Infall Ch. 02

He handed it back to her and she put it in her ear.

He turned to the basin without answering for a moment, pouring water and splashing his face. "You don't have that word in your mind?" he said when he came up, drying.

She shook her head, but he still wasn't looking at her.

"A kind of woman," he said, his tone short.

Indya backed a step, feeling strange, a heavy feeling in her belly. He turned his head and looked at her and she avoided his eyes, nodding, going to sit on the bed. There was nowhere else for her to really be. He'd said she could stay here with him, but maybe he didn't want her here anymore. She glanced at the door.

He was in front of her, squatting, taking her hands, his face open again. "Forgive me, alea."

She smiled a little, giving him the earpiece, and he held it up to his ear. "You're busy, Kythe, with your work, and it seems important to you. I don't mean to be in the way. I can go--"

He moved it to her ear and spoke. "I don't want you to go. They won't come back. Will you talk with me some more? Tell me about your ship."

He held it up to his ear. She hesitated. "Are you sure you want me to?" she said.

"I do," he said, bringing it to her ear. "Are you hungry?"

She smiled for real this time, nodding.

* * *

They were on his bed, the remains of the meal all around them. She'd tried wine and it was awful and she'd said so, making him laugh, but then she hadn't minded it so much and she'd had two glasses and was working on her third. Indya was enjoying herself. They were passing the earpiece back and forth, laughing and talking.

"Do your people believe you're made by gods like some people do?" he said.

He was probably superstitious. "We see ourselves as a product of our genetics and our experiences."

"What is genetics?"

She made a face and he laughed. "It's complicated," she said, drawing it with the messy pen, the wax too clumsy, bringing the paper, the familiar helix, explaining. Her hands were moving.

His eyes were on her face, a small smile.

"What color eyes did your parents have to make such a color?" he said, reaching out and brushing her cheek with his knuckles, a caress.

"Their eyes were different. In Atlantis, we choose an eye color for our children."

His brows went up and he gave an incredulous laugh. "You make your eyes? Could you make a whole person this way, not just the eyes?"

She shook her head. "We can only make a copy of a person."

"A copy of a person," he echoed. "Líke a manuscript? He's just there, this new person?"

"A baby. The person would be a baby who was born, and that person would be a copy of a live person or a person whom we had in storage."

"Had in storage," he echoed. "Líke a warehouse? Are they still alive?"

"Information storage, Kythe. Líke your scrolls."

"You make a person out of scrolls?"

"We make a copy of a person by storing their genetic information and then putting that information into a human egg."

"A human egg," he said. "Where are they? Do they have shells?"

"No. They're soft, inside a woman. When you give your sperm during sex, the sperm tries to reach it. The egg chooses which one it wants and lets it in. The rest die. The fertilized egg is soft and it divides and grows."

Now he was frowning at her. "But why have children? Why don't you just make copies of yourselves?"

"Because we like to think that each of us is a unique person, each of us a new, valuable combination. Look at the swirls on your thumb," she said, reaching and taking his hand, showing him. "Every single person born has a unique pattern there. It's so unique that we can identify a person by that pattern. Watch," she said, dipping her finger in the ink, still wet, spreading it on his thumb, turning it over and pressing it onto the paper, rolling. She pulled his thumb up, the print remaining.

He looked at it and then at his thumb. "I knew about this, but I didn't know they were all different," he said. "How is this copy-of-a-person different from a twin who is the same?"

She shrugged. "Identical twins have the same genetics as each other, but they're born of two parents. A copy has only one parent, and has the same genetics as that parent." She pointed to the thumbprint. "But that's your pattern and nobody else's," she said. "Even a twin wouldn't have the same pattern as you. Anyone could know you by it. Our people used to identify us by it long ago."

"Our people," he echoed. "Do we seem like the same people to you, Indya?"

"Yes," she said, her brows going up. "We're the same. Your ancestors stayed on the surface. Mine stayed on the ship. But we're still sisters and brothers, all of us. It's how our genes are combined that make us how we are. But they're the same genes in all of us. We're like songs. The notes don't change, and there are only so many of them. It's not like this one song over here is different and has special notes not in any of the others."

"You don't believe some people are naturally superior to others?"

"No. I think people are good or evil in the choices they make. I think some people have talents, but that we're all valuable. But I did notice these people seem to feel you're important."

He nodded. "I'm the rí. The son of the ruler of this land."

"That explains it," she said, nodding. "The way they kept looking at the ground, I thought they'd all dropped something."

He looked at her blankly and then he burst into laughter, Indya joining him. He found it very funny, and she laughed more because he did.

"You don't seem like a sister to me, alea," he said, grinning, getting the plates and the food and setting them all aside, the papers. He returned, sitting directly in front of her again so they could share the earpiece, holding it out. "Take your dress off. I want to look at your body."

She pulled it off, threading her hair through. She gestured and he put it to his ear. "Do you like being the son of the ruler of this land?"

He shrugged, seeming distracted, his eyes on her. "It's like you say. We all have tasks we perform. Things expected of us. Drink your wine."

She drank the rest of the glass and he immediately refilled it, gesturing. Indya drank that, one sip after another, making a face. He leaned forward and kissed her and then he drew back.

She blinked. "The wine makes my head spin," she told him.

"I know, alea," he said. "Sit back and spread your legs."

She scooted and leaned back against the pillows. She looked at him and spread her legs, his eyes shifting to her sex.

"Your pula is as pretty as the rest of you," he said, holding out the earpiece, drawing it back.

" Puladoesn't translate. You mean my sex?"

"No," he said, reaching out and bringing the earpiece in range and also touching her, spreading her lips of her sex. "I mean your sweet tals, your anik, your pula. The beauty between your legs. I want to tie you, alea." When he looked at her, his eyes were intense. He brought the earpiece to his ear.

Her heart began to pound. "What?

He held it out. "I want to tie you with rope and take my pleasure on you."

Her belly was suddenly full of sinking feelings and his eyes went between her legs when she moved there. He smiled slowly and put the earpiece near his own ear.

"I don't understand," she said.

He held it out and gestured and she put it in her ear. "I know," he said. "You don't have to understand." He leaned in and kissed her gently on her mouth, and again, saying words in between. "I swear I won't hurt you," he said, kissing her. "I want it." He kissed her. "I will pleasure you like you were pleasured this afternoon, but even more."

While he was speaking and kissing her, he'd been touching her sex lightly, pressing on her clitoris. A deep twinge went through her nipples, his eyes going to them when they tightened. He got off the bed and undressed quickly, his sex stiff, and then he got rope, getting on the bed and setting it beside her.

She frowned at it lightly. Then he pushed her knees back even more and his mouth went to her sex, licking, and she couldn't possibly care as long as he kept doing that.

He came up with the rope, working quickly, drawing her arms back and tying one of her wrists to the other behind her, several loops going up, leaning her back, her chest thrust out. She wasn't sure how she felt about it until his mouth went to her nipples, sucking one and then the other, and everything was clear again.

He bent her knees and tied them, her heels to her butt, no way to straighten her leg. Spreading her legs, his hands working, he tied her knees open, passing the rope behind her, so she couldn't move them.

Then he made her crazy. He put his mouth back on her pula and wouldn't let her come. He would lick her clitoris, put his fingers in her, curling, in and out, suck and bite her nipples, stabs of painful pleasure, or a combination of those things, but she couldn't avoid him and he wouldn't allow her to climax. She talked to him, asking him to please let her, and then begging, but he didn't understand what she was saying because she had the earpiece.

He had sex with her, pressing, leaning on her lower legs, looking at her face as he penetrated her, Indya sore but she didn't care, his hands planted on either side of her. Looking at her breasts, looking at himself entering her, he grunted, his hips moving sharply, faster. She was almost there. He slowed and she made a sharp sound.

Kythe grinned. He got under her, slowing his strokes more, looking down, spreading her sex, wedging two fingers there over her clitoris. She cried out, his hips meeting her inner thighs, a pleasurable pressure and not enough. It was wet on his bed, wet under her, wet in her butt. His hand went to her breast, squeezing, and then he drew back and slapped her nipple.

Indya was surprised, shocked. His eyes were on her face, a little cruel, and he grunted deeply, thrusting faster, reaching out and squeezing again, the other one, and then he smacked it, catching her nipple, and the sharpest pleasure went through her, Indya crying out.

"Gorgeous, sexy bihen," he grunted, another word that didn't translate, reaching for her nipples again, driving her mad.

She could only experience it, her legs immobilized, her arms. He stopped, her body vibrating, her need so great, and he pulled out of her and reached for something, coming back and putting cloth in her mouth, silencing her, tying it, and she realized how much noise she'd been making.

Kythe came back, looking down at her sex. He touched her with his fingers, her clitoris unbearably sensitive. His thumb swept her, and then he leaned and fluttered his tongue there and didn't stop.

She was past all thought, in the center of the most perfect pleasure. A sharp tingling went through her sex, close, her clitoris straining toward his tongue, and he stopped, slapping her thigh, a hard fast slap, and his mouth returned, flat licks that lifted her clit. She made a high sound she couldn't have ever imagined coming from herself.

Indya finally just let it all go, only interested in feeling it.

He tugged her nipples, thrusting back into her. Then he pulled out and reached, releasing the rope pinning her but not the others and turned her over, from her back to her front. Her shoulders were against the surface of the bed, her head turned to the side, her arms in rope behind her. Her legs were still tied open, her butt jutting as he entered her from behind.

Indya grunted behind the cloth, making a constant noise. He was thrusting faster and suddenly pain exploded on her butt, a sharp crack going through the room, and another, with his thrusts, her butt getting hot. He got over her, his hand darting between her legs, her clitoris exposed under her, and tugged on it, rubbing.

Her climax began its burning path, and he was still rubbing.

"Give me your pleasure, sweet alea," he said, her head turned to the side, her eyes open and not seeing much, jerking with his thrusts, his breathing stuttering with the words. "Bring mine."

The pleasure was frantic, her body going rigid. His hand left her and he grabbed her and was thrusting fast. The pleasure burned through her so hard she couldn't move, making a sharp sound behind the cloth, long strings of muffled whimpers. He cried out from between his teeth, holding in her. She finally released, wild pulses, hearing herself and not caring.

The sensations ebbed away and he stilled behind her. She was sweaty, her hair everywhere, feeling the ropes, and she couldn't move.

She didn't have to understand it, he'd said. He was right.

He took the cloth out of her mouth, untying her arms, still in her, easing them forward. Her legs were more uncomfortable, and he pulled out of her to do it, putting her on her side. Her eyes were on his face. He glanced at her and looked back at the rope, finishing up, careful in straightening her legs, Indya staying limp. When she was free, he put her on her back and kissed her.

"I know you're innocent, but you were made for this kind of pleasure, Indya," he said. "I want to show you so much."

She was staring at him, her whole body throbbing and her nipples sore and her sex twinging, aching. Indya nodded, still breathing fast. "Di," she said.

His eyes went to hers and he smiled, and then he laughed, leaning down to kiss her.

* * *

In the morning, Kythe was gone. She woke and there was a woman there, older than her, sitting, doing something with her hands. Indya got up from the bed, stretching a little, and heard a small gasp. She looked at the woman, who looked away, her lips tight. Indya took up the dress, putting it on, and then sat to brush her hair.

Kythe hadn't left her the earpiece. She looked as a man came into the tent, the woman ignoring him.

The man's face was a little cold, remote. Formal, maybe. She couldn't tell. He wasn't as big as the other men. He had light brown curly hair. He nodded at her, staring a little. Indya smiled and nodded back, but her smile faded when he didn't return it. He walked to the table and sat, gesturing to her.

Indya sat across from him.

"Etien," he said, his hand on his chest.

"Etien," she repeated, smiling at him, her hand going to hers. "Indya."

He still didn't smile back. He pointed to the table, pointed to a chair, and then pointed to the bed. "Dovas'na i gatya. Dovas'na i osil. Dovas'na i cavril."

Indya pointed to the table and the chair and the bed in succession. "Gatya, osil, cavril."

He nodded.

"J'iven, Etien," she said.

His brows went up and he almost smiled. "Aforna, Indya."

"Aforna," she echoed.

* * *

They brought food, Etien pointing and naming things, and their properties, hot and cold. Colors. He kept going when she retained them. Etien stayed for a couple of hours, teaching her. When it was time for him to leave, he stood, and Indya stood.

"Thank you, Etien," she said in Edion.

He did smile before he left. The woman stayed, and she didn't smile, Indya idle after that.

"Hello," Indya said to her in Odien, practicing.

The woman looked up, her mouth tight, and didn't respond.

"I am Indya."

"Maga," the woman said, not looking up.

Indya assumed it was her name. Indya got closer, looking. The woman was making something in her hands. Indya came and knelt by her. "What is that, Maga?"

Maga held it out. Indya looked closely at it, and then at the sticks, and then the woman drew it back. She was making a textile. The woman shook her head, her face unfriendly, and said a string of words as if to herself that Indya didn't understand. Indya straightened to her feet. She thought she'd heard the word ustadt somewhere in there.

A man came in, not Etien. He said something to the woman, who rose, setting her wooden sticks and the long strings aside.

"Indya," the woman said, not friendly, gesturing, wanting her to follow.

Indya went with her and the man out of the tent, and now people stared at her. They hadn't looked at her when she was with Kythe, but now all of them did. She looked around, her eyes darting. She wondered where Maga had come from, the only other woman she'd met. Several men met her eyes, theirs with some message in them, laughter behind her after she'd passed. They seemed to know something, talking with one another.

The man and woman led her away from the camp, the man ahead. Indya stopped. She'd been in the dark cloth chamber and the sunlight felt good. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes. No ship environment could simulate this. She could feel the sun's radiance.

"Indya," the woman said in a sharp voice.

Indya lowered her chin and looked at the woman, who snapped her fingers at her and gestured. Looking at her face for a long moment, Indya turned, going off the path. The man immediately came with her, and then Maga.

"Indya," the woman said behind her, a summons, her tone even sharper, and then a complaint, "movil ustadt."

Indya ignored her. She heard it, moving toward it, the ground soft under her feet. Water. It wasn't large. Not a river. Smaller, a fast stream, water trickling. Kneeling by the edge, she put her hand into it. It was cold, her fingers going a little numb, but it felt good. She put both her hands in, beginning to hum, singing, watching a colorful leaf carried away, the beginning of the next season as Kythe had described it to her. The water accompanied her singing, a chatter.

She stayed by the stream and sang songs. They didn't like her here.

"Indya."

Kythe. She looked up and smiled, her eyes sweeping him. He was in the same garments he'd been wearing when she'd first met him, and he had the curving thing with the handle hanging off of him. Some of his clothing was dusty now. He looked tired. "Hello, Kythe," she said, seeing Maga and the man were standing behind them. Indya looked down at the river again. "I hadn't ever felt real running water from the mountains."

Turning to them, Kythe said something to the man, who said something back. Kythe said something to Maga, who immediately released a long string of words, gesturing at Indya. Indya saw a cold expression cross Kythe's face, who went to the woman, speaking to her, his voice sharp.

Kythe spoke to the man, who glanced at Maga and then at Kythe and shook his head, gesturing at Indya, the woman looking away, her face tight.

Etien walked through the trees, Indya seeing him, turning to look. He was a slight man. He reminded her, in some ways, of Pavel. "Hello, Etien," Indya said in Odien, rising and turning around to greet him.

"Hello, Indya," Etien said, smiling at her. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," she said carefully. "The water is cold."

Etien gave a laugh and turned, saying something to Kythe, far too fast for Indya to follow, who glanced at her, nodding.

"Come, Indya," Kythe said in Odien.

She rose, coming to him, falling into step beside him, Etien on the other side of her. The man and the woman didn't come with them. Etien was talking. Kythe turned his head and reached his hand out, caressing her cheek.

When they got to the tent, only Kythe went in, Etien leaving.

"Goodbye, Etien," she called.

"Goodbye, Indya."

She went in. Kythe was taking off his outer garments. He winced, holding his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she said.

He nodded, glancing at her. Men came in, bringing hot water in buckets, not looking at her or Kythe. They poured it into the tub there, a long stream of people. When it was full, they disappeared.

Kythe seemed like he wanted to be alone, so she went to the table, picking up the fine brush there, because they sometimes Kythe used it to write, and finding a blank paper. She drew Maga scowling, simple strokes, and began Etien smiling. She would like a bath.

"Indya," he said.

"Yes," she called.

"Come here," he said in Odien.