SEA CHANGE
"Are you done for
the night?"
asked Scotty. His bedside reader had displayed the same
screen
for over ten minutes. He wondered, and not for the first
time,
what supreme power women had to suck the living marrow right out of a
decent man's mind. He had so much reading to catch up on, but
no
matter how hard he tried, his eyes and his thoughts kept wandering
right back to Mira.
"Not quite," said
Mira Romaine
from the desk computer. She took a break to rub the fatigue back into
her eyeballs. "I still need to calculate the optimal orientation for
the mnemonic transponder array and calibrate all of the transplanar
data metacouplers."
"Mmm!" Sexy,
smart and expert
knowledge in a technical field too. He had hit the trifecta. Most days
it seemed too good to be true, so he figured that he'd better make the
most of it now, just in case it turned out not to be. He
switched
off the reader and pulled to his feet, all thoughts of professional
journals--or professional anything--completely abandoned. "I
love
it when ye talk like that."
"Like
what?" Mira's
voice was distracted. She toggled a switch and pulled up a
new
display: the Memory Alpha communications grid. She
sighed.
Even before the tragedy with the Zetars, it was going to be a big job
and now, with the librarians dead, that much more of the installation
process fell to her. So much work--
Scotty came
around the mesh
divider and sidled in behind her. "When ye talk sexy like 'optimal
orientation for the mnemonic transponder array'. Say it. Say
'transplanar data metacouplers' just for me." He leaned over
her
body and massaged his hands slowly up her thighs as he whispered the
words into her ear.
Mira twisted her
neck away and
zoomed in to the first coupler position, trying her best to act like he
wasn't there. She did change to voice control; it's not easy
to
use a toggleboard with a full-grown man hanging over your shoulders.
"Computer: show me the primary data metacoupler interface."
"Mmm!
Aye, that's
it! You're going to drive me crazy, lassie." Scotty
pushed
his lips in against her neck. He loved the little dint in her
breastbone where throat met chest. What do you call that
spot? He'd have to look it up sometime. He nuzzled
her and
nudged his head against her chin until talking was as difficult as
toggling.
"Oh, you're crazy
all right,
but I'm pretty sure it happened before you met me." Mira
tried to
brush him away--tried, but not too hard.
Her perfume
intoxicated his
senses and her hair brushed soft along his cheek. There was
no
question: her body made him insane; her soul made him hers.
"Crazy for you. And it wouldn't do to upset a crazy man, so I
suggest that you cooperate fully. "
Mira leaned back
to meet his
kiss, acknowledging the surrender for what it was. "Oh, I
think
that that can be arranged." The work would still be there in a few
hours. One thing that the Zetars had taught her is that one
should not assume the same of mortal lives or loves.
His hands made
their way under
her uniform and together they made their way to the bunk. At
first there was laughter and silly chatter about dynamic egonium
hyperion rods, then there was only the soft sounds of two healthy
people very much in love.
When it was over,
they lay
with his head on her breast. She stroked his head and he made
lazy circles on her stomach with his hand.
"Why am I so
lucky?" she asked.
"Pardon?" Scotty
pushed away the lull of sleep.
"That you should
be here waiting for me. Why weren't you taken long ago?"
"I was.
By the finest
ship ever built. But for you, she'll just have to learn to
share." Scotty cuddled her closer to him.
"No, silly." She
shoved her palm into his stomach. "I mean by a real
girl. Why aren't you already married?"
Scotty rolled
over on to his back, Sleepiness was no longer a problem. "I
guess I never met the right woman."
"In all that
time?" The skepticism in her voice could have cut through a
bulkhead.
"Ih've been
immersed in
engineering programs since I was fourteen. For me whole life, I've been
surrounded by men. As you may have noticed, women aren't
exactly
swarming around impulse vents and antimatter pods."
Mira
giggled. "Of course I noticed. Why do you think I
went into engineering?"
Scotty chuckled.
"That's me
girl." He kissed her on the nose. "So, surrounded by all of us dashing
and brilliant engineers, why haven't you been swept away by the right
man?"
"I have." She
tugged at him
playfully. He still uncomfortably sensitive there--as well
she
knew--but somehow, from her, he didn't mind.
"I meant before
now. "
"I thought I was;
I was wrong." She let him drop from her hand.
"I'm sorry." He
pulled her back against him.
"It's okay," she
said.
"If I things didn't happen like they did, I wouldn't be here
now." She kissed him on the chin.
"So, nice try on
the change of subject, Scotty boy. Back to you: all that time
and you never met the right…person?"
Scotty admired
the carefully chosen word. "No, lassie; I never have."
~~~
John O'Flaughty
was about as
removed from Montgomery Scott as helium was from hawkinium. A
lady's man with a joke for every occasion, John had never been heard to
raise his voice in anger. Older than Monty by three
years,
he had a string of would-be lovers as long as the registrar's list at
the University of Aberdeen. He also had a fiancée
back
home, whom he called every night and saw every other weekend.
The
only thing
they had in common was a gift for creative engineering and an apartment
rental in Aberdeen.
The
project of
the moment was
a more economical design of a trimodal personal transport. If
the
impulse vents could be redesigned to be water tight with a pleomorphic
seaborgium valve--instead of the current convoluted system--it would
cut production costs by a third, not to mention maintenance and repair.
They
thought they
had it--or
nearly did. They had found an isolated patch of coast north
of
Aberdeen and now stood on the rocky shore to test their scale
model. John manned the tele-troller and brought the robot
ship
down from space flight into atmospheric propulsion mode.
Monty--as everyone had called him back then--scanned the sky.
Today was a pleasant change from the usual Highland gray. The
sun
was playing hide and seek and losing a great deal of the
time.
The clouds had scattered respectable distances apart and Monty hoped to
see their model fly.
It
dropped out of
a cloud
about five kilometers away and cruised down toward the ocean on an even
vector. The splash was visible from the shore.
"Six
point oh
from the Russian judge," joked Monty.
"You
want to
drive?" grumbled John. "I didn't realize style counts."
"Style
always
counts," said Monty. "That's the art of
engineering. How's the telemetry?"
"Hydropulsion
at
ninety percent. Internal humidity ranging from twenty to
twenty-four and holding."
"Good.
Drop down to the bottom."
"Eighty
four
meters.
That's as deep as she gets," announced John. "We need to test it off
the continental shelf next time. "
"Assuming
we get
through this time. Humidity?"
"Holding."
"Wait
until the
impulse temperature drops to ambient, then bring it in," said
Monty.
"Still
at
seventeen hundred
degrees. No reason I can't have a little fun with it 'til
then. Have you ever seen a submarine ballet?" John
torqued
the tele-troller control. "Look it's Swan Lake!"
The
tele-troller
beeped. "Bugger all! Port valve failure!"
"Surface
and
bring it in before the conversion chamber floods!"
"Ihm
tryin'!"
John's brogue thickened as he furiously tried control after
control. "It's shorted the guidance."
"I
told ya nae to
run the transfer cable through the mix chamber."
"Shut
up! I've almost--"
John
looked up in
alarm. "DUCK!"
They
both dropped
to the rocks
as the transport model went shooting over their heads, up over the
cliff behind them. They heard a woman scream, then a
crash.
They
blinked at
each other, then went running.
Monty
headed for
the direction
of the crash up the hillock; John headed in the direction of the
scream. It had seemed to come from an irregular outcropping
in
the rock. When Monty came back with the model in his hands, he found
the little hideaway. Inside was John staring at a woman,
naked
save for a miniskirt and long, silver hair draped about her breasts. A
few strands of black were peppered through her hair, and one shocking
streak of coal black ran down its length.
"Well,
what are
you looking
at?" she demanded in a vigorous Highland brogue. "Haven't you ever seen
a naked woman--or perhaps not one you just tried to kill."
"You
must know
that you are very striking," said Monty, trying not to stare.
"Striking,
my
Aunt Fannie! Thanks to you, I was all but struck down!"
"We're
sorry,
ma'am,"
stammered Monty. "You've heard of the one that got away? This
is
it." He held the model out for her surveillance, but the joke
fell flat.
"Ye
need to take
better care of your toys around others," she said, pulling a pink tank
top on over her head.
"It's
not a toy;
it's a trimodal transport model," said Monty.
She
stared at him
like he was
a moron. She had a way of making him believe that she was
correct. "At least your friend has some manners," she
said.
John was working on picking up her belongings. It looked like
an
ultra-portable easel. It was. The seascape painting
on it
had been smudged beyond repair by the fall to the wet rock.
"Ruined,"
she
pronounced. "A full day's work."
"Accidents
do
happen you know." John's tone was a mite defensive, Monty
thought.
"Aye.
More around some than around others." She eyed them
significantly.
"Allow,
me to
introduce
myself. John O'Flaughty, at your service." John's
voice had
shifted to his most winning. He gave a deep bow and whipped
an
imaginary tam off of his head with a sweep of an arm.
"Thank
you for
your help, John," she said with a grudging grin.
"And
this is my
flatmate, Montgomery Scott," John said, gesturing in his direction.
"My
friends call
me Monty." He extended his free hand.
"Hello,
Montgomery," she
nodded, pointedly not taking the hand. "I'm Lesa. I
don’t think we need to be on a last name basis."
Monty
didn't
think that this
was quite fair. John had been the one at the controls, but
some
how he was now the bad guy left holding the bag--or the experimental
model trimodal personal transport, as the case may be. He set the unit
down.
He
tried one last
time.
"Look, I don't know what else to do. I've just met the most
stunning woman I have ever seen in my life. I am sorry that it was
under less than ideal circumstances, but that's over with, and I want
to get to know her better. Can ya nae give me some advice as
to
how?"
She
looked him
over much more
purposefully than before. "If the woman's had a long day, ya
might try feeding her. You've heard it's the way to a man's
heart, but I've news for you: women eat too."
Monty
squelched a
smile.
It was far too early to be counting his eggs; there was nary a
hatchling in sight. "I know a place near here. Do
you like
seafood?"
"Only
if it's
fresh."
Monty
gestured
out the North Sea. "Look where we are. None
fresher."
She
shouldered
her bag. "We'll see about that. You're buying?"
"Of
course; we
invited you," said Monty.,
She
shouldered
her rucksack. "Lead on, Macduff."
Lesa
accepted the
arm that John offered. Monty didn't think this was quite
fair. After all, this had been his idea.
Dinner
was a
crock of steamed
langoustines shared among them. Lesa spoke of life in the Orkneys.
John waxed charming and hung on her every word. Monty wished
he
could think of something not related to physics or matter/anti matter
mechanics he could discuss. Mostly he watched and
tried not
to drip food on his shirt.
To
make matters
worse, he'd left his credit ID back in the flitter. John paid
for all three of them.
"I'm
staying
here, for a while." Lesa answered a question from John as they walked
back to the flitter pads.
"How
long?" asked
Monty, trying and failing at not sounding over-anxious.
"At
least until I
finish my
series of paintings, which--thanks to you two--will be a mite longer
than I had planned." She aimed the words deliberately the both of them.
"Good!
We'll crash into
you everyday, if that's what it takes to keep you here," said
Monty. The glare she gave him told him that it had been the
wrong
thing to say.
Monty
decided to
try the direct approach. It couldn't get much worse. "I'hd
like to see you again."
"I
paint here
most days when
the weather is warm and fair." Her tone was neutral,
promising
nothing more than her presence.
To
Monty, that
was a damn fine start. "This is the Highlands. It
could be next year before that happens."
"Aye.
It
could…that soon if we're lucky." She laughed with
him. Year-round freezing drizzle keeps out the
riff-raff,
or so went the local expression. It was a love only true
Scots
understood.
Her
face
relented. "If we plan on next Saturday, could your friend
come?" She looked to John.
"I
was...sort of
hoping to being alone," said Monty.
"You
can be alone
all you like," she quipped back.
"I
meant, alone
with you."
She
said nothing.
John
cleared his
throat. "There is nothing I would like better to do that day than to
share your company."
"Five,
then. Don't be late."
"Five
it
is." John motioned her into the flitter. "Ladies
first."
"No,"
she
said. "I'll walk. Where I am staying isn't far, and
I don't get enough chances to stretch my legs."
"In
that case, we
will regretfully bid you a good night." John took her hand and kissed
it.
Monty
wished he
had thought of that.
It
didn't matter.
She gave them both a quick peck on the cheek before turning back to the
road and Monty was in heaven.
The
next Saturday
the fog was heavy. "She won't be there," Monty kept repeating
during the ride over.
"She
will," said
John, turning the craft north toward the beach.
"What
you makes
me such an expert on women?" Monty grumbled, wanting desperately to
believe him.
John
grinned.
"I'm Irish."
Monty
groaned.
This ride could not be over soon enough.
She
was there
waiting for
them, her rucksack over her shoulder. John gloated as he set
the
flitter down, but Monty barely heard him. He had never been so happy to
be wrong.
He
jumped out
first and kissed her hand. She allowed it with wry amusement.
"I
won't be
painting anything but fog today, but the way I see it, you--" she
tossed her head to Monty, "still owe me a meal."
"Gladly!"
said
Monty. He double-checked for his ID this time.
She
ordered
cod. John
and he ordered kippers. Monty wished he'd picked the
langoustines
again--or anything that took longer to eat. It was the best
meal
he'd never tasted and it would be over far too soon.
Midway
through,
John's comm beeped. It was his plasma field lab partner with
a crisis in their project.
"So
sorry, but
I'm going to have to leave and take the flitter," he said.
"Do you want to come with?"
"Lesa
hasn't
finished, and I promised her." Monty's voice took on that
slight whine it did when stressed.
She
gave him a
peculiar look over her fork and chewed purposefully.
"I
know Lesa
doesn't mind walking. Monty?"
"Ih'll
stay." His
tone was firm.
"Have
it your
way," said John. "Ma'am." Again he kissed her hand
before leaving.
"If
I didn't know
better, I would have thought you two planned that." Lesa sipped at her
water.
Monty
blushed.
"Monty,
you're a
fine, man and I enjoy your company. You’re just so
young in the ways of the world--"
"John
is only two
years older than me!"
She
toyed with
her fork. "That's not what I meant. It's just that...I'm not
someone you want to lose your head over."
"Too
late," he
said with a goofy grin.
She
looked to the
wall. "That's what I mean."
"John
has a girl,
Anne, by the
way--back home. I thought that you should know--before you lose your
head." Monty blurted it all out at once.
She
gave him a
quirky smile
that radiated a patient tolerance that he couldn’t reconcile
to
the circumstances. "Don't worry about me. I can
hold me own
with men--and their women."
"So...I
can see
you again?"
She
spread her
arms wide apart. "Here I am."
"Ye
know what I
mean."
"I
do.
I shouldn't. It may not seem like it, but I am thinking of
you."
"You
let me worry
about me," said Monty. "Tomorrow? You did lose another day of
painting."
She
thought. "John will come too?"
He
pursed his
lips. "Aye, if you want." Half a win was better than nothing.
"The
same spot,
then. Noon. If it's foggy, I could paint you
instead."
"You
ken do
anything you want with me," Monty said.
She
rolled her
eyes and picked
up her rucksack as they went out the door. They were going
separate directions; she wouldn't let him see her home, but she waited
at the airtram stop with him and kissed him on the cheek before he
stepped aboard.
~~~
John
was more
than happy to
oblige on the condition they could run more tests on the model. Women
and experimental engineering pretty much summed up his favorite things
in life, if not necessarily in that order.
Monty
was not so
happy about the whole arrangement.
The
best think
about being
accepted to University at sixteen was feeling superior to the other
freshmen; the worst part was feeling overwhelmed by every woman who
ever lived. Even two years later, Monty
felt like
tossed about in a winter North Sea storm. He had no hope in
hell
of ever being able to get the upper hand, but getting out of the water
never crossed his mind.
Competition
was
one thing he didn't need, though. He spoke to John
directly.
"Don't
worry; my
heart belongs to Anne."
"And
the rest of
you?" asked Scotty sounding more childish than he had planned.
"Follows
meekly
behind."
John plopped his feet up on the desk and smiled. "I like a
pretty
face, to be sure, but she is all yours for the taking."
"Just
remember:
her face is up
here." Monty gestured up from his neck, but the tone kept the
same unintentional petulance.
John
laughed.
"Don't worry, me
lad. I might well double-cross you over the Hawking
Theoretical
Physics Fellowship, but a girl, never!"
For
the first
time in hours Monty relaxed. It was something only engineers
could understand.
They
day was
overcast as
usual, and the air was full of the taste of the sea and life.
No
one else was there when they arrived, and so they fired up the model.
The
sealed
compartments stayed
dry down to seventy meters. They were about to try for eighty
when they saw her on the rocks. She was in an
off-white
dress, windblown with her silver hair loose and whipping about her
face. Staring out to sea, she looked like something out of a
museum watercolor or the cover or a young girl's romance
novel.
Monty
had eyes
only for her,
but John followed her gaze out to the water where waves broke over a
covered sandbar. He thought that he saw
something.
Turtles? Dolphins? He directed his engineering datacorder but
it
wasn't calibrated for bio and couldn't read at that
sensitivity.
He snapped a still photo of her instead. She was
stunningly
beautiful in a way that made him wish that a man could have two girls
and keep them both blissfully happy forever. But that would
be a
fairystory.
She
moved easily
across the
rocks when she turned and saw them. She had an easy smile for
both that was a pleasant change from their first meeting.
"Go
on about your
business
boys," she said as she unpacked her painting supplies from her
rucksack. "I want to paint you doing manly things like
playing
with your manly toy."
"It's
nae a toy,
it's--"
John
kicked him.
Monty
cleared his
throat and
started over in a lower tone. "I'd rather make my business
staying with you." He pulled the easel the rest of the way out of the
rucksack and helped her settle it into a relatively stable spot.
John
shook his
head and set the remote for eighty meters. At least one of
them could get some work done.
"What
else have
you got in there?" Monty asked. Painting gear
removed, the rucksack was still fairly full.
"A
change of
clothes, just in case your toy runs wild again."
This
time Monty
held his tongue.
"Well,
go on with
you. Down to the water."
"Really,
I'd
rather watch you paint." Monty rocked happily on his toes.
"They'll
be
nothing to paint
if you're up here, will there? Go on and do whatever it is
that
you were doing and let me start the scene first. I'll tell
you
when I'm ready for you to come up."
"Come
up for
what?" asked John.
"To
stand and
model for me."
"What?
Just stand
there? Why?"
"Because
I say
so, Mr. O'Flaughty." Lesa took out a tube of slate gray and started on
the rocky shoreline.
"Anything
you
want, Lesa." Monty kissed her hand.
John
thanked the
saints that he had better sense in women than Monty did.
The
painting was
finished
without event. Monty thought that John came out significantly
better than he did, but Lesa seemed pleased with the result.
The
submarine tests weren't much better than last time, but at least there
weren't any incidents. John begged out of dinner claiming a
paper
due the next day.
Lesa
shot Monty a
dirty look. Monty tried his best to look innocent.
But
all she said
was, "Come on; I'm starving."
"I
told you, I
can take care of myself."
"I
hope you'r
right, Montgomery Scott, I dearly hope that you are right."
They
walked to
the same
restaurant. He still didn't taste the food, but she ate
enough
for them both. He was struck by the elegance of every move
she
made. It gave him a possible thought.
"Do
you like to
dance?" he asked.
Her
eyes lit
up. "Love it. I don't get to do it enough."
"There's
a dance
next Saturday
at the University Hall. John will be there--with his girl, if
that matters. I thought maybe you might like--"
"I'd
love to."
"Ah
could pick
you up at your place. Say seven? Or earlier and we
could eat."
"Seven's
fine,
but I'll meet you at your place. I have some other things to
do that day."
Using
the
tableside comm, he
printed out a copy of his contact info and coordinates to his
apartment. "If you need directions--"
"Nope.
I'm naturally
good at navigation." She tucked the printout into some fold
in
her clothes or body. "See you then."
It
was clearly a
cue and he
rose just before her. This time she kissed him on the
mouth. Now, that he tasted and prayed that he would for a
very
long time.
She
arrived right
on time,
wearing a dress of midnight black that clung to every curve and fell
clear down to her ankles. The fabric practically beckoned to
be
touched, not that Monty needed any more incentive.
"We
ready?" she
asked.
"Aye!"
said
Monty. "For anything!" The gleam in his eye didn't look like
that of a man heading for a college dance.
She
rolled her
eyes. Men, was the unspoken thought. "Where's your
flatmate?" is what she said.
"John?
He and Anne left
already. Said they wanted to get their music requests in the
queue. Did you want to come in for a drink or something
first?"
"No,
let's not
keep them
waiting." Lesa extended her right arm. Stepping
outside the
door, Monty extended his left, elbow bent. She took it and they
strolled along the walkway to the stairs.
Monty
started up
a flight to
the rooftop flitter pads. Lesa held her ground.
"Let's
walk," she said. "I want to warm up for dancing."
Monty
gazed
skeptically at the
sky. Years of coastal living told him the pressure was
already
dropping. "It's more than likely to rain tonight. With all
the
crowd, I canna guarantee we can get a transport back."
"I'll
risk it,"
she
said. "I don't get out this way much; I'd like to walk
around. And I'm not afraid of a little water; I won't melt."
"Dissolve."
"Pardon?"
"Solids
melt with
an increase in heat; they dissolve when exposed to--"
She
was looking
at him in that way that girls had all through school when he was just
trying to be helpful.
His
cousin Mary
had tried to
explain it to him once. It hadn't made any sense.
She had
told him that he was thinking too hard. "You can't bait for
women, Monty. Or at least you can't hang on to the ones you
lure
with bait. With women, everything you already know
is
useless."
He
wasn't sure
that he understood the first part, but the last phrase he knew was true
for damned certain.
He
cleared his
throat and
started down the stairs. "We'll walk to Edinburgh if ye
like. I rather fancy the fog meself."
"No,
just the
dance hall will be fine." She tugged his arm a little tighter and
pulled her body in next to his.
The
dance was in
high swing by
the time that they arrived. John knew how to do it
all. He
taught her how to polka and Lindy and Harriman step and even something
obscure called the Charleston. Monty tried, but body kinetics
had
never been his thing; engines were. They were predictable and far
easier to control. "Don't worry he said," I'd rather have a
good
view to watch you." And he meant it. After all, John was
engaged,
wasn't he?
John's
fiancée, Anne,
was easy on the eyes and light on her feet with a friendly smile for
everyone. She had no lack of dance partners herself and
seemed to
delight in every one. Monty caught up with Anne while she sat
out
a dance to get some punch. "Does it bother you?" he
asked
nodding to where John and Lesa reeled happily around the floor.
"Huh?"
She
wrinkled her forehead in confusion.
"John
and another
girl?"
Anne
laughed. "Oh, lord,
no. You know him as well as I do, Monty. He's a
people
person. He lives to make other people happy. I
canna and
wouldna try to stop him from that. It's possibly the thing I
love
best about him. How stupid would it be to let jealously
destroy
the vera best of a man?"
"You
are supposed
to be pledged--"
"Aye,
and we
are. That's
his public face. He can have as much fun as he cares to with
anyone whom he cares to, but I'll always be the one he comes to when he
hurts. If that ever changes, then I'll worry."
As
they watched,
Lesa squealed
in delight as John dropped her into a giant dip and whipped her back up
again. He whispered something in her ear and she laughed loud
enough to be heard across the room.
Anne
elbowed
Monty
conspiratorially. "Besides, how many times can I listen to
those
same old jokes and be expected to laugh?"
This
time,
despite himself, Monty laughed.
Protestations
of
left feet
aside, John came and pulled him onto the floor for a Scottish
reel. It would be unpatriotic not to, he said.
After that
was a waltz. Lesa promised to be gentle with him and he didn't step on
her toes too often. Next was something fast and Rigelian.
Monty
escaped before they could lasso him into trying to learn. He worked on
trying to deduce why the sound system quavered every now and
then. He had it narrowed down to the piciculator or a fault
in
the ion feed when Lesa plucked at his sleeve.
"It's
the last
dance," she said.
"I'll
see if I
can call us a flitter."
"No,
silly. I want to dance it with you."
"Really?"
Monty
couldn't stop the smile.
Lesa
rolled her
eyes. "Dissolve, melt, and trimodal transports, but you don't
know much about women, do you?"
Well,
he hadn't
exactly considered it a secret.
Apparently
he
knew enough to
end up holding her close in a sweet, slow dance. He wrapped
her
tightly in his arms and inhaled the heady mix of the sweat and perfume
that radiated from her neck and moved without thinking to the strains
of "Goodnight, Irene," and decided that he didn't give a damn what he
knew anymore.
It
was chilly and
misting when
they finally made it outside, but Monty felt warm all over. The fog was
thick as it should be on a proper Scottish night. "We can probably bum
a ride off of someone," said Monty. "I dinnae think the
weather
will hold out much longer. "
"I
have magical
powers that will keep the rain away," she said and waved her arms in a
grandiose gesture.
Monty
felt the
fog. It
was thick and brimming at the edge of saturation. "Aye, well,
I
do hope that those powers won't--melt if they get wet."
She
looked at him
with approval. "You're learning," she said and tweaked him on
the bum.
Monty
made a
mental note to send Mary a very nice Christmas gift this year.
"I
had a good
time," she said as they strolled along the pedway. "I don't know how to
thank you."
"Thank
John," he
said. "You had most of your fun with him." He
didn't intend for it to come out sounding so petty.
She
gave no
indication that she noticed. "I already did. But he
had as much fun as I did. It's not the same."
"I
had fun," he
said gripping
her hand a little tighter and remembering how she had felt, warm and
glowing in his arms. "I just love to see you happy--however that
happens." Much to his surprise, he meant it.
"You
make me
happy," she said. She stopped where she was and kissed
him.
The
kiss started
slow and
gentle, guaranteed not to offend. It wasn't clear whose mouth
opened first, but either way soon their tongues were mingled.
He
clutched her tight against him, trying to press as much of his body
against hers as he could muster. It was awkward as he had
little
thought to spare for the logistics. All that filled his mind
was
the sinful feel of her mouth on his and the little sounds she made from
deep in her breast.
That
is until the
first wad of rain hit his face.
One
would think
that it would
be a gradual thing, from fog, to mist, to drizzle, to rain, to
deluge. Scotland seldom went the way of the rest of the world
however, and the sky simply opened up and dropped water on the land by
the freightload. Startled, they broke apart and
ducked
their heads lest they risk drowning otherwise.
"I
don't think
your magic is working," said Monty.
"I
never believed
in magic anyway," she laughed.
"Neither
do I,"
he said. "I think we better run for it." Hand in
hand, they did.
The
nice thing
about being
soaked to the skin is that once you can’t get any wetter, the
rain simply ceases to matter. Since they were already
drenched,
they stopped under the spread of a giant yew tree and kissed some
more.
This
time there
was no gentle
hesitation. The delved as far as they could into each other.
She
took his arm and wrapped it around her back, led it down the curve of
her buttock. She began to hitch her dress up in the back, and when he
finally got the idea, she moved her other hand to his rear.
He
had her backed
against the
trunk of the tree and pressed up against her, feeling every curve,
every wiggle, every rise and fall of her chest. He grew
dizzy,
almost faint. He thought every bit of his blood must be trapped below
his waistband; surely there couldn't be enough to reaching his
brain. He backed off from her a little as the extent of his
ungentlemanly actions knocked politely at his conscience.
She
grabbed his
ass and pulled
him back hard against her. "I'm not a little girl," she said, running
one hand under his shirt and around his nipple until he was sure his
head would burst.
"Ah
noticed," he
managed to choke out.
She
ground her
pelvis against him harder.
"Lesa,
please
stop or ahm
going to embarrass myself." It was everything he could do to
keep
himself from moving against her, virtually taking her here and now like
an animal.
"Don't
let that
stop you. You're cute when you’re embarrassed," she
said and nibbled at his ear.
His
world
spun. He made
one last valiant effort to pull away, and might have made it, save for
her other hand sliding down the front of his pants. She barely had
tickled the hair and brushed against a little skin when he choked out
her name and collapsed against her shoulder.
"Thank
you for a
lovely evening," she said against his neck.
"Any
time." He tried to
laugh, but had no breath for it. So settled for holding her and
listening to the rain on the leaves,
The
rain had
slacked off a little when they reached his door.
"Would
you like
to come in for a drink?" he asked, feeling acutely unaware of
the social rules here.
She
shook her
head. "I don't drink."
"Would
ya like me
to call you a flitter--or pilot you home myself?"
She
shook her
head.
He
paused. She
hadn't moved from the doorstep. "Would you like to come in--not for a
drink?"
She
nodded. He opened the door.
"Let
me get you a
towel," he said. "You must be awfully cold."
He
went into the
bathroom.
When he came out with the towel, she was standing
there--naked.
He forgot what he was going to say. He forgot the towel.
"You're
right; I
am cold," she
said. "Is there a place I can warm up?" She walked
to his
bed and climbed in. "Like here?"
Monty
stripped in
record time
and leapt in beside her swearing to get Mary the nicest Christmas
present she had ever had in her life.
He
began by
exploring her
body, every inch, every curve, every ripple. The skills he
didn't
uncoverfor himself, she showed him without the slightest hint
of
laughter and when he lowered himself within her, it was the way he had
always envisioned perfection to be.
As
he moved over
her and in
her and watched her face contort in pleasure, he decided she was
probably smarter than he was. Had it not been for the earlier
interlude, he never would have lasted long enough to feel her claw her
nails into his back in desperation or to have her pound her heels
against him in a frantic, prolonged climax and that would have been a
bloody shame to miss.
As
it was, he
lasted just barely two seconds longer than that.
His
health
teacher had never
mentioned that it would be like this as the world reformed around
him. He decided that he should definitely try new
experiments more often.
"What
should we
do next time?"
he asked, fingering her hair. The black streak fascinated
him. She'd said that that was her natural color--that
generations
of her family's women had gone prematurely gray. Her mother
had
claimed that it was from putting up with generations of her family's
men.
Monty
was just
old enough to
agree that that made sense, and just young enough to swear that if he
ever had the chance to be the one she chose, that she would never lose
another jet-black strand again.
"Oh,
ye think
there'll be a next time then?"
He
rolled over in
alarm and gaped wide-eyed into her face.
She
laughed. "I'm jokin,
silly." She ran the tips of her nails over his balls. "And
what
we did this time was fine by me."
He
relaxed at her
words and
touch. The skin of his sac twitched and tugged in
counterpoint to
the gentle scrape. "No complaints from my side either, but I
meant before this."
His
stomach
tightened as his
balls were pulled in to the humid heat of her mouth. "Or,
mebee,
after…" His eyes rolled back and he let himself go
where
she took him.
It
was a curious
feeling. It was much too soon. There was not even a
spark
of an urge to climax anywhere within him. It all felt warm and intimate
and tender and so very, very good.
He
wondered if
this made him a
sissy, but if so, that was fine by him. He did decide that he
would never tell the guys.
After
a time, she
came back up
beside him, leaving her hand where her mouth had
been. It
allowed him to think a little. What had he been saying, oh,
yes.
Their next date.
"We
could take a
skimmer
around the islands, if you want. Maybe do a little fishing.
You
said you liked it, didn't ye?" When he thought of her, he
thought
of the ocean in the same flash. He thought of the way he had first seen
her on the shore--wild, natural and waiting for him. He hoped
he
always would.
"Mm."
She nuzzled
in against
his neck. "Aye. What I'd really like is to see it
from up
high. Really high. See all the islands at once,
maybe the
whole ocean.
He
furrowed his
brow. "You've never been into space?"
"Never
higher
than a commuter flitter."
"It's
the
twenty-third century, woman!"
"I'm
an old
fashioned kind of girl."
"I've
got just
the surprise for you then."
"Oh,
really?" She
spread her legs.
Monty
chuckled
and began
kissing his way down her body. It wasn't what he'd meant, but
he
could take a hint. A man's work was never done.
~~~
They
agreed on
two weeks later. Monty met her at the restaurant.
"I
was just about
to order." She looked stunning in a flowing, silver dress.
"Why
don't we
wait until after? You may not want much on your stomach for
this."
"Where
are we
going?"
"Space."
She
squealed and
hugged his neck.
"It's
an
experimental design
John and I are working on," Monty explained as he led her out to the
landing lot. "We're modifying a Yager GR-3743 for marine use
too. The submarine operation isn't safe
yet, but it
runs fine as an aerospace craft."
"That?"
She
pointed at a craft
on the edge of the lot. It looked like the no-contest winner
of
the You'd Be a Fool to Trust Your Life to It Award.
"Ah,
we're still
working on
it." It came out a wee bit testy for a fourth date. He tried
again. "But if you'd rather not…"
"I
did nae say
that." She ran
her hand over the underbelly of the starboard engine with the gentle
sensitivity of a lover's touch. "Just makin' sure." She
quirked
her head up at him. "So, can I drive?"
That's
my
girl! Monty's
face about split with an ear-to-ear grin as he opened the passenger
hatch. "She's a little finicky; mebee next time."
They
flew with
her face
pressed to the window. She took in absolutely
everything.
Her islands, the ocean, the mountains, the lights, the nuclear void on
the eastern edge of the Mediterranean where there would be no human
habitation for the next 600 years still. Like most
Terrans,
she couldn't look at it with out a lump forming in her throat at the
magnitude of devastation that power and stupidity had wrought.
"Are
you ready?"
he asked as they left the coast of Africa to pass over the Pacific for
the second time.
"Ready
for what?"
"This."
He cut
the gravity, and she went floating with a cry of glee.
He
put the
controls on
automatic with a large perimeter alert and floated up to join
her. Brushes and tubes floated everywhere. Apparently her
rucksack had been undone.
"You
should have
warned me," she laughed as she propelled herself around collecting
stray items in the air.
"Now
what would
be the fun of that?" he asked, catching a tube of cinnabar red where it
spun above the console.
She
took the tube
from him and stuffed it back into the sack with the rest of the errant
items.
"What's
this?"
Monty asked as
he tucked a handful of items back in. At the bottom of the
sack
was appeared to be a big, soft, wad of fur.
"Dropcloth,"
she
said as she stuffed paint tubes and brushes back in.
"Fur?"
he asked.
"Are
you an art
critic now
too?" she bounced around the small cabin collecting the stragglers and
looking decidedly more at ease. It was a side of her he liked
and
wanted to see a lot more of. "How's your stomach?" he asked
as he
snagged one last brush drifting near the controls.
She
tossed her
head back and collected her hair into a makeshift knot.
"Okay, if I don't think about it--I think."
"That's
the
spirit."
Monty tucked a few straggling hairs behind her ears and twisted the
paintbrush into some hair and slid it behind an ear too.
He
dress billowed
about her
chest and arms as she tried vainly to push it down into some semblance
of propriety. There was no underwear in sight.
He
stroked her
thigh. "Lassie, have ye ever heard of the 100 kilometer high
club?"
"Huh?"
She tried
again to push her dress back down.
He
pushed her
dress back up and kissed her--no where near the mouth.
"Oh,
I think I'm
going to like space flight," she said. She wrapped her legs
around him and together they went spinning.
When
they finally
landed back on his apartment rooftop, the restaurant had already closed.
She
sighed in
resignation. "It's hard to keep track of time when you're
going
back and forth across the terminator and such, I suppose."
"Not
really. That's what chronometers are for."
She
slapped his
arm. "You knew? I'm starving! Why didn't you tell me?"
"You
don't think
I wanted it to end, now, do you? And I have food at my place."
"That's
very
sneaky, Mr. Montgomery Scott."
"I
have eggs and
sausage," he offered.
"Sold,"
she
said. "But you're cooking."
"Anything
for my
lady."
Forgetting
everything else,
they raced each other to the fridge for some soda. Monty said that
something about how zero-g always dries out the mouth. She
said
she thought it was more likely the pubic hairs. He said he
was
willing to experiment as many times as it took to be sure.
By
the time she
had finished
her second glass of juice, the eggs and toast were ready and the
sausage was very close. She thought of going back to the roof
for
her rucksack, but cold eggs are good for no one and Monty assured her
she wouldn't be needing her clothes until morning.
The
scraps of
dinner were left
to congeal on the table, the extra time to take them to the washer
seeming too great a sacrifice at that moment.
Fed
and full they
loved each
other again. Lying beside him, she painted invisible pictures
on
his skin with the paintbrush from behind her ear. She told
him it
was a scene of pirate and his fair maiden on the high seas. He closed
his eyes and followed her brush strokes with just the sensation of his
skin until he could see it too.
In
a short while,
her eyes
closed too. Her head flopped over against his chest and the paintbrush
fell from her hand and rolled off and onto the floor.
~~~
In
the middle of
the night there was a knock. "Pssst! Monty!"
"Go
away."
"Monty,
get
up! I think I figured out a way to damp the Kyhlmer wave
variance."
Monty
blinked
fully awake.
That would solve all of their water surface problems. Lesa stirred
beside him. He stroked her hair. "Go back to sleep."
"We'll
test it
tomorrow," Monty whispered to the door.
"I
have classes
all day. Come on, I'm dying to know if this works."
Monty
rubbed his
eyes and
stomped to his jumper pocket for the key. He passed it out
through a crack in the door. "Let me know how it
goes, but
remember, no more than a 0.003 percent variance. I'll be wanting ta see
the datacorder."
John's
eyes
widened. "You're kidding! You'd part the dynamic
duo for a girl!"
Monty
clapped his
shoulder.
"Nae! Not any girl, me lad. And I'll tell ya, a man can be
just
as dynamic without his pal as with him. Mebee
more." Monty
inclined his head towards the bed, shut the door, and practically dove
back under the covers.
~~~
He
almost didn't
answer the
comm when it beeped. There was no one else he wanted to talk
to. There was no news that could make his life any better
than it
was now. He would have been happy to live in this one moment
forever, but the comm kept right on insisting.
He
pulled on his
pajama top and ran fingers through his hair in a token gesture. "Scott
here."
The
report hit
him with a sort
of dreamlike incredulity. The young never believe that things
like this can really happen to people like them, He sat there
staring at the blank screen until she came up behind him and kissed his
neck.
"What's
wrong?"
she asked.
"There's
been an
accident. John and the spacecraft--"
"What?"
She raced
into the other room and threw open the bedroom door. "John!"
"They
say it just
exploded. No one on the ground was hurt but--"
"No!
John!" She punched up the landing pad on the outside
monitor. The place where they had parked was empty.
"No!
Where did it happen? I have to go." She scrambled
into clothes and shoes.
"Lesa,
there's
nothing to
see." Monty grabbed her shoulders and tried to hold her eyes. "It
exploded in the air. He's gone. The craft vaporized."
"I
have to be
sure. Where?" she pleaded.
"I'll
take you,
if you must."
"No!
You don't
understand. Just tell me where!" Her voice was
shrill and
desperate. He could feel the racing of her pulse beneath his
hands.
He
let her
go.
"Dornoch--just over the water, they say. Witnesses said he
fought
it back out to sea so that--" He couldn't finish. "I'm sure
the
authorities can direct you."
She
dashed out
the door. It was the first time ever that she had
left without kissing him goodbye.
Monty
went back
in their
bedroom. He slipped on something: the paintbrush.
He picked
it up and out of habit looked around to stick it back in her rucksack,
but of course, he couldn't.
The
rucksack and
all its mysterious contents had gone down in the explosion with the
spacecraft.
~~~
It
was raining
when she came
back three days later. Not that that was news for Aberdeen,
but
she was again completely soaked, like the drowned Phoenician
Sailor. He didn't know why that image came to mind.
Water
plastered her hair against her body in a haphazard sort of
way.
Water streaked her face and rolled off of her forehead and the tip of
her nose.
"Can
I stay?" her
voice
said. Her eyes said something different--something about an
infinite sadness that he couldn't quite translate then. He
put it
aside for later and concentrated on the one thing he did know.
Monty
almost
laughed in
relief. "Of all the stupid questions!" He pulled
her in and
clung to her for dear life. "Now I have a stupid question for
you."
"No,
Monty,
please don't ask. I'd tell you if I could, but it's not just
about me."
He
stroked her
hair with what
he hoped was reassurance that he didn't know how to put into
words. "I've got ta ask you this one question. The
rest
doesn't matter a whit. Will you marry me, Lesa?"
She
nodded,
yes.
He
pulled her in
against his
chest. It was many minutes later that Monty realized the rain
was
still blowing in on them and maybe he should close the door.
~~
They
lay in bed
warming each
other. It was the oddest thing. No one would have called it
sex,
but it felt like making love all the same. "Do you
want to
call your family?" Monty massaged her back.
She
stiffened.
"You
know, to
tell them about the wedding. I have university rates on my
comm--it's not bad at all."
"Your
family is a
close knit
one. Not all of them are." She turned her head away
and
bundled her hair to the side as if to let him work on her neck.
"Well,
this is
different--their only daughter getting' married." Monty
paused,
considering how little he really knew about her. "Are you
their
only daughter?"
"Actually,
I have
two sisters."
Monty
began to
knead her neck. "I never heard you mention them.
But I suppose, as you say, if you're not close."
In
fact, her
words had been that 'some families' aren't close.
"I
still think
they'd want to come," said Monty.
"Don't
make
guesses when you don't have the facts. They're different than
your kinfolk. They wouldn't come."
"Well,
they won't
if you dinnae ask."
"They
won't."
"They
don't
approve of me, is
that it? I know it doesn't look like much now, but I have
good
prospects not just at Aberdeen but at any Federation
University.
I've already won two grants and been offered more positions than I
could take in a lifetime."
"It's
not you;
it's me," she
said. "Like I told you, not all families can be
close." He
voice was wavering dangerously and she looked away at the last word.
"Okay,"
he said
changing the subject. "And I am sorry about that."
"Me
too." She reached
back and squeezed his hand. "But I was hoping maybe
I could
borrow your family for the occasion."
He
stroked his
hands down her
neck to the tops of her shoulders. "My family is your family
now. But I hope you aren't thinking of anything as temporary
as
borrowing." He cupped her shoulders and swirled fingertips
around
the top ribs and the mysterious region where chest miraculously
transforms itself into breast.
She
laughed
through her nose, but little humor came through. "No such luck. I'm
afraid that you're stuck with me now."
"Praise
be," he
said and lay down beside her giving up his erstwhile sincere attempts
at massage.
~~~
For
a while,
things were
nearly normal. She was accepted to the university
environmental
design program and spent most of her days at school and all of her
nights at the apartment. She had an inarguable eye and talent
for
design and her mentors held out great hopes for her.
She
never took a
painting class or went back to painting again. It was as if that little
part of her had died.
Monty
asked her
about it once.
She'd answered sharply enough that he had known better than to raise
the subject again. It wasn't the same without her old
brushes,
she'd said. They'd been made just for her and were special.
As
odd as women
were, Monty found that evasion hard to believe.
Still,
he'd taken
her at her
word. He'd offered to have a set custom made, ergonomically
designed for her. Anything she wanted. He'd hoped
that
going back to painting would give her back that ineffable
spark.
That it would fix whatever had been ruined by the crash over Dornoch.
She'd
just given
him that moron look again and he'd left her alone with her design texts.
~~~~
So,
where should
we go for the
honeymoon?" Monty asked as they lay intertwined on the sofa.
"Anywhere you want. You'd never been in space
before. We
could go to Andor--or how about Cyrillius VI? You'd love the
oceans there."
"Wherever,"
she
said. "They both sound lovely."
"We'll
have to
put a rush on your passport then. If you go for the
genotests tomorrow we might just get it in time."
"Genotests?"
"Aye.
You'll need to submit a DNA specimen as positive id for your
passport. Don't worry; it doesn't hurt."
"Maybe
we should
stay closer
to home. School is so hectic, I hate to lose more travel
time." She looked away to the sofa back with that same
hopeless
timbre to her voice.
"Ireland?
We could go
see the places that John talked about. Visit his family if you like--"
His voice trailed off, but he kept his eyes glued to her head.
"No."
She shook
her hair
firmly and turned back to him. She took his hand. "I want to
get
away with you, but let's keep it on Earth, okay?"
"Maybe
Thailand? They have lovely beaches."
"Not
the beach,"
said Lesa. "I was thinking mountains."
"But
you love the
ocean." Monty massaged her hand "I thought you
might like
it with some sunshine for once. You haven't been the same
since
you stopped going--painting."
Lesa
shrugged. "People
change; I changed. I don't want to be around the
sea. I'd
really like to see the mountains. I want to go as high as you
can
go on earth: Mount Everest. I want to go all the way to the
top
of the world." She rolled over onto his stomach and held her
face
very close to his. "Can we afford it?"
Monty
tickled the
back of her
knee. "Aye, I can work out the fee easy enough, but I'd
prefer
nae to be spending our honeymoon in biosuits." He kissed her
once
and again. And again. And again.
Somewhere in there
he lost track.
"How
about
Kilimanjaro?" he asked when they finally broke apart. "No biosuits and
they provide private envirotents."
"How
far is it
from the coast?" she asked.
"I
don't
know. Pretty
far inland, I think. We can look it up in the morning if you
want, but the area isn't known for seafood, if that's what you mean."
"Sounds
good,"
she said and rolled him over and on top of her. "Can we stay for a
whole week?"
~~~
It
was about a
month before
the wedding date that he came home and found her crying. At
first
he couldn't place the strangled noises; certainly they were sounds he
had never associated with her. They were coming from his study--the
room that had been John's bedroom. When he opened the door,
he
saw her with her back to him, the painting from their second date out
on the desk and the photograph John had taken of her clutched in one
hand.
Monty
loved her
enough to pretend he hadn't seen. He backed out and closed
the door.
Apparently
she
loved him
enough not to accept the tacit offer. She didn't turn, but
she
called to him. "Monty, would you do something for me?"
He
went to her
and knelt
beside her, not quite touching her, feeling about as useless as he ever
had. "Now that's the stupidest question I've heard all week."
She
smiled
through her tears and took his hand. He grabbed her arm and
pulled it up under his chin.
"Can
we go to the
shore? Now?"
Understanding
without
comprehension began to form--or maybe it had already formed a while
back. In any event, Monty's words were not a guess.
"You
want to say goodbye."
He
didn't mean to
John. He was fairly sure she didn't either.
She
hesitated.
"Yes. And if I were to ask you to wait in the flitter--?"
"Lassie,
now
that's the second stupidest question. You're on a roll today.
Did I not just say I'd do anything?"
She
flung her
arms around his neck and hugged him. "I love you."
"And
I am so
vera, vera, glad."
When
they broke
apart, Monty picked up the canvas. "It's rather a nice picture, really.
Can we frame it and put it up?"
"Sure.
I'd like that. I miss the ocean. Hang it where ever
you think best."
"You're
the
design expert," he teased.
"He
was your
friend."
She stood and tucked the little photograph into her
bra. As
he got another glance at it, he saw something gray out in the
ocean. Turtles? Maybe seabirds on the
water. Whatever
it was, she concealed the photo so fast he couldn't really be
sure.
~~~
The
trip to the
seashore was
uneventful. She stayed less than an hour. As promised, he
stayed
in the flitter. He even closed his eyes. He didn't ask her
any
questions when she came back with her eyes puffy and her nose reddened,
except whether she cared to go eat. She said, no, that she
wasn't
hungry, even for their favorite restaurant.
They
went back
home and made sweet, slow, love instead.
~~~
One
day the
doorchime
rang. It was a small parcel addressed to Lesa, delivered by
courier, no reply, no return address. She cut open the
weatherguard wrapping and gasped as she picked up the contents of the
box. It was a set of perfectly matched pearls, each one
bigger
than a pea.
"They're
beautiful," said Monty, leaning over her shoulder. "They're
real?"
"Family
heirlooms," she said running them through her fingers. "Over
five hundred years old."
He
picked up the
strand. "The clasp is Jeluronized gold. They didn't
have that five hundred years ago."
"Pearls
on silk
have to be
periodically re-strung and re-knotted. I suppose they replaced the
clasp one of those times. The pearls are natural though,
taken
from open-water oysters."
"You
could just
use synthaline and save all the trouble."
She
took them
back. "The
natural beauty is their attraction. Synthetic fiber would
spoil
that. Help me put them on."
"You
won't think
of it as
spoiling when the silk rots through and they spill all over the floor."
He fastened the clasp in the back of her neck.
"One,
that's what
the knotting is for. And two, I will be restringing them to
make sure that that doesn’t happen."
"They
must love
you very much to send you beauties like these."
She
stroked the
beads at her neck. "Yes."
Monty
licked his
lips. "So don't you think--"
"No."
she turned
off her computer, went into the bedroom and shut the door.
If
asked, Monty
couldn't have
said how he knew. When he was eleven, the proof to Hyzander's
theory of cho particles had just popped into his head fully
formed. He had known that he was right, even though at a gut
level he hadn't dared to believe. His science teacher had
tried
to help him set it up, but immediately realized she was over her
head. She had called the University of Edinburgh and gotten
him
into the physics lab with a faculty mentor and the rest was
history. Four months later, he and the entire physics
community
had no choice but to believe.
This
was fairly
similar.
It wasn't a matter of putting together the little clues. One
day,
he just looked at her and knew at some atavistic level in his gut, even
if he didn't really believe.
It
wasn't the
first time the
idea had been raised. His gramma had claimed that his grampa
was
one. When grampa had died, Monty had stood at the coffin and
waited for something to happen--some proof of the myth--but it never
did. Finally they closed the lid and laid the coffin in the
hearse.
It
didn't seem
the time to
question gramma, so he'd asked Ian MacKintock
instead. "I
thought they turned into sea foam." Ian was in eighth grade. He should
know.
"That's
mermaids,
you dumbass."
"So
what happens
to selkies, then?"
"They're
immortal. They
don't die; they just put their fur suits back on and turn back into
seals again." Ian didn't really know, but he was in eighth
grade
and supposed to have the answers, so he just made something up.
"Everything
dies;
it's just a matter of when," said Monty. They'd covered that
in class.
Ian
rolled his
eyes. "It's just a story, Monty. Don't be such a baby."
Monty
was no
baby, so he let it go.
He'd
only brought
it up one
other time. He was home from university and gramma had grown so old in
the three months since he'd seen her last. Everyone
dies,
but he didn't have to like it.
He'd
sat with her
reminiscing. They had shared some wonderful times.
They
spoke of the old bedtime stories, the trouble he'd gotten into, the
things they'd agreed that his parents didn't need to know, they bedtime
stories she had told. Finally he asked, "You used
to tell
me that grampa was a selkie."
"Aye,
and the
most beautiful one you'll ever see."
"I
thought
selkies were immortal."
"They
are. As seals they
can live healthy and beautiful forever. As humans, well, they
don't just die in body like we do; they sort of fade away a little bit
at a time. That's why they can't ever stay."
"But
grampa did.
And died."
She
coughed a
wheezy laugh. "You're old enough to know it now. I
meant your real grampa."
Monty
blinked.
"Don't
look so
shocked, boy. I'm talking about love, not some evil thing."
"So…I'm
part selkie?"
She
shook her
head
sadly. "It doesn’t work that way." All
they leave
with us is here. " She tapped her head. "And here."
She
tapped her heart and left her hand in place.
The
door opened
and a nurse came in. "Time for your hypo, Mrs. Scott."
Monty
stood. "Can it wait? I don't get to visit often and
we have a lot to talk about."
The
nurse smiled
kindly and
drew the drapes against the sun as it dropped low to window
level. She put the hypo back in her pocket. "I'll
give you
thirty more minutes, if you like, but frankly it would be better if you
could come back in the morning. She doesn't do well when her
schedule is disrupted and her mind is so much clearer earlier in the
day."
Monty
paused. "You're
right. I don't want to interfere with her care." He kissed
her on
the forehead. "Goodnight, gramma."
In
the morning
they had talked
of birthday parties, a pair of pet wolverines they had kept for a few
months and a family trip to Luna. When he'd broached the
subject
of his real grampa, she'd said that she had no idea what he meant.
The
scientific
theory depends
on proof and not belief, but sometimes it works backwards.
Some
things cannot be proven until and unless someone believes.
It
didn't make an
iota of
scientific sense, but given a choice between the two, any good Scotsman
will chose heart over brain when a lady is at issue. Some say that is
what brought down the Stuarts at Culloden. Monty preferred to
think that is why Scotland was still the great, independent state that
it was.
His
heart told
him that Lesa was too important to let her slowly fade away.
It
was a long
shot, but so was
warp drive. Monty waited until she left for class, then he
entered their bedroom. He took her old paintbrush from the
nightstand. As an afterthought, he took her hairbrush
too.
He'd dated a girl in a bioscience fellowship. Okay, 'dated'
was a
stretch, but she had held his hand while she'd told him that he was a
great guy and then explained why it wouldn't work. That was
closer than he had come with any other woman before now. Her name was
Rachel, Rachel Judson. It wasn't hard to find her lab.
Monty
would have
liked to have
thought that Rachel was helping him for the sake of a the handful of
good times they had had, but he had to admit that a fellow scientist
was more likely to leap at the puzzle that at his looks and
charisma. For whatever reason, Rachel took the paintbrush.
She
looked skeptical, but put it in the sequencer anyway.
"Nope,
only
keratin left--no
DNA." She took it out and changed to another
machine. After
a few seconds she shook her head "It's been exposed to too many
chemicals," she said. "The bonds are too badly broken to
establish a curl pattern. That's going to limit the
identification." She pressed a couple buttons.
"It's
probably a pinniped, but I don't think I can narrow it down any more
than that. I'm sorry."
Monty
reached in
to his pocket
and unwound a few hairs from the hairbrush. Palming
the
length of the strands, he broke off a follicle end. "Try this."
She
put it in the
sequencer
and her whole posture changed. She ran it again. "Where did
you
get this?" she demanded.
"Ya
would nae
believe me if I told ya."
"Monty,
I won't
be part of
anything illegal. This is a phocid, and they are all
endangered
and strictly protected. If you've trapped one, or killed
it--"
Her voice trailed off.
"It's
nothing
like that,"
Monty said acutely aware of how close the facts were to that despite
the intent. "I promise, it's nothing illegal or immoral, but
I
can't tell the details; I promised someone else."
Rachel
looked at
him, doubt
written all over her face, but in the end she was a
scientist. She returned to the sequencer.
" I can't
match it exactly, but it is very similar to halicoerus.
Whatever
it is, it is probably extinct." She removed the hair specimen and put
it into the ionic analyzer. "But the curl and bond structure
doesn't match. It looks--human."
She
looked
up. "May I see a full hair?"
Monty
crammed his
hand back in
his pocket. "Sorry that's all I have." He didn't
even try
to sound convincing. He'd always been a crappy
liar.
"Monty--"
"Ye
said you
didn't want to be too involved--"
"No,
I said I
wouldn't be a
part of anything illegal, and I won't. I love these
animals. I will not stand around and let one be
exploited
or worse." Her eyes flared in a way that only meant trouble from
women.
This
was an
emergency.
Monty bent his knees and dropped to her eye level. He took
her by
the forearms. "Rachel, I swear, I am trying to save
one. I
canna tell you more except that I need your help and that I would give
my life, my soul, anything that is mine to give to save this
creature. So, will ya help me, or nae?"
Dampened
beyond
the critical
point, the fire in her eyes went out. She exhaled.
"You
always were a crappy liar. Okay, I believe you. So
what do
I do now?"
He
squeezed her
hand and kissed it. "Bless you, woman. Can you grow
me a patch of the fur?"
She
double-checked the data. "Sure. The curl-pattern
will still be off, though. Will that do?"
Monty
gave a
rueful snort. "Dammed if I know. How long?"
"How
much do you
need?"
"Mebee…three
meters square?"
"Two
weeks, give
or take."
"Alright.
One more thing--can you put a black streak in it?"
"Sure.
That's just coding in more melanin."
He
nodded. "Make it noticeable, but not too big."
Like
she should
know what that
meant. Why couldn't men communicate?
"Monty." She
called him back from his way out. "There are
expenses."
There
went
Kilimanjaro. He'd never been that big on mountains anyway.
"I'll
send a
credit confirmation to the lab."
"Better
make it
my private
account." She wrote down a code. "They'll be questions if
there
is an outside donor. They don't ask me what I'm doing as long
as
I publish regularly." She paused. "Any chance of
publishing…something out of this?"
"You
know as well
as I do that nothing should be completely ruled out in science."
Rachel
looked
back at the slew of incongruous data. "Ain't that the truth."
~~~~
A
little bird
told him that he
should talk to Lesa about it, but he always shooed it away.
How
would the discussion go? Honey, I know you're a seal; I think
we
should sit down and talk? Wait, do seals sit? Maybe
we
should swim and talk. That's what he liked about mechanical
engineering; it did not rely on the imprecision of words. Everything
was math and fact and the final product either worked or it did
not. If it didn't one went back to the last decision point
and
tried again.
He
reasoned it
out. She
couldn't help. She was worse off than he was for she was
burdened
with the iron certainty of centuries that it couldn't be
done.
Monty had no such preconceptions. He would do what
inventors had done through the ages. He would see it through
to
the end, then flip the switch and see if the lights came on.
He
went to her
bridal dress fitter instead. "Can you do it?" he asked.
"If
it's solid, I
can fit it," he said. "But I don't work on illegal
goods. Got a permit?"
"It's
laboratory
grown," said Monty. He produced the lab certificate.
The
tailor looked
it over and grunted. "I'll need to keep this until you pick
it up. You want the entire body?"
"Entire.
Head, feet, hands, all of it."
"You
want eye
holes? A mouth?"
Monty
faltered. How the blazes was he supposed to know?
"Sure, I guess."
"How
about--" The
tailor
gestured below his belt. His eyes narrowed. "Are
you going
to be using it for any funny business?"
"Certainly
not!"
Monty flushed beet red and his brogue trebled in intensity. "What dae
yae think Ah ahm?"
"A
man
commissioning a fur suit for his bride in time for their honeymoon."
Monty
groaned
inwardly.
He sincerely hoped this man did not know any of his friends or
family. "Nothing but the eye and mouth holes," he
said.
"It'll be ready for the wedding day?"
"She
can pick it
up with the dress, if she wants."
"No!
Don't tell
her! I'll pick it up meself. It’s a
surprise."
The
tailor's
eyebrows rose again.
"Not
like
that--" Monty began.
"None
of my
business; I just sew the stuff. Just tell me where you want
the fabriseal. Back? Side? Middle?"
"No
fabriseal,"
said Monty.
"Well
how do you
expect to get the blame thing closed?"
"You're
the
tailor! I'm
a mechanic. Ye come to me with a flitter; I'll tell you how
it
should be fixed, nae the other way 'round. I come to you with
an
outfit, I expect you to work out the details. No synthetic
anything. Not the thread, not the closings."
He
fingered the
leathery base of the fur. "I suppose I could make buttons out
of this."
"Fine.
Whatever works. And call me when it's done. Anything else?"
The
tailor held
out his hand.
Monty
passed over
a credit chit. He'd heard that Kilimanjaro had been ruined by the
tourists anyway.
It
was ready a
week ahead of time. Monty went by to pick it up.
"Don't you want the lady to try it on for fit?"
Monty
quirked his
head. "I don't think an inch here or there will make any
difference."
The
tailor passed
him a box and a bag.
"Here,
what's
this?'
"The
scrap
fur. Grown or not, I don't want it on the premises without
the lab receipt."
Monty
peeked in
the bag.
There was rather a lot of scrap. It seemed like a shame,
considering what he'd paid. He punched info up on
his
flitter guidance console and headed for the nearest art guild.
"Pardon
me," he
said to the woman who greeted him. "Can you make custom paintbrushes?"
~~
Monty
came to the
door with
one box in each hand. His mother stuck her head out. "Go
away!
It's bad luck to see the bride on the wedding day."
"Bad
luck for the
bride, the groom, or for the marriage?" asked Monty.
"It's
all the
same," said his mother. It wasn't often that she was so far
off base.
"Lesa!"
Monty
called through the door.
Lesa
came rushing
to the entrance.
"Kids,"
said his
mother with an I-wash-me-hands-off-of-ye scoff that didn't fool anyone.
"I
have something
for you." Monty raised the packages up to eye level.
"I
didn't think
that the groom gives bridal presents," she said eyeing them
nonetheless.
"Well,
you're not
just any bride. These are special."
"Well,"
she stood
aside. "Come in; show me."
Monty
hesitated. "Why don't you come out to the flitter.
I want to show you in privacy."
"Let
me get my
shoes."
"If
you want."
Monty spoke to her back as she rummaged in the closet. "But I
doubt that you'll need them."
She
popped into
the front passenger seat. "So, what have I got?" She reached
for the big box.
"No,
this one
first." Monty handed the smaller box to her.
She
started to
peel neatly at
the paper with her nails, but gave up rapidly and ripped it
open.
Inside was a set of paintbrushes--at least thirty different sizes and
styles.
"You've
seemed so
lost without you…painting. I thought maybe if you started
again--"
Lesa
picked up a
thick filbert
and brushed it against her cheek. Her eyes widened.
"Monty!" She picked up another brush and then
another.
"Monty, where did get the fibers?"
"Do
you like
them?"
"They're
perfect,
but I need to know, where did you get them?"
"I
grew them--or
had them grown for you, maybe I should say."
"These
are very,
very rare. How--?"
"Open
the other
one." Monty prodded it at her.
"I
really need to
know how--"
"Open
it. I'll
answer it after, if you still want."
Lesa
tore open
the wrapping
and threw aside the box top to pull out a sealskin body suit, sized it
seemed just for her. She stared between it and
Monty, then
threw her arms around his neck and began to cry. At first it
was
gasping little sobs, unsure of what to do next. Then it
became
full body wracking heaving sobs heavy with everything she had held
inside for so long.
Monty
held her
through it all,
her long hair splayed out over her back and around her shoulders almost
covering her slight body from his view. "Thank you!
How'd
you know? I love you!" she kept repeating.
Irony
is a
curious
phenomenon. For the first time everything was out in the
open,
but paradoxically Monty found that, for that very reason, he had no
idea what to say.
They
piloted out
to the coast
in near silence, her hand resting on him the whole time.
There
were so many things he should have wanted to know now that this was out
in the open--questions coastal highlanders had had for centuries, maybe
even millennia. His grandmother had told him stories of the
selkies that her grandmother had told her. Each town had a different
version: the details of when they came ashore and why, how they seduced
their lovers, and whether they bore men good or ill.
One
of the few
things that
remained constant was the skin. Should their sealskin coat go
missing, they would be left in human form forever.
He
supposed he
could have all
the answers. He might be the only human being if he
did.
None of that seemed to matter. He wanted only one thing, and
that
was exemplified by the gentle reality of her leg against his leg and
her hand upon his thigh.
There
was only
one question
that nagged at him, petty and churlish as it was. As people
still
had a vestigal appendage, men still carried this vestige of the caveman
claim-the-woman-by-the-hair-days.
"It
was never
about John, was it," he asked, ashamed and oddly liberated at the same
time.
"John?
No. Why do you
ask?" Her surprise was genuine and ironically, greater than any he had
been able to muster through all this.
Monty
shrugged in
feigned insouciance. "I dinnae. The picture, the
vidistill."
Lesa
pulled the
crumpled still
from a fold of her clothing. "The painting was the sea--my
home. And this one is my parents."
Scotty
looked
over at the snapshot. He saw waves and maybe--just maybe--two
hazy blobs. "I can't really tell much."
"No,"
she agreed,
"but it's
them. I was talking to them earlier. I thought this
picture
was all I would be able to ever have of them to keep." Her
voice
broke.
Monty
squeezed
her hand.
A Scottsman understands clan. "God willing, I'll see that you
get
back." A wet droplet splashed his hand, and he carefully kept
his
eyes on the control panel lest he have to pull over--and Lesa had
waited long enough.
With
the guidance
of the
instruments, Monty found the landing clearing. The fog was so
thick one could barely see the shore. The damp washed in as
soon
as she opened her door. Monty shuddered as the bitter sea air
wrapped around him. He thought he knew now why he had never
learned to like the ocean: the purpose of its whole existence was to
take her away from him.
Lesa
grabbed the
sealskin and
hopped out, skipping easily over the slick rock as if she were born to
it. Of course she did--she was.
She
found a flat
spot and
pulled her dress up over her head. Monty picked his
way
around the flitter and over to her. By the time he
got
there, she was naked, sitting on a rock with her legs turned to one
side running the sealskin through her hands.
Monty's
skin was
pimpled
against the cold and he fought the urge to shiver; Lesa was positively
aglow. He squatted down and moved his hand with hers, petting
the
fall of the fur. "I guess it's time ta fire up the engine and
see
if she runs as good as she looks."
She
turned her
head and
glanced up at him a little shyly. "Humans aren't supposed to
watch us change. It's against the rules somehow."
"Sorry."
Monty
straightened up and pulled away.
She
grabbed his
wrist making
him slip and almost stumble on the rock. "It's
okay. I
think the rules are different…considering."
Monty
knelt down
in front of her on the rock.
Starting
at her
feet, she
pulled the sealskin on. Her feet turned out and her legs
blurred
together. She slipped one arm in and the arm became a
flipper. She pulled the hood up over her head and finally she
poked the last arm in, all but completing the transformation.
From the backside she was just another seal.
From
the front
there was one
little problem. A very human, very familiar, very sexy torso
still poked through the middle.
Lesa
tried to
reach it with a
flipper, but it was well out of her grasp. She twitched her
nose
at him. "Good thing you stayed. I could use a hand."
"Aye,"
said
Monty, moving
mechanically towards her. Believing in the theory was one
thing,
but seeing it, touching it, having manufactured something that he
couldn't even begin to comprehend the workings of was another thing
entirely. And thus everything he knew of his ordered,
reasoned,
scientifically designed universe collapsed around him and the wonders
of infinite possibilities fell within his scope.
Starting
at the
navel and
moving up, reverently he began to button. He traced the line
of
her body up between her breasts and over her neck, ending at the very
place he loved to nestle. He kissed it one last time, then
closing his eyes, he sealed it with a final twist.
He
sat back to
admire his
handiwork. Silver-gray, sleek and shiny, she was still the
most
beautiful creature he had ever seen. A scattering of darker
patches mottled her back and belly. From her head running
back
behind where her ear opening must be, a sharp streak of pure black ran
down to her neck.
"Well,"
she said,
"what do you think?"
The
love of his
life was a
myth. He had made the greatest natural discovery of
the
century with staggering bioengineering implications, but he would never
be able to tell. His entire worldview had been
wrong. The
picket fence life he had planned out with endless research grants, an
engineering chair and 1.37834 kids had just been swept away in one fell
swoop.
What
did he
think? He voiced the first formed thought that came into his
head. "You can talk."
She
tossed back
her head. "Of
course. What did ye take me for, a seal?" Despite
himself,
Monty began to laugh. She followed suit, but the laugh was
harsh
and barking, exactly like--
Monty
grew
silent.
Carefully he rolled a set of her barbels between his fingers.
She
twitched and gave a ladylike sneeze. He thumbed the rubber
skin
of her nose--a nose that had not been sewn into the pelt they had
grown. He stroked the white streak, rolled his fingertip
around
the tiny ear opening, felt the ridges of tissue and a flap that had not
been there minutes before. He examined her flipper
efficiently
webbed, the vicious looking claws on each one.
She
already
smelled like the sea.
He
raised a
flipper to his
mouth and kissed it. Choking back emotion, he let her
go.
"You're nae coming back, are ye?"
She
slid a little
closer to him. "Monty, I was never meant to be here this long in the
first place."
He
swallowed hard
and nodded. "I know. I've just…never met
anyone like you before--"
"Nae
doubt." She
barked again.
He
didn't laugh
this time. "You know what I mean."
She
rubbed his
head against
his knee. "I do. And I feel the same.
Monty, you have
given me--or given me back everything--and I do mean everything--that I
value in this life. I can never thank you enough for that--or
repay you--but I will always love you."
"You
can repay
me," said Monty. He knelt back down and threw his arms around
her, burying his face in her neck.
"How's
that?"
"By
promising me
you'll be
happy. What I want more than anything is ta know that you're
happy and that I made you that way." He pressed his face more tightly
against her, the musty smell growing every stronger in the
damp.
"And if there is ever a time when you're thinking about not being
happy, well, you won't be able to because you made me a promise and you
have ta keep it."
"I
promise," she
said.
She reached to wrap her flippers around him, but together they came
unbalanced and fell awkwardly to the rock.
"Shite!"
said
Monty wiping a hand violently at his face.
"It's
okay," she
said. "I'll always remember what it was like."
Monty
scrambled
to his feet
and took a deep breath. "I guess this is good-bye,
then."
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand but didn't move from his
spot.
"Come
with me,"
she said.
"What?"
His eyes
flew wide in wonder. "You mean, I could?"
"No.
No. We can
teach our own children to convert, but not outsiders." Her
voice
trailed off with a flush of the same sadness he had grown accustomed to
in the preceding weeks since the crash.
His
face
fell.
"I
just meant,
come with me into the water--to say good-bye."
"You're
daft
woman! It's bloody freezing in there!"
"It's
not so bad
once you get used to it."
He
scoffed. "That's easy for you ta say; you’re
a--" He stopped.
"Say
it."
"You're
a
selkie." The word hung in the air.
"And
you're not."
She slipped down the rock and toward the water's edge.
"Wait!"
Monty peeled of
his jacket and kicked off his boots. Mindless of the rough
stone
he plunged after her. He fell into a tide pool in the
rock.
"Shite." He stood up and made to turn around, but then he saw
her
just offshore, waiting for him. He lunged out of the tidepool and
crawled into the ocean's edge.
The
cold
constricted his chest
when the water covered it. He felt his heart stutter and then
restart. She was there against him. "Welcome to my
world." She dove down; he paddled after her. She
swam
around him, between his legs. She maneuvered to carry him
playfully on her back.
His
teeth
chattered and
another wave washed over him. He choked on the salt water running down
his throat and spat out a mouthful of ocean and phlegm.
"Knock it
off," he said. "This is insane. Let me go." Let me
go.
Let
me go. He'd
said it.
He'd asked for it. Even in myth--perhaps especially in myth--some
things were just not meant to me. Drowning half-frozen after
being battered against the rocks is enough to ward off the romantic in
most men.
And
not all
fairytales end in 'happily every after.'
She
rolled him
off her back and he staggered to stand in the waist deep water.
"I'll
always love
you," he said.
She
dove under,
wove between
his legs, her fur brushing softly against his calves, then she
surfaced, barked twice at him and dove away towards Orkney.
Dripping
and
shivering Monty
made back for the flitter. He stopped to pick up her
clothes. Nobody likes a litterbug. He paused and,
thinking
the better of it, stashed them under a rock and made a little
cairn--just in case. After all, you never know in this life,
do
you?
The
paintbrushes
he saved in a pouch that he kept with his personal possessions wherever
he went.
Because
everyone
knows that most fairytales do end happily ever after.
~~~
Scotty
lay on his
berth
stroking Mira's hair. It was nearly thirty years ago now, but
experiences like that don't fade with time. Lesa had given
him a
new way of seeing his universe. Because of her he had reached
for
other strange new worlds and found his life among the stars.
He
had previously thought that the cost had been his heart, but since Mira
he saw that he had been wrong again.
Mira
turned out
the
light. Apparently the transponders and couplers could
wait.
She curled against him and locked one leg tightly around him as if to
never let him go.
Scotty
adjusted
the pillow and
made a place for his left arm somewhere behind her
head.
Okay, so he wasn't getting up tonight. That was all right
with
him.
In
the morning he
would dig
out the paintbrushes and package them to send to Janice Rand on Earth
via the next mail ship. Janice would appreciate them and they
belonged on Earth.
Besides,
he had
no use for them anymore.