It said too much and too little, but it was better than silence, and would keep the dogs at bay for a time. She recorded it and sent it out to the European and Asian information nets and to Newslink, the private media clearinghouse. Within five minutes, Sasaki’s face had appeared in three of the windows on her display wall.
By then, her staff sociodynamicist had answered her call and joined her in the office. Oker was not far behind. They watched the feeds together, quietly sharing their perceptions, until the Kenyan President called and Sasaki banished the others from the room.
That conference was longer and more difficult than the first. It took nearly half an hour before Jomu was satisfied, and the price this time was much higher.
Havens and Dryke were waiting for her when she finished with Jomu. But she kept them waiting, calling the sociodynamicist back into her office.
“There is still nothing from Jeremiah.”
“There could be many reasons for that,” the sociologist said. “Not least of which are the dead in Singapore.”
“Could it be that he was not involved?”
“Why don’t we ask Mr. Dryke that?”
“I can tell you that we are launching now,” Yvonne Havens said, appearing calmer and more in control. “Operations resumed twenty minutes ago.”
“Very good,” Sasaki said.
“And we do have some further information. The cargo was made up of environmental and navigational subsystems and other black boxes for Memphis. I don’t know how serious the loss is. I’m waiting to hear from the construction office on Takara.”
“Please forward their answer to me when you receive it.”
“I will. Director—what are you hearing from Singapore?”
Sasaki nodded. “My latest information indicates sixteen dead and at least twenty-six missing. As you might expect, I am being pressed for statements, explanations. I have expressed regret, but I will need to say more soon. Mr. Dryke, what can you add?”
“We have what’s left of the boat,” Dryke said. “We have the canister—it was a thirty-year-old bottle rocket, Korean manufacture. Whoever pulled this off has disappeared. We’re searching the coastal area, Malindi. We’re getting some help from the Kenyans on checking sea traffic.”
“Do you expect to find those responsible?”
“I’d like to say yes. But the truth is we may well not.”
“Have you any evidence that Homeworld was involved?”
“It has Jeremiah’s fingerprints all over it. He hits Memphis, he hurts Allied, he gets people wondering about the safety of the T-ships just as the colonists are starting to report. The deaths in Singapore underline the point. All he really lost was a chance to get up on his soapbox.”
“Do you believe that he intended those deaths?”
“Yes,” Dryke said firmly. “At the very least he knew the risk was there, and went ahead regardless. They could have launched sixty seconds sooner and dropped the can in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I think he wanted a good show, a big scare, and rolled the dice.”
“I agree,” said the sociodynamicist.
“I value your opinion,” Sasaki said to Dryke. “All may be as you say. But the moment demands more. An accusation without proof will appear to be an excuse. Can you offer any evidence of Homeworld involvement which the world press would find persuasive?”
“No,” Dryke said reluctantly. “Not yet.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Hiroko, we were on top of this,” Dryke added. “We were very close to having him. We would have stopped him, except that one of our people reopened a door we’d closed.”
“That, too, offers little to me now,” she said. Sasaki turned to the man beside her on the bench. “I am ready for your counsel. How should we deal with this?”
“Hold our nose and take our medicine,” was the answer. “I was looking at lightning polls in the outer office. We’ll be seen as responsible whether or not we blame Homeworld. And if we blame them, we publicize our vulnerability to Homeworld tricks—and probably the details of the gag they used against us. In my opinion, it’s marginally better for us to be seen as fallible than as weak.”
“Yes,” Sasaki said. “I agree.”
“Perhaps something can be worked out with the Kenyans.”
Sasaki nodded. “I have already consulted with the Kenyan government,” she said. “They understand the true circumstances and are willing to be helpful. For appearances, they will insist on a suspension of launch operations while an investigation takes place. But I have been promised the restoration of our license, with certain cosmetic changes in the inspection and oversight provisions, in no more than ten days.”
“Wait just one moment,” Dryke interrupted. “Are we talking about taking the blame for this ourselves?”
“Yes,” Sasaki said. “I have decided to issue a statement accepting full responsibility for the accident. Mrs. Havens, we will need to agree on a plausible failure scenario.”
“Yes, Director.”
“What in the hell are we doing this for?” Dryke exploded. “They’re the murderers, not us.”
“We can’t win the war of opinion,” the sociologist said simply. “We have no credibility. This is Robin Hood we’re up against. Who listens to the Sheriff of Nottingham?”
“This is wrong,” Dryke said, shaking his head in disgust. “This is dumb wrong.”
Sasaki sought and held his eyes. Her focus made it as though no one else was with them. “This is reality,” she said. “We must win the other war. We must persevere, and complete Memphis.”
“This is a crime,” snapped Dryke. “A bloody crime. And you want to wash it away.”
“No, Mikhail,” Sasaki said softly. “We will not forget, no more than we forgot Dola Martinez. You must find Jeremiah and put an end to his interference. You made a promise to me. I am counting on you to keep it.”
His eyes questioned, then accepted, her meaning. “There are some threads I can follow.”
“Then do so,” she said, her voice still soft, but her eyes hard. “It is clear that Jeremiah can hurt us. He must not get a chance to try.”
CHAPTER 12
—AUU—
“…the fabric of life.”
Like a child exploring the scar left behind by a bandage, Christopher McCutcheon traced his finger along the nearly invisible crack on the back of his ancient Martin steel-string. The luthier had lovingly healed the wound in the century-old rosewood dreadnought. McCutcheon strummed a chord, and the mellow-voiced guitar sang as sweetly as always.
The club audiences preferred the bright sound of his Mitsei electronic, which was just fine with Christopher. The Mitsei had a versatile effects kit, could go six- or twelve-string at a touch, and still looked more or less traditional. Most important, unlike the Martin, it could easily be replaced should anything happen. Christopher did not want to expose the fragile antique to the rigors and risks faced by a working instrument, much less violate it by having a performance port installed.
But there were certain songs and certain times that demanded a softer, richer voice. And when he played for pleasure, more often than not it was the supple-actioned D-42 that came out of its case. The luthier had asserted that a wooden instrument held all the music that had ever been played on it, and said that Christopher’s Martin had been played well. He was not inclined to argue.
Almost of their own volition, his fingers found the opening chords of “Caravan to Antares.”
“Look at me, I’m flying free, living in the stars,” he sang, head down, eyes closed. “Signed my name and set my sights on a destination far—”
Sometime between the first verse and the last, Loi came to his room. He opened his eyes to discover her leaning lightly against the wall near the doorway, folded hands pinned behind her, listening. Though it was barely eight, she was wearing a short black nightdress which showed much leg and shoulder and clung slinkily to the rest.
“Haven’t seen that for a while,
” he said. She had bought the nightdress for herself on an early dinner-and-shopping date in the Embarcadero, then proceeded to take him home and show him that no visual aids were necessary. As play wear went, the nightdress was demure, but the associated memories were still potent.
“Are you busy?” she asked in her thoroughly direct and un-coquettish way.
“I was planning to be for a while,” he said, gesturing at the guitar. “I just got Claudia back.”
“Too busy to help a friend in need?”
A crooked smile. “Is that a proposition?”
“Of sorts. I think Jessie could really use both our attention. Unless you think Claudia will be jealous.”
Christopher frowned, hugged the guitar to his chest. “I don’t think Jess wants my attentions.”
“I think she’s been missing them.”
He squinted uncertainly. “Did she say that?”
“If I had to wait for her to speak her mind plainly to know what she’s feeling, this family would be in serious trouble,” Loi said with a smile. “But you don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable. I’d rather you didn’t if you’re uncomfortable, if you’ve still got business to work out with her.”
“I just don’t want to make her say no.”
“I don’t think she will,” Loi said. “She needs what you can give her, Chris.” She smiled affectionately. “I don’t think you realize how much good you can do.”
Her words were processed through a filter of self-image that removed most of the compliment, but left intact the hope of being worthy of it. “Sure,” he said finally, setting the guitar aside. “Let’s see if we can’t put a smile on Jessie’s face.”
She came toward him. “Hug me first,” she said. “Let me find you. Then we can go out there and remind her what she’s part of.”
It was hard to say what each of them brought to that joining that made it so special. But it was the best they’d ever been together, intense and intimate, loving and sharing. It was like they’d never shared a bed before; it was like they’d always been lovers. Everything was new, a discovery. Everything was familiar, seamlessly easy.
There was little said. Hunger and healing, doubt and reassurance, all were given purely physical expression. Eyes and smiles and mingling energies did the work of words.
Christopher let Loi take the lead. Smiling mischievously, the older woman settled beside Jessie on the couch and purposefully began to undress her. Christopher joined in the task from the other side, determinedly plucking at buttons and tugging at sleeves.
Though their movements were unhurried, their focus and intensity gave them an urgency flavored with inevitability. Together, Loi and Christopher wrapped Jessie in a timeless, dreamlike experience of sensuality. Any surprise, any resistance, boiled away in the growing sexual heat.
Naked, Jessie surrendered, releasing all Mind, embracing Moment. Four knowing hands caressed her soft cool skin and silken folds. Two hungry mouths tattooed gentle bites along a shoulder, sought crinkled nipples to tease. She opened to their touch, their energies. She took a kiss from Loi, long and hungry, and passed it in turn to Christopher, warm and forgiving.
In barely noticed pauses, Loi shed her nightdress with a shrug, and Christopher his shirt. Skin to skin to skin they embraced, dry tinder for the fire that ran through them.
Sometime in that span, Christopher let go of calculation and plan, centering in the immediate—the rich scent of Jessie’s excitement, the soft sounds of pleasure, the warm touch of a hand, his own pounding blood.
A three-way kiss dissolved as the two women’s mouths sought his nipples, their hands working in partnership to free him from his jeans and briefs. Loi went to her knees and briefly took his arching erection into an embrace of soft lips and swirling tongue. Then she sat back on her heels and pulled both Jessie and him down to the floor with her, seeking a larger canvas for what she was creating.
Without ever seeming to give direction, Loi orchestrated the rising crescendo. Sitting cross-legged with her back to the couch, Loi cradled Jessie’s head in her lap while Christopher lay between Jessie’s thighs, happily tasting her sweet slickness. From above, Loi caressed Jessie’s full breasts, tugged and teased her nipples, stroked her hair and her cheeks, bent forward to cap a moan of pleasure with a kiss.
But when Jessie reached up for Loi’s body, Loi captured her hands and forced them down, pinning them to the carpet. A gasp escaped Jessie’s lips, and her eyes closed. His mouth melded to Jessie’s sensitive center, Christopher rode with her on the rising curve, answering her excitement with a feverish intensity.
Then, as Jessie writhed and mewled under their combined attentions, Loi called Christopher forward with her eyes. He rose up and crawled toward her, their mouths meeting in a fragrant kiss as his cock entered Jessie. She moaned, a deep guttural animal sound, her body drawing him in, hips rising to meet his thrusts.
Finally, Loi, too, surrendered to no-mind, rocking forward to her knees and lowering her sparsely furred patch over Jessie’s eager tongue. The trio soared together, reaching, the energy spinning through them, Jessie to Loi to Christopher to Jessie and around the other way as well. They flew faster and faster, pushing against the barrier, then suddenly broke through, one after another.
Jessie was first, her body seized by a fierce, twisting orgasm that triggered Christopher’s own furious release. Not long after, the double charge and Jessie’s flicking tongue lifted Loi to her own arching, blissful break. Christopher’s body tingled, jangled, in sympathy.
They fell apart like toppled rag dolls, drained, bodies limp. In their breathless haze, they shared smiles of shy delight, of childlike giddy joy. They held hands, laughed, questioned each other with eyes that asked amazedly, needlessly, Did you feel that?
And as breath and strength returned, they began to look at each other with hope and hunger, for the pleasure, the moment, had been so exquisite that they could not help but try to touch it again. They adjourned gleefully to Loi’s big bed and soon began again.
It was long after midnight before the edge of longing at last gave way to happy fatigue, and they fell asleep entangled in each other’s arms.
For a long time, Christopher was unable to name the warm feeling that he woke with that next morning. It was as though there were a happy little spark lighting him from within. He didn’t mind being the only one of the three who was expected elsewhere early. He kissed them good-bye as though they were sleepy children and found himself smiling as he went out the door.
Neither the police checklane on the U.S. 75 en route to Allied nor the endless section conference once he got there tested Christopher’s patience that day. The smile came back at intervals, and with it crystal-clear sense-rich memories.
But he was scarcely aware of his own state until lunch, when one of the other archaeolibrarians wryly announced to the whole table, “I don’t know what stack Christopher’s been working in lately, but I wish he’d stop grinning like a contented idiot over it. I’m starting to feel left out.”
That was the word. That was the feeling—contented. “Sorry, Angela,” he said, the smile embarrassed this time. “Didn’t know I was broadcasting.”
“That’s all right,” she said with a wink. “It’s good to see you happy.”
But the spark was blown out almost the moment he got home. He found Loi and Jessie in the family room, and it was obvious at once that they had been talking about something serious, and equally obvious that they were waiting for him.
“Hi,” he said tentatively. “What’s up?”
“Jessie and I have been talking about the family,” Loi said. “About what we want and where we’re going. We were hoping you’d join us.”
“Can I hit the bathroom first?”
“Of course.”
Scrubbing his face, Christopher scrambled for emotionally secure ground, trying to anticipate the blow before it came. What could be wrong? What could have happened since last night? Jessie had been crying, and Loi was in he
r mother-therapist mode. He did not want to rejoin them scared, but scared he was. There was a tremor of change in their faces, and change was the enemy of the contentment he had enjoyed all day.
But he could not hide. Summoning a calm he did not feel, he rejoined them, settling by himself in a chair across the pit from them. “That feels better,” he said with a false smile. “Who’s going to bring me up to speed?”
Loi looked expectantly at Jessie, who ducked her head, frowned uncomfortably, then looked up into Christopher’s eyes. “We were talking about what rights I have here.”
Surprise registered on Christopher’s face. “The same as any of us.”
“I mean, how far does it go?”
Oh, God, she’s talking about the baby. “How far do you want it to go? It isn’t just rights for any of us. It’s rights and responsibilities.”
“Don’t lecture, Christopher,” Loi said quietly. “Listen.”
I’m waiting for her to say what she means,” Christopher said edgily.
“I have the privacy you promised, and the freedom,” Jessie said. “I like making a home for you two. You’ve been more than generous with my family share—I feel guilty sometimes because I don’t think I give enough back to deserve it.”
“You do,” Christopher said.
“But you’re both so busy. I’m here alone more than not.” She smiled shyly. “Last night was wonderful. But it made me sad, too, because it made me realize what I was missing.”
Christopher silently waited for her to continue. He could not make himself ask the polite question.
“I just feel like I need somebody for me,” she said.
“Don’t you feel like Christopher is yours?” asked Loi.
“Oh, I don’t mean you don’t share him, like last night. But when you’re here, he belongs to you. He only ever wants me when you’re away.”
The Quiet Pools Page 12
