Heart Thief (20 page)

He shucked the light-bending cloak and carefully examined it for tears. It was solid, so he set it in the cleaning closet.

“Samba,” he called. No answer. His Fam cat was nowhere to be seen though she'd preceded him to the Ship. He believed she sometimes enjoyed being in the great artifact alone, and being the Queen of All She Surveyed. He felt sure her curious nature had lured her into surveying much more of the Ship than he.

“Captain?” the Ship questioned.

“Yes?”

“Your energy levels are slightly high, the innate field that surrounds you has expanded to a meter and a half from your skin—”

Ruis flung up a hand. “What field are you talking about?” The Ship replied in its usual courteous tones. “We have perceived that you have a personal energy field. This is not the same sort of psi manifestation that others who visit Us in our Museum Rooms evidence. We understand that the other natives vary from Our colonists by the encouragement and mutation of psi powers. This is not the case with you.”

“I know,” Ruis said with a clenched jaw. He took off his clothes. When he found the softleaf Ailim had used, he sniffed at it, smiling. It held her scent. His body tightened with desire. He set the cloth aside, and tried not to be distracted. “You mentioned an energy field?”

“Indeed. We have measured it to be a standard sixty centimeters surrounding you. It moves as you walk. It affects Celtan made energy-objects and Celtan psi powers, and the effect is exponentially cumulative. That is, the longer you are stationary, the larger the area your forcefield affects and the stronger it grows—”

“I know this.”

“Your field promotes more efficient connections in Our trons and so causes smoother transitions in the workings of Our mechanical parts. In five Celtan decades all Our levels will be affected.”

“Oh,” Ruis said blankly.

“We perceive that you have minor scrapes and bruises. This is new to Us. . . .” There came a pause that for any other being, Ruis would have called embarrassment. “We regret to say that We have requested, and received, orders from you in general housekeeping and processing Our engineering sectors and that We have proceeded to stock and repair these areas. However, We have not yet recommissioned the sick bay or the small emergency medbeds in the escape pods for the crew.”

Ruis blinked. “Ah—”

“But We will make that Our highest priority.”

“Be sure to include supplies and information for Samba.”

“Of course. Though sick bay is not functional, perhaps in the interim, you could visit the herbal gardens in the Greensward and the stillroom you set up.”

“Good idea.”

The Greensward held a fascination for both Ruis and Samba, with its tangled Earth plants, insects, small animals, and even birds. The horticultural expanse comprised fully a third of the Ship, a huge natural area designed for the mental health of the crew, the production of necessary gasses and nutrients, and the genetic stock of Earth plants to be used by the colonists.

Ruis had a direct private portal from his quarters. “Do you sense my Fam?” He'd grown used to having a companion to share things with. He'd shared much with Ailim this night and wanted to share more, much more.

Having his Fam had spoiled him for a solitary existence. Being alone no longer appealed. He realized that he'd never been alone by choice. His isolation had been forced upon him, as most everything else in his life. Now he had command of the Ship, that was power. He had its respect, and status as its Captain, but he began to feel that without others, living would be just as sterile and intolerable as before.

“Through Our cameras, sonar and infrared, we have located the crew in the Greensward, immersed in her duties.”

“Hunting rodents.” Ruis went to the washroom and used the flowing water to wipe away dirt and blood, then changed into fresh clothes.

“We will take this opportunity to remind you of your anger-management program,” Ship said.

“I know, I know.” Ruis hit a button and an iris-door opened in the back wall of his study.

“Increasing levels of hard physical exertion . . .” recited the Ship as it had every few septhours.

Ruis grinned, shaking his head. “You mean tramping through the Greensward to locate the ninety missing maintenance robots.” He slid down a tube to the Greensward.

Ship's voice followed him. “Alternating with intense mental concentration . . .”

Ruis landed lightly, but still shook the creaks from his bruised muscles. “. . . which means learning the intricacies of Earth nanoelectron tech and repairing the 'bots when I find them.” His gaze lingered on the wildly intertwined plants around him. A many-tentacled robot chugged past, clearing a path centimeter by centimeter. Ruis patted it.

Filling his lungs with the sweet atmosphere thick with humidity and scent, he looked around him and grinned. Lord and Lady, what a profit he could make from this natural Earth abundance! Many plants had not managed the transition to Celtan soil. Many others had mutated since. He wondered what he could charge for a genuine Earth lily, or original plants for which the FirstFamilies were named—Birch, Rowan, Alder, Willow—

“We are concerned about your mental health,” Ship continued.

Ruis snapped up straight, dragged from pleasant thoughts. He grabbed a machete and went off at an angle from the robot. Sweat coated him quickly. Increasing levels of physical exertion. He grunted. There were Healers that dealt with the mind. They couldn't help him, though, their Flair didn't work around him, and it wasn't as if Ruis had an illness that could be cured. His Nullness was bred in his bones, never to be removed.

“Every time you return from Outside, your endorphins have spiked. We speculate that your anger is exacerbated when you are Outside.”

“So?”

“If you intend to continue visiting Outside, We must insist that you follow the psychological program precisely.”

Just that quickly fury slammed into Ruis. He strapped it down. Frustration and hurt that even here in the Ship, he was not to be left alone to be what he was.

Samba nipped at him.

“That's a nice ‘greetyou,' cat,” he growled.

She slapped her tail against his boots.

“I'm working on my temper. I will continue my morning role-playing exercises,” Ruis said between clenched teeth. “But here, on the Ship, I am Captain and I insist on a modicum of serenity. I will not allow nagging.”

“What will you do about Outside?” asked the Ship.

Ruis snorted. “I'm an outcast in my Society, a criminal, with a death warrant on my head if I'm found in Druida.” All the ills of his situation crashed down on him. He could never claim the Lady he wanted, the one he ached for.

The Ship emitted high-pitched noises that resonated through his bones. Samba flattened her ears and shot into dense bushes.

“Stop!” The noise ended, but his ears still rang.

“Captain, We are gathering information about your situation, and tabulating it to postulate additional hypotheses and options for the psych program. With the synapsis connections you recently reconstructed we can access Our old contact with the main Library as well as other archives.”

“Other archives?” Did that mean the ship had now had access to Family ResidenceLibraries? Incredible.

There was a whir, then the Ship spoke again. “We request that when you are Outside you wear a communicator-throat band in the future so that you may contact Us and We may keep track of your location.”

“Maybe.”

Another whir. “The throat band can be modified to appear like the Celtan jewelry called torques. You will find several new bands in the Captain's quarters.”

“I'll consider it.” It could be useful if he was abroad and wanted information from the Ship.

A small maintenance robot came clanking up, Samba followed, sniffing at it.

“PEEP!” it announced itself, clinked, gestured with three flailing tentacles at the heap it had dragged behind it. Another broken garden robot.

Samba swatted the 'bot. It rolled away. Ruis surveyed the broken thing before him that Samba was nosing. “Ship, I suppose you want me to fix this.”

“We would appreciate it. We cannot maintain the Greensward without them. We have catalogued new plant species, and kept records on others, but it is not a complete listing. Our information is deficient.” Something the Ship apparently considered appalling verging on inconceivable.

“Very well.”

Samba came back and climbed into the breached interior. His job wouldn't be made any easier by removing cat hair. Ruis bent and picked the whole thing up, grunting, until it was chest-high.

Samba, now being carried, sat upright like a queen and increased her purring.

“We also wish to caution you to be extremely careful Outside. We have determined that you are Our best hope for future refurbishment and survival.

“The scholarly Family of Astragalus, who previously studied Us, expired four generations ago. Celtan culture is focused on the future, still exploring and colonizing the planet.” In any other being, Ruis would have called the tone a pitiful plea. “No other Celtans have expressed any interest in Us,” Ship ended, almost in a whimper. “We do not wish to see you harmed.”

Samba swiped a rough tongue under his chin in agreement.

Ruis was touched. He needed the Ship, but not, it seemed, more than the Ship needed him. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said, walking back to his portal.

Weariness fell upon him. The night's experiences had been incredibly interesting. He'd saved and kissed a Lady. He'd returned to FirstGrove and felt a small tendril of rare connection with his home world. But most incredible of all, he hadn't had any upsurges of blinding anger. Despite the danger, Ailim D'SilverFir tempted him. She was good for him. He would not give her up.

 
The small canvas tent attached to the large Celebration tent
was blessedly silent. Ailim let every muscle of her body loosen for the first time in days. Finally alone. Ever since the night an eightday ago when she came in late with no explanation, one of the Family members she lived with was constantly with her—or watching. Except when she slept. But her days had been longer and longer and her nights so short she stumbled to her bedsponge and fell asleep as soon as she touched the soft permamoss. She hadn't even managed to meditate in the HouseHeart. Ruis Elder had hung on the edge of her senses, but not approached. Only Primrose had given any comfort.

At least when the outlying SilverFirs trickled into Druida and the Residence for the loyalty ceremony, she had different faces around her—and some genuinely interested and interesting people to talk with. The resentful relatives had been diluted remarkably with those approving of her and her leadership. It lessened her burdens.

Now she was alone, aching with the sheer relief of being solitary. She grinned. No one would bother her here in the meditation tent where she was to keep vigil in the septhours between midnight and full morning. If she knew her fellow nobles, and she did, they would all be considering the impression they would be making on each other and the commoners in the event of the season—her loyalty ritual, followed by formal acknowledgment of her status in the FirstFamilies Council. Both had been scheduled to take place the day of the Autumnal Equinox. The public ritual of Mabon would flow into the annual citywide festivals, parties, and harvest bonfires.

Ailim flopped back on a stack of thick chinju rugs, as soft as a bed. With a spellword, she set her hair free from tight braids and bared her feet.

A slight rustle was the only warning she had before her Flair failed. She opened her eyes and squinted but just saw a moving shadow darker than the rest. The spell-lit candles had died. The drifting tendrils of smoke filled the tent with rich amber fragrance.

“Ruis?” she breathed his name.

“Here.” The blackest shadow moved, something clicked, and a tiny flame illuminated his elegant hand as he touched fire to several of the candles. She saw a gleam of metal cradled in his fingers.

“What's that?”

He smiled, and her heart thumped harder. She wondered how often he smiled so, and who had ever seen it.

“It's called a ‘lighter.' You don't want to know where I got it.” He shrugged out of a cloak and she blinked. Suddenly she could see him better, dressed in a tunic and trous of an odd cut. He folded the eye-confusing cloak and set it aside.

She shut her mouth against curious questions and felt oppressed because of queries that never could be asked or answered. She wanted to warn him, but those words, too, stayed in her throat. He knew the danger of staying in the city and seeing her. Yet he came anyway. “I missed you.”

“I was near.”

“I know. I can feel your—absence—at the fringe of my mind.” Again she felt impelled to mention the danger. Again she refrained.

He nodded. “My Null field. I'm honored you thought of me—maybe even sought me with your Flair.”

She didn't tell him how often she had probed for him, and how comforting it felt when she found a suspicious blankness.

“I wanted to see you again. To talk,” he finally said, then hesitated, “to ease your day with a massage, perhaps.”

“I would have liked that.” Ailim scooted back to lean against huge pillows set around the edges of the tent. The body-sized cushions were also chinju, brighter in color but softer and lighter of weave.

Ruis sat opposite her, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. His boots were as black as ever, but the old gouges still showed in the furrabeast leather. No polish shone—to keep him safe, Ailim knew. Lady and Lord, keep him safe. His trous and tunic were black, too.