“Yes,” Kullervo said.
“Yes—?” the Source chided gently.
Kullervo’s mouth tightened. “Master.” He looked down again. Somehow on his lips the Source’s chosen form of address sounded more like a curse than a lackey’s obeisance.
“Dawntreader—” the Source said suddenly; Sparks looked toward the darkness. “I understand that you have produced something else which my man Kullervo would find interesting.”
Sparks felt his own mouth tighten. “What do you mean?”
“You also have a large accumulation of data about the mers, having studied them for years since your retirement, I understand.”
“My retirement?” Sparks repeated slowly.
“From being Starbuck for Arienrhod. From killing them,” the Source said. “Is that true?”
Sparks felt anger corrode him like acid, wondering why he had been brought to this meeting, unless it was to see how much abuse he could take. His paranoia began to spread, cancerous; until suddenly he remembered what the Source had said to him: that he would never succeed, here, until he learned to see beyond the obvious. Maybe they were testing him: his loyalty, his ability to restrain his mercurial temper, his potential. He gazed at the hypnotic flow of color on the wall across the room until he was under control again. “It’s true,” he said steadily. “I suppose you could call it a love-hate relationship.” He looked at Kullervo. “What’s your interest in the mers, Kullervo?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral, forcing himself to take nothing for granted, even the unlikely possibility that Kullervo had a brain.
Kullervo’s restless hands had begun to tremble visibly, even though he held them prisoner on the tabletop. The heavy ring set with soliis that he wore on his thumb rattled suddenly, loudly on the hard surface, and he pulled his hands into his lap, hiding them from view. “It’s a love-hate relationship,” he muttered.
“You’re too modest, Reede,” the Source said. “My man Kullervo is a bioengineering genius… he is the one you have heard called the Smith. He knows more about smartmatter than anyone living… including himself.” He chuckled sourly. “He is applying his—unique mind to the problem of synthesizing the water of life, just as he did with the stardrive plasma. Without his help, BZ Gundhalinu would never have succeeded in reprogramming it.”
Sparks stared at Kullervo; Kirard Set stared with equal disbelief, beside him. He almost laughed, sure that it must all be a bizarre joke, and unable to imagine what the point of it was.
“Isn’t that right, Reede?” the Source urged gently.
Reede straightened up in his seat, raising his head in what could have been pride, or defiance, as he faced down their stares. His trembling hand rose to his ear, making the crystals of the elaborate jewelry he wore ring sweetly, incongruously, in the sudden silence of the room. “Yes,” he whispered.
For a moment Sparks had the unnerving feeling that a total stranger looked out at him through Kullervo’s eyes. In that moment Sparks felt his incredulity turn to belief, and a dark, bottomless terror filled him, the way the Source filled his vision, seeming all at once to inhabit the entire room. “I’ll get the data together for you as soon as possible,” he said, to the prisoner inside Kullervo’s eyes. “I don’t know how much use it will be, but it’s yours.”
Kullervo nodded, abruptly; he looked down and away, with a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Don’t belittle your own achievements, Dawntreader,” the Source murmured. “You have quite a remarkable mind. You’ve been wasting your life here, among these illiterates on this backwater world. But finally you are among people who appreciate your gifts. Your years of work and study will be put to profitable use at last… . Why don’t you go now, and see that it happens.”
Sparks looked back at the darkness in surprise. “Then the meeting is over?” he asked, trying to make the Source’s unexpected praise and his equally unexpected dismissal form a coherent whole.
“It is,” the Source said, in a tone of voice that made him sorry he had asked, “as far as you are concerned.” Sparks looked down. “There are certain Brotherhood matters which do not concern you, which require the attention of Way away s and my man Reede. You have fulfilled your part in the process, Dawntreader. Rest assured.”
Sparks pushed to his feet, avoiding the eyes of the other men in the room. He nodded, and left the table. The lift doors opened, as if they had been waiting for him.
“Reede…” the Source’s voice said, as Sparks Dawntreader disappeared into the lift.
Reede pulled his gaze back unwillingly, a part of his mind caught in a daydream of changing places with the man being sent away. His eyes glanced off of Wayaways, registering the satisfaction on the Tiamatan’s face as he watched Dawntreader banished while he stayed behind; sitting here as if he knew everything, as if he knew anything. He had been a member of the Brotherhood for years during the Snow Queen’s reign, but he still had no idea what kind of mire he was sinking into. Reede met Wayaways’s stare, watched its smirking arrogance falter as it collided with his own unshakable despair.
Reede turned to face the darkness again, forcing his eyes to see the vague suggestion of a humanoid form within it, and not to look away. “What?” he said, his voice rough. He knew that the Source was actually here on Tiamat now; that whatever was on the other side of that projection saw him clearly, saw him sweating and hurting, the telltale signs of deterioration because he had been kept waiting too long for the water of death. He didn’t know whether this delay in his scheduled dose was meant as punishment or persuasion; he only knew that it was intentional. And that at last he was about to know why.
“Ariele Dawntreader,” the Source murmured.
“What—?” Reede said again, uncomprehendingly.
“I know that nothing more … intimate has occurred between you and the Queen’s daughter than simple conversation. But she wants more than conversation. She wants you, Reede.”
Reede froze. “So what?” he muttered. “It keeps her talking about the mere.”
“What she knows about the mers is useless, for your purposes. You know that as well as I do. Why do you keep seeing her?”
“It’s not useless,” he said stubbornly. “I need all the data I can get.”
“You need a blood sample! She saved your life … and she stopped you from getting the one thing you really need to develop a replication of the technoviral. She has been a hindrance, not a help, in your work: she’s actually made you wonder if you have a conscience, hasn’t she?”
Reede felt himself flush. He glanced at Wayaways, realizing the Tiamatan was probably the one who had told the Source everything. “You want me to dump her? Okay, I’ll dump her. No problem.”
“No,” the Source said softly. “That is not what I want. What she knows about the mers is nothing… but she is still important to us.”
Reede glanced toward the lift again, suddenly understanding why the Source had gotten rid of Dawntreader. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall, letting the fluid motion of the colors fill his eyes. A hard lump of tension filled his throat as the silence stretched. But he would not ask; he would not, he would not—
“What did you have in mind?” Wayaways murmured, asking the question for him.
“My man Reede is going to seduce her.”
Reede’s head snapped around; he saw Wayaways’ amusement turn to sudden surprise at the sight of his revulsion.
“It should be simple for you. Reede. From what Wayaways has told me, Ariele has far more in common with her grandmother, Arienrhod, than with her mother… and she’s already infatuated with you. All you have to do is let her have what she wants. I’m sure she won’t be disappointed. You never disappointed Mundilfoere.”