to do.”
“Of course you do, of course!” Behind Ormann’s crinkled expression, blood boiled. “Take some time to reminisce. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll see that it’s cleared with Personnel.”
“Thanks, Bill,” she replied gratefully. “That’s good of you.”
“How long’s it been, anyway?” he asked conversationally, his attention alternating between her and Flinx. Across the room, Pip was preparing to unfurl her wings. Flinx shot her a calming glance. She settled down but remained wary and alert.
“Six years,” Clarity said.
“That’s a long time to be out of touch.” Ormann felt a little better about her canceling their dinner. “No wonder you have a lot to talk about. I’d join you,” he added paternally, “but I’d just be a third wheel. No reference points for the conversation. You two go ahead and catch up, have a good time.” He leaned toward Clarity. “The pinkfish will wait.”
A raft of conflicting emotions raced through Flinx as they kissed. It was a polite kiss only, but what else would one expect with a third person present? The shallowness of it did not necessarily translate into a paucity of feeling. Certainly Ormann was deeply in love with Clarity. Nor did it necessarily demand one be an empath to discern the bond. Although he bore William Ormann no ill will, the only thing that mattered was how Clarity felt about the relationship, not him.
“I’ll see you later,” Ormann told her affectionately. Turning to leave, he smiled amiably down at Flinx. “Where did you say you were from, Philip?”
“Moth,” Flinx replied honestly.
The other man frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. Is it near Eurmet?”
Flinx shook his head. “It’s a class five outpost world. Still pretty raw. Circled by gravitationally interrupted rings.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Ormann said brightly. “The winged planet. I’ve seen pictures. Raw’s the word, I guess. Origins considered, you seem to have turned out well enough.”
Flinx smiled back. Across the room, Pip lifted from the table. Drawn by the deep humming noise of her wings, everyone turned to look. Slitted eyes were intent on the company vice president.
“I note the relationship,” Ormann commented genially, unaware that he was in imminent danger of being slaughtered. “Perhaps we’ll have the chance to talk again, Philip. At more length. But I have work to do, and you two have some ancient history to share.” He departed with a last warm smile for Clarity. “See you later, darling.”
As he exited he shot a surreptitious glance backward. Her expression as she resumed talking to Lynx was inscrutable. Just a voice from her past, he told himself. Nothing more. As she’d said, an old business acquaintance. Younger than her, too. Also taller, and much too good-looking for Ormann’s peace of mind.
He turned up the hallway, heading for his office. Only a field-worker. Surely there could have been nothing between them beyond the kind of professional friendship that inevitably developed between any two people who worked closely together on a distant, undeveloped, uncivilized world. He’d watched with contentment as Clarity had dismissed or dealt with one hopeful office suitor after another before settling on him. She was too clever for them, or her standards were too high.
Not too clever for Bill Ormann, though. He took a certain amount of pardonable pride in their relationship. Though he’d been with his share of women, he’d never met anyone like Clarity Held. Add her compassion and independence into the mix and you had something unique. Someone he fully expected to make, within the year, the third Mrs. William Ormann. His superiors approved, too. And with each passing week, with each pleasant Nurian month, Clarity seemed that much more willing. They got along well together, enjoyed many of the same things.
So an old acquaintance had unexpectedly put in an appearance. From what
“Of course you do, of course!” Behind Ormann’s crinkled expression, blood boiled. “Take some time to reminisce. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll see that it’s cleared with Personnel.”
“Thanks, Bill,” she replied gratefully. “That’s good of you.”
“How long’s it been, anyway?” he asked conversationally, his attention alternating between her and Flinx. Across the room, Pip was preparing to unfurl her wings. Flinx shot her a calming glance. She settled down but remained wary and alert.
“Six years,” Clarity said.
“That’s a long time to be out of touch.” Ormann felt a little better about her canceling their dinner. “No wonder you have a lot to talk about. I’d join you,” he added paternally, “but I’d just be a third wheel. No reference points for the conversation. You two go ahead and catch up, have a good time.” He leaned toward Clarity. “The pinkfish will wait.”
A raft of conflicting emotions raced through Flinx as they kissed. It was a polite kiss only, but what else would one expect with a third person present? The shallowness of it did not necessarily translate into a paucity of feeling. Certainly Ormann was deeply in love with Clarity. Nor did it necessarily demand one be an empath to discern the bond. Although he bore William Ormann no ill will, the only thing that mattered was how Clarity felt about the relationship, not him.
“I’ll see you later,” Ormann told her affectionately. Turning to leave, he smiled amiably down at Flinx. “Where did you say you were from, Philip?”
“Moth,” Flinx replied honestly.
The other man frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. Is it near Eurmet?”
Flinx shook his head. “It’s a class five outpost world. Still pretty raw. Circled by gravitationally interrupted rings.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Ormann said brightly. “The winged planet. I’ve seen pictures. Raw’s the word, I guess. Origins considered, you seem to have turned out well enough.”
Flinx smiled back. Across the room, Pip lifted from the table. Drawn by the deep humming noise of her wings, everyone turned to look. Slitted eyes were intent on the company vice president.
“I note the relationship,” Ormann commented genially, unaware that he was in imminent danger of being slaughtered. “Perhaps we’ll have the chance to talk again, Philip. At more length. But I have work to do, and you two have some ancient history to share.” He departed with a last warm smile for Clarity. “See you later, darling.”
As he exited he shot a surreptitious glance backward. Her expression as she resumed talking to Lynx was inscrutable. Just a voice from her past, he told himself. Nothing more. As she’d said, an old business acquaintance. Younger than her, too. Also taller, and much too good-looking for Ormann’s peace of mind.
He turned up the hallway, heading for his office. Only a field-worker. Surely there could have been nothing between them beyond the kind of professional friendship that inevitably developed between any two people who worked closely together on a distant, undeveloped, uncivilized world. He’d watched with contentment as Clarity had dismissed or dealt with one hopeful office suitor after another before settling on him. She was too clever for them, or her standards were too high.
Not too clever for Bill Ormann, though. He took a certain amount of pardonable pride in their relationship. Though he’d been with his share of women, he’d never met anyone like Clarity Held. Add her compassion and independence into the mix and you had something unique. Someone he fully expected to make, within the year, the third Mrs. William Ormann. His superiors approved, too. And with each passing week, with each pleasant Nurian month, Clarity seemed that much more willing. They got along well together, enjoyed many of the same things.
So an old acquaintance had unexpectedly put in an appearance. From what
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