Serpent's Gift (39 page)

"Can I open my eyes yet?" Hing said, standing by the doorway.

"Soon," he promised, and led her over to the couch and seated her. He could see her sniffing the air, listening, trying to figure out where the devil she was, and he smiled. She'd
never
guess!

Then he went over to the grand piano that sat waiting for him in the center of the room and gingerly seated himself behind it, flexed his hands over the keys, not quite touching them. Serge was struck by the beauty of the instrument, and his heart felt an echo of the old thrill, the old passion as he looked at the Steinway.

"Now?"
Hing said, leaning forward impatiently, eyes squeezed shut as though she had to fight with herself not to open them.

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"Yes, now," Serge told her, and as she opened her eyes, he ran his fingers over the keys. Just a simple scale, but his timing was abominable, dreadful--

and he actually hit a wrong note!

"Zut!" he muttered, afraid to look up at Hing as he tried again. Much better ...

his timing was still not what it ought to be, but perhaps it wasn't too bad for someone who hadn't done this in more than five years. His fingers worked perfectly, of course . .. no muscles to cramp, or refuse to stretch properly.

After a few more scales had convinced him that he was rusty, but capable of doing what he'd set out to do, Serge segued into an actual composition, a tone-poem that had been running through his mind for nearly a year--a cheerful little piece that nevertheless had depth, passion, and color.

His anxiety vanished as he became lost in the sheer pleasure of actually
hearing
with his ears what had, up until now, only been in his mind. Never mind that it had been in his mind for months, this was the first time he'd played it--except for times when he'd found himself moving his fingers over an imaginary keyboard as the notes ran through his head.

This is beauty!
he thought, feeling the passion, the love affair with music fill him with delight. He'd missed this so much, and he hadn't even realized it.

There had been a void in his life, his heart, a void so large it could only be expressed in stellar terms.

Serge was nearly weeping with emotion as he finished the last notes, then sat silent, remembering Hing, afraid to look up. By her own admission, she'd seen him so many times in his heyday. Would she be disappointed? Surely she'd noticed every hesitation, every fault in the tempo. What would she say?

It took every bit of courage Serge possessed to look up at her, but her face was glowing, and her eyes shone. Tears trembled on her lashes. "Oh, Serge!" she whispered. "That was so beautiful! I don't recognize it. Did you write it? What is its name?"

Serge got up and went over to sit beside her, his eyes searching her face for any hint that she was merely being polite, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

But no, she was genuinely moved. He smiled, then gently used one finger to wipe the tears away as two of them broke free. "It has no name. .. yet, Hing.

But I wrote it, and I wrote it
for
you, and I wrote it
about
you. That melody is you, the way I see you, the way you live in my heart, Hing. I am glad you like it."

"Like it!" For a moment he thought she was going to burst into tears. "Oh, God, I love it. I can't believe that you wrote it for me!"

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"I had no choice," he said with a wry smile. "The music is stubborn. It persists in living in my head, and reflecting what I see around me." Gently, he slid his arms around her, then kissed her cheek. "When I kiss you, I hear music, Hing. That is an old cliche, I know, but for me it is literally true."

She turned her head so their lips met, and then Serge lost himself again, kissing her more and more deeply, feeling his head spin at her eager response. Resolutely, he kept his hands on her back, did not kiss her throat, or the skin below it, though he longed to. He had promised not to push, and he would keep his word ... if he could. Even confining himself to kissing, he was rapidly getting in too deep to extricate himself easily.

Finally he pulled back, his heart slamming, feeling half-drunk with the sweetness of her mouth, the feel of her unbound hair as it cascaded over her shoulders. "We had better stop," he muttered roughly, holding himself back from her with an effort that was painful. "We promised to wait. . ."

Hing opened her eyes, searching his face, then she ran her fingers through his hair, then trailed them down to his open collar. With excruciating slowness, she unsealed the first fifteen centimeters of his jumpsuit. "So we did," she breathed, stroking his collarbones, then his chest. "But do you really
want
to wait?"

"No!" Serge blurted, startled into the truth. "I want to make love to you .. .

passionately, for a long, long time!" He caught his breath with an effort. "That should be obvious," he added, with a weak grin. He was literally shaking with the effect her trailing finger had on him. "We had better go," he said unevenly, and began drawing away.

"No," Hing said, then slowly, deliberately, she unsealed her tunic, and, catching one of his hands, placed it on her breast, sliding it against her so he could feel her warmth with his real flesh. "Now we're even," she said, smiling.

"But--but--" Serge stammered, so aroused that even speaking was an effort,

"but--"

"Serge," Hing said, grasping the front of his jumpsuit in both hands,

"sometimes you're too honorable for your own good! At times like these, promises are made to be broken." Slowly, deliberately, she leaned back, pulling him over on top of her.

As the moments passed, Serge heard their passion as music, building toward a thunderous crescendo, and it shook him as nothing ever had. "I love you," he gasped, his face pressed into her hair, his body trembling as he had trembled in the airlock--except that these were shivers of pure pleasure.
"Je t'aime, cherie
..."

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He'd never said it before, but it was the truest thing in the universe.

"I love you, too," Hing whispered, so softly that he could only hear it because her mouth was so close to his ear. "I do, Serge. Always .. . always . . ."

She'd never said it before, either.

It was fortunate,
Serge thought later--much, much later--
that I decided to lock
that door.

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Serge strode up the corridor toward Professor Greyshine's living quarters the next morning, smiling. He had to keep reminding himself not to grin
too
broadly, and several times he caught himself whistling, then glanced around guiltily to see whether anyone was watching. At one point, he looked down at his feet, half seriously thinking that someone must have lowered the school's gravity. But no, his feet
were
hitting the surface. He hadn't been sure.

Last night had been ... he caught himself grinning ecstatically, and shook his head. Words failed him. Last night had been too good for words. After they'd unlocked the practice room door and tiptoed out, he and Hing had separated and gone different ways ... for about five minutes, long enough for her to go back to her room and pick up her toothbrush and her Apis silk dressing gown.

Then they had spent the night in his quarters, talking, laughing, making love ... and, finally, sleeping. Waking up to find Hing beside him might have been the most wonderful moment of all ...

Thinking about what Professor Greyshine would say, how he would carry on if he knew, made Serge sternly compose his expression as he signaled the Professor's door. "It's Serge," he said at the Heeyoon's inquiring yip, and the door slid open.

"Serge, Serge!" The Professor was lying on his sleeping pallet, but his computer was on and he'd evidently been up and working. "I am so pleased to see you, lad!" Moving rather stiffly, the Professor began to rise.

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"Please, don't get up," Serge said, and came forward to sit down on the pallet beside the Heeyoon. The room was furnished in typical Heeyoon fashion--pallets for sleeping and relaxing, thick, luxuriant carpets, with exotic wal hangings and suspended lamps. "So much has happened since I last saw you! How are you feeling?"

"Still stiff, and somewhat sore, but my injuries are essentially mended. You, Hing, and Khuharkk'--" The Professor waved a clawed paw-hand. "Your courage is beyond measure. I want you to know that my mate, Strongheart, has nominated all three of you to receive my planet's Medal of Honor for your bravery."

If Serge hadn't been sitting down, he would have shuffled his feet. He was so touched, so honored that all he could do was mumble, "Thank you, but really . . . Hing was the one who really did it."

"All
of you did it," Greyshine said firmly.

They chatted for a few more minutes, comparing notes on what had been happening. Serge told the Professor about retrieving the artifacts, then Greyshine had to hear the entire saga of the airlock, and how the two humans had managed to survive. When Serge had finished telling him about it, the Professor, who had been eyeing him speculatively, said, "Again, such bravery! Frequently, shared danger is a way for a couple to become closer, lad ... or have you already noticed that?"

Serge couldn't help it; he blushed furiously. The Professor's teeth flashed in a wide lupine grin as he noted the human's reaction, but he courteously changed the subject.

"I also hear that you have been barred from the site. Have you any idea what has happened to the star-shrine?"

The human shook his head, sobering. "None," he said. "Jeff Morrow promised me that I would be allowed to retrieve it as soon as he finishes his complete survey of all the radonium veins on the asteroid. But I have called his office several times, both from here and while I was in the hospital, and his assistant said that he was out, working with the surveying crew. I have not heard from him yet."

"I spoke to Esteemed Ssoriszs this morning, and he told me that there is a meeting scheduled for this afternoon, during which Morrow and this other person, Andrea Lynch, will be reporting on the results of the survey."

"In that case, I'll call him as soon as I know the meeting is over," Serge said eagerly. He frowned. "Andrea Lynch. .." he muttered. "She's the one that turned me away from the site. There's something
wrong
about her, and it's more than just being curt and

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nasty. I'm sure she's hiding something!"

"What could she be hiding?"

"When Ssoriszs and I went out to the site to get the artifacts, she said something . .. odd. Something I do not understand, but I feel that somehow it is important."

"What did she say?"

"As I was strapping the tools on the sled, after I had loaded the artifacts in the compartment with the Esteemed Liaison, I accidentally dropped the moisture finder and did not notice. Andrea Lynch- picked it up and handed it to me, saying, 'Here, don't forget your
dowser.'
" Serge used the English word. "What could she have meant by that, calling it a
dowser?'

The Professor growled softly. "Serge, I do not like this one bit! Since you have worked with me, we normally speak my language-- partly so you can practice, and partly because I am lazy--so I have taught you the Heeyoon technical terms--as well as our slang names--for the archaeological equipment we use." Greyshine growled again. "But, Serge ... I have attended many interplanetary archaeological seminars, and I recognize this word
dowser
as it applies to the moisture finder. That is the slang nickname given to the moisture finder
by human archaeologists!"

Serge reached the obvious conclusion in a heartbeat. "Then Lynch has had some experience with archaeologists, or is even an archaeologist herself!"

"I do not see how she could have learned such an esoteric nickname unless she had been more than casually exposed to archaeological terms,"

Greyshine said. "As to whether she is an archaeologist. . ."

"I wager that she is! I'd wager an entire cavernful of star-shrines that Lynch is only posing as an engineer!"

"But
why!"

Serge couldn't sit still any longer. Leaping to his feet, he began pacing, gesturing wildly. "So she can steal the star-shrine, obviously! Jeff Morrow hired her as a crew boss, but stealing our star- shrine was her aim all along!

Our
star-shrine!" He stopped, struck, and scratched his head as he thought.

"But how did she know it was there?"

"Perhaps one of the workers discovered it six months ago during the radonium check, and recognized its value--but could not steal it because he or she was too closely watched while the radonium monitoring was under way." The Professor, too, was off and running now. "But then this unknown accomplice contacted Lynch, since he knew that she had the knowledge to safely remove the

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shrine, as well as the contacts to sell it on the black market!"

"And so she signed on with Morrow, knowing that, by the en of the year, it would be time to monitor the radonium deposits again. And then she would be in the perfect place to direct the] monitoring, and steal the star-shrine!"

Serge snapped his fingers. "Except that this mess with the radonium-2 came up and delayed her plans. No wonder she is so ill-mannered--her plans have been compromised. It all fits!"

"But how could the woman have the technical knowledge to pose as an engineer?" the Professor wondered.

"You were the one who told me that many archaeologists have undergradate or double degrees in other subjects," Serge replied. "Lynch could have a degree in geology, for example. Or she may have gained her experience working with a mining crew. As you know only too well, Professor, archaeologists do not make salaries commensurate with their education levels."

"Sadly, you are correct. But remember, Serge, all we have are suspicions--

and we
could
be wrong. We can accuse no one without proof of wrongdoing!"

"I need to speak to Jeff Morrow--get him to give me permission to see that star-shrine today, or tomorrow at the latest!" Serge said, his eyes flashing with excitement as he planned. "If I cannot reach him, I suppose I will have to go out there secretly and see whether the star-shrine is still there. If it
is
stil there, I will stand over it until it is safe to bring back here. If it is already gone .. ." he hesitated.