Skylark DuQuesne

14. SEEKER SEVANCE OF XYLMNY

PRECISELY On the tick of time DuQuesne stood again in Sennlloy’s room. He glanced at her; then stood flat-footed and simply goggled. He had expected a display, but this was something that had to be seen to be believed — and then but barely. She was literally ablaze with every kind of gem he had ever seen and a dozen kinds completely new to him. Just as she stood, she could have supplied Tiffany and Carrier both for five years.

Yet she did not look barbaric. Blue-eyed, with an incredible cascade of pale blonde hair cut squarely across well below her hips, she looked both regal and virginal.

“Wow!” he exclaimed finally. “The English has-not a word for it, but a sound,” and he executed a long-drawn-out wolf-whistle.

She laughed delightedly. “Oh? I did not hear that on Tellus; but it sounds… appreciative.”

“It is, Milady. Very.” He took her hands and bowed over them. “May I say, Lady Senny, that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?”

“Milady.”

“ ‘Lady.’ I have not told you how much I like those terms, friend Vance. I’m wonderfully pleased that you find me so. You’re magnificently handsome yourself… and you smell nice, too.” She came squarely up to him and sniffed approvingly. “But the… the blade of formality. May I look at it, please?”

She examined it closely, then went on, “Tell me, Vance, how old is your recorded history? Just roughly, in Tellurian years?”

This could be a crucial question, DuQuesne realized; but, since he didn’t know the score yet, he hadn’t better lie too much. “Before I answer that; you’re a biologist, aren’t you, and in the top bracket?”

“Yes. In English it would have to be ‘anthropological biologist’ and yes, I know my specialty very well.”

“Okay. For better or for worse, here it is. Xylmny’s recorded history goes back a little over six thousand Tellurian years.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she breathed. “Perfect! That’s what I read, but I could scarcely believe it. A young race. Mature, but still possessing the fire and the power and the genius that those accursed Llurdi have been breeding out of all us Jelmi for many thousands of years. They want us to produce geniuses for them, but they kill or sterilize all our aggressive, combative, rebellious young men. A few of us women carry all the necessary female genes, but without their male complements, dominant in heredity, we all might exactly as well have none of them.”

“I see… but how about Tammon?”

“He’s sterile, since he was a genius before he became a rebel. And he kept on being a genius; one of the very few exceptions to the rule. But since the Llurdi are insanely logical, one exception to any rule invalidates that rule.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s time to go now.”

Walking slowly along the corridor, DuQuesne said, “ ‘Insanely logical’ is right. I knew that there was a lot more to this than just an experiment, but I had no idea it was to put new and younger blood into an entire race. But with mothers such as you have in mind—”

“Mothers?” She broke in. “You already know, then?”

“Of course. I am sufficiently familiar with your specialty to know what a top-bracket biologist can do and how you intend to do it. With mothers of your class some of our sons may make genius grade, but what’s to keep them alive?”

“We will.” Sennlloy’s voice and mien became of a sudden grim. “This fourth-dimension device that Tammon is going to give you was developed only a few weeks ago, since we left Llurdiax. The Llurdi know nothing whatever of it. When we get back to our own galaxy with it, either the Llurdi will grant us our full freedom or we will kill every Llurdi alive. And being insanely logical, they’ll grant it without a fight: without even an argument, Sancil burn their teeth, wings, and tails!”

DuQuesne did not tell the girl how interested he was in the Llurdi; especially in Llanzlan Klazmon the Fifteenth. Instead, “That makes a weird kind of sense, at that,” he said.

“Tell me more about these Llurdi,” and she told him about them all the rest of the way to the dining hall.

They went through an archway, stepped aside, and looked around. Three or four hundred people were in the hall already, and more were streaming in from all sides.

Some were eating, in couples or in groups of various numbers, at tables of various sizes. Dress varied from nothing at all up to several spectaculars as flamboyant as Sennlloy’s own. Informal, semi-formal, and formal; and the people themselves were alike in only one respect — that of physical perfection. DuQuesne had never seen anything like it and said so; and Sennlloy explained, concluding:

“So, you see, we eight hundred are the very pick of two hundred forty-one planets; which makes this an ideal primary situation. The reason I wanted you to look around carefully is that perhaps I should not be the only Prime Operative.” She paused; it was quite evident that she was not at all in favor of the idea.

“Why not?” DuQuesne wasn’t in favor of it, either; even though he couldn’t begin to understand either her attitude or her behavior. How could any woman possibly be as deeply in love with one man as Sennlloy very evidently was, and yet act as she was acting toward such a complete stranger as himself? It baffled him completely, but he’d still play along — especially since he was suffering no pain at all. “It won’t make any difference in the long run, will it?”

“Of course not. I just thought maybe you would relish diversity,” Senalloy said.

“You can unthink it. I wouldn’t. There’s no tomcat blood in me — and remember what I said?”

“Do you think I don’t? But you’ve seen some really beautiful women now. Much prettier than I am.”

“You know what they call that technique in English? ‘Fishing’,” grinned DuQuesne.

“Prettier or not, Milady, you top them all by a country mile.”

“I know about fishing. I was fishing a little, perhaps.” She laughed happily and hugged his arm against her firm breast. “But it did get you to say it again, and it means ever so much more, now that you’ve seen the competition.”

She steered him to a table for two against a wall, where he seated her meticulously — a gesture that, while evidently new to her, was evidently liked.

“You order,” she said, handing him the helmet. “You invited me, you know.”

“But I don’t know what you like to eat.”

“Oh, I like almost everything, really; and if there should be anything I don’t like I won’t eat it. Okay?”

“Okay,” and DuQuesne proceeded to set the table with fine linen and translucent china and sterling silver and sparkling cut glass.

The first course was a thin, clear soup; which Sennlloy liked. She also liked the crisp lettuce with Roquefort dressing; the medium rare roast beef with mushroom sauce and the asparagus in butter and the baked Idaho potato stuffed with sour cream; and she especially enjoyed the fruits-and-nuts-filled Nesselrode ice cream. She did not, however, like his corrosively strong, black, unsweetened coffee at all. Wrinkling her nose, she sniffed at it, then took a tiny sip, which she let flow back into the cup.

“How can you possibly drink such vile stuff as that?” she demanded, and replaced it with a tall glass of fizzy, viscous concoction that looked like eggnog and reeked of something that was halfway between almond and lemon.

After dinner — DuQuesne wanted to smoke, but since no one else was doing anything of the kind he could and would get along without it as long as he was aboard the Mallidaxian — they milled about with the milling throng. She introduced him right and left and showed him off generally; especially to over a hundred stunning young women, with whom she discussed the “project” in American English with a completely uninhibited frankness that made DuQuesne blush more than once.

After something over an hour of this the crowd broke up; and as the two left the hall Sennlloy said, “Ha! We’re free now, my Vance, to go about our business!”

Arms tightly around each other, savoring each contact and each motion, they walked slowly and in silence to Sennlloy’s room.

Three Mallidaxian days later, DuQuesne took his leave. Of Senalloy last, of course. She put her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his. “Good-by, friend Vance. I have enjoyed our association tremendously. Scarcely ever before has work been such pleasure. So much so that I feel guilty of selfishness.”

“You needn’t, Milady. That was exactly the way I wanted it, remember?”

“I remember with joy; and I have wondered why.”

“Because you are the only one of your class aboard this ship,” DuQuesne said.

“You said that, but still — well, I am the only Allondaxian aboard, which may account for our great compatibility. And there should be, as there has been, something more than the purely physical involved.”

DuQuesne was very glad she had said that; it gave him one last chance to explore.

“Definitely,” he agreed. “Liking, respect, appreciation, admiration — you’re a tremendous lot of woman, Milady Sennlloy. But not love. Naturally.”

“Of course not. I have my love and my work and my planet; you have yours; it would be terrible for either of us or any of ours to be hurt. Our rememberings of each other should be and will be most pleasant. Good-by, friend Vance; may All Powerful Llenderllon guard you and aid you as you Seek.”