“You are still mocking me.”
“Yes, I am. I apologize.” The words were out before I thought. Brian Thorne never apologized. Not in words, anyway. People would think it a sign of weakness or indecision. It was nice not to have to be a robber baron all the time.
“Go to bed and dream of the ancient Martians,” I said. “They rose from their dusty tombs and entered you at birth. The last royal princess, Xotolyl the Fifteenth, is within you, guiding you. One day the chrysalis of this mortal flesh shall split and the first of the new Martian royalty shall be born!” Her eyes were shining and her lips parted.
“Great butterfly wings of gossamer dreams shall flutter again under the twin moons,” I said dramatically. “The ghosts of the distant, unknown past will gather around you, merging with those present, and they shall carry you to that hidden, ancient, untouched vault of time and mystery, where the long-dead lords of Mars made their sacrifices to the ageless gods, those gods that now sleep beneath the red sands. Mars will grow green again. The canals will flow with clear, life-giving water. The walls and battlements of olden times will rise, greater than before, and the curious barbicans will stand guard. There will be feasts of old wine and fresh fruit, there will be entertainments and marvels, and honors given.
“There will be you, in the glittering jeweled robes of the queen . .
. Nova the First, the Queen of Mars . . .”
There was a long pause as she stared at me in wonder. “My god,” she said softly. “You are totally mad!” She jumped up and threw herself into my lap, hugging me and laughing. She pulled back, looking at me, her eyes sparkling, her mouth a tongue’s length away. My hands were on her bare, smooth arms and I pulled her to me. She came without resisting, her face softening, her eyes closing. We kissed softly, without passion, but with a gentleness and a quiet loving. After a very long time she moved away slightly and said huskily,
“I did not give you permission to approach the throne. . .”
“I always was a rebel,” I said and brought her close for another kiss. It was longer and grew more intense. With a sudden low growl Nova grabbed me tighter and our kiss became hunger, and I responded. Then, after a long moment, she pulled back and looked at me with great seriousness, her dark, slanted eyes searching my face. Then with a kind of brisk, businesslike move she nodded, pushed herself out of my lap and started putting on her suit. I helped her and we did not say anything at all.
We floated up as she thrust herself into the bulky suit, and I buttoned up. Then she grabbed the edge of the hatch, grinned at me, slapped her faceplate shut, and hit the lock control. We went out and down the laser-cut passage, dipping and dodging like dolphins, laughing and grabbing at each other. We seized a line just in time to brake down and we reentered the central core in relative sobriety. Mine was the closer cabin, but there was Pelf, so we went on to Nova’s. She shared it with a nurse who rarely slept there, and it was on Nova’s narrow bunk that we first made love.
No two sexual encounters are exactly alike. Each couple has its interpersonal relationships spelled out in a different set of positions, a different sequence and rhythm, different “body English” and different words from the last couple and, indeed, from the last coupling of the same couple. Each orgasm rockets through the mind uniquely, caroming off memories and senses and fantasies in a different way each time. From the first Nova and I found that we fit. Not just the plumbing, nor the silent agreement of position or choice of act, but the time and place, the pace, the mood, whether gently and loving or frenetic and demanding. There are times when you make love and there are times when you fuck. We seemed attuned to one another in this and responded wordlessly, for words were not needed, nor would they be adequate.
One of the things I had learned the hard way, but that Nova seemed to understand instinctively was that each person has only his or her kind of love to give, not your own kind. I felt fortunate that the kinds that we gave each other were so alike.
I also had learned that you cannot love a person all the way unless the way was open. What is better to do than love, to be in love, or even to anticipate love?
Love is ego turned inside out, but there must be time spent between loves. I had spent that time wildly and foolishly, and now it was another time. It was time to be the royal escort to the Queen of Mars, by appointment, Lover to the Princess Nova, to be Brian and Nova, perhaps even to be BrianandNova, NovaandBrian.
I must admit she did a fine job of keeping the various proNova factions from exploding. It had been our conceit that it took the other passengers two weeks to find that we were sleeping together, but perhaps lovers are the last to know that others know. To keep the others from becoming too jealous, she spent much of her time dancing and smiling and dining with other men, from the Captain to the lowest rating. Naturally, that drove me crazy, an emotion I found both foreign and degrading. Brian Thorne would never have gotten jealous. But I was Diego Braddock.
The month was both short and long. It seemed, in one way, as though we were suddenly there, and yet, in another, it was a long trip because so much happened.
Plump Miss Blount had affaires de coeur with the ranking Marine, with the ship’s Number Two, and with the wispy little technician she would become engaged to by trip’s end. One of the nurses was the subject of a duel between a crewman and one of the Marines. The Marine won and was court-martialed.
There was considerable bed-hopping, which was to be expected, and I felt fortunate in having to deck only two men, a torch-watcher who jumped me and damned near killed me, and the biologist, who had named a variant strain of Glycine soja the Nova in hopes of attracting her attention. He went zongo during a quiet party in the lounge and was sedated for the remainder of the journey. It was Nova’s own sweet nature that kept most of the men at bay, and she handled any problems with grace and tact. It is always better to have the woman at least attempt to smooth over ruffled egos. It leaves everyone in a better mood than the aftermath of any violence. I hardly think violence shows an inner strength, but tact and mildness should not be considered weakness, either.
Other things happened as well, like passing close to a robot ore ship on the long, cheap, slow route to Earth orbit, and having a fine look at a phenomenal solar flare. Nothing spectacular, but they broke the monotony of space travel.
Nova and I did not involve ourselves much with the ship’s passengers and crew, although there were numerous organized activities that kept the passengers from being idle. At first we were invited to join a handball team, or to go to one of Miss Blount’s gourmet dinners, but soon the invitations dwindled as we politely declined again and again. Most of the time we explored one another. Nova showed an amazing knowledge of Martian archaeology. “I played in the Star Palace as a child, and sat on the throne in the Great Hall, playing Queen of Mars to Georgie’s Grand Vizier and Sabra’s Counterqueen. I was just a baby, practically, when Martian Explorations made all the big finds. Evans used to put me up on his lap and we’d go over the holos together. I used an emerald crystal from the Palace for a paperweight.”