Orb (9 page)

“I don’t have a preference. You choose.”

“OK, you’re acquainted with every piece of equipment on the ship and exactly how to use it, and I am not. But can you tell me how many stanzas are in a Shakespearean sonnet?”

“Stanzas?” Thompson said, as if confused. “Oh
yeah
, I remember. The three Italian counts: Enrico, Giuseppe, and Philippo Stanza. Brothers, I believe. Weren’t they the three gentlemen of Verona?”

“I shouldn’t even dignify that with a reply.”

“Can you dignify fourteen?”

“How in hell did you know that?”

“An undergraduate elective. If I recall correctly, my only two choices were the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare or an entire course on James Joyce’s
Ulysses
.”

“You made the right decision.”

“I think so. I’ve continued to read Shakespeare.”

After a few hours of hard physical work unloading and setting up equipment, Thompson said, “Grab Kelly and your mutt and take a short stroll to the other side of the island. Keep your eyes open. We don’t want to accidentally provoke the indigenous population.” And then, as Kelly, Angie, and I were part way across Red Square, he shouted after us, “Needless to say, don’t accidentally ingest the water.”

Which meant he correctly anticipated we’d go for a swim. It didn’t take a genius. Not after spending three months without a
real
shower or bath, without the welcome sensation of being completely immersed in cool, clear water. Even if the water was cold, it was going to be irresistible.

“Pity we don’t have bathing suits,” I remarked to Kelly.

“Pity,” she answered, deliberately bumping into me as we proceeded across the Square, occasionally knocking me off my stride, much like a delighted child would do. Side by side, we made small talk as we idly walked along.

“Did you bring the sunscreen?” she asked.

“Forgot the sunscreen.” I answered. “You bring the towels?”

“Forgot the towels.”

The temperature was rising to that of a midsummer’s day on Earth. The ascending sun, now a faded shade of blue, pleasantly warmed the exposed areas of our skin. A dull heat, emanating from the stone, passed through the thin soles of our shoes into the soles of our feet. The heat wasn’t enough to bother Angie’s paws; she scampered along ahead of us, occasionally looking back to make sure we were following, impatient when we lagged. She reached the base of the spires well ahead of us, having skillfully navigated the intervening boulders and crevices. I was happy she was handling the terrain well. Initially, I had some worries concerning her safety, especially when she ran full speed out of
Desio
.

“Can you believe we are here?” Kelly said, stopping to grab my hand as she tilted her head way back to gaze up at the spires looming above us.

Following her gaze, I responded, “If you think too deeply it becomes overwhelming.”

I took her other hand and wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging her tightly. She was a few inches shorter than I, and her jet black hair, warmed by the sun, was in my face. I saw highlights in the strands that could not possibly be there—reds, purples, and orange. I heard my heart pumping blood through my veins.

“Not so overwhelming when I’m with you,” she said, turning out of my grasp. She clasped me by the hand and pulled me along. “Let’s see if we can find a secret path through these sleeping giants.”

There was virtually no chance of getting lost on an island less than five kilometers across, but we tried. Winding our way among the spires, backtracking several times along the way, we at last arrived at a small, secluded cove. By this time Kelly and I were feeling the temperature. She had the foresight to bring two liters of cold water. We drank half, and then she steadily poured some into my tightly cupped hands for Angie to eagerly lap.

It was easy to find a stone slab at the water’s edge that was flat and broad enough for the two of us and Angie to comfortably lie on. One end was elevated a meter above the water, permitting us to sit high and dry on a ledge while dangling our bare feet in the shallow pool below.

“It’s delightful!” said Kelly, laughing with surprise. “Nearly as warm as the Caribbean.”

“You’re right. I expected colder.” I reached in and waved my hand beneath the surface. “Do you see that?” I asked. “A little color when I swirl the water.”

“Or colors. Very faint, but I see more than one.”

“They intermingle but don’t seem to blend, if that makes sense.”

“Every test so far has proven the water safe,” she said. Then, with surprising urgency, “Let’s go in.”

I needed no encouragement, but Kelly provided more, reaching across and tugging my shirt out of my pants. We stood. I raised my arms and she pulled the thin fabric over my head. With both hands, I swept her long hair back off her shoulders and onto her back, then unbuttoned her blouse. For the first time I noticed that her moist skin took on a sultry, satiny sheen in the ambient light. We removed the rest of our clothing and slipped into the water. With a few, careful steps we were in water up to our waists, facing each other but not touching. Looking into her eyes, I said, “Ready? One. Two. Three!” and together we let the water completely envelop us.

She rose out of the ocean with me, splashing into the bright sun, rivulets of water streaming down her skin, off her hair—her hair blacker, if ever possible, and shinier, clinging to her back, her shoulders, her breasts. I urgently reached for her, pressing against her so forcefully that we lost our breath and started panting. I didn’t want us to separate, but she deliberately pushed me away to look straight into me, as if trying hard to understand me, a sad, vulnerable look of bewildered desire welling in her eyes, a gasped, choked-off sob coming to her throat. I was terribly unsure if passion or emotion was about to make her cry. She deliberately prevented me from knowing by reaching for me, clinging to me, kissing me so violently our teeth clashed.

From nowhere, a moment with
half
this intensity involuntarily flashed into my consciousness. I was twenty years younger, carefree, burning up a summer body-surfing on the beaches of the United States’ east coast. I was remembering an exceptionally hot day when a storm out to sea generated waves that were scary big, big enough to chase everybody out of the water. I had jogged to the far end of the beach to a secluded sandy cove and no people. I remembered the sun, big and orange, fading into the summer haze on the horizon, lowering its bulky self amid the incoming waves. I remembered the waves, cycling in, plumes of salty spray sweeping backward off their towering crests from the force of their own forward momentum. I remembered the wave’s exhilarating energy, primordial and powerful, carrying me into shore.

Half as intense. I understood why. Kelly had not been there.

“Kyle.”

Funny-strange, then and now, water being the common element.

“Kyle.”

There are times, too rare, one loses all sense of self in ecstasy.

“Kyle,” I heard Kelly say, lips pressed hot and moist against my ear. “We disappeared. For a moment.”

“Did I hurt you?” I managed to return, breathing hard. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“No.”

“Let’s lie on the rock together. To dry.”

We unwrapped from each other and climbed out of the water, lying on our backs in the sun, staring up at the sky.

“Do you think Diana will be mad?” Kelly finally said with a small laugh.

“How so?”

“She likes being first. She and Paul won’t be the first.”

I laughed. “You’ll tell her?”

“No. But she’ll know.”

I turned onto my stomach to look out at the ocean. “The sun feels good.”

“Yes.”

“I’m feeling a little guilty. Have we been gone too long?”

“We’ll make up for it when we get back.”

I was resting my chin on my folded arms, unable to resist staring at the razor-sharp line where ocean met sky. It was then that I thought I viewed a tiny disturbance in, or on, that line. A mere blip, way out. I cupped one hand over my eyes to block the glare of the sun and squinted in an effort to improve my vision, but to no avail. By the time I asked Kelly to take a look, the disturbance, real or imaginary, was gone.

“What do you think was there?” she asked, intrigued.

I stood up, continuing to gaze out. “Probably nothing.”

“Could it be the
Ixodes?
” Kelly asked.

“Maybe. But I thought she wasn’t going to spend much time on the surface.”

As we dressed to leave, we continued to look oceanward.

Nothing.

Kelly and I held hands, and Angie stayed nearby, as we headed back through the spires. I was contemplating how to mention what I saw—or didn’t see—to Thompson.

Halfway back, Kelly, who was also deep in thought, said in a little voice, “I have a small confession to make.”

“Yes,” I said casually, as we walked on. “Go ahead.”

“Remember when you asked me how to say ‘I need you’ in Japanese?” Her voice began wavering just a bit.

“Of course.”

“I could have answered a little differently … a lot differently.”

“Really? How so?”

“The special word I said,
aishiteru
, isn’t used very often. Sometimes never. It’s a cultural thing not to. It doesn’t mean ‘I need you.’ It means ‘I love you.’”

“You made a mistake translating?”

Kelly stopped walking. We were holding hands, so I stopped with her. She faced me.

“No,” was her simple answer.

“So why…?” I was refusing to catch on.

The look of sadness I saw earlier returned to her eyes, only this time the look, the feeling, wasn’t intermingled with passion.

“Will you make me spell it out?” she said.

“No…” I began, yet no words came out, in part because I was stunned speechless by my own monumental stupidity. I tried to begin again. “Should I…”

“Well, then I will,” she said, releasing my hand and backing away a step, striving to keep her voice in control, believing, and she was right, that anything I said or did now was going to be too late, or much worse, a fabrication.

“I made you say it, I was very wrong to, I made you say you love me. I was afraid. Afraid it was the only time I would ever hear you say it.”

“I’m sorry.” I managed to blunder, taking a step toward her, but she retreated, fighting back the tears coming to her eyes.

“I know you are,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “Can we go?” She picked up Angie, hugged her, receiving far more comfort and affection from her than from me.

Resolutely, she walked on ahead, leaving me with the last person I wanted to be alone with: Myself. I was sorry, more than I could possibly express, for hurting her. The sad thing is—rather pathetic—I had no words to make everything all right. “
A mistake translating
”—I actually said that to her, didn’t I, damned dishonest fool I am, incapable of admitting that I had deliberately pushed her away!

Just before we were in sight of Red Square I ran to catch up to her.

“Wait!” I shouted.

She slowed, then went on.

“Please. Wait.”

She stopped, but determinedly looked straight ahead.

“I’m sorry,” I began, groping for words. “You deserve more. If you can, stick with me a little longer. I can tell you this much, maybe it’s not all you want to hear, maybe not all I want to hear from myself, but it’s a start: I need you, I want you. Nothing … no one else … has ever come close. Doesn’t
that
mean something?”

She turned to face me.

“Do you think I’d give up on you so easily?” she said. “Do you think I can?”

“I don’t know…”

“I wish I could stop myself, but I can’t. You’ll have to do a much better job of turning me away.”

She stooped to put Angie down, looked up at me and said with a sad little frown, “Besides, if I lose you, I lose Angie too.”

With this hurt, we came to Red Square. I had to be content with the unsettled state of affairs I created between us. I desperately needed to do some thinking on what she said, what she was coming to mean to me.

For now, however, my duty was to update Thompson.

KELLY AND I had been gone less than two hours, but during that time much had been accomplished at the landing site. Any remaining equipment that needed to be put in use had been removed from the ship and, if necessary, assembled. Each of the four scientists had their own small enclave and were currently preoccupied with setting up experiments, reviewing instrument readings or collecting samples.

Kelly sought out Diana while I located Thompson. He was closely scrutinizing an assortment of rocks he had collected. As I approached, he looked up distractedly.

“And?”

I had to admit, that was probably the simplest way to elicit information from me. My response wouldn’t be quite so straightforward.

“No natives to displace,” I said. “At least I don’t think so. There’s a three-kilometer path meandering through the spires, terminating at a small cove on the far side of the island. The geology, to an untrained eye, is the same. Only discernable difference is that the spires gradually decrease in size.” I wavered, and then said, “Perhaps there’s more.”

“For general consumption?” Thompson asked, scrutinizing me closely.

“Can’t see why not.”

Not wanting to waste time by hearing my report twice, Thompson called to the crew. I now had an audience.

“Go ahead,” Thompson said.

“Kelly and I located a small cove. I’d estimate it was about three kilometers away, due north of here. I was resting on a rock overlooking the ocean, gazing at the far horizon, when I saw, or imagined I saw, a slight disturbance. Barely visible and undefined.”

“Imagined or saw?” Melhaus insisted. “Which is it?”

“I said it that way because I can’t be sure.”

“Which direction were you facing, or more accurately,
looking?
” Thompson asked.

“The island was behind me, completely blocking south. Spires on my right were blocking the view east. I was looking north to northwest.”

“Larry?” Thompson asked, expecting an answer to an unspecific question.