Part 40 (1/2)

He touched a bare s.p.a.ce on a shelf. The gla.s.s sculpture Rhani had given him, now melted and unrecognizable in the wreckage of the house, would have fit right there. Too bad, he thought. Pus.h.i.+ng apart the terrace drapes, he felt for the handle, found it, and slid the door aside.

A woman sat, cross-legged, on the terrace, a watering can at her feet.

She rose instantly. She was barefoot. Her gaze was steady, her eyes normal, not dilated or fixed -- but the steady look was a shade too direct. She was frightened of him. The fear did not tantalize or excite him. She tilted her head to one side, evidently waiting for him to speak, to react, to tell her what to do.... He felt his chest tighten with tension. He couldn't breathe. He gasped, and the tension broke, shattered like ice breaking.

Cara had entered his bedroom at his back. With anger in her tone, she said, ”I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen.”

”When did she get here?” he said.

”The Barracks' bubble brought her,” said the steward. ”They delivered her yesterday without a word of explanation. I have the invoice.” She put her hands on her hips. ”Zed-ka, what possible use have we for a computer technician?”

Zed blinked at the total irrelevance of the question. Finally he said, ”Cara, go away, please.”

Cara opened her mouth, shut it with a snap like a door closing, and stalked from the room. Zed gazed at the woman on the terrace. He had not expected her to be here, not yet. He wondered what they had told her about him in the Barracks. He thought: Be human, d.a.m.n it, Yago -- be kind. Send her away.

He couldn't.

Softly, he said, ”Tell me your name.”

She said, ”Darien Riis.” She sounded fragile as gla.s.s.

Brusquely he said, ”You don't have to be afraid of me.” She bowed her head.

”Do you know who I am?”

”You're Zed Yago. I remember you from the Net.”

He had not seen her. There were plenty of prisoners he never saw; most, in fact. As chief medic, he checked the records, but the juniors only called him for certain cases. ”I don't remember you,” he said. ”Were you sick? Did I come to your cell to treat you?”

She shook her head. ”I saw you at the loading.” She touched her hair. It was very lovely, long, red-gold, fine and flyaway.... ”My hair was shorter then.”

In the press of the loading he could easily have pa.s.sed her without noticing her. ”You're not on dorazine.”

”No. They stopped the dosage two days ago.”

”We don't keep house slaves on dorazine.”

”Am I yours?” she asked.

”No,” he said. ”You belong to my sister Rhani. I don't own slaves.”

”What do I call you?” she said.

”Call me by my name.”

”Zed,” she said. He caught his breath. Her voice was husky with nervousness; it made her sound like Rhani.

”Come to the garden with me,” he said. She followed him downstairs and into the kitchen. Immeld was cleaning a countertop. She looked up at them, lips tight. At the southern bank of flower beds, Timithos knelt, adjusting a water sprinkler. He waved.

Darien said, ”It's lovely here.”

After the Net and the Barracks, Zed guessed that the estate came close to her memories of freedom. She was looking at the dimensions of the place. He hoped with genuine fervor that she had not started looking for ways to escape.

”Where are you from?” he asked.

”Enchanter.”

”Does this remind you of home?”

”Not at all,” she said. ”I just like it.” She gestured with an upturned palm. ”Has it been here long?”

”About a hundred years. My grandmother built it. Her name was Orrin Yago.”

”Is that the one who went to Nexus?”

”Yes. That's the one.”

”We learned about her studying sector history.”

They walked beneath a bitter-pear. Darien reached up to pluck a dangling fruit. Zed caught her fingers. ”Don't,” he said.

”I'm sorry.”

”It's nothing to be sorry for,” he said. ”The fruit looks good but it isn't edible. I'm sparing you an awful taste.”

She stared upward at the tree. ”Aren't they pears?”

”Certainly. But Chabad's soil is extraordinarily alkaline, and all the fruits and vegetables we grow are affected by the alkalinity. We can breed them to grow, but we can't make them taste good.”

”That seems unfair,” she said.

”Nothing here is fair,” said Zed. Her fingers, in his own bigger hand, were trembling. He let them go, and sat on the gra.s.s. She copied him. ”Tell me about yourself,” he said.

She drew her knees to her chin. ”I've always lived on Enchanter. I lived in a family-group till I was twelve, and in a peer-group from twelve to fourteen. I studied to be a computer technician because I like fixing things.

The last job I held was in the Enchanter lab.”

”What did you do that put you in prison?” ”I was stupid,” she said angrily. She rubbed her hand over her face as if to hide the fact that she was blus.h.i.+ng. ”I skopped with another technician. He wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted to distract him. He took me to his home and I gimmicked his cooking unit. He ended up with a bad burn. I ended up in prison.” She half-smiled. ”I tried to claim it was a practical joke, but the tribunal wouldn't believe me.”

”Was it?”

”No,” she said. ”I wanted him to be burned.”

Zed said, ”We have a saying on Chabad: '_The past is past_.' I won't ask you again.”

She bowed her head. The gesture was terrifying; it shrieked of vulnerability. ”What did they tell you about me in Abanat?” he said.

She hesitated before she looked up. Her voice flattened. ”They told me that you are a medic, and a pilot.”

”Is that all?”