Starship Winter

— FIVE —

That weekend was a period of blissful happiness. A wonderful woman had miraculously fallen into my lap and I was surrounded by true friends; there was nothing to suggest that the halcyon days should not go on forever.

Hannah stayed over at the Mantis with me on the Saturday evening and we slept late on Sunday morning, slumbering in each others arms as the sun slanted in through the dorsal viewscreen. I was constantly on the verge of laughing out loud at my good fortune, and I could tell that Hannah was pretty damned happy too.

I cooked a late breakfast and we ate on the balcony overlooking the beach and watched the world go by.

Around noon we set off for Dortmund’s villa, Ocean Heights, stopping off at Hannah’s apartment in Mackinley so that she could change and pack an overnight bag.

As I drove from the town and into the hills, Hannah curled beside me and said, “I wonder why Dortmund’s throwing the party? It seems out of character. He’s been the personification of cold since we met him, and now he’s invited us to what looks like being a lavish do.”

I smiled at her. Wind whipped at her blonde hair, and her green eyes twinkled at me. “Maybe it’s to do with his ego,” I suggested. “He’s not bothered about us having a good time and enjoying ourselves◦– all the reasons you normally throw a party. He wants to put on a show to prove that he can do it, that he has the money and the wherewithal.”

She tapped my arm with a long finger. “Or maybe you’re too nice a person to divine his true motives?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, he’s invited us so that we’ll all be together when he performs some stunning and malicious party trick, proving himself right and the rest of us wrong…”

“You mean something regarding Matt’s exhibition?”

She shrugged. “It’s only a thought. Considering what I know of Dortmund, and judging by his behaviour so far, I don’t think we’re in for a particularly relaxing stay.”

“Well, we’ll soon find out,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead and wondering if Hannah’s astute psychological insight would be proved correct by the time we made our way home on Monday morning.

Approached from the road, Ocean Heights seemed an even grander abode than when we had seen it from the falls yesterday. It was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, as anachronistic as it was ugly, and patrolled by security guards. A dozen pitched terracotta roofs showed above the surrounding shola trees and fountains played prismatically over immaculately groomed lawns.

A surly-looking brute scanned our retinas with a handheld device, somehow elucidated we were on the guest list, and activated the swing gates. We drove into the grounds and left the car among a phalanx of other, grander vehicles.

Hannah took my hand and said suddenly, “I’m very happy, Mr Conway.”

I smiled. “Me too!”

We strolled along a winding path through a plantation of alien shrubs, artfully designed so that the last bend of the path brought the visitor into sudden view of the villa, blindingly white against sprays of azure herbage.

Guests milled, tended to by circulating waiters with trays. I guessed there were about fifty people on the lawn, the great and the good of the colony and a number of off-worlders, artists and art critics I recognised from Matt’s opening night.

Among the crowd were the Elan: Heanor the Ambassador and the older alien, Fhen. They mingled with the guests, bobbing oddly on the sprung suspension of their bi-jointed legs and making elaborate gestures with their long arms.

Of our host, Darius Dortmund, there was no sign.

The mylar marquee at the far end of the lawn was open on two sides, allowing a through breeze but affording shade from the afternoon sun. Tables had been set up inside, laden with plates and bowls of food; I saw Hawk and Kee standing in the shade, eating.

A passing waiter offered drinks so we took glasses of sparkling white wine and crossed to our friends.

“Any sign of Matt and Maddie?” I asked.

“We’ve just got here ourselves,” Hawk said.

Hannah asked, “Have you heard anything from Matt about the problem at the exhibition?”

“I called Maddie this morning,” Hawk said. “Matt spent the night at the exhibition centre, trying to iron things out. She didn’t say what was wrong, but she did say that she and Matt would be here.”

Kee clapped her hands, beaming at us. “Would you like a tour of the desert garden?” she asked. “Many years ago, when we were young, we’d sneak into the grounds and play among the dry flowers. Many of them are sacred to us. Come, I’ll show you.”

We left the shade of the marquee and crossed the lawn, walking around the villa to the stepped terraces beyond. We climbed a series of crazy, switchback steps and came at last to a small garden enclosed by a waist-high wall.

Bizarre, spiked vegetation proliferated within, vaguely cactus-like but sporting coloured leaves and flamboyant blooms. Not one of them was smaller than Hawk, who is tall, and as we strolled past I noticed that each had its own distinctive scent: not the sweet fragrances of terrestrial blooms, but wholly alien, scents that I found hard to describe, but tried: hot engine oil mixed with cayenne pepper, waxed leather with an overlay of aniseed.

We had the garden to ourselves. Kee gave a running commentary on the plants, pronouncing their alien names and telling us which ones were revered in Ashentay lore for their healing properties.

She stopped before a thin, tall plant. It was blue and looked like a sculpture of twisted metal with a series of barbs which sprouted from its central stem, hooked and cruel like oriental daggers.

“This is the hleth bush,” Kee said in almost a whisper. “Many millennia ago, Kayanth, who was an evil man, was killed by a young man called Hleth. He used one of these spikes to kill Kayanth, and so saved his people from slavery.”

She flicked a barb with a tiny finger, and smiled. “At a certain time of year, the hleth shed these spikes if pressed like this…” She applied pressure to the underside of the metallic-looking barb, forcing it upwards, and suddenly it sprang into the air and fell to the ground. I almost expected to hear it rattle on impact.

Laughing, Kee ducked and retrieved it. She held the dagger to her lips and whispered something, then tucked it into her belt. “It is considered good luck if the spike comes off easily.” She beamed at us. “Now we will all have good fortune in the days ahead!”

Hawk leaned down and kissed the head of his alien lover, and we continued our stroll.

We were passing from the garden, rounding a trumpet-bloomed bush, when we came upon our host.

He was arguing with his alien aide, Fhen. When he saw us he stopped mid-sentence and gave his limited, rictus smile. “Ah, I see you have sampled the strange wonders of the dry garden. And you have been regaling your friends with tales from your history, Kee?” His gaze merely flicked at her before alighting on the hleth barb at her waist. “I trust you will be careful with it, my dear. We wouldn’t want whatever good luck it brought your way to be tempered by the misfortune of an accident, would we?”

Almost inevitably, Dortmund’s eyes alighted on Hannah and he smiled his sickly smile, almost a parody of affection. “And you, my dear, are still wearing your… gemstone, though I see it is now in a different setting.” I glanced at Hannah as she self-consciously fingered the brooch at her breast. It resembled the choker she had worn yesterday, an emerald green stone set in filigreed silver.

“I often think,” he went on cryptically, “that such ornamentation conceals as much as it reveals, don’t you?”

Hannah stared at him. “Meaning?”

Dortmund laughed. “I think you know what I mean, Lieutenant,” he said. He inclined his head to us. “Hawksworth, Conway… Do excuse me. I have a few details to settle with Fhen. I will join the party presently.”

He swept on into the garden, leaving us staring after him.

I looked at Hannah. “What was all that ‘I think you know what I mean’ business?”

Hannah played nervously with her brooch. “I don’t know. He gives me the creeps.” She shivered. “Come on, I need another drink.”

We hurried around the house to the now busy front lawn.

We replenished our glasses and mingled with the other guests, chatting to acquaintances from Mackinley and Magenta Bay. It was the kind of occasion I enjoyed: easy and informal, with the chance to meet people I hadn’t seen for a while and catch up with the trivial events of the colony.

Hannah said at one point, “You know so many people!”

“Well, without wanting to sound big-headed, everyone wanted to know me after the opening of the way.”

She punched my arm playfully.

Hawk observed, “I see Dortmund has deigned to join the party,” indicating the off-worlder with his glass. The tall, white-suited Dortmund was moving from group to group across the lawn, the very epitome of the conscientious host, listening with his head inclined thoughtfully, a tolerant smile on his thin lips. I watched him as he attended to what his guests had to say then rejoined with some witty quip which left them laughing, before he moved on.

As we wandered across the lawn, I heard the comments of those blessed by his wit, “So brilliant. How does he do it? I thought I knew all there was to know about…”

Hawk leaned towards me and whispered, “The man’s a conniving charlatan, David.”

At one end of the lawn, a small orchestra were setting up their instruments; they proceeded to play a selection of modern classics. At the opposite end, closest to the villa, a smaller band played mood jazz. We gravitated towards the latter, refreshed our glasses, sat down and listened.

At one point the Elan Fhen bobbed past and smiled at us. I waved. “Would you care to join us?”

The alien paused comically, as if torn between continuing on his way and being seen as rude, or accepting my offer. The dilemma took a few seconds to resolve. He carved a semi-circle in the air with his long right arm, evidently some extraterrestrial affirmative. Finally he crossed to us and lowered himself onto the grass, an elaborate and lengthy process involving the slow folding of multiple knee joints.

“Very kind of you,” he said, raising his glass of juice towards us.

I said, “How long have you been working for Mr Dortmund, Fhen?”

Fhen considered the question for longer than seemed appropriate, then replied, “I first met Darius Dortmund on Epiphany, three Terran years ago. He hired me as a guide. He requested that we travel to the sacred continent and attempt an audience with the Epiphany Stones.”

“Why did Dortmund want an audience with the stones?” Kee asked.

Again the delay before Fhen spoke, “Knowledge. Darius Dortmund’s motivation in everything he does is solely the acquisition of knowledge.”

“So when Matt announced the exhibition, Dortmund must have been…” I considered whether to say pleased that he would at last be able to commune with the stones, or put out that someone else had managed the coup of bringing the stones to the universe at large.

Fhen explained, “When Mr Dortmund heard about the exhibition and expressed his intention of attending, I contacted him and offered my services as his aide, as I had the confidence of the Ambassador.”

“But why would Dortmund need an aide, Fhen?” Hawk asked.

“It was judged wise that he should be… accompanied,” Fhen said.

I said, “Can you tell us why?”

Fhen hesitated, blinking his massive eyes. “It was the wish of the Ambassador.”

Curiouser and curiouser.

Next to me, Hannah pointed, “Here’s Matt and Maddie…” I followed the direction of her finger and saw the pair step across the lawn, accompanied by the Elan Ambassador, who was in deep discussion with Matt.

Fhen rose slowly, his legs seeming to telescope as he reached his full height. “It has been a pleasure conversing with you,” he said, and moved off.

The Ambassador left Matt and Maddie and stepped into the crowd. Our friends looked around, saw us and hurried over.

They grabbed drinks on the way and collapsed beside us. Maddie said, “I was about to drive down to Mackinley myself and drag him up here.”

“Everything okay with the exhibition?” Hannah wanted to know.

Matt took a sip of wine and wiped his lips. “Well, it’s not as bad as I feared.”

“What happened?” Hawk asked.

Matt shook his head. “Wish I knew. Yesterday a few people complained that the stones seemed to be losing their effect, becoming weaker. We actually closed the exhibition down for a couple of hours and checked everything.”

“And?” Kee said.

“Just over half the stones did seem to be diminished,” Matt said. “It wasn’t a technical fault. The mechanical side of things were working fine.”

“So?” I prompted.

“Apparently this… fading… isn’t uncommon on Epiphany when the stones have undergone what’s called heavy communion. So we’re monitoring things and limiting the opening times.”

I detected, from having known Matt over the years, that he was being economical with the truth, holding something back. I didn’t press him.

“Anyway, I just want to forget the exhibition for a while, sit back and enjoy myself.” He smiled. “Hannah, great to see you again. David treating you well?”

She smiled and took my hand. “We drove to the falls yesterday,” she said, “and David showed me all the sights.” We exchanged a complicit glance.

Kee piped up, “And today I showed everyone around the dry garden, Matt. And look, a hleth spike. I told the story.”

Matt asked to see the murderous barb and examined its spike. “Ouch,” he said, having tested its point on the ball of his thumb.

Kee laughed as she tucked the spike back into her belt. “My people say when you draw blood with the hleth spike, you bring yourself extra-special luck.”

Matt laughed, licking the tiny jewel of blood beading on the end of his thumb. “Let’s hope you’re right, Kee.”

We chatted as the sinuous mood music wound around us and the sun moved slowly through the sky towards the oceanic horizon. At one point waiters circulated with plates of barbecued food, the scent of cooked meats permeating the lawn. We ate, still seated, enjoying the luxury of being waited on at the expense of the off-worlder.

Later, as the sun went down and a relative chill came on with the night breeze, Dortmund threw open the French windows to a comfortable lounge and invited us inside. By now the catering pantechnicons had loaded up and left, and along with them the platoon of waiters and the orchestras. The majority of guests had departed too, leaving only our group, Ambassador Heanor, Fhen and Dortmund to enter the lounge and take the sumptuous armchairs arranged around an imitation log fire.

The off-worlder himself poured whiskies and beers, then sat in an armchair more like a throne with what looked like a quadruple scotch in a cut-glass tumbler.

From something in his demeanour, his air of ostentatious haughtiness, I gained the impression that he was about to hold forth.

I wasn’t wrong.

“I have”, he began, “come a long way since we were students together in Bonn, Matt.”

Matt raised his glass in ironic salute. “About twenty light years, I’d say, Dortmund.”

The off-worlder’s lips stretched, but the movement could not be described as a smile. “Quite. You always did have a rapier wit.”

The Ambassador leaned forward. “A long way, Mr Dortmund? The meaning of the expression eludes me.”

“I mean”, Dortmund said, “that I have achieved more in my lifetime than I◦– and I dare say my acquaintances◦– thought possible. Isn’t that right, Matt?”

Mat pursed his lips, considering his reply. “I would think, Dortmund, that in artistic terms you’ve come about as far as I, at least, expected.”

I could not help but smile to myself, and cast a quick glance at Maddie. She grinned at me. In Matt, Dortmund was picking the wrong victim to bait: the artist might have been laid-back and mild-mannered, but his mind was as sharp as the hleth barb, a lethal combination when allied to his manifest dislike of the off-worlder.

“I was not,” Dortmund continued, “referring to artistic endeavour.” He pursed his lips around a large mouthful of whisky and glanced at each of us in turn. “As far as I’m concerned, artistic achievement is limited to the narrow range of human consciousness, circumscribed by the limited perceptions of the human mind.”

Matt gestured with his glass. “Limited it might be, but it’s all we have with which to make sense of the universe we inhabit. Which isn’t to say that science doesn’t fulfil the same purpose, but both are bound◦– as you say◦– by the limits of our perceptions.”

Dortmund smiled, like an alligator knowing it had snared prey. “And what would you say if I claimed that there are ways and means of transcending paltry human consciousness and attaining some measure of universal knowledge?”

Matt paused, staring at his beer. A fraught tension filled the air. I know that I, for one, feared that Matt had talked himself into a corner. I guessed where Dortmund was leading, and I didn’t like it a bit.

Matt’s reply though, when it came, was brilliant. “I don’t doubt for a minute that you think you have gained some superior powers of perception, Dortmund. But what facilitated that leap of perception did not in any essence originate within you◦– it was through the psionic processes granted you by your government: a machine-enhancement, if you like. Also,” he swept on, “a superior perception you might claim for yourself, but when all is said and done, what is an exalted perception if it doesn’t lead to some result, some breakthrough or insight, either artistic or scientific, which might be communicated to an audience who would thus be enlightened or educated by one’s insights?”

“Very clever, Sommers, very articulate. But your diagnosis pre-empts my eventual breakthrough.”

Matt laughed at this, mocking. “Dortmund, you sound just like your twenty-year-old self, always making great claims never to be substantiated.”

Dortmund finished his scotch in one gulp, reached out with an unsteady hand and poured himself another.

“If I could only have you apprehend what I have experienced”, he said, “and achieved…”

The Ambassador, either wishing to calm the waters, or ignorant of the tension in the air, asked, “And what are those achievements, Mr Dortmund?”

The off-worlder performed his imitation smile again. “For the past ten, twelve years I have travelled the Expansion”, he said, “and even beyond. I have communed with all manner of sentient life; I have striven to understand even the most alien, the most incomprehensible, to understand the effects which brought about their sentience and behaviour, and so gain some empathy with the consciousness of a hundred different extraterrestrial species.”

A silence greeted this megalomaniacal, and somewhat drunken, pronouncement.

I said, “And what would you say that has gained you, other than the gradual disenfranchisement from the understanding and sympathy of… of your fellow human beings?” I think I was a little drunk myself by then, drunk and vindictive, I admit.

Dortmund surprised me by laughing at that. “Well, it has brought about that, I admit, Conway. But it has also brought me many insights and… abilities,” he went on, taking a huge swallow of scotch.

The Ambassador wanted to know, “Abilities?”

Dortmund looked around. At last he pointed, surprising me. His unsteady forefinger indicated Kee, who stared at him wide-eyed.

“Girl! That… that barb, that hleth spike, as you call it. Here!”

Kee looked around like a child accused of cheating by a teacher. “What?”

Dortmund leaned forward, and spoke as if to an idiot. “Take the damned barb from your belt and lay it upon the table!”

Kee looked worried. She glanced across at Hawk, who nodded.

She slipped the barb from her belt and did as instructed. It sat upon the mahogany inlay of the coffee table, its curved length catching the glow of the fire.

We stared at the barb, and then at Dortmund.

“Now, watch!”

He leaned forward, staring intently at the barb. A minute passed, and nothing happened. We looked at each other, mentally shrugging; I wanted to laugh at the sight of the effort on Dortmund’s face, but restrained myself.

Matt broke the silence. “Just what”, he said, “are you trying to do?”

Without taking his eyes from the barb, Dortmund said, “You doubted my abilities. I’ll show you. I learned this from a race of sentient cetaceans on Acrab IV. Telekinesis◦– regarded impossible by human science… but watch!”

We watched. A minute became two, then three. We were getting fidgety when, without warning, the barb twitched slightly.

Matt said stifling a yawn, “Impressive, Dortmund.”

“But look!” Kee said, pointing.

Suddenly the barb flipped, flew through the air at incredible speed and embedded itself in the timber surround of the fireplace with a resounding thunk.

A silence, followed by, “I must admit that’s a very impressive party trick, Dortmund.” Matt concealed a smile behind his glass.

The off-worlder collapsed back into his armchair, glaring out at us. “Christ, how I despise you all!” he spat. “All of you. Sommers◦– with your self-satisfied air of the Expansion-renowned artist, a mere dabbler in the shallow and the trite, and the hangers-on you call your friends. You, Maddie Chamberlain, hiding your insecurities behind a puppy-like love for this charlatan, giving the world the impression of hard-won experience to cover the fear that you’ll be thought of as intellectually lacking, which you are.”

“That’s enough!” Matt said.

But Dortmund swept on, “And Hawk and Kee. What can I say about the most incompatible pair of losers on the planet? The failed pilot who killed his passengers and gained a fake redemption with the fortuitous intervention of the Yall… And Kee◦– you’re contemptible with your dependencies on Hawk the father figure to compensate for the rejection by your own people.”

He barked a laugh and turned his attention to me. Hannah reached out from her armchair, gripping my hand.

“David Conway,” Dortmund said, with a sadistic leer. “In many ways, you’re the saddest of all… Your running away from attempting to save your daughter set the psychological template for everything that followed: your running away from your wife, from Earth, from the responsibilities of relationships… which will inevitably founder on your guilt and a concomitant inability to commit.”

I balled a fist, ready to leap at him, but Hannah restrained me with a look.

Dortmund stared at Hannah, then, and went on, “And last, but not least, we come to Lieutenant Hannah van Harben who, on the face of it, appears so very sweet and innocent, Conway’s perfect lover, who despite whatever you’ve told Conway to lure him in is living a lie, a lie hiding… what? What are you hiding, Lieutenant?”

I stood up. “I’ve had enough of you cheap psychology, Dortmund.”

He turned away, staring without expression at the faux flames of the fireplace.

The Ambassador rose, gestured inexplicably and hurried from the room. Maddie moved to Matt, who hugged her and led her from the room, followed by Hawk and Kee. I took Hannah’s hand, drawing her to me. I kissed her and whispered, “Don’t cry. Come on…”

I led her from the room. Fhen hurried after us. “If you would still like to stay the night, I will show you to your respective bedrooms.”

Hawk said, “I’m too drunk to drive.”

Matt nodded. “Me too. Let’s stay, then get the hell out first thing.”

I nodded, watching them move off, subdued, up the sweeping staircase.

“David…” Hannah said, drawing me towards stairs.

“Give me a minute, Hannah, okay? I’m not going to let the bastard get away with…”

Before she could protest, I slipped back into the lounge, eased the door shut behind me and crossed to Dortmund in his armchair.

He became aware of me after a second and looked up drunkenly. “What do you want, Conway?”

I controlled my anger. I took a breath and said, “I just wanted to say that I hope you’re proud of yourself, Dortmund. That was very clever◦– using your ability to dissect us like that. Very clever, and very indicative of the man you are: egotistical, monomaniacal, and without a soul in the world who cares a damn about you.”

I looked at the barb protruding from the timber of the fireplace, gathering my thoughts. “And some of what you said might contain a grain of truth. But so what? No one is perfect. We live with our strengths, our weaknesses and imperfections◦– and we do our best with what fate has given us. It’s called being human◦– to try your best, and fail, and to go on despite everything… But perhaps you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human, Dortmund.”

I stood over him, willing him to look at me, wanting to see in his gaze an admission that what I had said had penetrated to his heart, if he possessed a heart.

He looked up, his ice-blue eyes unremittingly cold, and his expression mocked every word I had spoken.

Our bedroom overlooked the front lawn.

The balcony doors were open, admitting a slight breeze. Hannah had slipped into bed and turned out the lights; the room was illuminated by the silver light from the Ring of Tharssos.

I stood by the balcony doors, staring out at the parabola of the Ring as it diminished over the sea’s horizon.

“Come to bed,” Hannah said sleepily.

I undressed and slipped under the cool sheets beside her. “Hannah…?” I began.

She pressed a finger to my lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Hold me, David.”

I held her, and she kissed me, and we made love, slowly. I swear it was the most intimate and meaningful of all the times we had made love up to then. I collapsed beside her, exhausted, tracing a finger across her chest and belly and considering my words.

“Hannah?” I said. She was silent, so I said again, “Hannah…”

The even sound of her respiration, the shallow rise and fall of her chest in the ring-light, told me she was sleeping.

I lay awake for a long time, considering Dortmund’s final tirade. I dismissed a lot of what he’d said as no more than vindictiveness: there might have been a kernel of truth in some of his insights, but they were exaggerated out of all recognition.

What he’d said about Hannah, however, made me wonder. It was almost as if he were unable to discern the workings of her mind, for some reason, and therefore accused her of concealment. Then I recalled what he’d said earlier about her gemstone…

I must have fallen asleep eventually, as I awoke some time later with a pressing

need to visit the loo. On the way back from the en suite bathroom, I moved to the open doors and looked out. The far-away straits were silvered with ring-light and the land was black with night; the scene resembled an old-fashioned photographic negative.

I was about to return to bed when I noticed movement down below. I stepped forward and peered. Hawk, fully dressed, crossed the patio and leaned against the stone balustrade, staring across the lawn.

I wondered if he, too, was finding sleep hard in the aftermath of Dortmund’s petty invective.

I stepped inside, locked the doors, returned to bed and eventually slept.

At some point I woke again, disturbed by Hannah as she rolled out of bed. Dawn light filled the room. I dozed in that realm between sleep and wakefulness when lucid dreams take on the fidelity of reality. I saw Hannah waving goodbye, tearfully, as she moved ever further away from me.

I woke up and reached out. The bed was empty.

When she returned, at last, I pulled her to me and hugged her like a needful child.

Later◦– and it must have been an hour or two at least, as full sunlight now exploded into the room◦– we were awoken by an insistent knocking on the door.

I came awake slowly, rolled out of bed and pulled on some clothes.

Maddie and Matt stood side by side in the passageway when I opened the door. They wore the blank, anaesthetised expressions of people in shock.

“What?” I said

“It’s Dortmund,” Maddie said at last.

“Dortmund?”

She nodded. “He’s dead.”