Really, Shimkif had said with all of her boundless self-confidence. How could our Chiss lovebirds resist the humble requests of two newly happily marrieds?
They could resist, all right. They could resist just fine.
Not that Shimkif hadn’t come through on the wedding ceremony. On the contrary, it was probably the finest make-believe, cobbled-together fruit basket of a fraudulent ritual Haplif had ever seen. All fifty Agbui aboard had played a part, from the pilot all the way down to the engine room mechanics, and all of them had joined in with willing enthusiasm.
Even better, no one had snickered or joked or even smiled at the wrong moment, any of which might have broken the spell of reality they were trying to weave around their naïve Chiss guests. When it was over, everyone crowded around to congratulate the happy couple, and Haplif thought he even saw Yomie get a little misty-eyed.
All of which counted for exactly nothing…because when Shimkif talked longingly about the glorious multiple waterfalls on Celwis, and how she’d always wanted to honeymoon amid that kind of awesome spectacle, the implied plea fell on indifferent ears.
Come hell or high winds—come friends, foes, famine, or frostbite—Yomie was going to that monthlong Grand Migration on Shihon. Every single thrice-damned minute of it.
Which must have put her right on the edge of tearing her face off when, as they passed through the Avidich system, the ship’s hyperdrive failed.
Haplif had to knock four times before he finally got a response from inside Yomie’s room. “Who is it?”
“It’s Haplif, Yomie,” Haplif called through the door. “May I speak with you?”
There was another pause. Then the door slid open, to reveal Yomie standing squarely in the opening. “Yes?” she said, her voice and expression almost painfully neutral.
“I have an update on the repairs.” He gestured over her shoulder. “May I come in?”
She studied him a moment. Then, silently, she stepped aside.
“Thank you,” Haplif said. Gingerly, he eased past her, mindful of her resistance to being touched. “The mechanics have finished the repairs and are putting the hyperdrive back together,” he said, giving the room a quick scan. She’d pulled down the foldout table, he saw, and there were several pages of drawings scattered across it. “We should be ready to resume our journey within the next hour or so.”
“Thank you,” Yomie said, her tone still giving no hint as to the current state of her emotions.
“I also wanted to tell you,” Haplif went on, drifting toward the table for a closer look, “that I’ve spoken to the pilot, and she assures me we can make up some of this time. At worst, you’ll only miss the first day of the migration.”
“Again, thank you,” Yomie said, still facing the door.
Not looking at him. Pointedly ignoring him, in fact, insofar as she could with him standing barely a meter away.
“Thank you in turn for your understanding,” Haplif said, grinding his teeth. She could spread politeness over her words all she wanted, but it was pretty clear she believed he’d deliberately engineered this delay in order to spite her.
Which was not only frustrating but also completely unfair, given that that was the last thing he wanted to do. There were pluses and minuses to keeping the two Chiss aboard, as there were pluses and minuses to abandoning them. But simply antagonizing them would be completely counterproductive. “You never told me you were an artist,” he commented.
“What?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her finally turn to face him. “Oh. Those?”
“Yes,” Haplif said. He reached out a hand toward the drawings, decided at the last second that touching them might be seen as an intrusion. “They’re most impressive.”
“They keep me busy,” Yomie said, her voice still neutral.
But Haplif could hear a hint of something else beneath it. These drawings were important to her. Maybe important enough to give him the handle that he needed? “May I look closer?” he asked.
She gestured to the table. “Help yourself.”
Carefully, Haplif picked up the half-finished picture she must have been working on when he interrupted her. It was a landscape, with a plain on the left, mountains rising up from the right, the glittering edge of an ocean in the distance, and three different types of clouds hovering over everything. The main work seemed to be finished, but he could see where she’d left off detailing the edges of the trees and the left edge of the ocean and clouds. “Very professional,” he said. It wasn’t laying the praise on too thick; the pictures really were quite good. “Especially all the detail around the trees and clouds.”
“You like it?” she asked, a bit more animation creeping into her voice. “Look closer.”
Frowning, Haplif held the picture up to his eyes, angling it to fully catch the room’s light. The squiggles that made up the detailing…
He looked sharply at Yomie. “Is that writing?”
“Yes, it is,” she said, an intense look in her eyes, an odd half smile on her lips. “Very good. It’s called a cloud diary.”
“Art and chronicle combined,” Haplif said, feeling a sudden sense of hope. Not just a handle on this girl, but maybe even the window into her soul he and Shimkif had been denied for so long. The writing was necessarily small, but a small lens should make it legible enough—
He twitched as the picture was plucked from his hand. “It’s also personal,” Yomie said. She gathered the scattered pictures together in a neat pile, then placed the unfinished one facedown on top of the stack. “Don’t you need to help get the ship ready to fly?”
“Yes, I do,” Haplif said. “Again, my apologies for the delay. Hopefully, the Grand Migration will be all you hope for.”
“Yes,” Yomie said, her voice back to fully neutral. “I’m sure it will be.”
Shimkif was waiting when Haplif arrived in the main control room. “I have news,” she said.
“So do I,” Haplif said. “Turns out our young snit keeps a journal.”
“How wonderful,” Shimkif said sourly. “I’m sure it’ll be fascinating reading on long winter nights. Jixtus wants to meet.”
Haplif felt his forehead skin crinkle, the journal and its possibilities abruptly forgotten. “Where and when?”
“Where is one of the outer parking areas for the Grand Migration bird-watchers,” Shimkif said. “I’ve got the landing slot number. When is—”
“You told him we were going to the migration?” Haplif demanded, his throat palpitating.
“Of course I told him,” Shimkif said. “He has a lot riding on this operation. Did you think he would just let us wander around without keeping track of us?”
“I’d hoped he would trust us enough to get the job done without constantly looking over our shoulders.”
“You’re welcome to tell him that yourself,” Shimkif offered. “The when is as soon as we arrive.” She gave him a significant look. “It sounded like he was already there.”
Haplif gave a silent inner growl. Jixtus hated waiting on people. “Did you tell him why we’re running late?”
“Oh, relax,” Shimkif chided. “He’s not angry. He knows things like this happen.” She paused, considering. “At least, he’s not angry with me.”
“Thank you so much,” Haplif said sarcastically. “I trust you gave orders to get the hyperdrive ready with all possible speed?”
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m sure he just wants to hear how the operation is going. Oh, and he also wants you to bring along everything you’ve learned about the Chiss. You’d better get started pulling your notes together.”
“Good idea,” Haplif said. Most of that information was already codified, but there were some details and speculations that still needed to be put into written form. “You can handle things here?”
“Certainly,” she said. “Go. And make it fast and good.”
Her own throat palpitated briefly. “A delay due to mechanical failure he can understand. A delay because you didn’t have your report ready to present to him…not so much.”