The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [58]
"Oh, no. No, she's a lady, all right. It's like... piloting that ship is like riding a tiger. She's all coiled muscle and power, poised and ready to go. And, Kaavi, oh, can she go. But she's smooth, see, and when I put my hands on the consoles and feel those keypads--those small, smooth, cool little pads-it just takes this much effort and--" He broke off, suddenly embarrassed by his effusion. A blush began to creep onto his cheeks as he realized Kaavi was grinning.
A thousand words came to his lips, but they crowded each other away, and so he remained silent.
Kaavi, reading his discomfort in his eyes, shook her head. "No, Paris, I know. I have only flown twice, and that was aboard the ill-fated scout ship before it went on its final mission. I have not yet known the joy of maneuvering Conviction or the other ships like her. But I cannot wait. It is a feeling like no other, like riding the wind and being a part of it as well. I understand your pleasure. Though you would deny it, we are more alike than you realize. I am sorry that you find me and the rest of our people so repulsive."
The words, spoken without a hint of rebuff, only regret, were like a slap in the face to Paris. He mentally shrank another ten centimeters.
He wished, for the first time, that he was still in prison in New Zealand. It was more comfortable than standing here, in front of this being of such obvious intellect and integrity, and feeling like he was the biggest lout in the universe.
"Kaavi, I..." What could he say? She was right. He'd grown to respect the Verunans--their technology and culture, at least.
But their serpentine movements, their strange, diamond-shaped heads...
It was a deep-rooted revulsion. "It's nothing personal," he managed miserably.
"I understand," she replied amiably enough. "Your commander Chakotay explained that our people's physical appearance is evocative of certain creatures on your home world that make you uncomfortable. I was not rebuking you, Paris. I was merely wishing that you were not so ill at ease around us." She blinked, then brought her head down even with his. She peered, concerned, into his reddening face. "Is that a transgression of courtesy?"
For the first time, Paris forced himself to look evenly into Kaavi's golden eyes. He found nothing there to contradict her words--only genuine concern. He felt deeply ashamed and squared his shoulders.
"No, Kaavi it most certainly is not. I'm the one who's transgressed, and I ask your forgiveness. It shouldn't matter what you look like--it should matter who you are."
The words were hard for him, and Kaavi seemed to know it. "Ah, but should and should not--they are words that can move mountains, destroy suns, reshape the universe. We should have a future here on Veruna Four. We should not be faced with the extinction of our race, the death of our very world." Her powerful jaw clenched, and her normally pleasant voice dropped to a growl.
"I should be able to fly through the skies with a mate and a child. I should not have to tinker with ancient ships in the desperate hope of being granted the right to die defending my planet. It is not right, Paris. It is not fair. The Akerians have stolen our children's future. Viha Nata preaches hope, but where is it? Veruna Four is dying by the hour! Where is the hope in that?"
Her great eyes were filled with tears. She was struggling very hard to keep them back, but they spilled out anyway, making dark furrows in the orange-brown fur of her cheeks.
"Kaavi..." Paris hated it when females cried, no matter what species they were. He never knew how to handle it. What did one say to a weeping female Veronan?
She's not just a female, Tom, she's a pilot, came the thought.
And she's not having a hissy fit, she's trying to come to grips with the death of her entire world, for pity's sake!
"Kaavi"--the lieutenant steeled himself and put a hand on her arm, momentarily surprised to find it warm and pleasantly solid, not hard and scaly--"the hope