Part 2 (1/2)
Roca smiled. Skyfall captivated her. They left the tarmac and walked through the safety zone around it, out into the plains. Silver-green reeds as high as her hips rippled in every direction, each topped by an iridescent bubble the width of her thumbnail. Leaning over, she touched a bubble. It floated into the air and popped, showering her with glitter. Roca laughed with delight.
”Careful,” the captain growled. ”We don't know what this flora can do to a person.” She looked around, shading her eyes with her hand. ”Where is everyone?”
”Good question.” Roca surveyed the port. It consisted of little more than the tarmac and a round, whitewashed house whose turreted roof resembled a bluebell turned upside down. Sparkling bubbles floated in the air along the path she and the captain had taken through the reeds. The only other motion was a small droid on the tarmac refueling the freighter. Although the Capsize port had notified no one of their travel plans, the captain had been in contact with the computers here. Surelysomeonehuman knew they were coming.
The captain scowled. ”This is bizarre. Even an automated port should have someone in charge. A full-sized robot, for flaming sakes.”
Roca motioned toward the south. ”Look.” About a kilometer away, a cl.u.s.ter of white houses with blue or purple roofs showed above the reeds. The towers of a picturesque castle rose up beyond them, topped by spires, with pennants snapping in the wind.
”It's a village,” she said.
The captain squinted. ”Or the set for some absurd holovid about our 'charming' past, as if it were romantic to have no central heat or garbage removal.”
Roca could see what she meant. Idealists nostalgic for an old-fas.h.i.+oned life might have established the village. However, it could also be the real thing, descended from a colony of the Ruby Empire. Many of the lost colonies had survived the five millennia of dark ages that followed the collapse of the empire.
Now that Roca's people had regained star travel and formed the Imperialate, they were gradually rediscovering the Ruby colonies.
Although Roca recalled no briefings about this world, news of re-discovered colonies usually went through Planetary Development or Domestic Affairs. As the Foreign Affairs Councilor, she dealt with two other interstellar civilizations-the Eubian Concord and the Allied Worlds of Earth-that shared the stars with her people of the Imperialate. However, the line between the Foreign and Domestic offices tended to blur when they were reestablis.h.i.+ng relations with an ancient colony.
”It wouldn't take long to reach the village,” Roca said.
The captain glanced at her. ”You know people there?”
”No, I don't. But I doubt Imperial s.p.a.ce Command would have established a post like this if the natives were hostile.” She waved at the pretty house that const.i.tuted the port. ”This hardly looks like a defense installation.”
The captain crossed her brawny arms. ”Then why didn't anyone meet us, eh?”
”Maybe no one human received your messages.”
The captain glared. ”So the natives cooked them all and had a feast.”
Roca gave a startled laugh. ”I hope not.”
”I'd just as soon be leaving.”
The reminder that she would soon be on her own disquieted Roca. ”You're certain the supply s.h.i.+p sets in here the day after tomorrow?”
”It's supposed to.” The captain shrugged. ”I fulfilled my part of the agreement. You're here. I can't hover around until your next flight comes.”
”What if no s.h.i.+p shows up?”
”Not my problem.”
Looking past her, Roca saw the droid was done refueling the freighter. The other automated functions of the port also seemed to have finished their maintenance. Well, she had agreed to this. She could hardly expect the captain to stay. Trying for a cheerful tone, she said, ”G.o.ds' speed on your trip. I hope you haggle the blazes out of your buyers.”
The captain grinned. ”You can be sure of that.” Her features softened a micron. ”Hope the, uh, marriage thing works out.”
”Thank you.” Roca thought of Darr all those decades ago, and of her son Kurj, who had suffered several broken bones from the beating Darr gave him. She had never married again. Right now the a.s.sembly was pressuring her to wed a prince from one of the n.o.ble lines, the House of Majda. Roca dreaded the union, but its political advantages were too important to ignore.
She said only, ”I'm sure it will.”
”Well, so.” The other woman set off for her freighter, easily pus.h.i.+ng her way through the reeds, then walking solidly across the tarmac. At her s.h.i.+p, she looked back and lifted her hand in farewell.
Roca waved. The freighter took off in a blast of flame and exhaust, and soon disappeared in the great expanse of the sky.
The port house was as charming inside as out. It struck Roca as more like a home than anything else, with a living room, rustic bar, and doors to inner rooms. An emerald-green material paneled the room, neither gla.s.s nor wood, but something in between. She christened it ”gla.s.swood.” Real paintings hung on the walls, rather than holoart, scenes of craggy mountains capped with blue snow.
Roca stood in the center of the room, uncertain what to do. She didn't want to trespa.s.s, but now that the captain had left, she had nowhere else to go except the village. The supply s.h.i.+p was due the day after tomorrow, but she didn't have a good sense of what ”tomorrow” meant here.
She thought about walking to the village, but decided against it for now. She couldn't take chances.
Given her questionable departure from Capsize, it was unlikely Vammond had notified the supply s.h.i.+p about her. If Roca wasn't here when it arrived, its pilot would have no reason to wait. Even if he expected her, she doubted he would tarry; other settlements depended on him to deliver their supplies in a timely manner.
Restless, she wandered about the room. She had just decided to go outside again when the front door opened, the old-fas.h.i.+oned way, swinging on hinges rather than s.h.i.+mmering away in a molecular airlock. A man stood framed in the doorway. He was about her height, husky, with curly black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes. Oil stained his wrinkled coverall. He froze in the process of taking off a heavy glove, staring at her in open astonishment.
”My greetings,” Roca said, self-conscious. ”I hope you don't mind my coming in. I couldn't find anyone when the s.h.i.+p landed.”
The man continued to stare at her.
”The freighter,” Roca added. ”I'm afraid I don't know its name.” She heard how strange that sounded.
The fellow blinked, then finished pulling off his glove. His mood leaked through to Roca despite her mental s.h.i.+elds: surprise, puzzlement, uncertainty, and pleasure at having company. The friendly quality of his mind appealed to her.
”Goodsir?” Roca asked. ”Is everything all right?”
”I'm sorry.” He answered in an unexpected language. ”I can't understand you. Do you speak English?”
It took her a moment to reorient. He was using a language from Earth, of all places. She had a.s.sumed her people settled this planet; it never occurred to her that the Allied Worlds of Earth might have found it first. The supply s.h.i.+p was Skolian, but it wasn't unusual for s.h.i.+ps of both civilizations to service isolated settlements off the main travel routes. Although Skolians rarely spoke English, Roca had some familiarity with it, given her position as Foreign Affairs Councilor. It was among the languages she had chosen for the node in her spine.
”My English not so good,” she said, ”but I do some.” As she heard more of it, her node would update her speaking ability. Having such an aid helped her learn languages fast, an invaluable a.s.set to her job.
The man smiled, an expression of warmth and good nature. He spoke slowly, making it easier for her to follow. ”I had no idea the supply s.h.i.+p was due in today. I thought it was two more days.”
”It is.” Roca smoothed her hands on her jumpsuit. ”I am pa.s.senger on it, I hope.”
”Ah.” He closed the door and came over to her. ”My name is Brad Tompkins.” Extending his ungloved hand, he added, ”Welcome to Dalvador Port.”
Roca hesitated, trying to remember the custom his people had with hands. Her node came up with the answer; he was offering her a greeting in a manner that showed respect between two parties. She took his hand and moved his arm up and down. Apparently the gesture had the desired effect; by the time they released their grip, his tension had eased.
If she interpreted his responses correctly, the appropriate behavior now would be to give her name. She picked the names of two friends, a wife and husband she very much admired. ”I am Jeri Christian.”
”h.e.l.lo, Jeri.” He motioned awkwardly at his coverall. ”My apologies for my clothes. I've been working on the flyer. It came down outside of Dalvador yesterday. Bad circuit, I think.” He pulled off his other glove. ”Or maybe I need to replace the conductor plugs.”
His English had an accent compared to the ”British English” Roca had learned, but the words were similar enough that she could follow most of what he said. Her node identified his dialect as ”Californian,”
which wasn't a country on Earth she recognized.
”The port has damaged aircraft?” she asked.