
“Do I look smoky enough?”
She suppressed a giggle. “You look as if you’ve been on a three-day binge.”
Adrienne Martine-Barnes Page 20
