An oarsman jumped on board. ''I'm Aholo's brother, Afa,'' and they were off. The road was sand, but again it had been treated. Pedestrians left shallow tracks as did the cart. Beside them, palms swayed in the wind. A wild profusion of flowers and birds added a mad collection of colors.
KRIS, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO IDENTIFY THE BIRDS AND PLANTS FOR YOU?
NO. LET ME JUST ENJOY THEM.
The cart took them uphill. They passed houses made of wood and woven mats, thatched roofs, men in lavalavas, women in sarongs or lavalavas. Dress was … casual.
There was a whisper behind them, followed by a stern, ''I am not going native,'' from Penny.
Aholo smiled. ''We often have that effect on foreigners.''
Kris measured the depth of feeling behind that word; it came up high. She wondered what she'd have to do to keep that word from being applied to her and Grampa Ray's United Sentients.
Aholo pulled to a stop beside a large, multileveled house with most of its sides open to the breeze. She led them inside, past carved masks and figures, painted shields and potted flowers. Long-beaked, riotously colored birds flew by. Aholo led them through a door into a room that was closed off with blinds and mats on its walls. Candles—no, electric lights made to look like candles—dimly lit the room. A woman lay on a feather bed made from a brightly colored cotton tick. Aholo knelt and took the woman's hand. ''My Mother's Grandmother, Ray Longknife has sent his son's granddaughter.''
The woman turned her face to Kris. Eyes, dark and deep as pools, took her measure. Then she blinked and nodded. ''You have Rita's eyes, not Ray's. That may save you much sorrow, girl.''
''I never met anyone who knew Great-grandmother Rita,'' Kris stammered.
The woman nodded. ''She died too soon for poor Ray. Far too soon. I think she would have saved him from being president. He should have faded away after the war, become small again. I hear he's back doing politics again. Bad boy.''
''I encouraged him,'' Kris confessed.
''And he let you,'' said the dying woman.
''You are the queen here,'' Aholo pointed out.
''A queen here is nothing. The People sail as they will.'' The crinkle beside the princess's eyes said lie to the words.
''But you have come to hold my hand while I make that final crossing over the reef, have you, young Princess,'' the woman said, taking her hand from her great-granddaughter's and offering it to Kris. Kris took it; it was dry, light. The fingers were swollen with arthritis, each joint tattooed with a different design. Sunbursts exploded at wrists and elbows, covering other designs of fish and birds. Tattoos on top of tattoos.
PRIMITIVE MEDICINE USED TATTOOS, Nelly told Kris.
''Don't worry, old age ain't contagious,'' the queen said, making Kris wonder what the look on her face must be. She stroked the woman's hand; it felt like well-worn leather.
''You arrived just in time for the spring full moon,'' the queen said, moving to her side and closer to Kris. ''Will you dance tonight with us or stand aloof with the other foreigners?''
Kris had read that some primitive tribes started teaching girls to dance at three so they could get the steps right at their wedding. ''I would love to dance with you—''
''Good,'' the queen cut her off. ''I will have Aholo send you the proper flowers. Afa, make yourself useful and hustle down to the long house. Tell them they need another princess crown for tonight. That's a good boy,'' she said as the young man, nearly Jack's age, sprinted out of sight.
The queen gave Kris a wink and a smile. ''We'll show the old doubters that Ray Longknife and his United Sentients is a good harbor for us to put in to, between the two of us, nahi?''
So I was being jobbed even before I knew it.
''Your Majesty should rest,'' a man said, coming out of the shadows where Kris had not noticed him. His stethoscope and manner said doctor. Not witch doctor but modern M.D.
''Kapa'a‘ola, I'll get nothing but rest soon enough. Can't an old gal have some fun first?''
''Grandmama, Kris and I have work to do if we are to dance for you tonight. You rest. We will work,'' Aholo said as she stood and backed Kris and company out of the room. The queen was asleep before the door closed.
''How ill is she?'' Kris whispered.
''She is not ill. She is old, and she is dying. Anywhere else, maybe she would ask for yet another rejuvenation. Here, she says no more. She has had enough.''
''And you're going to let her?'' Tom said.
Aholo stopped, turned to them. ''Her last rejuvenation did not go well. It was painful, and,'' she looked at her hands, cupped before her, ''not very effective. She chose not to risk the pain only to find it a total failure. As she said, ‘All die.' So many died in the war with her. Now she will join them.'' A tear rolled down her cheek. ''I accept her choice.''
''But you will miss her,'' Kris said, putting an arm around the future queen.
''Very much.''
''Well, can you show me enough dance steps not to make a fool of myself in front of her?''
''She would greatly enjoy the laugh.''
''That is what I'm afraid of.'' Kris sighed.
An hour later, thanks to Princess Aholo and several of her girlfriends, Kris knew enough steps to avoid the worst diplomatic disasters and maybe the personal ones as well. As she'd feared, every step here, every wave, had a meaning, told a story. With luck, Kris would stay back in the chorus line, providing the la-la-la backup.
Aholo dropped Kris off at a suite of rooms about the time Abby arrived with seven steamer trunks rolling behind her. Kris counted them and raised an eyebrow. ''I left one on the Halsey,'' Abby sniffed. Which seemed reasonable, so Kris helped Abby unpack. Jack drew a bag from one, Penny and Tom took similarly sized ones as well and went to set themselves up in their rooms.
''You bring me a couple of sarongs?'' Kris asked Abby.
''Nope.''
''Mother Hubbard? Grass skirt? I'm not wearing one of those short lavalavas.''
''Nope.''
''Well, what am I wearing?'' Kris asked as there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Aholo holding a flat box.
''Here are your flowers. They will crown us together at the long house tonight. I will see you there in two hours.''
''Flowers?''
''Yes. The flowers you'll wear,'' Aholo said and left.
Kris elbowed the door closed and opened the box. It held two large flowers and two long leis.
''The flowers go in your hair,'' Abby said. ''I'll have to add some hairpieces to fill out that short Navy cut of yours. No problem. One lei hangs around your neck. The other off your hips. We'll probably have to shorten both.''
Kris dropped the box. It bounced on the bed. ''You're kidding. Right?''
''You going native or foreigner tonight?''
''Not… foreigner,'' Kris said, full realization dawning.
''That's what a grandmother explained to me as I was bringing things in. The well-dressed local virgin, and that's any not-married girl, wears flowers and her tattoos.''
''Did Grampa Ray know about this?''
''I doubt it, but then he didn't say he'd dance tonight with the other princess.''
''Flowers, tattoos, this is going to be worse than that getup you got me in for Tom's rescue,'' Kris said, plopping into a wicker chair that complained at the usage.
''Maybe. Maybe not, baby ducks.''
''Where am I going to get tattoos in the next two hours? Tattoos that the Navy won't use to throw me out on my ass when I get back,'' Kris added. A sedate anchor might pass muster. But tattoos like Aholo had curling around her arms, chest, and back … there was no way the Navy would stand for those.
Abby tossed Kris her armored body stocking and pulled a bottle of spray paint and some rolled-up somethings from a trunk. ''Primitive was in back on Earth a few years ago, but there's primitive and then there's primitive. So my employer needed different tattoos every night of the week. I got quite a collection of possible body art put together before it went out of style and she got killed.