Starbridge (42 page)

She nodded, and clinked her mug against his. Vlt was great. And using the processor in the infirmary and eating in your office was a terrific idea. We haven't had a moment to ourselves all day."

"I know. Tomorrow's going to be busy, too." He frowned, sorted desultorily through the greens in the bottom of his salad bowl, then pushed the dish away and stood up. "Another beer?"

"No, two is plenty for me," she said, wondering at his sudden change of mood. He seemed uneasy and tense, which was unlike him.

He went into the infirmary, and a moment later came back into his office with another beer. But he didn't sit down; instead he began restlessly pacing the small confines of his office, sipping the beer as he went. Finally he paused, seeming to study the old-fashioned diplomas and certificates hanging on the bulkhead over his desk. "Have you made up your mind about what you'll be doing when we reach Earth?" he asked, the question so abrupt that it sounded brusque.

Mahree shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. The thought of college doesn't excite me the way it used to."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." He was standing half turned away from her, so that she could only see him in profile. The rigid set to his shoulders reminded her sharply of the day he'd first told her that he loved her. "What do you think you'll be doing?" she asked, trying to keep the question casual.

Does he suspect about the CLS job? Did Ssoriszs talk to him? Is that what
he's leading up to?

"I'm not sure," he said. "In the normal course of things, I'd go back to school for a couple of catch-up courses. Then I was planning on going to NewAm, which is where I'd originally figured on practicing."

He frowned. "But all that's changed, now. I don't know what I'll do. I suppose there will be media hoopla, and government debriefings, that kind of thing.

We'll be famous, I guess." He sighed and shook his head. "What a depressing thought. I may be a glory hound, but I'm not a publicity hound."

Mahree nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. "Maybe something will present itself," she suggested offhandedly. "Something . . . really special."

268

He finally turned to look at her. "I've got that already.
You're
special, Mahree."

She forced a smile.
Soon, I won't be able to hear him say that anymore.

"You're special, too," she said, sitting back and finishing the last of her beer.

"Mahree?" he said, and she glanced up. His dark gaze held hers, and there was something in it that made her uncomfortable. "Love me?" he asked softly.

"To the ends of the universe and beyond the bounds of death,' " she said, repeating their now-ritual phrase.

'You're so good at languages, surely you know what that translates to, don't you?" he asked, staring straight at her.

Mahree's heart began to pound, and she had a sudden impulse to run out of the room. But she forced herself to meet his eyes. "What translation?" she asked, her voice sounding distant and tinny in her own ears.

"Till death do us part," he said seriously. "As in, will you marry me?"

She gaped at him, wondering whether she could possibly have heard him correctly. Rob drew a long breath, then ran a shaking hand through his hair.

"Whew! I had no idea it'd be so hard to get that out," he muttered, half to himself. "Thought I'd be much more suave than that. They make it look so easy in films."

Mahree was still speechless.

"What's the matter, honey?" he said, taking in her stunned expression, and beginning to smile again. He came over and sat down on the edge of his desk. Reaching down, he picked up her hands and held them, his grip warm and strong. "The way you look, you'd think I'd proposed boiling you in oil, instead of honorable marriage."

Mahree's eyes suddenly flooded with tears, and she tightened her fingers around his. "Rob, I don't know what to say," she whispered brokenly.

"Say 'yes,' " he suggested cheerfully.

"And I don't know
how
to say it, either," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken.

"It's easy," he insisted, his insouciant confidence slowly ebbing as he took in her grave expression. "You can say it in English, or French, or Simiu, or Mizari--hell, say it in Hindustani, for all I care. It's a nice, short syllable. 'Yes.'

Y-E-S. Try it."

"No," Mahree said, in a choked voice. One of the tears broke 269

free and slid down her cheek. "I love you, Rob, but no. I don't want to marry you. I'm sorry."

His breath caught in his throat, as though she'd struck him. Mahree forced herself not to look away from his face; looking away would have been cowardly. But leaping at Simon Viorst's gun or sitting down to die on Avernus had been easier than watching first the bewilderment, then the baffled hurt, and finally the undisguised pain that slowly took shape on his features. It made her want to sob aloud.

"Mahree," he said, finally, "if you're kidding, it's not funny." He spoke loudly, as if by suggesting she were joking, he could make her agree with him, and thus make her stop.

Mahree swallowed. Pulling a hand free, she wiped her eyes. "Rob, I wouldn't kid you about this, believe me."

He took a deep breath. "Oh . . . kay. Let's talk about this. Why ... or, rather, why not? You say you love me."

"I
do!"

"Then what's wrong with marrying me?"

She sighed. "I'm too young."

"Wait a minute. You can't have it both ways--
you
convinced me that you're a grown woman. You say that on your world, women your age get married all the time."

"They do," she agreed. "But with all that's happened ...Rob, you might have to ... well, both of us have a lot to do before we should think about making a commitment like that. Things are too up in the air now."

His expression lightened a little. "Okay, it doesn't have to be today, Mahree--

even though nothing would please me more than to get your uncle to perform the ceremony tomorrow." He ran a hand through his hair again.

When she didn't respond, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. "Okay. Not tomorrow, then. I'm patient, honey, I'll wait. A long engagement is fine by me. A year, or even two ..."

"I'd still only be nineteen," she whispered.

"Hell, three years, or five, then! Just as long as I know it'll happen--that we'll always be together, that'll be okay."

Mahree hesitated, tempted to tell him "yes."
You can always break an
engagement,
she thought. But finally, she said, "Saying that I'm worth waiting for is the biggest compliment anyone has ever paid me, Rob."

270

He was watching her, eyes narrowed in thought. "There's a bottom line, here, and you still haven't told me what it is. C'mon, be truthful. Is it that you don't love me enough?"

She swallowed painfully. I
should be overjoyed to discover that he loves me
enough to compromise so he can be with me on a permanent basis, but
instead I just feel cornered. What in hell is wrong with me?

Mahree bit her lip, trying desperately to think of the right thing to say, but no words came.

Rob was staring at her, his face drawn. As she continued to hesitate, he released her hands, then stood up and walked away. "Can't we just be together for now, with no formalities, no binding commitments?" she blurted, afraid that he might just keep going.

He stopped in the middle of his office and stood there for a long time, then spoke without turning around. "I don't know," he said bleakly. "You're making me wonder if you really mean it when you tell me you love me."

"Please believe me," she said, fighting back fresh tears, "I really
do!" And if
you knew what's probably going to happen for you soon, you'd know that
now
isn't the time for this conversation, damn you, Rob! And you say I'm pigheaded!

Mahree leaned her forehead in her hands, feeling slightly woozy from the alcohol.
We shouldn't be having a discussion this serious when we've both
been drinking,
she thought miserably. "Rob, I'm so tired that I can't think straight.
Please
..." she faltered, and could not continue.

"All right," he said remotely. He walked over to pick up his beer and stood sipping it, not looking at her.

"All right, what?" she asked, looking up and wiping her eyes. When she saw his face, Mahree was frightened by his total lack of expression, sensing that behind his calm mask lay anger, frustration, and bitter disappointment. She would've rather he'd yelled at her--anything was better than watching him just
go away
like this.

"All right, we'll do it your way. No commitments, no promises. Just today, and maybe tomorrow, but who knows after that?" He spoke sardonically, in a cool, distant voice she'd never heard him use before. Mahree wanted to put her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of it. "If you ever want to talk about it again, it's up to you to bring the subject up."

271

Would it be so awful to say "yes" to being engaged, just to make him happy?

"Rob," she whispered, then took a deep breath.
No. I can't waver. Marriage
is something both people have to want, and I don't
want
to get married. I love Rob, but this isn't the time.

He'd already raised a hand to forestall her. "No, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want you to agree to something you don't want, because you feel sorry for me." He was pale, but his voice was steady, and so was his hand when he reached down to pull her up out of her seat. "It's late," he said, glancing at his watch. "Time for bed. You run along and I'll be there shortly."

Mahree felt numb with weariness and liquor as she stumbled into his adjoining cabin and through her customary bedtime routine. She dragged off her clothes, then crawled into the bunk, wondering where Rob was.

Nearly an hour later, she awoke from a restless doze, hearing his footsteps.

Softly, he ordered down the lights, then the bunk shifted as he settled beside her in the darkness. He did not touch her or speak. Gradually, his breathing deepened and became more regular, then he began snoring lightly.

He's drunk,
Mahree realized.
Dammit, he didn't ask so much . . . I wish I
could have said, ' 'yes, someday,'' I wish I could have promised, ' 'always.''

She sighed, realizing that it could be easier dealing with people from a
totally different species than one of her own. I'll make it up to him,
she promised herself, feeling sleep stealing over her again. I'll
think of a way . . .

somehow I'll . . .

Turning over, Mahree draped an arm over him and snuggled against his
warmth, spoon-fashion . . . Finally, she relaxed enough to drift off.

272

It's been two days since we came back.

Two
miserable
days.

We've got to get through this, somehow. I want things to be fixed, not broken; mended, not torn; whole, not ripped apart.

Somehow I have to come to terms with myself, so I can come to terms with Rob. I'm terrified that this is going to utterly wreck what we have together.

He was gone when I woke up yesterday morning. And last night, he was polite ... not cold, but still he was
gone,
if you know what I mean. His body was there, but his emotions and his ...
essence . . .
was closed up tight. I couldn't even glimpse it, much less touch it.

He was busy all day, catching up on work, so he had a perfect excuse for turning in early. I wanted to try and reopen the subject, but I didn't know what to say, or how to say it. I sat up, trying to think things through, without much success. And, by the time I came to bed, he was asleep, so I didn't disturb him.

Later, though, as I lay there staring at the ceiling, wishing that I dared to touch him--thinking that the hand-span of distance between us might as well be a parsec of empty space--I realized suddenly that he was awake, and also lying there, staring wide-eyed at the dark.

There was nothing I could do. I wanted to talk; there was nothing to say. I wanted to weep; the tears wouldn't come. I wanted things to be the way they were--and I knew then that they never will be.

272

1

273

Even if we get through this, somehow, I know instinctively that this is the kind of situation that changes things . . . relationships, people. It will never be the same again.

It wrenched Mahree's heart to see Joan. Her aunt sat in her cabin, hands resting listlessly in her lap, her shoulders bowed; she looked terrible, like a puppet with half its stuffing missing.

Mahree realized that Joan's auburn hair now had gray scattered through it, and the lines in her face made the younger woman want to cry. Joan looked as though she had aged decades since her niece had left.

When Mahree had entered the small, single cabin, she found Joan lying on her bunk, staring at the ceiling. She turned her head to see who her visitor was, then silently looked away. Mahree hesitated, but then, when her aunt didn't order her to leave, she sat down on the room's only chair and waited, quietly.

Finally Joan sat up, her eyes studying her niece's face. After a time she said quietly, "I heard that you were back. Hello, Mahree."

"Hello, Aunt Joan," Mahree said. She didn't ask how Joan was, because the answer was evident.

"Yoki told me where you went," the First Mate said. "What happened out there, honey?"

Mahree told her the whole story, even the part where she'd pointed a gun at Rob, threatening to shoot him. Somehow she wanted Joan to know that she wasn't the only person who had been driven to desperation during the crisis.

When Mahree finished, her aunt was silent for several minutes, then she said, "And these snake-people, the Mizari, they brought you home?"

"Yes, aboard the
Dawn Wind."

Joan sighed. "I made a royal mess of things, Mahree. I flew off the handle and nearly wrecked this First Contact, and I
did
wreck things with Raoul. I came damn close to forcing him to do something that would've been disastrous ... it would've been as bad as mutiny."