Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [76]
Though the Hansa had provided standard colonists’ rations and bland-tasting mealpax, Captain Kett insisted on creating the closest thing to a banquet she could manage for her passengers. She’d picked up nearly fifty people, a few from Dremen and the others from Rhejak and Usk.
“Who knows what kind of food you’ll find on those Klikiss worlds?” she said, grinning at Orli. “You deserve at least one decent meal before you get to Rheindic Co. Been there myself, you see, and it’s nothing special.”
“Except it has a Klikiss transportal,” Jan pointed out.
“Well, there is that.”
The question of the day seemed to be which colonization group or transportal explorer would eventually find the missing Margaret Colicos. The elderly xeno-archaeologist had vanished one day through the stone window on Rheindic Co, the same one the colonists were going to use. Apparently, the Hansa technicians operating the relocation facility had established a betting pool.
Aboard the ship, the voices of the passengers rose to a fever pitch. Orli had already heard them placing wagers using Hansa credits or exchanging chore responsibilities. Jan happily added a bet of his own, picking a time and a world at random.
Orli said, “It’s just like all those people who bet on finding the lost Burton out in the Spiral Arm, Dad. Not much chance of winning.”
“Not much chance,” Jan agreed. “But the payoff could be big.”
The Voracious Curiosity sailed on, every moment growing closer to the jumping-off point for the next part of Orli’s life. She took her blanket and snuggled near to her father against a bulkhead wall. Captain Kett dimmed the lights in the cargo hold so that everyone could sleep, but many of the colonist volunteers were too full of anticipation.
Jan dozed off within moments, without a care in the world. Orli remained awake, listening to him breathe, staring at the metal walls. She couldn’t decide whether she was excited or worried.
Chapter 38—ANTON COLICOS
Though Anton enjoyed the excitement and energy during the height of Maratha’s day season, he drank in the long night silence in a way that none of his Ildiran friends could ever appreciate.
As a boy, he’d spent much time basically alone in the alien archaeological digs worked by his parents. Margaret and Louis had treated him as a little adult; they hadn’t seemed to know what else to do. At night in camp, he would sit and listen to them discussing (or arguing about) discoveries they’d made in the ruins. They would try to interpret the Klikiss architecture, room placement, or the weblines of hieroglyphic text on the walls. Occasionally, they would ask their son what he had done during his day as he roamed the site, exploring. Most of the time, though, Anton just eavesdropped and absorbed their passion for the long-gone alien culture…
Here in the nearly empty domed city, Anton had his surrogate Ildiran “family.” Though he did not enhance the thism with his presence, he did share a fascination for their grand Ildiran epic.
In particular, he adored a story about an exotic Ildiran painter who became too obsessed with her art. Not satisfied with common materials, she had painted every centimeter of her skin, from the top of her shaved scalp to the soles of her feet. She made herself into a living mural of Ildiran history and heroes, and people came to stare at her marvelous body. One morning after she had completed her great work, however, the artist discovered a small wrinkle on her face—and realized that, over time, her physical masterpiece would be destroyed by her own mortality.
Convinced that her art was more important than her life, she formulated a preservative poison that would polymerize and fossilize her skin. She drank the poison, positioned herself on a stand with her arms and legs spread so as to show off every detail, and waited while the chemicals turned her body solid, never letting her face form a grimace of pain. According to Vao’sh, the artist’s body-statue was still on display in the PrismPalace, and Anton hoped