Kaylla sat in the corner, propped and supported by wadded insulating wraps. She stared fixedly at the far corner as Staffa talked.
Staffa hesitated. "After the wreck that killed my parents, I didn't have anyone left. No other family that I know of. The Praetor found me in the wreckage and took me, gave
me a home and food and a reason to be. I lived for that man. He gave me everything."
"And took everything from you, it would seem." Kaylla watched him through
hard eyes. "You never tried to find the rest of your family? I mean, people don't just spring from the air. Your parents had parents. There must have been someone. somewhere."
"Maybe there was. When I got older, I tried to access the net once. I thought I could find someone. It puzzled me that the data was sealed. The Praetor showed up shortly after that and gave me that sad smile he used to have. I remember, he asked it as a personal favor. 'Please,' he asked me. 'Don't pursue this. It would only hurt you. and through you. me.' "
Kaylla gave him a narrow-eyed frown. "And that didn't make you suspicious?"
Staffa leaned back and sighed. "Suspicious? I loved him. I… I trusted him."
"It sounds like your life as a child was a living hell."
Staffa shrugged and tapped a knuckle against the thick plastic of the box. "Maybe. The Praetor — and everyone else for that matter — always told me I was something special, always rewarded me when I excelled, led me on, caused me to push myself harder."
"And your parents? Didnt you have some good times with them before the aircar crash?"
"What can I say about them? Both were genetic scientists — quite bright in their fields." A sudden pain came lancing out of his memories. "But now I've watched you talk about your children." He pursed his lips, curious at the longing ache below his heart. "You talk about them with warmth. My. mother, well, she…" He gestured his incomprehension.
"No warmth?" Kaylla probed.
"Her voice never softened. You know, no emotion. She talked to me. well, academically. Like I was a student. Always, I was challenged. Did I know thus and such? Could I solve this problem?"
Staffa took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he struggled to remember. "I recall one occasion. We had gone to a party. At least that's what Father told me it was. I was very excited about the whole thing. Lots to eat and drink.
Games they wanted me to play. Machines to outsmart and puzzles to solve. There were lots of people — maybe even the Praetor. I was. Damn! It was so long ago!" He shook his head. "The memories keep fading."
"Think, Staffa, you were there; make it come out," she prodded, voice earnest with interest.
"People," he repeated, willing himself to see it all again, to remember the giant adult forms who bent to study him.". And they all talked about me. Yes, that's right. And I answered questions. All kinds of questions."
"Any other children there?"
Staffa frowned as he thought. "I don't think. No, no other children. Just me. And all those adults. Questions, so many questions. They asked them so quickly. And I remember afterward: Mother placed a hand on my shoulder and told me she was proud. I felt so tired after that. I… I told her I wanted to go home and sleep."
"Sounds like they put you through a test of some sort. Did your mother fawn over you? Beam with pride?"
"Her? She didn't beam. Not like when you talk about your little boy. No, she was reserved and, now that I think about it, more satisfied than anything else. I remember, she said, hat'll show the skeptics,' and she winked at my father."
Kaylla's eyes narrowed.
"Don't look so grim." He chuckled dryly. "All my life has been one testing program after another. I never lived any other way. Each day came with the knowledge that tomorrow I would face another challenge, another exam."
"What about your father?"
He lifted a shoulder. "So much has been blocked." He shook his head. "The sensations are similar to when I used to find a psychological trigger left by the Praetor — one of his mental booby traps."
Kaylla hissed her disgust. "They made you into a damn machine! What kind of parents did you have?"
"Well, my mother was small, thin. She had flaming red hair and my father was pale blond. I remember they sunburned so easily. They were—"
"That's not what I meant," Kaylla growled. "I mean, they acted like you were some sort of thing! Didn't they ever take you to the parades, or bring you toys, or send
you to a normal educational facility with other kids? What about your birthday? Didn't they have parties with your friends over? Didn't you ever spend time with other families on outings, or trips, or holidays?"
Staffa lifted his hands helplessly. "I don't. well, exactly know what you mean by all that. The first I knew about birthdays was after I joined the military. I'd been enrolled in flight school and navigation training. I thought birthdays were something only adults did."
"But didn't you have friends your own age when you were little?"
"No. I do remember a couple of times when I was around other children." He frowned deeply. "You know, they didn't have my. How do I explain this? I wanted to solve intricate puzzles. They wanted to make noise and engage in the most inane behavior. Running — as I recall— touching each other to see who chased who. Is there a purpose to children doing that?"
She squinted grimly. "How old were you then?"
"I don't know. I never knew how old I was."
"But you had to figure it out sometime."
Staffa flipped a hand. "I was told I was fourteen when I entered the military training academy. At least that's the age the Praetor filled the appropriate box with. I always estimated back from there. That date provided a framework."
"And how old were the other students?"
"Twenty-one, at least." Staffa shifted, uncomfortable, realizing how odd it all sounded now. He hurried to explain, "You see, I was always special, always by far the youngest. When you're sponsored by the Praetor, you get special treatment. And most of all, I always dominated the classes."
"You were always the best?" Kaylla asked, an eyebrow arching.
"Of course! But it isn't as if I didn't know about failure. I knew a couple of young men who failed out of various programs. I wasn't stunted or anything like that."
"And you were never second place, or third?"
"Of course not. It would have been unthinkable. To have come in second would have been… It wasn't allowable. If I had to, I'd study all night — every night. If there was
any chance another might surpass my ability, I sought out special tutors. Whatever it took, I did it."
"You couldn't let yourself be less than perfect?" She winced. "God, what a wretched way to live."
"Perfection is a goal to be striven for by all humans. Anything less is—"
"Terguzzi sumpshit!" Kaylla exploded. "Listen to you, Staffa! Do you hear what you're saying?" She squinted soury. "My God, we've been locked in here for what seems like an eternity now. I know you, Staffa! Probably better than I've ever known any other human being — except my husband. I know what you think. what you dream at night. I kick you awake so you'll quit whimpering and crying through your guilty nightmares. Your psychological composition is like so much wreckage. Your identity is in fractured shambles."
"I'm not in shambles!"
"What the hell do you call that little stunt where you tired to commit suicide! You exhibit the symptoms of a classic manic depressive, down one moment, and up the next. You make stupid decisions based on improper neural assessments of reality. You're hounded by a sudden understanding of guilt!"