Boralene Read online

  But to his disappointment the face-to-face was from Dorain Sorglos, and it was Alia's flawlessly beautiful face that greeted him on the display when he grudgingly accepted the call, still hovering in front of the barred spiral galaxy he'd spent the last few weeks surveying.

  “What does he want?” he asked the companion.

  Alia gave him an apologetic look. “Just to talk. He's sent you several messages you haven't responded to.”

  Tycho sighed. Well, his mind was fried from sorting through the data stream in slowtime for who knew how long, and this would at least distract him from brooding about Callista. “I'd be happy to speak to him.”

  Alia smiled and disappeared, and moments later his dad's image filled the display, hanging in space in front of Tycho like some odd relic of ancient human exploration.

  Not that he looked ancient; his eyes were bright and his movements energetic as he leaned forward. “Son!” he boomed cheerfully, although beneath his attempt to act lighthearted he seemed concerned. “Was worried I was going to wake you at this hour, but every time I tried to reach you today Eva informed me you were sleeping. Right through the afternoon.” He winked. “She keep you up late?”

  Tycho fought to contain his annoyance. “I'm trying to shift my sleeping schedule around to be more convenient.”

  “Ah.” His dad paused uncomfortably, as if considering asking why, and that concerned look returned. Then he shrugged it off. “Well that might make coordinating times to play together a bit awkward, considering the new Protean Nebulary Forces world just launched. I've been dying to try it out but I thought I'd wait on you.”

  Oh, right. Tycho bit back a sigh; he'd forgotten about that in spite of Dorain's numerous messages reminding him, probably because he could hardly care less about the full immersion game. “You know, Dad, I've kind of lost interest in PNF. In all full immersion games, really. I'm not sure I want to dive into this one.”

  His dad looked at him sadly, but there was that concern still etched in his features. He looked as if he was trying to build himself up to saying something, something more than the shallow prattle he usually filled Tycho's ears with. “I know, buddy. It's just that they were the only way we really spend time together. Time that's been precious to me. Forgive an old man for wanting to hold onto that.”

  This was serious; Dorain almost never talked about his age, and Tycho felt a moment of guilt at the man's obvious show of vulnerability.

  He'd enjoyed the time they spent together as well, and still thought back on it fondly even though he'd mostly stopped visiting the games almost a decade ago, aside from the infrequent full immersion jaunts Dorain had convinced him to go on over the years. Most of those he'd agreed to not out of interest in the gameplay or content but as a way to spend time with his dad, keep some sort of bond with him.

  But that had just kept their bond as shallow as most of the games themselves. Tycho wanted something deeper. “I want to spend time with you too, Dad. Just not like that. Maybe we can find some other pastime to enjoy together.”

  “Such as seeing each other in person like some sort of deviants?” Dorain demanded, anger abruptly finding its way onto his usually mild features.

  Tycho stared at him in shock; as a rule his dad was the opposite of confrontational, so he had no idea where this was coming from. “What are you talking about?”

  His dad furiously scratched at his jaw, eyes darting uncomfortably as he continued. “Full immersion is hygienic, it's safe, and most of all it's socially acceptable. Meanwhile your profile is getting littered with mentions of going to other worlds and meeting up with strangers, most of whom don't even share your interests!”

  Wait, Dorain wanted to talk about seemliness? He was one of the few people over the age of two hundred who played violent full immersion games. He had a reputation for talking trash to other players and then blocking them to avoid any return insults.

  “Dad . . .” Tycho began sharply.

  But his dad spoke over him, scratching even more frantically. “The woman is understandable. Everyone knows young people like to explore new things, and she keeps her various rendezvouses with lovers discreet so there's little risk to your reputation. But-”

  “Callista and I aren't lovers!” he protested heatedly. “She's my friend.”

  That seemed to catch Dorain off guard. “Wait, you're regularly visiting a beautiful woman with a reputation for passionate flings and you haven't been with her romantically?”

  Tycho grit his teeth. “That's not the sum total of what I'm trying to have with her. Or with any of the other people I visit. I'm trying to make real human connections, relationships that involve being with people in person, seeing who they really are. And you'd be surprised how many people feel the same need once they let themselves admit it.”

  “And going around bludgeoning strangers to the point of injury like some kind of wild preserve primates is making friends?” Dorain shot back.

  He felt his face flush at the reminder of his “sparring” with Hollan. “Some visits have gone better than others,” he admitted. “But each is its own experience.”

  His dad glared at him for almost a minute in tense silence, obviously fighting for calm. Tycho hadn't been aware he felt this way, probably because the man had never bothered to tell him. What other feelings and thoughts had Dorain been hiding over the safe anonymity of the allnet?

  Would he be someone completely different if Tycho came to his estate and visited him in person?

  Finally his dad sighed, running a hand through his mostly white hair. “I'm just worried about you, son. We all have moments in our life when we feel like something's missing, when we wonder if there's more out there. I just don't want you to do something stupid, get yourself into trouble, chasing answers that aren't there.”

  “And what if the answers are there?” Tycho asked. “You say there's no difference between meeting in person and meeting on the allnet, but how would you know one way or the other? How long has it been since you've been in the same room with another person?” Dorain opened his mouth, then slowly shut it, scowling. Tycho continued eagerly. “Come to my estate, or I can come to yours. Let's talk about this without a barrier of technology between us.”

  For a moment his father wavered. Then he abruptly ended the call.

  Several seconds later Tycho's house AI notified him of an invitation from Dorain Sorglos to play Protean Nebulary Forces: Exigent. The computer put it up on his display, a flashy teaser featuring deliriously happy people engaged in various exciting space and planetary scenarios involving swashbuckling fights, passionate romances with exotic aliens, brawls in seedy asteroid station canteens, and other titillating events. Dramatic music built the tension as informational text about the new world scrolled along the margins.

  After a few minutes the teaser looped back to the start.

  Tycho stared at the disorientingly eye-grabbing visuals for almost a half hour, hurt, despondent, and even a bit resentful at how things had gone. His dad had brought him into the universe; if anyone should be willing to take a chance to get to know him, it should be one of the people who'd given him life.

  He just wanted to build a relationship with the man deeper than playing stupid full immersion games and chatting about inane amusements. Why was Dorain so resistant to that?

  So this was where he was. His mother couldn't bring herself to even speak to him without weeks of time to prepare, his dad just wanted to play games like they were casual allnet acquaintances, all the humans he'd met to socialize with so far just wanted him to indulge interests that for some reason or other companions were unsuitable for, and Callista . . .

  With a growl he contacted Loran and told him to fabricate writing utensils, paper, and some sort of fancy packaging. Then he disconnected himself from full immersion and went in search of his house companion.

  Eva had suggested he sit around and wait, hoping things would turn out okay. Well that didn't seem like the option he wanted to pursue if it mea
nt he might lose Callista forever.

  Once Loran brought him the things he'd requested he sat down at a table and carefully penned a message. The effort looked childish since he'd never actually used physical writing utensils or paper before, and he had nearly as much trouble deciding what to write as actually writing it. But after a frustrating hour of work and a shouted refusal to let Eva pen the message for him he finally had something he was satisfied with.

  “Miss Callista Ensom,

  I would like to extend you a cordial invitation to dine with me atop Mount Terriso, tallest peak on Helios 4, three days from now at six in the afternoon. Dress is formal. I look forward to your company with great anticipation.

  Tycho Boralene.”

  Tycho leaned back and let Loran figure out how to properly wrap the letter for delivery. He wasn't sure whether Callista had gotten over their confusing encounter at her estate yesterday, but he did know one thing: for the woman who saw the romantic side of noisy crickets, stars in the sky, and antiquated methods of data acquisition from physical books, if she was going to give him a chance at all then a handwritten and personally delivered invitation was his best shot at convincing her.

  As his house companion took the ship to Rykos 5 Tycho drove his ground car to his pool and began swimming laps. It was a reasonably mindless way to keep himself occupied, and as far as he was concerned it beat pacing nervously hands down.

  He tired long before Loran completed the trip, of course, and retired to his baths to soak away the ache in his muscles. Eva offered to join him, but with his thoughts on Callista he wasn't in the mood for her attentions at the moment.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Loran appeared on the display over the large tub to inform him that Miss Ensom had received his invitation.

  “And?” Tycho demanded with some trepidation. He was afraid that even if Callista found the handwritten invitation romantic she still might hesitate to answer it.

  But to his relief his companion smiled broadly. “She is delighted to accept.”

  * * * * *

  Rising to just over 31,000 feet, Mount Terriso's peak normally offered a breathtaking view of the Helian Spine mountain range stretching off to the north. Including the mountain Tycho had visited on his excursion and where he'd nearly been eaten by wolves.

  Where he'd buried Laird.

  Unfortunately at the moment the view offered by this lofty perch was obscured by clouds, leaving it an island in a sea of gray with other, smaller peaks jutting through. Tycho couldn't complain, though, because the sight offered its own stark beauty.

  He planned to take a cue from Callista and mention how, like humans, the mountain peaks were solitary and majestic, unable to see the deep roots that connected them through the obscuring clouds of the allnet, companions, and other distractions.

  Or, well, something like that.

  The air at this altitude should've been so thin that even drawing enough oxygen while at rest would've been an exhausting task. It also should've been freezing cold, and when he'd arrived the peak had been covered by a thick layer of ice and snow.

  With Eva's help he'd constructed a containment field to first thicken the air to a more comfortable density, although still thin enough to be a bit breathtaking. Then he'd installed heat generators along the edges of the peak until the trapped air was a comfortable room temperature.

  Cheating, maybe, but the idea of a romantic dinner in formal attire would be spoiled by having to wear heavy winter clothes and oxygen masks.

  Eva and Loran had helped him set up a table with the proper place settings, as well as a few other things to improve the presentation, including bringing along musical instruments and selecting quiet, non-intrusive songs they'd play to help set the mood.

  At the moment Eva was helping him with the final fitting for the formal suit he'd dredged from old historical archives and had her fabricate. It was uncomfortable and restrictive enough to prove its intended purpose was decorative rather than functional, but looking at himself in the reflective surface of his ship's wall he had to admit the suit held a certain flair as his companion made a few last adjustments.

  “You look very dashing, my love,” she said, playfully tussling his hair. “I'm sure Miss Ensom will be suitably impressed.”

  Tycho shooed her away with mock irritation, although he was smiling as she returned to get to work teasing his hair back into his place. His companion had impeccable taste, and her approval did a lot to settle his nerves.

  With all other preparations complete he descended to the mountaintop and began a circuit of its edges, inspecting the view and the table and chairs he'd set from all angles to make sure they were as perfect as he could make them.

  After a moment he paused, frowning. “Loran, push the chairs in close to the table so I can pull Callista's out for her.” A polite gesture that was out of date by thirty or so thousand years, but it seemed appropriately romantic.

  He pointed out a few other things, although his pacing was mostly to soothe his nerves. But finally Eva approached to inform him that Callista's ship was descending and would arrive within minutes.

  Tycho let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; he'd never had any doubt she'd come since she'd accepted his invitation, but it was still a huge relief to have that confidence confirmed. He hurriedly approached the table so he could be standing near it when she arrived, fidgeting with the various pieces and creases of his suit to make sure it still looked perfect.

  He was able to watch as the twinkle in the sky resolved into her ship, swiftly descending to land on the opposite side of the peak from him. As it powered down the ramp descended, and already waiting atop it stood Callista.

  In spite of himself Tycho's breath caught.

  The silvery-haired woman always looked gorgeous, elegant, and immaculately groomed. Always wore outfits carefully picked out to complement her figure and coloring to best effect. But at all other times she may as well have been wearing a sleeping robe when compared to the breathtaking evening gown she now wore.

  It was low cut, shoulderless and sleeveless but hugging her lithe body all the way down to her feet, so the toes of her pale red slippers barely peeked out from beneath. Rather than the brilliantly reflective silver of her complexly interwoven braid the color of the gown was muted, serving to compliment both her hair and her smoky gray eyes, which looked even larger and more mysterious than usual thanks to subtly applied cosmetics.

  Callista's lips, painted to appear fuller and more sensuous with a blush that matched the color of her slippers, curled upward as she took in his stunned reaction. “I see my efforts to make myself presentable weren't wasted.” Her smoky eyes drifted over him, perfect white teeth nibbling at her lower lip as she appraised him. “You clean up nicely as well, by the way.”

  Feeling heat creeping into his cheeks, Tycho hurriedly moved to meet her at the end of the ramp. “Welcome to Mount Terriso,” he said as he offered his arm. She rested her fingertips lightly atop his elbow, and he led her to her chair and pulled it out for her.

  “Mmm,” she said, gracefully settling into it while he scooted it back beneath the table. “Paying attention to every detail, Mister Boralene. I approve.”

  “I'm glad.” He worked to open the wine bottle chilling on a nearby table, cursing to himself when it proved harder than Eva made it look. But finally the cork popped free, and he carefully poured them each a glass and settled into his own seat.

  A slightly uncomfortable silence settled as they sipped the excellent vintage. After a few moments Callista sighed. “So.” Her eyes were fixed on the table in front of her and she seemed hesitant, even nervous. “I suppose we should start off by clearing the air.”

  Tycho nodded uncertainly. “Things do seem more awkward between us than I'd like ever since I visited Miss Ballademager.”

  She gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Ah, so you were astute enough to recognize the source of my pique at the end of our last visit.” She laughed
self-deprecatingly. “Would you be willing to understand if I told you I let my emotions get the best of me and took it out on you unfairly?”

  “I would.” Tycho waved at the solitary peak around them. “After all, you accepted my invitation.”

  “Still,” she pressed, “you probably want an explanation for my hypocritical response to your visit with that horse girl. Considering it was completely innocent and the two of us aren't intimate together anyway.”

  Well, she'd gone right to the heart of the matter. “I wouldn't exactly call it hypocritical,” he replied.

  Callista arched a silvery eyebrow at him, making his own reflection in it distort and shimmer. “What would you call it, then?”

  Tycho paused thoughtfully. “Sincere.”

  Her eyebrow remained raised, gray eyes crinkling in amused bafflement. “Okay, didn't expect that. What exactly is your reasoning for that particular word, darling?”

  He shrugged, the motion restricted by his formal suit. “Just that we're dealing with emotions that we've never felt before, or really even needed to feel when we were just with companions. Emotions that come with being around other people, forming relationships with them. And even when those emotions aren't always pleasant or positive, at least they're, well, sincere.”

  “Interesting.” Callista tapped the table thoughtfully, staring at his face as she mulled everything over. “Well I appreciate you letting me off the hook so easily when I was being very unreasonable about the matter. I was afraid I'd ruined things for us.”

  Tycho decided it probably wouldn't be productive to admit he'd feared the same. “Well I've enjoyed your company. I'd hate to see it end over a misunderstanding.”

  Her eyes softened and she leaned across the table to briefly squeeze his hand. “I feel the same. Can we just agree this little bit of unpleasantness is water under the bridge?”