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When I, er, demonstrated my belief, it had to be real." Looking at her, he
still felt a twinge of lurching, lunatic joy, somatic residual from that
adventure-of-the-body. He supposed he always would feel something - male
conditioning, no doubt. "Would you like me to demonstrate it again?" he asked
half-hopefully, then bit his tongue. "No," he answered his own question. "If I
am to be your commander - we have these non-fraternization rules. Mainly to
protect those of lower rank from exploitation, though it can work both -
ahem!" He was digressing dreadfully. He picked up the hypospray, fiddled with
it nervously, and put it back down.
"Anyway, Dr. Canaba has asked me to lie to you again. He wanted me to sneak up
on you with a general anesthetic, so he could biopsy back his sample. He s a
coward, you may have noticed. He s outside now, shaking in his shoes for fear
you ll find out what he intended for you. I think a local zap with a medical
stunner would suffice. I d sure want to be conscious and watching if he were
working on me
, anyway." He flicked the hypospray contemptuously with one finger.
She sat silent, her strange wolfish face - though Miles was getting used to it
- unreadable. "You want me to let him... cut into my leg?" she said at last.
"Yes."
"Then what?"
"Then nothing. That will be the last of Dr. Canaba for you, and Jackson s
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Whole and all the rest of it. That, I promise. Though if you re doubtful of my
promises, I can understand why."
"The last..." she breathed. Her face lowered, then rose, and her shoulders
straightened. "Then let s get it over with." There was no smile to her long
mouth now.
Canaba, as Miles expected, was not happy to be presented with a conscious
subject. Miles truly didn t care how unhappy
Canaba was about it, and after one look at his cold face, Canaba didn t argue.
Canaba took his sample wordlessly, packaged it carefully in the bio-tainer,
and fled with it back to the safety and privacy of his own cabin as soon as he
decently could.
Miles sat with Taura in sickbay till the medical stun wore off enough for her
to walk without stumbling. She sat without speaking for a long time. He
watched her still features, wishing beyond measure he knew how to re-light
those gold eyes.
"When I first saw you," she said softly, "it was like a miracle. Something
magic. Everything I d wished for, longed for. Food.
Water. Heat. Revenge. Escape." She gazed down at her polished claws,
"Friends..." and glanced up at him, "... touching."
"What else do you wish for, Taura?" Miles asked earnestly.
Slowly she replied. "I wish I were normal."
Miles was silent too. "I can t give you what I don t possess myself," he said
at length. The words seemed to lie in inadequate lumps between them. He roused
himself to a better effort. "No. Don t wish that. I have a better idea. Wish
to be yourself. To the hilt. Find out what you re best at, and develop it.
Hopscotch your weaknesses. There isn t time for them. Look at Nicol -"
"So beautiful," sighed Taura.
"Or look at Captain Thorne, and tell me what normal is, and why I should
give a damn for it. Look at me, if you will. Should
I kill myself trying to overcome men twice my weight and reach in unarmed
combat, or should I shift the ground to where their muscle is useless, cause
it never gets close enough to apply its strength? I haven t got time to lose,
and neither have you."
"Do you know how little time?" demanded Taura suddenly.
"Ah..." said Miles cautiously, "do you?"
"I am the last survivor of my creche mates. How could I not know?" Her chin
lifted defiantly.
"Then don t wish to be normal," said Miles passionately, rising to pace.
"You ll only waste your precious time in futile frustration. Wish to be great!
That at least you have a fighting chance for. Great at whatever you are. A
great trooper, a great sergeant. A great quartermaster, for God s sake, if
that s what comes with ease. A great musician like Nicol - only think how
horrible if she were wasting her talents trying to be merely normal." Miles
paused self-consciously in his pep talk, thinking, Easier to preach than
practice....
Taura studied her polished claws, and sighed. "I suppose it s useless for me
to wish to be beautiful, like Sergeant Anderson."
"It is useless for you to try to be beautiful like anyone but yourself," said
Miles. "Be beautiful like Taura, ah, that you can do.
Superbly well." He found himself gripping her hands, and ran one finger across
an iridescent claw, "Though Laureen seems to have grasped the principle, you
might be guided by her taste."
"Admiral," said Taura slowly, not releasing his hands, "are you actually my
commander yet? Sergeant Anderson said something about orientation, and
induction tests, and an oath...."
"Yes, all that will come when we make fleet rendezvous. Till then,
technically, you re our guest."
A certain sparkle was beginning to return to her gold eyes. "Then - till then
- it wouldn t break any Dendarii rules, would it, if you showed me again how
human I am? One more time?" It must be, Miles thought, akin to the same drive
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that used to propel men to climb sheer rock faces without an antigrav belt, or
jump out of ancient aircraft with nothing to stop them going splat but a wad
of silk cloth. He felt the fascination rising in him, the death-defying laugh.
"Slowly?" he said in a strangled voice. "Do it right this time? Have a little
conversation, drink a little wine, play a little music? Without Ryoval s guard
squad lurking overhead, or ice cold rock under my..."
Her eyes were huge and gold and molten. "You did say you liked to practice
what you were great at."
Miles had never realized how susceptible he was to flattery from tall women. A
weakness he must guard against. Sometime.
They retired to his cabin and practiced assiduously till halfway to Escobar.
3
"Whatever happened to the wolf girl?" inquired Illyan after a long, fascinated
silence.
"Ah. She s doing well, I m glad to say. She made sergeant not long ago. My
Dendarii fleet surgeon has her on some meds to slow her metabolism down a bit.
Somewhat experimental."
"Will they increase her life-span, then?"
Miles shrugged. "I wish we knew. Maybe. We re hoping."
"Well." Illyan shifted. "That leaves Dagoola, about which, I might remind you,
the only report I had from you before the other operatives took over was that,
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