See Part One for the spiel.
***
Part Two
IT was the afternoon of Christmas Day. The people of the city had opened their homes to the crew of Voyager, and feasted them royally. Now the wanderers were taking their ease in the pleasant warmth of the twin suns of New Brenar. Kathryn walked alone in the gardens. The effort of appearing cheerful had proved exhausting, and she was glad of solitude.
Everything had been carefully planned to delight the senses. Flowers and shrubs had been placed together so that not only their colour and size complemented one another, but their scent. Small, brightly-coloured creatures flew overhead. Kathryn did not know whether they were insects or birds, or something quite else. Their melodic cries provided the perfect counterpoint to the gentle splashing of fountains.
Kathryn was reminded of an old tale from Earth's most ancient past: The Garden of Eden.
But despite all the beauty that surrounded her, despite the warmth and friendliness of her hosts, Kathryn's pleasure in what she saw was filtered through her sorrow at the memory of the man who, she thought ironically, was responsible for this place of delights.
"Kathryn, may I join you?"
Although he spoke softly, Kir's sudden appearance startled her.
"Forgive me," he said. "I had not meant to alarm you."
Kir did not seem to want to talk, for which she was grateful, and they walked on in a silence broken only by his pointing out to her some new enchantment.
"Let us sit awhile," he said, pointing to a bench. "Would you care for something to drink? The bench also functions as a replicator. Perhaps ... coffee?"
"Mind-reader!" she said, half in laughter, half in astonishment.
"I know you, Kathryn," he laughed in his turn. "Would you believe," he went on, while busying himself at a small console in the arm of the bench, "that this was an arid wasteland when we arrived?" He handed Kathryn a delicate cup. "Colombian."
"How ... of course! The shuttle replicator."
"I hope you don't mind. Some of us acquired a taste for coffee while we were with you."
"Mind? How could I mind?" She inhaled the familiar aroma. "Besides, since I've turned you into addicts, the least I can do is see that you're well-supplied with the stuff."
"Kathryn," he said gently. "It has not escaped my notice that you are ... downcast. If you wish to tell me anything, you will find that I am a good listener. Sometimes it is easier to tell a stranger matters you would not speak of to anyone else."
"I cannot think of you as a stranger."
"Nor can I, in truth, think of you that way. But tomorrow you will be gone, and we shall never meet again."
They were both silent, thinking of what this meeting, and their imminent parting might mean.
Kathryn sipped her coffee. It was just the right strength and temperature. These people were amazing. In many ways it would be hard to say goodbye.
To prevent any further probing, however gentle, on his part, she rushed into speech. "Kir, tell me more about all this." She gestured at the garden in front of them.
He was silent for a moment. Then he began to speak, hesitantly at first, as if he were not sure exactly how to explain. "You must understand that we are a people who have ... we have a sense of the beauty inherent in all things ... No, that is not exactly right. We see the order, the pattern, if you will, underlying all things. It is in that pattern that the beauty resides." He was silent again. "Once you have a sense of the pattern, you can manipulate it. We saw the possibilities in this desert place, where others saw only desolation."
Kathryn watched him, fascinated. She could sense some very strong emotion in him, but what it was, she could not be sure.
"That is where we differ from the Devore. They seek to impose their own patterns, without being aware what those patterns are. They are like explorers searching for the rarest of rare blooms; crashing through the forests so clumsily, that they do not even realize they have crushed the blossom underfoot."
Kathryn thought of the child taken from her hiding-place.
"And speaking of the Devore, ... "
Here it was. The afternoon stilled. She thought, bizarrely, of a hand holding a pebble.
Holding it above a deep and silent pool.
And now the hand was unclenching to let the stone ...
... drop.
" ... we have an old friend staying with us."
Such unremarkable words. And from the commonplace utterance, dropped so casually into the afternoon stillness, the ripples began to spread out in ever-widening circles.
End of Part Two
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