Right, thought Rice, using the balled-up shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. He sat on one of the couches and felt the wetness of the plastic cushion beneath him immediately soak through the seat of his pants.
Oidar appeared, and handed him a tall tumbler filled to the brim with ice cubes from the galley freezer. There was no drink in the glass, but Rice knew that none was necessary—in a few minutes, he’d have ice water.
“Thank you, friend,” he said, and played the refreshingly cool glass slowly across his forehead and against his cheeks.
Oidar sat opposite him on the other couch, lacing and unlacing his fingers. There was a tiny pop sound as the webbing between his fingers pulled apart each time. “So?”
Rice sighed heavily. “Yes, so.” A few centimeters of cold water had already formed at the bottom of the glass and he sipped before continuing. “Oidar, I must be blunt. The modeling is at a very critical stage, and we both need to be at our best if we have any chance of being successful here.”
“I know that,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“But beyond that, I am concerned for your health and safety.” Twirling the ice cubes in the glass to make them melt a bit more quickly, he studied the alien. Was his coloring beginning to return to normal, or was the effect caused by the tinted strip light? “Why won’t you return to the Flisth more frequently?”
Until now, Oidar had been sitting upright out of politeness to his guest, but he allowed himself to recline in a familiar slouching position Rice knew was more comfortable for him. He crossed his arms in front of him again, massaging the egg sacks. He made no attempt to avoid looking at Rice, but said nothing.
He’s nervous, he thought, wiping at his neck again with the now-soaked shirt. My God, I didn’t even know they could feel that way. He watched Oidar as he massaged his sides, then noticed something. A tiny bump appeared briefly at a spot in the left sack, smoothed out, then reappeared. Oidar massaged the spot and the bump disappeared.
“You’re nearly ready to spawn, aren’t you?”
Oidar stopped.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Rice demanded, then quickly cheeked his voice to keep all traces of emotion from it. “If I’d had any idea, we—”
“A moment,” Oidar replied, cutting him off. He hung his head in a shameful gesture, puzzling Rice. “I am… not gladly received on my home ship.”
“I don’t understand. You mean you’re not permitted to make regular transfers over?”
“No, I am permitted. I am even welcome.” He shook his head, blinked eye membranes several times. “I am not gladly received, however. I have spent much time with humans, and am”—he blinked, rapidly, struggling for a word—“untrusted socially.”
Rice had trouble believing what he was hearing, and sipped noisily at the melting ice while he formed a response. Was Oidar trying to say that he was being shunned? “But many of your family members are there, aren’t they? Surely they don’t treat you this way.”
“I was spawned on the Flisth, yes, but none of my water group remains aboard. They have been reassigned for… political reasons.”
“I see.” Rice understood. Like Oidar, his entire water group carried much of his father’s knowledge and skills, passed on genetically. The Sarpan leadership, eager to gain as much information about the humans as possible, had undoubtedly sent the others to “safe” areas within the Sarpan Realm for debriefing, far away from further human contamination. “And your spawning mate?”
“She has shown little interest in this one since I received the spawn.” He sighed, the mannerism and sound remarkably human; no wonder he was considered influenced by his time with humans. “Anyway,” he went on, “it has been easier for me to remain here. I will go back to the home ship when it is time to go to the water.”
“And when will that be?”
He massaged at his sides again.
“Soon.”
Rice lifted his glass, but noticed that the ice was gone. The water in the bottom of the glass was still cold, and he finished the last of it as the two exchanged a few last pleasantries. Finally, the room growing as uncomfortably quiet as it was hot and humid, Rice got up to leave, setting the empty glass on the table.
Once outside Oidar’s cabin, he leaned heavily against the door and closed his eyes, relishing the delicious feel of the cool plastic pressing against the sweaty skin of his back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Everything she could see, which was precious little, was a blur. As if that were not bad enough, the blur swirled around her in a sickening whirlpool.
Her mouth was dry, parched, and she coughed hoarsely. Why am I so thirsty? Adela wondered as she attempted to slowly climb her way to full consciousness. She concentrated, trying to remember, and reasoned that she was still on Pallatin, sleeping outdoors in the blistering heat.
The images were confusing, and mixed with one another as they do during a dream. There was a bright light above her that brought tears to her eyes, but she stared at it, blinking and confused, until it assumed a form she was comfortable with. It was Dannen’s Star, its hot, orange light bathing her as she lay motionless. She realized that someone stood over her, unrecognizable, and her mind’s eye filled in the missing details and the faceless image became Billy, grinning ear to ear.
“C’mon now, Doctor,” her mind heard him say, “lyin’ about like that this late in the mornin’, you’ll wind up tucker for the local wildlife for sure. Best to get movin’.”
She tried to answer him, but her throat rasped, unable to make any sound at all but the most feeble of croaking noises. But then she saw that the form standing over her wasn’t Billy at all; in fact, there was no one there. She blinked, and tried to raise a hand to rub her eyes but found that her arm still refused to work.
Cryosleep, the conscious portion of her mind told her. I’m waking up. Must clear my head. She began counting silently, trying to force herself into wakefulness. One, two, three, four…
“Adela, my love.”
It was Javas, exactly as she remembered him—tall, an air of natural command about him in his Imperial uniform. He wore the Imperial sash, the satiny fabric complemented by his deep blue eyes and golden hair tumbling over his collar. She felt herself smile, causing a dry, painful cracking sensation at the corners of her mouth, and attempted to lick her lips.
“Shhhhhh,” Javas admonished when she tried to speak. He reached out a hand, touching a fingertip lightly to her lips, then let his fingers gently caress her cheek. “Don’t talk; not now. We have plenty of time.”
“But we don’t!” she heard herself plead, clenching her eyes tightly to hold back unwanted tears. “We have almost no time at all! Please, hold me while there’s still time.”
When she opened her eyes again he was gone. She managed to turn her head and saw that she was in a room with white cabinets running the length of the far wall. Other than the cabinets and a low countertop beneath them, the room was empty of furnishings but for two chairs and the mechanical bed in which she lay, covered by a thin green sheet. The viewscreen on the wall nearest her was dark and silent. Her eyes blinked up at the overhead light, not nearly as bright now, she realized, as she’d imagined before, but still too intense to look at directly and she turned away. Two white-coated figures talked animatedly near the door—one a man, the other a woman—but they spoke softly and she couldn’t make out what they were saying.