Ngenet raised his eyebrows when she didn't say more. 'Whereabouts? Not the cinder camps, I hope,' reaching for a joke.
'Yes.' She turned on him, stung. 'That is where I'm going. I'm in charge of the penal colonies there.'
'What?' He laughed uncomfortably, not able to believe it wasn't a joke in return.
'It's no joke,' flatly.
The laughter stopped. 'You ... running a place like that?' He looked at the desk, as though he expected it to give him an explanation. 'Do they think so little of Tiamat that a penal colony is considered a step up?'
'No, Miroe.' They think so little of me. She covered the Commander's insignia on her collar with the fingers of a hand. 'You could say it's a case of blind justice.'
'Do you want the job?' He stroked his mustache.
'No.' She frowned. 'It's a dead end, an insult—' She caught her breath.
'Didn't you complain, then? After all, you're a Commander of Police—' trying to comprehend the suddenly incomprehensible.
It was her turn to laugh without meaning. 'I am a joke, that's what I am.' She shook her head. 'I either go where I'm assigned, or I quit.'
'Quit, then.'
'Damn it, that's all I ever hear from a man! Give up ... give in you can't handle it! Well, I can! I expected more from you, but I should have known better—'
'Jerusha,' shaking his head, 'for gods' sakes. Don't turn me into a thing.'
'Then don't treat me like one.'
'I don't want to see you turn yourself into one! And you will, running a place like that ... when you treat another human being like something less than human, you make yourself less than human. Either it'll destroy your humanity, or it'll destroy your sanity. And I don't want to remember you going toward that; or imagine you—' He moved his large hands futilely.
'Then what else am I supposed to do? All my life I wanted to do something with my life — something worthwhile, something important. And becoming a police officer gave me that. Maybe it hasn't exactly been everything I thought it would be — but what ever is, anyway?' If only there was something.
'You consider what you'll be doing there worthwhile?' thick with sarcasm. He pushed his hands into his pockets.
'I already answered that.' She turned away. 'In time, maybe I'll be able to get a transfer. And besides, what else can I do? There's nothing else.'
'You could stay here,' an uncertain invitation.
She shook her head, not looking at him. 'And do what? I'm not cut out to be a fishwife, Miroe.' Tell me there's something else.
But if there was an answer, he was kept from making it by the arrival of two of the officers she had called in. They had Festival confetti hi their hair and faintly martyred expressions on their faces, but they saluted her with reasonable deference.
She returned the salute, tugged her uniform and her thoughts into order. 'Make yourselves official; you're going to the Change ceremony with me as soon as Mantagnes gets here.'
They brightened some at the prospect of getting front-row seats for the human sacrifice; stole curious glances at Tor Starhiker as they moved away. Jerusha recalled her presence with belated chagrin, until she saw that Tor had fallen asleep again.
Miroe stood broodingly beside her, his gaze on the floor. 'You're attending the — sacrifice?' He seemed to have a hard time getting the word out, just as Tor had. 'The Snow Queen's death?'
She nodded, feeling uncomfortable with the thought despite having lived with the prospect of it for so long. The Snow Queen's death. A human sacrifice. My gods. And yet she wondered why the prospect of the clean, public execution of a woman who richly deserved it should seem more terrible than the living death of punishment at the place she was going to. The gods knew, a society that could undergo a total restructuring with only two executions as a result was better off than most. 'It's my last official act as a Hegemonic representative; we turn over to the new Queen the keys to her kingdom, so to speak.' And watch Arienrhod drown in regret. She glanced down, faltering. 'Will you come, Miroe? I know it's not a thing you want to see — so I don't ask it lightly.'
He shifted his weight, shifting his emotions. 'Yes, I'll come. You're right, it's not a thing I ever thought I'd want to see. But knowing what I know of her now ... They say it's supposed to be a catharsis, to watch the living symbol of the old order die: something that everyone needs, to clean the ugliness out of their souls. Well, I never thought I'd need it ... but maybe I'm not so much better than anyone else, after all.'
'Welcome to the club,' not quite smiling. 'I'll be right back.' She went to her office for her cloak and helmet.
When she returned she found Mantagnes waiting, with supercilious aloofness, in answer to her call. She returned his salute without expression and ordered him to take her place hi the station.
She stopped again on the way to the entrance and shook Tor awake. 'Wake up, Whiter. It's nearly dawn.'
Tor sat up, rubbing bleary misery over her face.
'I'm going down to the Change ceremony now.' Jerusha gentled her voice. 'I didn't know whether you wanted to be there. If you do, you can come with us.' Though I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to sleep through it.
Tor shook her head, stretched out her arms; her eyes cleared. 'Yeah ... I guess I will, after all. I can't stay here forever, can I?' rhetorical. She stood up, turning to Pollux, who still stood in the same place beside her. 'I'd better go see the end of the world, Polly; there won't be another one. And if I don't see it, I might not believe it.'
'Good-bye, Tor.' The voice sounded thinner and even more dreary than Jerusha remembered. 'Goodbye.'
'G'bye, Polly.' Her mouth worked. 'I won't forget you. Trust me.'
'I trust you, Tor.' The pol rob raised its hand, imitating a farewell.
'Good boy.' She backed away slowly.
Still watching, Jerusha saw Tor wipe briefly at her eyes as she followed them out of the station.
Chapter 54
Arienrhod took her place on the thick pile of white furs that draped the ship-form ceremonial cart in the palace courtyard. She entered her role in the ritual calmly, with perfect control, with the royal presence of nearly one hundred and fifty years. The cheers and the jeers of the gathered Summers closed around her, as inescapable as death; and the wailing grief of the waiting Winters. Their combined dirge was like the moaning hunger of the Pit, where the sea lay waiting ... as the Sea lay waiting today. Her hunger would be satisfied, at last.
Starbuck was already seated among the silver-tipped furs, sitting like a figure chipped from obsidian in his mask and black court garb. She was surprised to find him here before her. You were always so impatient, my love. But I didn't think you'd be impatient for this. She felt a cold weight drop inside of her. Because I'm not. I'm not. 'Good morning, Starbuck. I hope you slept well.'
He turned his face away as she tried to look him in the eye, and said nothing.
'So you think you'll never forgive me? Forever is a long time, Sparks. And forever is how long we'll be together.' She put an arm lovingly around his shoulders and felt him shudder, or quiver. His shoulders through the heaviness of cloth and leather felt broader than she remembered. Only a boy, with a man's strength ... and weakness.
At least we'll spend it forever young, trying again to believe as she had once believed, that she would sooner die than live in a world where she would have to be poor, and sick, and old...
