Sweet Starfire (9 page)

“And you had automatically reacted casually at the time. Because you’re a Wolf in Harmonic’s clothing.” Severance removed his hand from the nape of her neck. “Stop worrying about it, Cidra. We both need some sleep. You want a bath?”

She stood up a little shakily but without kick-starting the headache. “That sounds wonderful.” With a sigh she examined her rumpled sleeping robe. “Have you got a fresher on board?”

“Sure. Give me the dress and I’ll run it through a cleaning cycle while you hit the lav.”

“Thank you.” She moved toward the tiny lavatory facility, wondering how she was going to find room even to turn around inside, let alone undress. The ship’s lav was nothing like the comfortable facility in her parents’ home. When the privacy panel hissed shut behind her, she struggled free of the sleeping surplice with some difficulty. Every time she shifted position she came into contact with some object in the miniature room. Severance knocked on the door just as she finally freed herself of the gown.

“Ready?”

“Here. I appreciate your help.” She opened the panel a tiny distance and pushed the black-and-silver robe into his outstretched hand. “How do you move around in here? It’s barely big enough for me, let alone someone your size.”

“I leave the panel open,” he told her calmly. The robe and his hand disappeared.

Never in a million seasons would she leave the panel open, Cidra decided. Turning carefully, she activated the orange controls set in the bulkhead. A wonderfully refreshing hot spray filled the small room. Cidra closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pleasure of it.

It was a long time before she reluctantly deactivated the spray, dried herself with the warm air jets, and plaited her hair into one long braid that hung over her shoulder. Feeling infinitely better and deliciously sleepy, she cautiously cracked the panel.

“Severance? Is my robe ready?”

There was no answer. Pushing the panel open a little farther, Cidra tried again. “Teague?” Still no response. The cabin lights had been dimmed. In the faint glow of the control console she could see the black-and-silver surplice draped over the back of the command seat. There was no sign of Severance. Belatedly Cidra realized that he was in his bunk.

She waited another moment or two, the sight of her robe on the seat tantalizing her. It was obvious that Severance had gone to sleep in the same quick, uncomplicated way he had napped on the flight between Valentine and Lovelorn. The only option she had was to get the robe herself.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of the lav and stood poised for a few seconds in the shadows. There was no movement from the lower bunk. Cidra padded barefoot across to the command console and quickly put on the surplice. She relaxed as the garment swirled comfortably around her. Running around naked in front of a strange man and an even odder beast was not her idea of proper decorum. Gathering up the hem of the robe, she went to stand at the foot of the bunks. There was a narrow rope ladder hanging from the upper berth. Presumably that was how one climbed into it.

Experimentally Cidra took hold of the flexible side of the ladder and fit her foot into the bottom rung. After that it was easy. She was safely into her berth a few seconds later. The knowledge that she was truly at the beginning of her quest once again swept over her, making her considerably less sleepy than she had been only moments before. She sat cross-legged on the bunk, closed her eyes, and sought the calming influence of the evening meditation ritual. She was halfway through the elaborate sequence, of silent logic when Severance spoke from die bottom bunk.

“Do you always spend that long in the lav?”

Cidra opened her eyes with a start. Instantly visions of herself darting naked across the cabin to retrieve her robe leapt into her mind. “I thought you were asleep,” she said weakly.

“I dozed off waiting for you to emerge from your bath. Rule number one on board Severance Pay is that passengers don’t treat the water supply as if it comes from one of those inexhaustable fountains in Clementia.”

“I assumed it was a recirculating, full-recovery system.” She was embarrassed and offended.

“No system is one-hundred-percent full-recovery. You lose a little every time you use the lav.”

“I understand,” Cidra said stiffly. “I will be more careful next time.” She gave up trying to meditate and crawled under the covers.

On the bottom bunk Severance folded his arms behind his head and stared thoughtfully up at the bunk above. Chewing out a Harmonic always made a man feel guilty. He’d felt the same way whenever he’d lost his temper with Jeude.

Damn it to a renegade’s hell, though , Cidra was not a real Harmonic. There would undoubtedly be ample opportunity to remind himself of that fact during the next two weeks. He allowed himself to dwell for a lingering moment on the sight of her nude body outlined in the dim console lighting as she padded quickly across the room to don her robe.

Small, sleek, with an unmistakably feminine grace. Her breasts were delicately curved, just the way he had imagined they would be earlier when he’d unbound her braids. Nicely rounded buttocks too. Lush and tantalizing. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was intriguing on too many levels for his peace of mind. And she was not a Harmonic, regardless of what she thought or wished to be.

For some reason it was becoming important that he make her admit that. Severance realized he wanted Cidra to acknowledge fully that she was a real Wolf, just as he was.

It was a long while before he went to sleep.

The smell of hot coffade and a steaming prespac breakfast brought Severance awake eight hours later. He opened his eyes slowly, letting himself luxuriate in the fragrance. The little fake Saint was obviously up and about. He stretched slowly and climbed out of the bunk. Fred had vacated the premises earlier. He was draped over the back of the console seat, watching

Cidra slip another prespac into the ship’s heater. Severance yawned loudly, and Cidra whirled around, smiling. The smile slipped, and her eyes went momentarily quite wide as she absorbed the fact that he was naked. After a startled instant she turned hurriedly back to the heater.

“Good morning, Severance. Are you hungry? I hope you don’t mind me digging out the prespacs. I was just thinking, this could be one of my shipboard duties, couldn’t it? Getting the meals ready?”

The deliberate chattiness of her voice amused him. He stepped into the lav, leaving the panel open. “I’ve got news for you. Shoving a food prespac into a heater and pulling it back out again doesn’t exactly constitute a full-time job. Now, if we had a grill on board and some fresh food, I might be willing to negotiate.”

“Still,” she insisted, “it is a task, however small. And we have to agree on something useful for me to do.”

He leaned out of the lav, reaching into a storage bin for the trouser portion of his gray shipsuit. “Afraid of getting bored?”

“No. But I definitely want to work my passage, Severance.”

He didn’t respond to that—didn’t dare respond. With a grim effort, he forced the panel shut behind him. He had spent too much of the night envisioning exactly how she could make herself useful on board, and Severance knew Cidra would be repelled by the graphic pictures he had formed of her. When he stepped out of the lav a short time later wearing only worn, close-fitting trousers, he said simply, “We’ll think of something.”

“You keep saying that, but what will we think of?” She set the steaming prespacs on the small serving table and handed him a mug of coffade.

“So earnest and industrious,” he muttered as he sat down. The coffade tasted better than usual for some reason. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had to make it himself. “Give me some time, all right? I haven’t had an opportunity to really contemplate the situation. Everything’s happened a little fast since I met you on Lovelady.”

She smiled, but he noticed she was having to make an effort to keep from staring at his bare chest. He blinked lazily, set down the mug with a small sigh of resignation, and reached into a bin for a loose, comfortable, wide-sleeved shirt he sometimes wore on board. He shrugged into it but didn’t bother to fasten the front seal. Cidra looked relieved.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not a prude, you understand. I have had courses in human anatomy. But Harmonics are generally quite formal in their attire. I’m accustomed to it.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression. I warned you about the lack of privacy on board.”

“Yes.” She concentrated on her food. “You did.”

“Things on Renaissance are even more, uh, informal.”

“I’m prepared for that.”

Severance studied her for a moment, taking in the determined carriage of her head. She had her hair back up in the strict coronet, and he wondered how long it had taken her to do it. Her surplice was red, embroidered at hem and cuffs and throat with a delicate purple floss. She was a note of color and restrained elegance against the general gray backdrop of the ship. Quite suddenly he was intensely curious about her.

“What’s going to happen if and when you find your magic artifact, Cidra?”

She frowned. “It’s not magic. When I find it, I’m sure I will also find a perfectly good scientific explanation for how it works.”

He held up a hand. “Sorry. No magic, then. Your scientifically explainable artifact. What will you do with it?”

“Go back to Clementia, naturally.”

“Someone waiting there?”

She glanced up, green eyes wary and quizzical. “My parents. My teachers. My friends.”

“A lover?” He almost surprised himself with the question almost but not quite. The hard edge of his words told him more than he wanted to know about his own reasons for pushing in this particular direction. The color that surged into Cidra’s cheeks fascinated him.

“That’s a very personal question, Severance.”

“I know. I’m rude on occasion.” He finished his meal and tossed the empty prespac into the disposal unit. He was disgusted with himself.

Cidra smiled tentatively. “I suppose it’s just another example of a Wolf’s natural interest in sex.”

Severance regarded her laconically as he got to his feet and walked over to the control console. “You’re a Wolf, lady, whether you like it or not. Don’t you have any interest in the subject?”

She quickly cleaned up the remains of the breakfast prespacs, avoiding his half accusing stare. “You must understand that for me a relationship with a man will be much different than it would be between two Wolves.”

“There is a man back in Clementia, isn’t there? A Saint.” He leaned against the console, irritated by the way she was sidestepping the subject.

Cidra turned to face him with quiet reproach. “There is a man,” she began very carefully, “but I am not ready for him.”

“He thinks he’s too good for you because he’s a Harmonic and you’re not?”

She shook her head. “Mercer would never think such a thing. He is a brilliant, kind, intuitive man. A fine Harmonic who has been both teacher and friend to me. He is in charge of the Archive where I work. I have never told him that I would like the relationship to become more… more intimate. I would not burden him with that knowledge until I can come to him as a true Harmonic.”

“You’ve just stood in the shadows, pining from afar, is that it? For how long?” Severance didn’t even bother to soften the words.

“Three and a half seasons,” Cidra admitted wistfully. “We have so much in common intellectually that I just know things will harmonize beautifully between us once I have overcome the barrier of my non-Harmonic mind.”

“I think I may get sick.”

Instantly Cidra swept forward, concern marking her features. “You’re ill? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She took his arm. “Lie down while I get the med kit. Here, I’ll help you to the bunk—”

“You do take things literally, don’t you? Forget the med kit, Cidra. I’ll survive. Come here. I want to show you something.” He pushed her gently down into the seat in front of the ship’s second computer. “Ever seen one of these?”

“A Consac Four-ten. I’ve never seen one programmed for use on board a ship, but I’m familiar with the basic model. We use a Consac Sixteen hundred in the Archives.” She eyed him uncertainly. “You’re not sick?”

“Not the way you mean.” He nodded toward the computer control panel. “A Conny is a Conny. If I give you some introduction, you ought to be able to manipulate this one.”

“Probably,” she agreed with no false show of pride; the simple fact was that she could. “I learn very quickly. What do you want me to do with it?”

“You said you wanted to work your passage.”

Her eyes lit up. “Definitely. There’s something you want done on the computer?”

“I’d like some advice from someone who’s had a good education. Presumably, since you were raised in Clementia, you’ve had the best.”

She smiled. “The best.”

Fifteen minutes later Cidra shook off her intense concentration long enough to smile up at Severance as he hovered over her and the computer. She understood now what he wanted.

“This is your lucky day, Teague Severance. I told you I’m a trained archivist. I could just as easily have been a micro-geologist or a professional poet. And then, while I might have been able to give you some general guidance or advice, I wouldn’t have been qualified to really dig in and program a first-class record-keeping system for you. But as it is…” She let the sentence drift off as she turned back to the computer.

“As it is,” Severance concluded, “this is my lucky day. I should have known. Wonder what I did to deserve having you on board?”

“There you go, being flippant again.”

“I think it’s more than flippancy,” Severance murmured. “I think at times I’m bordering on outright sarcasm. Postmen aren’t noted for their social graces.” He leaned closer, peering over her shoulder at the screen. “You really think you can get up some kind of workable records and business management program for me?”

“I’ve been designing and applying records management programs since the day I first set foot in the Archives.”

“Yeah, but the stuff you file and retrieve at Clementia is different. I’m not trying to figure out a way to handle a bunch of old slips filled with First Family diaries or middle-second-century poems. I need hard data I can call up on a second’s notice, and I’ll need it cross-indexed a hundred different ways. I figure that if my plan is going to work, I’ll have to be able to access everything from personnel information on company presidents to meteorological details on
QED
.”