“Anything,” he said, “thank you.”
She poured them each a little glass and brought one to him. It was telise.She sat down again, leaned back and sipped at her own. “Let me make a few points clear to you,” she said. “First: this is my city; I intend it should remain so. Second: this is a nemet city, and that will remain so too. Our species has had its chance. It’s finished. We’ve done it. Pylos, my world Aeolus—both cinders. It’s insane. I spend these last months waiting to die for not following orders, wondering what would become of the nemet when the probe ship returned with the authority and the firepower to deal with me. So I don’t mourn them much. I—regret Aeolus. But your intervention was timely, for the nemet. That does not mean,” she added, “that I have overwhelming gratitude to you.”
“It does not make sense,” he said, “that we two should carry on the war here. There’s nothing either of us has to win.”
“Is it required,” she asked, “that a war make sense? Consider ours: we’ve been at it two thousand years. Probably everything your side and mine says about its beginning is a lie. That hardly matters. There’s only the now,and the war feeds on its own casualties. And we approach our natural limits. We started out destroying ships in one little system, now we destroy worlds. Worlds. We leave dead space behind us. We count casualties by zones. We Hanan—we never were as numerous or as prolific as you; we can’t produce soldiers fast enough to replace the dead. Embryonics, lab-born soldiers, engineered officers, engineered followers—our last hope. And you killed it. I will tell you, my friend, something I would be willing to wager your Alliance never told you: you just stepped up the war by what you did at Aeolus. I think you made a great miscalculation.”
“Meaning what?”
“Aeolus was the center, the great center of the embryonics projects. Billions died in its laboratories. The workers, the facilities, the records—irreplaceable. You have hurt us too much. The Hanan will cease to restrict targets altogether now. The final insanity, that is what I fear you have loosed on humanity. I do much fear. And we richly deserve it, the whole human race.”
“I don’t think,” he said, for she disturbed his peace of mind, “that you enjoy isolation half as much as you pretend.”
“I am Aeolid,” she said. “Think about it.”
It took a moment. Then the realization set in, and revulsion, gut-deep: of all things Hanan that he loathed, the labs were the most hateful.
Djan smiled. “Oh, I’m human, of human cells. And superior—I would have been destroyed otherwise; efficiently engineered—for intelligence, and trained to serve the state. My intelligence then advised me that I was being used, and I disliked that. So I found my moment and turned on the state.” She finished the drink and set it aside. “But you wouldn’t like separation from humanity. Good. That may keep you from trying to cut my throat.”
“Am I free to leave, then?”
“Not so easily, not so easily. I had considered perhaps giving you quarters in the Afen. There are rooms upstairs, only accessible from here. In such isolation you could do no possible harm. Instinct—something—says that would be the best way to dispose of you.”
“Please,” he said, rationally, shamelessly, for he had long since made up his mind that he had nothing to gain in Nephane by antagonizing Djan. “If Elas will have me, let me go back there.”
“In a few days I will consider that. I only want you to know your alternatives.”
“And what until then?”
“You’re going to learn the nemet language. I have things all ready for you.”
“No,” he said instantly. “No. I don’t need any mechanical helps.”
“I am a medic, among other things. I’ve never known the teaching apparatus abused without it doing permanent damage. No. Ruining the mind of the only other human accessible would be a waste. I shall merely allow you access to the apparatus and you may choose your own rate.”
“Then why do you insist?”
“Because your objection creates an unnecessary problem for you, which I insist be solved. I am giving you a chance to live outside. So I make it a fair chance, an honest chance; I wish you success. I no longer serve the purposes of the Hanan; I refuse to be programmed into a course of action I do not choose. And likewise, if it becomes clear to me that you are becoming a nuisance to me, don’t think you can plead ignorance and evade the consequences. I am removing your excuses, you see. And if I must, I will call you in or kill you. Don’t doubt it for a moment.”
“It is,” he said, “a fairer attitude than I would have expected of you. I would be easier in my mind if I understood you.”
“All my motives are selfish,” she said. “At least in the sense that all I do serves my own purposes. If I once perceive you are working against those purposes, you are done. If I perceive that you are compatible with them, you will find no difficulty. I think that is as clear as I can make it, Mr. Morgan.”
5
Kta was not in the rhmeias Kurt had expected him to be when he reached the safety of Elas. Hef was, and Mim. Mim scurried upstairs ahead of him to open the window and air the room, and she spun about again when she had done so, her dark eyes shining.
“We are so happy,” she said, in human speech. The machine’s reflex pained him, punishing understanding.
It was all Mim had time to say, for there was Kta’s step upon the landing, and Mim bowed and slipped out as Kta came in.
“Much crying in our house these days,” said Kta, casting a look after Mim’s retreat down the stairs. Then he looked at Kurt, smiled a little. “But no more. EiKurt, sit, sit, please. You look like a man three days drowned.”
Kurt ran his hand through his hair and fell into a chair. His limbs were shaking. His hands were white. “Speak Nechai,” he said. “It’s easier.”
Kta blinked, looked him over. “How is this?” he asked, and there was unwelcome suspicion in his voice.
“Trust me,” Kurt said hoarsely. “The Methi has machines that can do this. I would not lie to you.”
“You are pale,” said Kta. “You are shaking. Are you hurt?”
“Tired,” he said. “Kta,—thank you, thank you for taking me back.”
Kta bowed a little. “Even my honored father came and spoke for you, and never in all the years of our house has Elas done such a thing. But you are of Elas. We are glad to receive you.”
“Thank you.”
He rose and attempted a bow. He had to catch at the table to avoid losing his balance. He made it to the bed and sprawled. His memory ceased before he had stopped moving.
Something tugged at his ankle. He thought he had fallen into the sea and something was pulling him down. But he could not summon the strength to move.
Then the ankle came free and cold air hit his foot. He opened his eyes on Mim, who began to remove the other sandal. He was lying on his own bed, fully clothed, and cold. Outside the window it was night. His legs were like ice, his arms likewise.
Mim’s dark eyes looked up, realized that he was awake. “Kta takes bad care for you,” she said, “leaving you so. You have not moved. You sleep like the dead.”
“Speak Nechai,” he asked of her. “I have been taught.”
Her look was briefly startled. Then she accepted human strangeness with a little bow, wiped her hands on her chatemand dragged at the bedding to cover him, pulling the bedclothes from beneath him, half-asleep as he was.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I tried not to wake you, but the night was cold and my lord Kta had left the window open and the light burning.”
He sighed deeply and reached for her hand as it drew the coverlet across him. “Mim,—”
“Please.” She evaded his hand, slipped the pin from his shoulder and hauled the tangled ctanfrom beneath him, jerked the catch of his wide belt free, then drew the covers up to his chin.
“You will sleep easier now,” she said.
He reached for her hand again, preventing her going. “Mim, what time is it?”