by Scott Rhine
The cool liquid helped to quench the burn. Awkwardly, she stuck her face underwater and contorted to examine the bottom of her foot. She could see the skin reddening already. There might not be a blister; however, the mark stung. Backstroking to the loops, she dried her hands carefully again. Peeling the slimy, wet fabric strip off her hand, she tied it around her neck and shoulder like a purse strap so it could air out. Then, she hoisted herself back to the top.
Once on the rim, she reclaimed the two dry loops and tucked them into the waterproof container. Now what? The rim was thicker than a balance beam. How hard could it be to walk on it? Her alternative was to wait at least six hours for the shutters to close. Even if she could hang onto the rim that long, the meeting would be over by then, and the planners might find her. She couldn’t risk being caught; they’d find some way to monitor her in order to prevent her from trying again. She had to press on.
To be safe, though, Mercy wrapped her shirt like an oven mitt around her left hand for insulation in case she fell. Slowly, she rose to her feet and crept lensward. The constant glare from the nearby star affected her more than the heat. The painstaking journey was like walking on the sun. Her eyes ached, and she regretted not bringing her tinted helmet. That wouldn’t have been conspicuous, leaving camp with a visor on. She compensated by focusing on the island ahead and the perfect white line at her feet. She couldn’t afford to worry about the sky on her left or the lake on her right. She was a tightrope walker, suspended between heaven and Earth.
As Mercy progressed to the halfway mark, she planned her final approach. She needed to take Lou by surprise, or he might do himself harm. She might climb a tree and drop down on him. More easily, she could crawl into his bed while he slept. During this line of reasoning, she wrung out her hair reflexively, like any other day at the swimming pool. This generated a small puddle of water that caused her to slip. She was so worried about burning herself that she held her arms straight out to either side and twisted away from the heat. As a result, there were no hands to slow her when her head smacked into the hard ceramic rim.
White flashed before Mercy’s eyes as the water swallowed her. In a real ocean, her idiocy might have drowned her. In this sculpted paradise, the shallow water was just under two meters deep. The shocking chill snapped her out of her stupor, and she pushed herself off the sterile, sandy bottom. If it had been mud, she might have never regained the surface.
Panting, she cursed herself for being six kinds of fool. Nevertheless, she was past the point of no return. Treading water, she slapped her longest strap over the edge and onto the hot glass. Next, she unwrapped the shirt from her hand and tossed it over the edge like a laundry line. The cloth would steam dry in no time. She just had to conserve energy until the strap could dry enough to support her. Floating on her back, she tried to keep the worries at bay. Soon she could dry her hands on the shorts and resume.
The smell of the cornbread lingering on the leash made her mouth water.
To avoid thoughts of Lou while her strap dried, she calculated Mersenne primes—a common nighttime activity of hers, much less likely to end up in injury or pregnancy. After several minutes, the very end of the strap was dry enough to help hoist her back up. Next she dried her feet and looped the two smaller straps around them in a pattern resembling ice skates. She ate half the cornbread as her reward for surviving the first mistake. The back of her head hurt like hell, preventing the fantasies from making her careless again.
The second time walking, her progress went slower, but her feet couldn’t slip. When she reached the curved end of the window channel, sweat poured off her. The cool water would feel wonderful against her skin and the aching lump on her scalp. She developed goose bumps just thinking about the dive as she peeled off her safety equipment and stuffed it back in the fanny pack.
Chapter 33 – Odysseus and the Nymph
Whoever tried to sneak onto Lou’s island may have thought they were being stealthy as they thrashed in the water of his lagoon. However, after weeks alone with the elements, he knew the island’s every sound. As the newcomer lay gasping in the sand, Lou emerged from the trees to pin them with the point of a long, wicked spear. He could feel the flesh under his weapon. It would only take a shift in weight to kill the intruder.
“You look like a British Tarzan,” a woman’s voice said.
He took the comment as a reference to the fact that he wore only a Speedo and his pectorals were more defined than ever. “Mercy?” Lou asked, to make sure this wasn’t a hallucination.
“I’m here if you need anything.” After weeks of isolation, he welcomed any voice, hers especially. Her saying this to him was wet-dream material.
“Tarzan was British,” he argued. He moved the spear aside slightly, so he could appear threatening without actually hurting her unintentionally.
“I m-meant with a suntan and a beard. It looks good,” Mercy said.
“You like it?” he asked, rubbing his knuckles over the addition, carried away by the female attention. The resemblance to a Bugs Bunny skit struck him suddenly, and he blustered to cover his gaff. “I warned you all away. What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“I’m exiled, too, for dereliction of duty and repeated counts of disobeying a direct order.”
“When?”
“When I came to see you.”
He swallowed. “Now that you have, you need to go. I won’t tell.”
“I’m cold. A gentleman would help me warm up.”
“We’ve already established that I’m not a gentleman.”
She took a step toward him and said, “Prove it.”
“What?” This wasn’t making sense.
“I want you to . . .” Mercy then listed a roster of services he’d last seen on the menu of a Tahitian whorehouse. She was trying to talk dirty, but mangling it badly. It was like him talking math. I want to stroke your hypotenuse until it’s squared, baby. He couldn’t help it; he laughed at the juxtaposition. Lou had been able to resist her clumsy advances, but not the tears that followed.
She collapsed on the sand, wailing. “I walked across burning sands to seduce you. I thought all cats were gray in the dark. I thought a blind man wouldn’t mind if . . . I . . . were . . . ugly. But I’m too hideous even if I’m the last woman on this planet.”
He didn’t understand half of it, but dropped the spear in order to hold the sobbing woman close to his chest. Too late, as he stroked her back, he realized she was only in her underwear. Red would flay him alive if she found out about this.
“Who said you’re ugly? I’ll smack them upside the head.”
“You did.”
“No!”
“I’m the ugly sheep.”
“Uh . . . that was for Toby Baa-banger, not you. God, Mercy, you’re smoking hot. I’ve seen the footage of your body at Carnival.”
“That was my sister, the pretty one.”
“I didn’t give your sister a massage in the Honey Meadow. You have curves that make Vanessa seem flat as a boy. And if I could paint like Sojiro, I’d put your face on an angel. Sometimes, I fantasized about being a book so those big brown eyes would dance over me like a caress. Your hair bounces when you’re happy. Even your voice can turn a man on—”
Mercy’s tongue found his right nipple at some point during the awkward soliloquy, and she feasted on it until his face went numb. “God! Oh . . . stop.” The last command lacked emphasis, but he’d said it for the record. If she touched the excitement that was building up in him, he’d lose all control. That would be wrong, like having sex in the back pews of the church. Okay, he’d done it in the dean’s office of a religious school for girls, but that was different. There had to be boundaries.
“I think I like you better when you’re quiet,” she said huskily. When he opened his mouth to reply, she kissed him hard.
The kiss was inexperienced, but sweet and sincere. It hit his system like that first tumbler of scotch after a week of survival training. He swallowed
it greedily, even as he felt her writhe against him. When he heard the shoosh of her bottoms dropping onto the sand, he broke the contact and backed away like she’d clicked the safety off on a gun. “This isn’t you. Y-you don’t belong here.”
She circled, forcing him to constantly adjust his facing to hold her off. “I’m here on this island for as long as you are. You haven’t made love in months. Why shouldn’t you enjoy me?”
Lou held up a finger. “That sounds like logic, but it isn’t.” He took several moments to come up with any objection, though. “Aren’t you a virgin?”
“That’s rather personal.”
He raised an eyebrow. She sighed as she admitted the fact, as if it implied communist affiliation. “Yes.”
“What really brought this visit on?”
“Answer one question for me, and I’ll do anything you like,” she purred. The sound of that phrase tickled his ear like an ostrich feather.
“Sure.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Everyone calls me Lou.”
“I know. Maybe if I share first. I’ve never told anyone this, but my middle name is Cielito, from the song.”
“Cielito Lindo—Beautiful piece of heaven,” he replied. “A fine Mexican drinking song. And it fits you.”
He could hear her blush and look down shyly as she explained, “The song played every morning on the way to breakfast on the cruise where I was conceived. If I’d been a boy, I’d have been Tom, after Tom Jones.”
“Give me one good reason you need my first name.”
“Because if I’m going to be shouting your name in the throes of passion, I want to get it right.”
He swallowed. That is the best damn reason I’ve ever heard. “It’s Kai. But I don’t like it.”
“Kai is a good, strong name.”
“It’s Cornish for dog,” he complained. That’s what women had always called him when they thought he wasn’t listening.
“After all that mocking of Toby, you have the same problem with your own name. Surely, your parents didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Nah. My mum was a fan of the Arthurian legends. She named me after Sir Kay, the one who trained the king.”
“My father was Percival for the same reason,” she said, stroking the small of his back with one hand. She was so supportive that he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.
“Your dad was a solid guy. Red couldn’t say enough good things about him.”
“Kay also means keeper of the keys. It’s the title of someone who can be trusted,” she said with both arms around him. “That’s the meaning it’ll have for me when I shout it. Now, can you help me practice saying it the right way?” She seized the opportunity to give his other nipple equal time.
“Wait!” he objected, surprising himself. “You have a bump on your head.”
“Could be a concussion. It’s your duty to make sure I don’t get any sleep.”
“It might be impairing your judgment.”
“I came here despite the injuries because I need to be with you.”
“Why would you possibly want me when you could have a real man? You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. The women in my family make up their minds quickly. My mother decided to marry my father after knowing him only two days. You and I have known each other for months. You’re deeper than you’ve let yourself be. I’m useless at camp, but there’s one thing I’ve decided I can do with my talents, even from exile. I choose to give myself to you, love. I can teach you to be whole again, and I’ll do anything to make you feel that way if it takes me the rest of my life. I’m committed to you, Kai.”
He believed her and kissed her bruise tenderly.
She tripped him backward onto the moss. She was the goddess of gravity, and falling felt like freedom.
When he felt her warmth on top of him, all further words melted.
It was one of the shortest, most intense lovemaking sessions in his life, faster than that elevator in New Orleans. She pushed him over the edge when she said his real name with adoration. No other woman had ever called him that. Even her offer of commitment couldn’t scare him away.
****
Mercy lay next to Kai on the beach. The sand had been uncomfortable and the ripping down below had hurt. God, she was sore. She didn’t think she could stomach the act again for at least another month. But the closeness with her man was incredible. He’d enjoyed it so much that she thought he’d had a stroke at first. For a long while, he couldn’t move or speak. Then he snuggled. Ahh.
After a few minutes, he tried to speak, apologizing, but she stopped his words with a kiss. One kiss turned to another, and then the maestro pulled out his bow. He kissed everything. Places on her body she’d ignored most of her life turned out to be very responsive. Her reactions excited him, making him hungrier and faster. When his fingertips brushed the hair under her navel, she gasped. “What was that?”
“Foreplay,” he whispered.
“Isn’t that a little late?”
“Not for this go-round,” he promised. He made her see stars, pant, and suffer from the heat, just like her long voyage to the island, but this time in a good way.
When he finally finished, over an hour later, she didn’t have the energy to open her eyes.
“Your first orgasm?” he asked lazily.
“And second, and maybe third,” she said, whimpering. “I can see why Mary wanted to do this rather than study economics.”
The beard tickled a little, but she decided she’d make him keep it. He spooned her with his arms around her midsection, and she wanted to dance on the sand. Please, don’t ruin this perfect moment by talking, she prayed.
Just as her breathing changed and she started drifting to sleep on the idyllic, white beach, Lou said, “At first, I thought someone came here to kill me. I guess that could still happen, but sexual exhaustion might be the way to go.”
“Could you phrase that a little less like you were talking to a guy?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I could imagine spending the rest of my life like this.”
“Better.” Testing a theory, she opened her fanny pack and handed him the last morsel. “That deserves some cornbread.”
He devoured the meal enthusiastically and fell asleep soon after. Note to self: if he talks too much in bed, it’s a sign he wants to be fed. I should write a book on this.
That evening, as she harvested clams for dinner, Lou gathered tubers and then boiled them in his steel survival mess kit. The island was burgeoning with food because there were no land animals but them. “The tubers are kind of like parsnips, but I won’t complain because I didn’t have to weed the garden.”
“You had to do that as a kid?”
“My grandparents still believed in victory gardens. Our estate was huge, but Gran still grew her own vegetables and roses.”
“I want roses someday,” she sighed.
“Gran would love you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re quality people, Mercy. Better than I deserve. Gran would be the first to point that out.”
The thought made her smile. Then, Mercy remembered the last worry she had before he had his nap. “Why would you suspect a killer?”
“Because Z said—” He stopped stirring and talking at the same time.
“Yes? You’re sharing a cell with me indefinitely, and now you’re having second thoughts?”
“I suppose there’s no way you could be involved. Z said someone broke the charter. He didn’t think it was me, but he wanted me out of the way for my own safety, in case the train wreck was really an attempt on my life.”
“He thinks someone tried to kill you?”
“Someone’s been tampering with the ship’s computer.”
“I can just ask Snowflake.”
“You what?” His mouth dropped open, so she kissed it.
“Snowflake and I understand each other. I think the AI started immature, like the chick
s, and grew with us. It bonded with me a little.”
“Right. I can see why you scare the shit out of Toby.” Mercy had never thought of herself as frightening. “He calls you a witch. You know.” Lou demonstrated a finger wave.
“That’s probably why he doesn’t want me in Olympus. I never did anything against him.”
“It’s not just him. You intimidate lots of folks who underestimate you. Z was worried that you’d queer his plan to sneak up to the decontamination chamber. He wanted to talk to Sensei in secret.”
“Why so hush-hush?”
“Because Red couldn’t communicate with folks in the sphere from decontamination, and there’s a four-hour window where just about anyone can kill her. If somebody has already committed a major crime, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill one more person if they could make it look like an accident.”
“But we could be stranded here for life.”
Lou shrugged. “This is Club Med, sweetie. I wouldn’t mind it . . . now.”
“So you’re saying the whole alien white space on Alcantara is a fake to fool some unknown criminal?”
“Almost anybody could’ve planned the wreck; people were in and out of Olympus all the time. We weren’t real strict about shifts or (ahem) conjugal visits. Z was sweating bullets that you’d figure out the fake and get Red killed.”
“He should’ve told me,” she complained.
Lou took a mango off the pile and bit into it with a grunt. “You were a prime suspect because Snowflake was tied in knots and you wouldn’t allow an empath in your interview. He ordered you away from the scene, but you wouldn’t listen. You kept helping people and giving hints.”
“Oh, no. I thought he just didn’t like me.”
