Three - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
Gerda was pacing her room like a caged targ when she heard a chime announce the presence of someone at her door.
Greyhorse, she thought.
He had come to try to apologize for what she had seen in him. But should I accept his apology? she asked herself. Or should I let him stew in his own bitter juices?
Normally, she would have opted for the latter. But without Idun, she needed someone to talk to, and Greyhorse had always been happy to listen to her.
I’ll accept it, then. But not easily. With her decision made, she said, “Come in.”
The door slid aside. But it wasn’t Greyhorse it revealed. It was Idun.
For a moment, they stood there staring at each other. Then Gerda moved to one side and let her sister enter.
As the doors closed behind Idun, she glowered at Gerda. “What is the matter with you?” she asked.
[179] Gerda glared back at her with equal intensity. “I might ask you the same question.”
Idun looked as if she had expected a different reaction. “Perhaps my memory is faulty—but as I recall, I’m not the one who turned her back on her sister and left the gym without an explanation. And I’m also not the one who attacked Refsland in the corridor.”
“Nor are you the one who sees Gerda Idun for what she is,” the navigator shot back.
Idun looked more confused than angry. “What in the name of Kahless are you talking about?”
“She’s lying about something,” Gerda said. “I have seen it in her eyes. She’s keeping something from us.”
Idun shook her head. “You’re insane. All Gerda Idun has done since she came aboard is cooperate with every request the captain has made of her. And if not for her courage, Joseph would likely be dead.”
Gerda had to concede that the woman had saved the security officer’s life. But that didn’t change what she had seen—what her instincts told her was true.
Idun poked her in the small of her shoulder. “I never thought I would be saying this, but you’re jealous of her.”
Gerda knocked her sister’s hand aside with a snap of her wrist. “The hell I am.”
“Admit it,” Idun pressed. “You didn’t see anything in her eyes. You just don’t like her being around. Because of the competition she represents. Because instead of two of us, there are three.”
Gerda felt a surge of resentment. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“You are a liar,” her sister told her, her voice growing [180] husky with anger. “And it’s not just me you’re lying to. If you think Gerda Idun is concealing something from us, you’re lying to yourself as well.”
“How can you be certain?” Gerda demanded. “Do you really believe she just appeared on our transporter platform? That it was an accident, as she claims?”
“It happened once,” said Idun, her eyes narrowing. “It could have happened again.”
“Now who’s lying to herself?” Gerda snapped. “Me ... or you?”
“You have no proof,” Idun spat, “no evidence to support your claim. And yet you defame her!”
“And you defend her,” Gerda snarled, her face turning hot with fury, “like a blind she-targ suckling a rodent!”
Idun looked at her sister with unconcealed disgust. “Our father,” she rasped, her voice like a knife, “would have been ashamed to call you daughter!”
It was the worst thing she could have said.
For a long time, as they struggled to survive in an alien culture, the only reward they could embrace was their father’s approval. To be unworthy of it was to be worthless altogether—and Idun knew that.
Gerda’s wrath carried her like an inexorable, black riptide. “Pahtk!” she growled, fully intending it as a challenge, a call to battle.
And for a moment, it looked like Idun would accept it. Her face darkened and her hands balled into fists, as if she would strike her sister like any other enemy.
And Gerda was ready for the blow, if it came.
But it never happened. Little by little, the fire of anger [181] left Idun’s face. Her hands opened and she drew a long, shuddering breath.
Then, with a last look of reproach, she turned her back on her sister and left.
The doors to Gerda’s anteroom remained open long enough