Serpent's Gift (3 page)

"She's fine, that is, she's well, but. .. Rob, she left. She's divorcing me."

"Oh, Jeff, that's ... I'm sorry to hear that," Rob said awkwardly. There wasn't any graceful way to respond to such news, he'd discovered that long ago.

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then ventured, "Have you tried counseling?"

Morrow grinned crookedly, but it never reached his eyes; they were shadowed by pain and frustration. "Once a therapist, always a therapist.

Rob, I wanted to go, but she wouldn't."

"Jeff. .. what happened? You seemed so happy .. ."

"I was never home, for one thing. And she wanted to start a family, and I'm just not ready for a big step like that." Jeff's mouth tightened. "I've got too much unfinished business to have time for a kid. I told her in a couple of years, but she didn't want to wait."

"I'm sorry," Rob said lamely.

"You can listen to me cry in my beer some other time. I know how busy you are. I just called to see about getting together for dinner."

"Dinner?" Rob stared blankly. "You mean you're
here?"

Morrow nodded. "Close enough. I'm up at the station. Got a job to do."

"I thought you built space stations."

"I do. StarBridge Station needs an addition to its human- environment section, and I won the bidding war and got the contract. I'll be in and out over the next few months, making sure the job gets done right."

"That'll be great!" Rob said, careful not to let his first reaction show. He found it typically callous of Mike Morrow to send his son to oversee a job where he'd have to spend weeks staring at the site of his failure. He glanced at his clock, then shook his head. "Listen, Jeff, I hate to cut this short, but I've got a whole bunch of new kids coming in this morning, and I should go through these files one more time."

"I understand. We can catch up later," Jeff said. His gaze abruptly shifted, and he smiled faintly. "Here comes your shuttle, I recognize Janet's docking style. She used to give me heart failure every time she came in on manual like that. I was always sure

12

that
this
time she'd miscalculated, and we were going to wind up splattered all over the station viewports."

"I know what you mean. About dinner... how about tomorrow?"

'Tomorrow is fine. I'll see you at eight. There's a new Japanese place up here. My treat, no arguments, okay?"

Rob grinned. "I never turn down a free meal." A sudden thought occurred to him. "By the way, Jeff, Serge LaRoche told me that H.U. funded the grant they received for the archaeological dig out at the Lamont Cliffs. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that selection, would you?"

Morrow shrugged. "I may have mentioned it to a few people."

"You did more than that," Rob said earnestly. "And don't think you're getting away without being thanked properly, Jeff. I know Serge and Professor Greyshine will want to tell you so in person, but.. . thanks. A lot."

Morrow glanced down, obviously uncomfortable at the mention of his generosity. "It was the least I could do, after my crew managed to move those artifacts while they were installing the new radonium monitors." He glanced back up at Rob with a wry smile. "Is your Archaeology Prof still cussing us for that?"

Rob shook his head ruefully. "Professor Greyshine is passionate about his work," he temporized. "But the grant no doubt helped."

"They still digging out there?"

"Every day," Rob said. "Since those were Mizari artifacts you uncovered, Ssoriszs has taken to hanging around the site, wanting to help any way he can."

Morrow laughed. "I'm trying to picture a Mizari using a shovel, but my imagination fails me." He nodded at Rob, then made a quick shooing-away gesture. "Get back to work. Don't forget, tomorrow at eight."

"I'll be there."

Hing Own watched Docking Bay Six loom closer in the viewscreen, fighting the urge to cover her eyes.
This time we're not going to make it!
she thought, biting her lip. I
swear, we're going to--

At the last possible second before crashing against the side of the docking cradle, the
King
straightened out, then came to a dead stop, perfectly aligned with the docking bay airlock. Hing let her breath out slowly, sagging back in her seat.
Someday, Janet

13

Rodriguez,
she thought.
Someday
...

Tight, speedy manual dockings were Janet Rodriguez's stockintrade, especially when she was late. There was a final soft lurch as their airlock mated with the station's, then they were docked.
How does she do it?
Hing wondered, shaking her head.

Unsnapping her seat harness, she stood up in the narrow aisle, pulling her blue StarBridge jacket on over her jumpsuit. Hing smiled, feeling a moment's flash of pride at her new fifth-year shoulder patches and collar insignia. The StarBridge logo--a rainbow bridge connecting two planets set against a star-studded background--was emblazoned on the back of her jacket, as well as on the pin she wore on the breast of her jumpsuit.

Softly humming an old Cambodian song her grandmother had taught her, she smoothed her hair, wishing for a mirror.

"Good morning," said a voice.

The young woman tensed, recognizing the warm baritone immediately.

Damn you, Rob Gable! I'll bet you knew Serge was on this trip,
she thought, even as she slowly turned to regard the man standing at the end of the passenger compartment, an uncertain smile flickering across his face.

Serge LaRoche was twenty-two, two years older than she. He was strikingly good-looking, with regular features, vivid blue eyes, and thick, ash-brown hair that he wore long and pushed back from his face. Tall--Hing's head had barely reached the top of his shoulder when they'd danced--LaRoche moved with an athlete's grace and balance. For two years running he'd been StarBridge's low-gee gliding champion.

"Serge!" she said, walking toward him, her hand out. Her theater training stood her in good stead, as she kept her features composed, showing only pleased surprise instead of the tension churning within her. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said, reaching out to shake hands. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Hing."

They had known each other for a long time; Hing felt, but did not react to, the inhuman smoothness and coolness of Serge's fingers as they grasped hers.

The memory of the first time they'd met filled her memory ... she'd insisted on shaking hands, human style, instead of returning his Mizari bow. But, even though she'd already known that his hands were artificial, Hing hadn't been prepared for how inhumanly cool they were--and hadn't been able to conceal an involuntary wince.

Serge had grinned tightly, but his eyes had been filled with an

14

old, cold anger as he'd held up his hands, wriggling the long, tapered fingers, letting her see the too-perfect cuticles, the faint sheen of nails that would never grow or chip. "Don't worry," he said lightly, with an ease born of many repetitions, "they were fed this morning."

"Oh, God," Hing stammered, her face flaming, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to--"

"Please..." His brittle composure softened, and a genuine smile replaced the strained grin. "Don't. It was my fault, I should have warned you."

"What.. . how ..." she trailed off, stammering, even though] she knew how it had happened.

"An accident with my parents' aircar, six years ago. I was fourteen." Serge had flexed his fingers, then snapped them. "They| work very well... in some ways better than the original ones, I was very fortunate that the doctors were able to adapt Mizari technology so successfully when they made them for me."

Now, shaking his hand, al she could think about was how long it had been since they'd spoken or been alone together. Her heart had long since stopped jumping when she'd caught sight of him in the hallways, but you couldn't just wipe out six months as though they had never happened. "It's nice to see you, too," she said quietly, noticing that he still wore her gift, a small sapphire stud, in his left earlobe. She'd taken the ring he'd given her off the night of their breakup, and hadn't put it on since.

Serge smiled automatically at the pleasantry, but she could see the strain in it, and realized that he was far more nervous than she was. There was an eagerness in his eyes that made her drop her gaze and glance at her watch.

"We'd better get going," she reminded him. "Those kids are probably swinging from the ceiling fixtures by now, waiting this long."

Serge nodded, then fell into step beside her in the featureless tube of the docking corridor. "Only the Simiu ones, if we are in luck," he said, matching her light tone. Although his English was extremely fluent, he spoke with the formality of one who is not a native-born speaker; despite his years at StarBridge, he'd never lost his Gallic accent.

Hing spoke French wel herself, though she'd learned the language in Canada, and it had taken her months to get used to Serge's speech patterns and accent when he spoke his native tongue.

"What brings you to the station?" he continued. "Are you serving as an Orientation Guide now?"

15

"Heaven forbid," Hing said devoutly. "I'll leave that to you, I don't have the patience. No, Rob asked me to come up and meet my new roommate."

"Who is?" He checked the student roster he carried.

"Heather Farley."

Serge repeated the name to the Mizari voder he wore on his wrist, and Hing saw an image form on the tiny screen . .. round, freckled features, pale green eyes, and unruly carrot-colored curls. "She's rather young, isn't she?" Serge said.

"Only eleven," Hing replied. "I'm going to try my hand at being a role model."

She grimaced.

Caught off-guard, Serge snorted, but managed to turn the sound into a fairly genuine-sounding cough. He was from Belgium, and his manners were perfect, touched with an Old European formality

she'd always found charming. "So, what have you been doing

these days?" he asked, evidently deciding that a change of subject was politic.

"Studying, trying to sandwich in a few extra credits in Simiu," she said. "I'm beginning to think I might like to work on Hurrreeah
[
someday. Also, we're doing a new play, and I'm assistant director, as well as playing the embittered mother."

"Would I know it?"

<
"I doubt it. It's
They Don't Make Pennies Anymore,
by Eunice
(
Goldberg.

One of those really intense dramas that are a bitch to do, but if you do your job right, there won't be a dry eye in the house." She glanced up at him.

"What about you?"

"I have been spending most of my time out at the dig with Professor Greyshine." His eyes flashed excitedly. "We might be on to something
very
big."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"We cannot say for certain as yet, because we still need more proof, but the Professor thinks that the artifacts we have in our possession may have been left by the Mizari Lost Colony. He believes they visited this asteroid after their departure from Shassiszss, over four thousand years ago."

Hing was impressed. 'That's a long time..." she said. Four thousand years ago on Earth, the pyramids and Stonehenge were relatively new, slavery and war had characterized the most advanced human civilizations, and the great majority -of people had spent their brief lives trying to propitiate the

'gods so they wouldn't starve or die of pestilence. By contrast, the large, reptilian Mizari had already possessed interstellar travel!

16

"This Lost Colony," she ventured, "don't they have any idea of where they went?"

Serge shook his head. "No .. . unless our site turns out to be that very clue.

The preliminary dating we have done indicates that the time-span for these artifacts is right, but tests must be done in the lab before we will be certain. I wish we could uncover more artifacts. We've been at it for months, now, without locating a single new one. But the Professor says that often happens on digs--you make several discoveries, then weeks or months go by where you find nothing. It's odd, really .. . some things about this site simply don't add up ... but, of course, this is my first dig, so I have nothing with which to compare it."

"I wish I could see a real dig," Hing said impulsively.

"Vraiment?"
Even though he kept his voice casual, his slip into his native tongue revealed his excitement, his eagerness. Hing wasn't sure whether he'd noticed his lapse--people who habitual y conversed in several different languages on any given day often switched back and forth in midsentence.

But with Serge, she'd learned, such slips usually betrayed intense emotion and/or excitement. "I could arrange a visit."

Uh-oh, back off, Hing,
she scolded herself.
Don't go giving him any wrong
ideas.
"I'd love to go," she said cautiously, "but I'll have to see how rehearsals work out."

"I understand," Serge said, not meeting her eyes.

The silence between them hung heavy as they reached the end of the docking tube, then mounted the escalator to the station's multispecies lounge with its spectacular viewports. As they entered, Hing scanned the waiting crowd of new students for a flash of red hair.

The lounge was not really crowded, but it seemed filled because of the variety of beings waiting there. It looked like an
Intergalactic Geographic
documentary.

Hing caught a whiff of frying bacon, then the beach at low tide, followed by fresh blueberries as two Vardi engaged in conversation in their olfactory-based language. The two-metertal aliens, resembling giant stalks of purple-green broccoli, stood (since they weren't designed to sit) on the far side of the room She was relieved to see that they were both wearing special voder so they could understand spoken language.

Next to the Vardi coiled a Mizari, his five-meter length filling his round, padded compartment. This one was golden-colored with scarlet and black diamonds patterning his back and the masculine dorsal ridge. The tentacles haloing his wedge-shaped