He peered through the one-way panel beside the door, and froze. And then, slowly, his hand fell away from his gun and he released the lock. The door slid open silently. He stood looking out at the local woman, a worker from the Research Project who had tried to speak to him as he left there late this afternoon, and at the stranger standing beside her. She had been a sibyl, he suddenly remembered; and in his exasperation, as they had shown him the door after six hours of useless interrogation, he had shouted, “For gods’ sakes, I’m a stranger far from home—”
She and the man with her were both wearing dark, shapeless rain slickers, the hoods shadowing their faces. And yet he suddenly knew beyond a doubt who it was that she had brought to see him. Reede held out his hand to the woman. “Hello again,” he murmured, in the local dialect. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your courtesy this afternoon.”
“I don’t blame you.” She took his proffered hand somberly, and he felt her answer the subtle movement of his fingers. “I’m Tiras ranKells Hahn,” she said; last name first, in the local fashion. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you then. I’m afraid they don’t make strangers welcome easily at the Project…. May I present to you the Honorable Researcher Commander BZ Gundhahnu—”
“Yes, yes, of course—” Reede held out his hand to the man who accompanied her, feeling his face flush with unexpected emotion. “Gods, you can’t imagine what a pleasure this is.” You can’t. He met the other man’s eyes, with a smile that was completely genuine. “Reede Kulleva Kullervo, from the Pandalhi Research Institute.”
Gundhalinu offered him a hand, raised paim out in the typical Kharemoughi manner. Reede twisted his own hand quickly, so that their palms met in what he hoped seemed like a natural motion. Careless, you ass. He felt the hidden question the other man’s touch asked him in turn, and he answered it with silent satisfaction. Of course Gundhalinu was Survey; at a high level too, he was sure.
“I understand you’ve come all the way from Kharemough to work with us, only to be turned away today by our overeager watchdogs?” Gundhalinu answered his smile with one that looked more reserved. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they regarded Reede with frank curiosity.
Reede managed a laugh that might have been rueful. “I seem to have disappeared from your data reality—and they told me my contact has been incinerated… . Your security sets a new standard for the entire Hegemony.”
“Our bureaucracy, you mean.” Gundhalinu shook his head. “I’m truly sorry This place has always been a godforsaken bottleneck. You should have seen it before there was a research center here, when it was the Company’s town… . But I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
Reede felt his smile pull. He shrugged, loosening the muscles in his back. “You were here then?” he asked, surprised.
“Our histories have become one, I’m afraid.” Gundhalinu’s smile turned sour, and he didn’t elaborate. Reede realized that Gundhalinu’s discovery of the stardrive must have been the catalyst that had precipitated all this change. He had, by his single act, become responsible for the town’s transformation.
Reede glanced at the woman named Hahn again, sensing her restlessness. “Excuse my manners. Come in, won’t you?” he murmured, including them both in the gesture.
Hahn shook her head. “I can’t stay. I have to get back. My daughter …”
“How is she?” Gundhalinu asked, turning toward her with sudden solicitude.
“Better …” she murmured. “I think she is a little better.” She shrugged, in a gesture Reede read as hopeless.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Gundhalinu said, with a peculiar sorrow showing in his eyes.
“You’re kind to remember her, Commander.”
“Schact!” Gundhalinu said abruptly. “Don’t you start treating me like one of your sainted ancestors, Hahn. You know me better than that.”
She turned to him in surprise; smiled, and it was a real smile, given to a real man. “Yes, of course … BZ.” She nodded, looking down again as she did, unable to stop herself.
He took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me here. Hahn, if there’s ever anything else I can do … You know.” He shrugged. She smiled at him over his shoulder, and went on down the hall.
Gundhalinu looked back, his dark eyes searching Reede’s blue noncommittal ones. “Her daughter is a sibyl,” he said, his speech slipping from the local dialect into his native Sandhi, as if he took it for granted that Reede would be able to follow “She wasn’t suited for it. She …”He made a brief, futile motion with his hand, and looked away. “Never mind.” He trailed Reede into the suite. Reede closed the door behind them. Gundhalinu glanced toward the next room, his attention caught by the light and noise.
“My assistants,” Reede murmured in explanation; suddenly, unexpectedly feeling ill at ease. “Have a seat.” He spoke in Sandhi now, as Gundhalinu clearly expected him to. He gestured toward the couch.
“Thank you.” Gundhalinu dropped his ram gear into an empty side chair. He was wearing the full dress uniform of a Commander of Police, the jacket crusted with the hologramic fire of a dozen medals of honor. And lying against his chest, dimmed to insignificance, was the trefoil of a sibyl.
Reede froze, gaping at him, through a moment that seemed interminable.
Gundhalinu looked at him quizzically, as if he couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on inside his host’s expression.
“Do you sleep with those?” Reede said.
Gundhalinu looked down at himself, as if he only then realized what he was wearing. He laughed, suddenly, almost in relief. “Ye gods, no.” He took off the jacket and tossed it into the chair on top of the wet slicker. “I just came from an exceedingly long and tiresome banquet at the Project. Some visiting dignitaries …” He rubbed his neck, loosening his collar as he crossed the room. Reede felt more than saw fatigue overtake him as he settled onto the couch.
“The price of fame,” Reede murmured. He ran his hands over his own clothing, glad that he hadn’t bothered to take off the neat, conservative overtunic and loose pants he had worn for his interview, or the silver clip that kept his hair reluctantly trapped in a tail at the base of his neck. He sat down on the couch at a comfortable angle from Gundhalinu. He could see the sibyl tattoo on Gundhalinu’s throat, now that his uniform collar lay open.
Gundhalinu looked away, his gaze fixed on something beyond sight. “Everything has its cost.” His glance settled on the nearly empty bottle of ouvung and the half empty bowl of iesta pods on the clear tabletop beside him.
“Help yourself,” Reede said.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Gundhalinu picked up the dented bottle, turning it around in the light, watching the dead worm swirl past in the ruby liquid. “You must have had an extraordinarily frustrating day, Kullervoeshkrad,” he said, not unsympathetically. Reede recognized the form of address preferred by Kharemough’s Technician class; the word meant both respected and scientist. Usually they only used the term with each other; it was a rare honor when they used it to address a foreigner. He guessed that in this case it simply came with his supposed position as a researcher at the Pandalhi Institute.
“Yes,” Reede answered, pricked by annoyance at the implied judgment of his habits.