“Maybe I’m bored with the group, Laliene. With Denvin’s snide little remarks, with Hollia’s queenly airs, with Hara’s mincing inanity, with Omerie’s arrogance, with Klia’s vacuity—”
“And with my presumptuousness?”
“You said that. Not I.”
But it was true, he realized. She was crowding him constantly, forever edging into his psychic space, pressing herself upon him in a strange, almost incomprehensible way. It had been that way since the beginning of the trip: she never seemed to leave him alone. Her approach toward him was an odd mix of seductiveness, protectiveness, and—what?—inquisitiveness? She was like that strangest of antique phenomena, a jealous lover, almost. But jealous of what? Of whom? Surely not Christine. Christine had not so much as existed for him, except as a mysterious briefly-glimpsed face in a window, until this afternoon, and Laliene had been behaving like this for many weeks. It made no sense. Even now, covertly snooping around his suite, all too obviously searching for some trace of the guest who had only a short while before been present here—what was she after?
He took two fresh cups from his cabinet. “If you don’t mind, Laliene, I’ll put up a little more tea for myself. And it would be no trouble to make some for you.”
“I said I didn’t want any, Thimiroi. I don’t enjoy gulping the stuff down, you know, the way Kleph does.”
“Kleph?”
“Certainly you know how heavily she indulges. She’s euphoric more often than not these days.”
Thimiroi shrugged. “I didn’t realize that. I suppose Omerie can get on anyone’s nerves. Even Kleph’s.”
Laliene studied him for a long moment. “You don’t know about Kleph, then?” she asked finally. “No, I suppose you don’t. Keeping to yourself this way, how would you?”
This was maddening. “What about Kleph?” he said, his voice growing tight.
“Perhaps you should fix some tea for me after all,” Laliene said. “It’s quite a nasty story. It’ll be easier for me with a little euphoriac.”
“Very well.”
He busied himself over the tiny covered cups. In a short while the fragrant coiling steam began to rise through the fine crescent opening. His hands trembled, and he nearly swept the cups from the tray as he reached for them; but he recovered quickly and brought them to the table. They sipped the drug in silence. Watching her, Thimiroi was struck once more by the inhuman superfluity of Laliene’s elegance. Laliene was much too perfect. How different from Christine, whose skin had minute unimportant blemishes here and there, whose teeth were charmingly irregular, whose hair looked like real hair and not like something spun by machines. Christine probably perspired, he thought. She endured the messiness of menstruation. She might even snore. She was wonderfully real, wonderfully human in every regard. Whereas Laliene—Laliene seemed—scarcely real at all—
“What’s this about Kleph, now?” Thimiroi said, after a time.
“She’s become involved with the man that the Sanciscos are renting their house from.”
“Involved?”
“An affair,” said Laliene acidly. Her glistening eyes were trained remorselessly on his. “He goes to her room. She gives him too much tea, and has too much herself. She plays music for him, or they watch the simsos. And then—then—”
“How do you know any of this?” Thimiroi asked.
Laliene took a deep draught of the intoxicating tea, and her brow grew less furrowed, her dark rich-hued eyes less troubled. “She told Klia. Klia told me.”
“And Omerie? Does he know?”
“Of course. He’s furious. Kleph can sleep with anyone she cares to, naturally—but such a violation of the Travel rules, to get involved with one of these ancient people! And so stupid, too—spending so much of the precious time of her visit here letting herself get wrapped up in a useless diversion with some commonplace and extremely uninteresting man. A man who isn’t even alive, who’s been dead for all these centuries!”
“He doesn’t happen to be dead right now,” Thimiroi said.
Laliene gave him a look of amazement. “Are you defending her, Thimiroi?”
“I’m trying to comprehend her.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. But certainly Kleph must see that although he may be alive at the present moment, technically speaking, the present moment itself isn’t really the present moment. Not if you see it from our point of view, and what other point of view is appropriate for us to take? What’s past is past, sealed and finished. In absolute reality this person of Kleph’s died long ago, at least so far as we’re concerned.” Laliene shook her head. “No, no, Thimiroi, completely apart from the issue of transgression against the rules of The Travel, it’s an unthinkably foolish adventure that Kleph’s let herself get into. Unthinkably foolish! It’s purely a waste of time. What kind of pleasure can she possibly get from it? She might as well be coupling with—with a donkey!”
“Who is this man?” Thimiroi asked.
“What does that matter? His name is Oliver Wilson. He owns that house where they are, the one that Hollia is trying to buy, and he lives there, too. Omerie neglected to arrange for him to vacate the premises for the month. You may have seen him: a very ordinary-looking pleasant young man with light-colored hair. But he isn’t important. What’s important is the insane, absurd, destructive thing Kleph is doing. Which particular person of this long-gone era she happens to be doing it with is completely beside the point.”
Thimiroi studied her for a time.
“Why are you telling me this, Laliene?”
“Aren’t you interested in what your friends are getting themselves mixed up in?”
“Is Kleph my friend?”
“Isn’t she?”
“We have come to the same place at the same time, Kleph and I,” Thimiroi said. “Does that make us friends? We know each other, Kleph and I. Possibly we were even lovers once, possibly not. My relationship with the Sanciscos in general and with Kleph in particular isn’t a close one nowadays. So far as this matters to me, Kleph can do what she likes with anyone she pleases.”
“She runs the risk of punishment.”
“She was aware of that. Presumably she chooses not to be troubled by it.”
“She should think of Omerie, then. And Klia. If Kleph is forbidden to Travel again, they will be deprived of her company. They have always Traveled together. They are accustomed to Traveling together. How selfish of her, Thimiroi.”
“Presumably she chooses not to be troubled by that, either,” said Thimiroi. “In any case, it’s no concern of yours or mine.” He hesitated. “Do you know what I think should trouble her, Laliene? The fact that she’s going to pay a very steep emotional price for what she’s doing, if indeed she’s actually doing it. That part of it ought to be on her mind, at least a little.”
“What do you mean?” Laliene asked.
“I mean the effect it will have on her when the meteor comes, and this man is killed by it. Or by what comes after the meteor, and you know what that is. If the meteor doesn’t kill him, the Blue Death will take him a week or two later. How will Kleph feel then, Thimiroi? Knowing that the man she loves is dead? And that she has done nothing, nothing at all, to spare him from the fate that she knew was rushing toward him? Poor Kleph! Poor foolish Kleph! What torment it will be for her!”
“The man she loves?”
“Doesn’t she?”
Laliene looked astounded. “What ever gave you that idea? It’s a game, Thimiroi, only a silly game! She’s simply playing with him. And then she’ll move along. He won’t be killed by the meteor—obviously. He’ll be in the same house as all the rest of us when it strikes. And she’ll be at Charlemagne’s coronation by the time the Blue Death breaks out. She won’t even remember his name, Thimiroi. How could you possibly have thought that she—she—” Laliene shook her head. “You don’t understand a thing, do you?”