“That is correct.”
“Suits me.” His glance shifted to the expensive fireberyl comb in her hair. “You look like the kind who pays her postage, and I’m always looking for patrons—” He broke off as the rich, dark Renaissance Rose ale was placed in front of them. Taking a long, obviously satisfying swallow, he met Cidra’s steady gaze over the rim of the mug. “What is it you want delivered?”
Cidra cleared her throat. “Myself.”
Severance put down his mug. “You’ll have to try it again. A little more slowly this time. I’m just a Wolf, remember? I’m not intuitive or telepathic. I’m not even wildly good at guessing games.”
“It’s simple enough. Otan Severance.”
“Teague.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He made an impatient movement with his hand. “My birth name is Teague. Severance is my chosen name. Use either one you like, but skip the formality. No one in my line of work uses Otan.”
Cidra nodded with grave politeness. “You’ll have to forgive me, Teague Severance. In my world formality is everything.”
Severance’s mouth twisted wryly. “I know. I’m sure it works just great in Clementia. Out in the real universe it tends to be a waste of time. Why don’t you finish explaining your business before we get sidetracked by a philosophical discussion on the role of the formalities.”
A faint flicker of amusement touched Cidra’s expression. “Are you capable of being sidetracked by such an esoteric discussion?”
“Sidetracked or bored. One of the two.”
“I see.” She drew a breath and went back to business. “As I said, I wish to mail myself.”
He considered her intent face. “To where?”
“Wherever it is you happen to be going. I have no single destination in mind, although Renaissance is high on my list. Postmen are famous for their unorthodox schedules. According to what I have read about your profession, you’ll go almost anywhere in the Stanza Nine system to pick up a package. Nor are you particular about where you deliver your cargo.”
“As long as someone’s willing to pay the postage,” he reminded her. Severance leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. Even the gentle light of the lamp could not soften the hard lines of his face. “But we rarely carry passengers, except in emergencies. And we never take tourists.”
“I know it’s not common practice.”
“Do you know why?”
“I assume it has something to do with the fact that most postmen tend to be loners,” Cidra ventured. “Psychologically speaking, people in your profession are often temperamentally unsuited to close social contact.”
“It has to do with the fact that the ships are small and every spare centimeter has to be used as profitably as possible. Compared to packages and mail, passengers aren’t a paying proposition. For one thing, passengers tend to eat. That means extra food has to be put on board. Passengers tend to sleep. That requires bunk space. Passengers also tend to want to be entertained. That’s a damned nuisance. Pound for pound it’s cheaper, more profitable, and infinitely less wearing to carry the mail. Go buy a ticket on one of the regular freighters if you want to tour the system.”
Patiently Cidra shook her head. “The freighters only go to the main port towns on Renaissance and QED. From there I would have to find transportation to the various outposts. From what I understand that’s an uncertain matter at best. It’s also very expensive. And I don’t have a great deal of credit to spend. I can’t even afford extensive traveling here on Lovelady, let alone the other planets and their moons. Please don’t be deceived by my appearance. Most of what I am wearing is a gift from my parents.”
Severance stared at her. “Excuse me for being a little slow, but I seem to be missing something rather vital here. If you can’t afford commercial travel, how in a renegade’s hell did you expect to pay postage for the scenic route?”
Cidra smiled brilliantly as they reached the heart of her plan. “Actually, I intended to hire on as a member of the crew I want to work my passage, Teague Severance.”
Whatever he would have said in response to that was lost for the moment as the waiter appeared with the heated trays of food. A still-smoking slab of meat was thrust in front of Severance, who eyed the crosshatch grill marks with satisfaction. Cidra studiously avoided looking at the meat as she examined her own plate of vegetables. The waiter hovered anxiously until she glanced up and realized why he was hanging around.
“It’s lovely just what I wanted. Please thank the kitchen staff.”
The waiter beamed and disappeared without waiting to see how Teague Severance felt about the condition of his steak. Severance didn’t mind; he was too busy slicing into the bloody heart of the meat. He was unaware that Cidra was swallowing uncomfortably as she tried to avert her eyes and struggled to control her stomach.
“Just right,” he declared, chewing a chunk with the thoughtful concentration Harmonics reserved for a glass of fine ether wine. “Like I said, lady, you do have your uses. Do you know how hard it is to get a place like this to use the grill instead of the heater?”
Cidra didn’t pay any attention. She was lost in her silent recitation of the chant that by Harmonic custom preceded the evening meal, a ritual that was also helping to take her mind off the bleeding carcass across the table on Teague’s plate. When she was finished, she hunted unobtrusively around the table for the proper vegetable-eating prongs. Failing to find them, she settled for the all-purpose bowled fork that was lying beside a sharp-edged blade near her plate. The sight of the knife gave her a start. The idea of a weapon at the table was unsettling. She was going to have to become familiar with the informal eating habits of Wolves.
“Are you going to finish your ale?” Severance asked.
Cidra glanced at the mug she had left untouched and shook her head. The famous brew didn’t look terribly appealing.
“I’ll finish it for you,” Severance said, reaching across the table to help himself to her mug.
“About my passage on board your ship, Severance, I want to make it clear that I am fully prepared to work. I am not proposing that you take me along as excess baggage.”
“Lady, mail ships are made to be operated by one person. They don’t require any extra crew.”
“But I’ve heard that mail pilots sometimes hire a crewmate,” she protested. “Surely there must be plenty of small tasks required on board.”
He stopped chewing long enough to give her a hard, steady look. “The kind of crew situations you’re talking about are generally called convenience contracts. I tried it once and it was a disaster.”
“Why was that?”
He stifled a muttered oath and went back to sawing on his meat. “Because the woman I contracted with nearly drove me crazy. She and I were at each other’s throats by the time we reached Renaissance. I had to put her off ship at Port Try Again with enough credit to buy a commercial ticket back to Lovelady. I decided after that experience that a little loneliness was probably good for the soul and a hell of a lot cheaper than companionship.”
Cidra smiled gently, “The one thing you would not have to fear is me going for your throat. I was raised in Clementia, remember?”
“Uh-huh. And what’s going to keep me from going for yours?”
Cidra blinked, unsure if he was teasing her. He didn’t look as if he was, but how could she really tell? Whatever sense of humor Severance had, it seemed to be on the savage side. “When I inquired into potential ships’ masters, I was told you were considered a reasonably honest man. Somewhat rough around the edges and basically a loner, as are most mail pilots, but generally honest. Insofar as it is possible for Wolves to trust each other, your acquaintances appear to trust you, Severance. Among Wolves, I understand, that is not a common occurrence.”
Severance drummed his fingers on the table. “Any Wolf dumb enough to completely trust another Wolf deserves what he or she gets. Just the opposite of how things work in Clementia, hmmm?”
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Cidra’s eyes softened. “For obvious reasons.”
“Lady, you don’t know what you’re getting into with this plan of yours. Talk about being a Saint among Wolves!”
“Would you mind terribly calling me by my name? I would prefer it to ‘lady’.” She kept her tone rigidly polite.
“Far be it from me to annoy a near-saint. What was your name? Cidra Something? I didn’t have time to catch it back in that tavern.”
“Cidra Rainforest.”
“Rainforest,” he repeated, tasting the word. “That’s your chosen name?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever seen a rain forest, Cidra?” Severance asked, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “A real rain forest?”
“No. This is my first time away from Clementia.”
“How did you come to choose the word as a name?”
Cidra wanted to point out that they were not here for purposes of casual conversation, but she was too fundamentally polite to say the censuring words. “I read about rain forests on Renaissance when I was fifteen. There were holotapes and slips of them in the Archives. They seemed so beautiful, so rich and full of life. Endless blooms and endless green. I suppose the forests were very much in my mind that year, and fifteen is the age at which Harmonics traditionally choose their names. I understand that among Wolves the age of choice varies.”
“You could say that. The truth is that we sometimes go through two or three names before settling on the right one. Occasionally a Wolf finds it very useful to select a new name quite frequently.” When she just looked at him with a puzzled expression, Severance abandoned the subject. “Never mind. Tell me what made you decide to go planet-hopping.”
“My reasons are personal, Severance.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Is that so?”
She flushed a little at his tone. “In Clementia privacy is greatly respected,” Cidra reminded him.
“Another good reason to abandon your idea of bunking down on a mail boat. There’s very little privacy available on one of those ships.”
“I am prepared to accommodate myself.”
“Oh, yeah? How far?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Those convenience contracts we just talked about? Do you know just what that entails?”
“I assume it implies a sharing of responsibilities and tasks.”
“Sweet Harmony, what an innocent. It means a sharing of bunks, Cidra. Convenience contracts are short-term sexual alliances. Contracted for purposes of sex and companionship. The six-week run to QED can be very long and lonely, Otanna Rainforest. Now do you understand?”
Her face grew very still as she contemplated his words. Then Cidra nodded thoughtfully. She should have realized that something like this was involved in the contractual situations she had heard about. Wolves were said to be prodigiously interested in sex. “Yes, now I understand. Well, I would not be interested in that sort of arrangement.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you would.”
“Is that the only type of contract you would be willing to extend?”
“If you had been listening carefully, you would have heard me say that I’m not even interested in a convenience contract. I told you, I tried it once and it was a disaster. I’ll stick to finding a little special handling in between mail hops. I’m grateful to you for getting this place to serve me a decent steak, Cidra, but I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to do business together.”
Cidra tried to hide her disappointment behind her mask of serene acceptance. “So it would seem. You must allow me to pay for your meal, Otan Severance. It is the least I can do under the circumstances.”
He looked vaguely irritated. “Skip it. You said you were running on short credit, and I just had a fairly decent run from Renaissance. I’ll get the tab.”
“Oh, no, I could not allow you to do that,” she protested, genuinely shocked. “It was I who approached you and took up your valuable time.”
“I was sitting in a tavern about to get drunk. You didn’t waste any of my time. I can always get drunk. I can’t always get my steaks cooked properly.” He picked up his mug and downed another healthy swallow of the potent ale. “So. What are you going to do now? Go back to Clementia?”
Cidra’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Of course not. You are only the first mail pilot I have approached. There are half a dozen more here in Port Valentine at the moment, or so the Port authorities told me. I will work my way through the list. Surely there must he someone interested in a working passenger. And if not, I will wait until other postmen or postwomen arrive. They come and go constantly from what I have been told.”
Severance regarded her coolly. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Cidra.”
Some of her anxiety bubbled to the surface and emerged in a flash of hostility that took Cidra by surprise more than it did her companion. “Still, it is my idea, is it not, Severance? You needn’t concern yourself with it or with me.”
“Isn’t there someone in Clementia who might be concerned with your notions and where they’re liable to take you?”
She put down the all-purpose fork she had been using and sat very straight in the booth. “I am not a child, Severance. I reached the age of maturity four years ago and am fully responsible for my own actions. Just as you are.”
“Far be it from me to give advice to someone reared among Saints,” Severance growled. “Good luck, lady. Just watch out what kind of contract you end up signing. Don’t forget to read the fine print.” He got to his feet. “If you’ve finished eating, I’ll see you back to wherever you’re staying.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It is, unless you want a scene.” He slipped a credit plate into the small slot embedded in the table. When the faint glow confirmed that the meal had been paid for, he removed the plate and reached for Cidra’s arm.
She hadn’t argued, Severance thought later, after having dropped Cidra off at her hotel. But, then, Harmonics rarely argued, except about philosophical or mathematical problems. He remembered how his brother Jeude had always backed away from a disagreement, putting on the same mask of serene contentment he had seen on Cidra’s face that evening. Emotional confrontations with other people were very uncomfortable for Saints, Severance knew. Belatedly he reminded himself that Cidra wasn’t technically a Harmonic.
It was easy to forget. He could understand why others such as the restaurant personnel reacted to her as if she were indeed a full-fledged Saint. There was something very serene and innately dignified about Cidra Rainforest. Perhaps it had to do with the way she wore her long, red-brown hair in that formal coronet of braids. Or it might have been the way the elegant yellow robes flowed around a body that was as slender, graceful, and proud as that of a dancer. The clothing worn by Harmonics was naturally as dignified and graceful as those who wore and designed it. The women’s high-collared gowns, with their long, wide-banded sleeves, fit closely to the waist and then flared in an elegant line from hips to ankles. The fabric was uniformly the fine, beautifully worked crystal moss. Cidra’s gown was no exception. She was not a tall woman, but her robes provided an illusion of height. She was a young woman, probably about eight years younger than himself, but her eyes held more refined intelligence than a man usually saw in a woman that age. Of course, Teague reminded himself, if she’d been raised in Clementia, her education would have been thorough and sophisticated.
Severance grabbed a runner outside Cidra’s hotel to take him to his ship, but his thoughts remained with the woman he had just left.
The essentially gentle quality that usually characterized Saints was a part of her, too, he mused, but in Cidra it came across differently. In true Harmonics Teague had always sensed a distant, controlled, broadly humanistic compassion. In Cidra he had seen something much more immediate, a more vivid and impulsive empathy. Severance remembered the way she had stopped to help the downed brawler in the first tavern and shook his head. It had been a long t
ime since he’d enjoyed any special handling in the arms of a woman. Too long. Chances were that his imagination was interpreting Cidra’s actions in the wrong way. He was probably just hungry for the kind of gentleness a man sometimes needed from a woman. And, for some reason, a part of him had gone ahead and decided that Cidra could give him what he needed.
A picture of her soft, slender body lying under him, her gilded nails clutching his shoulders snapped into Severance’s head before he could stop it. For an instant he knew a sense of self-disgust. Surely he wasn’t one of those perverts who were attracted to the cerebral and remote female Harmonics. Such men were only drawn by the sick need to despoil something they could never understand or accept.
No, Severance reassured himself, his brooding awareness of Cidra was reasonably normal. She was, after all, by her own admission a Wolf in Harmonic clothing. And while he hadn’t been around many Harmonic women, he had met enough to know that they didn’t project any real sense of sexuality. Cidra, on the other hand, had struck him as a very sensual creature, even though her air of serenity partially masked the raw vitality in her. He had the feeling she wasn’t even aware of it herself.
A Saint among Wolves. To a certain extent Cidra would be safe because most people felt a certain instinctive protectiveness toward Harmonics. But there were all too many exceptions to that rule. Severance could think of several offhand, many of whom were fellow mail-run pilots.
At least she’d had the sense to choose a hotel in a reasonably safe section of town. Mankind’s penchant for building cities around ports had changed little during the course of human development; nor had the basic characteristics of those cities changed. There were still good and bad sections, safe and unsafe areas. Cidra Rainforest had been wandering through some of the less desirable streets of Port Valentine when she had found him earlier that evening. Severance tried to ignore the fact that she’d be back on those same streets tomorrow evening, searching for a more helpful postman.