Starship Summer (Starship Seasons, #1)(31)

I stood by the barrier of the arrival lounge as the bolt lit up the translation pad. Minutes later the travellers drifted out, followed by a couple of stretcher cases.

I held up the softscreen and scanned the travellers as they emerged through the sliding doors.

I spotted a couple of women I thought might be the one, but each passed by with a quick glance at the screen. Then a small, darkskinned woman stepped through the sliding door, and something told me that this had to be her.

She had a slight, knife-edged face and huge brown eyes, and the front of her cheesecloth blouse was slit to reveal a double row of small, black nipples. I wondered to which alien race she belonged.

She saw her name on the screen and stopped in her tracks, staring. Her expression was human enough for me to recognise her surprise.

She approached and halted beyond the barrier.

“You were expecting me?” Her English was perfect, if oddly accented. She seemed none the worse for her Telemass ordeal.

I had a story ready. “I represent a Mr Jones. He has a chalet booked for you in the resort of Magenta Bay.”

Her huge, alien eyes regarded me. “This is most strange. I was not aware that anyone knew of my arrival.”

I shrugged. “I was merely hired to fetch you from the Station,” I said.

She nodded. “As it happens, I was going to Magenta Bay.” Her eyes drilled me. “I might warn you that I am armed, and trained in combat. And you are?”

“David Conway,” I said, extending a hand in what was meant as a friendly gesture. “Welcome to Chalcedony.”

She stared at my hand as if it were a noxious insect that had come between us, and I got the message. Even if she understood the concept of a handshake, she had no desire to carry out the act.

“This way,” I said. “Would you like me to take your bag?”

“I can carry it myself,” she said frostily, and I escorted her from the station to the parking lot.

We completed the drive up the coast to Magenta in almost total silence. After fifteen minutes, unnerved by my passenger’s lack of conversation, I tried to tell her something about the continent, the seasons, and the morning storm that had washed the coast clean and sparkling.

She flashed me a quick, cold smile and said, “Thank you, but I really do need to concentrate.” And so saying she closed her eyes and rested her small, pointed chin on her chest.

I kept quiet for the rest of the journey, glancing at her from time to time. Even if it were not for the strange arrangement of nipples puckering her slim torso, something would have alerted me to the fact of her alienness. While her facial features seemed human at first glance, closer inspection revealed something odd about them, a disproportion between eyes, nose and mouth that was disconcertingly animal-like: large eyes, small nose and small, thin mouth, like some kind of bi-pedal, sentient bush baby. Not for the first time I wondered at the nature of her acquaintance with Matt.

An hour later we crested the rise above Magenta Bay, and the settlement was spread out below us, a sweep of red sand, the scintillant silver bay, and the neat collection of chalets, villas and A-frames arranged along the foreshore.

I showed the alien to the chalet Matt had booked for her.

Again she refused my offer to carry her case, and climbed the steps to the lounge with a quick, sprightly step which again struck me as un-human.

She looked around the room and pronounced, “This will suit my purposes.” She turned to me. “Will you tell your Mr Jones that I will pay for the rental of this dwelling. I will be staying for one night only.”

I nodded. “I’ll do that,” I said.

As I was turning to go, she said, “One other thing, Mr Conway.”

“Yes?”

She was watching me, and I wondered if she possessed some alien propensity for detecting untruths as she said, “Do you by any chance know of the artist, Matthew Sommers?”

“Well… I know of him, certainly. He’s famous, after all.”

“Could you tell me where he lives?”

“To be honest, I’m not too sure…” Even to my ears, the lie sounded far from convincing.

She reached into a shoulder bag and withdrew a long white envelope. She smiled at me as she held out the envelope. “I’m sure you can ask around and find his address, Mr Conway. When you do, would you be kind enough to give this to Matthew?”

I nodded. “I’ll do my best,” I said, and escaped.

I returned to the Mantis and checked the monitors which I had left running on the off chance of a daytime visitation, but I was out of luck. I considered lunch at the Jackeral, but decided first to deliver the alien woman’s letter to Matt.

As I drove around the bay, turning off onto the road along the southern headland, I wondered at something Hawk had mentioned weeks ago: Matt had once told him he had no need for romance in his life. The romantic in me wondered if the alien, Marrissa TallanXanagua, was an old lover—perhaps even the woman who had extinguished the flame of passion in the heart of the ageing artist. I smiled at this flight of fancy and told myself that she was probably no more than an admirer of his work.

I found Matt sitting on his veranda, nursing a cup of coffee and staring out to sea.

I crossed the decking and clapped him on the shoulder, melodramatically.

“What?” he laughed.

“Just checking that you’re the real McCoy,” I said. “Sit down and I’ll get another cup.”