Descending Road - THIS DELIGHTFUL CURTAIN by Dana W. Paxson

THIS DELIGHTFUL CURTAIN

1563 4D

“We cannot afford to wait any longer,” a voice buzzed and crackled at Arlen. “We are disembarking and proceeding to our meeting site in your Polymorph Quarter, directly from the ship’s dock above Upper Naga, by lift, according to treaty requirements.”

“But there is fighting, the militia has been called out in Poly—" Arlen began. The situation rapidly slipped ahead, gathering its own momentum and leaving his grasp.

“We will take all necessary precautions to insure our safety,” the voice interrupted, “And you need not feel concern for us or our property. Please do not attempt to board our ship or stop us. The results will be unpleasant.” This last somehow carried a tone of understatement that Arlen himself used only to express the most dire threats.

He sat back. What was going on? The figures on the screen had all gone perfectly still. As they stared at him with many-jeweled eyes, not a tentacle waved.

“I don’t know what to say,” Arlen said. Silence answered him, as if to agree by example. “All right. I can take no responsibility for events. We are at war in the very area you wish to use. Power is cut off, and many understreets are being contested with beam weapons. Your party may be fired on and wounded or destroyed.”

“Still, we must go to our gathering,” the voice replied, its tones bursting and crackling. “This is a holy time, the time for—" and here an undulating guttural and nasal sound Arlen could almost identify. “Please allow us unobstructed passage, or else we will force our way. The meeting is most urgent.” The aliens cut the circuit. Now what? He punched his video off. Maybe Turiosten had an answer.

Turiosten, Arlen‘s deep secret, was an alien, or so Arlen believed, one he had discovered years ago inhabiting one of his corporation security enlistees.

The recruit had been near death from a beam blast; one of Arlen‘s medical staff had acquired the alien parasite when she had applied direct breathing assistance, trying to get the man’s respiration started again. As the man died, the creature simply slid painlessly and easily into the medic’s mouth and down her throat, and disappeared. Hours later she heard a voice coming from inside her head.

When Arlen found out, he quashed all reporting of her situation and investigated it himself; thus he met Turiosten. The thing refused to tell Arlen anything about itself, even when he threatened to kill the new host. When at last Arlen had the woman killed, Turiosten astonished him by speaking from the mouth of her killer. It had taken Arlen a few weeks of experimenting to learn of the creature’s appetite, its powers of reconstruction and healing, and one or two of its few, but critical, weaknesses.

The last point of light vanished from the faded video screen; Arlen remembered Indrio. Parthren‘s little gibe still stung. Could there be something between Frei and Indrio? How interesting that would be, when Frei‘s cat genes took hold. But Indrio, now, first it had been with Tariall, and maybe now with that sweet boy, why couldn’t she keep her little doors closed?

Arlen‘s anger rose. He stood, went to the shrouded box on the wall, and gave a knob on the box a vicious twist. A short, high shriek came from the shroud. He snatched the cloth away, revealing Tariall‘s pain-twisted face, and said loudly, “Good evening! Time to wake up!”

A soft wail answered him. The box’s pump throttled Tariall‘s air supply, and he could not sustain any loud vocalization. He gasped, his mouth opening and closing. “What— what is it?”

“Parthren hints to me that Indrio is after my new young man,” Arlen said. “Do you think she is capable of that? I want your considered opinion.”

“Indrio.” Tariall looked dully at Arlen.

“Yes, Indrio. Don’t pretend you’re sleepy. I can still adjust the stim.” With this, Arlen reached for the knob again.

“No, don’t! Yes, I think she might be.” A look of sadness swept over Tariall‘s face. “Especially if he’s really attractive.”

“He is. Think it over for a while,” Arlen said. This would hurt Tariall as much as any shock. “Let me know how you feel about it. Later. For now—" Arlen reached beneath the box and flicked a switch, disengaging Tariall‘s vocal apparatus. He turned to see Trenzil returning stiffly to the chamber, whiplike arms coiled around the larger spikes from its head. “Indrio,” Arlen called. A moment later she appeared, unclothed except for strands of woven pale-green metal vine leaves hanging from her neck.

“We are going to visit my other quarters,” Arlen told her. “Put on a coverall and bring this—" and he jangled a few of the leaves with a fingernail, “This delightful curtain with you.” She turned to leave the room. Arlen glanced up at Tariall‘s face. Tariall had been just one time to Arlen‘s deep chambers, adjoining the ArCorp andro farms; he had gone there a whole man, and had returned as he now was. Arlen watched Tariall‘s expression turn from sadness to anger to horror, the mouth working, saliva falling from it as he tried to call out a warning to the woman he still loved.

Arlen smiled, and gently drew the shroud down over the box again.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	THIS DELIGHTFUL CURTAIN 1563 4D “We cannot afford to wait any longer,” a voice buzzed and crackled at Arlen. “We are disembarking and proceeding to our meeting site in your Polymorph Quarter, directly from the ship’s dock above Upper Naga, by lift, according to treaty requirements.” “But there is fighting, the militia has been called out in Poly—" Arlen began. The situation rapidly slipped ahead, gathering its own momentum and leaving his grasp. “We will take all necessary precautions to insure our safety,” the voice interrupted, “And you need not feel concern for us or our property. Please do not attempt to board our ship or stop us. The results will be unpleasant.” This last somehow carried a tone of understatement that Arlen himself used only to express the most dire threats. He sat back. What was going on? The figures on the screen had all gone perfectly still. As they stared at him with many-jeweled eyes, not a tentacle waved. “I don’t know what to say,” Arlen said. Silence answered him, as if to agree by example. “All right. I can take no responsibility for events. We are at war in the very area you wish to use. Power is cut off, and many understreets are being contested with beam weapons. Your party may be fired on and wounded or destroyed.” “Still, we must go to our gathering,” the voice replied, its tones bursting and crackling. “This is a holy time, the time for—" and here an undulating guttural and nasal sound Arlen could almost identify. “Please allow us unobstructed passage, or else we will force our way. The meeting is most urgent.” The aliens cut the circuit. Now what? He punched his video off. Maybe Turiosten had an answer. Turiosten, Arlen‘s deep secret, was an alien, or so Arlen believed, one he had discovered years ago inhabiting one of his corporation security enlistees. The recruit had been near death from a beam blast; one of Arlen‘s medical staff had acquired the alien parasite when she had applied direct breathing assistance, trying to get the man’s respiration started again. As the man died, the creature simply slid painlessly and easily into the medic’s mouth and down her throat, and disappeared. Hours later she heard a voice coming from inside her head. When Arlen found out, he quashed all reporting of her situation and investigated it himself; thus he met Turiosten. The thing refused to tell Arlen anything about itself, even when he threatened to kill the new host. When at last Arlen had the woman killed, Turiosten astonished him by speaking from the mouth of her killer. It had taken Arlen a few weeks of experimenting to learn of the creature’s appetite, its powers of reconstruction and healing, and one or two of its few, but critical, weaknesses. The last point of light vanished from the faded video screen; Arlen remembered Indrio. Parthren‘s little gibe still stung. Could there be something between Frei and Indrio? How interesting that would be, when Frei‘s cat genes took hold. But Indrio, now, first it had been with Tariall, and maybe now with that sweet boy, why couldn’t she keep her little doors closed? Arlen‘s anger rose. He stood, went to the shrouded box on the wall, and gave a knob on the box a vicious twist. A short, high shriek came from the shroud. He snatched the cloth away, revealing Tariall‘s pain-twisted face, and said loudly, “Good evening! Time to wake up!” A soft wail answered him. The box’s pump throttled Tariall‘s air supply, and he could not sustain any loud vocalization. He gasped, his mouth opening and closing. “What— what is it?” “Parthren hints to me that Indrio is after my new young man,” Arlen said. “Do you think she is capable of that? I want your considered opinion.” “Indrio.” Tariall looked dully at Arlen. “Yes, Indrio. Don’t pretend you’re sleepy. I can still adjust the stim.” With this, Arlen reached for the knob again. “No, don’t! Yes, I think she might be.” A look of sadness swept over Tariall‘s face. “Especially if he’s really attractive.” “He is. Think it over for a while,” Arlen said. This would hurt Tariall as much as any shock. “Let me know how you feel about it. Later. For now—" Arlen reached beneath the box and flicked a switch, disengaging Tariall‘s vocal apparatus. He turned to see Trenzil returning stiffly to the chamber, whiplike arms coiled around the larger spikes from its head. “Indrio,” Arlen called. A moment later she appeared, unclothed except for strands of woven pale-green metal vine leaves hanging from her neck. “We are going to visit my other quarters,” Arlen told her. “Put on a coverall and bring this—" and he jangled a few of the leaves with a fingernail, “This delightful curtain with you.” She turned to leave the room. Arlen glanced up at Tariall‘s face. Tariall had been just one time to Arlen‘s deep chambers, adjoining the ArCorp andro farms; he had gone there a whole man, and had returned as he now was. Arlen watched Tariall‘s expression turn from sadness to anger to horror, the mouth working, saliva falling from it as he tried to call out a warning to the woman he still loved. Arlen smiled, and gently drew the shroud down over the box again.