Almost felt sorry for Morgan as Liam opened the hatch, and we left.
Was still pissed, though. Could see the Comity point of view. Didn’t like it. At the cost of maybe fifty ships, a few thousand D.S.S. personnel, they’d ensured Comity primacy for centuries.
Problem for me was simple. Those personnel were people. People like Braun, and Shaimen. Saved Shaimen once so she could get killed in Morgan’s trap of the Covenanters. Braun got whacked by assassins trying to get Morgan’s bait. To Morgan and his kind, all of us were rats in a maze. Didn’t like being a rat.
Liam hadn’t either, and Morgan was probably more than a little pissed that Liam had turned out to be a very tough cat… a tiger.
I smiled at that thought.
84
Barna
I took a last look at the canvas before I covered it. I’d done a good job. I adjusted the drape and thought about Aeryana and Nicole, and how good it would be to go home… and about Elysen. At the time I hadn’t realized it, but when I spent that last stan with her, holding her hand… that was when I was ready to return home. That was when I realized how it all fit together.
I understood now why I had not destroyed the portraits of Aeryana, and why I never would, or could. Why it would be wrong. I’d even make friends with Peter Atreos. Not grudgingly, either. He could commission my work or not. It didn’t matter. Enough people would.
The Danannians had developed incredible technology and great knowledge. I don’t think they’d had great art. Great art happens when the artist goes beyond mere skill and sets a part of his soul in a permanent form—a painting, a sculpture, a building, a poem, a song—for all to see or hear and defies those who follow to surpass it The mutability of the megaplex was great technology. It wasn’t art. The artifact was art, of a sort, but I questioned the artistic heritage, even the soul, of a culture with that level of technology that only left one recognizable piece of art.
I glanced at the door to the studio, waiting. I’d be leaving the Magellan in the next few days, with most of the paintings, but I’d always remember what I’d learned and what it meant.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Liam arrived first, stepping inside the work space. He was so unostentatiously graceful. He glanced to the covered canvas.
I shook my head. “I’ve asked some others to come. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
“No. That’s fine, Chendor.” He looked around the studio, taking in the renditions of the artifact and the towers of Danann, and the paintings I’d done of the shuttle on the ice in the darkness, stark-outlined by the Danann ground-base lights. His eyes drifted back to the covered canvas again. “Is that—”
“It is. But artists like audiences. It won’t be long.”
He laughed. “I understand. So do professors.”
Lieutenant Chang was only a few moments later.
“I’m sorry, ser Barna. Commander Morgan had a few words. He won’t offer more than a few these days. Not to me.” She glanced toward Liam. Her expression held both warmth and puzzlement. That was fine with me. “I thought you wanted my opinion on some art dealing with piloting.”
“With pilots, as well,” I said. “I’d like to be mysterious. Would you both close your eyes?” I could tell that Liam had a glimmering of what might happen.
I slipped the drape off the frame. “Now… you can look.”
The lieutenant took the slightest breath.
Liam just stood there, staring at the canvas.
I’d put him in black skintights, with a dark green vest and shorts. I didn’t know that he had such, but they suited the painting, especially contrasted with the blue skintights and dark gray vest worn by Lieutenant Chang. I’d set them together, just outside the shuttle, in the boat bay. Most likely they would have been in armor there, but not necessarily. Besides, this painting was for a different purpose. They’d just turned, as if addressed, or surprised. Both of them were alive, and they were in love. I was pleased with it, but not surprised. I’d learned a lot on Danann. I just hadn’t realized it until afterward.
The lieutenant looked at me.
After a moment, so did Liam. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not to everyone, but to an artist.”
“Why… what?”
“You two deserve it.” I couldn’t help but grin. “There is one problem, though.”
They exchanged glances.
“There is only one portrait,” I pointed out. “One original.”
“Liam will take it, for now.”
“For now?” His voice was bantering, but there was an awkwardness behind it.
“Until I get released from the D.S.S. That’s what Morgan was telling me…” She looked at him, but didn’t say another word.
“What degree of certainty do you possess—”
“Liam… keep it simple.” Her words were firm but soft. She finally smiled.
“Can you deal with a history professor?”
“If you can deal with a pilot.”
I left them among the canvases and in front of their portrait.