• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Is that how long you’ve been here?” Han asked.

“Yes.”

They picked their way through the hot, wet darkness in silence. Han was very conscious of holding her arm beneath the wide sleeve of her robe. Her bones were too close to the skin, but her flesh itself was warm and soft and very female.

“So, you planning to stay here for good?” Han asked as a small clot of shambling pilgrims passed them in the darkness. “Or is this just kind of temporary?”

“Temporary?” He could barely see the light blur of her face, with the dark line of the goggles running across it, as she turned toward him. “How could it be temporary? I want to serve the One, be part of the All, forever.”

“Oh,” Han said. “Well, uh … what about stuff like … falling in love, traveling, maybe settling down someday and having kids?”

“We give up those kinds of attachments when we become part of the All,” she said, but there was a hint of regret in her voice.

“Too bad,” he said.

Without warning, it began to rain steadily. Han could feel 921 shiver slightly, despite the warmth. He pulled a rain poncho out of his pocket and spread it over both their heads. They walked along, huddled beneath it, bodies touching. Han was conscious of Muuurgh following at a discreet distance. Poor guy. He hates to get wet …

The pilot raised his voice to be heard above the spatter of the rain. “You know, I can’t just go on calling you 921. If we’re gonna be friends, you’ve gotta tell me your name.”

“Who says we’re going to be friends?” she asked.

“I just know it,” Han told her. He grinned, knowing she could see him in the darkness. “I’m irresistible when I put my mind to it.”

“You’re conceited, that’s what you are,” she said, sounding half-vexed, half-amused. “Conceited, cocky, arrogant … insufferable …” she broke off, chuckling. Han realized it was the first time he’d heard her laugh.

“Oh, go on, please!” the pilot mock-protested, laughing himself. “I love it when women compliment me. Music to my ears.” He was delighted to hear her sounding so alive.

“I’m tired,” she said, her momentary good humor vanishing like morning mist. “And here we are at the dorm. Thanks for walking me back … Pilot Draygo.”

There was a faint circle of light emanating from the windows in the dormitory, and Han stopped them right on the edge of it, so he could see her, but they wouldn’t be fully illuminated to any onlooker.

“Not ‘Pilot,’ ” he reminded her. “It’s Vykk.”

She tried to step back, away from him, but Han tightened his grip on her arm, careful to be gentle, but not letting her pull away. “Vykk, okay?”

“Vykk … right,” she said. “Now, please … let me go. And … don’t come back. Please.”

“Why not?” Han was hurt.

“Because … you’re not good for me. For my spiritual essence.”

He smiled in the hot darkness. “Admit it. You like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Admit it.” He stepped closer to her, looking down into her face. She was tall, only half a head shorter than he was. Gently Han reached up to push the concealing goggles up, off her eyes. His fingers lingered on her cheek as he did it. “There,” he said softly, “that’s better. It’s wrong … totally wrong … to cover this face, these eyes …”

“You’re … you’re being blasphemous,” she said, sounding breathless, but she didn’t jerk away.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “Tell me your name.”

She shook her head miserably, and her eyes were haunted. “Vykk … I can’t …”

“All right.” I can wait, Han thought. “But I will see you again, right?”

She hesitated for so long that he found himself holding his breath. Then she ducked her head, mumbled, “Yes,” and pulled away. This time, Han let her go.

921 ran away, into the dormitory, without looking back.

Han leaned forward in the pilot’s seat, glancing at the figures rolling by on the screen of the navicomputer. “Ready to enter realspace, at rendezvous coordinates,” he said aloud. “Three … two … one …”

He pulled back the lever, and the stars around the Ylesian Dream suddenly elongated into thin streaks of light all reaching toward a central point—a point