Fugitive (9 page)

   "Did you get it?" Lutira asked her sister as she took her place at the control panel.

   "Yes," Tash'dree replied. "They are bound for Barada Seven."

   "Good," she said with a gesture toward the other vessel. "They are still preparing to depart, but our ship is secure and ready. Now is not the time to falter when our goal is so near. We must launch." Their ship was small, and the cramped space designed for a far less statuesque race than their own, but it had served them well thus far, being much more powerful than its appearance would suggest.

   As the engines began to fire, she turned the disk over in her hand, activating the holoposter once again. The image of a tall man with long dark hair and feline eyes sprang to life from her palm.

   "You are certain he is the one?" Tash'dree asked, gazing at the male form.

   "Yes, he is the one," Lutira replied. "And where he is, there will be others of his kind, as this message suggests." Her glowing blue eyes grew fierce with determination. "There are more of them. I am certain of it now."

   "Then this quest will not have been in vain."

   "It was
never
in vain," Lutira said firmly. "The original bloodline will be preserved in any case, but the addition of another line would be worth all of the sacrifices we sisters have made."

   "And if they discover our intent?"

   Lutira shrugged, tossing her long dark hair back from her face. "There still may be a chance."

   "Why the secrecy then, Lutira?" her sister argued. "I have never understood the need for it! What was given to us before was given freely."

   "Perhaps," Lutira said slowly. "But we do not know all of the circumstances, and remember, what we seek is a separate bloodline. It is best to find a different man— unattached if possible—and find him before they do. If he knows of the others, he may not be as willing, or he may suspect our motives."

   Tash'dree disagreed. "It is not our way—"

   "It has been the way on our world for many genera tions," Lutira reminded her. "But for that, our world would have been lost."

   "Sometimes I think it would have been better if it had been so," Tash'dree said sadly. "The subterfuge, the pitting of one faction against another, the continued ruse… " Shaking her head, she added wonderingly, "Would we have truly been destroyed?"

   "We as sisters would not exist if that were not so."

   "Perhaps that would have been best—" Tash'dree began, but was cut off by Lutira's steely gaze.

   "The sisterhood is what enabled our world to survive long enough to succeed," Lutira said fiercely. "Never forget that."

   "Ah, but have we succeeded?" Tash'dree said archly. "Sometimes I wonder."

   "Nevertheless, we must reach Barada Seven before they do," Lutira said firmly. "Prepare to launch."

   No one took note as the small, insignificant ship rose from the surface with the two beautiful women at the controls—and perhaps least of all, the ship that had just departed.

   "It was said that Nedwuts were seeking information as well," Tash'dree said. "There could be trouble."

   "We have dealt with their kind before and will undoubtedly do so again." Lutira's tone denied any concern. "They will not be allowed to destroy any more of them."

   In the meantime, the Nedwuts were bullying everyone they could find on Bexal, but to no avail. If there was a Zetithian on that planet, nobody was talking. Barada Seven was next.

Chapter 6

AFTER BREAKFAST, DRUSILLA PUSHED ALL THOUGHTS OF WILD jungle cats firmly out of her mind and went out to the lake with the intention of spending the day at her easel. After donning her swimsuit and thongs, she put on her hat and smock and then gathered up her painting gear and carried it down to the lake. The air was cool and pleasant, and a lively breeze played with her silky smock—which was one that Ralph had insisted on giving her when he'd seen the coarse, paint-stained "thing" she had worn for so many years. Ralph considered it an affront to his delicate sensibilities and had given her this one: a flowing, multi-colored, lace-edged garment that deflected the sun nicely and gave her the ethereal, artistic look that Ralph had been aiming for. With that and her hat, she would have made a good subject for a painting herself, but Drusilla liked it for a more practical reason: she could get paint on it without it being noticeable.

   Having found a large beach umbrella in the shed by the back door, Drusilla set it up in a spot that provided a clear view of the lake and the surrounding jungle and then sat down beneath it to sketch in the background while she waited for the birds to arrive. She was engaged in the effort to capture the purple hue of the sky when Zef popped up for a visit.

   "Hey, Drusilla!" Zef rasped from the shallows. "So, this is what you do, huh? Sit by the water and doodle on that thing?"

   "Good morning, Zef," Drusilla said in a pleasant voice. "Yes, this is what I do. And this 'thing' is called a canvas, by the way."

   "Canvas," Zef repeated. "Must remember that—can't think why, but I'm sure I'll need to know someday."

   Drusilla rolled her eyes and went back to her work. "Just another bit of useless information, is that it?"

   "Possibly," Zef cautiously agreed. He was remem bering Manx's admonition to be nice, though it went against his nature—and his habits—to do so. "Nice day," he added, which was just about the only nice thing he could think of to say—at least the word "nice" was in there.

   "Yes, it is," she agreed. "Does it rain very often?"

   "What a stupid question!" Zef exclaimed. "We're surrounded by a fuckin' jungle and you ask—" Zef stopped himself there and paused a moment to regroup.
Be nice
, he reminded himself. "Yes, rains all the time," he said. "I like rain."

   Drusilla chuckled. "Just can't keep from speaking your mind, can you?"

   "Don't usually see any reason not to," he said.

   "Or keep from swearing every other word," she added. "Any thoughts as to what I might do here on rainy days?"

   Zef suspected that his friend Manx could keep her endlessly entertained whether it rained or not, but he almost broke a tooth in an effort not to mention that fact. "What's the matter? Don't like rain?" he asked instead.

   "Makes it hard to paint," Drusilla explained. "Though this umbrella could probably withstand anything short of a hurricane—which is fortunate because I'm sure Ralph is expecting a whole series of Baradan bird paintings when I get home. He sent enough canvases to keep me busy for years."

   "Ralph?" Zef echoed, thinking for one awful moment that Ralph might be her mate—which would spell trouble for Manx. "Who the hell is Ralph?"

   "My boss," Drusilla replied. "Well, sort of, anyway. I paint the pictures and he sells them in his gallery. He's paying for this trip, by the way, so I'm sure he wants results."

   "You share the profits with him?" Zef thought this was a very bad idea.

   "Yes," Drusilla replied. "He gets a commission on every painting he sells."

   "Sounds like a filthy parasite to me," Zef observed. "I'd get rid of him if I were you."

   Laughing out loud, Drusilla said, "Ralph doesn't see himself as a parasite, but rather as an enabler."

   "Enabler?"

   "You know, someone who makes it possible for me to paint and not have to worry about the business end of things—a patron of the arts."

   "Sounds like a damn crook if you ask me!" Zef declared. "How do you know he's not cheating you?"

   "Well, you know, Zef," Drusilla said somberly, "sometimes you just have to take people at their word— though their signature on a contract doesn't hurt."

   "Mmm," Zef said. "Trusting, are you?"

   "Up to a point," she agreed, "And Ralph hasn't cheated me yet—at least not that I know of."

   Zef thought having a woman with a trusting nature would be a good thing for Manx—after all, it wasn't as though she could check his background and be reassured. Zef knew that he couldn't help much in that department since he didn't know a whole lot about Manx's past himself. Yes, trust was good.

   "So, Zef, since you've lived here for a while, you should know this, so tell me, are the birds very easily frightened? I mean, will our conversation keep them away?"

   "Want me to shut up and go away, don't you?"

   "I didn't say that," Drusilla said, "but now that you mention it, it might be better if we tried to be quiet."

   Since Zef had seen a bird or two around while he'd been talking to Manx—and also during the noise of construction—he doubted that this would be a problem. "Naw, they won't mind us talking. Just don't scream or throw rocks at them. They don't like that."

   "Neither would I," Drusilla said. "I prefer peace and quiet."

   "What? Don't get lonely?"

   "You can have peace and quiet without loneliness, Zef."

   Zef didn't agree. Without someone to talk to, the loneliness threatened to overwhelm him. "Like to talk, myself," he said.

   "So I've noticed," Drusilla said mildly.

   "Yes, I like to talk," he said. "Used to have lots of eltrans to talk to, but now it's just you and—" He broke off there, knowing that he'd probably said too much already.

   "Me and—who?" she prompted.

   "And anyone else who stays in the house," Zef finished, grateful for having had a moment of inspiration.

   "I thought you might have meant Lester," she said.

   Zef snorted, which sounded like a combination of a growl and a fart.

   "Don't care for Lester, do you?" she chuckled.

   "The filthy little orange wanker!" Zef muttered. "Tried everything he could think of to get me to leave this lake! Even said there were eltran-eating monsters in here. Ha! Knew he was lying. I know a monster when I see one."

   "Seen any around here?" Drusilla inquired nervously. "Something that has footprints like mine?"

   "Dunno," Zef said, pretending not to know just exactly what she meant. "Let me see your feet."

   Drusilla slipped off one of her thongs and stuck out her foot. It was a nice, shapely foot, Zef noted. Smaller than Manx's, but very similar. "Maybe," Zef replied cautiously. "Not a monster, though."

   "Not a monster?" she echoed. "Well, I certainly hope our definitions of 'monster' are the same, but whatever it was, it left footprints going to and from the house. Know what it is?"

   Zef reflected on the possibilities for a long moment. Tell her too much and she might send someone to get rid of Manx, not tell her enough and it might scare her into doing just that. "Friend of mine," Zef replied at last. "Harmless."

   "Ah, so you know a whole lot more than you're telling."

   "Don't sell out my friends," Zef said shortly.

   Drusilla nodded in agreement. "I wouldn't either. So tell me, does this friend of yours purr by any chance?"

   "Purr?" Zef said, tilting his head to one side.

   "You know, like a cat?"

   "You're not helping me any, Drusilla," Zef said gruffly. "Don't know what purr means or what a cat is."

   "A cat is a four-legged animal with claws and sharp fangs, and purring sounds like this," she said, humming.

   "Heard something like that a time or two," Zef admitted. "Not sure where it came from, though."

   "Uh-huh," she said skeptically.

   Zef was sure she didn't believe him, but, thankfully, a trio of birds flew overhead just then and, after circling the lake a few times, settled down in the still waters near the opposite shore.

   "Got to get to work now, Zef," Drusilla said quietly. "If you want to talk, it's fine with me, but keep your voice down, please."

   Zef had never been asked to be quiet so politely before, and it had the effect of leaving him momentarily speech less. During those moments of silence, he decided that this woman was just nice enough for his friend, Manx. He drew in a breath to call Manx down to the shore from his post in the trees, but decided that such an action went against Drusilla's request to keep his voice down. Then Zef realized that if Manx wanted her as a mate, it might be helpful to know whether or not she already had one.

   "Got someone back home waiting for you?" Zef ventured.

   Looking at him in surprise, she laughed softly. "Why would you want to know that?" she asked. "Looking for a girlfriend?"

   "Oh, not for myself," Zef said hastily. "Too old for that! But my friend might—"

   "Zef," Drusilla said gently as she sketched the group of birds on her canvas, "I'm not sure your 'friend' and I would be… compatible."

   "You should let me be the judge of that," Zef said firmly. "Besides, I think you'd like him."

   "Him?" Drusilla echoed. "Well, at least it's a 'him.' That's a plus."

   Zef wasn't quite sure what to make of this comment, but went on doggedly. "He's a… nice fellow."

   "They always are," Drusilla sighed. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, Zef, but one of the reasons I came here was to get away from 'nice' fellows. Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

   This attitude had Zef considerably perplexed, and he considered hollering for Manx again, but decided that having a conference with him first would be best. "Well," said Zef, "you let me know if you change your mind."

   "Sure, Zef," she replied absently. "You'll be the first to know."

   Zef backed off and swam into the depths of the lake, heading down to where the shore curved out of sight of the house. If her hearing was any good, she might hear him talking with Manx, but he considered it a risk worth taking.

***

Manx, however, was watching Drusilla and Zef from the trees and felt no desire to leave his current post to talk with Zef. She had spoken kindly to the eltran, even laughing a few times. The sound of her laughter had sent thrills through Manx. Nothing so far indi cated that this woman wouldn't be receptive to him, and the more he watched her, the more perfect she seemed. Having seen his footprints, Manx suspected that she might hole up in the house and never come out again, but her presence on the beach indicated otherwise. She wasn't easily frightened—she'd been startled, perhaps, but not scared enough to leave. That was good.