Maddie had touched on a sore point. “Like Conway says,” he said tersely, “it’s alien. They do things differently. We wouldn’t understand the first principles, even.”
Maddie returned to her salad and ate abstractedly. I stretched and said, to fill the sudden silence, “I think I’ll get to like the way of life in Magenta.”
“It’s quiet,” Maddie said, “which is what I like about the place. The outside world hasn’t really reached us yet. The Bay hasn’t been flooded by the crass commercialism of the rest of the Expansion.”
Hawk said, “We know some good people here, don’t we, Maddie? We’ll introduce you, Conway.”
Maddie smiled. “Talking of good people, Hawk, have you seen anything of Matt lately?”
Hawk shook his head. “He’s busy finishing his latest project. He’s racing against time—the private showing is a couple of days away, and he’s still not finished.”
“Matt’s our very own famous artist,” Maddie explained. “Not Matt Sommers, the crystal sculptor?”
Maddie beamed. “The very same. You know his work?”
“My wife ran a gallery in Vancouver. Just reproductions, but I admire his stuff.”
“Is she with you on Chalcedony?” Maddie asked.
I shook my head. “We’re no longer together,” I explained, and left it at that.
Maddie opened her mouth in a silent ‘ah’, and covered her gaffe by rummaging in her home-made bag and producing a card. She pushed it across the table, withdrawing her hand quickly to avoid making contact with me.
“I have a spare ticket for the private viewing on Tuesday. Matt’s a good friend. He won’t mind my inviting you.”
I pocketed the ticket and thanked her. “I’ll look forward to that. You’ll be there, Hawk?”
He smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world—not that I know much about art, but I like watching Maddie going all gooey-eyed when she’s in Matt’s company.” He winked across at Maddie, who gave him the evil eye, and I assumed Hawk had got even by touching her sore point.
“Matt’s a dear,” Maddie said, “but he’s made it perfectly obvious that he feels nothing for me. Not—” she hurried on, “—that I would be in any position to do anything about it even if he did.” And she smiled sweetly at Hawk.
He said, “Matt once told me that he has no place in his life for romance.” He shook his head, as if in wonder. “Which, coming from an artist—someone who should be open to all and every experience—I find baffling.”
Maddie leaned forward and whispered, mock conspiratorially, “Matt has a dark secret in his past. Just like you, Hawk.” And she licked her finger tip and chalked up another hit in the air between them.
At that second, as if to save Hawk, his com rang. He spoke briefly to the caller, cut the connection and said, “That was someone at the yard. A rare customer. I’d better get back before he escapes. I’ll see you both at the viewing, if not before.”
He paid the bill for all of us, despite my protests, and hurried from the veranda.
Maddie sipped her beer and asked, “How long have you known Hawk?”
“I bought the ship from him a couple of days ago. I’ve only met him twice.”
She eyed me over the horizon of her mug. “And what do you think of him?”
I shrugged. “He seems very friendly.”
“It’s strange, but you can know someone for years, and yet not really know them.”
“You’ve known him that long?” I asked.
“I met him soon after I arrived on Chalcedony, ten years ago. But, as I said, I don’t really know him. He’s one of the most private people I’ve ever met, which is strange as he’s also one of the most outgoing people you’re ever likely to happen across.”
“Still waters…” I quipped. I hesitated, then said, “He did let slip something along the lines that he’s never flown since something that happened at Nevada. And have you noticed the jacks on his wrists?”
She nodded. “They’re hard to