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Constantine jumps forward, unties the boat from its mooring, then returns to
the cockpit. He maneuvers his boat clear of the other boat, turns, then pushes
the throttles forward and begins the return journey. Aiah settles into the
seat beside him, hunches protectively behind the windshield to keep the chill
from her bones.
i'm sorry I can't really help,' she says.
'That's all right. You have a fresh perspective which has been useful
elsewhere it was worthwhile to try it here.' He gives her a smiling look.
'Besides, you needed a vacation.'
This is a vacation? she thinks. Perhaps for Constantine it is. But she says,
'Thank you.'
'All I can think of,' she says, 'is to try for the control stations, or maybe
the switches. They've got to use switches when they choose which of the cables
their plasm is to move along. The switches are electric, and if you can cut
the power . .. well, it'll be inconvenient for them.'
Constantine nods, smiles. The look is the sly one again, as if he were in the
secret process of having knowledge confirmed.
'Yes,' he says. 'I'll look into it.'
Hair matted, shivering with cold, Aiah returns with Con-stantine's party to
the Volcano, Constantine donning his red wig for his brief public moment in
the elevator. Sorya awaits them in the suite. She is dressed exquisitely in
delicate gold jewelry and blazing red silk, and the silk matches the fiery
anger that greets Constantine the second he arrives. 'Parq is coming here for
dinner?' she demands. 'You arranged this?'
Constantine hands the red wig to one of his entourage. 'Indeed,' he says.
'I told you not to trust him!'
'I don't,' Constantine says calmly. 'I'm using him.'
Sorya's long-nailed hands slice the air like knives. 'He's betrayed every
leader, every associate ...'
Constantine nods to acknowledge the truth of this statement. 'And therefore,'
he says, 'is perfectly predictable.'
Sorya rages on. The bodyguards tactfully find other parts of the suite that
require defense from intruders. Aiah concludes that she had best leave Bobo
and Momo to their own devices, and sidles around the storm center toward her
room.
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She draws herself a bath and soaks for a long time in the hot water, tries to
let the scent and texture of bath oil caress her nerves .. . but it's hopeless
with angry voices rattling the door in its frame. Aiah can't make out the
actual words, but perhaps it doesn't matter, very possibly they're not
intended to mean anything anyway, only convey a message of fury. Aiah
remembers times in her girlhood where the day's routine was suddenly
interrupted by the screams of angry neighbors, their fury clearly audible
through thin public-housing walls or if not a fight, then the unmistakable
sounds of coitus, or sometimes one followed inexplicably by the other. Aiah
recalls the sensation of embarrassment, not for herself surely, but for those
neighbors, people she saw every day, people she greeted in the hallways, who
were so carelessly violating their own intimacy, proclaiming their secrets to
the world.
Bobo and Momo. Constantine and Sorya. Aiah realizes that she doesn't really
know anything about Sorya, only that she's Carveli and rich. Aiah doesn't know
how long Sorya and Constantine have been together, or whether they fight like
this all the time, or only when they're planning a war. Aiah gives a little
laugh at the thought, and washes her neck.
Doors slam, and then there's silence. Aiah washes her hair, sliding down the
long porcelain tub into the hot water, submerging her whole body beneath the
surface except for the islets of her kneecaps ... another memory of childhood,
looking up at a cracked bathroom ceiling through a blurry layer of water. Only
here the ceiling is tiled, little blue-and-white mosaic chips in a swirling
abstract pattern.
The hotel furnishes wonderfully plush terry bathrobes with the name of the
hotel beautifully embroidered on the front. Aiah wraps herself in one and
spends some careful moments unratting her hair. The rest of the suite seems to
have been shocked into silence.
Aiah looks at herself in the mirror and wonders if the new memories are
somehow visible in her eyes, if strangers can look at her and sense the
difference brought by the taste of the sea on her tongue, the stare of the
dolphin with its fixed grin, the brilliant colors of the sea-life in the
headlights, Constantine's profile cutting air as he stood behind the boat's
controls.
There is a discreet knock on her door. She answers, finds Constantine
half-dressed for his appointment, black braided pipestem trousers with loops
over the insteps of his silk socks, braces, immaculate snowy shirt with the
lace not yet buttoned into place. The abashed smile on hi* face is denied by
the mocking amusement dancing in his eyes.
'I suppose you heard,' he says.
i did my best not to.'
'Sorya's gone.'
'Will she be back?'
He shrugs. 'That will be up to her, I suppose.' Aiah steps back from the door
and lets Constantine drift into the room, silk socks purring against the thick
carpet.
'There's no manual for what we're doing,' Constantine says. 'I may never know
whether my dealings with Parq make sense, but I know that without Sorya our
cause is diminished.'
She looks at him. 'It's Caraqui, isn't it? You're going to overthrow their
government. And you need the dolphins for that.'
The amusement vanishes at once from Constantine's eyes, and suddenly Aiah
feels herself the focus of his intensity, the full power that radiates from
him, as if a tower beacon has just swept over her, then swept back, fixing her
in its burning gaze. And what happens, she wonders, if he decides she's
unworthy to possess this knowledge?
Thoughtful, his deep voice rumbles out. i suppose it's obvious enough.'
'You wouldn't go to all this bother with the dolphins and the trip underwater
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if this were just a theoretical exercise,' Aiah says. 'Those cables bring
plasm to the Aerial Palace, don't they?'
He nods, that intent gaze still on her. Aiah realizes she's holding her
breath. And then Constantine nods, and his look softens.
'Will you help me with these plans of mine?' he says. 'I don't think I could
abide it if another so exceptional a woman walked out on me today.'
Aiah's mouth is dry. 'Of course I'll help,' she says.
They stand facing each other for a long moment, Aiah's skin prickling under
the terry robe. On the mirrored walls there are diamond-shaped Aiahs,
diamond-shaped Con-stantines. Then Constantine, in one of those swift
movements so unlikely in such a large man, steps suddenly forward. Aiah barely
has time to raise her arms before he has crossed the distance between them,
and she has a brief moment of surprise at his size, the simple cold fact of
his physical power, before the power is simply there, in her arms, and she has
to deal with it. She enfolds him, presses herself to the broad expanse of lace
on his chest, drives her lips up into his ... She doesn't want him to think
this is completely his idea.
The bedsheets are fine soft percale, lightly scented with lavender.
Constantine makes love with the same intensity he displays in everything else.
Being the focus of all this fierce concentration makes Aiah self-conscious at
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