Breath of Life (The Gaian Consortium Series) (7 page)

Shaking, I slid out of bed and went to the bathroom so I could pour myself some water and try to get my disarranged thoughts in order. What had brought on such a dream, after all this time, I had no idea. Surely my time for having nightmares about Sarzhin should have been weeks in the past, back when I didn’t know him.

I drank some water, and then splashed some on my face for good measure. Most likely I was just feeling overburdened by schoolwork—I had two papers due by the end of the week. Yes, that had to be it. After all, stress could manifest itself in all sorts of ways, many of them completely illogical.
 

A soft knock at the door. “Anika? Are you all right?”

How he could have known I had been awakened by a nightmare, I had no idea. I took a deep breath and smoothed my hair down as best I could, then said, “I’m fine, Sarzhin. One moment.”

I was far from fine, but I knew I shouldn’t leave him waiting out in the hall. After taking another sip or two of water, I went to the door and opened it. Sarzhin waited outside, as black and enigmatic as he had been in my dream. With one important difference, of course—the hood that peered down at me seemed to be quite occupied.

“I heard—that is, I thought you screamed.”

“A bad dream,” I said at once, even though I wondered how on earth he could have heard me through a shut door and with who knows how many empty hallways between us. I still had no idea exactly where his chambers lay, although I knew they had to be a good distance off.

“What was it?”

There was no way I could tell him what I had dreamed. “Nothing,” I said. “It was silly, really.”

“It most certainly didn’t sound silly.”

No, and it hadn’t felt silly at the time. “Our minds play tricks on us,” I told him. “That’s all. I’m fine now.”

He didn’t move. “Tell me, Anika.”

His voice had a note of quiet command I had never heard before. “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said hastily. “Especially for something as stupid as a bad dream. It’s nothing—”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

It seemed clear to me that he wasn’t about to let this go. I sighed, and crossed my arms. “If you have to know, it was about you.”

“I?”

“I dreamed—” Oh, this was ridiculous. “I dreamed I saw you without your hood…and you had no head. I told you it was stupid.”

For a long moment he didn’t move. Then he reached out and took my hands in his gloved ones. He had always been very careful to avoid touching me, as if he had known I wanted to keep as much distance as possible between us, but now his grip was firm and unhesitating. I didn’t dare pull away. Something in his touch told me he did so now only out of necessity.

He raised my hands to his hood and placed them against the heavy fabric. Beneath the rough, slightly nappy material my fingers traced the definite outline of a skull, one more or less of the same proportions as a human’s. For a few seconds he held my hands in place, and then he lowered them gently and released his gloved fingers from mine.
 

“You see?” he said quietly. “I am as real as you are.”

That much seemed obvious. I could still feel the shape of his head beneath my fingertips. No horns at least, although I still couldn’t comment on the fangs or tentacles. I asked, “Then why do you hide from the world?”

A silence then, one so long I was sure he didn’t intend to reply. He let out a little breath and said, “Because I must. Perhaps one day you will understand why.”

I wished there were some way I could get him to confide in me. Maybe there was one, actually, but I knew I wouldn’t become his wife just to learn his secrets. And yet something in his dark, still shape spoke of a sadness I couldn’t begin to understand, one I suddenly wished I might do something to dispel. Surprising myself, I reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. I heard a sudden intake of breath, but I made myself give his arm a gentle squeeze before I let go. He really didn’t feel any different from a human—at least, a human who was well-muscled. The flesh under my fingertips had been firm and unyielding.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I said. “But I’m fine. I really need to get back to sleep. That paper—”

“Of course.” His normally calm accents sounded a little ruffled to me, but he only went on, “Now that I know you’re all right.”

“I am.”

“Then good night, Anika.” He might have nodded; it was difficult to tell in the darkness, which was barely broken by the light of a sconce at quarter-power somewhere down the corridor.

“Good night, Sarzhin.” I shut the door and returned to my bed.

But although I had told the Zhore I needed my rest, I lay there for a long time and stared up at the ceiling. Somehow I still felt his gloved hands holding mine, the shape of his head beneath the muffling cloth. It would have been so easy for me to grasp the hood and pull it away, but for some reason he had trusted me not to do such a thing. Truly, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me, not until I was lying in bed and replaying the scene in my mind.
 

What I had done to earn such trust, I didn’t know.
 

He didn’t speak of the incident afterward, and so I said nothing, either. From time to time, though, I caught myself watching him out of the corner of my eye, wondering what he would do if I did reach up and push all that concealing fabric away.
 

What I would see.

Of course I didn’t have the courage to do that.

Later that week he asked me if I would like to assist him in the greenhouse.
 

“It’s a worthy occupation,” he told me, as the mech cleared away our breakfast plates. “You have said that you’ve helped your father, and so it seems you already know some of the rudiments of gardening. Would you like to learn more?”

I actually was curious; even the bits and pieces I had picked up so far seemed much more interesting than nursing along a few hydroponic vegetables. If my circumstances had been different, I would have considered how valuable such knowledge would be if I decided to narrow my studies to xeno-botany. Specialists in that area were hot commodities for the GRC’s advance reconnaissance teams. But since I had no idea whether Sarzhin intended to ever let me go, I wasn’t sure whether acquiring those skills would do much more than help vary my often monotonous days.
 

It seemed to me, though, that Sarzhin had offered the diversion out of a spirit of generosity, and it would be foolish to turn him down…even though helping out in the greenhouse meant we would be spending far more time together. I didn’t know quite how to feel about that.

Speaking quickly, before I could change my mind, I replied, “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Sarzhin.”

“No, thank you.”

Even though I couldn’t see his face, the warmth in his tone told me how pleased he was. He added, “Shall we?”

I hadn’t expected to start so soon, although breakfast was over and I had a light day as far as schoolwork was concerned. Maybe I hesitated, just for a few seconds. But then I said, “Absolutely,” and got up from my chair. He rose as well, and led the way back to the greenhouse.

By then it was familiar enough to me—the humid air that somehow managed to be close without cloying, the scents of hundreds of growing things. This time, though, I wouldn’t merely be observing the rich plant life, but helping it along, encouraging it to bud and blossom.
 

 
“We will start here, I think,” Sarzhin told me, pausing in front of a tallish plant in a heavy pot. It had sword-like green leaves and waxy five-petaled flowers. “It is a forgiving specimen, one from a place on Gaia called Hawai’i. Your people call it a plumeria.”
 

A heady, sweet scent, unlike anything I had ever smelled before, seemed to swirl out from the plant. I reached over with one finger to touch a flower’s petals, then hesitated. “I won’t—I won’t hurt it, will I?”

“No. It is quite sturdy, despite its appearance. And easy to propagate as well. Let me show you

He went to the table where his various implements were stored and retrieved a sharp knife from one of the drawers. “Make a cut here,” he said, and indicated a spot on one of the gray branches just below where a flower emerged. Then he handed the knife to me.
 

The knife felt heavy in my hand, even though in reality it wasn’t all that big. I held it awkwardly, hesitating. Intellectually I knew the plant wouldn’t start bleeding the second I cut into it, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to lay the blade against the smooth bark.

“Here,” Sarzhin said, and reached out to guide my hand to the proper position.

His gloved fingers were warm, the material that covered them as soft and smooth as I remembered. Those fingers wrapped around my hand with a gentle but firm touch, shifting the position of the knife, guiding it to the proper place to cut. And the blade went through the branch without much resistance, the little cutting falling neatly into Sarzhin’s other hand.

At once he released me, but the heat of the flesh beneath the supple gloves seemed to linger on my skin. A not entirely unpleasant tingling sensation traveled up my arm. My voice sounded breathless even to me as I asked, “What next?”

He put the branch with its leaves and flower in my hand. “Bring it to the work bench.”

I did as he instructed, and then he explained how I should strip off the leaves and set the cutting in a container of dry sand he’d set aside for that purpose. From there it would rest for a few days before being transferred to a pot.

It all seemed simple enough, and from there we moved on to taking more cuttings, this time of a vining plant with dark purple leaves from Epsilon Eridani. That specimen had to be placed immediately in a container filled with a particular blend of nutrients, but the overall procedure was basically the same. Sarzhin only watched as I made the cut, and perversely I found myself almost disappointed that he had not assisted me the way he had with the plumeria. Crazy, considering I’d spent so many days trying to avoid his touch. Now I wanted some kind of excuse to prolong even the brief contact we’d just shared?

“Do you grow them all like this?” I inquired, after I had topped off the vine’s slim-necked container of nutrients. “From cuttings, I mean?”

“Not all.” He reached up and lifted a plastic bottle from one of the overhead shelves. “Remember to always clean the implements after you’re done with them.” And he placed the bottle in my left hand, as my right still held the knife. “Fresh rags are in the top drawer.”

I set down the knife, looked where he had indicated, and found a pile of synthetic cloths neatly folded in stacks. It was a simple enough procedure to pour some of the disinfecting solution on the knife and wipe it down with a rag, then return it to its own drawer. “So how else do you grow the plants?”

“Some from seed, if I know they will breed true.” For some reason he glanced away from me, even though the hood—as ever—hid his expression. “Some come in bulbs and corms, brought here from off-world. And some of those will reproduce as well, if they find the conditions acceptable. But many do best with cuttings. It is not as involved as you might think—I have the databases of fifty worlds to aid me.”

It seemed complex enough, but then I was new to anything much more than planting a bunch of tomato and squash seeds in trays and hoping for the best. But obviously Sarzhin knew what he was doing, as all around us were lush reminders of the loving attention he gave every growing thing in his care, from the tiny dwarf succulents of the Stacian deserts to the tall red-leafed trees he’d told me came from the island of Japan on Gaia.

“I’m glad you’re showing me,” I told him then, and knew as I said the words that they were the simple truth. With some surprise, I glanced down at the chronometer on my wrist and realized we’d spent almost an hour together. The time had gone by so fast I barely realized it was passing.

“It is my pleasure.”

The response was something almost anyone would have said, and yet the phrase somehow seemed to resonate in that deep voice of his, imbuing it with far more meaning than the empty pleasantry of a simple human exchange.
 

Unsure of the best way to respond, I settled for a brief smile, and then mumbled something about having to check my mail to see if one of my professors had gotten back to me regarding a question on my last paper. That was true enough, but it wasn’t the real reason why I wanted to go back to my room. His words had been a far cry from the nightly marriage proposal, but somehow in Sarzhin’s tone I had heard an echo of the need that underlaid every one of his requests…and I knew there was nothing I could do to fulfill that need.
 

He nodded, and let me go. I tried to tell myself as I left the greenhouse that I hadn’t seen the sudden slump of his shoulders, nor heard the quiet sigh that escaped his lips as I passed, so soft it could have been only the sound of the ventilation system.

But I knew better.
   

“Anika, will you marry me?”

I closed my eyes, the lingering sweet aftertaste of the wine I had just drunk turning bitter in my mouth. Why did he continue to force the matter? Did he think if he kept at it long enough, somehow he’d chip away at my resolve, a patient river slowly wearing away a stubborn stone?

“You know I can’t.”

“So you tell me, every evening.”

To someone who didn’t know him well, his tone might have sounded as calm and even as it always was. I had spent too much time in his company, though, had used too much energy studying the patterns of his voice, since the rise and fall of his tone was the only thing—besides the bits of body language I could glean through the heavy robes—that I really had to give me any clues to what he might be thinking or feeling. Another person wouldn’t have heard the edge of tension under those smooth, rounded syllables. His voice was beautiful; I had no idea whether the rest of him was or not.

 
With an uncharacteristic restlessness, he pushed his wine glass away. At once the mech appeared to remove it. Sarzhin made an odd little gesture, as if to stop the mech, then shook his head and settled back in his seat.