Suddenly, I’m aware of being back in the room with Tara. My sweaty hands are clenching the sheets. “The memories are coming back faster now,” I blurt out, embarrassed.
Tara grins at me. “Let me guess. You were remembering how Quennel solved his pollination problem.” I nod, trying to focus, to claw my way through my awkward arousal. “It seems that the branchbacks, as you call them, have logical triggers,” she continues. “The point is that you can have fruit if you choose.”
I find myself staring at Canopus, at Quennel. I understand so completely what he was feeling – even though Ashvattha was created with the entirety of its branches, I am the sole emanation, and as such, I feel the weight of my entire tree upon me: Ashvattha’s desire for Canopus. But there’s an empathy, a concern that goes beyond that. Canopus is, comparatively speaking, so small, so unprotected. I reach a depressing conclusion. “It’s probably not safe to leave Canopus under Ashvattha right now. Not after yesterday’s attack.”
“Unfortunately, you’re probably right. But there are other measures we can take.” Tara gets out of bed, crouching on the floor next to the huge penjing pot. “I was right. Quennel had a pollen poof while we were fucking. I’ll bet some of this is still active, if you want me to hand pollinate you.”
It’s too much. After all these suggestive visions, for her to say something like that – I understand exactly where Quennel was coming from when he called her a saucy wench. And I’m still in bed. And I’m still naked.
Tara comes to the same realization. “Or we could be doubly sure, and prod him into producing some fresh pollen.”
Images of desire swirl through my mind: Tara, with her animal warmth, her animal wetness, the part of me that is a human male wanting to lose myself in her even as my flowers spread in anticipation of Quennel…
The door chimes. Tara throws on her robe, frowning, and motions for me to retreat into the bath. On the way, I scoop up my clothing from the floor. To my chagrin, my jeans are a little tight in my current condition.
“What are you doing here? The sun isn’t even up yet.”
“I’m an insomniac.” I recognize the voice – Clive Rivers. Involuntarily, I clench my fists. “So where is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tapping into your security system, obviously. You don’t think I’d leave it to those morons in SSOps? Come out of the bathroom, Ashhole.”
“Your timing leaves something to be desired,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Tara is in a state of perpetual rut anyway.”
“I’m really at a loss as to why this man is still alive,” I say to Tara.
“I’m afraid the responsibility for that is entirely yours,” Rivers interjects. He’s sneering. I didn’t know that people actually sneered. I’d assumed it was a literary convention.
“He means that he owes you his life,” says Tara. “For healing the damage from that evictium bomb. You’d think that he’d show you more respect.”
I glance at Tara with a barely perceptible shake of my head. I don’t remember that at all.
“Actually, that’s connected to what we were talking about earlier – when I found out about Yggdrasil. Clive, why don’t you tell him the story?”