Another stan passed.
At a single sharp rap on my door, I looked up abruptly. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
Jiendra stepped into my cramped domain, attired in the skintights and uniform vest and shorts of a pilot. “You left a message.”
I stood quickly. “That I did. You didn’t have to come.” My smile doubtless indicated a contradiction to my words.
“Messages are… too impersonal.” She closed the door behind her, deftly, yet without a discernible sound, but took only a single step toward me.
I gestured toward the single other chair, straight-backed, but not too uncomfortable, if a less-than-pleasing shade of plastrene green. “You could avail yourself of a chair.”
With a laugh that contained a hint of both melody and amusement, she seated herself, but her eyes never strayed from me. I reseated myself, turning the console chair toward her.
“You were working on something.”
“A speculative analysis of the culture that produced the Danannian megaplex.”
“Have you seen the artifact?”
“Artifact? They found one?” My words sounded less than articulate, far less, and I disliked sounding inarticulate, let alone ill informed.
“Just one. Massive. Couldn’t tell you what it looked like, all crated up in plastrene. Morgan said that Barna— the artist—found it.”
“There has been nothing about it on the system, and I would have thought…”
“Henjsen. She’s trying to keep it quiet, I’d guess.”
The way she stated the technical archeologist’s name revealed a distinct lack of affection. “You’re not fond of Kaitlin Henjsen?”
“You wouldn’t care for her, either. Not if she’d overloaded your shuttle and strained your drives. Few more kilos, and she could have crashed us.” Jiendra stopped. “Shouldn’t have said that. Had to tell someone.”
“She sounds like a person who is pleasant enough upon the surface and far less than that under any sort of pressure or when she wishes things to follow her desires.”
“That’s charitable.”
Given Jiendra’s clear and understandable dislike of Kaitlin Henjsen, I perceived that avoiding reference to Henjsen would be the wisest course. “I’d wager that Chendor Barna could enlighten me about the artifact.”
“Probably could. Bet he doesn’t care much for Henjsen, either.”
“Did you ascertain much about it, other than its mass.”
“It intensifies any form or energy that strikes it. Morgan had it scanned, and the tech chief said the whole crate glowed.”
“That might be one of the reasons why the captain—”
“No. All tactical. No fusactor mass near here, except on Danann. We can wait. They can’t.”
“Will you do any piloting… in combat?”
“If they need to use the needles. Morgan’s short a pilot—after the mess attack.”
“You?”
“I’m the best qualified.”
“Let us trust that such will not be required. I suspect that both the captain and Commander Morgan have an excellent grasp of applied tactics.”
“Suspect you do, too.” She paused, but only briefly, before asking, “Why didn’t you stay in the commandos?”
Her inquiry roiled the depths of memory, depths I had not desired to disturb. “There were multiple reasons, and rationales…”
Her nod confirmed the question. “You must have been good.”
“Good enough that they requested I remain,” I conceded.
“You didn’t.”
“No. Remaining would have subjected me to too much of a temptation.”
“Afraid that you might like the power and the violence too much?”
“The power. Disciplined use of force is actually antithetical to violence, but creates an illusion of and a need for control.”
“An illusion? Wasn’t any illusion to that steward you put down.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re more than correct, but I was referring to the user of disciplined force. The more successful the application of force, the more those who have the ability to employ it are willing to authorize its future use. Force cannot create anything; it can only prohibit or inhibit other actions. It is an extremely useful tool, but because its results are so easily measurable it is overapplied, and in time that creates an overreliance upon its use…” I halted myself before I launched into a full discussion. “You’ll have me lecturing, and that’s something I have tendency to overdo all too often.”
“Lectures are a wall of words, Liam. Were you married or contracted once?”
“Yes.” It was for the best that I not launch into yet another extended explanation. “It… worked for a while. What about you?”
“Never tried anything extended. Never found anyone I trusted that much.”
“You don’t trust men?”
“Trust some about some things. Trust others about others. Never found one to trust about what matters.”
I found myself nodding about her last words. She hadn’t expected to find someone to trust about everything, just about what mattered. Would that I had thought that clearly years earlier. “Well-chosen words, Jiendra.”
“Thought about them. Years, I think.”
“Whether to think and blind one’s self to what one feels, or to act and blind one’s self to what one thinks…”
“Either way, it’s a wall.” She looked directly at me. “I’m tired of walls. Aren’t you?” Her eyes were gray, but a gray so dark it was close to black.
As the ancient poet once asked, in a line I had never forgotten, if there would be “time for a hundred indecisions” or revisions. But there was no time, not this time. My throat was dry, and I couldn’t stop looking into her eyes. Time extended across the billions of years Danann had waited, and I was stretched tightly across those years.
She waited, dark gray eyes willing to accept what I said, yet clearly taking the most dangerous step first, wanting me to know that, but, like me, being unwilling to say it directly.
“Yes. I’m very tired of walls.” Protection in the extreme is also confinement, and that I had also known, but never known anyone worth the risk of leaving that protection.
Her mouth curled ever so slightly at the corners. “Hard admission for you.”
I shook my head. “Far harder for you, and braver. For that, I will always owe you.” I stood.
So did she.
We stepped toward each other. At that first moment, we only held hands. It was more than enough.
70
Chang
I wasn’t thinking all that straight when I left Liam.
Strangest lovemaking. Just stood there and held hands. Like we both knew stepping out from behind walls was more intimate than sharing bodies. We didn’t even talk that much. I didn’t want to. He was afraid the words would build another wall.
His eyes were hazel, the kind that switched from gold-flecked brown to green.
Finally, I squeezed his hands and leaned forward. Just brushed his cheek with my lips. Had to. “Thank you.” Didn’t say more. Let go of his hands and stepped back.
“No more walls, Jiendra?”
“No. Not between us.” Wasn’t quite true. We both knew not everything was down, but that was what had to be. “I’d… better go.”
“For now.”
“For now,” I agreed. Slipped out of his work space. Felt both drained and exhilarated, and scared shitless. Morgan had told me to get some rest, and now I’d gone and screwed that up, too.