Starship Winter

— THREE —

The following evening I met Hannah at a seafront bar. We had a couple of drinks then moved on to the restaurant. She was wearing a short yellow dress, her only adornment a black velvet choker set with a green oval stone which matched her eyes. As she walked into the bar, my breath caught at the sight of her. I wanted to say how wonderful she looked, but stopped myself from such crassness.

“It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you a drink?”

We kissed cheeks and she said, “I could really kill a beer, David,” and her accent sent a thrill through me.

We slipped into easy conversation from the outset, and my nervousness diminished. We talked and laughed, and I told myself that this was meant to be.

We dined outside by the old harbour, swapping our stories as the light show of the spindizzy mating ritual raged above the straits. The restaurant specialised in local Chalcedony food, and we ordered grilled jackeral and a red salad, my favourite, accompanied by a local rosé.

The most amazing thing about the evening was how easily the conversation flowed. There was never a second when I felt awkward or self-conscious. We made each other laugh with stories of our past, her childhood in rural Holland and mine in British Columbia.

Hannah had been married, briefly, in her early thirties, to a fellow police officer. All she said was that the marriage had been a big mistake, and had ended without recriminations a year later.

I told her about my failed marriage to a gallery owner, about the accident that claimed my daughter, and how the marriage had never recovered from the grief of our mutual loss.

“And that’s when you came to Chalcedony,” Hannah said.

“And met Matt and Maddie, Hawk and Kee.”

“They’re nice people, David. They made me feel so comfortable last night, as if I were one of the crowd.”

I smiled. “They’re like that. They’re… I know this’ll sound corny, but I consider them family.” I took a long swallow of wine, beaming at my companion. “Anyway, that’s enough of me◦– what brought you here?”

She shrugged. “I suppose I became sick of work on Earth. I was stationed in Rotterdam, with the Homicide Division. I was with the force almost twenty-five years and I was becoming jaded. Desensitised. The murders became… routine. I decided I had to get out.”

I did a quick calculation. “Twenty-five years? So you joined the police straight from school?”

She laughed, covering her mouth with a small hand. “David! You’re trying to flatter me! I joined in my mid-twenties.”

I stared at her. “You’re fifty?”

“Next year.”

“Christ… I mean, I had you down as not a day over forty. I was worried that our age difference…” I stopped, flustered.

She reached out and touched my hand. “David, it wouldn’t matter if you were eighty. Honestly.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m not quite that old. Just eight years your senior.”

“A mere youngster,” she smiled. “Hey, look, we’ve almost finished the bottle. How about another half?”

I agreed to that excellent proposal, and when it arrived I poured two glasses. “So why Chalcedony particularly?”

She shrugged, and I found that slight hitch of her slim shoulders◦– like every other gesture she made◦– enchanting. “I was looking for somewhere quiet. I’d never been off-world, and I thought I should experience it before I grew too old. Then I saw a posting advertised here in Mackinley. It sounded great: not too onerous, but with a little responsibility. So I applied, was accepted, then read up on the planet. I’d heard about the golden column, of course, but I never realised that one day I’d be dining with… what did that book call you?”

I held up a hand. “Please, don’t embarrass me!”

“The Opener of the Way.” She tipped her head, looking at me. “How does that make you feel, David?”

I often looked back on the accidental chain of events that led to Hawk flying the Mantis into the golden column◦– and finding that the alien bolt of light was a gateway between two points in space. The discovery opened up the spaceways again, revolutionised star travel, and made Telemass transportation a second-rate means of travelling the Expansion.

I smiled. “I’m a very ordinary person who was caught up in a very extraordinary chain of events. I’m thankful more for having met my friends back then, though of course it was all bound up together.” I shrugged. “I think I’m the most fortunate person on the planet.”

She looked at me over her glass. “And there’s never been anyone since your wife?”

I told her that I’d had a brief fling a couple of years ago , and she nodded to herself and allowed me to change the subject.

“I hope this doesn’t sound sexist, but you’re not what I would imagine a police lieutenant to be.”

She smiled. “I know what you mean. How could I fight my way out of a tricky situation with my build?” She tipped her head. “Well, I’m trained for things like that, of course. But the reality is that police work these days is all about up here,” she tapped her temple. “It’s about working out motives, assessing psychological states, making lateral cognitive leaps.”

“I think you displayed that last night when you argued with Dortmund,” I said. “I was impressed.”

“Him?” She blew, dismissing the off-worlder. “Dortmund is an egotist with megalomaniacal traits. Let’s not talk about him.”

We finished the wine and I suggested we make our way to the exhibition.

Hannah laughed. “I’ve been anticipating this all day! Let’s go.”

We left the restaurant and made the short walk along the seafront to the exhibition centre.

Word had evidently got out that Matt Sommers’ latest show was something special. There was a long queue outside the entrance and officials were allowing entry to only six individuals at a time. We had to wait for about fifteen minutes before being allowed inside, but the wait only increased our anticipation.

We stepped into the chamber◦– illuminated by the central ruby light casting radial lances at the fifty stones◦– like children entering Santa’s grotto. I was delighted when Hannah took my hand and led me across to a plinth we had not experienced yesterday: I had feared she might want to enjoy the stones alone.

The first stone bathed us in tangerine light and communicated something which Hannah later described as “an alien Gaia experience”. We were one with the planet of Epiphany, escorted through a series of natural wonders◦– mountains and waterfalls and rift valleys◦– by a pair of venerable Elan. For a long time we ceased to be ourselves, all thoughts of life on Chalcedony banished, as we absorbed the unspoilt natural beauty of the alien world.

We tottered from the stone when the light dimmed, a little drunk with the experience. Hannah looked at her watch. “My God, David. We were in there an hour!”

I shook my head. “I’d’ve guessed fifteen minutes…”

Hannah stiffened. She was still holding my hand and I felt her whole body tense. “What…?” I began.

Then I saw what she was looking at, or rather who.

Darius Dortmund had stepped from a plinth across the dome, and was approaching a neighbouring stone. He was accompanied by an Elan. At first I thought the alien was Heanor, the Ambassador. But this one was smaller, and he seemed older, stooped, with threadbare patches on his shoulders and back.

“Who’s his friend?” I wondered aloud.

Hannah shook her head, watching the pair as they stepped up to a plinth and were instantly surrounded and concealed in a nimbus of emerald light.

“Come on,” I said, leading her towards the next plinth.

“David, look…” I followed her gaze. Dortmund was stepping away from the plinth he’d approached perhaps fifteen seconds ago, the alien at his side. Without pause they moved onto the next stone and were absorbed in a ball of citrus light.

We stood and watched and twenty seconds later the pair emerged, only to hurry on to the next plinth.

“Strange…” Hannah said, more to herself than to me.

I shrugged. “Maybe that’s all the time he needs to appreciate what the stones offer.”

Hannah pulled a pretty frown. “That’s not what’s strange, David. What’s odd is why, considering his disparagement of the exhibition, he should want to experience it at all?”

“Well, maybe he’s not only a megalomaniac but a hypocrite as well.”

We moved to a vacant plinth and stepped into a glow of brilliant white light.

For a timeless period we were bombarded by the emotion of love◦– alien love◦– which we found was very much like the terrestrial version. Two young Elan approached us, stared into our eyes, and communicated something of their feelings for each other; I was transported back to my youth, my first love, then to later life and my infatuation with my wife, and then Carlotta… I felt what the aliens felt for each other and drew appropriate correspondences from my own experience. I was overwhelmed, swept away with the heady, drugged euphoria of true love, and my senses were still reeling as we staggered from the plinth clutching each other.

“David,” Hannah whispered, “let’s not do any more. I need a drink. A strong one.”

We left the dome and crossed to the bar overlooking the water.

I returned with drinks from the bar. Hannah was fanning herself. “Whew… that was quite something.”

I gazed at her like a lovesick schoolboy. I could only nod.

I took her hand and gazed out to sea. What I felt for Hannah surprised me, considering the short time we had spent together. I knew what I’d felt for her before tonight’s exhibition, but the experience of the last stone had done something to accelerate and emphasise those feelings. I counselled caution. I told myself to take it easy; I did not want to suffer the grief that accompanied my last foray into romance… Which was ridiculous, of course, as there was no way my head could dictate to the desires of my heart.

I gathered from Hannah’s silence, as we drank and stared at the sequinned play of the waves below, that she was similarly affected.

We looked at each other. At the same time we spoke each other’s names, then laughed. I said, “I’m sorry. It’s just… that was quite something back there. It’s odd, I feel as if I’ve known you for months, years…”

She beamed with relief. “Thank God, David. Oh, I thought you were going to say you thought it was going too fast, that we need time to think about things.” She stopped. “Oh, shit!” she hissed the last word with venom, and I followed the direction of her gaze.

Dortmund and his alien friend were crossing the patio towards us. The off-worlder was clutching his customary scotch, the alien a tumbler of juice. The pair paused before us and Dortmund nodded coldly.

“Allow me to introduce Fhen,” he said. “Fhen, this is Lieutenant van Harben of the Mackinley police. And David Conway, the Opener of the Way…” He said this with something approaching a sneer.

The alien dipped on his bi-jointed legs. “I am pleased to meet you both. I have heard of you, David Conway.”

I was looking at Dortmund. He was staring at Hannah and his eyes never left her face.

“Fhen is my… my aide,” said Dortmund. “My guide to all things Elan.”

The alien said, “We met when Mr Dortmund was on Epiphany three years ago.”

“I went with the intention of experiencing the Epiphany Stones in their natural environment, untainted by…” Dortmund’s long fingers flicked a dismissive gesture over his shoulder towards the dome, “by such meretricious human… interference.”

“And what did you think?” I said.

The off-worlder shook his head. He was gazing out to sea now, perhaps aware that his attention to Hannah had been excessive. “To my great annoyance, I was not allowed access to the hallowed chambers.”

Hannah said, “Hence your interest now? I thought it odd that you should show so much enthusiasm tonight, when last night you were so dismissive.”

His gaze locked onto her again. “My criticism of a so-called work of art does not preclude my detailed study of it, Lieutenant.”

Fhen said, “Matt Sommers has created something which humans might experience, though it cannot be said to rival the effect of the stones in their natural setting.”

“The very fact that humans are human”, Dortmund said, “precludes their full understanding…”

I was about to say something along the lines that surely his understanding, being only human after all, would likewise be diminished, but Dortmund swept on, “Anyway, I am not here to discuss the pros and cons of the installation. For the period of my stay in Mackinley I have rented a villa in the hills overlooking the straits. I’m holding a little soirée there in a few days◦– details yet to be arranged◦– and I hope that you might attend. I promise”, he went on, “not to discuss the installation.”

Hannah did not flinch under his unwavering regard. She nodded. “That would be pleasant,” she said. “Wouldn’t it, David?”

I raised my glass in agreement.

Dortmund gave one of his rictus smiles, devoid of all sentiment. “Excellent. Fhen will be in touch with the details. Now,” he said, “come, Fhen…” He nodded to me, inclined his head at Hannah, then turned on his heel and entered the dome, the Elan trotting faithfully after him.

Hannah watched him go, looking puzzled.

“Why the hell does he stare at you like that?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I wish I knew. I’d like to think it was just because he was an arrogant, overbearing man, but I don’t know…”

We had one more drink, then left the exhibition centre and caught a cab. Outside her apartment in central Mackinley Hannah turned to me and said, “It’s been a wonderful night, David. Thank you so much.”

I reached out and took her hand. “Look… I hope you don’t mind. I mean, if you’re not doing anything this weekend, would you like to come up to Magenta? See the Mantis? I’ll give you a guided tour.”

Her smile expanded as I spoke and her eyes glowed. She said, almost before I’d finished, “Of course I would, David. That’d be great.” She leaned forward, kissed my cheek, then slipped from the cab and hurried up the steps to her apartment.

I sank back into the seat as the cab carried me up the coast, smiling to myself all the way.