Though this visit was harshly for business, she felt pleasure at what surrounded her. She and her uncle stood on a slate terrace that jutted blue-black from the granite blocks of the house. Zoria wheeled dazzling through cloudless heaven, ringed with sun dogs. Left, right, and rearward the land reached endless, red-purple mahovina turf, widespaced clumps of firebush and stands of windblown plume, here and there a pool ablink. Forward, growth yielded to tumbled boulders where water coursed. In these parts, the barrens were a mere strip; she could see the ice beyond them. Two kilometers high, its cliff stood over the horizon, a worldwall, at its distance not dusty white but shimmering, streaked with blue crevasses. The river which ran from its melting was still swift when it passed near the lodge, a deep brawl beneath the lonesome tone of wind, the remote cries of a sheerwing flock. The air was cold, dry, altogether pure. The fur lining of her parka hood was soft and tickly on her cheeks.
The big man beside her growled, “Yes, too many ears in Zorkagrad. Damnation! I thought if we put Molitor on the throne, we’d again know who was friend and who foe. But things only get more tangled. How many faithful are left? I can’t tell. And that’s fouler than men becoming outright turncoats.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” Kossara answered in pride.
“Yes,” Miyatovich said. “I trust you beyond your fidelity. You’re strong and quick-witted. And your xenological background … qualifies you and gives you a cover story … for a mission I hope you’ll undertake.”
“To Diomedes? My father’s told me rumors.”
“Worse. Accusations. Not public yet. I actually had bloody hard work finding out, myself, why Imperial Intelligence agents have been snooping amongst us in such numbers. I sent men to inquire elsewhere and—Well, the upshot is, the Impies know revolt is brewing on Diomedes and think Dennitzans are the yeast. The natural conclusion is that a cabal of mine sent them, to keep the Imperium amused while we prepare a revolt of our own.”
“You’ve denied it, I’m sure.”
“In a way. Nobody’s overtly charged me. I’ve sent the Emperor a memorandum, deploring the affair and offering to cooperate in a full-dress investigation. But guilty or not, I’d do that. How to prove innocence? As thin as his corps is spread, we could mobilize—on desert planets, for instance, without positive clues for them to find.”
The Gospodar gusted a sigh. “And appearances are against us. There is a lot of sentiment for independence, for turning this sector into a confederacy free of an Empire that failed us and wants to sap the strength we survived by. Those could be Dennitzans yonder, working for a faction who plot to get us committed—who’ll overthrow me if they must—”
“I’m to go search out the truth if I can,” she knew. “Uncle, I’m honored. But me alone? Won’t that be like trying to catch water in a net?”
“Maybe. Though at the bare least, you can bring me back … um … a feel of what’s going on, better than anybody else. And you may well do more. I’ve watched you from babyhood. You’re abler than you think, Kossara.”
Miyatovich took her by the shoulders. Breath smoked white from his mouth, leaving frost in his beard, as he spoke: “I’ve never had a harder task than this, asking you to put your life on the line. You’re like a daughter to me. I sorrowed nearly as much as you did when Mihail died, but told myself you’d find another good man who’d give you sound children. Now I can only say—go in Mihail’s name, that your next man needn’t die in another war.”
“Than you think we should stay in the Empire?”
“Yes. I’ve made remarks that suggested different. But you know me, how I talk rashly in anger but try to act in calm. The Empire would have to get so bad that chaos was better, before Fd willingly break it. Terra, the Troubles, or the tyranny of Merseia—and those racists wouldn’t just subject us, they’d tame us—I don’t believe we have a fourth choice, and I’ll pick Terra.”
She felt he was right.}
A part of the Hooligan’s hold had been converted to a gymnasium. Outbound, and at first on the flight from Diomedes, Flandry and Kossara used it at separate hours. Soon after her therapy commenced, she proposed they exercise together. “Absolutely!” he caroled. “It’ll make calisthenics themselves fun, whether or not that violates the second law of thermodynamics.”
In truth, it wasn’t fun—when she was there in shorts and halter, sweat, laughter, herself—it was glory.
Halfway to Dennitza, he told her: “Let’s end our psychosessions. You’ve regained everything you need. The rest would be detail, not worth further invasion of your privacy.”
“No invasion,” she said low. Her eyes dropped, her blood mounted. “You were welcome.”
“Chives!” Flandry bellowed. “Get busy! Tonight we do not dine, we feast!”
“Very good, sir,” the Shalmuan replied, appearing in the saloon as if his master had rubbed a lamp. “I suggest luncheon consist of a small salad and tea to drink.”
“You’re the boss,” Flandry said. “Me, I can’t sit still. How about a game of tennis, Kossara? Then after our rabbit repast we can snooze, in preparation for sitting up the whole nightwatch popping champagne.”
She agreed eagerly. They changed into gym briefs and met below. The room was elastic matting, sunlamp fluorescence, gray-painted metal sides. In its bareness, she flamed.
The ball thudded back and forth, caromed, bounced, made them leap, for half an hour. At last, panting, they called time out and sought a water tap.
“Do you feel well?” She sounded anxious. “You missed an awful lot of serves.” They were closely matched, her youth against his muscles.
“If I felt any better, you could turn off the ship’s powerplant and hook me into the circuits,” he replied. “But why—?”
“I was distracted.” He wiped the back of a hand across the salt dampness in his mustache, ran those fingers through his hair and recalled how it was turning gray. Decision came. He prepared a light tone before going on: “Kossara, you’re a beautiful woman, and not just because you’re the only woman for quite a few light-years around. Never fear, I can mind my manners. But I hope it won’t bother you overmuch if I keep looking your way.”
She stood quiet awhile, except for the rise and fall of her breasts. Her skin gleamed. A lock of hair clung bronzy to her right cheekbone. The beryl eyes gazed beyond him. Suddenly they returned, focused, met his as sabers meet in a fencing match between near friends. Her husky voice grew hoarse and, without her noticing, stammered Serbic: “Do you mean—Dominic, do you mean you never learned, while I was under … I love you?”
Meteorstruck, he heard himself croak, “No. I did try to avoid—as far as possible, I let Chives question you, in my absence—”
“I resisted,” she said in wonder, “because I knew you would be kind but dared not imagine you might be for always.”
“I’d lost hope of getting anybody who’d make me want to be.”
She came to him.
Presently: “Dominic, darling, please, no. Not yet.”
“—Do you want a marriage ceremony first?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind too much. I know you don’t care, but, well, did you know I still say my prayers every night? Does that make you laugh?”
“Never. All right, we’ll be married, and in style!”
“Could we really be? In St. Clement’s Cathedral, by Father Smed who christened and confirmed me—?”
“If he’s game, I am. It won’t be easy, waiting, but how can I refuse a wish of yours? Forgive these hands. They’re not used to holding something sacred.”
“Dominic, you star-fool, stop babbling! Do you think it will be easy for me?”