He looked down at his hands, folded quietly in his lap as he perched on a wicker lab stool. His nager stirred into a faint prismatic display, then washed out to pale gray.
“And where did you get that crazy nager?”
“I’m sorry, does it bother you?”
“No! And that’s what’s so intriguing about it!”
“The Tecton calls my type of Donor a Cardinal. And I’m at about ninety-three percent capacity right now. And that capacity is higher than most because I’m trained to serve the—” He broke off, glancing about suspiciously.
“This is private,” said Laneff, having checked the place daily and found no spy devices.
“—to serve the endowed,” he finished.
“Was any of that real?” asked Laneff. “It was another life, forever ago.”
“It was all real. It’s the training to handle that kind of emergency that gives my nager its peculiarities. The one time you accidentally zlinned me working, you discovered why I don’t let it show most of the time.”
Laneff remembered him bending over Digen, offering. “You never got that training in the Tecton,” guessed Laneff.
He didn’t answer her directly. “Laneff, I want to marry you—a permanent, sanctified union. I don’t ever want to lose you again.”
“Shanlun, you have to get it through your head. Jarmi was good—the best the Distect has for me, anyway. And she wasn’t good enough. That means I’m going to die soon in disjunction crisis.”
He searched her face frantically, then lowered his eyes to his hands again. They lay still in his lap, just as his nager lay still. But she thought he’d have charged about the room restlessly had he permitted himself the luxury.
“Let’s lay that aside for the moment. I’m going to tell you something nobody in the Tecton except Mairis knows. I don’t know if Yuan suspects, but it doesn’t matter as long as he never knows. You already possess the greatest secret; the rest has to go under the same seal.”
“You’d respect the word of a junct?”
“Digen was junct. Don’t profane his memory. Azevedo is junct—by Tecton standards. Can you find it in your heart not to respect him?”
“Azevedo is junct? I don’t believe it!”
“He is a channel—and more. Swear.”
“I can’t swear Unto Sat’htine anymore,” she said, her hand going to the signet nestled between her breasts.
He caught her hand, and her tentacles naturally twined about his fingers. “Was your disjunction valid?”
“Yes!” Blood rushed to her face in shame at how she’d repudiated it all.
“Did you kill that terrorist out of craving for what you had forsworn?”
“No, but I—I was beginning to want a Gen, not a channel.”
“And it was my nager that did that to you, wasn’t it?”
“How did you know?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop the words.
“Laneff, you are not truly junct now, for your disjunction was valid and it did not fail you. If you do not kill again—Laneff, swear by the validity of your disjunction, marry me, and together we’ll fight for your life.”
He dropped her hand, his nager closing around him so as not to engage her field at all. “But you must choose freely. Yuan, too, is offering hope. Do not bind yourself to me for the sake of something that may not come to pass.”
Yuan, too, had only offered, and then made her choose. They are so alike! Suddenly, it occurred to her to ask, “Shanlun, what do you hate?”
“Hate?” he asked, bewildered. “Why would you ask such a question? Have you ever seen me hate?”
“No. But you must hate something.”
“Why?”
His confusion was genuine. Laneff had zlinned closely to detect the truth, and his nager seemed open to her in his confusion. “Well, then, what is your enemy?”
“I pray that I make no enemy in life. I’ve never found anyone who required me for an enemy.”
“That’s the oddest answer I could imagine. What do you fight against in the world?”
“A wise man does not fight against. If necessary to fight, the wise man fights for his goal, choosing to preserve life wherever possible.”
“Well, how do you feel about the Diet, for example?”
“The Diet?” He considered her. “I’m sorry, I can’t hate them. They are terrified, and they live in a fantasy world. Their violence is a form of insanity born of terror, like a Sime in attrition. And there’s only one way to approach that kind of blind terror: with love, not hate.”
“You could love the Diet? After all they’ve done?”
With a throat-wringing near sob, he nodded mutely and turned from her, rising to go toward the door. He moved with the jerky stiffness of an old man, such a sharp contrast to his normally fluid motions. This man, who had professed willingness to give her direct transfer in violation of his stiff-necked Tecton loyalty, who had proposed marriage in defiance of his Householding’s custom, was willingly relinquishing hope of having her because he thought she hated the Diet for what they’d done to her and required him to hate as well.
But it’s Yuan who’s hag-ridden by hatred. Her whole life had been dedicated to eliminating a basic cause of hatred in the world, the killer Sime. The Diet required Yuan for their enemy. She wanted no enemies in the last days of her life.
She darted around in front of the slow moving Gen, stopping him with hands on his shoulders, standing on tiptoe to reach. “Shanlun, would you have risked your life to save me, the way Yuan did, if you’d been close enough? Would you have fought for me—against the Diet?”
“May God give me the chance to demonstrate it, yes.”
The bone deep vibration of those words, carried on that powerful nager, made her shiver with the sudden fear that his prayer would be answered.
“Then I choose you, not Yuan. Because he hates. And that’s—that’s like being junct. He gets so—so vicious on the subject of the Diet—”
His eyes spilled over as he kissed her, grabbing her by the waist and holding her, feet dangling in midair. Then he set her down, breathless, and said, “There is no viciousness in you. Your first disjunction was genuine. It has held under the harshest of tests. Your second disjunction will be a rebirth that will set you free.”
He spoke with an easy certainty that evoked an irrational surge of recognition in Laneff. This Gen truly understands disjunction!
Before she could recover enough to even think that there was no such thing as a second disjunction short of the grave, he went on, fishing his little silver starred cross out of his shirt and placing it in her hands. “Swear to me, by the validity of that inner choice you once made, by the inner harmony it gave you, that you will hold my confidence to the grave and beyond, and I will explain what you must know.”
“By the choice I once made and the harmony it gave me, I swear to keep your confidence.”
“To the grave and beyond,” he prompted.
“To the grave,” she repeated, and added, though it sounded silly, “and beyond.”
He relaxed, circling her in his arms and his core nager. His face smoothed into that of a young boy, and his nager turned inward, drawing her into a realm of misty stillness, a point at the hub of reality, and then soaring with her on an updraft of ecstasy. Everything in all existence seemed right, embraced by love.
She came up out of it feeling refreshed, her eyes locked to his as he drew her gently down to duoconsciousness.
“How do you do that? What did you do?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry, I should have asked if you wanted to pray with me. But I have so much to give thanks for now that didn’t exist a day ago! Forgive me?”
Pray? It hadn’t felt like any praying she’d ever witnessed, but she said, “Of course. I didn’t know gypsies prayed.”
“As with everyone, many don’t pray.”
“But you are one of them, aren’t you? You speak their language.”
“I spent my formati
ve years training under Azevedo not in the Tecton schools. Then I was chosen to go to Digen because the Tecton had no Donor who could handle his Endowment.”
“Azevedo taught you to serve the endowed? Then he is endowed? Are all gypsy channels endowed?”
“No! Azevedo is—exceptional in all ways. Azevedo isn’t his name. It’s a title. It means, well, maybe Wisdom translates it. I’ve loved him all my life, Laneff. But I can’t go back—and I don’t want to. I’ve chosen the Tecton, and Mairis—and Zeor.”
“But you were scheduled to give Azevedo transfer.”
“It wouldn’t have put me out of phase with Mairis. Much. And I’d have been better able to serve Mairis for it, too. That’s why Azevedo was waiting for me. But now,” he said collapsing onto a lab stool, “he’s got to go easy on Yuan.” He looked into her eyes levelly. “That’s what I was objecting to, in Yuan’s office. Desha can’t really handle Azevedo yet, and Yuan is totally inadequate. I’d been feeling very happy that I could finally repay some of what Azevedo had done for me. I was going to demonstrate to him all that I’d become through Digen and Zeor, hoping he’d then understand why I didn’t go to him at Digen’s funeral.”
She frowned. “Azevedo volunteered to take Yuan in transfer. But the Tecton has left the gypsies alone because they never traffic in selyn except within their own tribes.”
“Azevedo—and I—are not really gypsies, in the full historical sense. We go among the tribes, but we’re not of the tribes. Yet we adhere to the codes, so you can think of us as a gypsy tribe, except we don’t always observe taboo.”
“Does your tribe have a name?”
“Yes, though I don’t use it because I’m not of them anymore. But by the laws of the universe as I learned them from Azevedo, now that you’ve chosen me and I you, now that you’ve sworn an oath of secrecy, a way will open for us to live our lives out together, though the price may be higher than either of us guesses right now.”
“Forgive me for thinking your faith naive. I can’t take a husband now or plan for the future. My life is cut off by a black wall maybe five months from now when I’m too strung out with disjunction crisis to work. A year from now I’ll be dead. If any of the rest of my life is to have meaning, I can’t afford to waste a moment of the time left me on developing intimate relationships simply for pleasure.”
“We have all the time in the universe for that. Death will not part us, if we choose each other, forever.”
He s crazy. Gentle, but raving.
As he did so often Laneff hardly noticed anymore, Shanlun answered her thought. “No, I’m not crazy. I’m just using a different model of reality than you use. With time, I’ll teach it to you.”
“A gypsy reality?” she asked. “Which includes mind reading?”
“No.”
“Shan—Desha calls you Shan. Is that a gypsy name?”
He laughed. “Yes, it is. Desha has called me Shan since she was in diapers!”
“May I call you Shan?”
“Or anything else you like and I’ll take it for my name.”
His seriousness was mixed with such ardor that she had trouble keeping her mind on her question. “You haven’t told me anything that ought to demand such a mighty oath.
He sighed. “Mairis is the only one in the Tecton who knows I’m from this tribe, trained by them, eternally oath-bound to them. If others knew that there could be occasions when I’d cheerfully break any Tecton law, I wouldn’t be trusted in the position I hold. If the Tecton took me away from Mairis and the endowed, demoted me to a mere four-plus Donor, I couldn’t survive the underdraw for long. I’ve left Azevedo with no going back. There’d be no place for me.”
She understood now how he’d given her great power over him. “But you won’t even tell me the name of this tribe you won’t go back to but are eternally bound to.”
“I must discuss it with Azevedo first. But your oath means you’re not an outsider anymore. Your oath protects not just me but all of us, just as if you were adopted.”
She grinned. “An adopted gypsy! Like a children’s story!” Only this one can’t end happily. I’m going to die.
He scooped her onto one of his knees, as if she were a child and he was about to tell a story. Grinning back at her, he said, “These gypsies even have a little magic of their own. So it’s possible, Laneff—oh, it’s a very slim chance, but it is possible you may survive this. I’m going to fight for it.”
He’d lost the fight for Digen’s life, but then Digen had been very old. She remembered a small brown vial of medication against a white sheet, spirited away and never mentioned on Digen’s charts. “I’ve been wanting to ask you: what was it you gave Digen?”
Startled, he set her on her feet again, holding her by the shoulders. “Now who’s reading minds?” At her puzzled expression, he rushed on. “What makes you ask?”
She told him what she’d observed. “Obviously, it was something Digen was accustomed to taking for ‘tertiary entran’ so it couldn’t have caused his death directly. But I can’t blame K/A alone without knowing what that stuff was.”
He sighed, and then thought about it. “Laneff, you now have the right to know all I know about it, which isn’t much. But I have to consult Azevedo first. Frankly, I don’t see how the information can help you. Your goal now ought to be to teach someone else to run your K/A synthesis. Mairis has had teams on it ever since you were kidnapped. Even in your own lab, nobody has yet duplicated your results.”
She leaned against the bench, idly pushing flasks around. “I was afraid of that. Jarmi hasn’t been able to do it yet. And I’ve got nothing until it can be duplicated.” This is supposed to be science, not magic. The operator doesn’t count.
She was still ragingly posttransfer, and the emotions of depression and hopelessness had taken over in the absence of sex. She plucked a bottle of the pure K/A crystals from a padded rack and turned it, watching the clean cascade. “It’s so simple.”
He took the bottle, turning it expertly, and said, “I wonder if—No. But… would you mind if I take this to show Azevedo?”
“What could he possibly do with it? We have to class it as poison until we know if it caused Digen’s death.” But she gave it to him, and he pocketed it.
“Would you try to teach Azevedo the synthesis?”
She scoffed, “He belongs behind a horse cart, not in a lab!”
Shanlun laughed uproariously. “Azevedo’s a gypsy, so he must be ignorant and primitive?”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, crushed. Toying glumly with a half empty beaker of trin tea, she sighed, “Things were so much simpler before you came!”
He slid off the stool and turned her away from the bench, his nager melting her tension until she leaned into his chest, listening to him breathe. His voice came as a rumble. “It’s unhealthy to let postsyndrome deteriorate into depression. And now that I’m here, there’s no reason to.”
Duoconscious, she was enjoying the texture of his nager counterpointing the dark velvet voice, hesitant to let herself enjoy it. “In a moment, you’ll go all colored-confetti again, and spoil this.”
“Colored confetti! You zlin in color?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” she asked languorously.
He shrugged. “Perceptions vary. Do you like this better?”
He was all golden now, seductive as he’d been with Digen. “I wouldn’t if I were in need. Or rather, I would—but—”
“But you’re not in need. Zlin me.”
He stood back an arm’s length, his formidably trained Donor’s attention wholly on her. It wasn’t what Yuan had done. But Shanlun held out his hands to her, and she took them, stepping into the fierce core of his nager as if into a different world. Something of the same effect she’d felt on greeting him hours ago burst through her body, only this time she could identify it, for it lacked the painful intensity. It’s as if I were Gen!
The tide of life itself that surges within the Gen, erupting into manifestation a
t the core of each cell in the form of selyn, surged now in Laneff, rhythmically washing away the detritus of death left by need. Each wave felt better than the last, drawing her to anticipate a further thrill with the next.
Her tentacles twined themselves about his cool. Gen arms, complementing their deep, exploratory kiss. Without her volition, her laterals found contact, too, and his welcome of that sensation she gave him brought exultation. But even then, a tiny voice within had to reassure her: it’s safe. You could never hurt him. In that moment, though, she couldn’t imagine ever needing killbliss.
Hypoconscious, losing all touch with selyn fields, she was aware only of the tactile presence of male skin, fine tough male hairs, clean rough male pores, hard Gen muscle encompassing her as if she were a delicate treasure to be protected. The sharp perfume of him stung her nose.
Yes, she thought, this is much better than hysterics or depression. Never, though, had she experienced such abrupt intensity before, not even in postsyndrome. Could this be part of being junct? She chased the thought and drowned herself enthusiastically in pure sensation.
His response was a tender melting accompanied by a surprising groan that was almost a sob of joy. As if he’d been rigidly holding himself back, maleness throbbed against her in long, even pulses. Breathless, he broke the kiss and whispered in her ear. “I saw a couch in Jarmi’s office. It would hold two.”
She hesitated. What if he can’t? Considering that he hadn’t had the demanding transfer with Azevedo that he’d been ready for, it was absurd to expect this to work. But if she stopped now, she’d plunge back into the depths of despair, or be seized by a three hour crying fit. What’s the difference, crying now or later? And it might—just might—work.
For answer, she locked her hands behind his neck and climbed up his body. He carried her that way, to the couch.
He took a very long time, leaving not a particle of her skin unstimulated. Afraid he couldn’t end it, Laneff barriered herself from the sensations at first, but he was irresistible. He played with her consciousness, coaxing her hyperconscious as if she were in need, and feeding his sensuality into her nerves, pulling back to prolong the suspense and teasing her down to duoconsciousness where he tantalized her with symphonies of mixed sensations, and then plunging her into hypoconsciousness so that she lived in a skin flushed with expectation.
RenSime Page 13
