The Dark Lady

touched my head.
    “What happened to me?” I asked.
    “You've had a little nap.”
    “For how long?”
    “Almost three weeks.”
    “I do not understand.”
    “I put you in the Deepsleep chamber a couple of hours after we left Charlemagne,” he replied. “You were becoming an emotional basket case. You kept ranting and raving about dishonor and disgrace. When you demanded that I divert the ship and take you to Benitarus II, I decided that the best thing to do was put you into Deepsleep until we reached Acheron.”
    Suddenly it all came back to me: the police, the narrow escape from Heath's building, the fact that I was now a fugitive from justice. I remained surprisingly calm in the wake of these memories, a condition that was doubtless attributable to my weakened physiological state. I tried to sit up, but pains shot through my head and back and I uttered a startled yelp.
    “Don't try to move yet,” said Heath soothingly. “It'll take your body another couple of minutes before it's back to normal. Also, if you're like me, you should be starving: The Deepsleep chamber slows your metabolism down to a crawl, but even so, you can work up quite a hunger after a few weeks. Can I have the ship's galley prepare some food for you?”
    “Yes, please.”
    “All it carries are soya products, but it can make them up to taste like almost anything.” He paused thoughtfully. “Since the Bjornns descend from prey rather than predators, I suppose steak is out of the question?”
    “Vegetation will be sufficient,” I answered.
    “Would you care for some salad dressing?” he asked.
    “No.”
    My vision had cleared enough for me to see him shrug. “Vegetables it is,” he replied, reaching forward to tap out his instructions to the galley on a computer terminal.
    Finally I was able to sit up, and I carefully swung my legs over the edge of a plastic cocoon. I felt a momentary dizziness, but it quickly passed.
    “Handy things, these Deepsleep chambers,” remarked Heath. “I can't imagine why the commercial spaceliner companies don't install them. They keep one from going mad with boredom during long voyages.” He smiled. “I set mine to wake me up six hours ahead of you, just in case you were still feeling distraught.”
    It was a typically pragmatic human response, and I could not bring myself to take offense at it.
    “Are we still fugitives?” I asked.
    “I have no idea,” replied Heath. “One does not, after all, contact the police to ask them if they're still looking for you.” A light flashed on his terminal. “Ah! That would be your salad. Do you feel up to walking to the galley?”
    “I will try,” I said, getting gingerly to my feet. To my surprise, I felt quite good, even somewhat refreshed.
    “I told you it would just take a couple of minutes,” he said. “And you have the added advantage of having aged only a day or so during the past three weeks.”
    Since a Bjornn is concerned with the quality of his life rather than the length of it, I made no response, but merely followed him to the galley, where a container of vegetable matter awaited me. I was so hungry that I grabbed some of the larger pieces and stuffed them greedily into my mouth before I even sat down.
    “Feeling better now?” asked Heath after I had finished the entire meal.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Good.”
    “I must speak with you.”
    “Be my guest,” he said.
    “I must return immediately to Benitarus II.”
    “You're not going to start that all over again, are you?”
    “I have been tainted by my association with human beings,” I said. “I have been shamed by my employer, and now I am being sought by the police, and in my ignorance I do not know how either situation came to pass. All I know is that every moment I remain away from Benitarus I risk bringing further disgrace upon myself and dishonor to my House.”
    “Leonardo, we're four hours away from Acheron. We're probably six weeks from Benitarus.”
    “Nevertheless, further contact with you is morally polluting. I must return to my home, and reimmerse myself in the rote and ritual of Bjornn life.”
    He shook his head. “It's out of the question. Not only is Benitarus half a galaxy away, but it's the very first place the police will think of looking for you.”
    “It is?” I asked, panic-stricken.
    “It is.”
    “We cannot allow this to happen! My Pattern Mother must not be forced to speak to human police!” Suddenly a terrifying thought came to me.