Authors: Cheryl Brooks
"Been called a lot worse."
"Ah!" said Zef. "Thief? Murderer? Fish killer?"
"No comment."
"Diplomatic too, I see." Zef pondered his options and decided to introduce himself. "I am Zefa'gu," he said. "Come back in the daytime, and you will see why I'd think you were pretty."
"Look that bad, do you?" Manx said affably.
"Perfectly awful," Zef said sadly. "But I can't help it if I'm old and lumpy."
Peering past the surface and into the depths of the lake, Manx said, "I won't hold it against you, though you
are
very ugly."
Zef laughed. "Wondered how you could see well enough to spear fish at night! Good night vision. That's a plus."
"I've always thought so." Manx seemed to make a decision then, and lowered his spear. "My name is Manxarkodrath Panteris."
Zef crunched his jaws again. "Ha! And you think
I'm
ugly! If I had a name like that, I wouldn't tell anyone either."
"Yes, well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't pass on that information."
"I have already forgotten," Zef said genially. "That good enough for you?"
Manx nodded. "Where did you come from?" he asked. "I've never seen any others like you."
"Only one in this lake," Zef replied with a touch of regret. "Saw the house being built and wanted someone to talk to, so I thought I'd stay."
Manx sat down on the shore and began to eat one of the fish he'd speared. "It
is
a nice place," Manx agreed. "Warm climate, plenty to eat, and, best of all, no annoying insects. I've been on other planets where they would practically eat you alive."
"Eaten alive?" Zef echoed. "Sounds horrible."
"Well, they don't really eat you alive," Manx said. "It just seems that way. Believe me, you're much better off without them."
Zef watched intently as Manx finished his fish and tossed the remains of the bony carcass into the lake. Zef didn't want to appear greedy—at least, not at first—but he did take note of exactly where it landed. He would get it later, but for now he had a friendship to develop. "Do you like to talk?"
"Sure," Manx replied. "That's the one bad thing about living here."
"I love to talk," Zef said encouragingly. "I'll talk to you as much as you like."
"Well, just don't tell anyone else about me, and we'll get along fine."
"Mum's the word!" Zef declared. "I won't say a thing to anyone unless you ask me to." Peering carefully up at Manx, he said, "So, are we friends now? Might as well be friends now that we've met and all." Zef wasn't about to jeopardize a friendship with someone who could catch fish as easily as Manx, and especially one who didn't seem to care for the bones.
"Sure," said Manx. "I haven't had a friend in a very long time."
"Me either," Zef admitted, trying to remember if he'd
ever
had anyone he thought of as a friend. "So why are you here? Someone chasing you?"
"You could say that," Manx replied. "I've been hiding out for years. Someone set out to exterminate my people. There was a war, and our planet was destroyed. You'd think they could have left it at that, but they seem bent on killing all of us."
"That's terrible!" Zef exclaimed. "D'you know who did it?"
"No, but I know who's been hunting me," Manx said. "If any Nedwuts come around, just try to disappear."
"Nedwuts?" Zef echoed. "Don't believe I know what they are."
"That's probably for the best," said Manx. "You wouldn't like them."
"If they tried to kill my friend," Zef said staunchly, "I wouldn't like them at all."
Manx smiled, seeming to accept the fact that Zef meant what he said. "So, Zef," he began, "you say you like fish?"
"Oh, yes," Zef replied.
"Are you hungry?"
Zef snorted in reply. "I'm always hungry."
"Then hold very still," Manx said.
Zef froze in place as Manx neatly speared a nearby fish and then tossed it to him. At that moment, Zef knew he'd found a friend at last.
***
Having been given the grand tour and a fair orientation, Drusilla hoped she could remember everything Lester had told her, though she could always call him if she had any problems. Lester hadn't said for sure, but she hoped that Zef would leave her alone unless she threw rocks in the lake—which she would never do, in any case, because it would frighten away the birds. She had no intention of letting Zef run her off. She had to have at least a few paintings to show to Ralph because, while he might act like a little twit at times, he'd forked over plenty of credits to get her there and was undoubtedly expecting a good return on his investment. Drusilla could handle Zef as long as he didn't scare the birds away, and if he did, she'd make a deal with him somehow.
Drusilla considered setting up a blind to sit behind while she painted but hoped she wouldn't have to be quite so secretive. These birds didn't seem to be overly shy and sitting out on the open shore appealed to her. It was hot, but not unbearably so, and she had a big, floppy hat to protect herself from the sun. Taking holographic photos of the birds was another option—with some of the more easily startled species it was a must—but she preferred to paint from life whenever possible. It also helped her to get a better feel for the birds' behaviors, some of which she could capture in her paintings.
It had been said of Drusilla's work that she captured not only the image of the birds she painted, but also something of their inner nature. Some were mischievous, some shy, some cantankerous, and some were down right belligerent, but they all had an expression of some behavioral trait. This was what had made her paintings so popular and, unlike many an artist, successful during her own lifetime.
Having assured herself that all of her painting supplies had survived the trip, she went to unpack her other belongings, only to discover that the house droid, Klog (an acronym for Keeping the Lid on the Garbage), had already done it for her. Klog was an uninteresting companion, and while he might have been capable of verbal communication, thus far, Drusilla hadn't heard him say very much. Klog would beep when he under stood a request and then beep twice when the task was complete. After some time spent with Klog, she specu lated that Zef would begin to seem like an old—and very welcome—friend.
While Klog got her settled in, Drusilla did some exploring, culminating with the room on the lower level that opened out onto the beach. Spacious and airy, the room boasted a wet bar complete with a refrigerator and a cabinet filled with snacks, a full bathroom, several cushy chaise lounges, and a couch that reclined. The floor was made of a smooth, slate tile and ceiling fans turned lazily overhead. Drusilla chose a lounge chair that provided the best view of the lake and plopped down on it, gazing out at the tranquil water. It was a peacefully beautiful scene, but, after a bit, staring at all that water made her thirsty. Lester had assured her that Klog could do just about anything, so she decided to give it a try.
"What have I got to lose?" she mused. Aloud, she called: "Klog! Would you bring me a glass of iced tea?" Thinking she should be more specific, she added: "Unsweetened."
From somewhere above stairs, she heard a beep signifying his acknowledgment and lay back to await the outcome. So far, Klog had proven to be capable of sorting clothing, but whether he was any good as a waiter remained to be seen. Some droids had difficulty not only interpreting speech but handling the details of carrying out a task; if nothing else, his choice might be good for a laugh. There were hundreds of different teas on Earth alone, and galaxy-wide, the number of varieties was staggering.
Klog, however, was obviously capable of making at least some of his own decisions—either that or there were no choices, for he hovered down the stairs, bringing her a full glass of perfectly brewed Darjeeling. Beeping twice, Klog then floated off to the beach, where he began picking up fallen twigs and leaves with his many arms and then, lowering his beehive-shaped body to the sand, he smoothed out the surface as he covered every square centimeter between the house and the water's edge. The footprints Drusilla and Lester had left behind were now completely obscured.
"So, do you do that every day?" she asked him as he reentered the house.
Klog replied with a cheerful chirp that could have meant yes or no, or even that he didn't understand. Drusilla knew she should study the operations manual more closely but decided to leave it for later. Having had good luck with the tea order, she moved on to the more complicated matter of what she would like for dinner.
"For dinner tonight, I'd like a grilled steak, medium rare; baked potato with butter, sour cream, and salt; a tossed salad with blue cheese dressing; and, oh, how about a little strawberry cheesecake for dessert?"
Klog beeped promptly and floated upstairs.
"Spooky," was Drusilla's comment. She'd dealt with plenty of droids before, but never one like this. His programming must have been very extensive— not to mention expensive—but how Klog had known she preferred Darjeeling was a mystery. It would be interesting to see what kind of steak she got. She hadn't specified a time either.
But right then, she didn't particularly care. Time wasn't a factor here. She would work through the days and sleep through the nights, relaxing when it suited her without having to conform to anyone's schedule but her own. Taking another sip of her deliciously refreshing tea, she then held her glass aloft and said, "Thanks, Ralph—wherever you are."
***
Manx was watching from the opposite end of the lake, his keen eyes able to discern Drusilla's reclining figure just inside the house. He hadn't been able to hear her toast, but if he had, he'd have seconded it, for Ralph had sent him the one thing he hadn't had in a very long time—a female whose scent already held traces of womanly desire, even though she could not possibly have known he was there. How she would smell when enticed by a male intrigued him—as much as he knew it would probably overwhelm him.
Inhaling deeply, he tried to single out the sex pheromones, but though there were hints of them, there weren't enough to stimulate an erection. He would have to be closer to her, which was risky—but so was everything in this life. He was beginning to question his earlier assessment that getting closer to her—perhaps even letting her catch a glimpse of him—was too much of a risk. She might be the bait for a very lethal trap, but there were times when instinct outweighed reason, and Manx suspected that this would turn out to be one of those times.
Manx was, in fact, already thinking about throwing caution to the wind and walking right into the house. No doors separated them; all he would have to do would be to circle the lake, and then he could see her up close, inhale her fragrance, and—
And what? Mate with her? Manx knew it wasn't that simple—not even with a woman of his own species. All females had to be tempted, teased, and enticed—and to her, he was not only a stranger, but an alien being. He would have to exert considerable efforts to overcome that obstacle, and though he hadn't had much practice of late, he certainly hadn't forgotten how—that ability was innate among Zetithians.
Manx closed his eyes, trying to remember how such a woman would taste. He'd gotten a better look at her when she'd gone down to the lake to meet Zef and hadn't been disappointed—in any way. Still, looks weren't everything, and he'd been misled before; just because he found a woman attractive didn't necessarily mean she would return the favor.
Manx suspected that if Zef ever got wind of the fact that he was interested in this alien female, he might talk—might tell her about the fugitive who lived in the jungle. And if she reported him to the Baradans, what would happen? Probably nothing. The odor of Nedwuts was one he hadn't picked up in a very long time—and never on this planet—but it was still a possibility. However, if Drusilla had no interest in him, any meeting between them would be a pointless and unnecessary risk. He needed more reassurance before he acted, and so, he resolved to wait.
Until she got up from her chair, walked out to the dock, and, after removing most of her clothing, dove into the lake.
Chapter 3
THE LAKE WAS EVERY BIT AS DOOL AND REFRESHING AS IT looked and Drusilla swam lazily across the surface. The water was crystal clear. Zef was nowhere in sight— though now that she was actually in the water, she expected to hear his rasping voice at any moment. Or, what was worse, his slimy tail flicking at her legs.
Still, he seemed harmless enough—if he'd never eaten a "skinny-butt" Baradan, he probably wouldn't eat her either—and this lake was far too wonderful a thing to remain the domain of one, solitary eltran! She didn't care if he was watching her. Sure, he could talk, but he wasn't human and looked more like a big mudskipper than anything. Who cared what a mudskipper saw?
The way her undershirt and panties clung to her, Drusilla might as well have been naked. Next time, she would be, she decided. If she wanted to swim in the nude, she wouldn't let Zef stop her.
But Zef wasn't the only one watching. Manx was exercising considerable self-restraint; if he'd done what his instincts told him, he'd have gone after her—wading out to the depths and then swimming toward her, circling, teasing, perhaps even touching her. If she was receptive, he would take her in his arms and purr in her ear, telling her how she made him want her enough to risk his life for it. But not yet. He'd let Zef take her measure and determine from her interaction with the eltran what kind of woman she was. Would she be kind? Manx certainly hoped so, but knew that it was also possible that she might be mean, vindictive, and delight in his misfortune. She might enjoy watching the Nedwuts hunt him down like a wild animal and then haul him away to be killed.
No, Manx promised himself, she wouldn't be like that. Fate wouldn't be so cruel—wouldn't have left him free for this long only to be betrayed by a woman.
Manx held his breath as Drusilla swam back to the dock and nearly cried out as she climbed the ladder. Her thin clothing clung to her like a second skin as water dripped from her body, her deep red hair plastered to her back. Her rounded hips, the curve of her legs—in fact, the entire backside of her—was perfect in Manx's eyes. If fate had purposely set out to create a woman who could lure him to his death, this was the one. As far as he could tell, her only fault was that she wasn't Zetithian—though that might not turn out to be a fault in the end. No woman could be more difficult to entice than a Zetithian female—which meant that the males of his world had to be the most sexually appealing in the galaxy out of sheer necessity.