Chapter 25: Goodbye, Pasqual.
My words echoed slightly in the vast space, then faded into an even larger silence. A certain tension had entered the room, and all of the dragons were looking at me intently. Even Ksstha now peered at me sharply. Dithra lifted her head and then inclined it slightly, waiting for me to explain.
I swallowed. "My Lady, I have obligations that I must fulfill. There are those that depend on me, and if I failed them many good people could suffer."
Dithra's emerald eyes glinted coolly. "Hasai, what could you possibly see in the humans to cause you to value them so? They are brutish, short-lived monsters that destroy everything they touch. Indeed, several of them attacked you not long ago, did they not? What if they had succeeded in their attack? What if you had perished? Would you doom us for such as they, Hasai?"
God, how I hated this. "Dithra, please. I gave them my word."
"Break it. What care they for a dragon's honor?"
She jerked her head back, seemingly shocked by her own words, but it was too late to retrieve them. My heart, wavering until now, went cold. "It does not matter whether they care or not. I care, for it is my honor. I have duties to perform, oaths to keep. And they will be kept, for that is how I am."
More gently. "My Lady, I understand your concern. But what sort of 'savior' would I be if my word wasn't worth the breath used to give it?" That momentary flash of icy anger was subsiding, leaving behind a deep sadness. "Dithra, I beg your permission to leave."
She stared at me for what seemed to be forever, and I felt my resolve once again begin to slowly crumble under that gaze. Finally her neck drooped in defeat and she turned away. She spoke then; a single word, so softly that I scarcely heard it. "Go."
The other elders instantly exploded into deafening protest, but she ignored them as I turned and headed back the way I came, my size sinking back towards normal with each step I took. At the doorway I glanced back, and she was looking at me again. I hesitated under that gaze, feeling as if something unutterably precious were slipping from my grasp. Finally, with the last remaining fragment of my resolution I turned and headed out the door.
Stefan radiated all the warmth of liquid nitrogen on the way back to Baltimore, speaking only to me when absolutely necessary. By the time we reached that lonely little field again I'd had all I was going to take of his icy politeness.
"Stefan, enough."
The black and green dragon turned to look at me coolly, his head held at a not-quite-insulting angle. "Why, whatever do you mean, my lord?"
Badly worn by the events of the night, I found myself hard-put to contain the rush of white-hot rage that suddenly boiled within me. He saw it as well, but though his eyes widened slightly he didn't change his posture one iota.
Finally, I managed to regain enough control that I trusted myself to speak. "You just don't get it, do you, Stefan? Do you have any idea, any idea at all just what it cost me to walk out that door? DO YOU???" I roared in his face, fangs flashing
Stefan started violently at my sudden roar, then stared at me as I struggled for rational thought. At last I sighed. "Of all those there, I thought you at least would understand." I gestured at him. "We're relics, you and I, you know that? We faced each other as pawns in a shadow-war that spanned most of this century. Both of us went through more than a little hell in that war, and both of us buried more than a few friends. And for what?"
I turned and took several steps away from him, my tail lashing, and studied the dead weeds at my feet as I groped for words. "Now, that war is over, and the humans discard us like a worn-out shoe. And what are the rewards for our labors? You are a hunted fugitive. And I? I am relegated to chasing drug runners and crushing two-bit dictators until one day I find myself in early retirement on a starvation pension."
I looked back at him. "It's all gone, Stefan. The challenge, the occasional glory, the purpose. And that's what hurts most of all, you know. Once, I had a purpose."
"My lord--"
I cut him off. "Dithra offered me a new purpose, Stefan; one even better than the last. One in which I actually get to preserve something, rather than destroy. One in which I won't have to kill. Do you know how tired I am of killing, Stefan?"
The dragon hesitated for a moment, then sighed and looked away. "Perhaps as much as I am, my lord."
"I will help you, Stefan."
". . . .My lord?"
"Once the humans release me from my obligations to them --and they will, soon, for they have no more use for me-- we shall see if we can make Dithra's little dream come true." I allowed myself a human smile as I looked him in the eye. ". . . .And you have my word on that, Stefan."
The black and green dragon stared at me, his frame gone stone still. He opened his jaws to speak, closed them again, then finally bowed to me; deeply, as he had when we first met in that tiny field.
"Good night, Stefan."
". . . .Good night, my lord."
Thirty minutes after my head hit the pillow, the alarm clock erupted. I gave a heartfelt groan, reached over and slapped it off, then laid there for several minutes as I worked up the gumption to get up. This dual-life stuff really takes it out of a guy. . . .
. . . .With a start my eyes snapped open to stare at the clock. Damn! I fell asleep again! With a snarl I flung off the covers with one hand while the other reached for the phone and punched up the hangar. A few minuted later I had Austin on the line.
"Hey, sarge, where you at?"
"At the hotel," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "Sorry Austin, I overslept. I'll be right over."
"Well, don't bother yourself. Them damn Tru-Loks still ain't here, and all me and the boys're doin' is sittin' around with our thumbs up our asses. Gettin' ready to call it a day, ourselves."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Sounds like I picked a good day to screw up. Okay, Austin. I'll be in first thing in the morning."
"Whoa! Don't hang up yet, I got somethin' here for you. . . .If I can find it. . . ." There was a rustling sound as my chief mechanic rummaged through that bird's nest he called his desk. "Hah! Found it. Some girl name of Pass-kal called for you last night after you left."
"Pasqual," I corrected automatically. "She leave a number?"
"Yep." Austin rattled it off, then paused. "Hey, Sarge, that girl sounded awful good on the phone. Any more like her back home?"
In spite of my exhaustion I had to laugh. "I don't know. But if you're real nice to me, maybe I'll find out."
"How's a steak sound?"
"Inch thick? Medium-rare?"
"Yeah, I can do that."
"Deal."
"I always knew you were one of the good guys, Sarge."
I grinned into the phone. "Well, don't tell anybody; it'll ruin my image. See you tomorrow, Austin."
I hung up, then dialed again. After several rings a familiar voice answered. I smiled. "Hi."
"Michael! How are you?"
"Tired. How's your father?"
A tiny pause, then a laugh. "I think you were right about older people, Michael. He was out of bed before I got there."
I chuckled quietly. "How long are you in town?"
"I have a day here before I leave," I could hear her smile right across the line. "Why? Do you have something in mind?"
"I might."
"But you said that you were tired."
"Not that tired. . . .Give me four hours and I'll be fine." I gave her my hotel and room number. "See you soon?"
"I will see you soon, Michael."
Pasqual held the wine glass up to the candlelight and let its glow illuminate the glass' blood-red contents. She smiled as she then let her eyes roam across the richly furnished dining room, then back to me. "Michael, how did you find such a place? It's beautiful."
I chuckled, then sipped my wine; a marvelous Cabernet to go with the equally marvelous meal. "I read all the right aviator magazines. If there's one thing pilots know, it's where all the good party spots are."
Pasqual laughed at that, white teeth flashing, and I smiled. For some reason it made me feel good to watch her laugh.
She quieted, and for several long moments she studied me from across the table. "You seem to be much better than you were in the islands, Michael. Less. . .dark. Do you still have bad dreams?"
I smiled sadly. "Not as much anymore. I . . ." I trailed off, my head tilting back as I searched for words. ". . .I think I've managed to atone for a few things, and maybe have come to terms with others."
She gave me an uncertain smile. "Perhaps you would like to talk about it someday?"
"Perhaps. Someday."
The talk petered out after that, and we picked at the remains of our meal until the last of the wine was gone. Our waiter materialized. "Would you like to take a look at our dessert menu this evening?"
I looked at Pasqual and arched an eyebrow quizzically. She gave me a diabolical little smile, then replied to the waiter. "Not tonight, thank you. We have a different dessert in mind this evening." The waiter hid a quick smile, and Pasqual laughed as I felt my face go flaming red.
Four, maybe five hours later I shut off the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out of my hotel room's tiny bathroom, to find Pasqual wearing my robe and sitting at the edge of the bed. She was fiddling with the room's radio-slash-TV, and evidently not having much success.
"I'm sorry Pasqual, did I wake you?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, smiled. "Oh, no. My body, it still thinks it is in France. So, it is the middle of the morning for me." Her smile slid into a frown as she went back to the stubborn device. "Do you know how to make this work? I was trying to find some music, but I am not doing very well."
I went over to the set and crouched before it, close enough to her to feel her warmth. "Well, let's see . . . " I flicked several switches. ". . . it acts like it's not getting any power. It's plugged in, though. . .looks like an internal fuse." I muscled the set around and got a look at the fasteners securing its back. "Tamper-proof Torx," I sniffed derisively, then went to my bag and pulled out a small black case. I zipped it open to reveal a welter of curious-looking tools, wires, tiny electronic devices, and other, even more bizarre items. "Now, where did I put that silly little thing?"
Pasqual came to peer over my shoulder, and stared at the contents of the case. "Michael, what is it that you do for the American Army?"
I looked up from my rummaging. "Me? Well, Pasqual, I am what most people would call a spy." I smiled as I felt the tool I was looking for slide into my hand. "Gotcha, you little. . . ." I held it up to the light, then went over to the TV, unsnapping the back of the tool as I went. "To be more exact, I'm an Electronics Warfare expert. I do things with electronics and other hardware to gather information, control weaponry, and in general just mess up the Bad Guys." I paused. "Looks like a TT15." I fished a drive bit out of the tool's storage compartment. "Ah. Here we go."
A few moments later I had popped the back cover off and was tracing the wiring. Pasqual blinked at the bewildering maze within the set. "You must be very good at these things."
"What? This?" I nodded at the mess I had my hands inside. "This is nothing. I work on stuff that makes this look as simple as a stone axe every day of the week." I grinned distractedly. "But, yeah, I'm good. In fact, I'm the best."
I snapped a tiny metal and glass capsule out of its holder and held it to the light. "The very best. There isn't a thing I can't do with electronics and other hardware. Put me in a lab or a machine shop, and no one can touch me." I felt my mouth twist wryly. "I guess you could say I was born and bred for it. Hm. Just as I thought."
I went over to the black case and fished out the folded square of aluminum foil I kept in it, tore off a small piece. "Didn't used to be that way, though. Used to be lots of guys around just as good, or better. But they're all gone."
Pasqual watched as I wrapped the capsule in the bit of foil, then snapped it back into its cradle. "Why? Where did they go?"
I shrugged, then began to reassemble the set. "Some are dead, some are retired. Most were forced out. Seems the Army doesn't want any whiz-kids in its ranks anymore; just clean-cut types who know when to salute and how to look good in a uniform. But don't ask them to do anything more complicated than changing a light bulb."
"Why didn't you leave as well, Michael?"
I smiled bitterly. "And where would I go? The ability to can-opener a communications network isn't exactly in high demand in private industry, y'know. . . .There."
I turned the set back around and flipped the radio selector. Static hissed, and I twisted the tuning knob until music began to issue forth. I turned to Pasqual and gave a florid bow as she applauded. "There you go, my lady; yet another small miracle courtesy of the Sarge." I smiled at her and patted the set affectionately. "I'd suggest we watch the little critter carefully, though; fuses don't just pop without a reason. It'd be poor form to end our evening with a fire, now wouldn't it now?"
Wide-eyed, she tried with little success to stifle a nervous laugh. "You speak of it as if it were alive."
"Isn't it? Here--" I took her hand, and gently stroked its back across a portion of the set's metal trim. "Feel that funny, warm buzz against your skin? It's alive; in a strange, alien sort of way, but alive nonetheless."
Pasqual snatched her hand away, and shivered. Seeing my concerned look, she smiled at me sadly. "I am sorry, Michael, but no one in my family has ever truly understood machines. We find them . . . frightening."
I returned her smile, then shrugged. "That's okay; most everybody's that way. Still, it would have been nice. . . ." I trailed off as I sought another subject. After a few moments I noticed the song that was playing. On impulse I stepped to Pasqual and bowed again. "Would my lady care to dance?"
Before Pasqual could do more than give me a bemused look I had grasped her hand and swung her into a close embrace. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed into my arms as we began to slow-dance to the rich, slightly sad music of Al Stewart. I buried my face into her chestnut hair for a moment, inhaling as much of her scent as I could with my stunted human senses. And I held her like that as we slowly circled through the little hotel room.
"How was home?"
Again a tiny pause; so much like an actress in a play trying to remember her next line. That certain chill returned, and this time it refused to be ignored. I felt a wave of sadness sweep through me. "Home was good to return to, Michael; I wish I could have stayed longer. But Papa was doing much better, and the club wanted me back as soon as possible. So I had to leave much sooner than I would have."
I closed my eyes and smiled into her hair. "I'm sorry to hear that, Pasqual. Did you at least find out how the Beaujolais Nouveau are doing this year?"
She chuckled throatily against my shoulder. "No, not even that. I'm sorry; I should have thought to bring you a bottle. Perhaps next time."
"Perhaps." I gently kissed her throat and I felt her breath catch slightly. "But I am happy with what you did bring." I kissed her throat again.
". . . .Mmmm?"
"Yourself."
My kisses slowly roamed their way across her throat, then began to slowly drift downwards, becoming interspersed with tiny nips with my front teeth, never quite drawing blood. She sighed and let her robe fall open, then shuddered as I began to gently work over what I found within. Soon her breath was coming in panting little gasps as she ran her fingers through my hair, pressing me against her smooth skin.
. . . .My poor little swallow. Who sent you to entangle me? One of the cartels? DGI? Or some old enemy I no longer even remembered? How did they get you to do this, and what will be your punishment for failure? Ah, my poor, poor little swallow. . . .
Gently I picked her up and laid her on the bed, where I began to once again make love to her in earnest. In the background the music began to slowly wind to a close, a few fragments of the song's last lines searing themselves into my memory.
-You know sometime you're bound to leave her,
-But for now you're gonna stay
-In the Year of the Cat
The morning sun found me once again at BWI, seeing Pasqual off to Miami.
She checked her bags, then turned to me and smiled. "Will you see me to the gate?"
I paused for a moment; seeking a better way to do this, but in the end simply shaking my head. "I'm sorry, Pasqual, but I have to get back to work."
Her smile slipped a bit, and her eyes flickered downwards for a moment. "I see." Then she brightened. "You will call me as soon as you get back to the islands?"
"I won't be coming back, Pasqual."
Her smile faded completely. "Michael? . . .What is it? Have I done something wrong?"
"Very little." She blinked at that, and stared at me as I traced a single finger along her jawline. "I'm sorry, my dear Pasqual, so very sorry. I thought you understood. I go where I'm needed, and I'm not needed down there anymore."
I sighed and dropped my hand. "Our two worlds rarely touch, Pasqual. We had a few moments on the beach, and that's all I could ever ask for. You helped me over some very tough times, for which I'll always be grateful, but when I left your little island I fully expected to never see you again." I smiled. "It was a miracle we ran into each other up here, and yesterday was wonderful. But more than one miracle is far too much to hope for."
Her eyes had grown wet, and she seemed to be trembling slightly. "Michael, don't--"
I shushed her, then gently kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then, finally, her mouth. "Goodbye, Pasqual. Please try not to think too badly of me. . . ."
I stepped back from her. She stared at me for long moments, a single tear beginning to work its way down her cheek. But finally the message hidden within my words seemed to sink in. Her eyes dropped. Reaching down she groped for her carry-on, then silently turned and walked away, to be quickly swallowed up by the milling mass of humanity.
Goodbye, Pasqual.
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