Carpe Diem by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

current—and turned his head as if he had heard the cry of protest she had stilled.

    "Cha'trez, the water is good," he assured her. "Nor do I think the vegetables or grains will do us harm. The meat should also be edible. Whether all the nutritional needs of our bodies are met we must wait and see." He cupped his hand again and drank, then rose, sighing. "Had we been abandoned in a Scout ship instead of a smuggler's yacht we would have known these things with certainty before landing. As it is, we ride the luck."

    Miri closed her eyes as he came to sit beside her. "Carpe diem," she muttered, willing herself to relax.

    "What is that?"

    She opened her eyes to find him watching her. "What's what?"

    "Carpe—diem? It does not sound Terran—and you have said it several times."

    "Oh." She frowned. "Actually, it is Terran—at least, it's from Terra. Latin, I think the language was. Real old. I remember reading that two or three of the languages Terran derives from came from Latin, first." She paused, but he was watching her face with apparent interest.

    "Time I was—sick—right after Klamath," she continued, "I got to read lots. Book I liked best was called Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. It was sort of a list of things that people had said or believed—and sometimes still said—and next to each one was an explanation of what it was really supposed to mean.

    "Carpe diem, now—that's supposed to mean, 'seize the day,' enjoy yourself while you can. Seemed like good advice." She shook her head and smiled. "Great book. Sorry I had to give it back."

    "How long were you able to spend with the book?" he asked gently. "After Klamath?"

    "Hmm? Ah, not too long. Got busted up toward the end of things—my own damn fault. Got cocky." She shifted, breaking his gaze. "You want a sandwich before we get on?"

    Both brows rose. "Salmon?"

    "Got four," she told him earnestly.

    "I think that I am not hungry, thank you." He came to his feet in one fluid motion and reached down to help her up, though he knew she could rise as easily as he, unaided.

    "Besides," he said, pressing her hand warmly before letting her go. "I thought you wanted that cup of coffee."

     

    The town sat in a three-sided bowl made of mountains, clustered in the center of a valley that was merely a widening of the pass they walked through. It was not a large town, which was good, and no one was yet abroad, though the sun had been up for several hours. In the near distance Val Con made out a field of some type of grain, while closer in—

    Miri was not at his back.

    He turned slowly and found her seated astride a fallen log, staring down into the protected little town, tension sharp in the lines of her face, in the set of her shoulders, and in the slender hands folded too still upon her knee.

    He moved, deliberately scraping boot heel against stone. She started and looked at him.

    "Mind if I rest a minute?" she asked, tension singing beneath the words.

    "As long as you like." Silent again, he went to the log and sat behind her, putting his arms loosely around her waist, feeling her taut in every muscle. Laying his cheek against her hair, he exhaled gently. "What is it, cha'trez?"

    "I was gonna ask you." She flung her hands out with suppressed violence, directing his attention to the valley below. "What is it?"

    He considered. Then, he said softly, "A town. Civilians. Not, it is true, a very large town—but sufficient for our present needs. A pattern such as this many times includes outlying farms or homes. If this place is true to that pattern, then that is very good for us. It may be possible for us to go to a single home and offer to trade labor for—language lessons."

    She drew a deep breath. "That's a town?"

    "Certainly it's a town," he said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. "What else would it be?"

    "The gods alone know. It's so small . . ." Her voice faded, significant of growing tension.

    "So? Then perhaps we should take a few moments to