No Other Love Read Online Free

the ones
we are using.”
    “Herne.” Merin’s hands were shaking. “That is
the number on my recorder. There cannot be two recorders with the
same serial number. The final five digits are always different, and
they are checked often enough at the factory to avoid duplication.”
She held her own instrument out for him to see.
    “The same object cannot be in two places at
the same time,” Herne insisted, looking at the one in his hand.
    “Tarik has often enough warned us about
distortions of time and space in the Empty Sector,” Merin said.
“Perhaps here, under certain conditions, the impossible is
possible. Tarik should see this at once.”
    “Not yet. I want to look around a bit more
before we go to him. Come on, we’re going to do some
exploring.”
    “By the Jurisdiction’s Rule of Archeology,”
Merin said, “you are required to leave that recorder exactly where
you found it until your commanding officer verifies the finding.
Under these peculiar circumstances, I suggest you take it with you
instead. It might not be here when we return.”
    “It’s good to know you do have an
imagination.” She missed Herne’s brief smile because her eyes were
fixed on the clean recorder in her hand. He wrapped the
dirt-encrusted one in an artifact bag and put it into his kit.
    “Shall we go on?” Merin asked in her soft,
unemotional voice.
    “Be careful,” Herne warned. “There are steps
here, or there should be. We are entering the garden now. Just over
there is the stairway to the grotto.”
    “You haven’t mentioned the grotto before. How
do you know it is here? I see nothing to indicate steps.”
    “Perhaps you would be able to see something
if you would occasionally take your eyes off the ground or that
recorder,” Herne snapped, suddenly irritated by the way she had put
aside her distress over the duplicate recorder to resume her usual
calm demeanor. He glared at her, but of course she could not see
his expression. That annoyed him even more. Believing she would
soon begin asking questions about the previous night that he would
rather not answer, he attacked with a question of his own. “Why
don’t you ever look at anyone when you speak? I detest people who
don’t look me straight in the eye.”
    “On my homeworld it is considered rude to so
challenge another person,” Merin responded with quiet gravity. “In
order to avoid provoking conflict, we do not look directly at each
other.”
    “You aren’t on Oressia now. Look at me.”
Herne almost told her to take off that stupid white headdress, too,
but stopped himself just in time. It wasn’t Merin’s fault if he was
disoriented and in a miserable mood this morning, or if he was
blaming himself for what had happened during the night. He did
realize how he could have put all of his companions in jeopardy by
going off with that accursed woman. If he actually had gone off
with her; if there really had been a woman. If he had not dreamed
it all. He shook his head, trying to sort out his memories, trying
to think rationally.
    At least he could be grateful that in spite
of the lack of any solid evidence, Tarik had not reprimanded him or
scoffed at his story. Nor had Merin laughed at the insane things
he’d been saying. She had only asked for more information. He was
about to apologize to her, to tell her she need not break her
native customs in order to accommodate his irascible demand that
she look directly at him when, apparently having wrestled through
the problem on her own, she lifted her gaze to his.
    Herne was rocked back on his heels. Her eyes
were light brown with purple flecks in them, wide and clear and
innocent, with thick, darker brown lashes. Her entire face was
changed when she looked upward, her sharp features, untouched by
any trace of cosmetics, softened into delicate prettiness. Her lips
were trembling a little at this breach of Oressian custom, and a
faint blush turned her cheeks pink.
    But the thing that shook Herne to his