Memory

darkness remained as insulated from the world as any cryo-chamber.

Distant voices were calling his name. It's Ivan. Blech. I don't want to talk to Ivan. He did not respond. If he said and did nothing, maybe they wouldn't find him.

Maybe they'd go away again. Dry-eyed, he stared at a crack in the aging plastered wall, which had been in his line of sight for hours.

But his ploy didn't work. Booted footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the little chamber. Then Ivan's voice, shouting much too loud, hurting his ears: 'In here, Duv! I found him!'

More footsteps, a quick, heavy stride. Ivan's face wove into his field of vision, blocking the wall. Ivan grimaced. 'Miles? You in there, boy?'

Galeni's voice. 'My God.'

'Don't panic,' said Ivan. 'He's just gone and got himself sensibly drunk.' He picked up the sealed bottle. 'Well . . . maybe not.' He prodded the unsheathed knife beside it. 'Hm.'

'Illyan was right,' muttered Galeni.

'Not . . . necessarily,' said Ivan. 'After about the twenty-fifth time you see this, you stop getting excited about it. It's just. . . something he does. If he were going to kill himself, he'd have done it years ago.'

'You've seen him like this before?'

'Well . . . maybe not quite like this . . .' Ivan's strained face occluded the plaster again. He waved a hand in front of Miles's eyes.

'He didn't blink,' Galeni noted nervously. 'Perhaps … we ought not to touch him. Don't you think we should call for medical help?'

'You mean psychiatric? Absolutely not.Real bad idea. If the psych boys ever got hold of him, they'd never let him go. No. This is a family matter.' Ivan straightened decisively. 'I know what to do. Come on.'

'Is it all right to leave him alone?'

'Sure. If he hasn't moved for a day and a half, he isn't going far.' Ivan paused. 'Bring the knife along, though. Just in case.'

They clattered out again. Miles's slow thoughts worked through it, one thought per quarter hour.

They're gone.

Good.

Maybe they won't come back.

But then, alas, they reappeared.

'I'll take his shoulders,' Ivan directed, 'you take his feet. No, better pull his boots off first.'

Galeni did so. 'At least he's not rigid.'

No, quite limp. Rigidity would require effort. The boots thumped to the floor. Ivan took off his own uniform tunic, rolled up the sleeves of the round-collared shirt under it, slipped his hands under Miles's armpits, and lifted. Galeni took his feet as instructed.

'He's lighter than I thought,' said Galeni.

'Yeah, but you should see Mark, now,' said Ivan.

The two men carried him down the narrow servant's stairs between the fourth floor and the third. Maybe they were going to put him to bed. That would save him a bit of trouble. Maybe he would go to sleep there. Maybe, if he were very lucky, he wouldn't wake up again until the next century, when there would be nothing left of his name and his world but a distorted legend in men's minds.

But they continued on past Miles's bedroom door, and bumped him through into an old bathroom down the hall, one that had never been remodeled. It contained an antique iron tub large enough for small boys to swim in, at least a century old.

They plan to drown me. Even better. I shall let them.

'One two three, on three?' said Ivan to Galeni.

'Just three,' said Galeni.

'All right.'

They swung him over the edge; for the first time, Miles glimpsed what waited for him below. His body tried to spasm, but his unused locked muscles foiled him, and his dry throat blocked his cry of outrage.

About a hundred liters of water. With about fifty kilos of ice cubes floating in it.

He plunged downward into the crashing cold. Ivan's long arms thrust him under all the way.

He came up yelling 'Ice wat—' Ivan shoved him back in again.

On his next breath, 'Ivan, you goddamn fri—'

On the third emergence his voice found expression in a wordless howl.

'Ah, ha!' Ivan chortled happily. 'I thought that would get a rise out of you!' He added aside to Galeni, who had ducked away out of range of the wild splashing, 'Ever since that time he spent at Camp Permafrost as a weather officer, there's nothing he hates worse than cold. Back you go, boy.'

Miles fought his way out of Ivan's grip, spat freezing water, clambered up, and fell out over the side of the tub. Ice cubes stuck here and there to the outside of his sodden uniform tunic, and slithered down his neck. His hand drew back in a fist, and shot upward at his cousin's grinning face.

It connected with Ivan's chin with a satisfying meaty thunk; the pain was delicious. It was the first time in his life he'd ever successfully slugged Ivan.

'Hey!' Ivan yelped, ducking backwards. Miles's second swing missed, as Ivan now prudently held him at arm's length, out of Miles's range. 'I thought that sort of thing broke your arm!'

'Not anymore,' Miles panted. He stopped swinging, and stood shivering.

Ivan rubbed his jaw, brows rising. 'Feeling better now?' he asked after a moment.

Miles answered with a spate of swearing, plucking off and throwing a few last clinging ice cubes from his tunic at Ivan's head along with the curses.

'Glad to hear it,' said Ivan genially. 'Now I'm going to tell you what you're going to do, and you're going to do it. First thing is, you're going to go to your room and take off that wet uniform. Then depilate that repellent beard stubble and get a hot shower. And then you're going to get dressed. And then we're going to take you out to dinner.'

'Don't want to go out,' Miles mumbled, surly.

'Did I ask for an argument? Did you hear me ask for a Betan vote, Duv?'

Galeni, watching in fascination, shook his head.

'Right,' Ivan continued. 'I don't want to hear it, and you don't have a choice. I've got another fifty kilos of ice tucked in the freezer downstairs, and you know I won't hesitate to use it.'

Miles could read the utter, indeed, enthusiastic sincerity of this threat in Ivan's face. His bad words trailed off into a disagreeable, but not disagreeing, hiss. 'You enjoyed that,' he grumbled at last.

'Damn straight,' said Ivan. 'Now go get dressed.'

Ivan made few further demands upon Miles until he had dragged him out to a nearby restaurant. There he made sotto voce threats until Miles put a few bites of food into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Once he started eating, he found he was very hungry, and Ivan desisted, satisfied with his performance.

'Now,' said Ivan, shoveling in the last bite of his own dessert. 'What the hell is going on with you?'

Miles glanced up at the two captains, at Galeni's eye-of-Horus pins. 'You first. Did Illyan send you both?'

'He asked me to check on you,' said Galeni, 'having got the idea that we were friends of a sort. Since the