Downtime (27 page)

“I’m
not lying,” she said in response to his piercing look, her tone indignant. “It
was a new old danae, too. Not a single scar or blemish on her.”

Jason
crossed his legs and leaned forward. “Anything else?”

“What
else could you want? You never saw Tonto after she dragged herself out of the
kiosk and there was a nymph around, too. It’s not too hard to figure out that
the Builder was restraining you so that the other danae could sing the death
song to lure the nymph to Tonto. The cocooning went well, and Tonto’s back, a
lot healthier than when you last saw her.”

“Could
be a coincidence. Tonto may not be the only danae from a water mammal
cocooning.”

Arria
shook her head in mock disgust and leaned back on her arms, the soft blouse
pressing against her breasts. “You can see for yourself tomorrow, but I have
known the danae since I was four years old and I’ve never seen one swimming
before and never heard . . . water thoughts before.”

“Water
thoughts?” The words didn’t sound flat, but inside Jason felt more irony than
eagerness when he remembered that he once wondered if Tonto sang water songs.
He still cared about the danae, but the only time he gave to them was to listen
to Arria’s reports, and at that, he thought unhappily, it was more because he
liked Arria’s style when she gave them. There was always something far more
pressing than danae studies. First it had been finishing the tunnel, then,
instead of improving the antenna tower, he’d taken it down so that approaching
ships couldn’t easily zero in on the complex. Fort-like doors for Red Rocks and
Round House, security monitors, camouflaging the shuttle landing site — the
list was endless. It was strange to realize that Arria was supplying data to
support his hypothesis about the danae, yet his heart was not beating with
excitement. He was glad that at least she could be eager. It was a crazy kind
of compensation to hear her spirited danae reports. “Tell me about these water
thoughts,” he said.

She
shrugged. “I guess that’s what you would call them. A bit like flying thoughts
when they’re gliding on thermals, but the other danae weren’t sharing like they
share flying thoughts. This is one unique danae.”

“I
hope you’re right, Arria,” he said, looking at her twinkling eyes but seeing
her jutting breasts. Then the look of puzzlement came over Arria’s face, and
though her playful smile was still there, Jason thought that in just another
minute she might cry. “What’s wrong?” he said sharply.

“When
you look at me that way, I don’t know what to do,” she said, dropping her eyes.
“Always before you let it pass, and I had to, too, or you would become angry
again or pretend I didn’t know what I was feeling-again.”

She
was referring to the incident in his bed, he knew, which neither of them had
ever mentioned. And now he wished he had let that look of hers pass once again,
seemingly unnoticed. “Arria, I’m flattered that you like me, but I’m too old
for you.”

“Isn’t
that what Calla said to you? And I know you didn’t believe her, not any more
than I believe you. You don’t seem to realize that you can love two people at
the same time, nor even that you weren’t even thinking about her until I
mentioned her name.”

“Stay
out of my mind,” he said sharply. “You’re untrained and you’re making mistakes.
You’ve made mistakes from the very first.”

“You’re
changing the subject,” she said angrily.

“No,”
he said. “I’m not. I’m just trying to point out that your psi ability is
confusing you. That’s not love when I notice what a pretty body you have.”

“Then
what?”

Jason
shrugged and shook his head, but she still was expecting an answer. “Lust,” he
finally said as nonchalantly as possible.

“Fine,”
she said. “I’ll settle for lust.”

“There
are a dozen or more young men in this station who would happily accommodate
you,” he said trying to sound philosophic, if not encouraging.

“Is
that what you want for me?”

“It’s
only natural that you would be curious “

“You
would hate it!” she said, with a sudden knowing smile that Jason could not
deny.

“All
right, all right, I would be jealous. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,”
she said gleefully. “At least, it will do until you can say that you love me.”

But
I don’t love you, he thought. I love Calla. He saw a new flash of anger on
Arria’s face. She said nothing, but turned to see who had stepped up to the
fire. It was Marmion.

“What’s
this about love?” he said.

“I’m
not sure,” Jason answered truthfully.

“I
am,” Arria said. She looked across the staging bay. “I’d better leave. Stairnon
and D’Omaha look as if they want to talk to you, and she won’t come if I’m
here.”

“Why’s
that?” Marmion asked.

Arria
got to her feet and shrugged. “She’s afraid of me. It’s the psi. She’s not the
only one,” she added looking pointedly at Jason.

“I’ll
talk to you later,” Jason said sternly, then regretted saying it because she
might interpret it as an invitation to come to his room.

“Never,”
Arria said, equally stern. “Not until you come to me. I’m not as stupid as you
think.” She whirled on her bare feet and walked briskly away.

“I
have a feeling I interrupted something,” Marmion said, crouching next to Jason
to warm himself by the fire.

“Thank
the Timekeeper,” Jason said. “I think Arria’s in love.”

Marmion
chuckled. “We have all known that for a long time. The question is, how do you
feel about her?”

“Come
on, Marmion. She’s a nice kid and I like her a lot, but . . . “

“Or,”
said Marmion, cutting him off, “is the question, how would Calla feel about her?”

“Timekeeper’s
hell. Not you, too!”

“That
kid, as you call her, must be nearly twenty as her body measures time, and what
she lacks in formal training she makes up in perception. Except with you.” He
considered a moment. “Maybe not even with you. She plays the only role she’s
certain you’ll accept, but it sounds like she’s as tired of it as the rest of
us are. As for Calla . . . don’t ever underestimate Antiqua. She’s
out there saving millions of lives, and even if she succeeds there’s not anyone
who will thank her. Not even me. Anyone who can live with that isn’t going to
be flustered by a psi kid from an outback planet.”

“I
take it that the news isn’t being well received,” Jason said, craning his neck
now to look across the stage. The newsbean had ended, but no one had moved.
They were talking, and even at this distance Jason could tell the tone was
angry and menacing.

“For
those who didn’t catch on, D’Omaha kindly annotated the presentation. Oh, he
said all the right words, all right. Self-sacrifice, devotion to the Mercurian
Sway, but I would guess that if Calla arrived tonight, it would be she who
faced the gallows.”

“I
had better go calm them down,” Jason said, pulling his legs under himself.

“Let
them stew a few days, Jason. They won’t listen to reason right now.”

Jason
stayed put, but only because he saw D’Omaha and Stairnon walking hand-in-hand
toward the fireplace. Stairnon was wearing khaki pants with the ranger insignia
and facings trimmed off and ranger-issue lugged boots. Despite the drab garb,
Jason thought that she never had looked lovelier; her cheeks were rosy and
almost seemed plump, and her white hair was glossy. She seemed less frail than
when he first had met her, her gait more buoyant, and it pleased Jason to know
that wintering in the caves of Mutare had not had any ill effect on her health.

“Did
the freetrader have any information that wasn’t in the newsbean?” D’Omaha
asked, stepping over Jason’s boots to stand close to the fire.

“Only
that the hot war between Dvalerth and Cassells seems to have cooled. Cassells
fleet hasn’t gone home, but they’ve mounted no new attacks.”

“It’s
a little difficult to determine who they are branding traitor, Mahdi or Calla,”
D’Omaha said gravely. “Mahdi for trying to capture the elixir gardens, or Calla
for destroying them.”

“Obviously
Mahdi is the traitor,” Jason said. “We knew that when he left here.”

“Did
we?” D’Omaha said. “It seems to me that Calla was alone in her opinion. I did
not agree with her.”

Jason
stiffened. “If you paid attention to the newsbean, you know that she waited
until after Mahdi attempted to capture Dvalerth’s elixir garden; that act
removed the last doubt that Mahdi was the traitor.”

“Did
it?” D’Omaha said. He shook his head. “How do we know that Mahdi wasn’t taking
the elixir garden into protective custody, just trying to enforce council’s
decision? Once he had control of Dvalerth’s garden, Cassells fleet probably
would never have attacked.”

“What
are the odds on that, Praetor?” Jason asked, suddenly disliking D’Omaha’s tone.
“Is that your professional opinion, or just speculation?”

D’Omaha
flushed. “You know that I don’t have sufficient information to offer a
professional opinion. But given what I do have, and who I am, I’m certain to be
more accurate in my opinions than anyone else on Mutare.”

“But
they are just opinions, Praetor, worth no more and no less than anyone else’s
considering our circumstances. Your genes are worth no more than mine when it
comes to opinions without the benefit of facts, and twenty minutes of news prepared
by a trading guild service isn’t necessarily factual, and certainly not the
whole story. And you have an obligation to make your limitations clear,
especially to people who tend to hold all decemviri in considerable awe. Let’s
go back and talk to my people, and this time let them know that you’re not
infallible.”

D’Omaha
hesitated.

“Do
you think that I don’t understand your limitations?” Jason asked, amazed and
angry. “If you equate lax uniform codes with ignorance, you simply haven’t
checked the facts, Praetor, and facts are supposed to be your lifeblood. If you
had checked, you would have known that there is greater self-discipline among
my people in the work that they do because they are motivated by their own self-worth
and not because of how they look. And if you had checked, you would have
discovered that while I never got any medals for setting up and running model
military camps, I do regularly receive commendations for getting my job done
and getting it done right and on time. You’re getting careless, Praetor, or
maybe it’s deliberate because you’re still angry that Calla left me in charge
and not you.”

“Easy,
Jason,” Marmion said. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

“I
know exactly who I’m talking to, and that’s what makes me angry. Praetor D’Omaha
should know better than to speak so carelessly to people who are starved for
information and who are so essential to the successful outcome of the whole
damned war.”

“Your
loyalty to Calla is admirable,” D’Omaha said, “but are you certain it stems
entirely from your devotion to duty?”

“Absolutely
certain,” Jason said. “Now let’s go back and talk to the people, and this time
you tell them how fallible you can be without all the facts. That’s an order,
Praetor, before they have any time to stew.” He shot a parting glance at
Marmion, who hung his head. Then, leaving D’Omaha to follow at his own speed,
Jason walked across the staging bay. He would rather have gone to talk to
Arria, but this was more important.

D’Omaha walked behind Stairnon as she climbed the stone
stairs leading to the garden lake. There was just a dusting of snow on the
steps; this second winter on Mutare had not been so harsh as the last one. They’d
had very little snow and even the temperatures were quite mild for the time of
year. He and Stairnon were wearing parkas under their stellerators, but his was
open to the knees and just a moment ago Stairnon had thrown back her hood.

“I
almost wish we would have a blizzard,” Stairnon said. “It just feels as if
something
should happen, and I’d rather
it be a snowstorm than a war.”

In
that, Stairnon was like everyone else, always knowing that the siege might
start any time, quite prepared for it, dreading it, yet ready to welcome almost
anything that would bring a change to the waiting.

She
topped the stairs and ran to the crest of the ridge, leaving D’Omaha behind. He
was breathless and so was she when he caught up with her. She stood on a flat
rock looking out over the lake. The setting sun was at their backs, their
shadows like two arrows on the water. The lake gleamed in the sunlight, as
still today as a mirror, except for the little ripples on the far side where
Arria was baling a bucketful into her boiling pot of cocoons. There was a danae
on her shoulder, the one she and Jason called Tonto. Unlike all the other
danae, it had wintered over at the garden lake, taking to the heated waters
when the nights were too cold. It was always with Arria when she was outdoors,
and that was almost all the time but nighttime. She had a bigger collection of
cocoons than any ranger, more than probably half the miners on the planet. She
always knew just where to look for them, never came back empty-handed. Marmion
was building some small fortunes from nymph thread with freetraders who looked
at Stairnon’s samplers with considerable awe.

D’Omaha
was proud of Stairnon. She’d been a big help to Jason and Marmion in converting
the miners from danae hunting to cocoon hunting. Marmion, he knew, had actually
given up hunting danae in deference to Jason and Arria. Some of the others had,
too, once they were convinced there was easier profit to make.

Arria
finished adding water to her pot, straightened up and waved. “She can’t really
even see us,” Stairnon commented. “The sun is in her eyes.” But she waved, too,
a stiff, abortive gesture. Arria’s psi awareness made Stairnon nervous. She had
no confidence in her ability to discipline her thoughts sufficiently well to
keep Arria out, though D’Omaha had assured her that the ability to do so had
nothing at all to do with decemviral genes.