Vonda N. McIntyre - Little Faces

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2024-11-23 0 0 105.73KB 29 页 5.9玖币

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Little Faces

by Vonda N. McIntyre

The blood woke Yalnis. It ran between her thighs, warm and slick, cooling, sticky. She pushed back

from the stain on the silk, bleary with sleep and love, rousing to shock and stabbing pain.

She flung off the covers and scrambled out of bed. She cried out as the web of nerves tore apart. Her

companions shrieked a chaotic chorus.

Zorargul's small form convulsed just below her navel. The raw edges of a throat wound bled in

diminishing gushes. Her body expelled the dying companion, closing off veins and vesicles.

Zorargul was beyond help. She wrapped her hand around the small broken body as it slid free. She sank

to the floor. Blood dripped onto the cushioned surface. The other companions retreated into her,

exposing nothing but sharp white teeth that parted and snapped in defense and warning.

Still in bed, blinking, yawning, Seyyan propped herself on her elbow. She gazed at the puddle of blood.

It soaked in, vanishing gradually from edge to center, drawn away to be separated into its molecules and

stored.

A smear of blood marked Seyyan's skin. Her first companion blinked its small bright golden eyes. It

snapped its sharp teeth, spattering scarlet droplets. It shrieked, licked its bloody lips, cleaned its teeth

with its tongue. The sheet absorbed the blood spray.

Seyyan lay back in the soft tangled nest, elegantly lounging, her luxuriant brown hair spilling its curls

around her bare shoulders and over her delicate perfect breasts. She shone like molten gold in the

starlight. Her other companions pushed their little faces from her belly, rousing themselves and clacking

their teeth, excited and jealous.

"Zorargul," Yalnis whispered. She had never lost a companion. She chose them carefully, and cherished

them, and Zorargul had been her first, the gift of her first lover. She looked up at Seyyan, confused and

horrified, shocked by loss and pain.

"Come back." Seyyan spoke with soft urgency. She stretched out her graceful hand. "Come back to

bed." Her voice intensified. "Come back to me."

Yalnis shrank from her touch. Seyyan followed, sliding over the fading bloodstain in the comfortable nest

of ship silk. Her first companion extruded itself, just below her navel, staring intently at Zorargul's body.

Seyyan stroked Yalnis's shoulder. Yalnis pushed her away with her free hand, leaving bloody fingerprints

on Seyyan's golden skin.

Seyyan grabbed her wrist and held her, moved to face her squarely, touched her beneath her chin and

raised her head to look her in the eyes. Baffled and dizzy, Yalnis blinked away tears. Her remaining

companions pumped molecular messages of distress and anger into her blood.

"Come back to me," Seyyan said again. "We're ready for you."

Her first companion, drawing back into her, pulsed and muttered. Seyyan caught her breath.

"I never asked for this!" Yalnis cried.

Seyyan sat back on her heels, as lithe as a girl, but a million years old.

"I thought you wanted me," she said. "You welcomed me—invited me—took me to your bed—"

Yalnis shook her head, though it was true. "Not for this," she whispered.

"It didn't even fight," Seyyan said, dismissing Zorargul's remains with a quick gesture. "It wasn't worthy of

its place with you."

"Who are you to decide that?"

"I didn't," Seyyan said. "It's the way of companions." She touched the reddening bulge of a son-spot just

below the face of her first companion. "This one will be worthy of you."

Yalnis stared at her, horrified and furious. Seyyan, the legend, had come to her, exotic, alluring, and

exciting. All the amazement and attraction Yalnis felt washed away in Zorargul's blood.

"I don't want it," she said. "I won't accept it."

Seyyan's companion reacted to the refusal, blinking, snarling. For a moment Yalnis feared Seyyan too

would snarl at her, assault her and force a new companion upon her.

Seyyan sat back, frowning in confusion. "But I thought—did you invite me, just to refuse me? Why—?"

"For pleasure," Yalnis said. "For friendship. And maybe for love—maybe you would offer, and I would

accept—"

"How is this different?" Seyyan asked.

Yalnis leaped to her feet in a flare of fury so intense that her vision blurred. Cradling Zorargul's shriveling

body against her with one hand, she pressed the other against the aching bloody wound beneath her

navel.

"Get out of my ship," she said.

The ship, responding to Yalnis's wishes, began to resorb the nest into the floor.

Seyyan rose. "What did you think would happen," she said, anger replacing the confusion in her tone,

"when you announced the launch of a daughter? What do you think everyone is coming for? I was just

lucky enough to be first. Or unfortunate enough." Again, she brushed her long fingertips against the

son-spot. It pulsed, a red glow as hot and sore as infection. It must find a place, soon, or be stillborn.

"And what am I to do with this?"

Yalnis's flush of anger drained away, leaving her pale and shocked.

"I don't care." All the furnishings and softness of the room vanished, absorbed into the pores of Yalnis's

ship, leaving bare walls and floor, and the cold stars above. "You didn't even ask me," Yalnis said softly.

"You led me to believe we understood each other. But you're so young—" Seyyan reached toward her.

Yalnis drew back, and Seyyan let her hand fall with a sigh. "So young. So naïve." She caught up her

purple cloak from the floor and strode past Yalnis. Though the circular chamber left plenty of room, she

brushed past close to Yalnis, touching her at shoulder and hip, bare skin to bare skin. A lock of her hair

swept across Yalnis's belly, stroking low like a living hand, painting a bloody streak.

Seyyan entered the pilus that connected Yalnis's ship with her own craft. As soon as Seyyan crossed the

border, Yalnis's ship disconnected and closed and healed the connection.

Yalnis's ship emitted a few handsful of plasma in an intemperate blast, moving itself to a safer distance.

Seyyan's craft gleamed and glittered against the starfield, growing smaller as Yalnis's ship moved away,

coruscating with a pattern of prismatic color.

Yalnis sank to the floor again, humiliated and grief-stricken. Without her request or thought, her ship

cushioned her from its cold living bones, growing a soft surface beneath her, dimming the light to dusk.

Dusk, not the dawn she had planned.

She gazed down at Zorargul's small body. Its blood pooled in her palm. She drew her other hand from

the seeping wound where Zorargul had lived and cradled the shriveling tendril of the companion's penis.

A deep ache, throbbing regularly into pain, replaced the potential for pleasure as her body knit the

wound of Zorargul's passing. Behind the wound, a sore, soft mass remained.

"Zorargul," she whispered, "you gave me such pleasure."

Of her companions, Zorargul had most closely patterned the lovemaking of its originator. Her pleasure

always mingled with a glow of pride, that Zorar thought enough of her to offer her a companion.

Yalnis wondered where Zorar was, and if she would come to Yalnis's daughter's launching. They had not

communicated since they parted. Zorar anticipated other adventures, and her ship yearned for deep

space. She might be anywhere, one star system away, or a dozen, or setting out to another cluster,

voyaging through vacuum so intense and a region so dark she must conserve every molecule of mass and

every photon of energy, using none to power a message of acceptance, or regret, or goodwill.

Yalnis remained within parallax view of her own birthplace. She had grown up in a dense population of

stars and people. She had taken a dozen lovers in her life, and accepted five companions: Zorargul,

Vasigul, Asilgul, Hayaligul, and Bahadirgul. With five companions, she felt mature enough, wealthy

enough, to launch a daughter with a decent, even lavish, settlement. After that, she could grant her ship's

need—and her own desire—to set out on adventures and explorations.

Zorar, she thought—

She reached for Zorar's memories and reeled into loss and emptiness. The memories ended with

Zorargul's murder. Zorar, much older than Yalnis, had given her the gift of her own long life of journeys

and observations. They brought her the birth of stars and worlds, the energy storm of a boomerang loop

around a black hole, skirting the engulfing doom of its event horizon. They brought her the most

dangerous adventure of all, a descent through the thick atmosphere of a planet to its living surface.

All Yalnis had left were her memories of the memories, dissolving shadows of the gift. All the memories

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