"Yes, sir, and we saw what looked like a big cat, too. We got us a big, wild valley. Goes way up…way up…" MacArthur said, staring too long into her eyes. She looked away. "Everything okay, Lieutenant?"
"Checking good, Corporal," she said, forcing a smile but avoiding his eyes. "I'm starved. What's it taste like—the meat?"
"Won't lie to you, sir," MacArthur deadpanned. "Like what you think Fenstermacher might taste like, only tougher. Tookmanian wants to use it for shoe leather." He moved past her and set the burden down, pulling back its cloth covering with a small flourish and a bow.
She picked up a chunk with her fingers and took a bite of the tough, grainy meat. It was delicious and still warm. Her stomach churned with a welling appetite. She looked up and smiled, but as she put her finger in her mouth to lick off the grease she started to cry, deep, shoulder-heaving sobs. She could not help herself; the tears came. Ashamed of her weakness, she turned her head to hide behind a fall of her hair.
Minutes went by, the quiet of the hut marked only by the crackling fire and her wracking sobs. MacArthur moved closer. His hands gently pushed her hair aside. His callused fingers trailed delicately along her neck. She tried to turn farther away, but the Marine cupped the side of her face. She closed her eyes and hot tears ran down her cheeks, growing cold.
"Lieutenant, what's wrong?" MacArthur whispered.
She blinked at the tears, tasting the salt on her lips. Again, she tried to twist away, but MacArthur refused to let go. The Marine lifted her, and she rose unsteadily to his beckoning, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She opened her eyes. MacArthur' s bright eyes were tragically saddened.
Surrendering, she stepped close, putting her head on his chest. MacArthur' s hand moved gently to the back of her head. As he lifted his other hand the ebony fur slipped from her shoulders. MacArthur deftly caught it and brought its musky silkiness around both of them. At the same time he slipped his arms beneath its warmth, around the small of her back, pulling her into a tender embrace. She shuddered and lifted her chin.
"Corporal MacArthur," she said as firmly as she could. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant," he answered huskily.
"Tonight," she whispered, "please. Don't call be lieutenant." "Aye, sir," he said, bending and kissing her gently on the lips. She responded passionately, desperately. The Marine reacted to her passion with his own, his hands moving with possessive strength, fueling her emotional spiral. Her fur slipped again, and this time it fell to the floor. She shivered but not from the cold. Tears poured down her cheeks, wetting both their faces and seasoning their kisses with salty intensity.
MacArthur slowly, reluctantly, pulled his lips from hers. "What's wrong…Sharl?" MacArthur begged, holding her at arms length.
"Nothing, Mac. Nothing. It's my problem."
"Sharl, let me help you."
"You are, Mac. More than you can ever know. Hold me. kiss me."
SECTION FOUR — DENOUEMENT
Chapter 38. Second Winter
Hudson awoke feeling rested, his sore-throat much improved; the local viruses had played havoc with his sinuses, but he seemed over the worse. He threw back his sleeping bag and rolled from his tent. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, and a gusty breeze brushed the powdery layers in short bursts. Hudson was chilly, but he was also naked. Turning his back on the transparent wall, he returned to his tent and grabbed his konish jumpsuit. Tailored to his human body, the rubbery material was thick and warm—too warm. Hudson would have preferred a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, but living in a hothouse was better than living out in the snow.
Dowornobb arrived with breakfast. Whatever it was, at least it was not fish. Hudson had finally demanded a respite from the monotonous diet, and it was humorous to the kones, because the kones thought he liked fish.
Dowornobb sat silently, a somber expression on his normally animated features.
"You worry, Master Dowornobb?" Hudson asked in functional konish, paying serious attention to his food. It was quite good.
"I wait for Mistress Kateos before telling you, Master Hudsawn," Dowornobb replied. "Ah, she arrives now." Kateos carried food for herself and Dowornobb. She sat. Neither kone touched their meal.
"What is wrong?" Hudson asked.
"A rocket from Kon reached orbit last night," Dowornobb replied. "A military rocket."
Hudson looked up, fork suspended in midflight. "They not friendly to my people? They wish us harm?" Hudson asked.
"We do not know," Dowornobb continued. "You should stay hidden until we understand their—"
"No," said Kateos in sibilant, gravelly Legion. "They know you here. They know." Kateos pointed into the sky, her expression somber. "They asked-ah to see you."
Hudson's appetite faded. His attention was captured by an escalating rumble. The ground vibrated.
"They come," Kateos said. "Their landing happens now."
Hudson looked through the dome to see a white-hot column of flame—a tongue of energy evaporating the clouds, cleaving a wide tunnel through which could be seen blue morning skies. Ground vibration increased as the black cylinder smoothly slowed its descent. It hovered over the rocket pads and settled onto its gantry dock. Firmly planted, the powerful engines shut down, leaving sudden and disconcerting silence.
"We must-ah leave you now," Kateos said.
Dowornobb and Kateos hastened through the maze of passageways linking the domes, joining Et Silmarn at the airlock. Indicator lights revealed the airlock to be in the final stages of pressurization.
"Any news?" asked Dowornobb. "Have they brought supplies?"
"It is not a freighter," Et Silmarn snapped. "It is a warship—a heavy lift interceptor. I doubt they bring anything but trouble."
The airlock hissed open. The arrivals lumbered forward. All wore military uniforms, and many were armed. One individual grew disconcertingly familiar.
"Longo!" Dowornobb blurted, much too loudly.
"Colonel Longo, if you please," the leader of the detachment said flatly. "Realize with whom you are dealing." Longo wore the dark burgundy of the security apparatus.
"You are a spy!" Kateos blurted.
Longo fixed her with a glance of steel, his diplomatic veneer all too transparent. He turned rudely away.
"I am aware of what has happened on Genellan," Longo said, addressing himself to Et Silmarn. "I am here to continue the investigation." He peered around as if looking for something in particular. "It has been reported that you are holding one of the…aliens. I wish to see it."
"They call themselves humans," Et Silmarn replied, "and one is here as our guest, most excellent Colonel." The noblekone' s distaste was thinly suppressed. "The humans have demonstrated their peaceful intent."
Longo stared sternly and smiled. "Of course—Your Excellency. But as official representative of our government I must verify that…peaceful intent. A formality, of course. Where is this pacific creature? Why is it not here?"
"It only suffers our environment, most excellent Colonel," Et Silmarn responded. "Elevated pressures cause gases to be dissolved in its bloodstream, and it takes many hours and a slow decompression to relieve. Also, the human considers the temperature in our domes unbearably warm. It possesses a strange, er…a fragile physiology—except for its tolerance to cold."
"Are you telling me that I must go outside—in the winter—to meet with this creature?" replied the astounded Longo.