And alive, despite appearances, and safe.
She rolled off her elbow and let her eyes close. The thought of demanding her marital rights came from a long way away and receded at once. He needed sleep. She needed sleep. I need sleep, he needs sleep, all God's—
Some indeterminate time later, she must have changed her mind. Or he did. Or—"Watergate," she murmured as they lay in each other's arms, both half conscious and receding.
"You've got the damndest information-retrieval system," he said. "Why Watergate?"
"Can't remember. Oh. Old scandal. They taught us in history class. Who ordered the cover-up? One of the defendants said, ‘Nobody ever suggested that there would not be a coverup.' "
"So?"
"If neither of us says, ‘Let's not make love—‘ "
"Gotcha. Go to sleep."
"Charlie" was among the oldest of grendels, and she was just turning female. What had been a double layer of cells along her abdominal wall now held tiny eggs ready to be fertilized. The sensation of internal change was minor compared to what she had experienced in the past two days.
Her siblings had been part of the environment, like the water. Now they were death and life. She had won two fights before the scent of something different lured her uphill, away from water.
There had been no fights since. Her chewed foreleg had nearly healed.
Water called her, but water would have siblings in and around it. She was content while the rain fell. There was growing hunger; but she followed the smell of meat in motion, a scent quite alien to that of grendel flesh. Sometimes there were thick stalks to chew. They were not satisfying. She needed meat...
A grendel would eat almost anything rather than a samlon or another grendel. Grendels fought when they must—and when grendels were everywhere, they must fight—but what they wanted was more like—like...
There had been no image until she left the fog. Then: they were there. A score of alien creatures, far upslope, each bigger than anything her belly could hold. The most distant was misshapen, or carried a parasite. She found herself locking eyes with... with something like the creature that had spat fire at a dozen of her siblings and started a battle that she had only barely escaped.
Meat and danger: death and life. She put that one, the creature on the lead horse, in the same class as her siblings. But her hunger was growing.
Mary Ann awoke slowly. Eyes still closed, she reached out, snuggled back, tried to find Cadmann's warm body. Nothing was there. It was time, then. She sat up and blinked into the darkness, then rolled out of bed.
The silence was around her while she slipped on a clean robe. It was uncannily quiet. No dogs, no human voices. She didn't hear the thump of a hammer or the sound of a Skeeter rotor. If she listened hard she could hear the whisper of the wind. Nothing else.
Mary Ann padded the few feet down the hall to the living room. Four men were asleep on the floor. Two sat wrapped in blankets, half asleep as they sipped coffee. Stu hefted his cup and broke the spell. "G'morning."
From the light filtering in from the clerestories she judged it to be just past noon, perhaps one o'clock. "It's not morning."
"That's all you know. Until I've had coffee it's always morning."
Me too. She went to the kitchen and poured a cup. It was only lukewarm. She didn't bother to heat it. This wasn't to save energy. Gas might be short, but there was enough for that. Instead she took the lukewarm coffee to the shower room.
No time. No time. A clock in her head ticked on, driving her to a terrible, baseless sense of urgency.
She showered carefully. Thoughts tumbled through her mind in no order at all. Details of the shower system: water diverted from the stream, funneled through fifty meters of narrowing pipe to build pressure; through a maze of pipes exposed to the south for heat; into the house. Water cascading down the small branch of the stream, to run through the living room. Then back into the Amazon. Cad had the damndest sense of humor. Amazon: a creek barely deep enough to swim in in the swiftest pools. There was a place where the water ran fast, between two boulders, and you had to fight your way up to it, and there was a seat there in the water where you could sit and let cool water rush past you.
Why am I thinking this?
We were going to put samlon there. She shuddered, and not just with the cold, though the water was cold.
She relished the cold while she scrubbed. The last vestiges of fatigue washed away with the lathered water. Still she rubbed her skin until it burned, and rubbed between the toes, in and behind her ears, scrubbing away ectoplasmic filth. She wanted to be clean, and didn't know why.
She toweled and dressed. Only then did she go out to the veranda.
Hendrick and Jerry were half asleep in front of the communications console. Joe Sikes sat on the low wall at the veranda edge and stared downhill through binoculars. Tension and fear showed in the set of his shoulders.
Joe Sikes. He had been a quieter, deeper man since Evvie's death, but she still didn't like him. He'd been friendly, more than friendly. Before Cadmann, he was always a willing bed partner. Never more, but it was good to have someone you could just crook a finger at. She could lose herself in him and forget that she was no longer Professor Eisenhower, nothing more than a brain-damaged brood mare. Then one night she'd heard him talk about her.
Boo! She didn't dare say it. "Hello."
Sikes spasmed, then whirled around. "Oh. Hi."
She didn't laugh out loud.
Jerry sat up fully. "Hello."
"The quiet woke me," Mary Ann said. The sun was just about overhead.
"What's going on?"
"Not much," Jerry said. "Beautiful day up here, but you can see that.
Geographic's trying to get us some information, but so far nothing you wouldn't expect. IR doesn't go through fog—uh—"
"I understand. They can't tell what's happening below that." She pointed to the mushroom lid that sat above the Colony site.
"I know this much. They're not coming out of it," Jerry said. He found an empty cup on the console table and stooped to rinse it in the stream that cut across the veranda. Then he filled it with coffee from a thermos and thrust it at her. He refilled his own. "Cadmann said you'd be up by now."
"Where is he?" The coffee was bitterly strong, and hot. She treasured each sip.
Jerry shrugged. "Moving fast. Looking for new things to worry about.
What'd you expect?"
"I expect we'd all be dead without him."
"Me too," Jerry said cheerfully. "He's making the rounds."
The ground fell away sharply below the veranda. Below the veranda were two more levels, bedrooms and storage. Then the ground sloped away again. "We put the house on the military crest," Cadmann had said. The phrase meant nothing to her. She didn't think it ever would have.
The minefield began a hundred meters below. Off to her left ran the little ridge that separated the Amazon from the smaller branch that flowed through the house. Halfway down that ridge, between the house and the uphill edge of the minefield, was a tall boulder. Snail Head. Terry's Rock. Something colorful fluttered atop that rock.
She walked downhill. The sound of the stream pulled her, called to her, and she followed it. She slipped off her shoes and walked barefoot through the shallows.
Terry's silhouette still showed atop the glacier rock. She didn't see his chair. He must have left it at the base; Hendrick and Terry's own strong arms would have lifted him onto the peak.
She called. "Terry!"
"Hi. Sunrise was beautiful. I hope to God you slept through it."
"Oh, yeah. Anything?"