The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [35]
CHAPTER 7
The first thing that flashed into Tom Paris's mind as he, Chakotay, and Torres materialized on Veruna Four was the title of an old Earth poem: Paradise Lost. He'd never read the piece, knew nothing of what it was about, but the two words seemed to sum up the dreadful enormity of the catastrophe that was occurring, both in the space above the planet and on the surface itself.
The moist heat of the place and the glimpses of once-lush vegetation called to mind images of curvaceous females, rum punches, and, well, moments where a wonderful time was had by all parties concerned. But this heat was cloying and uncomfortable, with no ocean readily available to cool the skin. The sun, far redder than it had any real right to be, beat down through a hazy gray cloud layer that, Paris knew, was all but permanent now. It was a direct result of the atmospheric evaporation caused by the growing red giant.
These tropical trees were shriveling up, their formerly luxuriant foliage brown and decaying. Fruit that had never been permitted to ripen now rotted on the trees. The nearly overpowering stench of decomposition of plants and, Paris realized, animals--everything probably from fish to fowl to the Verunan dead themselves--dispelled any image of paradise with an evil laugh.
He felt his gorge rise at the smell and swallowed hard. It wouldn't do, he mused darkly, to throw up upon immediate sight of the planet.
The Verunans just might take that as an insult.
He felt a gentle pressure on his back. "It makes the heart and body sick, I know. I have seen this destruction every waking hour, scented it in my dreams, and it affects me thus as well."
Startled, Paris jerked away, glancing over at the speaker... and up... and up. He hadn't realized just how tall these creatures were.
The sharp, reptilian face grimacing (smiling, Tom, smiling!) down at him was attached to a sinuous neck that was fully two-thirds of a meter long if it was a centimeter. The enormous shoulders to which the neck attached were broader than even Chakotay's. And the hand that rested so softly on his shoulder had sharp, wicked-looking claws that were as long as human fingers.
He forced himself to smile in return, recognizing the figure as Viha Nata and telling himself that she meant to comfort him.
"My apologies, Viha," he managed, straightening. "I was not prepared for the full extent of the devastation of your planet.
It is..." Words failed him, but apparently Viha Nata understood, for she nodded, sighing and shaking her head in sorrow. She composed herself and turned to face the others, straightening to her full height of perhaps two and a half meters.
Paris realized that Nata was not alone. Two others stood with her, slightly behind, as befitted her position. Both of them wore not the flowing, simple garb of the Viha, but something that resembled uniforms--close-fitting, padded, single-colored fabric that covered them from head to, well, ankle. Their feet, large, splayed, and lizardlike, were hard enough so that the Verunans didn't seem to need shoes. There were holes cut into the garments that permitted the thick white tails to come through.
One, who stood with its arms crossed and snakelike head cocked in a rather pugilistic attitude, met Paris's eyes evenly. Its tail swished restlessly back and forth. The second stood as if at attention, its arms folded behind its back and its amber eyes trained on Viha Nata.
Other than their poses and attitudes, they looked exactly alike to Paris's eyes, unused as of yet to the subtle differences between individuals.
"Please allow me to introduce my compatriots. This is Kaavi, our top remaining pilot. Lieutenant Paris, she will be your liaison here on Veruna."
Kaavi's eyes narrowed, and she ducked her head in a quick bow of courtesy. Paris did likewise. She's got a chip