Read Online The Last Starship From Earth by John Boyd - Free Book Online

plan is still valid. In writing the poem, I could have helped you little except in the research. And the subject can still thwart us. We can’t reveal state secrets we aren’t supposed to know about, even in a symbol, without alerting the triumvirate, but I could have given you a great deal of first-hand information about the techniques and reactions of eighteenth-century lovers. As a matter of fact, I’m a gold mine of original material on that subject.”
    “Demonstrate.”
    “To begin with, there was the romantic kiss, like this.”
    He embraced her and shoved her back on the divan, not kissing her lips, but moving from her clavicle toward her chin, mincing his lips rapidly in the manner of a saxophonist triple-tongueing his instrument. She grabbed his hair in her hand, twisted his head around, and nibbled on his ear.
    He felt chagrin because she had stolen his next move from him. He stood up, relaxed, nonchalant, walked over to his tunic, and pulled out a cigarette. “Do you smoke?” he asked.
    “No, but if you do, the filter goes in your mouth.”
    She was giggling, and as he flipped the cigarette, he knew, inexpert as he was at this type of experiment, that she would never be in the right mood if she was laughing. To call her attention to the barometer reading, he said, “The old romantics practiced a form of self-control which was called ‘yoga.’ In a way it was a religion. I picked up a little of it in my studies on the subject.”
    He doused the cigarette after one slow puff, snubbed it in the tray, and sat down beside her, one arm casually draped over the back of the divan behind her. “Interesting religion, yoga.”
    “Did they put their arm around a girl and talk about religion?”
    “Of course. They called it ‘small talk.’ Sometimes it was politics, sometimes it was world affairs. Most often it was religion.”
    “Your research doesn’t jibe with mine.”
    “Straighten your legs out so I can see the dimples on your knees.”
    “I didn’t read about that, either.”
    “Your knee caps are very pretty. Kick your sandals off so I can see your toes That’s right. Five and five, ten pretty little pinkies… This is flattery I’m giving you now.”
    He reached down and put his hand over the kneecap closest to him. “I’m just checking to see if it’s all yours… That’s a remark they used to make to get to touch what they called secondary erogenous zones…”
    “Now, that’s what I call small talk,” she said.
    His fingers tapped her kneecaps.
    “You’re built along the lines of a Gothic arch,” he said, “with the perspective of your limbs drawing the attention upward…”
    “Limbs?” She interrupted.
    “Archaic for legs Back to the Gothic arch: its lines were designed to draw one’s attention toward heaven.”
    “Now is this flattery,” she asked, “or is it a lecture on Gothic architecture?”
    “Helix!” He patted her knee reprovingly. “You’re supposed to be a poet. That’s symbolism. I’m telling you, old-style, that your sacrolumbar area is heavenly.”
    She shook her head. “Either you’re a poor poet or I’m poor at understanding symbols. Give me another example.”
    “Very well. We’ll consider your limbs as monads. This right one is strong, well muscled. You must do a lot of running.”
    “Is that supposed to be flattery?”
    “In a manner,” he explained. “Actually, it’s what they called a veiled compliment. When a girl does a lot of running, that means she’s usually being chased.”
    Her rigid arm around his shoulder relaxed slightly and she smiled. “Some primitive instinct tells me you’re getting closer to the general area of courtship.”
    Encouraged, he stroked the underside of her knee and felt Gothic compulsions grasp his fingertips. “Your skin is as satiny as silk.”
    “Is silk satiny, or silky?” she asked, alert as always to mixed figures of speech. But he noticed a quickened tempo to her breathing which inspired him to