Descending Road - LONGING AND SADNESS WASHED THROUGH HIM by Dana W. Paxson

LONGING AND SADNESS WASHED THROUGH HIM

1563 4D

The trip to Arlen‘s deep quarters, thousands of feet below his upper chambers, took only a few minutes. He stood next to the silent Indrio in the lift, admiring her regal bearing. Even in a coverall, she could have posed as one of the goddesses in the pictures from the Ancient World. What would Turiosten think, if thinking was what Turiosten did? And what would Indrio think, her lips around the creature entering her body to live?

Arlen let a shiver of sexual delight ride through him. If only she weren’t so passive, so calm all the time. Maybe he should make some minor adjustments in her dosage mix. Or maybe Turiosten could solve that problem for him.

The lift door opened into a round chamber blazing with light. A soft sweet moss furred the floor thickly; it sprang back after feet lifted from it. A soft hum began: the security system scanned them both. A moment later a door opened across from them, and they walked into a sunlit garden.

“It’s beautiful!” Indrio said, her eyes wide with a delight Arlen had only rarely seen in her. “How did you bring the sun down here? It’s— like heaven, it’s— can we stay here for a while?” Arlen stared at her as she knelt on a pebbled path and inhaled the soft scent of tiny lilies. A child.

“We will stay for a while,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, wide-eyed, and smiled at him as brightly as the light that came from the short sky his engineers had built here. Before he could resist or avoid it, a vast wave of longing and sadness washed through him and then passed cleanly on, leaving only a flotsam of angry flashes behind it; he wanted to seize her hand and break her fingers, drive away the curse of loneliness with savagery. This was his garden, his place of contentment, how could she bring anything else into it? But he stood, expressionless, as she stood.

“I have a friend here I would like you to meet,” he said quietly. “Come with me.” Arlen led Indrio through winding stone and tile pathways, under bowers of leaves and fruit, past twined trellises bending with bloom, until they reached a tree-shaded circle of concentric steps that staged down into a shallow flower bed.

A group of people, men and women dressed in ordinary coveralls, lay sprawled across the steps in various comfortable positions. One slim woman cleaned her teeth with a wooden stem; the others all appeared asleep. “Derain,” Arlen called, and the woman stopped her cleaning and looked at him, the stem hanging from her teeth. She stood up.

Her eyes came level with Indrio‘s breasts, her pale brown hair, close-cropped, framed a small, well-proportioned face. Her skin shone a medium olive tone under the artificial sun. Arlen remembered her rapid erotic acrobatics with a smile. At one time as one of his assassins she’d killed PFO Farcross, and almost killed Arlen himself, in bed. Today, just as many times before, she was Turiosten‘s home.

“Yes, Arlen?”

“This is Indrio. Indrio, meet Derain.”

“Yes, thank you.” Chorused. “Hann.” Both women nodded, first to Arlen, and then to each other.

“I believe you have something to share with Indrio,” Arlen said.

Derain grinned. “Kiss me,” she said to Indrio. Indrio looked at Arlen. He motioned her forward, she bent, and her lips met Derain‘s.

Indrio‘s eyelids drooped as they kissed; then they opened so wide that Arlen thought her eyes might pop from her head. Indrio tried to pull away, briefly, then she gave in and allowed Derain to hold their mouths together for a little while. When the two women parted, Derain slumped to the ground and stretched out, asleep; Indrio stood motionless, her eyes fixed on a far spot of garden green.

“Turiosten,” Arlen called. Indrio turned toward him. “I know it is time for you to eat fully. I must leave now. Have you chosen a meal?”

How satisfying: Indrio‘s eyes bulged open again, her mouth fell with surprise, and her lips formed the word very slowly, “Yes.”

“Turiosten, tell me why the aliens in the ship are taking a great risk right now.”

“A great risk?” Indrio‘s eyebrows rose and fell, quickly and comically, as Turiosten played with her motor nerve control.

“They are leaving their ship, in the city, under battle conditions in the streets, even though I have told them it is very dangerous. They aren’t at all willing to take risks at any other time. Why now?”

A pause. Arlen prompted. “Well?”

“It is a festival time.” Indrio‘s eyes looked down at her body with interest; her hands ran smoothly over her skin. Turiosten explored her new host.

Arlen smiled. “A festival? Don’t tell me they celebrate Corsang Run like our collechi people do.”

“What is Corsang Run?” One of Indrio‘s hands covered her lower belly. Her finger pillowed between her thighs; her eyes widened. The alien must be sensing Indrio‘s neurosexual enhancements, specially designed by Arlen‘s genengineers. How interesting to be the alien right now.

Arlen forced his attention back to the subject. “It doesn’t matter. What festival do your kind celebrate at this time of year?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Slightly mocking; how unlike Indrio. How like Turiosten, for that matter. Maybe the usual threats would be needed.

“All right, I’ll rephrase my question. What is the meaning of this festival to your kind?”

Another pause. “It is a time of joining, when those of us who have been physically separated can come together for a time.”

Arlen waited. Somehow he knew more waited to be said, but Turiosten remained silent. “And?”

“That’s all.” Indrio shrugged, in an odd, jerky way. How difficult an art lying could be, in another’s body and mind. Arlen turned away. He would get the truth from Turiosten. He always managed to do that.

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	LONGING AND SADNESS WASHED THROUGH HIM 1563 4D The trip to Arlen‘s deep quarters, thousands of feet below his upper chambers, took only a few minutes. He stood next to the silent Indrio in the lift, admiring her regal bearing. Even in a coverall, she could have posed as one of the goddesses in the pictures from the Ancient World. What would Turiosten think, if thinking was what Turiosten did? And what would Indrio think, her lips around the creature entering her body to live? Arlen let a shiver of sexual delight ride through him. If only she weren’t so passive, so calm all the time. Maybe he should make some minor adjustments in her dosage mix. Or maybe Turiosten could solve that problem for him. The lift door opened into a round chamber blazing with light. A soft sweet moss furred the floor thickly; it sprang back after feet lifted from it. A soft hum began: the security system scanned them both. A moment later a door opened across from them, and they walked into a sunlit garden. “It’s beautiful!” Indrio said, her eyes wide with a delight Arlen had only rarely seen in her. “How did you bring the sun down here? It’s— like heaven, it’s— can we stay here for a while?” Arlen stared at her as she knelt on a pebbled path and inhaled the soft scent of tiny lilies. A child. “We will stay for a while,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, wide-eyed, and smiled at him as brightly as the light that came from the short sky his engineers had built here. Before he could resist or avoid it, a vast wave of longing and sadness washed through him and then passed cleanly on, leaving only a flotsam of angry flashes behind it; he wanted to seize her hand and break her fingers, drive away the curse of loneliness with savagery. This was his garden, his place of contentment, how could she bring anything else into it? But he stood, expressionless, as she stood. “I have a friend here I would like you to meet,” he said quietly. “Come with me.” Arlen led Indrio through winding stone and tile pathways, under bowers of leaves and fruit, past twined trellises bending with bloom, until they reached a tree-shaded circle of concentric steps that staged down into a shallow flower bed. A group of people, men and women dressed in ordinary coveralls, lay sprawled across the steps in various comfortable positions. One slim woman cleaned her teeth with a wooden stem; the others all appeared asleep. “Derain,” Arlen called, and the woman stopped her cleaning and looked at him, the stem hanging from her teeth. She stood up. Her eyes came level with Indrio‘s breasts, her pale brown hair, close-cropped, framed a small, well-proportioned face. Her skin shone a medium olive tone under the artificial sun. Arlen remembered her rapid erotic acrobatics with a smile. At one time as one of his assassins she’d killed PFO Farcross, and almost killed Arlen himself, in bed. Today, just as many times before, she was Turiosten‘s home. “Yes, Arlen?” “This is Indrio. Indrio, meet Derain.” “Yes, thank you.” Chorused. “Hann.” Both women nodded, first to Arlen, and then to each other. “I believe you have something to share with Indrio,” Arlen said. Derain grinned. “Kiss me,” she said to Indrio. Indrio looked at Arlen. He motioned her forward, she bent, and her lips met Derain‘s. Indrio‘s eyelids drooped as they kissed; then they opened so wide that Arlen thought her eyes might pop from her head. Indrio tried to pull away, briefly, then she gave in and allowed Derain to hold their mouths together for a little while. When the two women parted, Derain slumped to the ground and stretched out, asleep; Indrio stood motionless, her eyes fixed on a far spot of garden green. “Turiosten,” Arlen called. Indrio turned toward him. “I know it is time for you to eat fully. I must leave now. Have you chosen a meal?” How satisfying: Indrio‘s eyes bulged open again, her mouth fell with surprise, and her lips formed the word very slowly, “Yes.” “Turiosten, tell me why the aliens in the ship are taking a great risk right now.” “A great risk?” Indrio‘s eyebrows rose and fell, quickly and comically, as Turiosten played with her motor nerve control. “They are leaving their ship, in the city, under battle conditions in the streets, even though I have told them it is very dangerous. They aren’t at all willing to take risks at any other time. Why now?” A pause. Arlen prompted. “Well?” “It is a festival time.” Indrio‘s eyes looked down at her body with interest; her hands ran smoothly over her skin. Turiosten explored her new host. Arlen smiled. “A festival? Don’t tell me they celebrate Corsang Run like our collechi people do.” “What is Corsang Run?” One of Indrio‘s hands covered her lower belly. Her finger pillowed between her thighs; her eyes widened. The alien must be sensing Indrio‘s neurosexual enhancements, specially designed by Arlen‘s genengineers. How interesting to be the alien right now. Arlen forced his attention back to the subject. “It doesn’t matter. What festival do your kind celebrate at this time of year?” “It doesn’t matter.” Slightly mocking; how unlike Indrio. How like Turiosten, for that matter. Maybe the usual threats would be needed. “All right, I’ll rephrase my question. What is the meaning of this festival to your kind?” Another pause. “It is a time of joining, when those of us who have been physically separated can come together for a time.” Arlen waited. Somehow he knew more waited to be said, but Turiosten remained silent. “And?” “That’s all.” Indrio shrugged, in an odd, jerky way. How difficult an art lying could be, in another’s body and mind. Arlen turned away. He would get the truth from Turiosten. He always managed to do that.