Free The Dark Places by D. Martin

hours. Eventually I’d learned to rely on the ship’s
chronometers, which were set to Standard Old Terran twenty-four-hour day
tracking.
    With the chronometers’ help, I’d
determined Matt seemed to have no real appetite in the last five ship days.
Despite that, he appeared alert, continued monitoring his ship, and maintained
a routine. I watched him with care and missed no opportunity to coax him into
sipping or nibbling something from the small galley’s enticing food stock.
    Rikin glowered under its gray cloud
cover. The Stardancer’s meteorology
station sensors reported heavy, continuous rainfall across the surface. Matt
frowned and grumbled that we might be in orbit for more than twenty-four hours
before the weather pattern shifted and allowed us to land somewhere in our
target area that wasn’t flooded.
    I was looking forward to his
promise to reveal more about himself on Rikin, but I was in no hurry to land. Two
things were mine that I’d always dreamed about—to be comfortable and cherished—but
I had never been able to envision it actually happening. No sentimental
longings existed for the Lilith, but I did miss Harry’s gruff kindness and
Bilk, too, who kept the staff safe. Both Harry and Bilk had watched out for me
and given pithy advice on how to survive in Marnu when I’d needed it. Other
than that, I spared no thoughts for my Harnaru existence, and definitely none
for Dearleth.
    I made tentative attempts at
writing again in the long ship flight hours when Matt immersed himself in his
inventory read outs, navilog comp, engineering diagnostics, and trade data. I
tried not to make great demands upon his time or person during our flight
hours, keeping firmly in mind that he had been accustomed to being alone, as
was I.
    During the Stardancer’s twentieth orbit about Rikin, I sensed something wasn’t
quite right. Matt was too quiet. In
our previous long ship days together, he would seek me out suddenly in the
midst of whatever he was doing and hold me or talk for a while. Then he would
abandon me with a brief caress or kiss and return to his previous occupation.
    There were bleak, mercifully brief
periods also, in the passing day cycles, when green mists would cloud his eyes
and he would withdraw inside himself with obvious pain in his expression and
movements. He rebuffed all questions or attempts at soothing him then. Those
distancing episodes had occurred more frequently in the past three ship days
and filled me with helpless despair and sleeplessness during the ship’s night
cycles.
    Matt hadn’t spoken to me for the
past two standard hours, according to a nearby chronometer on the hull. And
neither had I glanced up to check on him for almost half an hour.
    I stopped tugging at one long curl
near my ear and put aside the bookcube loaded with a microdisk containing a
popular author’s long, belabored novel that I’d been frowning over. I had
discovered Matt was well read and his microdisk collection in the ship’s
extensive library covered many topics. And it was also a nicely indexed and
organized collection, so my fledgling librarian skills weren’t required here.
    My gaze darted across the living
area to where Matt sat in his navicon chair in front of the console. He had leaned
back with tightly closed eyes and clenched fists resting upon the metal plate
shields that protected the auxiliary ship controls within the chair’s wide
armrests.
    I jumped to my feet and rushed
over. I anxiously touched his perspiring forehead. He was pale beneath his tan,
and his skin felt icy. His eyes opened in slow degrees to reveal an unfocused
stare suffused with shimmering green mists.
    “Matt, please tell me—what can I do
to help you?” I asked, with fear clenching my heart.
    “Talk to me, Kailiri,” he
whispered. “Tell me about Dearleth. Tell me about Harnaru and why you traveled
there. Tell me about yourself.”
    What? At least it was a response. In recent days he wouldn’t respond to my