“You might have a point,” Jade had retorted.
Tonight, as they sat opposite each other again, she swirled a Molternian spiral fruit around her fork. Definitely a light meal this time. “Would you like today’s news?”
“I’m always ready for news. Good, bad or indifferent.”
Jade bit into the tangy, rose-colored fruit. “Thought you might be. Ambassador Halaffi was a pastel shade of green today—”
Kuchera spluttered. “What?”
Jade stared. “I thought you were a writer, able to handle quotations. I said, quote, Ambassador Halaffi was a pastel shade of green today, unquote. Got it?”
Kuchera wiped fragments of food from around his lips. “I heard that. What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?”
“I wouldn't be asking if I did.”
“Don’t get testy.”
Kuchera subsided. “Sorry.” He looked penitent. “Just because I’m MI doesn’t mean I have access to information about the Gara’nesh. I’m as ignorant about them as the average citizen.” He raised his shoulders. “I’m a historian who keeps his job by writing recruiting brochures, remember?”
Jade nodded slowly. Very few details of the Gara’nesh reached the level of public knowledge. The Political and Ideological Bureau saw to that. But surely, in Kuchera’s case, where he’d written a standard history…and anyway, what she was going to tell him had no military value…nothing that would incriminate her in the eyes of the IID.
Jade took another mouthful of fruit. “Didn’t you do background research on the Gara’nesh?”
“I don’t have a high enough security clearance,” Kuchera replied. “And I don’t need censored grade-school material—the ‘See the ugly alien monsters attack our heroic ships’ type of rot. Writing my History of the Expansion didn’t qualify me for specialized knowledge of the Gara’nesh, since the events were pre-contact. I applied but was turned down.”
Jade leaned her head to one side. “Point taken. Right, then, ready for your first dose of obscure material?”
“Fire.”
“Basic biology first.” Jade reached for a second fruit spiral. “What we know about the Gara’nesh comes mainly from limited observation and extensive inferences. We don’t know the location of their home world, for example, but we have an idea what it must be like based on our understanding of their physiology. To be more specific, they prefer a higher temperature than we do, they breathe air with a lower oxygen content, they have tougher skin, protected eyes, smaller ears. Meaning?”
Kuchera wrinkled his brow. “They come from a world closer to its sun than Earth is, hotter with a thinner atmosphere. Maybe smaller, with lighter gravity. I’ve heard that they’re scrawny critters.” He crooked an arm in imitation of Gara’nesh posture.
“Very good. You have potential, Troy. You catch on quickly.”
“I may be ignorant, but I’m not dumb. What does this have to do with the ambassador being bright green?”
“I said pastel. Bright is different. Please quote me correctly.” Jade finished her fruit spiral, debated about a third, and took it before continuing. “Because their atmosphere is thinner, it doesn’t conduct sound as well, so they can’t hear as well as we can. But they can see better. Since they can’t hear nuances of speech—if you ever get to hear one, notice how uninflected its intonation is—they compensate not with having larger auditory organs but by showing their emotional state utilizing subtle changes in skin color.”
“Body language.”
“Exactly. The changes are often slight, and not readily perceptible unless you know what you’re looking for.”
“How do you know, Jade? Gara’nesh aren’t thronging the streets of the Hegemony.”
“Ship-keeper Nahanni, remember?”
“Of course.”
“So when I say that Ambassador Halaffi was pale green, it means she was in a fairly relaxed, non-threatened state of mind.”
“Got it. Red is anger?” Kuchera guessed.
Jade laughed. “Red is depression. A sort of yellow is anger.”
“What’s bright green?”
“Sexual arousal.”
Kuchera shook his head. “Weird.”
“It makes perfect sense if you’re another Gara’nesh. They probably consider us handicapped because our range of expressible skin tones is so limited.”
“You’re pretty when you blush. It makes me want to kiss you.”
Once, she would have accepted the invitation. All it would take would be to lean forward…
She dropped the rind of the fruit onto her plate. “So that’s the news for today. Slow progress, but we still haven’t reached the point where we can discuss any contentious issues.” She handed him a computer wafer.
Kuchera pocketed it.
“Transcript. Edited, of course, but not heavily. You can scan through most of it pretty quickly. Use what you like.”
“When’d you get the time to do that?” Kuchera asked.
She rested her arms on the table. “I do it as I go along. I’ve also assigned Rick Emmers to run a data search on Stalker for you.”
“You’re wonderful.”
Jade said, “My office tomorrow, OK?”
“Will do.” His hand rested on her arm.
She looked down at it in a strangely surreal way. Her chest tightened, and she became conscious of her breathing quickening. She pulled back, looked down and away.
Leave. Leave now…
Her palms grew slick with sweat.
“What’s the matter?” Kuchera asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
The pressure mounted. “No. It’s…it’s me." She started to rise.
Kuchera reached for her arm. She jerked away, jumped to her feet, and hurried out of the dining lounge into the corridor, seeing in her peripheral vision Kuchera toss his napkin aside and follow.
Go away, she wanted to shout. Leave me alone.
His longer strides brought him close.
“Jade…”
Jade stopped and leaned her shoulders against a viewport set into the corridor wall. Her hands trembled. She shoved them behind her, pressing them against the wall with her buttocks. Kuchera halted in front of her.
“This isn’t the time, Troy," she said.
"We’ve known each other for years, Jade."
She shook her head. “It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?” Kuchera made as if to touch her shoulder, then let his hand drop to his side. “Why are you shutting me out, Jade? You care for me, I can see it in your eyes. And God knows I feel for you. Why won’t you let me into your life?”
His eyes were pleading. What could she say?
Because you might be IID sent to spy on me?
Because…because of…
She pivoted to stare out of the viewport across the dismal surface of Covenant. She had to tell him something. Something that was true, but not the whole truth.
She whispered. “Whenever I try to let somebody into my life, something bad happens.”
“That’s ridiculous!” he exclaimed.
“It’s true!” she snapped back.
Kuchera turned her chin towards him. “Jade, every time I want to get closer, you back off. Let me in, Jade. You’re building a wall between us—a wall of your own irrational fears.”
“They’re not irrational! And it’s for your own good, Troy. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Who made you my guardian, Jade?”
She paused with her mouth open.
“Look,” his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, “if it’s because there’s more to you than being a Naval Intelligence officer…”
Her breath froze in her chest and she had to struggle to inspire. What was he saying? What did he know? She felt as if a steel trap was closing around her. At any moment a troop of armed guards would come pounding down the hall to drag her away…
“What do you mean?” she asked, stalling for time.
Did he mean there was more to her as a woman, or…?
“So what am I?”
Kuchera shook his head. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
Was this IID agent Kuchera lying, or the old Troy she used to know telling her the truth?
Stick to your story…don’t tell him…
“You’re afraid I’ll be hurt,” he said when she didn’t answer right away.
Jade put her hands to her face. “Every time. First there was Gregory. I let him in and he vanished—”
“There’s a war on! These things happen.”
“I let him in,” Jade repeated.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kuchera insisted.
“And there was Paul…he was like you. I hesitated, and he left me.”
“Then the guy was nuts. But Jade, this is ancient history.”
And I’m condemned to repeat it, she thought. Or else blurt out something I might regret.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked. She fell too drained, too dull to argue further. The tightness in her stomach mutated into a queasy ache. “Leave me too?”
Kuchera took her hand. This time, she didn’t pull it away.
“Not a chance,” he said. “Not a chance.”
Political and Ideological Major Blair Iverson squirmed under the relentless stare Admiral Lewis Gellner fixed upon him.
“Well? Why hasn’t Lafrey said anything?” Gellner demanded. “Two days of conference and not a squeak out of her.”
“I have no idea, sir,” Iverson confessed.
“She knows, doesn’t she?”
“I think so.”
“Think so?”
Iverson regretted his choice of words. “I’m reasonably certain, sir. Has Admiral Stalker confided anything to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Surely she would have told him,” Iverson expostulated. “She couldn’t possibly keep information like that a secret!”
“I know Commander Lafrey a sight better than you do, Iverson. Let me be the judge of what she might or might not do.”
“Maybe there’s a reason they haven’t said anything,” Iverson suggested, trying to steer the conversation away from himself.
“Such as?”
“They may be checking sources, or perhaps waiting for an opportune time to release the information—such as the discussions on naval deployment, for example.”
“Hmm. Possibly. Using it for maximal effect.”
“Exactly, sir.”
“You’re suggesting we wait, then?”
“I think it would be our best course of action,” Iverson said. “Wait a few more days and see what happens.”
“And if not?”
“There’s a way to find out whether she knows or not.”
“Without involving her directly?”
“Without involving her at all, sir.”
“All right,” Gellner decided. ”We’ll wait another day. That’s all. I can’t tolerate failure, Iverson. This is too important.”
Iverson swallowed. He wasn’t sure who was more demanding, Gellner or Maricic. “I won’t let you down, sir.”
“You’d better not, Iverson.”
After leaving Jade Lafrey, Troy Kuchera wandered slowly back to his room. He didn’t choose the most direct route, but instead meandered the nearly deserted corridors of Sector D, past rooms that housed Technical Support, Supply and Receiving, Docking Control, Computer Science. The few people he encountered passed him without speaking.
The noises of the center’s life were so faint as to be practically inaudible. Only his own footfalls and the muted whoosh of a ventilator broke the stillness.
He felt alone.
He wasn’t used to feeling alone. Troy Kuchera, life of the party, and he felt alone.
He told himself to cheer up. He’d gotten the assignment here that he’d wanted, and the chance to meet Jade again. She was glad to see him—she couldn’t hide it, despite her self control and her initial brusqueness.
And his reaction to her had been the same as it had been years ago. She still left him breathless.
So what could he do to break through her defenses?
He hadn’t been able to pierce her shields before. What might enable him to succeed now?
Absence, said the proverb, made the heart grow fonder. But he needed more help than that.
He heard footsteps, and raised his eyes from where they’d been following the seamless material of the floor. A sandy-haired man wearing a maroon uniform came up to him quickly, apparently paying little attention to where he was walking. Troy moved out of his way, and the man brushed past.
Only after he’d rounded a bend towards B Sector and disappeared from sight did belated recognition sink in—Troy had seen the PO once at an official news briefing. Troy paused, for some stupid, incomprehensible reason thought about following him, and quickly decided against it. The Political Officer wouldn’t give him any useful information about the conference. And he had a natural aversion to Political Officers.
He started off again down the corridor.
The negotiations wouldn’t be over in a day or a week. There was time.
Plenty of time.
Jade was a tough nut to crack, but sooner or later she’d come around.
His steps quickened. He wasn’t going to let her get away this time.
Lewis Gellner emerged from a neuralstim trance with his head feeling as if a horde of fireworms was burrowing through his brain. He closed his eyes and waited until the sensation subsided. Lately, the burning had been getting worse after every session. It was a warning, he knew, one of many.
“One day you’ll go into a session and never wake up,” his last ex-wife had pointed out.
She was probably correct. But without the neuralstim to relieve his cares, he couldn’t handle the conduct of this miserable war.
The conflict had claimed two of his marriages. The Gara’nesh the other. Now it was claiming his mind.
But the end was in sight, if only he could tough it out.
He had Nessh'uarin. The pieces were falling into place, as long as Lafrey did what he wanted her to.
Lafrey—she was the weak link in his plan. He thought he knew her. But ten years was a long time. She could have changed.
He returned the neuralstim to its storage compartment.
Wait. Grit his teeth and wait. It was all he could do.
Her uniform parted. Jade pulled off the two halves and flung them towards the bed. They missed. The top fell at the foot of the bed, and the bottom at the side.
Always.
There was always something in the way. Always something to come between her and a relationship. Always something to dash her fantasies to the ground.
She glared at the uniform halves, then stooped, picked them up, and stowed them neatly.
She changed into her sleepwear and lowered herself onto the side of the bed.
Troy Kuchera was here.
She still couldn’t get over that fact. Of all the times and places!
She flopped backward, balled her fists, and pressed them to her temples.
Kuchera had been different from the other men she’d known.
To her surprise, and in contrast to his predecessor in MI, he had treated her with respect. Eventually the ice had broken, and the disparity in rank became less of a factor; they worked in different branches of the service, after all. He never pushed, accepted her no whenever he asked her out, but always asked again until finally she said yes.
And behind his mask of cocky self-confidence and flippancy she’d detected the yearnings of an unfulfilled man, a questing spirit who sought for something more to life than he already possessed. She’d detected a kindred spirit.
One day she’d found him leaning against a tree trunk in the courtyard outside Command, reading. She was stunned to see that it was an anthology about
love—poems of Ovid, the Song of Songs, sonnets of Shakespeare, poets from many centuries and many lands, selections from the writings of saints.
“Love?” she’d asked, somehow never having associated the word with him.
She couldn’t remember his reply, but at that moment something had changed. Their relationship had progressed until finally she’d been forced to make the hardest, cruelest decision she’d ever made. And here it was, facing her again.
She twined her hands in her hair and stared at the ceiling as her anger and frustration boiled over.
“We’ve been through this before, God! Are you going to make me go through this again? Because I can’t take it. I can’t take it any more!”
She loosed her hair, and instead gripped the sheets, twisted them into knots until her fingers ached.
“It’s not fair! I tell Greg and lose him. I don’t tell Paul, and I lose him too. So what now? What am I to do about Troy? Is he a Greg or a Paul?”
Paul Czerny…So like Troy Kuchera in many ways. A memory she could never erase…
It was a day on Weston’s World, back when she was still a lieutenant. Life seemed full of hope and promise, and it was all embodied on a picnic on a tiny plateau carved out of the flank of Meyer’s Mount, surrounded on three sides by sheer rock walls. A small clump of trees struggled for existence at one end. The peak of Meyer’s Mount lay yet another five thousand meters up.
Worth a visit. Once.
“We’d better be heading back, Paul,” Jade said as she scanned the darkening afternoon sky. She hitched her pack over her shoulders, snugged it tight, and checked to make sure the power light was green. “We don’t want to be caught here after nightfall.”
Almost imperceptibly, the breeze had risen. Gentle now, it would accelerate to gale force once Alpha Australis IV dropped below the horizon, and thermal currents altered. Jade had been caught out after nightfall once. She’d been lucky to have survived the experience and vowed it would never happen again.
The lights of Sector 6 Naval Command twinkled in the far distance, with Hopewell City behind. The streak of a departing shuttle slashed through fluffy clouds and left a transient purple afterimage on her retinas.
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