*
Apparently he managed to retain his vestiges of niceness, because her smile remained as the game continued. He began to lose track of the time, what with one part of his mind lost to a great, flowing tide of hormones, a fresh surge coming every time her lips cracked a smile; and the other part of him entranced by the joy of firing cartoon-faced balls into long, wholly improbable trajectories. He heard himself suggesting, at the end of their third game, that perhaps they ought to let someone else use the table for a while, and retire to a more comfortable spot for that drink. She agreed, with an almost bashful smile.
“What do you guys really do, down there in exoarch?” he asked, once they were settled in a booth with a semi-privacy-curtain drawn—enough to feel cozy, but not so secluded as to feel threatening.
Julie leaned back against the headrest and half-closed her eyes. Her short hair drifted back from her face. She had, he realized, a very small nose, and a pretty neck. Her blue eyes were intense, even half closed. “Oh, you know—mostly we wait for you guys to bring us something exciting,” she said.
“Us guys?”
She opened her eyes. “Well, I don’t know if it’s the surveyors or the miners who are more likely to find something bigger than a melted lump of metal—but if any of you ever do, that’s when we can really get to work. In the meantime, it’s mainly geology for us. And frankly, I’m getting pretty sick of geology.” She grinned brightly. “So how about finding us something intact, okay? How about the head of an alien—or at least some nice alien artifacts?”
Bandicut swallowed, his heart almost stopping. A moment ago, he was reeling with attraction; now he was petrified of speaking. Charlie was ominously silent in his brain. “Well—” he croaked. “I guess—we’d all like to find something . . . exciting . . . wouldn’t we?”
/// Careful— ///
Julie gazed at him as though she heard more in his words than he’d intended to convey. “I guess we would,” she agreed. She sipped her drink, and a look of curiosity came over her. “So . . .” she murmured, “what exactly do you pilot types do for excitement, when you’re not on survey missions?”
Was that a suggestive huskiness in her voice? He realized that he was sweating a little, and he had probably drunk too much beer. He took another sip. “Well, I, uh—” and his voice caught a little, because now, he thought, he was going to have to explain how it was that he wasn’t actually flying survey missions anymore, or even driving them, for that matter. And then he thought, no, no, she already knows about that, doesn’t she? “Well, I, uh—tried my hand at mining,” he joked. “And it got me this—” He pointed to the cast on his left ankle.
“Ah so,” said Julie. “How’d that happen, anyway?”
He tried not to wince as he groped for a suitable explanation, preferably one that wouldn’t make him look like a moron. “Well—I slipped on some ice, and this ankle was the only thing between me and a big laser beam. So the ankle lost.”
“Did you really try to pull a robot out of a mining tunnel?” Julie blurted, and then immediately looked sorry for broaching the subject.
He groaned inwardly. Did everyone know about it already? “Well, yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was pretty dumb. I don’t . . . know what came over me.” He stirred at the little white lie.
/// Good, good . . . ///
Julie kept a straight face, but it obviously took some effort. “I guess . . . it must have been pretty embarrassing.”
He nodded and shifted his eyes away, feeling self-conscious all over again. When he looked back, he saw that she was studying him with quizzical interest. “Well—?” he murmured, turning his palms up.
Julie’s face cracked in a grin. “You know something? You’re not like the rest of those pilot types! You’re . . . different.”
“Is that good?” he asked uncertainly.
She nodded, and an odd look came over her face. She took a long pull on her drink and seemed to be trying to decide something. The grin started to return, as she shifted her eyes one way and then another, as though looking to see if anyone was watching. Then she leaned forward, biting her lip. “Georgia tells me she bets you’re a good kisser,” she blurted.
He blinked, startled.
Her face immediately darkened with embarrassment. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that!” She averted her gaze with a groan, then hesitantly sidled a glance back at him. She giggled and peered down into her half-empty glass. “I must not be holding my alcohol very well,” she said ruefully. “Please excuse me.”
His mind was awash with libidinous possibilities. When he answered, his voice wasn’t working too well, and it came out more or less as a croak. “And how would Georgia know? Who’s she been talking to, anyway?” And are you anywhere near as horny I am? Do you know how long it’s been? He grinned, helplessly aware of what a perfect goak he probably looked like.
“Who should she be talking to?” Julie asked shyly, blinking at him over her cocktail glass.
Nobody on Triton, that’s for sure. He swallowed with difficulty, and couldn’t find any words. Kiss her, you idiot. What do you think she’s asking for? He cleared his throat and carefully moved his mug of beer out of the way.
/// You aren’t thinking of . . .
you aren’t planning to— ///
/Shut up. This would be an excellent time for you to shut up./
/// But I—you— ///
/SHUT UP!/ His smile was turning weird-looking. He could feel it, but he couldn’t stop it.
Julie cocked her head, those intense eyes gazing at him with thoughts that he could only wonder at. “John, what is it? Is your leg hurting—?”
Yes yes yes, that’s it . . . “Um, a little, I guess.” He forced what he hoped was a warmer expression onto his face. What he was actually conveying, he couldn’t imagine. She smiled, and his heart thumped. “I guess . . . um, if that’s her . . . theory . . . maybe we ought to test—I mean, there’s nothing like firsthand—”
She leaned across the little table and stopped his words with a kiss, hesitant at first, then more confident.
Time shuddered to a halt. His heart nearly stopped from the pressure of her lips. She pulled back, smiled—and he leaned farther to kiss her again. She returned willingly, lips firm for a moment, then softening. He rose up in his seat, as if weightless. His breath struggled to find release in the back of his throat, and he felt her sighing with nervous pleasure . . .
/// John—
John, please— ///
A year of pent-up loneliness welled up in him, making him want to cry out. He raised a trembling hand to touch her hair, ever so gently.
/// Please don’t do this, John! ///
She seemed to like that; she kissed harder, and he felt her tongue dart out and touch his lips . . .
/// STOP IT! ///
A sheet of white static flashed across his brain . . .
Chapter 17
Xenophobe
HE PULLED AWAY from Julie with a jerk. /What the mokin’ hell—?/
/// Please—I can’t stand this! ///
He blinked helplessly at Julie, trying not to turn red with humiliation. /Can’t stand WHAT?/
/// This— ///
“What’s wr—? John? Is something wrong?” Julie was staring at him, flustered and wide-eyed. She sat back abruptly, wrapping her fingers around her cocktail glass. “Was I—I mean—hey, I hope I wasn’t too forward!”
“No, no!” He struggled to think of an explanation, an apology.
“Oh, well—did I kick your leg or something? I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—”
Desperate for something to say, he gulped, “No, no, but I—I just—wrenched it a little.” Feeling his face burn, he struggled to recover his dignity with the lie. “I’m—uh—sorry,” he croaked. “It wasn’t you.” Inwardly, he raged. /What do you think you’re doing, you meddling little—?/
/// I’m sorry! ///
/> Charlie screeched.
/// I apologize!
But I couldn’t let you— ///
/WHAT? ENJOY MYSELF?/ Bandicut roared. He shook, grimacing—and immediately realized that he had just made an audible, rattling sound of anguish. He struggled to put a normal expression back on his face.
“John, are you in pain?” Julie asked worriedly.
/// No, I—I—I— ///
the quarx choked, radiating waves of consternation.
/You you you what? Why don’t you just shut up?/ He made a prolonged clearing-of-the-throat sound, focusing his eyes on Julie with an effort. “I—ah—no, no, I’m fine—”
She peered at him for a moment, then lifted her glass and took a long drink, rattling the ice cubes. Her blue eyes appeared dark and beautiful, and utterly unreadable. She seemed to be assessing his answer. “Well,” she sighed, “if your leg is giving you trouble, the last thing you need is to have me coming on to you.”
“No, really, you weren’t—” he wheezed. “It was fine!” He swallowed. “It was . . . uh, pretty nice, actually.”
A smile cracked through her unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was pretty nice, wasn’t it?” She laughed nervously.
He nodded, momentarily incapable of speech.
/// It’s just that I
couldn’t risk your telling her . . .
or getting too distracted, ///
the quarx whispered desperately.
“Yes—” he croaked to Julie.
/// There’s just too much at stake. ///
He flushed with anger. /The only thing at stake right now is whether I’m going to get more than a wink and a handshake for the first time in two years, dickhead./
/// Huh?
Well, I know,
but I just couldn’t—
I mean, I— ///
/Shut up./ He drew a ragged breath and finally managed to return Julie’s smile. “I guess I . . . didn’t quite live up to Georgia’s . . . prediction, did I? You think I should go back for more training?”
Julie chuckled self-consciously. “Well, Georgia never actually said she was making a personal report. Anyway, for a warmup, it wasn’t too bad. But yeah, I’d say the jury needs to hear more evidence.” She blushed. “So look, do you need some help getting back to your dorm room, or what? Or is this where I exit graciously, and, you know, let you make your moves elsewhere?”
“Elsewhere?” he said, with feigned bewilderment. He peered around as though to scan the entire lounge, then sat back again, trying to keep his grin. Oh, real smart! Why not just say she’s the only game in sight, or else you’d hustle right up to someone else?
/// I do not understand this interplay, John— ///
Julie laughed, but whether it was because of, or in spite of, his idiocy he couldn’t tell. “Ri-i-ight,” she said. “Well, look, methinks I’d better get some sleep anyway. Dawn comes mighty early in this town.” She started to slide out of the booth.
He rose up from his seat in quiet desperation. “Wait! Let me at least walk you—er, limp you—home.”
“Well—”
He held out a hand in invitation.
/// But there’s so much we have to do! ///
/Speak for yourself./ He gazed at her imploringly. “Please?”
Julie’s eyes sparkled again the way they had earlier. “Compromise. You may walk me to the end of my corridor. And you may have one discreet good-night kiss.” She raised a warning finger. “One only. So as not to injure your leg further.”
He lifted a fist in mock triumph. “Score!”
She swatted his arm. “Score, nothing! I am not a fast mover, I warn you.” She slid out of the booth and extended a hand to help him stand.