Damocles (20 page)

“How do you know that?” Addo asked, using his hard-hitting reporter voice. “I didn’t hear any of that. How do we know that you’re translating accurately?”

“Trust, I guess.” He answered without thinking, putting his finger on the
record
button. “Loul trust Meg. Meg trust Loul.” Meg’s eyes widened at the new word, her fingers ghosting over the screen. The cameras zoomed in even tighter on the image. “Loul talk good/okay. Meg good/okay. This is trust. Trust.”

Meg sped her fingers through a series of commands and then smiled at him. “Meg trust Loul. Yes.”

“Loul trust Meg. Yes.”

Effan Two spoke up. “The Urfers have been nothing but accommodating and open, making every move to bridge the gap between us. It may not seem like it from where you’re sitting, but we have a different perspective, those of us who have been there since the first day they landed.” She smiled a flat smile at Baddo.

Addo diverted the conversation back to the press. “We have a lot of questions to get through today. You there, in the red, what is your question?”

For the next half shift, Loul and the Effans answered whatever questions they could about the Urfers. The Effans did most of the talking, especially once someone raised the topic of the aliens’ strange stasis patterns. He and the scientists occasionally shared loaded glances when it became apparent that the status reports fed to the media were not 100 percent accurate.

For example, the press kept referring to the Urfers’ “research mission” as if it had already been determined as the purpose of their visit. The fact was nobody knew for certain exactly why the Urfers had arrived at all. While all the contact crews felt certain the purpose was benign, nobody knew if the aliens had plans to stay, what those plans might be, or if Didet served only as a stopping point on a longer journey. Olum, the programmer working with their leader, had said they were closing in on linking up the two different computer systems, hopefully unlocking the bewildering array of navigational data the leader had been trying to share. No matter how many different ways Loul tried to ask Meg direct questions about their mission or anything beyond general information of the five visitors, she didn’t or wouldn’t get the gist of the inquiry and answered off the point.

One of the reporters interrupted the Effans while they discussed the Urfer blood clotting. “Are there more Urfers coming?”

Loul leaned forward to try to explain that they hadn’t been able to get that concept across yet when he saw Baddo rise as one, their posture tense. A security guard stepped from the ranks, closer to the reporter. “I believe we have made the answer to that question very clear, sir. Please refer to the data printouts you’ve been given and keep your questions within the necessary guidelines.”

“But how do we know they’re telling the truth about being the only ones?” The reporter saw the security guard approaching but didn’t back down. “Why would they come this far and send only five people? Doesn’t it make more sense that there would be a mother ship or a fleet following them?” The guard grabbed him under the arm and rocked him off his feet. Two other guards stepped in to help but the man kept shouting, even as he was dragged out of the press area. “Don’t believe the hype! Think for yourselves! The Searcher knows the truth!”

A ripple of disbelief and laughter rolled through the crowd. Whatever credibility the reporter might have had among his peers vanished when he revealed he worked with the cult quack The Searcher. Loul sat back quietly, trying to hide the twist of tension in his gut. As usual, Meg found him out, her eyes searching his as he stared out at the screaming man.

“Loul okay? This is okay?”

He looked at her, trying to see her with some detachment. She always tuned in so quickly to what he was feeling, when the mood of the room changed. She communicated so many complex ideas and concepts and picked up on so many questions and explanations he put forth. How was it she couldn’t grasp the question of other Urfers arriving on Didet?

Baddo used the reporter’s removal as a cue to wrap up the press conference. Meg and Cho rose and stood before the table, giving the reporters the opportunity to take close-up photos. Then the security detail moved in, blocking the steps off the platform from the press, allowing the Urfers, the Effans, and Loul to make their way through the barricade zone back to the landing site. He could hear Meg and Cho talking softly to each other, too softly to be picked up by the translation program. They walked together in that loose, limb-mingling way he’d seen them use before, their long arms and fingers brushing up against each other with no apparent intention other than the comfort of contact. Their conversation seemed light and casual, but when Loul stepped in closer, his shoulder brushing Meg’s arm, they both fell silent.

Maybe he was being paranoid but something niggled at him. He kept seeing the impassioned face of The Searcher’s reporter being dragged from the scene, and with that he couldn’t help but think of his friend Po urgently insisting the administration hid the truth from the people. Someone had told the press that it was a fact no more Urfers were coming, something he knew they could not prove because if Meg couldn’t answer the question he had no doubt the rest of the aliens couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“Meg.” He stopped her as they reached the edge of the landing site, Cho and the Effans moving back to their lab layouts. The wind had picked up in their absence and all around the site people were hurrying to tie down tarps and cover tools. A bank of clouds rolled in, filtering the Red Sun to a dusky rose that brought out a pretty pink shine to Meg’s face.

“Loul is not okay?” She tilted her head down at him, a line of skin folding along her usually smooth brow. “Cameras talk. Camera talk not okay. Loul is not okay. Why?”

He stopped her before she could pull the screen from her wrist. He wanted to look at her face, watch her eyes, as they talked. “Camera talk is not okay. The man, the Dideto who…” He gestured throwing something over his shoulder. Meg tapped her knuckles. She knew who he meant. “That camera asked a question Meg won’t answer.”

A powerful gust of wind blew sand and rocks through the air and Meg shut her eyes, twisting her face away from the blast. Loul simply squinted, the sand not bothering him as it seemed to bother her. She wiped dust from the side of her face and blinked back wetness from her eyes as she looked back at him. “Meg talk. Meg answer questions.”

“Yes?” Loul tried to keep his hands from making fists, not wanting to seem threatening but not willing to be evaded again. “Meg talk to Loul. Answer this question. More Urfers?”

She tilted her head, that sign of confusion, but this time Loul had been watching carefully, differently. He noticed the smallest delay in her reaction. She waved her hands behind her toward the crew. “Urfers.”

“No Meg. Meg not answering Loul. More Urfers?” He leaned in closer. “You know the word
more
and you know what I mean. Tell me. Are there more Urfers coming?” When she only stared, he pointed to the sky. “More Urfers coming?”

She followed his finger, looking up into the sky as if she would find the answer there. A fat raindrop splashed onto her forehead and when she looked back down at him she was grinning. She made a breathy sound, not a laugh but more like a sound of wonder as another drop splashed against her cheek. She tilted her head back so far Loul thought her neck might break. Was there no limit to their flexibility? Holding her long arms straight out from her sides, she turned her palms up as if to catch each raindrop as it struck her. She stepped back from him, turning her
body so her arms spun like a strange turbine, laughing as the rain peppered down on her face. All around the work site he saw the other Urfers reacting to the rain, stepping away from their tools and out from under awnings, turning their faces up to the rain, laughing and calling to each other.

The storm moved in quickly, the rain falling in sheets, drops hitting hard enough to rattle the gravel. Soon the site was pocked with puddles. The Dideto crews hurried to the shelters, covering their equipment and huddling together under the awnings, but the Urfers raced into the rain. One by one they peeled the thin fabric off their bodies, tossing the damp garments into heaps around them, their laughter ringing out and disappearing in the bang of the rain on the awnings and cartons.

She’d never been happier to feel raindrops in her entire life. When that first wet splat dripped onto her forehead, she closed her eyes, relief pulsing in her chest. She didn’t want to see Loul’s face, not the way it looked at her at that moment. And the rain? Oh the rain.

The Dideto had been more than generous with water, keeping two enormous vats filled every day for their drinking and washing. But between the rapid evaporation from the never-ending sunlight and the ingrained sense of rationing all deep-space travelers carried with them, none of the Earthers splurged when it came to water. Bathing consisted of sponge baths and dry shampoo; clothes were rinsed in shallow bowls and air dried. Even on the ship, especially on the ship, dry showers were the norm, so when the fat, warm raindrops began to drop, harder and faster by the minute, Meg acted without thinking. She saw the same visceral reaction in her crewmates, a skin hunger for water that had them peeling off their shirts and bending backward to feel the rain on their faces.

Jefferson had the presence of mind to collect their discarded shirts and throw them in the washing bowl, letting the rain fill
it up and soak them. Everyone else wandered blindly, blissfully, opening their mouths to catch the drops until the rain fell hard enough to choke them. Meg saw Cho glance at his kit and she knew he had to be thinking of checking the falling rain for dangerous contaminants or irritants. She also saw the moment the sensation of wetness washed his worry away. He tipped his face up to the storm, his black hair, grown longer and shaggy after all this time in space, turning glossy and sleek as the water ran through it, pouring down the muscles in his back. The hammering of the rain drowned out all other sounds and for several minutes Meg just let herself watch the water move over Cho’s body. Before she could act on her body’s suggestions for follow-up, a thick clot of mud splattered against her bare stomach.

“Sucker!” Prader laughed, covered in mud from her hands to her shoulders, long ribbons of it streaking down the pale skin shining behind her black sports bra and gray pants. She scooped up another handful of mud, but before she could launch it, Wagner slipped in behind her and dumped an armload over her head. She screamed and laughed, sucking in mouthfuls of the runny clay and spitting them back out in every direction. The wind shifted, bringing the rain down in hot, blinding sheets into Meg’s face, and she just barely had time to jump to avoid Jefferson, who had thrown himself chest forward into a long mud stream sluicing through the work site. He arched his back, arms thrown out behind him, laughing as he bodysurfed the little river, mud spraying out in a wake around him.

Cho followed suit, outdoing Jefferson by spinning midslide and somehow managing a backward somersault at the end of the long puddle. He came close to sticking the landing but slipped in the mud and wound up on his butt in the next deep puddle, every inch of him slathered in mud except for a toothy grin. Before she knew it, the five of them were throwing their bodies across
the work site, sometimes surfing on carton panels, sometimes sliding on their butts or their chests, sometimes sliding on each other. The rain poured and poured, flooding the work site, and after checking to be sure the shelters had maintained their waterproofing, the crew lost themselves in the much-missed sensation of water.

Meg couldn’t be sure, but it felt as if at least an hour had passed and still the rain pounded down. Her knees and elbows were bleeding from banging against gravel and she knew she’d have a killer bruise from Prader’s last leap onto her back for a piggyback through the long mud channel. Her sides ached from laughing, and every time she bit down she tasted mud and grit. The light had changed, though, the reddish light from the sun over the sea burning through the thick clouds just enough to tinge the rain orange and pink. Pulling her mostly useless ponytail band from her hair, she ran her fingers through the mud-matted curls, letting the water wash away rocks and sticks, feeling the runny clay drip off her skin and puddle in her soaked shoes.

Prader did the same, her blonde hair slowly coming back into sight as she let the rain shower wash over her. Cho came near to Meg, watching her watch him as the thick mud slid down off his bare shoulders and chest, scrubbing at his hair to loosen the packed-in dirt. Soon the five of them fell quiet once more, moving their hands over their skin to clear it of Dideto soil. All of them were scraped and bruised. Jefferson’s pants were torn at the knee and Wagner looked like he might have sprained his wrist judging by how he held it gingerly. But all of them smiled to each other and to themselves. Slowly the rain let up, the pounding dropping down to a pattering that gave way to a slowing drip from awnings and work sites.