WOULD YOU?
by Pat Greiner
(Part 2 of 4)
The next morning, Beverly set off for yet another round of sampling and recording. She also had an appointment to meet with the two Eebronians who had taken on the task of recording as much of the planet�s information in as small a package as possible. Mokkan took Jean-Luc back to the university, where they spent the morning reviewing the various scenarios outlined by the committee.
An asteroid had been considered the most likely. Sweeps of the universe as far as their abilities allowed showed nothing that would come careening into their planet in 15 years, or in 150 for that matter. �Nothing natural, at any rate,� commented one of the astrogation specialists. �But what might happen through unnatural causes, who can say?�
�Unnatural meaning �?� Jean-Luc prompted them.
�Some civilization hundreds of light-years away could set off an explosion that turns a formerly captive moon into a rogue body, and it comes smashing into us. Who could predict that?�
�Who indeed? Your problem is most difficult. Given the challenges of anticipating what an unknown civilization across the galaxy may do, shall we look closer to home? Sad to say, for a long time among my people, if someone had told us that we would all cease to exist as of a certain date, our first assumption would have been that we had wiped ourselves out in a war. But Eebron seems to be a very peaceful planet.�
�Our last war ended three and a half centuries ago, Ambassador. There are sometimes minor disagreements between regions, but they are resolved through cooperation and negotiation. Some say that knowing the length of one�s life disinclines one to go to war.�
The group went on to detail other potential causes they had considered, noting the feasibility of predicting each type, the likelihood that it could cause a planet-wide end of life, and other key elements. Their list included earthquakes, volcanoes, and tidal waves, radical climate change, a change in the make-up of their atmosphere, and changes in the rotational cycles of the planet.
�Are your people susceptible to violent emotional movements?� asked Picard at one point. �On my planet, it was a phenomenon we called mass hysteria.�
�Generally, no. We tend to be a reflective and � well, perhaps we are just a bit on the lazy side,� chided one portly gentleman, a historian. �But we�d certainly rather talk about an issue than get up and fight about it!� The room erupted in chuckles that were a welcome break from the serious air.
�There must be causes or events that mobilize or involve your people? Social causes? Hero worship of some sort? Religions?� Picard was tossing out ideas as they occurred to him, but he could tell that he�d hit a sore spot when he saw the look of wounded pride on Mokkan�s face.
�Of course they haven�t said anything about religions,� he forced out between tense lips, and instantly the relaxation that had permeated the room was gone. �We know exactly what the limit is. We know exactly why it will happen. But they won�t open themselves up to the faith of Mogl. They�d rather be dead than admit their error and follow the true path. Unbelievers!� Mokkan was on his feet by now, striding angrily up and down the length of the meeting room. �Will none of you tell him the truth � tell him where oonsar came from, and why? How can he help us if we keep him in the dark?�
Picard looked at the faces around the room. Most of them looked embarrassed by the outburst. Two or three were nodding, apparently in agreement with Mokkan. �If there is something I should know, by all means, please tell me,� he said, turning to Mokkan. �Where did the sense of oonsar come from?�
�Centuries ago, our people were as you described yours � prone to war among ourselves. That is perhaps a great understatement. So frequent and bloody were the wars, they threatened to destroy our civilization � perhaps even our species. In an agony of despair, our people cried out to Mogl to save us from our own folly � to help us learn the ways of peace. And Mogl answered. She gave us the holy gift of oonsar. And it worked. To know the length of life is to truly know how precious life is. Our people have known centuries � 33 generations and more � of peace. All thanks to the gift of Mogl. But they have grown ungrateful. They have forgotten the ways of devotion and worship. And now Mogl has used her gift to make it clear to us � we have 15 years to change our ways, or we shall cease to exist.�
�There are some who believe this legend,� interrupted another of the scientists. �But most educated people regard this as ��
�You mean you regard it that way!� Mokkan shot back. �But there are many of us, and our numbers are growing every day.�
�You have no proof for your claims.�
�You have no faith. And you will be punished.�
Picard�s heart sank as the discussion descended along its predictable path. He was most surprised to find that his capable and bright assistant had such a religious fervor � and even more surprised to see that there was evidently a considerable lack of tolerance by some of the others for his zeal. This was another path that would have to be considered. It would not be the first time a people in turmoil over issues of faith had obliterated themselves. Suddenly, Picard�s mind seized on something that Mokkan had said.
�Did I understand you to say that oonsar only came into being about three and a half centuries ago?�
�That is when the priests of the world joined together in their appeal to Mogl.�
�Speaking from a historian�s perspective, Ambassador,� added the portly historian, �it�s difficult to say. Our first recorded mentions of oonsar date from that time. But much from that time is ambiguous, and most records from the truly early times before then no longer exist. Does that mean oonsar did not exist before that time? Who can say?�
I think I am going to get very tired of the phrase �Who can say� by the end of this day, Jean-Luc thought to himself. However, by lunchtime, he had managed to organize them into subgroups by specialty, and each group had the task of gathering the data relevant to their area and packaging it in as small a format as possible for transport on the Mistral. And so the astronomers gathered their star charts and the climatologists grouped their readings and statistics and the historians encoded timelines of the history of the Eebronian people. And in the midst of it all, Picard pondered, and glimpsed what might be an idea beginning to form. But it didn�t square with what Beverly had said earlier. He tapped his comm badge. �Beverly?�
�Just a moment, Jean-Luc.� He heard her confirming a few bits of data with another Eebronian volunteer, then thanking the person for her help. �Now, Ambassador, what can I do for you?�
�I need to run an idea by you. Are you collecting samples all afternoon, or will you have a bit of time?�
�Follim was going to take me to an outdoor caf� for lunch. Care to join us?�
�That sounds ideal. Can Follim and Mokkan coordinate the details?�
�I�m sure they can. See you in one hour?�
�Rely on it. Picard out.�
*************************************
At the caf�, Beverly glanced around at the food on other tables and saw many things that looked intriguing, but none that seemed familiar. She suggested that Follim order for them, and turned her attention to Jean-Luc.
�Beverly, do you remember when we were approaching Eebron, the ship�s sensors detected a slightly elevated level of tachyon particles?�
�Yes, but it was a very small. Do you think it has something to do with the limit? Perhaps if it were to increase � we never did identify where they were coming from.�
�Ah, I see where you�re going with that line of thought. But I had a different angle in mind. When we were first thrown clear of the wormhole, do you recall that we noticed the general background level of tachyon particles in this area of space was higher than in Federation space?�
�I think so. But again, wasn�t it only a very slight amount?�
�It was. But perhaps when the two combine � the background level and the planet�s own particle field � it�s enough to cause � something.� He shrugged. �It�s not much to go on � simply one idea among many. Mokkan,� he asked, turning to his assistant, �what is your level of technology in tachyon physics?�
�I suspect we are considerably behind yours,� Mokkan replied flatly. He had been a bit withdrawn since his outburst at the meeting. �We are aware of the existence of tachyon particles, but are only just beginning to detect and measure them.�
�I think we can probably take the sensor readings we need aboard the Mistral. Our equipment is compact, but quite precise. What I�m curious about, exactly, is this generally elevated level of tachyons in this area. Where does it begin? It must start at some point between Federation space and here. And if it has a beginning, where does it end?�
�Very interesting question. It�s going to take some very long range sensors to answer that one,� Beverly observed.
�The computer can conduct periodic sweeps through the evening,� he answered. �If we begin them this afternoon, we should have the necessary data collected by the end of the night.�
�Excuse me, but our first course is coming,� Follim broke in. They took a break from shop talk to sample the dishes. She had ordered four very different meals, and they all shared a bit of everything, like a Chinese meal on Earth. Even Mokkan seemed to come out of his funk a bit as he and Follim took turns explaining what things were and how they were prepared. The flavors were spicy, and most foods were served raw and cool � hot dishes seemed to be rarity on Eebron. �No slaving over a hot stove for Eebronian women,� Beverly joked.
Mokkan looked seriously at her. �Slavery has not been practiced by our people since prehistoric times. It is considered an abomination of the spirit.�
�Oh, no, Mokkan, I didn�t mean �� Beverly was caught between amusement at Mokkan�s serious reaction and regret that she had perhaps offended the man. �It�s just an old expression in our culture � in that context, it just means working hard, not truly slaving. Eebron certainly doesn�t seem like the sort of place that would practice slavery.�
Under the table, she surreptitiously nudged Jean-Luc with her knee, then shot him a subtle questioning glance. �It�s all right, Beverly. I�m afraid I managed to offend Mokkan earlier today without meaning to, and so he�s understandably a bit tender. We seem to be trampling on some delicate points without meaning to.� He looked across at Mokkan and smiled. �I�m grateful that he�s been so professional as not to let my bumbling prevent him from providing invaluable help to me.�
There�s the diplomat at work, Beverly thought to herself. Mokkan was already starting to look a bit less grim. The conversation turned back to the food, and the culture of Eebron. As their hosts took turns describing the various areas of the planet to which each dish was native, Jean-Luc and Beverly found themselves starting to get a more personal feel for the planet. They liked these people, and so found themselves hoping even more that they could help them find an answer to their crisis.
As the meal drew to a close, Mokkan surprised them by making an offer. �If either of you wishes to have an oonsar sensing done, I would be honored to arrange that for you. We have many very gifted sensers here in Macel. It would not take long � the actual sensing takes perhaps 4 to 5 minutes. The whole session is usually about half an hour. We can arrange it at your convenience.�
�I�d been wondering about the possibility,� Beverly said thoughtfully. �But the more I think about it, the more I think I�d find the knowledge disturbing. What about you, Jean-Luc? Would you?�
�The Eebronians have developed a culture and philosophy that makes the knowledge much more palatable for them. They use it to plan their lives in a much more practical way than we humans tend to. And as a consequence, many of the people I�ve met here so far seem to be more purposeful, more directed than we tend to be. There is much to admire about what oonsar has instilled here. But that being said, I think you�re right, Beverly � I believe knowing the exact length of my own life is something I would be ill-equipped to deal with. Your offer is very much appreciated, Mokkan, but I think that we will continue to take each day as it comes, without the knowledge of how many there will be.�
After lunch, Mokkan ferried Jean-Luc to the spaceport to begin the scanning process, and Follim and Beverly went off for their meeting with the information specialists who had been working to assemble a mini-reference resource about Eebron to go back to the Federation. They had been quite successful, presenting her with a cubical case about eight inches in each direction. Inside were three sections, each packed with a different media. It was essentially the contents of the Eebronian World Library, rendered in 3 storage systems � magnetic, photaic, and hyperfazic. The hope was that at least one would prove compatible enough for Federation technology to access it. Following that meeting, Beverly went back to collecting tricorder readings and medical histories from as diverse a sampling of people as possible.
******************************
She and Jean-Luc met back at their residence as early evening arrived. Both were tired, but after they had showered and freshly dressed, they felt ready to spend another evening trying to assimilate at least a portion of the planetary culture. �And,� Beverly reminded him, �we haven�t had dinner yet. I don�t know about you, but I�m ready to sample another smorgasbord. Although I do have to admit that after another two days here, I�m going to crave a hot meal.�
Follim arrived in the hovercar a few minutes later and they set off for the private home where the party had been arranged. �Flotral Gannbep is an extremely successful businessman who had the extra advantage of being born wealthy. I think you�ll find him interesting. He can be flamboyant and a little overbearing, but he�s quite intelligent, and word has it that he also has very acute oonsar. He may be an excellent person for you to talk with if you�re interested in understanding more about what sensing is like.�
When they arrived at Flotral�s home, they saw that if anything, Follim�s description had been understated. It was truly a mansion, with sprawling grounds around it. A series of fountains scattered through the gardens were bathed in light which seemed to come from the stones itself. The entryway was flanked with stone pillars which also gave off a soft glow in pastel hues.
�Glowstone, one of the most precious materials on our planet,� Follim explained. �The smallest of those fountains probably cost more than my house. The limit committee is fortunate that Flotral is one of our most generous supporters.� The inside of the home appeared just as luxurious as the outside. Many guests had already arrived, and an intriguing banquet of foods was laid out in one room. As they came into through the entrance hall, they saw Mokkan and Arvun chatting with a tall man who sported longer hair than most Eebronian men, and wore clothing of vivid purples and greens. �There�s Flotral,� said Follim. �Let�s go greet our host.�
Before they could cross the hall, Flotral flung his arms wide and called out in a booming voice, �Ah, here are the honored guests we have been waiting for.� Long strides carried him rapidly across the floor to stop in front of Jean-Luc, where he reached out to touch both shoulders in the Eebronian greeting. �Ambassador Picard? I am Flotral Gannbep. And you are Doctor Crusher? Truly charmed. Welcome to Eebron, and to my home.�
Mokkan and Arvun joined them, and together they made their way further into the home � slowly, however, as other guests frequently stopped them to exchange greetings and thank them for their offer of assistance. As they made their way around the buffet table, Arvun explained how she had planned the evening. �We�ve invited several prominent people in each of a variety of fields. Politics. Sciences. The arts. Philosophy and religion. Social sciences. Economics. And a few wild cards, to make things interesting. We�ve asked them to make this sort of a working party. Basically, each group will be discussing their special field, but informally, just � shop talk, if you will. You can circulate among the groups and perhaps get to know us a little better in a variety of areas. How does that sound to you?�
�Ideal,� answered Jean-Luc. �The challenge for me will be to keep circulating and not get caught up in one discussion or another. It sounds like a truly fascinating evening.�
�Don�t worry. Everyone understands that you have a limited amount of time and will want to make the most of it. They may even chase you along to another discussion if they suspect they�re monopolizing too much of your evening.�
�Well, before we get into too much of a serious discussion, I want to sample this fopava,� Beverly pointed at a colorful pasta-like dish. �I tried some at lunch and it was simply delightful.�
They finished filling their plates and looked around. Follim pointed to a group of 5 men and women sitting in a nearby alcove. �That�s the arts group. Beverly, you would find them most interesting, I think.�
�And a break from medical thoughts will be very welcome. I think I�ll go and join them.�
Mokkan steered Picard toward the political group as a place to start. Arvun had done an incredible job of assembling insightful and sometimes opinionated minds. The discussions Jean-Luc and Beverly sat in on were spirited, and showed the Eebronians in a very good light. They were intelligent, thoughtful, and very open-minded. The process of discussion seemed more important, or at least more enjoyable, to them than actually making any definitive decisions. When Picard mentioned that to Mokkan as they moved from one group to another, he replied, �We know that about ourselves, all right. The commonplace going around now is that we might actually get our hydro-farming operations to run efficiently if we talked less and weeded more.�
Toward the latter part of the evening, Beverly found herself chatting with Flotral and a very handsome couple whom he had invited. As it turns out, the woman, Mhabi, was Flotral�s sibling � and a professional oonsar senser � a profession whose duties seemed to involve something like a cross between psychology and retirement planning. �You don�t just wrap your arms around someone and then say �You�ve got 5 years� and let it go at that,� said the woman. �A good senser spends some time getting to know the person first, and discloses the lifespan gently and with understanding, particularly if it is a short one. And they go on to help the client draw up a timeline for what they want to accomplish in life. It�s a very personal process, yet one that often benefits from impartial guidance.�
�What does oonsar �� Beverly paused, wondering just how to put it. �What does it feel like? Does it involve other sense perceptions, I mean, do you see the future, or hear it, or somehow touch it � or is it something completely unlike any of those?�
�It is very difficult to express verbally,� Flotral said, and the others nodded in agreement. �And it seems that each person experiences it a bit differently. It does seem to involve a mixture of the other senses, and the balance within that mixture varies from person to person. My experiences lean toward the visual, but for Mhabi �� he turned to her.
�Mine are predominantly aural in nature. Some people have very physical reactions � elevated heart rates, or very deep trancelike states. It�s quite different for each of us. In my case I � well, let me see. The closest I can come to comparing it to something familiar is to say that I hear the subject�s life as a song. Not with words, but a sort of melody. And I get a sense of a style � some may be brisk and aggressive, and others are gentle and soft. And the length of the song is the length of the lifespan.�
�How do you time it?� Beverly asked.
�I don�t, not in the sense of using a timepiece. And I couldn�t tell you any rules � it�s not as though exactly 4 minutes of music means exactly so many years. I don�t know how many minutes I�ve heard, anyway. I don�t really have a strong internal chronometer in everyday life. Do your people have that ability among you?�
�A very sharp sense of time? It�s not unknown, although a really precise ability is rare. It�s more an oddity than a useful skill in most cases. So you don�t come to end of a � song, and know that it was so many minutes and seconds?�
�No. But I do know very clearly that the life that is the subject is so many years, months, and days.�
�And the aspect of style � is it like, in a sense, getting to know someone, only in a compacted form?�
�I�d have to say yes and no. I don�t know them in the sense that I know any event that happens in their lives. But I do get a sense of the flow of emotion over the course of their lives � periods where happiness or tension or suffering or excitement predominate. I know if their life is overall a happy or sad one.�
�What about your � subject, is that the term you use? Do they hear the song as well?�
�If their skills are aurally inclined as well, they hear a piece of it. But just a tiny bit. You might say that they hear in real time, while mine is compressed. And those who don�t lean toward the musical don�t hear anything at all � but they may experience a waterfall of colors, or feel a symphony of textures � it�s the same information, but perceived through different windows. The same sentence, translated into a million different languages.�
Mhabi�s description of her oonsar sensings was, of all the various descriptions she�d heard during the course of the evening, the one that made the most innate sense to her. She could imagine sensing something like that. More important, she could imagine feeling comfortable with an experience like that. This was something she�d been hoping to find.
�Flotral, may I ask you for a favor?� Beverly turned her most dazzling smile on her host.
�How may I serve you?� he returned graciously.
�I�d love to continue chatting with Mhabi about oonsar. But I must also admit that I am enchanted by your beautiful home, and I would love to see more of it. I don�t want to take you away from your guests, but would you mind if I asked Mhabi to show me around for a few minutes?�
�I�m delighted that you find my home worthy of your interest. And there is no better guide than Mhabi. She assisted me with the planning and decoration from start to finish.� With a light touch of his hands on her shoulders, the host took his leave, and within a few steps could be heard launching into what sounded like a high level business discussion with Mhabi�s husband.
Mhabi guided her through one elegant room after another, until they ended up on a terrace at the back of the house, bordered by manicured gardens and a few low, wide benches. No artificial lights burned, but under the triple Eebronian moon, none were really necessary. Beverly could have read her tricorder with ease in the pinkish glow.
�Mhabi, I must admit that I have an ulterior reason for asking you to show me around. I, um, I�ve been thinking of having an oonsar reading done.�
Mhabi immediately smiled with delight. �I�m so pleased.�
�No, don�t be pleased yet. You see, I wonder if it might be possible to impose a condition on the reading. A large part of me still doesn�t want to know my lifespan. But on the practical side � Ambassador Picard and I have a long journey ahead of us to reach our home. Almost nine years, and that�s without any of the inevitable delays we�re sure to run into, and ��
�And stops to help complete strangers who think they have a problem, but it won�t happen for 15 years,� Mhabi said with a smile. �Under the circumstances, I think I can guess your request. Do you want to know whether you will live to the conclusion of your journey home?�
�Yes, that�s it exactly. If I won�t, there are things I would want to arrange for Jean-Luc. But if we�ll � no, I know you can�t tell me anything about his lifespan. I just want to know if I can make the whole journey with him. Beyond that, I don�t want to know if my life goes on for 50 minutes or 50 years. Is that possible? Does it violate any sort of rules?�
�It is both permissible and, under the circumstances, entirely understandable.
Now, have you given any thought to whom you may want to do the reading?�
�Well, Mhabi, as I said, I have an � �Ulterior motive for asking me to show you around,� they finished together. The bond between them felt surprisingly comfortable for only an hour�s acquaintance. �I would be honored.�
�But you are a professional,� Beverly said. �And I have no currency. How can I pay for your services?�
�By allowing me the opportunity of a lifetime in my art,� Mhabi said seriously. �The challenge and the experience of sensing oonsar with someone of an off-world culture is most rare. I am in your debt.�
�Still two more concerns. Can we do this now � as quickly as possible? And would you mind not saying anything to anyone, especially Jean-Luc? Just until after we�ve left. Then you can write a paper on me or put me in your data banks or do whatever you want.�
�I understand,� Mhabi said again. �Come sit beside me on this bench. We shouldn�t be interrupted back here. And if one of the servants should happen to come out � well, they�ve seen me conducting oonsar sessions before, and they�re they very essence of discretion.�
�What do I do?� Beverly asked as she seated herself next to Mhabi.
�Nothing, ideally. You simply relax. Most subjects close their eyes, but it�s not required. Some even doze off. And that�s fine. It doesn�t hurt the process at all. From your perspective, you should experience nothing but relaxation. You won�t sense anything special. I�m going to begin by establishing a contact between us. Once initiated, it�s important that it not be broken until the sensing is complete. It�s also best if you don�t speak while I am sensing. Are you ready?�
�I think so.� Beverly looked at Mhabi and gave a tight, nervous smile. The Eebronian woman gently took her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing out toward the fountain, then slid around behind her and began to stroke her hands gently up and down Beverly�s arms. The sparkle of the water droplets in the triple moonlight, the soft scent of the garden in full bloom, and the warm, soft touch of Mhabi�s hands combined to induce an extremely relaxed state. Mhabi moved up close behind her, pressing the front of her body against Beverly�s back, stretching her arms out along the exact curve of Beverly�s arms, matching every inch, and held them there until she felt the last shred of tension and resistance dissolve. Then she sat back slightly and again guided Beverly by the shoulders until she was leaning back against Mhabi, eyes closed, her face completely relaxed. Mhabi reached up and stroked the long loose red hair repeatedly until Beverly�s head inclined gently towards her own. On the last stroke, her hand continued down from Beverly�s hair, over her breasts and ended wrapped around her waist. Her other arm wrapped over until her hand was on Beverly�s upper arm. Ever so slowly and slightly, Mhabi began to rock back and forth, holding Beverly tightly against her, her hand gently sliding up and down Beverly�s arm. She seemed to exude something that induced relaxation, Beverly managed to think as her conscious mind slowly but willingly gave up its control. This is the most incredibly soothing feeling I�ve had outside of �
�Beverly. Beverly, wake up,� came the soft voice. She felt herself being gently supported into a straight-up sitting posture, and opened her eyes. Suddenly she looked around to see who had interrupted them. �Everything�s all right,� Mhabi continued. �We�re all done.�
�It�s over?� Beverly was surprised. �But it hardly took a minute, and I didn�t feel a thing!�
�I told you, didn�t I?� her hostess smiled. �And it was closer to five minutes. To tell the truth, I was a little worried that your curiosity about oonsar would keep you from relaxing fully, but you were what we call a very gentle subject � very easy to sense with. I think perhaps you did fall just a bit asleep. And as for your question �� she paused and met Beverly�s gaze full in the eye, put both hands on her shoulders, smiled warmly, and said, � � you�ll be fine.�
�Oh, thank you, Mhabi,� Beverly returned her warm smile. �Thank you so much for everything. I can�t tell you what it means to me.�
�It was truly my pleasure, Beverly.� She squeezed her shoulders gently once more before letting go. �You have a beautiful song.�
A few minutes later when they rejoined the party, Jean-Luc glanced at Beverly. �That must have been quite the tour.�
�It�s a lovely home,� she said. �And big.� Her mind was taking inventory. Did he mean anything in particular? Was she flushed or otherwise disarranged? She didn�t think so.
�Have you had a chance to talk with the social sciences people yet?� she asked as they crossed the great room.
�I think I�ve chatted with just about everyone at some point this evening. It�s been quite a remarkable way to get to know their culture � at least one little slice of it � but I must confess my brain is beginning to come dangerously close to the information overload stage.�
�I know what you mean. Let me find Follim and see what the odds are of a graceful exit anytime soon.�
It took about half an hour, but eventually all appropriate thanks had been expressed and leaves had been taken, and Beverly and Jean-Luc were in the back of the hovercar as Follim chauffeured them to their residence. After making arrangements to be picked up the next morning for another day of research, they said goodnight and very shortly made their way to bed.
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While Beverly dictated a few reminders to herself of things she�d heard at the party that suggested additional avenues of research, Jean-Luc stepped into the shower. By the time he came out, she had finished her notes. She stopped to nuzzle his warm cheek on her way in, and he glanced down to notice a rather small and insubstantial looking bit of red silk in her hand. �I shall await your return most eagerly,� he breathed into her ear.
While he waited, he experimented with the controls for the mist blanket, and found one where pastel green faded slowly into blue, which gradually became lavender, then pink and so on, an ever-changing wash of colors that changed with the rhythm of long, slow surf. The triple moonlight poured in through the skylight as he dropped his wrap by the bed and let the warm mist cover his naked body. The light was soft, yet clear enough for him to see in detail the vision that stepped out of the bathroom.
Beverly wore red silk panties and a red shirt so sheer, it was little more than mist itself. Its only closure were the tails knotted together beneath a deep vee that left the inner edge of each breast gleaming in the moonlight. �Gods! I never get tired of seeing that vision,� he exclaimed softly as he rose to his knees in the center of the bed and drew her to him in a powerful embrace. Their kissed began at passionate intensity and grew more heated from there.
Beverly teased him by playing with the mist � swirling a cloud of it around her, then whisking her shirt off, holding it out to him through the pastel fog. He responded by grasping her around her ribs and lifting her suddenly above the mist, so he could see every inch of her glorious body. When he lowered her to the bed, she pushed him down flat and began to tease him with kisses here and there � appearing to nuzzle a nipple, slipping back under the mist and suddenly running her tongue up the inside of his thigh. He curbed his impulse to take control and allowed her to have her fun until a hand slithered forth from out of the mist and dropped the red silk panties on his chest. Then he could restrain himself no longer. Again he rolled to his knees in the center of the bed, and reaching down into the mist, he pulled Beverly up to her knees as well. The mist was just shifting from aqua to lavender as he brushed the last traces of it from her breasts and watched the little misty fingers run down her body, revealing all of her to his hungry eyes. Their mouths locked in one more passionate kiss, his arms closed around her, and he carried her to the mattress once more. As the mist closed around them, they came fully together at last, riding the swelling tide of passion to its final crest.
Beverly was utterly drained of energy. Her head lay on Jean-Luc�s chest, one arm wrapped around his ribs and one leg still twined through his. The sound of his heart beating just under her ear filled her head, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lifted her head ever so slightly. Unconsciously, her own breathing and heart rate began to fall into sync with his. Dreamily, she watched stray tendrils of mist sway in the moonlight, and found that, even with her eyes closed, she could still see them swirling and dancing. It seemed to have something to do with the moonlight. Or something to do with the music. She wasn�t sure. One of the tendrils grew larger and more defined. It seemed to stand a bit away from the rest of the mist. Somehow it seemed to move and just � be � apart, alone. The music was strong, yet somehow incomplete. Gradually more tones filtered in. The tendril of mist was joined by another. They crossed and twined and seemed to become one, yet neither ever disappeared. They danced together as the music took on a fuller, more nuanced sound with complex highs and lows, changes of rhythm, but always with the depth of harmony. Finally the tendrils faded together into a pastel fog that rippled into a quiet sea. Beverly lifted her head from the beach of that sea and thought, �What a long time that was. It felt like 60 years.�
Beverly lifted her head from Jean-Luc�s chest with a start. Did that just happen? Was that what she thought it was? It couldn�t have been. Could it? No, it certainly could not. It was a dream � a particularly vivid dream that had clearly been suggested by her experiences earlier in the evening.
�What is it?� Jean-Luc had been startled awake by her sudden movement.
�Nothing.�
�Bad dream?�
�Not bad. Just � vivid. Probably my mind�s way of saying �wake up, your left arm hasn�t had any circulation for ten minutes.�� They readjusted their positions, with Jean-Luc curled closely around her. As they drifted off to sleep, Beverly saw two tendrils of mist swirl together and settle around the two of them in a warm, soft embrace.
(This story continues in 2 more parts.)