"Staffa, you and I, we've…" Her face rushed hot, embarrassing her, stirring anger. "A lot of blood's behind us. A lot of hard times. That's why I… There's the fleet, too. It's…" She stopped her tongue-tied stammering. "Damn it! I've had to issue orders in your name!"
His laugh gentled, warmer this time, and she looked up to see the old amusement in his eyes, displacing — if only for a moment — the dullness.
"It's Rotted well not funny. Snap out of it, Staffa!" "Snap out of it? What have we do" ne to ourselves, Skyla?" he asked, taking a gulp of the whiskey and pacing like a caged hunting cat. She could see the thick muscles bunching and swelling under his robe, as if powered by the trouble that possessed him. "Are we really so inhuman? The Praetor asked me if I had a conscience. Since then I've wondered."
"Our business doesn't call for conscience — only success. Even the Sassans didn't believe you could crack Myklene. Myself, I've tried to anticipate your tactics — and would have led us to disaster had I been the one to initiate the attack. You've always been the best, Staffa. Isn't that enough?"
"Perhaps. He gave me everything — and he took it all away. No matter who fired the shot that killed. " He shook himself like a wet dog, shaking off the thought. Then he tossed off the whiskey and flipped the bulb into the fireplace. "Called me his 'greatest' creation. That's why he
cared. I was no more than the pinnacle of his success. A construct." He stared into the distance in his mind before adding, "I killed. "
She watched his color drain, a ghastly expression molding his pale features. He seemed to reel on his feet.
"What, Staffa? Who did you kill?"
He wet his lips, jaw trembling. In a hoarse whisper, he gasped, "Love. my son. my. "
He rubbed his face.
"Staffa? What did you mean just now. What are you trying to—"
"What is it really to be human?" he cried, smacking a fist in his palm as he whirled to face her. "What should a person feel? What should we be? I–I don't feel anymore! I don't know who I am! Chrysla's dead! I killed her! And I can't. can't grieve." His expression went flat. "Can't even blame myself anymore."
"Chrysla? Staffa, she wasn't on Myklene, was she?"
He paced restlessly back and forth, speaking as if he hadn't heard. "They call me murderer and hate me and curse me from one Forbidden Border to the other. It's said that my legacy is fear, death, and terror. / killed the only thing I ever loved'
Skyla watched in amazement as a single tear crept down Staffa's cheek.
He swallowed hard and said in a numb whisper. "I've lost my way, Skyla. I don't know who I am anymore."
Sinklar Fist stepped off the shuttle at the biological research center station. He entered through the revolving doors, found the right lift, and punched the button for the thirty-fifth floor. A curious excitement and dread left him feeling hot and nervous. So much had begun to come clear. Now, he half wished he could drop this insane quest. In only four hours he had to be at the assembling point for his unit. From there, the Blessed Gods alone knew how long it would be before he slept again.
The lift beeped to indicate it had reached its destination. The doors slipped silently open and Sinklar stepped out into a foyer at the intersection of four long hallways. A security
guard looked up from the desk that rested under a cone of white light. She studied him curiously as she stood.
"Hello. Um, I'm Sinklar Fist. I was wondering if there was anyone in the Criminal Anatomical Research Labs?"
She cocked her head, lifting an eyebrow. "At this time of night? Are you serious?"
Sinklar gave her a crooked smile and walked up to the desk. She looked about twenty-five, maybe younger. The dark brown uniform set off her blonde hair. He let her large blue eyes distract him for a moment.
She smiled. "I don't think you came all the way up here to gawk at me — but I enjoy the compliment anyway. Uh, what can I do to help you—" she scanned his uniform— "Private?"
Sinklar frowned, wondering how to begin. "I wanted to see someone in the Criminal Research Lab. I understand that they. well, keep the specimens there for research."
She nodded. "That's right. We call that anatomical forensics. Actually, that's my area of study. I just work nights to make a few extra credits. The life of a student isn't exactly a rich one."
"Neither is that of an anatomical forensics examiner. or a soldier. It might surprise you, but I was a student until the draft notice came a couple of days ago. I… well, wish I still was."
"And you want to see the lab?"'
"The specimens actually."
She gave him a critical inspection. "You don't look like the ghoulish type."
"Neither do you," Sink countered. "The human body is a fascinating field of study. A lot of questions remain unanswered, like where our species came from. How it evolved to its present state. The range of human behavior is almost inexplicable." He saw her eyes light with shared understanding.
"Your field of study was anatomy?"
He shook his head. "Sociology, history, gaming theory, military tactics, comparative behavior, that sort of thing. But the study of forensics fascinates me. There just hasn't been time to study everything I want to." He paused. "So, what do I call you?"
"I'm Anatolia Daviura. Listen, I could talk to one of the
professors about showing you around. If you'll leave your number—"
"Can't. Going on active duty tomorrow. I guess we're going to war on Targa."
Her expression pinched. "Oh, sorry to hear that."
Sink shrugged. "It's every citizen's duty. I just thought someone might be working late tonight. You never know. Maybe something I see here could make a difference on Targa."
She hesitated for a moment. "If we hurry… I mean I can't leave the desk for long. Well, I could take you into the lab. I've got clearance. But we couldn't linger."
Sink smiled. "I promise not to keep you."
She gave him a conspiratorial smile as she led him down the dim hall.
"How'd you get into this field of study?" Sink asked as she palmed a heavy metal door and led him into a room that smelled of chemicals and hummed from air-conditioning. Scanning electron microscopes, desks, centrifuges, and the gleaming clutter of scientific instruments filled the place. Comm terminals stared at him with cathode eyes.
"I started in behavioral genetics," she told him. "The problem of deviance fascinated me. Why do some people harm others? What's the genetic substructure for violence? Where did it come from? Is there a way to eliminate the genetic root for criminal behavior from the human species without affecting our adaptive ability or initiative? Working here lets me deal with actual deviant specimens — study the DNA of known criminals to compare it with DNA in normal people."
She fingered a button and a double door parted in the middle to slide into recesses in the wall. "The inner sanctum. This is where we store the specimens."
Sink walked into the room. Rack after rack, like data cubes in the library stacks rose from floor to ceiling in line after line for as far as he could see down the aisle. Heavy powerlead ran into each stack to power the caskets. "How many are there?"
"Somewhere near four thousand."
"How would you find. say a certain specimen?"
Her look grew suspicious. "Do you have one in mind?"
Sinklar nodded. "Two, Tanya and Valient Fist. My. my parents."
"Blessed Gods!" Anatolia took a step back, eyes wide. "And all that business you told me about your studies?"
Sinklar turned anxious eyes on her. "It was true. I didn't lie to you. It's just. well, I was raised as an orphan of the state. All I ever knew was that my parents had been convicted of treason and executed. I've been paying for their crime all of my life. Now, I'm going off to war. I wanted to know where they were. That's all. I talked to the Judicial Magistrate who tried the case and sent them here. He told me where they were — and what they'd done."