“There’s more, isn’t there,” Jedao said, clearly wanting Mikodez to switch to another subject. “What would my duties be?”
“The development of the aforementioned curriculum,” Mikodez said. “The elaborated form, for those of us who need help working things out from first principles. Publish it in game form or as a paper or lesson plan or whatever. I’m not picky about format. I can get assistants to help you with the pedagogy. We have good archives for you to refer to, and your work will be reviewed by people with the appropriate clearances. Once every few weeks we’ll have lunch, assuming the universe hasn’t blown up. Have some more crackers, by the way. I can see that keeping you fed is going to be a trial.”
“It’s a generous offer,” Jedao said.
“Generous, hell. You’ll draw a first-year instructor’s stipend, plus an appropriate allowance and the usual benefits for being on my personal staff. Given the circumstances, room and board is on me. The basic fare is passable, although my assistant has talked the cafeteria into cutting me off after one slice of cake per meal. The security arrangements are going to be a galloping nuisance, but as social experiments go, you’re a bargain.”
Jedao drew a shuddering breath. “Do I have a choice?”
“Do you want one?”
“Yes,” he said after a pause.
Mikodez remembered how horrified Jedao had looked at the prospect of finishing out his body’s physical lifespan. “I will not free you,” he said. “So it’s not much of a choice. You’ve established that I can’t leave you wandering around.” To say nothing of the assurances Inesser, Brezan, and Cheris had dragged out of him.
“At the same time,” Mikodez continued, “I can offer what you’re really after. If at any time you want to commit suicide, I will give you the easiest death we can work out. This may take some research, given your physiology. But if you put in the request, we’ll figure it out.”
“Even if I work for you—”
“At any time.” He hoped Jedao wouldn’t take the option. But he was also a realist.
“I accept,” Jedao said.
After the guards had returned and escorted Jedao out, Zehun came in. “You’re being too clever,” they said. “What if he destabilizes?”
Mikodez lifted a shoulder. “Then I’ll send him down to Shuos Academy. He won’t stand a chance against all those hotshot cadets. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll resort to assassins. I’m known for it, after all. In the meantime, whether we get anything useful out of Jedao on the ethics front is an open question, but it’s a convenient excuse to keep him around until we can figure out what he knows. All that matters is that he believes it.”
“You’re being lenient,” Zehun said. “Cheris was of the opinion that—”
“Cheris, or Jedao, or whatever she’s calling herself these days, was a judgmental prick in her former life,” Mikodez retorted, “and look where it got everyone. At some point you have to let some of it go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SHUOS GUARDS ACCOMPANIED Jedao through the Citadel of Eyes, past checkpoints where yellow eyes floated in the dark and fox voices whispered like oracles. Jedao didn’t make a break for it. For one thing, his augment gave him vertigo whenever he reflexively tried to access the layout. His othersense continued to function without impediment, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal it to the Shuos. Besides, he had no idea where he’d go even if he did make it to a voidmoth. (Did he know how to pilot one? Flying the other way had hurt so much that he suspected it wasn’t sustainable for any distance.) Everyone knew his face and the story that went with it. And, of course, he could only imagine that his escort knew a hell of a lot more about punching people out than he did to have been entrusted with him.
Curiously, he believed the hexarch when he said he didn’t have scruples, but merely wanted to offer Jedao a “job.” The straightforwardness of the transaction, even the pragmatism of offering him a way out—even if it later proved to be a lie—was, in its way, better than Kujen’s elaborate pretense of kindness.
“Here you are,” said the head guard, who had introduced herself earlier. She let him enter his new suite after explaining how to set the door to tell people whether he was accepting visitors or not, although naturally there were overrides. “You can go to the cafeteria in this section at any time, or have food sent up, and the recreation areas and gardens are close by. Your augment is cleared to give you the maps. Are you hungry right now?”
“No,” Jedao said, looking around at the receiving room. The furnishings were modest, and in transparently calming shades of green. He liked the colors, which reminded him of growing things, in spite of himself. There was a table, a couch for three, a chair of pale wood.
“You can redecorate,” the guard said with more kindness than the statement warranted, “but unless the setup fills you with immediate loathing, take some time to decide what you want. We keep a couple interior designers on staff if you need help.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Jedao. He would have accepted a blanket on the floor. “I will think about it,” he said politely.
“If you need anything,” the guard said, “ask the system for me, or make a request, and it’ll put you through to whoever’s on call. You’ll figure it out soon enough. We’ll introduce you around tomorrow, but Mikodez thought you’d like to get settled in first.” With that, she bowed to him, then led the other guards out.
Jedao was left surrounded by the walls. The next thing he did was survey the apartment. There was a tidy kitchenette and a space where he could entertain a few people. (Did he know how to cook? Perhaps he could learn.) A water closet and a bath that was the most decadent thing in the place, stocked with stoppered scented oils and a basket of fragrant soaps. The cabinet next to the sink held towels and absurdly fluffy red bathrobes.
A study, with a terminal and a more old-fashioned escritoire, including calligraphy supplies. Jedao didn’t know whether he could do proper painting or calligraphy either. He fingered one of the brushes, then set it aside.
Two items awaited him on the escritoire besides the obvious supplies: the deck of jeng-zai cards that Kel Talaw had given him, and which the Shuos had confiscated what felt like forever ago; and, bizarrely, a potted plant. To be specific, not even an ornamental plant, or a flower, but a green onion. A small ceramic watering pot, painted with a cheerful lizard, accompanied it. The message was clear: Take care of this.
Jedao checked the soil. It was slightly dry. He filled the pot, then watered the green onion. Looked at it, not daring to touch the leaves. After a while, he replaced the pot so he could head into the last room.
The bedroom had a bed large enough to accommodate two (or three if the three didn’t mind being squished together) and neatly folded blankets. Next to it stood a table with a tray of candies. Presumably the hexarch was projecting.
Then he returned to the study and sat at the terminal. This was not necessary, but he didn’t want to deal with floating images, which reminded him of the mysterious yellow eyes.