father . . .But Val Con, unlike one loobelli of a civilian she had slept with, did not ask where they were from, but just patiently and thoroughly sought each one out to kiss and caress until she had gotten a little intense, herself.
Now she snuggled even closer to his side, the steady beat of his heart filling her ears. He had even found the scars on her feet, from when she had kicked the grille out of the door and tried to walk away from the rehab center, her light house slippers hanging in bloody rags. She would have made it, too, except Liz had found her and made her swear to finish the therapy.
No sense, of course, she thought. Went to all that trouble to make sure Klamath didn't get me and almost let Cloud have me for nothing.
She stirred sharply, completely awake and almost breathless, as if she had suddenly found herself standing at the very edge of a sheer drop. Cloud. She had jammed so much of the stuff into her system by the time Liz had dragged her to rehab, she had barely remembered her own name.
And what if he asks you where you got them scars? she demanded of herself. You gonna tell him the truth, Robertson? Huh? Rich kid from Liad, hobnobs with the best people? Think he's gonna stand by words he said to some snip from Surebleak who was so addicted to Cloud it's a wonder she ever came away whole? Think it's gonna matter to him how long you been clean?
"Cha'trez?" His arms tightened, and he craned to see her, green eyes hazy and half asleep. "Is something wrong?"
She started, then reached up, touched his lips, and brushed her fingertips over the scar, aching at the beauty of him.
"You're on my hair," she said.
Miri woke alone, her head pillowed on Val Con's folded vest. She sighed, stretched deliberately, and was wide awake by the time the stretch was done. From the bridge she heard the radio's unceasing blather; she sighed again, rolled to her feet, and hurriedly pulled on her clothes before heading that way, his vest swinging in her hand.
Val Con stood, deep in thought. The bottle-shaped continent from the planet below had taken on three dimensions, overrunning the bridge: the neck of the bottle started in the companionway, and its bottom ran into the pilot's chair.
Miri shook her head in wonderment and leaned against the doorjamb to watch.
Duct tape from the repair box was rumpled into mountain ranges running north and south, gaps precisely cut out to allow river systems their courses. Spare instrument lamps dotted the map, some singly, others clustered. There were several pipe pieces in the map, each with a number written on the floor next to it.
Marking pens had also been used with art. The rivers had boundaries of blue, while some areas were enclosed by curly green lines and others simply outlined in brown. Three paper spaceships sat next to the three largest lamp-clusters; Val Con held another in his left hand. In his right was a ragged block of metal the Yxtrang had torn from somewhere.
Miri gazed at the arrangement thoughtfully. "If you bring your transport down 'round the oceanside of the blue lamps, you can take out the red ones before they know what hit 'em, then use their supplies to take the ship. Blue's gonna have to get involved to protect themselves, so you sit tight and let 'em bang their heads against your position for a bit, then mop up and go on a tiger hunt for green . . ."
He looked up, grinning and bright-eyed. "Are we invading, then, Sergeant?"
"Sure looks like a situation map to me, Commander."
Val Con stepped out of his construction, gently placing the fourth paper spaceship near one edge of the continent before moving to her. He kept the chink of metal in his hand.
"I don't doubt your invasion would work," he said, "but I am not a general, alas, and would hesitate to direct it."
"Don't blame you. Invasions are messy. Course, garrison duty's boring."
"And limited by supplies."
"Like us." She nodded at the map. "What's with the world
Now she snuggled even closer to his side, the steady beat of his heart filling her ears. He had even found the scars on her feet, from when she had kicked the grille out of the door and tried to walk away from the rehab center, her light house slippers hanging in bloody rags. She would have made it, too, except Liz had found her and made her swear to finish the therapy.
No sense, of course, she thought. Went to all that trouble to make sure Klamath didn't get me and almost let Cloud have me for nothing.
She stirred sharply, completely awake and almost breathless, as if she had suddenly found herself standing at the very edge of a sheer drop. Cloud. She had jammed so much of the stuff into her system by the time Liz had dragged her to rehab, she had barely remembered her own name.
And what if he asks you where you got them scars? she demanded of herself. You gonna tell him the truth, Robertson? Huh? Rich kid from Liad, hobnobs with the best people? Think he's gonna stand by words he said to some snip from Surebleak who was so addicted to Cloud it's a wonder she ever came away whole? Think it's gonna matter to him how long you been clean?
"Cha'trez?" His arms tightened, and he craned to see her, green eyes hazy and half asleep. "Is something wrong?"
She started, then reached up, touched his lips, and brushed her fingertips over the scar, aching at the beauty of him.
"You're on my hair," she said.
Miri woke alone, her head pillowed on Val Con's folded vest. She sighed, stretched deliberately, and was wide awake by the time the stretch was done. From the bridge she heard the radio's unceasing blather; she sighed again, rolled to her feet, and hurriedly pulled on her clothes before heading that way, his vest swinging in her hand.
Val Con stood, deep in thought. The bottle-shaped continent from the planet below had taken on three dimensions, overrunning the bridge: the neck of the bottle started in the companionway, and its bottom ran into the pilot's chair.
Miri shook her head in wonderment and leaned against the doorjamb to watch.
Duct tape from the repair box was rumpled into mountain ranges running north and south, gaps precisely cut out to allow river systems their courses. Spare instrument lamps dotted the map, some singly, others clustered. There were several pipe pieces in the map, each with a number written on the floor next to it.
Marking pens had also been used with art. The rivers had boundaries of blue, while some areas were enclosed by curly green lines and others simply outlined in brown. Three paper spaceships sat next to the three largest lamp-clusters; Val Con held another in his left hand. In his right was a ragged block of metal the Yxtrang had torn from somewhere.
Miri gazed at the arrangement thoughtfully. "If you bring your transport down 'round the oceanside of the blue lamps, you can take out the red ones before they know what hit 'em, then use their supplies to take the ship. Blue's gonna have to get involved to protect themselves, so you sit tight and let 'em bang their heads against your position for a bit, then mop up and go on a tiger hunt for green . . ."
He looked up, grinning and bright-eyed. "Are we invading, then, Sergeant?"
"Sure looks like a situation map to me, Commander."
Val Con stepped out of his construction, gently placing the fourth paper spaceship near one edge of the continent before moving to her. He kept the chink of metal in his hand.
"I don't doubt your invasion would work," he said, "but I am not a general, alas, and would hesitate to direct it."
"Don't blame you. Invasions are messy. Course, garrison duty's boring."
"And limited by supplies."
"Like us." She nodded at the map. "What's with the world
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