“Oh.” He’d hoped she’d forgotten. “Uhm . . . you’re not going to find this easy to believe . . . but the whole thing back at the city? I thought it was a put-on.”
“Put-on?” She shook her head, not understanding.
“I thought . . .” He sighed. “I was visiting with a friend . . . and I’d been complaining that there was no adventure to be had on Earth. That it couldn’t possibly compare to the kinds of excitement that we encountered in space exploration. And what with the timing of all of this . . . and the outrageousness, the mysteriousness of it all . . . I was convinced he’d set it up. Demora is filled with people who are employees, or freelancers who are willing to be hired to perform some sort of bizarre adventure play. They were the evil villains, you were the mystery woman with the vague and exotic background. That’s what I thought was going on here. Up until . . .” He paused and looked down again at the stain on his jacket that represented some of the remains of Kelles. “Well . . . I know better now.”
“So when you went after Taine and the others that first time . . . you thought they were actors.”
He paused, remembering. “Not when I first approached them, no. I thought they were following you to try and hurt you. It was only later, as matters escalated, that I thought it was faked.”
“So you tried to help me initially believing that I was in trouble . . . and eventually, upon discovering your error, you then leaped to the rescue in a shuttle, engaged in a daring high-speed chase across the desert, battled hand to hand with a man who was trying to kill you, then hurled us to safety with a makeshift sled . . . and now you’re concerned I’ll laugh at you.”
Sulu stared at her. “Well . . . I wouldn’t have put it quite that way but, essentially . . . yes, that’s right.”
And to his utter astonishment she leaned over and kissed him full on the lips. It was brief, sweet, and refreshing, like a summer shower that comes from nowhere, vanishes to the same place, and leaves you feeling invigorated.
She looked at him and he would have sworn that the twinkling stars from overhead were reflected in her eyes.
“You are so cute,” she told him. Then she patted him on the knee. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“By all means,” he said, and pulled his boots back on.
She took his hand as they started up the next erg. They made it to the top, slid down the other side, and continued walking, His fingers interlaced with hers as they kept moving, slowly but steadily.
Neither of them complained, both remaining stoic about the situation. But as hour piled upon hour, their progress was nowhere near as rapid as either of them would have liked, and the lack of water was starting to get to them. Plus unspoken was the simple fact that time was against them. Sooner or later, the sun would rise. No one was more aware of that than Sulu. As the sun rose the heat would begin to rise as well, the temperature driven upward, going as high as 110 degrees Fahrenheit. It was incumbent upon them to get as far as they possibly could during the night, but it wasn’t as if they’d already had the most restful of days.
As they scaled and then slid down dunes, no discussion passed between them. During the plateaus, however, they would talk. Sulu discussed his youth in San Francisco, and his Starfleet career, which began in physics but then switched to navigation and helm. His family, his friends.
And Ling, for her part, listened. She didn’t volunteer much in the way of her own personal history, and when he pressed her she smiled and demurred. “Oh, come now, Sulu. Don’t you remember? The mystery woman. What good would be served by knowing too much about the mystery woman.”
“But you’re not really.”
“Oh, but I am. At least, I am now. I rather like it, I must admit.” She smiled. “Understand, I don’t think of myself that way. I’m just a hard worker, with a background that would sound rather mundane if I went into it. But being a ‘mystery woman,‣ well . . . that’s an honor. Even a responsibility.”
“How is it a . . .” He stopped and pointed. “Look.”
She followed where he was pointing, certain that they couldn’t possibly be within view of the city. The shuttle had taken them too far, too fast. They couldn’t have covered the distance that quickly. . . .
Then she saw it.
“An oasis,” she said.
“At first I thought it might be a mirage.”
“Not at night. Come on.”
There were some ninety large oases throughout the Sahara, and many smaller ones. This was definitely one of the smaller ones, too small to support any sort of large settlement. But the vegetation, while not copious, was still lush, and the water was flowing from an underground spring. They drank of it greedily, for although they were nowhere near as dehydrated as they would have been had it been daytime, their thirst was nevertheless a very real thing.
Sulu let the water run over his parched lips, splashing it in his face, closing his eyes and letting it run over his head. He wavered slightly and realized that closing his eyes wasn’t the best of ideas; he was that fatigued. He forced them open and looked at Ling Sui.
She had removed her shirt, revealing a black halter top beneath. Her arms were muscular, even more so than Sulu would have surmised. He could see the curve of her breasts beneath the halter, they looked small and firm. If she was aware of his gaze moving across her, she gave no indication of it. She soaked the shirt in the small spring and then draped it over herself.
“You didn’t need me,” he said after a time.
She looked up at him questioningly. “Pardon?”
“You seem familiar with the Sahara. From the bottoms of your feet it’s clear that you’ve done a ton of walking. I’d wager you’d have no trouble looking at the stars and figuring out which way to go.”
She smiled and looked down. “If you wagered it, your money would be safe.”
“Then why . . . ?”
“Why?” She feigned surprise. “Why, don’t you remember? I’m your mystery woman now.”
He laughed softly.
“Oh, now you scoff,” she said. “Obviously you don’t really know anything about it.”
“I don’t?”
“No, you don’t.” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. And she sounded very sincere as she said, “Every man—particularly every man of adventure—should have one mystery woman in his life, Sulu. That woman who enters his sphere like a comet. Who creates her own reality around him and swallows him up in it. Who ‘gets‣ to him, inflaming his senses, heightening the sheer experience of living so that from then on, when he wakes up each morning ever after, the world seems a little different to him because he knows that she’s somewhere out there in it.
“That woman whom he thinks about, wonders about . . . wonders if, sooner or later, she’ll pop back into his life just as abruptly as she entered it before. With some new adventure in tow, some new villains seeking to do her in. It doesn’t happen, of course, because such things never happen more than once, really. You can’t have a string of mystery women; it’s unfair to all those pathetic wretches who, in fact, never do get a mystery woman. And years into the future, when he murmurs her name in his sleep, his wife asks him about it in the morning and he shrugs and says, ‘It was just a dream, honey. It’s not supposed to make sense.’”
“You’ve got my entire life planned out for me, then? You come into it, you disappear from it, and I marry someone else and think of you now and then in fleeting moments?”
She looked at him sadly. “I hope not.”
They were silent for a time, and then Ling Sui glanced around and said, “Do you think we should start walking again?” But she didn’t sound tremendously enthused by the notion.
Nor was Sulu for that matter. He shook his head. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a rather long day,” he said wryly. “I don’t think it’ll be all that long until sunrise. And I doubt that we’d luck into another oasis right when the sun’s coming up. But if we stay here . . .”
“Then we
rest, recuperate, and start walking again tomorrow night.” She nodded. “You’re right, that’s probably the way to go.”
He nodded, then removed his jacket, rolling it up into a makeshift pillow that he positioned beneath his head. Ling Sui didn’t seem to need any such contrivance, merely lying back with her head resting on the vegetation, her hands interlaced behind her head.
“Are you married, mystery woman?” he asked. “Or affianced, or in some way connected to someone else at the moment?”
“Oh, come on, Sulu,” she chided. “Do I seem like that kind of woman?”
“I don’t know what kind of woman you seem like. You’re a mystery woman, remember.”
“Right. That’s right. Forgive me . . . this rarefied status is still new to me.” Then, her voice soft and devoid of her cockiness, she said, “No. No husband. No fiancé. No one. You?”
“No one,” he echoed.
“Ever feel lonely?”
“I have my friends. And I have the stars. We live in a galaxy so teeming with life . . . and I look up at the stars, knowing there are planets out there with alien life-forms that are likely looking right back at me. With all that, how can one ever be lonely.”
“Oh, I feel exactly the same way. I’ve done my share of starhopping. Not on par with yours, of course, but I’ve gotten around. Seen a lot of things. Been up to my neck in one thing or another. Frankly, I don’t even have time to be lonely.”
“Same here.”
“Ditto.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
She paused. “Ever feel lonely?” she asked again.
“Yes. A lot. You?”
“The same.”
“Any regrets?”
He paused a moment, considering. “Do you want to wade through the same unconvincing rationalizations, or should we go straight for the truth.”
“Oh, let’s chance it.”
“Regrets, yes.”
“Same here. Although . . . it’s not too late, you know. You’re relatively young. So am I. We could each decide that’s there more to life than running around and adventuring.”
“Not too late?”
“No.”
He gave it some thought and then sighed. “No, you’re wrong. It’s too late.”
“I was afraid of that,” she said.
They were quiet for a time more. It was so still, so silent around them, and Sulu became very aware of her breathing . . . and, curiously, he thought he could hear the steady rhythm of his own heart. . . .
“Why’d you switch?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
She rolled over, propping her head up on one hand. “Why did you switch?” she asked again. “From physics to helm. Aren’t you just a . . . a chauffeur with delusions of grandeur?”
He chuckled softly at the metaphor. “Well, I’m in charge of weapons and tactical as well . . . plus, helming a starship is a bit more complicated than steering a vehicle.”
“But that’s not why.”
“No, it’s not.” He hadn’t stopped looking at the stars. “It’s because, as I spent time in the lab, I suddenly came to the realization that, in that part of the service, I’d continue to spend my time in labs. Labs on a science vessel, labs on a starship . . . didn’t matter. I’d be down in the bowels of the ship somewhere doing reports, making studies, passing answers on to the captain, who’d be up on the bridge doing whatever was necessary for the survival of the ship and crew.
“And I was talking with my mother one day, and I told her what I was learning at the Academy. And maybe she sensed somehow that I wasn’t entirely happy with it. Part of what had drawn me to physics was that my father was a physicist, and so I just felt the inclination to follow in his footsteps. And she said to me—I suspect in hopes of prompting me to stay Earthbound—‘I don’t understand why you have to be out in space to be a physicist.‣ And I tried to have an answer for that . . . I think I even muttered something, although it was something clever such as ‘You wouldn’t understand.‣ But the fact was that she was right. There was no reason. Not really. Oh, there were experiments certainly that could only be conducted in space, but . . . was that sufficient reason? And I realized to me, at least, it wasn’t.
“But helmsman . . . steering the ship . . . looking straight ahead and seeing the stars clustered in front of you . . . that’s what I was really going out there for, Ling. For the stars. To go out and there lose myself in them.”
“A helmsman who wants to lose himself? Doesn’t sound promising.”
He yawned and said, “There’s no problem with losing yourself . . . as long as you can always find your way back.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I suppose that—”
But the rest of what she said began to haze out to him and, almost before he realized it, he was asleep.
* * *
He was in that place where waking and dreaming intersect. . . . Stars seemed to float about him, and he was unsure of whether he was at the helm of the Enterprise or staring up into the night skies above the Sahara. It was an odd sensation, because usually one isn’t aware that one is dreaming, and yet here he was, feeling as if the stars were rushing past him as he sped toward some odd destiny.
Star clusters were swirling in front of him, surrounded by blackness, and then they seemed to regroup and form the outline of a face . . .
Her face . . .
"Your mystery woman,” she said to him, and she brought her lips to his. She tasted so sweet . . . she tasted like wild abandon, and youth, and adventure, and for bidden fruit that he could not resist here in the garden, and he told her all this, and she laughed. “Tasted all that before, have you, so you could compare?” she said teasingly. . . . And her hands were everywhere, she was everywhere in the dream, in the reality, the stars surrounding them and he had no idea if he was sleeping or awake or both. . . .
"Let this ease both our loneliness, at least for a little while,” she whispered, her breath warm in his ear, and whether he was sleeping or awake he didn’t care because it felt too good, what she was doing to him, too good, the muscular body moving against his and the heat, God, the heat was . . .
. . . pounding on him.
He sat up, blinking against the sun, suddenly aware that he was baking in it.
It was high above him, so high that he thought it might be around noon or so. The growth around him had protected him for a time, but the sun had moved into position so that it was shining down on him now.
He rolled over, his joints stiff, and he splashed water on his face from the stream.
“Ling Sui,” he started to say, and looked up.
She wasn’t there.
At first it didn’t register on him that she was gone. He thought he was just looking in the wrong direction, but when he rolled over he saw that he was, in fact, alone.
He got to his feet, his legs wavering slightly. "Ling Sui!" he called again, his voice sounding hoarse.
No reply came except the echo of his own voice.
No sound except the nothingness of the desert . . . and the cries of Sulu shouting a name over and over.
Chapter Twelve
THE MAN WHO WAS KNOWN in the city of Demora as Mr. Molo, designated the Magistrate (and who was known to the creators of the city of Demora as Arnold Brinkman, and was designated on-site manager) let smoke curl lazily from the (fake) cigarette he held delicately between his large fingers. His suit was white, his fez was red, and his ceiling fan was broken.
He was staring across the spotless surface of his desk at the disheveled Asian gentleman seated directly across from him. He had an associate who was a bit younger and not remotely disheveled.
Staying consistent with the ambience of Demora as a whole, Mr. Molo was taking notes on a notepad with a scratchy pencil. “So let’s see if I understand this,” he said softly, looking over what he’d written. “You were chatting with a young woman, Lieutenant Commander Sulu . . . and suddenly people began shooting . . . you panicked,
leaped into a nearby vehicle, and fled, eventually crashing the vehicle in the desert. You walked for a time with the young lady, found an oasis . . . the young lady disappeared during the night . . .” He turned his attention to Chekov. “And then you found him?”
“I vas concerned,” said Chekov. “He vas out all night.” He looked at Sulu with a deadpan. “You know how I vorry.”
Sulu’s face was inscrutable. With no comment, Mr. Molo continued, “You rented out a shuttle, began combing the desert, and stumbled over him? That was fairly lucky.”
“Lucky?” Chekov looked indignant. “I’ll have you know, Meester Molo, that I’ve piloted shuttlecrafts through ion storms searching for lost landing parties on a planet of active wolcanoes. Spotting Meester Sulu vas child’s play.”
Mr. Molo took a long drag on his cigarette, then turned his swivel chair in preparation to heft his bulk to a standing position. His back was momentarily to the Starfleet officers, and Sulu took the opportunity to turn to Chekov and mouth, Active volcanoes?
Chekov shrugged. Damn, but it had sounded impressive.
“But you were less successful finding the young woman.”
“Ve continued the search in an expanding radius. We searched for several hours. There was no sign of her.”
“Where do you think she went?”
Chekov gave him a slightly patronizing look. “If I had an idea of vere she vent, ve vould have gone there and gotten her. Yes?”
Apparently unfazed, Molo turned his attention back to Sulu. “What were you doing in the Thieves Quarter?”
“Being shot at. I told you.”
“Were they shooting at you? Or at the young woman?”
“I didn’t stop to ask them. They didn’t seem the type to be generous with providing information.”
“And you never saw the woman before that?”
“Never.”
“And did the young woman tell you her name?”
Sulu seemed to hesitate a moment, and then said, “Yes.”
His pencil poised over his notepad, Mr. Molo prompted, “And that name would be?”
“Moo.”