The combination of obtuseness and presumption on his part made Caissa lose her temper. Restraining the urge to throw the paltry gift in his face, she had pushed the casket against his diaphragm with such vigor that his hands came up in a protective gesture. She relinquished her hold so abruptly that he stumbled, trying not to drop the box. She then informed him in explicit terms that his manners would have put his humblest miner to shame, that he was pretentious, miserly, impertinent and ultimately the last man on Demeathorn with whom she would consider a contract of any sort, much less one requiring the intimacy of conceiving an heir.
She had left him standing, gape-mouthed, in the center of the reception room, still clutching the casket to his midriff. She was no sooner past the inner door than she had triggered the holdfast. She called for Trin to bring her hunting gear, unfastening her formal clothes, stepping away from the fallen garments and into the ones Trin hurriedly tendered
She reached the hangar level in record time, seething when she found her slim speedster blocked by other craft. One of the privileges of being the heir of a Minister Plenipotential was that Caissa ranked just below the Triadic heirs and above Cavernii. She also had more freedom to come and go from the Triadic Cities without undue interference by the Guardians. Out of courtesy she dialed her exit request through to Blue Guardian and then ordered hangar attendants to move the vehicles blocking hers. Inside the cabin of the fast vehicle, she contacted Blue City Control for clearance.
“Just going out for a spin,” she told the Guardian on duty. “To watch my sire bring in his hunt.”
“Now that may not be so easy, Lady Caissa,” the Guardian began, surprise and concern flashing across his stolid countenance.
He was a nice old man, in his thirteenth decade, and had taught Caissa much about the dangers of inner and outer Demeathorn. A teaching, she thought now, that he might regret since she had so well displayed herself capable of handling most of the dangerous species on the planet-including the ones from which to retreat without loss of dignity-that he could summon little reason to deny her egress. “Your sire gave no specific directions for his hunt…”
“Oh, that’s all right, Guardian…”
“Lady Caissa…”
“Thank you, Guardian,” and she snapped off the channel.
He flashed an urgent request to speak with her again but she was not in a mood to hear advice or admonition. She took a northwesterly route, low along the mountain ridges where transmissions would be jammed. She accelerated to the top speed of her vehicle so that the dangers of low level flying exhilarated her and demanded total concentration. She was not a reckless driver by nature but the distasteful interview with the fatuous Cavernus, her sire’s unexpected recommendation of the contract and the well-remembered shafts of the High Lady Cinna all combined to cause Caissa to discard habit and, indeed, common sense.
Now and then her speedster flushed game with its side-shadow. Once or twice she changed direction to identify the creature. She had no heart for hunting, nor for company. Then she wondered if she’d’ve done better to seek out some of the gay, effervescent, frivolous companions, either City or Cavern, and forget in laughter and society the doubts that plagued her.
She turned north again, to keep the coast range between herself and the Blue City transmissions. Her thoughts turned back continuously, not to the Cavernus Gustin, but to her father’s hope of fulfilling his mission. Whatever it was. She tried to recall with whom her sire had lately been keeping company, with whom he’d been hunting, even what his catch had been and she couldn’t call up a single detail. When he’d say that his hunting had been good that day, she’d conventionally offered congratulations and let the matter drop. Baythan had never been braggart of head, horn or hatch. Now that she reviewed their infrequent recent exchanges, it was singularly odd of Baythan not to have stated where or with whom he had hunted.
But, if Baythan were at the point of fulfilling his mission as well as his contract clause with the Lady Cinna, what did that have to do with hunting?
Suddenly she caught the sparkle and flash of maneuvering aircraft in the west. She veered seaward, preventing casual observation of her vehicle. She skimmed the rough ocean, watching as huge amphibians launched themselves at her ship’s shadow, flailing with fluke and tentacle. She adjusted her speedster’s altitude for she’d hunted these waters enough to know the dangers. When the coast curved slightly northwest, she continued straight. She wanted no chance encounter with hunters and one of the best preserves of the nathus was just inland.
No “reward” she could possibly imagine would be worth accepting physical intimacy with Gustin. On that point she was adamant. But, if an alliance with a Cavernus was advisable at this point in time, surely there must be another noble with whom she could form a short term treaty. Must it necessarily, for Baythan’s purposes, be an heir-contract?
Mentally she reviewed the list of Cavernii, most of whom she knew for they preferred smaller residences in either Blue or Red City to their spacious subterranean holdings. “Home” did not, Caissa had been informed by one Caverna, apply to caverns: they could be made comfortable enough and suitably adapted to miners’ and artisans’ need, but were not in the least “home-like.” Caissa had found the enormous caverns which riddled Demeathorn’s coastal mountains rather fascinating. Or, at least, the hunting in them. As living quarters, she did indeed prefer the sweeping prospect from her windows in the upper levels of Blue City.
Triad city. And there were three. Whimsically, Caissa altered her course for that abandoned third city. She might as well have some goal in her flight, preferably where she would be least expected. Yellow Triad City, ruins and all, beckoned.
A sudden drop and an ominous wobble in her speedster’s flight brought her forcibly to attention. And she was in difficulties. For the first time in her life, she had failed to check the fuel tanks and the remaining supply would not take her much farther. The sun was too far west now for her to recharge her auxiliary solar batteries though they contained enough to maintain shielding and life support within the speedster overnight.
She changed direction towards the distant shore and checked her position. She wasn’t far from the Yellow City on a north heading but if the place was abandoned, nocturnal predators would be abundant and dangerous. She checked for the proximity of habitable caverns and the initial display gave her none. As the entire perimeter of the continent was a maze of caverns, she keyed an emergency override and, after a significant pause, the display informed her that she was headed for the Oriolii caverns which were interdicted. Well she couldn’t expect help from them with her speedster emblazoned with both Blue Triad and ministerial markings.
Caissa was annoyed with herself for failing to check her fuel reserves. Perhaps that was what the Guardian had tried to tell her when she switched him off. Not that she couldn’t be safe enough in the speedster overnight: its plastisteel body was impervious to anything except ressor acid. Those creatures dwelt near mountain lakes, lurking in forests between forays into caverns. She need only find a suitably open rocky area, preferably away from dense vegetation in which a carnivore might secrete itself. In the morning, the sun would recharge the auxiliaries sufficiently for her to return to Blue City at a judicious speed.
The jagged rocks of the coastline were now visible. Nearer loomed rocky extrusions that must be off-shore islands, An extensive one appeared on her scope.