Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (3 page)
John had been envisioning a rather stuffy academic affair when Vesu mentioned the party.
He hadn’t expected a pool party.
Tables and benches had been arranged by the water.
There was a buffet, offering fruits and vegetables grown in the communal garden.
One of the administrator’s housemates had set up an outdoor stove and was fussing over a spicy fish soup.
In addition to the dozen or so guests that the administrator had invited, her housemates attended.
There were eight other adults and at least as many children.
Most of them were in the pool, frolicking, but three of the children had laid claim to John.
He sat on a pink stone bench, fielding their questions with wry amusement.
Olu stood nearby, chatting with some of her fellow academics, giving John questioning glances.
He grinned at her and shrugged.
“Why is your hair black?”
The questioner was a little girl with enormous, dark eyes.
Her skull was covered by dark blue fuzz.
She wore a short yellow dress covered with big orange fishes.
“Are you sick?”
John grinned and shook his head.
“No.
My hair is just black, like yours is blue.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with black hair before.”
A boy in his teens with short, red hair rolled his eyes.
“That’s because he’s an alien, Tij.
Remember what Mama Laba told us?”
Tij’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of sudden recollection.
The boy snorted and glanced at John from beneath long, dark eyelashes.
“Can I touch it?”
The little girl stared at the boy.
“Oto! That’s rude!”
“Oh hush, Tij.
He’s not Junian, so it won’t matter to him.
Right?”
The last question was aimed at John.
John studied the boy.
“What if I said yes?
Would you do it right here, in front of all these people?
How do you think that would look?”
The boy blinked and then frowned.
“I didn’t think of that.”
“You’re going through your
deph-mog
, aren’t you?” asked John.
Oto shrugged, and sprawled on the cream-colored marble.
“The medic says I’m almost through it.”
“Have you been to the surgeon-barber yet?”
The boy shivered and sat up, all trace of languor gone.
“Papa says I won’t have to go, not for another two months.”
“Your hair is coming in very nicely,” said John.
Oto preened.
“It won’t be as long as mama’s, but that’s all right.
I think long hair would be too much bother.”
“It is,” said John.
“I let mine grow long once, just to see how it would look, but I didn’t like it so I cut it all off.”
The children stared at him with fascinated horror.
“That must have hurt!” said Tij.
She dropped to the ground and slid underneath Oto’s arm, snuggling up to him.
“Human hair isn’t like Junian hair.
It doesn’t have nerves.”
“It doesn’t?”
Oto looked fascinated and appalled at once.
“So you can’t feel anything with it?”
“Nothing,” said John.
“If I went to the surgeon-barber, he wouldn’t even have to numb it.
He could just start cutting.”
Oto and Tij shivered.
“You have funny eyes.”
John turned, smiled at a little boy of about six years.
The child had climbed out of the pool to join the others, and stood in front of John wearing nothing but a big, soft towel draped over his shoulders like a cloak.
“That’s because they’re blue,” said John.
“Not black.
See?”
He leaned forward and opened his eyes wide.
The little boy stared into his face, and then nodded with solemn gravity.
“You’re a very observant bunch,” said John, leaning back on the bench. “But I’m surprised none of you have asked me about my hands.”
He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.
“You’ve got talons!” said Oto, delighted.
John laughed and held out his hands for them to inspect.
“Actually, we call them fingernails.”
“Do you use them to hunt with?” asked Oto.
“No,” said John.
“They used to be used for defense, but now they’re just leftovers.”
Delicately, the children touched his nails and John was grateful he’d let them grow out a bit.
One of the household adults wandered over and smiled at the group.
“Tij.
Fen.
Have you children eaten yet?
It’ll be time for bed soon.”
There were the usual childish protests at this news, met with benevolent disregard.
The two youngest children were led away.
Oto yawned, stretched and stood.
“I’m going for a swim.
Do you want to come?”
“I think I’ll go see if the stew is ready yet,” said John.
The boy shrugged and slid out of his shorts.
“As you like.”
Naked, he dove into the pool, sliding through the water like a sleek, dark fish.
“You did well with the pups,” said a throaty, feminine voice.
Turning, John saw a woman standing behind him.
She was not tall, but gave an impression of height and authority.
She wore a leather bolero-like jacket and a dark brown skirt, slit up to her hips.
Her flesh was dark, her limbs were hairy.
A wild mane of coarse dark hair framed her lean face.
The woman’s nose was wide and large, her eyes golden brown and full of predatory intelligence.
She smiled at him, exposing sharp white canines.
“I am Uqqex of Zerrax,” said the woman.
“Administrator Puso’s other alien guest,” she added, grinning.
John inclined his head.
“A pleasure to meet you.
I’m John Epcott.”
“I know,” said the Zerraxi woman.
“The Last Human.”
“I hope that’s not how the administrator is introducing me to people.”
Uqqex chuckled.
It was a deep, rasping sound.
“Not as far as I know.
I’ve seen your face on the newsfeeds.”
“On Zerrax?”
“Here, on Juni,” said Uqqex.
“I am teaching a course on Zerraxi literature at Gomis University.”
“You’re an instructor?”
“A guest lecturer,” said the woman.
She sat next to him and John became aware of her scent, an earthy muskiness with hints of something like black licorice beneath it.
It was unusual, but not unpleasant.
“I am actually a writer.”
“I tried writing when I was younger, but I wasn’t tough enough to make it as a professional.”
“It can be a difficult road,” admitted Uqqex.
“But the possibility of being remembered makes the struggle worthwhile.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard it put like that before.”
The Zerraxi woman shrugged.
Her nostrils flared.
“Our host is coming.”
John glanced past Uqqex, saw Administrator Puso walking toward them, chatting with a pair of older Junian men.
“She’s not alone either.”
Uqqex took another deep breath and sighed.
“Councilor Isovo and Councilor Dusem.
Two of the biggest bores this side of the Kuref Nebula.”
John grinned at her.
“You don’t hold anything back, do you?”
“An artist,” said Uqqex, primly, “must always express truth.”
* * * * *
Midnight came, Juni’s six moons strung like pearls across the dark sky.
The party ended.
John, Olu and Vesu made their goodbyes and piled into a groundcar.
Olu sighed and stretched her legs.
“Would anyone mind if I took off my shoes?”
No one did and Olu kicked off the yellow metallic slippers.
Her feet were flushed.
“You should have worn proper sandals,” chided Vesu.
“Slippers are all the fashion now.”
Vesu chuckled and took her hand.
“Since when do you care about fashion?”
“One must move with the times, heartsong.”
She shifted on the seat and smiled at John. “You were popular this evening.”
“It was an interesting party,” admitted John.
“I saw you chatting with that Zerraxi writer.”
John nodded.
“Uqqex.”
“You seemed to form a connection,” noted Olu.
Vesu laughed.
“What?” said Olu.
“Be careful, John,” warned Vesu.
“Olu’s using her matchmaking voice.”
“I am not!”
“Should I order the car to stop here, John, so you can still get away?” asked Vesu, grinning.
“Uqqex and I decided to present a united front to Administrator Puso and the university councilors,” said John.
“That’s all.”
“So you won’t be seeing her again?” asked Olu.
“She invited me to attend one of her lectures,” admitted John.
“You should go,” said Vesu.
“Uqqex’s lectures are always popular.”
“Have you been to any?”
Vesu nodded.
“A few.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Olu.
“Talu drug me to a couple.”
“What did you think of them?” asked John.
Vesu frowned.
“I can appreciate Uqqex’s skills as a writer and speaker, but her subject matter doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Was it violent?” asked Olu.
She stroked Vesu’s hand.
“A bit, but that’s to be expected.
She is Zerraxi after all.”
“Then what is it that bothered you?” asked John.
“She writes puzzle stories,” said Vesu.
“I’ve never cared for them.”
John frowned.
“What’s a puzzle story?”
“A story where the protagonist must resolve a puzzle, usually associated with a criminal or antisocial act,” said Olu.
John laughed.
“Uqqex writes murder mysteries?”
Vesu shrugged.
“Possibly.
I don’t know what a murder mystery is, but it sounds unpleasant.”
“It was a very popular literary genre back home,” said John.
“I prefer a good romance,” said Vesu.
“Or a comedy.
I don’t see the appeal of violence.”
“For some people, heartsong,” murmured Olu, “the violence and antisocial behaviors provide vicarious titillation.”
Vesu snorted.
“Those people sound like deviants to me.”
“I don’t know,” said John.
“I used to enjoy a good mystery every once in a while.”
Olu laughed and snuggled close to Vesu.
“Oh my!
We’re living with a deviant, Vesu!
Perhaps we should barricade the bedchamber door!”