He forced a level look at her. “Or Dennitza could in fact have exploded, giving Emperor and Admiralty no choice,” he declared. “The Merseians are surely working that side of the street too.”
“You hope I—we can get my uncle and the Skupshtina to stay their hands?” she asked.
“Yes,” Flandry said. “This is a fast boat. However … we’ll be a month in transit, and Aycharaych Co. have a long jump on us.”
{The resident and his lady made her welcome at Thursday Landing. They advised her against taking her research to the Sea of Achan countries. Unrest was particularly bad there. Indeed, she and her Merseian—pardon, her xenosophont companion—would do best to avoid migratory societies in general. Could they not gather sufficient data among the sedentary and maritime Diomedeans? Those were more intimate with modern civilization, more accustomed to dealing with offworlders, therefore doubtless more relevant to the problem which had caused her planetary government to send her here.
Striving to mask her nervousness, she met Commander Maspes and a few junior officers of the Imperial Naval Intelligence team that was investigating the disturbances. He was polite but curt. His attitude evidently influenced the younger men, who must settle for stock words and sidelong stares. Yes, Maspes said, it was common knowledge that humans were partly responsible for the revolutionary agitation and organization on this planet. Most Diomedeans believed they were Avalonians, working for Ythri. Some native rebels, caught and interrogated, said they had actually been told so by the agents themselves. And indeed the Alatanist mystique was a potent recruiter … Yet how could a naive native distinguish one kind of human from another? Maybe Ythri was being maligned … He should say no more at the present stage. Had Donna Vymezal had a pleasant journey? What was the news at her home?
Lagard apologized that he must bar her from a wing of the Residency. “A team member, his work’s confidential and—well, you are a civilian, you will be in the outback, and he’s a xeno, distinctive appearance—”
Kossara smiled. “I can dog my hatch,” she said; “but since you wish, I’ll leash my curiosity.” She gave the matter scant thought, amidst everything else.}
Flandry greeted her at breakfast: “Dobar yutro, Dama.”
Startled, she asked, “You are learning Serbic?”
“As fast as operant conditioning, electronics, and the pharmacopoeia can cram it into me.” He joined her at table. Orange juice shone above the cloth. Coffee made the air fragrant. He drank fast. She saw he was tired.
“I wondered why you are so seldom here when off duty,” she said.
“That’s the reason.”
He gazed out at the stars. She considered him. After a while, during which her pulse accelerated, she said, “No. I mean, if you’re studying, there is no need. You must know most of us speak Anglic. You need an excuse to avoid me.”
It was his turn for surprise. “Eh? Why in cosmos would I that?”
She drew breath, feeling cheeks, throat, breasts redden. “You think I’m embarrassed at what you’ve learned of me.”
“No—” He swung his look to her. “Yes. Not that I—Well, I try not to, and what comes out regardless shows you clean as a … knife blade—But of course you’re full of life, you’ve been in love and—” Abruptly he flung his head back and laughed. “Oh, hellflash! I was afraid you would make me stammer like a schoolboy.”
“I’m not angry. Haven’t you saved me? Aren’t you healing me?” She gathered resolution. “I did have to think hard, till I saw how nothing about me could surprise you.”
“Oh, a lot could. Does.” Their eyes met fully.
“Maybe you can equalize us a little,” she said through a rising drumbeat. “Tell me of your own past, what you really are under that flexmail you always wear.” She smiled. “In exchange, I can help you in your language lessons, and tell you stories about Dennitza that can’t be in your records. The time has been lonely for me, Dominic.”
“For us both,” he said as though dazed.
Chives brought in an omelet and fresh-baked bread.
{From a dealer in Thursday Landing, Kossara rented an aircamper and field equipment, bought rations and guidebooks, requested advice. She needed information for its own sake as well as for cover. On the long voyage here—three changes of passenger-carrying freighter——she had absorbed what material on Diomedes the Shkola in Zorkagrad could supply. That wasn’t much. It could well have been zero if the planet weren’t unusual enough to be used as an interest-grabbing example in certain classes. She learned scraps of astronomy, physics, chemistry, topology, meteorology, biology, ethnology, history, economics, politics; she acquired a few phrases in several different languages, no real grasp of their grammar or semantics; her knowledge was a twig to which she clung above the windy chasm of her ignorance about an entire world.
After a few days getting the feel of conditions, she and Trohdwyr flew to Lannach. The resident had not actually forbidden them. In the towns along Sagna Bay, they went among the gaunt high dwellings of the winged folk, seeking those who understood Anglic and might talk somewhat freely. “We are from a planet called Dennitza. We wish to find out how to make friends and stay friends with a people who resemble you—”
Eonan the factor proved helpful. Increasingly, Kossara tried to sound him out, and had an idea he was trying to do likewise to her. Whether or not he was involved in the subversive movement, he could well fear she came from Imperial Intelligence to entrap comrades of his. And yet the name “Dennitza” unmistakably excited more than one individual, quick though the Diomedeans were to hide that reaction.
How far Dennitza felt, drowned in alien constellations! At night in their camper, she and Trohdwyr would talk long and long about old days and future days at home; he would sing his gruff ychan songs to her, and she would recite the poems of Simich that he loved: until at last an inner peace came to them both, bearing its gift of sleep.}
Flandry always dressed for dinner. He liked being well turned out; it helped create an atmosphere which enhanced his appreciation of the food and wine; and Chives would raise polite hell if he didn’t. Kossara slopped in wearing whatever she’d happened to don when she got out of bed. Not to mock her mourning, he settled for the blue tunic, red sash, white trousers, and soft half-boots that were a human officer’s ordinary mess uniform.
When she entered the saloon in evening garb, he nearly dropped the cocktail pitcher. Amidst the subdued elegance around her, she suddenly outblazed a great blue star and multitudinously lacy nebula which dominated the viewscreen. Burgundy-hued velvyl sheathed each curve of her tautness, from low on the bosom to silvery slippers. A necklace of jet and turquoise, a bracelet of gold, gleamed against ivory skin. Diamond-studded tiara and crystal earrings framed the ruddy hair; but a few freckles across the snub nose redeemed that high-cheeked, full-mouthed, large-eyed face from queenliness.
“Nom de Dieu!” he gasped, and there sang through him, Yes, God, Whom the believers say made all triumphant beauty. She breaks on me and takes me like a wave of sunlit surf. “Woman, that’s not fair! You should have sent a trumpeter to announce you.”
She chuckled. “I decided it was past time I do Chives the courtesy of honoring his cuisine. He fitted me yesterday and promised to exceed himself in the galley.”