Fugitive (12 page)

   She hitched in her chair irritably. No, what she wanted to do was to go look for Manx—or at least check her "mail." The need to go down to the beach was becoming unbearable. It was like sending an email to someone and then constantly hitting the "get mail" button to check for a response. She hadn't seen Klog go out for beach maintenance, but it was raining cats and dogs and there was just no way…

   Getting abruptly to her feet, Drusilla knew it didn't matter if she got wet; she wouldn't melt. She could go out on the beach, check the sand and see that there was nothing there, and then she could concentrate on her work again. Having to change clothes or dry her hair was no big deal, after all. Klog had nothing better to do than to clean up after her, and she wasn't getting anything done anyway.

   Not even bothering to grab an umbrella, she ran straight down the stairs and out onto the beach. The rain was coming down in buckets, soaking her to the skin in moments. The umbrella she'd been sitting under the day before was leaning to one side and now sheltered the sign she'd drawn.

   Except that now there was another symbol next to it. One she didn't recognize and to which she could attach no meaning. Still, it constituted a reply of some kind— but the tone of it was difficult to determine. The best she could do was to write a question mark in the sand, but leaving cryptic messages for someone who prob ably didn't even speak the same language was a tricky business. Then she remembered Zef. He had been able to converse with her in the Standard Tongue, and he'd obviously done some talking with Manx, so presum ably they could understand one another. But what did > ~ < mean? And for that matter, what was the correct response?

   Deciding it was at least friendly, she drew another smile and went back to the house, stopping in the beach room to dry off. Taking a towel from the shelf, she began to dry her hair with it, but then noticed something at the back of the shelf that wasn't a towel. Curious, she pulled it down and discovered that it was a man's shirt and trousers, old and worn, but clean and neatly folded.

   Under any other circumstances, especially if they'd been dirty and piled in a corner, she would have assumed that the clothing had been left by a previous tenant, but knowing that Manx was nearby made her jump to the conclusion that they probably belonged to him. Klog would have found them and washed them in any case—he was nothing if not thorough—but if Klog
had
found them, he probably would have given them to Lester to return to their owner, unless the owner was still in the vicinity and Klog knew it…

   The fact that they were concealed made her even more suspicious. Did Manx have some sort of rapport with Klog, or would Klog do anyone's laundry? Had Manx dropped them off to be washed and not been able to pick them up because she was there? No, she decided, he'd been there the previous night. She'd seen his footprints. He could have retrieved them then—or at any time.

   So, he went without clothes by choice. True, the jungle was always warm and clothing wasn't neces sary—as Drusilla knew from firsthand experience—but Manx seemed to be keeping them for a special occa sion, or because he knew he wouldn't be able to replace them. They were in a place where he could always get to them—that room was open at all times, but…

   Was Manx a fugitive of some kind, or was he truly the "pet" that had escaped? He was attempting to communi cate with her, first through Zef and now through draw ings in the sand, but what was he saying?

   Drusilla began to wish she hadn't told Zef she wasn't interested in meeting Manx because as the moments passed, the need to do just that grew exponentially. Her trip out to the beach hadn't helped a bit; in fact, it only made things worse.

   Just then, the door from the upstairs opened and Klog floated in. Beeping twice, which Drusilla took to mean that lunch was ready, he then picked up the wet towel that she'd dropped on the floor. Figuring she had nothing to lose by asking, she held out the shirt and asked, "Do these clothes belong to Manx?"

   She could have sworn that Klog hesitated a moment before chirping his reply. No doubt about it, the little droid knew something. She'd never cared for the more talkative droids, but just then, she'd have given a lot for Klog to be one of them.

   "Does he keep them here all the time?" she went on. When Klog chirped again, she added, "Are these the only clothes he has?"

   Klog replied with a sound she hadn't heard as yet, a sort of mumble which she took to mean that he didn't know the answer to that.

   Then another thought occurred to her. "Does Manx live in the house when no one else is staying here?"

   Klog's chirp seemed more enthusiastic than it had before.

   "Do you like Manx?"

   Apparently he did because he chirped twice.

   Okay, thought Drusilla. Zef likes him. Klog likes him. Lester gave me a pulse pistol to shoot him if necessary—and he's giving me a bad case of the hots! Whose opinion should I believe?

   If Manx belonged to someone—was an escaped slave, perhaps—and that person wanted him back—or dead—the rumor that he'd attacked someone would be enough to get him hunted down, or at least shot on sight. Drusilla had no intention of being the one to do that— and she wasn't going to let him starve, either.

   "Fix him some dinner tonight, then, and put it out on the patio where he'll be sure to find it, okay?"

   Klog beeped once, somehow conveying a feeling of relief with his acknowledgment.

   "Don't like letting him go hungry, do you?" Drusilla said with a chuckle.

Klog buzzed emphatically and floated back upstairs.

   Drusilla put Manx's clothes back where she found them and then went up to her room to get out of her own wet clothes. Putting on a simple, sleeveless dress which she then covered with her smock, she went back to work, though her mind lingered on a different inhabitant of the jungle than the one she was painting.

***

Manx was watching, of course. The rain didn't bother him—felt good, in fact. Almost as good as if she was touching him. His eyes closed as the thought of the soft touch of her fingertips tantalized him, but that would have to wait. He was anxious to see what she'd written. Go away and leave me alone, perhaps? Or, come on up and see me sometime? The sign he'd scratched into the sand was one from his homeworld, one that a man would send to a woman with whom he wished to mate as the first step toward enticement. He knew she probably wouldn't understand it, but perhaps she didn't need to. It was a gesture—an open invitation—and he hoped she would recognize it as such.

   Zef hadn't been very encouraging. He'd told Manx that Drusilla didn't want to meet him, but Manx wasn't so sure about that. Zef had been listening to what Lester had to say and reported that Drusilla was now armed with a pulse pistol and had been warned that there was a dangerous beast lurking in the jungle—a beast with fangs and claws that had attacked someone. Manx knew very well that he hadn't done anything of the sort, though he did have fangs. Once she realized that, she might decide to shoot first and ask questions later, but her response to Manx's gentle query seemed to indicate that, at least for now, she was receptive.

   Manx knew that the females of other species were easier to approach than Zetithians, but, never having tried to entice a Terran female, he had no idea how to go about it in a way that wouldn't offend her. True, he had the time honored patterns of Zetithian mating behavior to aid him, but those behaviors weren't normally conducted from such a distance. Being able to inhale her scent would tell him whether or not he was wasting his time, but to do that, he needed to be a little closer.

   "So, what do you think?" Zef asked, popping up unceremoniously at the water's edge.

   Manx grinned and threw a sidelong glance at Zef. "I think she likes me," he said with more confidence than he actually felt.

   "That's not what she said," Zef disagreed. "Said she didn't want anything to do with you."

   "Females don't always say what they mean," Manx said informatively. "And she came out in the rain to see what I wrote in the sand." Manx smiled a very satis fied smile. He was even beginning to convince himself. "She's curious."

   "That's a good thing?" Zef asked.

   "Oh, yes," Manx replied. "A
very
good thing."

   "You primates have got some damn strange ways!" Zef declared. "Eltrans just mate with whoever happens to be swimming by when our dicks get hard."

   "Not very selective, are you?" Manx said with a chuckle.

   "Yeah, well, the thing you have to be selective about is where you swim."

   "Ah, I see," said Manx. "So it isn't that simple for you either."

   "Well, maybe not," Zef admitted reluctantly. "Shouldn't be so hard, but maybe it is."

   "When you stop and think about it, it's no wonder females are selective—who could blame them?"

   "What d'you mean?" Zef asked with surprise. "The best I can tell, females don't seem to care one way or the other—at least, not about me."

   "Zef," Manx said gravely, "we put something of ourselves into a very sensitive place on a female—and they tend to bear young after that. I think I'd be pretty selective if it were me."

   "Well, you're not!" Zef argued. "C'mon, Manx! We're guys! We can put our dicks anyplace we want!"

   "I'm beginning to understand why you got voted out of your lake."

   "Aw, just go fuck her," Zef grumbled. "They all give up and let you do it in the end anyway. Why spend so much time dicking around?"

   "Because mating with her one time is not all I have in mind," Manx declared. If he had his way, he would be with Drusilla for years to come—enjoying the endless pleasure of her company.

   "Well, then just go show her your pretty face and she'll sigh and fall into your arms and all that crap."

   Manx couldn't help but laugh, though he did see the logic in letting her know that he truly was interested. Leaving messages in the sand would only get a guy so far, and hiding out in the jungle when he could be with Drusilla was rapidly losing its appeal. With a firm resolve, he stepped out from the cover of the trees, went down to the lake, and began to swim toward the opposite shore.

   "Where the hell are you going?" Zef demanded.

   "To show her my pretty face," Manx replied as he swam.

   "Not gonna show her your dick?" Zef said with surprise. "That's what I'd do if I were you. I hate to admit it, but that's a damn fine dick you've got there. Better than a pretty face anytime. Might tell her so myself."

   "Zef," Manx said.

   "What?"

   "Be quiet."

   "She'll see it anyway," Zef called out as he began to swim after his friend. "You should put some pants on."

   "Why? She doesn't wear clothes all the time," Manx said. "I don't think she'd care."

   "She's never let me or Lester see her naked," Zef pointed out.

   "Well, that makes me special then, doesn't it?"

   "You've seen her naked?" Zef said excitedly. "Really?"

   "Yes, really," Manx replied as he reached the shallow water and stood up.

   "Did it make your dick hard?"

   Manx shot a quelling glance at the eltran. "I thought I told you to be quiet."

   Zef roared with laughter. "She made your fuckin' dick hard, didn't she?" Then he noticed something very important. "It's not hard now. You're thinking about her, aren't you? What the hell's the matter with you?"

   "I have to smell her desire," Manx explained.

   "Or you can't get it up?" Zef said in horror. "That's damned inconvenient!"

   "Not really," Manx said. "What good is a hard dick without a woman who wants you?"

   "Manx," Zef said sadly. "You are so fuckin' strange."

   "Maybe," Manx said with a marked lack of concern as he knelt to inspect the writing in the sand. "But at least I'm pretty and I have a nice dick."

   "Nah, you're not pretty," Zef said. "Now that I've seen Drusilla, I realize I was wrong about that. She's pretty. You—well, you're a fuckin' hunk!"

   Manx burst out laughing and sat back in the sand, nearly erasing Drusilla's reply with his foot—which, fortunately, wasn't a problem because he'd already seen it. Still beaming, he looked up toward the house.

***

Drusilla had been sitting at her easel but had taken a moment to gaze out at the rain-dappled lake when Manx emerged from the jungle looking like Tarzan himself. She got a quick glimpse of his perfect form and rippling muscles before he sank into the water, and she felt a shock of arousal slice through her like a lightning bolt as he began to swim. His effortless swimming, his body dripping as he emerged from the water, his long hair plastered across his broad chest… Drusilla had seen plenty of men in her time—some of them artist's models who were, quite frankly, to die for—but this, this male
animal
was something she'd never even dreamed of before. She began to rethink the idea that he had planted his image in her mind; Manx made her fantasy man seem pathetic in comparison.

   She stood staring at him, open-mouthed with awe, and gasped as he turned his back to her and knelt in the sand. "Oh, my God!" she whispered. Putting a hand to her mouth, it was a moment or two before she realized she was painfully biting her thumb. Then the smile he cast in her direction nearly sent her into orgasm.

   Looking closer, she could see that he did, indeed, carry a knife and bow, and also that Zef's head was sticking up out of the water nearby. Manx was still laughing, but his next move dispelled any notion she might have had that he was laughing at her expense. Unbuckling the belt at his waist and laying his bow and quiver in the sand—clearly disarming himself—Manx flipped over, stretching out like a sinuous house cat as he shook his long mane back from his face. She didn't know if he could see her in the window or not, but he was certainly acting as though he could because, very deliberately, he reached out and drew another symbol in the sand large enough to be seen from where she stood. > ~ >

   It was slightly different from the other symbol, but she still didn't know what it meant. Then it hit her. She knew them as and V , but the meaning was the same: they were male/female symbols. The ~ was a mystery, but he was asking her to… what? Shake hands? Have sex with him? Marry him?