water and ground, caring nothing of the future generations who might live in those places. Most Human businessmen took the short view of events, doing whatever it took to fill their purses with money. Noah, also an entrepreneur but with environmentally friendly operations, took what he considered to be a much longer view.
He had attempted to contact a number of third world alien races to enlist them into his activist organization, but the vast majority of them were suspicious of him, and preferred to keep to themselves. With the exception of the Tulyans, they scoffed openly or paid no heed when his representatives told them that his beliefs were similar to theirs, that all planets needed to be treated with respect and preserved for future generations. As far as most of them were concerned, no matter the promises or assurances of Noah Watanabe, he was not worthy of trust.
He was, after all, the son of a greedy merchant prince.
Something touched the back of Noah’s shoulder, and he straightened. The little yellow bird came into view again, perched close to his face. After a few seconds, it chirped and flew away.
Noah heaved a sigh, and prepared to catch a shuttle. In less than an hour he would be inside EcoStation, his laboratory complex in geostationary orbit over Canopa, always directly above his unique wildlife preserve and farm. Up there he conducted genetic studies on exotic plants and animals under strict, uncontaminated conditions.…
Just before boarding the shuttle, he received word about his father’s grave injuries, and that he had fallen into a coma. Hearing the news, Noah went cold inside. Prince Saito Watanabe had betrayed his own son, and had somehow been caught in his own trap. It seemed fitting.
Nonetheless, a small part of Noah grieved.
* * * * *
Tesh no longer had feelings for him.
For almost a week, her former boyfriend had not returned to the country estate that was his principal residence. Instead, Dr. Bichette stayed in a CorpOne apartment near the Prince’s cliffside villa, where his important patient lay, gravely wounded. According to a telebeam message that the doctor sent to Tesh at the estate, he wanted her to join him at the apartment.
But she wasn’t interested.
His first message had arrived three days ago, and she had not responded to it yet. Additional demands arrived each day, and this morning he had sent her two more … each more importunate than the one before.
Since Bichette’s departure, Tesh Kori and Anton Glavine had spent a lot of time together, but had remained in separate quarters. There had been no sexual intercourse, but not due to any reticence on her part. She had tempted the young man in every way she knew (short of disrobing), and he had shown considerable interest. He did not appear to be a homosexual in any sense, either, but for some reason he was resisting his own natural urges, holding back and not saying why. Perhaps he wanted to get to know her better before committing himself; he certainly asked her a lot of questions about her background.
But Tesh felt she was making progress anyway. They had taken walks together through the forests on Dr. Bichette’s property, and Anton had kissed her once on the mouth for a few seconds before pulling away, revealing in his demeanor that he was struggling with his own willpower. Soon he would come to her; she sensed it.
In response to Anton’s queries, Tesh had provided him with creative answers, fragments of truth painted on wide canvases of lies. She couldn’t possibly reveal her real identity to him, for that was beyond the comprehension of a humanus ordinaire .
The Parvii race, like its distant Human cousins, required regenerative sleep, but not nearly as much. That night as Tesh slept alone, she remembered … and remembered. Her unconscious thoughts seemed to drift off into deep space, to a far-away galactic fold where her people swarmed by the millions whenever there was trouble.…
She awoke with a start
Debbie Viguié
Dana Mentink
Kathi S. Barton
Sonnet O'Dell
Francis Levy
Katherine Hayton
Kent Flannery, Joyce Marcus
Jes Battis
Caitlin Kittredge
Chris Priestley