Page 12 of On A Rift's Edge
“Anyway,” Naomi said. “With the sort of press coverage you’ve been getting, all sorts of people are interested in you. But Paul was less focused on the monster stuff and more on how interesting it must be to work with intelligent alien species. Plus, he’s single and likes men. Well, he’s bi at least.”
Kat sighed. His mother hadn’t wanted him to work anywhere near the rift before, but now she would harp on nothing else. After spending the whole dinner hearing her nag at him about it, he wouldn’t have the energy for a blind date. Plus, he was busy with studying and work.
Those were all valid reasons to say no. Lyall had nothing to do with it.
“I’ll pass on a date with the rich guy in a suit for now but thank you.” Kat knocked back his drink and gave his sisters his best puppy-dog eyes.
It partially worked. Naomi and Jenny exchanged another look, and Jenny threw in a counteroffer. “Come with Naomi and me to the art gallery party tomorrow night. Paul will be there, and you can meet him, but it’s not a date.”
Kat was too tired to argue further. He would say hello to the guy, check out the art, and leave. “Fine, but the two of you have to help me survive dinner. I thought Mom was going to try to bash sense into me with her soup spoon.”
5
Kat had nothing against cocktail parties, art galleries, or rich supporters of the arts.
He didn’t mind staring at paintings or statues he couldn’t afford to buy. The few cocktail parties he had been invited to had been dull but not unpleasant. And he supposed the wealthy could do worse things with their money than supporting art.
All three of those things at once was a lot, though. This particular cocktail party in an art gallery filled with rich people wasn’t his scene at all. But his sisters had been relentless. They insisted he meet the venture capitalist, and maybe it was better than sitting at home and mooning over Lyall.
“Come on,” said Naomi, steering him by the elbow past a collection of artwork based on Riftworld flora and fauna. Some depicted frightening species, like one photorealistic painting of a phantom.
Kat would never tell the artist this, but the piece didn’t even come close to showing how terrifying the murderous invertebrates were close up. It might make the painter feel bad. Besides, Kat had told his family he had been safely in the main building during the phantom assault on the ranch. They didn’t know he had helped Lyall and the others hold off a swarm of killer jellies and come close to being eaten.
A less alarming but more biologically correct piece consisted of broken shroom lamps and an assortment of urban detritus attached to a large shell that brought to mind crabs using the empty remains of mollusks to create homes for themselves. The sculpture had been placed in a transparent acrylic trash can for viewing.
He took a closer look. It was a model of a Riftworld species he was familiar with, a crustacean-like creature that lived in the abandoned military base near the monstertown.
“We’re only asking you to meet him.” Jenny was opposite Naomi on Kat’s left. She had drinks in each hand, so she had provided verbal encouragement as her older sister physically dragged Kat over to meet Paul Cicero, the venture capitalist.
His sisters were dressed in diametrically opposing outfits, as usual. Naomi had on a sheath dress/blazer combo in navy and cream that epitomized the concept of office-to-party wear.
Jenny had on a red dress with a high hemline and platform combat boots in black patent leather. “Don’t be nervous because he’s so rich. He sponsored this whole exhibit and made a big donation to the art center to fund classes for underprivileged children.”
“That’s nice.” Kat said the words automatically, staring at the see-though trash can filled with Riftworld junk and wondering if it was a metaphor of his unrequited infatuation with Lyall.
He was startled when someone said, “Do you like that piece? It’s a bit pricey, but the tax write-off will cover it.”
Kat turned around. Standing in front of him was a man in a suit even Remi would have envied, with blond hair and striking dark brown eyes. He was in his early thirties, perhaps, good-looking in a plastic sort of way. He gave Kat a wide smile. “Kat Nakamura, I take it? I’m Paul Cicero. A pleasure to meet you.”
Kat took a few seconds too long to accept the handshake the man offered. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was admiring the trash scorpion.”
Naomi gave a laugh that didn’t at all sound amused. “That’s one of the most expensive pieces in the gallery, Kat. It’s called “Permission of Despair” by Anonymous 3.5.”
“Our little brother isn’t much of an art aficionado.” Jenny, more accustomed to Kat’s awkwardness in this type of social situation, handed Paul one of her two drinks. “Here’s the banana daquiri you wanted.”
“I do know a lot about Riftworld animals.” Kat wasn’t annoyed by all the patronizing, not really. Getting upset over it wouldn’t be right, since his sisters had gone to a lot of trouble to bring him here this evening. “That’s a sculpture of an arthropod Riftworld species known as a trash scorpion. At least, that’s my friend’s name for it. There are colonies of them that live in the abandoned military base near the rift, and we haven’t found any mention of them in human scientific literature, so they don’t have a taxonomical name yet.”
Kat stopped talking. Naomi and Jenny were exchanging looks somewhere between despair and amusement. He needed to learn how not to talk so much when he was nervous.
Paul, though, appeared interested in Kat’s rambling monologue. “There must be a name for the creature in the alien universe, I suppose. I understand you have a good friend who turned out to be a dragon. Does he have a draconic name for the trash scorpion?”
“Kaveh didn’t name them that. My other friend Remi did.” Kat hesitated, because the last thing he wanted to do was get into an argument. But Paul had only wanted to meet him because he was curious about the ranch and what had happened there, so he might as well try to educate him. “My friend Kaveh Salehi and riftpeople like him are called drakones in English, not dragons. There’s a name for the trash scorpion species in their language and in other Riftworld forms of communication, but it’s not easy for us to pronounce.”
“Fascinating.” Paul sipped his banana daquiri. “And your other nonhuman friend, what kind of mon is he?”
Kat didn’t remember mentioning that Remi was a riftperson—okay, half-riftperson—and he hated the ‘m’ word. Naomi and Jenny didn’t seem as annoyed with him as before, though, so he kept going. “Remi’s father is one of the ratkind, and his mother is human, so he embraces both sides of his heritage.”
“Yes, I saw replays of you with him on his livestream that went viral this week.” Paul gave Kat’s two sisters an inquiring tilt of his head, perhaps trying to include them in the conversation. “Have you seen that one? Tentacled mons and a giant dog creature with glowing eyes. Dramatic stuff.”
