by Peter David
"And do you"she looked up at him with hesitation that almost seemed girlish"do you want me?" "I" He suddenly felt as if the temperature in the room had risen. "It is simply that . . . well . . ."
"M'k'n'zy, you act as if you've never been with a woman before. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she saw
his reaction. With an annoyed grunt, he turned away. "What is
it, emblazoned on my face? Has the news been circulated throughout the town? How is"
And then he heard something that he had not expected laughter. Gentle, floating laughter, as he turned to see that her body was shaking with mirth. Somehow it was not exactly conducive to salving his wounded ego. "I'm sure it's very funny to you," M'k'n'zy said sourly.
"No! No, I . . . I think it's sweet!" she said.
"Sweet!"
"Yes. You were so busy fighting for the freedom of our world that you never had time for romantic entanglements. Besides, after a day of hacking and slaying, it must be difficult to be in the mood for soft words and softer women."
He was completely astounded to hear her say that. "Yes!" he affirmed, sitting next to her on the bed. "Yes, that's it exactly! How did you know?"
"It's obvious. Obvious to me, at least. Don't worry, M'k'n'zy," she said confidently, patting his hand. "Your secret is safe with me."
"That is ... that is so kind of you," he said, squeezing her hand in return. "I cannot begin to tell you." Relief flooded through him and he flopped back on the bed. "I thought that you wouldno, actually, I had no idea what you would say or do. I wasn't even planning to tell you. I was just . . . I . . . I don't know what . . . I just wanted . . ."
She lay down next to him, propping her head up with one hand. "What did you want?"
"I don't know," he said softly.
"You can leave if you wish. I'll wait for D'ndai to fulfill the requirements of law. I just. . ." She stared down at him.
"You just what?"
"Nothing, M'k'n'zy. It really doesn't matter."
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"What?"
"Obviously that is the case. I" He wanted to console her, wanted to speak words of love or sympathy to her, but he didn't have the tools to do so. So all he sounded was brusque as he replied, "Don't be ridiculous. You are . . . you're beautiful. You are. You're beautiful." "I'm not. I am old."
"You are . . ." He tried to find a way to phrase it that would pierce through her veil of self-pity and, in so doing, his voice automatically adopted a more sympathetic tone. "Every summer that you have lived has graced you with sunlight that you continue to carry with you. You shine with an inner light."
"Oh, please," she said with what sounded like cautious dismissal, as if she wanted to believe his words, but was reluctant to accept them for what they were. "Please, you will say whatever comes to mind so that I will not be sad. I'm flattered by your efforts, but do not patronize me."
"I would not patronize you," said M'k'n'zy firmly. He took her by the shoulders and turned her. "I knew your husband, Catrine. He was a good man. A good fighter. I respected him. If nothing else, I would not insult his memory by treating you in such a manner." "So," her voice was very quiet and he had to strain to hear. "You . . . do find me attractive?" "Yes. Very much so."
"And do you"she looked up at him with hesitation that almost seemed girlish"do you want me?" "I" He suddenly felt as if the temperature in the room had risen. "It is simply that . . . well . . ."
"M'k'n'zy, you act as if you've never been with a woman before. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she saw
his reaction. With an annoyed grunt, he turned away. "What is
it, emblazoned on my face? Has the news been circulated throughout the town? How is"
And then he heard something that he had not expected laughter. Gentle, floating laughter, as he turned to see that her body was shaking with mirth. Somehow it was not exactly conducive to salving his wounded ego. "I'm sure it's very funny to you," M'k'n'zy said sourly.
"No! No, I . . . I think it's sweet!" she said.
"Sweet!"
"Yes. You were so busy fighting for the freedom of our world that you never had time for romantic entanglements. Besides, after a day of hacking and slaying, it must be difficult to be in the mood for soft words and softer women."
He was completely astounded to hear her say that. "Yes!" he affirmed, sitting next to her on the bed. "Yes, that's it exactly! How did you know?"
"It's obvious. Obvious to me, at least. Don't worry, M'k'n'zy," she said confidently, patting his hand. "Your secret is safe with me."
"That is ... that is so kind of you," he said, squeezing her hand in return. "I cannot begin to tell you." Relief flooded through him and he flopped back on the bed. "I thought that you wouldno, actually, I had no idea what you would say or do. I wasn't even planning to tell you. I was just . . . I . . . I don't know what . . . I just wanted . . ."
She lay down next to him, propping her head up with one hand. "What did you want?"
"I don't know," he said softly.
"You can leave if you wish. I'll wait for D'ndai to fulfill the requirements of law. I just. . ." She stared down at him.
"You just what?"
"Nothing, M'k'n'zy. It really doesn't matter."
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He looked up into her face. She was quite lovely, really. And there was a mixture of sadness and resolution that reminded him, in many ways, of himself. "Catrine," he said slowly, "I do not . . . anticipate remaining on this world. I am seriously considering leaving Xenex. I am thinking of going far, far away. You've had such great loss, such great sadness. You deserve so much more than I can give, I think. You deserve more than simply what the law dictates. You deserve a man to be with you, to wake up next to you, to care for you. If you wait, I'm sure that man will come to you. If we did what you ask now, then"
"Then I would have your baby. A baby who, I can only hope, will grow up to be as strong, as brave, as determined, and good as his or her father." "But you should have a mate to" "You do not understand, M'k'n'zy. I'm not looking for such a man. My dear, lost husband . . . he was a good man. He was my soul mate. Perhaps someday in the far, far future I may be ready for another, but I do not envision such a time. But I am ready for a child now. A child to love, to raise in the teachings of Xenex." "Catrine, I"
She leaned over and her lips brushed tentatively against his. When he did not resist, she kissed him more thoroughly. The kiss was like a fine wine, sweet and bringing warmth to him. His hands, seemingly of their own accord, were running along her body, tracing the curves of her hips. Slowly she undid the front of his shirt and looked at his chest. She saw scars, bruises all over his torso, and she traced the line of one of the scars across his left breast.
"Sword slipped past my guard. Grazed me," he said, and he was surprised how choked his voice sounded.
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"So many scars. So much fighting," she sighed as she gazed into his face. "How much death have these eyes seen?"
"Too much," he admitted. "Far too much."
"Tell me, M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, would it not be nice for a man who has seen so much death, slain so many people . . . would it not be proper and just and honorable if, the very first time you made love, it was for the purpose of putting a life back into the world?"
She kissed him on the throat and he sighed, his body trembling. "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, it . . . it would."
He somewhat lost track of what happened after that. He knew that her simple white shift had fallen to the floor, and his own clothes soon joined them there. She was gentle with him, and loving, and any fears he had over being unable to perform were quickly left far, far behind, along with the concerns of the real world.
She moved atop him, her face smiling down at him, and he was lost in the beauty and glory that was Catrine. Even though the goal was a straightforward one, she managed to prolong the moment, the heat building within him but not finding release until she was ready to let it go. And when she finally did, and he exploded into her . . .
He was silent. There was no outcry, no shout of joy. Nothing but complete and utter silence. Even in a moment of total ecstasy, M'k'n'zy could not completely let go. Catrine was struck by it as he sagged beneath her, spent and quiet, so very quiet. She touched the side of his face. "Did you . . . enjoy it, M'k'n'zy?"
He smiled ruefully. His breath was coming in slow, ragged gasps as he said, "You have to ... remember who you're talking to." "I don't understand."
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He looked up into her face. She was quite lovely, really. And there was a mixture of sadness and resolution that reminded him, in many ways, of himself. "Catrine," he said slowly, "I do not . . . anticipate remaining on this world. I am seriously considering leaving Xenex. I am thinking of going far, far away. You've had such great loss, such great sadness. You deserve so much more than I can give, I think. You deserve more than simply what the law dictates. You deserve a man to be with you, to wake up next to you, to care for you. If you wait, I'm sure that man will come to you. If we did what you ask now, then"
"Then I would have your baby. A baby who, I can only hope, will grow up to be as strong, as brave, as determined, and good as his or her father." "But you should have a mate to" "You do not understand, M'k'n'zy. I'm not looking for such a man. My dear, lost husband . . . he was a good man. He was my soul mate. Perhaps someday in the far, far future I may be ready for another, but I do not envision such a time. But I am ready for a child now. A child to love, to raise in the teachings of Xenex." "Catrine, I"
She leaned over and her lips brushed tentatively against his. When he did not resist, she kissed him more thoroughly. The kiss was like a fine wine, sweet and bringing warmth to him. His hands, seemingly of their own accord, were running along her body, tracing the curves of her hips. Slowly she undid the front of his shirt and looked at his chest. She saw scars, bruises all over his torso, and she traced the line of one of the scars across his left breast.
"Sword slipped past my guard. Grazed me," he said, and he was surprised how choked his voice sounded.
"So many scars. So much fighting," she sighed as she gazed into his face. "How much death have these eyes seen?"
"Too much," he admitted. "Far too much."
"Tell me, M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, would it not be nice for a man who has seen so much death, slain so many people . . . would it not be proper and just and honorable if, the very first time you made love, it was for the purpose of putting a life back into the world?"
She kissed him on the throat and he sighed, his body trembling. "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, it . . . it would."
He somewhat lost track of what happened after that. He knew that her simple white shift had fallen to the floor, and his own clothes soon joined them there. She was gentle with him, and loving, and any fears he had over being unable to perform were quickly left far, far behind, along with the concerns of the real world.
She moved atop him, her face smiling down at him, and he was lost in the beauty and glory that was Catrine. Even though the goal was a straightforward one, she managed to prolong the moment, the heat building within him but not finding release until she was ready to let it go. And when she finally did, and he exploded into her . . .
He was silent. There was no outcry, no shout of joy. Nothing but complete and utter silence. Even in a moment of total ecstasy, M'k'n'zy could not completely let go. Catrine was struck by it as he sagged beneath her, spent and quiet, so very quiet. She touched the side of his face. "Did you . . . enjoy it, M'k'n'zy?"
He smiled ruefully. His breath was coming in slow, ragged gasps as he said, "You have to ... remember who you're talking to." "I don't understand."
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And she was astounded to see a single tear roll down his cheek as he said, "I enjoyed it more than anything else . . . that doesn't involve killing an enemy. Do you understand now?"
Slowly she nodded and wiped away the tear. She brought the wet finger to her mouth and tasted it. Then she slid off him and lay next to him, her arm draped across his chest, her head on his shoulder. "Can we stay like this for a time?"
He nodded almost imperceptibly and she drew against him. Even though it was early evening, and the sun had only just drawn below the horizon, Catrine nonetheless fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
When she awoke six hours later, he was gone. The side of the bed he'd been lying on was cool to the touch. Catrine turned over to face away from "his" side of the bed, as she would continue to do for the rest of her days, and ever so softly cried herself back to sleep.
NOW. . .
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And she was astounded to see a single tear roll down his cheek as he said, "I enjoyed it more than anything else . . . that doesn't involve killing an enemy. Do you understand now?"
Slowly she nodded and wiped away the tear. She brought the wet finger to her mouth and tasted it. Then she slid off him and lay next to him, her arm draped across his chest, her head on his shoulder. "Can we stay like this for a time?"
He nodded almost imperceptibly and she drew against him. Even though it was early evening, and the sun had only just drawn below the horizon, Catrine nonetheless fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
When she awoke six hours later, he was gone. The side of the bed he'd been lying on was cool to the touch. Catrine turned over to face away from "his" side of the bed, as she would continue to do for the rest of her days, and ever so softly cried herself back to sleep.
NOW. . .
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IN THE STARKNESS OF HER ROOM, Selar twisted and turned on her bed, the single sheet becoming com-pletely ensnarled around her naked body. Sweat was pouring from her, even though the climate control for her quarters did a more than adequate job of duplicating the arid, dry-heat environment of her native Vulcan. Several times during the night she woke up, crying
out the name of Voltak, her late husband, and then she would lapse back into her fitful sleep.
An assortment of images tumbled through her mind. She would relive the night of their mating, the horrible circumstance in which a heart attack took Voltak from her while they were in the throes of Pon Farr. She would see his face, floating away into the void. And then she would see another face, a curi-ously angled face with a smile that bordered on a smirk, and two-tone blond hair cut low to the scalp. It was the face of Burgoyne 172, the Hermat chief engineer who had taken a fancy to Selar and made
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IN THE STARKNESS OF HER ROOM, Selar twisted and turned on her bed, the single sheet becoming com-pletely ensnarled around her naked body. Sweat was pouring from her, even though the climate control for her quarters did a more than adequate job of duplicating the arid, dry-heat environment of her native Vulcan. Several times during the night she woke up, crying out the name of Voltak, her late husband, and then she would lapse back into her fitful sleep.
An assortment of images tumbled through her mind. She would relive the night of their mating, the horrible circumstance in which a heart attack took Voltak from her while they were in the throes of Pon Farr. She would see his face, floating away into the void. And then she would see another face, a curi-ously angled face with a smile that bordered on a smirk, and two-tone blond hair cut low to the scalp. It was the face of Burgoyne 172, the Hermat chief engineer who had taken a fancy to Selar and made
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several impassioned overtures before Selar had made it clear that she simply wasn't inclined to sate the demands of Pon Farr with the odd Hermat. But Selar had changed her mind, only to spot Burgoyne arm-inarm with astronavigator Mark McHenry, heading off to what was clearly an assignation. This left Selar high and dry . . . and mightily frustrated.
Burgoyne was smiling at her, hish fangs peeping out from under hish lips. And then Burgoyne reached out with hish long, tapered fingers, and Selar saw herself, her arms reaching out toward Burgoyne. Burgoyne reached for her.
And there was a high-pitched beep. The sound repeated itself, and it was enough to jostle Selar to wakefulness. Sitting up quickly, she misjudged her position and rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor with a rather loud thud. She lay there, entangled in the bedsheet, musing over the rather odd situation that had brought her to this particular sequence of events. Then, in the darkness, her brain fully cleared and she responded via voice prompt "Computer, Selar here," she said, her voice so casual that it never would have betrayed the fact that she was lying on the floor, naked and tangled up in a
