The land was flat and the walking easy. During the late afternoon, they broke by the side of a stream, and Marcel told them they were within seventy-five kilometers of the lander.
Plenty of time. "What's the northern coast look like?" Hutch asked.
"It's holding."
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's touch-and-go," he said. "We think you'll be all right."
Despite the good news, they pushed hard. Hutch shortened their breaks, and they literally ate on the march. Twice they were attacked, once by a group of things that looked like tumbleweeds, but which tried to sting and take down Hutch; and later, toward the end of the afternoon, by a flock of redbirds.
Nightingale recognized the redbirds as the same creatures that had overwhelmed the original expedition. This time there were fewer of them, and they were beaten off with relative ease. Kellie and Chiang were gouged during the incidents, but neither injury was severe.
Late that afternoon, they came across a field of magnificent purple blossoms. The flowers resembled giant orchids, supported by thick green stalks. They were within sixty-three kilometers of the lander, with four days remaining.
They hoped.
Nightingale looked exhausted, so Hutch decided to quit for an hour. They were, she thought in good shape.
They'd sampled several different types of fruit by then and had found a couple they enjoyed. Mostly they were berries of a fairly
tough nature, inured to the climate, but edible (and almost tasty) all the same. They located some, passed them around, and were glad to get off their feet.
Hutch wasn't hungry, and ate only enough to satisfy her conscience. Then she got up.
"Where you going?" asked Chiang.
"Washroom," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Wait." Kellie jumped up. "I'll ride shotgun."
Hutch waved her away. The orchid patch was isolated, and beyond it they could see for a long distance. Nothing could approach unnoticed. "It's okay. I'll yell if I need help." She walked into the shrubbery.
After she'd finished, lured by the exquisite beauty of the giant blossoms, she took a few minutes in seclusion to enjoy the sense of well-being attendant on the forest. The day had grown uncharacteristically warm, and she liked the scent of the woods, mint and musk and pine and maybe orange. Consequently she left the e-suit off.
She approached one of the blossoms and stood before it. She stroked the petal, which was erotically soft.
Hutch regretted that these magnificent flowers were about to go extinct, and wondered whether it might be possible to rescue some pollen, take it back, and reproduce them at home. She walked from one to the next, gazing at each. At the fragile gold stamen and the long green shaft of the pistil, surging up from the receptacle. She stopped in front of one. The woods grew utterly still. She glanced around to be sure no one was watching, wondered why she cared, and stroked the pistil with her fingertips. Caressed it and felt it throb gently under her touch.
"You okay, Hutch?"
She jumped, thinking that Kellie had come up behind her, but the voice was on the link.
"I'm fine," she said. "Be back in a minute."
A tide of inexpressible well-being rose through her. She took the pistil in her hands, drew it against her cheek, and luxuriated in its warmth.
The flower moved.
The soft sheaths of the petals brushed her face. She inhaled the sweet green scent, and the burden of the last few days dropped away.
She rubbed her shoulders and cheek against the blossom. Closed her eyes. Wished that she could stop time. Felt a tide of ecstasy sweep through her. She came thoroughly alive, rode some sort of wave, understood she was living through a moment she would remember forever.
She rocked slowly in the flower's embrace. Fondled the pistil. Felt the last of her inhibitions melt.
The blossom moved with her. Entwined her. Caressed her.
She got out of her blouse.
The outside world faded.
And she gave herself to it.
She was drowning when the voices pulled her back. But they were on the link and far away. Of no concern. She let them go.
Everything seemed far away. She drank the sensations of the moment, and laughed because there was something perverted about all this, but she couldn't quite pin it down and didn't really care. She just hoped nobody walked out of the woods and saw what she was doing.
And then she didn't care about that either.
She wasn't sure precisely when the light grew harsh, when the erotics switched off and the sheer joy vanished and she was simply looking out of a cave, as if she were buried somewhere back in her brain, unable to feel, unable to control her body. She thought she was in danger, but she couldn't rouse herself to care. Then something was tugging at her, and the voices became urgent. There was a great deal of pulling and shoving. The petals gave way to the hard earth, and she was on the ground. They were all kneeling around her and Kellie was applying ointment, telling her to keep still, assuring her she'd be okay. "Trying to punch out a tree?" asked MacAllister, using the coital expression of the moment. "I don't think I've ever seen that before."
The blossom lay blackened and torn. Its fragile petals were scattered, and the pistil was broken. She was sorry for that.
"Come on, Hutch, talk to me."
The other flowers swayed in sync. Or was it a breeze causing the effect?
Her neck, arms, and face burned. "That's quite a ride," she said. And giggled.
Kellie looked at her disapprovingly. "At your age, you should know better."
"It must put out an allergen," said Nightingale. "Apparently pretty strong stuff."
"I guess." Hutch still felt detached. As if she were curled up inside her brain. And she was resentful.
"I think you're a little too big for it," Nightingale explained. "But it was doing its damnedest when we got here."
"Why do I hurt?" she asked.
"It tried to digest you, Hutch."
Kellie was finished with the medication, so they activated her suit. That had the effect of getting her a supply of air with the peculiarities added by the environment filtered out. The sense that everything was funny and that they should have let her alone began to fade. She held out her arms and looked at dark patches of skin.
"Enzymes were already working when we took you out," said Kellie.
"Psychotic flower," she said.
Chiang laughed. "And oversexed Earth babes."
Her clothing was in tatters, and Nightingale produced one of the Star jumpsuits they'd recovered from the lander. "It looks big, but it's the smallest we have."
She was shivering now. And embarrassed. My God, what had she been doing when they found her? "I can't believe that happened," she said.
"Do you remember your first rule?" asked Nightingale.
"Yeah." Nobody goes off alone.
She couldn't walk. "Some pretty good burns there," said Kellie. "We'd better stop here for the night. See how you are tomorrow."
She didn't object when they carried her back. They laid her down and built a fire. She closed her eyes and recalled an incident when she'd been about thirteen, the first time she'd allowed a boy to get inside her blouse. It had been in a utility shed out back of the house, and her mother had walked in on them. The boy had tried to brazen it out, to pretend nothing had happened, but Hutch had been humiliated, had gone to her room and thought the world was about to end, even though she'd extracted a promise that her father would not be told. This in return for a guarantee that it would not happen again. It hadn't. At least not during that summer.
She felt a similar level of humiliation. Lying with her eyes closed, hearing no conversation because everyone was off-channel so as not to disturb her, she listened to the fire and to the occasional sound of footsteps, and wished she could disappear somewhere. Her reputation was demolished. And with MacAllister here, of all people. He'd eventually write an account of all this, and Hutch and the blossom could expect to show up on Universal News.