On the other hand, what was three hours when someone was travelling across the known worlds to get here?
I wasn’t entirely sure where Dalton was coming from, but it would be on the far reaches of known space because that was where he made his living, supplying complete settlement kits to new ball-bound colonies.
The kits came with a mini dome for less than Terran-standard worlds. What made Dalton’s kits so popular, though, were the shelters that came with them. They weren’t standard grown houses and sheds which melted after a couple of years’ exposure to the elements. They started out that way, but they were embedded with metal-extruding bacteria which fed upon the bio-skin of the structure, replacing it with a permanent metal coating in less than a year.
Dalton lived where his clients were. He had been born on a ball and tended to head back there. I’m not sure even he was aware of the habit.
Thanks to the new style wildcatters spreading across the galaxy, there were new colonies popping up every month, it seemed like. We no longer had to wait decades for a sub-light family barge to find planets suitable for settlement.
And for every new colony, a settlement kit was needed. Dalton was doing well for himself.
So he would be coming from somewhere cold and unfriendly to humans, where he would have been supervising the deployment of his tech on a new world. In other words, a long way from here. A three-hour delay was nothing.
Only it was everything to me because…well, because it had been twenty-seven years since the Shutdown.
Dalton hadn’t pointed out the elapsed time when he’d called to set up the date. I had said nothing, too. Yet the entire two-minute conversation had been studded with that fact, every word weighed down with implications.
“It’s been a while,” he’d said. Even in the holographic representation of him, standing in the meter-wide aisle of my quarters, he’d looked good. Tanned face, square jaw, rich brown hair springing thickly from his head. He wore a well-trimmed beard these days. He wore it well. He said the healthy appearance came from hard work and fresh air. Not that I would ever find out. Not about the efficacy of fresh air, at any rate. “I thought I’d visit for a bit,” he added.
My heart thudded. “When?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Next week?”
“You’re always welcome. You know that.”
“As long as I don’t ask to see your place. I remember.” He dropped his hand. “I’ll get my usual room at the hilton on the upper passenger concourse.” Melenia was big enough that it had a dozen specialized docking areas, including a luxury one for passengers, a level up from the cheap seat ticket holders.
“How long do you think you’ll be staying, this time?” I made it sound casual, but it was a hard-fought battle.
His gaze met mine. “I don’t know for sure.”
That was not his usual answer. My heart picked up the pace even more. “We can sort that out when you get here.” Still light. Still unconcerned, but I could feel sweat prickling under my arms.
His smile was small, but it was warm.
I made myself not reach out for the counter next to my hip, to prop myself up. Hope flared. “How’s Fiori and Mace?” Prompting him to talk about them might nudge him into telling me what I most wanted to hear.
He shook his head. “I’ll explain when I get there. Cheaper.” Calls from temporary beacons were expensive.
I reached for the counter, this time. I made it look as casual as my expression, while it was really to keep my knees from giving out and to hide that my hand was trembling. “Next Thursday, then.”
“Noon. I’ll find you under your oak tree.” Dalton paused. Did his green eyes sparkle? It was hard to tell. Not only were temporary beacons expensive to use for interstellar calls, they didn’t have the bandwidth for high resolution communications.
I decided that the twinkle wasn’t just my imagination and had to work to keep the silly, happy grin off my face. “Noon, Thursday,” I repeated.
Dalton’s smile grew warmer and broader as he disconnected. He had guessed exactly what I was thinking. He knew me too well, damn him.
The spark of hope bloomed into a maelstrom of anticipation as the five standard days between his call and his arrival crawled past at glacial speed.
And now noon, Thursday, had long gone and I was still sitting here, prevaricating myself to a standstill.
Maybe he had changed his mind. Or something had came up with his latest project. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d not been able to get away, after all. But he’d always let me know ahead of our meet-up, on those occasions. Besides, the last no-show had been a decade ago. He had far greater control over his booming business and his personal life now.
I looked up as I heard Vara’s happy yip. She was vocal, for a wolf.
She charged up the slope from the river, her jaws open in her version of a smile. She was not heading for me. Rather, she was angling up the slope, heading for the section of the reserve where the big sliding doors gave access from the dome’s public concourse.
I sat up, the numbness in my rear forgotten, as I spotted a golden explosion of thick fur, tail, nose and ears race toward Vara, bristling with pleasure.
It was Darb, Dalton’s parawolf.
My breath caught. I kept my gaze on the two parawolves as they rubbed faces and sniffed at each other, then licked their welcomes, while everyone nearby watched them with indulgent expressions.
The last time I had seen Darb in the flesh had been when he was a pup. He was fully grown now, just like Vara.
I tore my gaze away from the pair and back to the public doors, scanning the people entering the reserve, looking for a tall man with brown
