Starfist: Wings of Hell (10 page)

Word of the lifting of the quarantine spread through the civilian community like wildfire. By the morning of the fourth day of Thirty-fourth FIST’s liberty, it even reached tiny Brystholde, and Jente on her farm not more than a few minutes after that.

Since she’d driven Rachman Claypoole from her bed and her home, Jente Konegard had spent most of the time crying. Yes, she loved him, loved him with all her heart. And she wanted to marry him. Desperately, almost. He was the kindest, sweetest, most considerate and loving man she’d ever gotten anywhere near close to. And she was positive he loved her in return. But marriage—he made marriage so
difficult
! She understood that he couldn’t get married, not to her or to anybody else, until he’d been promoted two more times. Or until he got out of the Marines, and he couldn’t do that as long as the Marines on Thorsfinni’s World were quarantined. But his response when she asked what would happen if the quarantine was lifted? Why, it sounded as if he didn’t
care
what happened to them.

And now, the quarantine
had
been lifted. Of course, she told herself, it was only a rumor, but still…She had to know, she had to find out. If it was true, what was he going to do? She knew he’d been in the Marines long enough to get out if he wanted to. Would he get out and return to civilian life? And if he did, would he want to stay on Thorsfinni’s World? Would he want to stay with her? Would he want to take her with him to, to—where was he from? She couldn’t remember him ever talking about his home world. Would he want to take her to that home world with him, make her give up the farm that had been hers for her entire adult life? Would she give up the farm to go with him? Or if he chose to stay in the Marines, would he be transferred someplace else and would he want to take her with him?

So many questions, too many questions. And she needed answers.

She reprogrammed the farm machines to return to the barn on their own after they completed their day’s work, and made sure the animals had sufficient food and water for a couple of days, then changed into her town clothes and got into her landcar.

She found him in that Big Barb’s place, where he was just finishing a late lunch.

Since he was alone, with no one to watch his back, Corporal Claypoole sat where he could see both the entrance and the stairs. Not that he expected an attack, just that he liked to know if someone was coming toward him. So he saw Jente enter Big Barb’s before her eyes adjusted to the light enough to see him. His heart jumped with joy at first sight of her, then he remembered how she had acted a couple of days earlier when she kicked him out of her bed, her house, and her life, and he wished he were wearing his chameleons so she couldn’t see him. He did
not
want a repeat performance.

But he wasn’t wearing chameleons. She quickly spotted him and rushed to his table. He groaned, and pointlessly sank down in his chair.

Jente threw herself into the chair to Claypoole’s left, grabbed his left hand in both of hers, and leaned close to kiss him. He turned his head just enough that her lips caught the corner of his mouth instead of full front.

I guess I deserved that,
she told herself; out loud she said, “Oh, Rock, I’m so sorry I was so bad to you. I’ve missed you. Forgive me! Please say you forgive me!” She raised his hand and kissed it; he felt wetness on the back of his hand, and slowly turned to face her. Tears oozed from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and it was obvious she’d done a lot of crying recently. His heart went out to her.

Aphrodite’s tits, she’s been crying, and I’ve been fucking other women? How many women did I take to bed while she’s been crying?
He shuddered at the thought of his unfaithfulness, but then he remembered how she’d thrown him out, how she said she never wanted to see him again, how she said she’d call the police if he didn’t leave, and he decided he wasn’t to blame for getting drunk and taking solace in other women’s arms.

With that thought, he said coldly, “Why should I forgive you?”

Jente hung her head, and her shoulders shook with the effort to not burst out bawling. Her voice was strained as she said, “Because I love you. Because I was angry, and I was wrong.”

Shit, shit, triple shit!
Claypoole swore. He couldn’t stand to see a woman crying, especially not the woman he loved—no matter how badly she’d treated him. He freed his hand from her grasp and put his arm around her shoulders to draw her to himself. He caressed her head and patted her back with his right hand. He said comforting things; not words, just soft verbal noises. She sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his shirt.

After a few moments, she pushed lightly on his chest and sat up. She drew a cloth from a skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. He held a disposable napkin to her nose. She nodded and took it from him to blow into.

“Thank you,” she said meekly. She sat slumped, with her hands limp in her lap and asked, “Forgive me?”

Many thoughts shot through Claypoole’s mind, but none stayed long enough to become coherent. He looked at her for a long moment, then solemnly nodded.

“Thank you,” Jente said in a tiny voice. She then looked around. The common room of Big Barb’s looked like a restaurant with a bar, not like the anteroom of a whorehouse, and the women waiting on tables and cleaning up looked like waitresses rather than prostitutes. But she knew women’s bodies were for sale there, even if many of the women seemed to have relationships with the Marines of third platoon that went beyond that of a whore to a john, had relationships that looked much more like girlfriend-boyfriend. She felt an uncomfortable ambiguity in Big Barb’s—particularly when she was trying to mend things with the man she wanted to marry.

“Can, can we go someplace else?” she asked. “Someplace where we can have more privacy?”

He gave her an odd look. “You mean you want to…?”

She shook her head. “No, not that—I mean not right now. I mean someplace where we can talk, and maybe snuggle a bit. And not be interrupted by your Marine friends. Oh!” A hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It’s not, I’m not objecting to your Marine friends, I just mean—”

He nodded. “I know what you mean. Let me settle my tab, then we can walk down by the beach or something.” While he signaled for his bill, she excused herself to go to the powder room and fix her face.

Claypoole wondered why it was that women always said “fix my face” when what they meant was “have to pee,” but when Jente came back he saw that she had indeed “fixed her face.” Most of the redness that had rimmed her eyes was gone, and her cheeks and lips had a healthy blush. There was also a bounce to her step that hadn’t been there before.

They were hand in hand when they walked out of Big Barb’s.

Bronnoysund’s beach wasn’t much to speak of. The town was on a fjord, and the beach was more glacial gravel than it was sand. The walls of the fjord were high enough and close enough that the beach only had direct sunlight for a few hours each day—clouds allowing—which didn’t encourage a great deal of sunbathing. And the water was cold, which tended to discourage swimming. As a result, the beach was seldom crowded, so not many people were there when Claypoole and Jente reached it. On top of that, it was winter, so the beach was even more deserted than at other times of the year. They didn’t have to look very hard to find a place where a jumble of boulders created a small, sand-floored alcove where they could lounge safe from the wind and prying eyes.

They lay against the broad boulder at the back of the alcove. They talked, about the fjord, the cliffs opposite them, the few people on the beach so late in the day, about where they might have dinner and what they might eat. They talked of many things, but not about what had happened two days earlier. At first their only physical contact was where the narrowness of the alcove made them lie hip to hip. After a time Jente sagged onto Claypoole’s side and laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, though neither could have said which of them made the first move. They watched the rippling of the water and the changing shadows on the far cliffs, then he turned his face down and she raised hers, and they gently kissed, once, twice, then faced forward once more. Some moments passed, and they kissed again, but more passionately. Again, with unspoken agreement, they looked at the water and the cliffs. After some more moments passed, they slid down off the backrest boulder and their bodies turned toward each other, and they embraced passionately.

Jente abruptly sat up, flipping her fingers through her mussed hair and adjusting her disheveled coat. “Let’s find a room,” she said hoarsely.

“I can get one right away at Big Barb’s,” Claypoole said, standing up to adjust his own clothes.

She shook her head. “Not there. Someplace where they don’t know us.”

Claypoole cut off a snort. Bronnoysund was small enough, and he’d been there long enough, that he didn’t think there was any commercial establishment of any sort in the town that didn’t know him. He helped her up and said, “Let’s see what we can find.”

Near the downstream end of the beach they found a small set of rental cabins that catered to tourists who came north for the fishing. The owner recognized Claypoole’s face, but didn’t remember his name. He didn’t know Jente at all. He hid his smirk when he noticed their lack of luggage.

They tore off their clothes almost before they got the cabin door closed. The first time they let out all the frustration, sorrow, anger, and pain they’d felt since she had driven him away, and both ended with a few bruises to show for it. A short time later, they went at it again, but more slowly and gently and lovingly.

Later, when they were lying naked, side by side, he remembered what Schultz and Kerr had said about Jente wanting to marry him. He swallowed before he began talking.

“You asked when I’m going to get promoted to sergeant.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve asked me that before.”

“Yes.”

“And I remember that one time you asked when I will get promoted to staff sergeant.”

“Yes.”

“You know that Marines below the rank of staff sergeant can’t get married, don’t you?”

In a very small voice: “Yes.”

Claypoole raised himself on an elbow so he could lean over and look into Jente’s eyes. “Are you saying you want to marry me?” His voice broke halfway through the question.

In an even smaller voice: “Yes.”

He fell back down. “Buddha’s blue balls, who would have guessed?” he whispered. He shook himself. “Damn, the Hammer was right.”

“Who would have guessed?” Jente shrilled, suddenly sitting up and clutching the sheet to her chest. “
Who would have guessed?
Do you mean to lie there and tell me that you never considered marriage when you seduced me? Did you think I was one of Big Barb’s
whores
?”

He popped up to sit. “
What?
No, no, no! I know you’re not one of Big Barb’s girls. You’re one of the women Top Myer warned us about.”

“Top Myer
warned
you about me?” Her voice dropped and became cold.