Amidst a Crowd of Stars (6 page)

Marrin put her arms around him, holding him tight to her. Warmth filled her. She started to cry.

Keane got up on one arm to look at her. His body shielded her face from the rain. Concern filled his eyes. “Marrin?”

She shook her head, her emotion making her feel foolish and awkward in a way their lovemaking had not. Keane caressed her cheek. He smiled and bent to kiss her.

“I love you too,” he said into her ear.

And there in the garden, in the mud and rain with the smell of flowers blooming and going to rot, Marrin kissed the man who was no longer her field-husband, but her husband entirely.

One hundred rotations ago

Where was he? Marrin kept a firm grip on Hadassah's hand, no matter how hard the little girl tried to get away. Sarai and Aliya were running in circles around her, trying her already thin patience. Marrin searched the crowd exiting the starport, many of them greeting colonists who'd come out to meet them. Some carried the bags and bore the pale skin of new colonists as yet unburned by the harsh Lujawed sun.

She didn't see the man she sought anyplace. Tall, he had written. Dark hair to his shoulders. He'd be wearing a blue jumpsuit with white piping, and carrying a black leather bag.

His name was Keane Delacore. He was forty Earth years old, though Seveerans aged differently than Earthers and she shouldn't be surprised if he looked younger. He looked forward to meeting her in person, and her daughters.

If he didn't show up, she'd take her children and go back to the homestead. She would feed them and put them to bed, and maybe she'd go decadent and fill the washtub for a bath. If he didn't show up, she'd be no worse off than she already was—and maybe she'd be better.

If he didn't show up, she would somehow find a way to pay a labor crew to help her in the fields. How, she didn't know. She had no cash and, as yet, no crop to count on. She had nothing to barter, nothing to sell.

Seth had left her with nothing but three children and debt. In the three years since his death, Marrin had watched everything they had brought with them from home be sold off or break down in the harsh desert atmosphere.

He had been a good man with a wonderful dream, and it had not been his fault the immunizations against native viruses hadn't worked for him. It happened in .0001 percent of the population, a risk so miniscule even Seth, who calculated everything, had been willing to take it. It wasn't his fault the
idvad
had been scarcer than usual their first two years on Lujawed. And it wasn't his fault he'd taken sick as their first crops failed, or when he died, but though none of those things were Seth's fault, there were days, many of them, when Marrin blamed her husband bitterly for her current situation.

The crowd of exiting passengers had trickled to nothing. Marrin kept her back straight, her eyes dry, her grip firm on Hadassah's straining hand. He wasn't coming.

“Come on, girls,” she said at last, when the only person remaining in the starport station was the elderly Lujawedi sweeping the floors. “Let's go home.”

As she turned, one last figure appeared in the starport doors. A tall man with dark hair to his shoulders, wearing a blue jumpsuit with white piping.

He stepped cautiously through the doors and looked around. His eyes fell on their little group and he smiled, stepping forward, the look on his face one of a man greeting long-lost friends. He looked overjoyed to see them, and Marrin stepped back at the sight of Keane Delacore's smile. He didn't look forty. He looked even younger than her twenty-six years.

“Marrin Levy, I greet you,” he said.

The formality of his speech took her aback for a second, but then she nodded. He spoke in Universal, in which she was competent, but not fluent. Perhaps he wasn't either.

“Welcome to Lujawed.” Her voice sounded strained and brisk even to herself. She cleared her throat and held out the hand not holding Hadassah's. The little girl had shrunk behind her mother, watching from around Marrin's hip. “You must be Keane.”

“I answer to that, yes.”

He had an easy grin that tried to make her mouth twitch upward in response, but it had been so long since Marrin had smiled, the effort failed. His faded a bit when she nodded at him instead. He turned his attention to Sarai and Aliya, who had ceased their running and now stared with wide eyes at the stranger their mother had agreed to bring home with them.

“You must be Aliya.” Keane pulled something from his pocket and held it out to the oldest girl, who reached out a trusting hand.

Instinct almost made Marrin intercept him, but she resisted. This man had passed every test the Association for Interplanetary Spousal Provision had given him. He'd scored higher in morality, work ethic and intelligence than the other ten applicants Marrin's own analysis had matched her with. She was already technically married to him, and had been since the moment she'd signed the plazscreen at the agency office three months ago. So she stayed her hand and waited to see what he had brought.

“Thank you!” Aliya looked stunned and happy. She took the chocolate—a full bar, still sealed, and held it to her chest. “Oh, thank you!”

“And Sarai,” said Keane, pulling another bar from his pocket. He had to bend farther for her, but she took the present with no less enthusiasm than had her older sister.

“Thank you!” the girl cried, and added a spontaneous hug. Sarai had always been the most affectionate one.

Keane's eyes met Marrin's over the top of Sarai's head. He looked away in a moment and focused on Hadassah, still clinging to Marrin's leg, though the bounty of chocolate had drawn her out.

“And Hadassah.” Keane straightened, hand pulling out a third chocolate bar and handing it toward her.

Hadassah grabbed it and kicked Keane solidly in the shin.

“Hadassah!” Marrin's shocked cry echoed throughout the empty starport. “Oh, I'm so sorry—”

Keane shook his head, standing upright and giving a far kindlier smile to Hadassah than Marrin would have. “It's all right.”

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “She's usually not—”

“Marrin.” Keane shook his head. “It's fine. Really.”

Marrin nodded. “Shall we go?”

“Lead the way.” Keane lifted his bag. “They told me the rest would be shipped out to your place once it goes through decontamination.”

“Yes. I've brought the truck. It's outside.”

The colony of Bosie couldn't be called thriving, but it had grown quite a bit since she and Seth had arrived six rotations before. Seeing it now and imagining what it must look like through Keane's eyes, pride and dismay warred inside her. To an outsider it didn't look like much, but to one of the original hundred and forty colonists, it was a metropolis built of love and sweat.

“You're seeing it at a great time,” she told him as she hefted the too-big-to-be-carried Hadassah onto her hip and walked toward the truck. “Just after the
idvad
, when everything's in bloom. In a month, this will all be gone.”

She indicated the flowers on vines covering most of the buildings.

Keane nodded. “I've read everything I could find about Lujawed. The holos are amazing, but not even close to seeing it for real.”

That earned him a smile. She settled the girls into their seats and harnesses, then climbed behind the wheel as Keane took the passenger seat.

“It makes it all worthwhile,” she admitted. “Knowing that for a few weeks out of the year, it's all beautiful.”

By the time they got from town to the ranch, Keane had fascinated two of her daughters with tales of his journey.

Hadassah had always been the most stubborn one, the most spoiled and petted and cosseted, having essentially three mothers instead of only one. She glared at Keane the whole way home. She slammed the door in his face when they got to the house, and she stuck her tongue out him.

Marrin sent her to her room for that last insult and apologized once more to Keane, who smiled and shrugged, holding out his hands.

“It takes time,” was all he said. “For everyone.”

That first night, she offered him the choice of sides of the bed and lay stiff as iron when he climbed in beside her. Their contract stated there would be conjugal benefits included in exchange for his work. Seth was the last man who had touched her. Aside from her children, he was the last person to have touched her in any other than the most casual ways.

She waited, eyes wide in the darkness, for the slide of a hand along her skin, for a mouth to seek hers. She listened for a shift in his breathing, for the rustle of clothes.

“I'm sorry,” Keane said at last, his voice a richness dissolving into the darkness like honey dripped into tea. “I'm really tired from the journey. Would you mind if I just went to sleep?”

“No, of course not. Not at all.”

And so he went to sleep, while she lay beside him for a long time, unable to sleep.

He worked hard by her side, and cheerfully, doing whatever task she set for him. He was vocal in his appreciation of her skills in the field, and of the meals she cooked, and of the way she washed his clothes. He never failed to thank her no matter what she did for him.

He won over Sarai and Aliya with his gentle manner, and he tolerated Hadassah's constant sassiness with patience and bemusement. Day after day he made himself a part of their family. Night after night he slept beside her in their bed, and night after night he made no move to make love to her.

“Good night, Marrin,” he always said, and her answer returned, “Good night, Keane.”

Months passed and she found herself laughing with him over after-dinner coffee, and discussing the girls' schooling, the crop, the repairs they needed to make to the house, and the sad state of their now mutual bank account. She found herself remembering how he liked his breakfast prepared and making sure his clothes were mended and clean. She discovered herself staring at his hair as it fell over his broad shoulders and down his muscled back, now tanned by the sun.

She watched him when she thought he wasn't watching her.

When he'd said Seveerans aged differently than Earthers, he had meant their lifespans were longer. Once they reached maturity, they did not appear to age. They'd removed themselves almost entirely from the birth process. Genetics and specialized breeding had found a way to stop aging but not death; there was no fading away as there was in Earthers, no gradual decay and decline in quality of life as joints began to ache and vision faded, or memories began to disintegrate. If accident didn't claim their lives, Seveerans simply reached a time when they no longer wished to live, and then they no longer did.

It bothered her that he looked younger. When they went into Bosie, the people who saw them assumed Marrin Levy's field-husband was good for more than planting and harvesting. That she'd hired herself a young lover as well as a laborer.

Why it should bother her so much she couldn't say, since essentially, for all intents and purposes, that was what she had done. Bought a man to replace the one who'd died. What nobody else knew was that she and Keane weren't lovers. More like partners. And it wasn't any of anyone's business, was it?

“I think I'll go into town today,” she said one morning.

Keane looked up from his newsform. “I'll go with you.”

“No need.”

He smiled easily. “I'd like to.”

“I think I'd rather go by myself.” Her words sounded stiff without reason, angry without reason, and she saw confusion in his eyes. She lifted her chin.

How could she explain that she didn't want to walk down the street and listen to the whispers that followed them? Especially when they weren't true.

He got up from the table. “Marrin, did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not.”

He frowned, an expression that rarely crossed his face, and moved closer. “You look angry.”

“Well, I'm not, okay?”

Fuming, she crossed to the sink and ran the water, hard, though it wasted it. She splashed the dishes and slapped them with the sponge until he came over and twisted the faucet closed. He looked at her. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I just want to spend some time by myself,” she snapped. “Is that so much to ask? Do we have to spend every moment together? Can't I just have some time to myself for once?”

She couldn't look at him. Shame turned her face away so she wouldn't have to see his look of hurt. She wiped her hands and started to move away.

He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. It was the first time he'd ever touched her deliberately. His grip was strong. It would leave bruises if she tried to yank her arm from his fingers. She didn't try.

“If I've done something—”

“You haven't.”

“Marrin.” Keane's gentle voice made her want to cry. “Look at me.”

She did then because she couldn't help it. She kept her expression neutral. “What?”

“Are you going to send me back? Release me from our contract?”

His question surprised her. “No.”

He nodded. “Good. Because I don't want to go back.”

He released her and she stepped away. “Why not?”

She'd never asked him his reasons for agreeing to become a field-husband, for traveling light years from home to scratch out an existence on a planet as despairing as Lujawed. He'd never offered an explanation. She knew he wasn't a criminal because the agency had done a thorough background check. But beyond that, he'd never spoken of home or family.

She assumed his answer had something to do with some trauma on Seveer. A falling out with his family maybe. Or debts he couldn't pay. What other reason could he have had for coming here, and not wanting to go back?

He didn't answer her question, but posed another one of his own. “Do you wish you'd never sent for me? Or that I was someone different?”