turned back. 'Is there something you wish?'
He let his hand fall, suddenly abashed. 'I have been. lonely.' He could think of nothing more adequate to say.
'If you would tell me your preferences, sir—'
He stood; she became silent.
He went to her, stopping very close, looking down at her. 'I have been lonely,' he repeated.
She almost fled; she whirled and ran three steps before she stopped, he hoped for some reason more than fear. She did not turn. He followed, and stood behind her. The tendons in her neck were taut. He wanted to touch them, kiss them, feel her pulse against his lips; he wanted her to turn suddenly and embrace him; he wanted to feel her tongue against his teeth and her silver fingernails in his back. He wanted to explore her while she explored him; he wanted to writhe with her in warm darkness. He lifted one hand, but stopped himself when his fingers brushed the soft fibers of the black velvet she wore. He was shaking.
'Sir—' Her voice trembled. She cut herself off and stood, silent for a moment, her breathing slow and deep. 'There are others in the Palace. They are trained.' She was distant again: the perfect servant, and her voice was hard.
'I can buy that in the street. I can trade a moment of pleasure with any member of my crew.'
She did not respond. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
'I have wanted. something more.'
'Something like love?' she said abruptly and sardonically. He might have killed anyone else for mocking him.
'Is that so ridiculous?'
She flinched from his touch, but turned and faced him. Her dark-painted eyes glistened. 'If you summon me to your bed I will submit to you,' she said. 'That is your right and my obligation. But I am a slave and I cannot love.'
He touched her cheek very gently, then stepped back and folded his arms. 'Good night.'
She bowed. 'Good night, sir.'
It was not until she had opened the heavy door that he spoke again. 'Or will not?'
She looked back at him, and her voice was again self-contained. 'As you please.'
The door closed softly behind her.
Jan lay on his bed in the darkness, staring toward the ceiling. His feelings of depression were heightened by his being in this deep cave with tons of rock overhead. His reactions had little to do with fear, a great deal to do with isolation. In a detached way, he observed himself, his recently acquired ability to waste time, his indecision. He was not happy with himself. He had nothing he wanted to get up and do to use the time until he might become sleepy. The prospect of talking with Mischa was the only spark of interest he could find. She might be as awake as he, lying in the night, anxious, wondering what the next day would bring. Mischa would give Jan his first chance to talk about the city with someone who knew it. But he stayed where he was, in the oversoft bed; he did not want to disturb her if by chance she had managed to sleep. He felt for the pulse in his left wrist and began to breathe slowly to its count, twelve beats, in, twelve beats, out. Finally, fitfully, he dozed.
It was still early when he got up, washed briefly, and dressed. He had stopped suppressing his facial hair, and his red-gold mustache was beginning to show across his upper lip. Previously, he had seldom let it grow. His father had been able to reconcile himself to, or ignore, Jan's blond hair, but Jan had always felt that expecting Ichiri to accept a reddish beard would simply have been cruel.
Jan crossed the hall. He had never entered anyone's room in the Palace—that realization struck him abruptly—so he had not noticed before that there was nowhere to knock.
'Are you awake?' He kept his voice low, in case she might not be.
Mischa pulled aside the curtain. 'Yes.'
He looked at her more carefully this morning. Her dark pants and jacket were worn, short at wrist and ankle, and did not quite meet at the waist except when she stood still. Her feet were bare. She was only as tall as his shoulder; though she was thin, she gave no impression of frailty. She was not beautiful, but the lines of her face were cleanly sculpted and strong. Her fingernails were broken and chewed, and her wrists—her wrists looked scarred.
She regarded him with some wariness. After last night, he supposed he should not be surprised at any suspicion she showed of anyone. Her eyes were so green they fascinated him. He realized simultaneously that he was staring at her, that she did not flinch from his gaze, and that she did not like being stared at. He glanced away, self-consciously, and looked back, but without the intensity. 'Would you like breakfast?'
'Sure.'
Their corridor was deserted, but they saw a few other of Subtwo's people when they arrived at the dining hall. Jan took a table across the room from them. Their occasional laughter drifted to him, and their half-amused opinions of the Palace food. They only glanced up when he arrived, and afterward paid him no attention.
'You really aren't one of them, are you?' The tension and suspicion of last night had left her voice.
'No,' he said. 'I'm really not.' That was his choice; he had not been ostracized. He had isolated himself; he had avoided even personal relationships. Or perhaps he had not avoided so much as been oblivious to them.
He showed Mischa how to get food and drink. An area had been hastily reworked in cafeteria style and the spare ship's cook assembled and stocked with local food; Subtwo would not permit slaves in the public rooms. Jan was grateful for that. He was not yet ready to face the situation in which he found himself.
The nervous tautness Jan had noticed in Mischa's stance and movements was somewhat relaxed. She sampled coffee and did not like it, so he brewed the tea he had brought from his room.
She accepted the cup he offered. 'Who are they?'
'Subone and Subtwo?' She nodded. All he could have told her was the gossip he had heard, none of it pleasant. Had Mischa planned to join Subtwo's crew permanently, Jan might have put aside his disinclination to repeat unfounded tales; but, the situation being what it was, he saw no point in making the pseudosibs into monsters. 'No one knows much about them,' he said. 'They're very reticent about their past.'
'They're not like anybody else who ever came to Center.'
'They're not like anybody else at all. They're said to have been experimental subjects. There's no telling what kind of conditions they grew up under.' He did not tell her that they might or might not have murdered the man responsible for the conditions.
Jan took a bite of the food. He was not very hungry and did not like the taste or texture any more than did the raiders. The flavors were artificial, either too strong or not strong enough to screen out the taste of yeast or bacterial chlorophyll. He pushed the mushy portions around on his plate.
'Are you okay?'
He put down the fork. 'My body doesn't approve of so much traveling, I suppose.'
'You can get outside food some places. It's expensive but a lot of offworld people seem to think it's worth it.'
'I haven't felt hungry recently,' Jan said, and shrugged it off. 'I'll be all right.'
She seemed about to say something more, but did not. Her manners were far from elegant, but neither were they uncouth. Her restraint and her composure gave her a sort of untrained natural grace and consideration that Jan appreciated, even while noticing it only peripherally. Realizing she had finished, he dragged himself out of his mental and emotional circlings. 'Let's get started.'
They returned to Jan's room. He gave her his library extension. She took
it carefully, as though it might shatter when she touched it.
Jan said apologetically, 'Real books are more emotionally satisfying.'
Mischa glanced up at him, her expression half-amused, half-curious. 'Do you really think it matters?'
'Perhaps not.' But he had always felt that the word 'book,' in standard English, was very nearly onomatopoeic. Having been raised with rooms full of dusty, leatherbound, fascinating books, he found that the fluorescent green words on the dark blue screens of library extensions came between him and the writer. Still, he understood the need for conservation of space in a ship. The general memory bank of the pocket-sized device Mischa held was extensive, and had exchangeable banks for specialized subjects. Jan showed her the codings. Mischa listened with little expression, but Jan had seen her quickly hidden flash of interest. He never had to repeat an instruction.
