Halley and Henoit - Maxine McArthur (SF)

[marianne]

For readers of Maxine's Time Future and Time Past, this is a REALLY recent piece by the author on Halley's first 'intimate' meeting with Henoit. I'm a huge Halley fan and this really wet my appetite for more.

[marianne]

This excerpt may only be reproduced with the permission of the author.


Halley and Henoit

I don’t often think back on my first night with Henoit. Like the old lady said about the third world war, it was a long time ago and we’ll hope it didn’t happen. But yesterday I went for a run along the harbour front and something—maybe the warm, salt-laden breeze—reminded me of Mars and the marathon beside the underground lakes where I first saw Henoit, and all the other memories nuzzled at me, demanding attention.
After the marathon, we ate at a café on the surface. I don’t remember the food, or the time of day. I’d taken a low-level pheromone blocker, but it merely prevented me from doing something embarrassing like tackling him then and there in the restaurant. I still felt the pull of desire.
Was it all the fault of those pheromones? I’ve often asked myself in the many years afterwards. If Henoit had been a human, would I have fallen for him with such completeness?
What I do remember from that meal is the velvety texture of his red-brown flesh, the slow grace of his hand lifting a glass, and the almost imperceptible tensing of his long muscles. He wore an open-weave ceremonial vest, through which indigo tattoos curled down from his neck, and a short kilt balanced beltless on his narrow hips. Above tilted cheekbones his topaz eyes skimmed mine, looked away again.
I didn’t know much about H’digh at that stage, other than that they were a humanoid species who prided themselves on having a warrior heritage, as well as being canny traders and astounding artists. There weren’t many of them in Confleet—they preferred to protect their world and colonies with their own armed forces. Like everyone else, I knew them mainly for the pheromones that stimulated the human sex drive. I’d never really believed the stories until I felt the heat from Henoit’s mere presence on the other side of the table.
He surveyed the crowded room and the piazza beyond, thronging with evening revellers. In the distance, the walls of the canyon rose to completely encompass the city, except for a patch of dark blue sky far above. His gaze swept over the scene, noting each element dispassionately.
“This is a most public place.” He looked straight at me this time. His eyes had vertical pupils, like a cat’s. I didn’t know, then, that H’digh only stare at enemies. Or lovers.
“Shall we…” I took a deep breath, full of pheromones and pink dust. “Shall we go somewhere more private?”
“Yes.”
Every human eye on the terrace followed him as he walked out ahead of me. As we passed, several arguments broke out and couples reached across tables to each other, caught in the slipstream of sexual energy Henoit swirled behind him.
I think we went to his quarters. As attache to the H’digh embassy, he must have had attractive rooms, but I don’t remember the furnishings. We were standing just inside the doorway when he turned and spoke to me in a stiff, formal way. His voice, light and husky, had a timbre that slid easily out of hearing.
“Lieutenant Halley. I would like to make a request of you.”
Anything, I wanted to shout, as I imagined his knotted red fingers on my body. “Go ahead,” I said.
“I believe you may be seeking an encounter with me that humans describe as ‘casual sex’. Is that correct?”
“Er, yes,” I said. Might as well be honest.
He raised his shoulders and shifted weight onto one leg.
“In our species,” he went on, “the procreative act is a thing separate from physical bonding. H’digh reproductive years are greatly limited.”
“So are human females.”
“Both H’digh sexes have only ten or so of your years in which to conceive. It is always twins, and never more than one pair.”
It didn’t sound like a very evolutionarily competitive strategy. Then again, the barren H’digh homeworld supported few competitors. And, unlike humans, H’digh had never come close to destroying it by over-population. Perhaps merely an evolutionarily far-sighted strategy.
“We have therefore evolved rituals of mutual pleasuring that do not involve reproductive organs,” he said.
That sounded good. We should see if it could be applied to humans.
“I am disturbed,” he continued. “When I met you I felt that you may be my future bond-partner.”
I took a deep breath and wiped my damp palms down my thighs in an attempt to quieten desire. “Bond-partners? What does that mean?”
“The one with whom you spend this life and the next.”
“I, um, have plans for this life.” A career in Confleet Engineering, for a start. “I’m not really looking for a long-term relationship at this stage.” But I still want to fuck you, my treacherous body throbbed.
He tilted his head. “My request is merely that you allow me to confirm if it is you or not. The answer will affect the rest of my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“We believe every person has only one destined bond-partner.”
You’re kidding. A whole culture of hopeless romantics. “What happens if you don’t find your partner?” I said.
“You cannot make a family and you must go through certain rituals to ensure your passage to the afterlife.”
“It’s not very likely your partner is from a different species, is it.” I stepped forward until our chests touched. He was very tall and I had to crick my neck to look at his face. Somewhere inside me a faint, despairing voice of rationality called, ask him if there have been other bondings with non-H’digh, but the voice drowned instantly in the warm rising tide of lust.
“Confirm away,” I murmured, and ran my hands down his forearms.
He stood absolutely still for a moment, then bent down, hooked one arm under my knees, and carried me effortlessly into the next room, where a low platform occupied most of the floorspace. It was covered in a springy woven matting that smelled of cut grass.
We sat on the matting and began to undress each other. His vest and kilt fell into pieces along hidden seams. He placed the strips of cloth neatly to one side. I wriggled and twisted to get out of my Confleet uniform. Henoit helped. Every touch of his hot hands on my twitching skin sent me further over the edge. It wasn’t just orgasmic, although I started coming as soon as he unfastened my shirt. There was another dimension to the pleasure.
He knew exactly what I wanted and I let him give it to me. And, strangely, I knew what he wanted. I knew, too, that most of his pleasure came from seeing mine. And that my pleasure at making him feel good bounced back in what he did to me.
“Do you understand?” said Henoit, and my mind cleared. We were lying on the matting, our legs entwined, my body half across his chest, my head resting on his shoulder.
“Understand…” I began to say, then I realised what he meant. He hadn’t spoken aloud. No wonder he knew exactly what I wanted—he was in my head.
I pushed myself groggily away from him. “You didn’t tell me you were telepathic,” I croaked, trying to be angry. But I felt too good to make it sound genuine.
“I’m not,” he said aloud. “But if you weren’t my bond-partner, you wouldn’t hear me.” He rolled over and stared at me, his cats-eyes narrowed. “You and I belong together, now and always.”
“It won’t work,” I said weakly.
“Your breath is mine,” he said. “My soul is yours. Together we are whole and we make the universe whole. Apart, our unwholeness draws the night of chaos nearer.” He reached out, laying his hand open on the mat between us. “Marry me.”
And I did.