I know she’s coming back into the room; every star in the galaxy suddenly pales. But she doesn’t expect me. She addresses me. “Slone?” She’s surprised. Frankly, so am I. We had all assumed that soon there would be another emanation to replace Till. After what happened, Tara needs someone familiar to comfort her. But the expected choice, the logical choice, was Patrick.
“It’s good to see you,” she says, but I can feel her clamping down on her emotions, trying to compose the right words to say to me. I don’t want that; more, it isn’t what she needs right now.
“It’s all right,” I say. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
She’s confused. I have to find the words to explain this.
“I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time,” I say, taking her hand. “Things are changing, and I need to change. If Daniel and Ross can accept what happened to them, why can’t I? Most especially, how can I not be willing to change if you must?”
This must be the reason I and I forced me to emanate. Not only is time for me to grow in a new direction; by doing so, I am in a uniquely sympathetic position to Tara. We can let go of the past together.
“Sloane,” she says again, touching my face. She looks into my eyes.
Her eyes. Her eyes never saw past the surface while we were at Vuernaco together, never saw that I was Daniel, that I waited a dozen years for her, that I had never once wavered in my love, my n’aashet n’aaverti. Her eyes never really saw me. Her eyes are so different now. Her eyes are earth and fire, the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I touch her skin. All of the fear and the pain of the past are blasted away in the furnace of this joy.
She pulls me onto the bed.
*****
A little over an hour later, I can feel Thermidor standing at the door. “Did you…want to join us for dinner?” he asks hesitantly.
For the first time, I notice the bed. It’s a strangely designed object, macabre but only by hints, without being tacky. Lorcan’s taste is not bad, just disturbing. Only upon looking closely can I discern the screaming faces in the whorls of the blackened wood set into the gunmetal frame. Lorcan made that wood, but still I imagine it came from a tree lost in its own dreams until it was felled. Lorcan meant to remind us how easily our own natures make us victims. Lorcan meant to remind us that animals are swift and cunning.
“We’ll be down shortly,” I reply.
*****
Johannon chatters incessantly through the meal. There are any number of dinner companions I would prefer to him: the bloody battlequeen J’hasa Lefevre and Genghis Khan come to mind. The truth is that I detest Johannon more than anyone else in the universe. He was Tara’s lover back at Vuernaco; worse, he failed to come to her aid when her life was at risk.
I think he knows that. He’s talking to fill the awkward silence. After all, the last time he saw me, I was a corpse.
He’s heedless of Rivers, who is also staring poisonously at him. Rivers has reached the obvious conclusion: Johannon is the traitor. It’s a conclusion so obvious that it must be rejected out of hand. Neliit’s eyes are on Tara, curious and concerned. Lady Lorma and Addick Heyan are still on the ship; they don’t know what happened, and for now, we haven’t told them. Graysal has joined us – he’s a nervous wreck, and he should be. It’s beyond him why Tara is still alive, and as the one in charge of her security, he expects his head to be on the block at any moment.
“I’d like to station a guard outside your door,” he says.
“Guard? From what – the Hreck?” Tara asks. A second later, her face reddens. I look down at my food, hiding my smile. We don’t need a guard so much as we need a door. It’s something I’ll have to fix.
“I feel like I should’ve been more wary,” Graysal continues. “I never should’ve allowed you to go off on your own.”
“If I’d have had a guard, he’d be dead right now,” Tara replied, “just as Clive would if he’d have been with me.”
“Why are you so sure they were aiming for you?” Johannon asks Rivers. “If you ask me, it was an attempt on the life of the Matriarch at a time when she was relatively unprotected.”
Rivers doesn’t reply. I can sense murder in the set of his jaw. “Delicious bisque,” Tara says. “My compliments to the chef.”
A nearby Hreck servant fiddles with his voice synthesizer, preparing a response. “It’s H-25385847-mdt, a very able civil servant. She would be honored that you are enjoying her repurposement.”
There’s general consternation when the meaning of the words sinks in. Johannon stares at the creamy stew in his bowl as if it had turned to arsenic. “It’s a common Hreck custom to eat their dead,” Neliit explains. “Since the SongLuminants engineered them to be disease-free, it’s a safe and economic practice. They take pride in the knowledge that they can continue to serve after their passing.”
By now, Johannon is almost green. I don’t find the idea particularly appetizing myself, but I grin at him as I take another mouthful. Tara seems completely unfazed. “That’s why Newberg isn’t insulted by his name,” she says. “Lorcan’s choice implies that he will crown his career by becoming a delicacy.”
“I’m coming to the conclusion that humans are peculiar in their avoidance of consuming their loved ones,” says Rivers. He’s taking a strange pleasure in the thought, as though he’s delighted that the universe turned out to be every bit as horrifying as he anticipated.
Perhaps Rivers’ sarcasm is lost on Neliit, or perhaps she refuses to acknowledge it. “The Eer-gaaani also practiced entombment before we discovered immortality. And the Brrrrrrrrrrrrvvbh subsist mainly on plankton and seaweed, so the thought of eating their own meat would be repugnant to them.”
Johannon gapes at Tara, who continues to eat with relish. “I don’t know how you can do that.”
Tara shrugs. “It would be different if I had known her. Then again, maybe not. Maybe I’d think it was moving and beautiful. Who the fuck knows? After today, my horizons have expanded.”
“A sense of humor is invaluable in Advanced Sentients,” says Archivist 1294. Johannon looks up, a little startled. It’s easy to forget the presence of the Quicknodes.
“At least you don’t eat your dead,” says Rivers.
“We don’t eat anything,” says Archivist.
“He knows,” I offer. “He’s employing humor.”
“I’ve never met this emanation before,” says Rivers. “He’s a moron, isn’t he?”
I rest my hand on Tara’s shoulder before she dumps the remaining bisque over Rivers’ head. “We’ve had a difficult day,” I say. “I think we should rest.”
I take her hand, and she follows without resistance.
*****
When we return to our quarters, I construct a door. I don’t have the power to create ex nihilo, so it takes some thought to find material to work with. Realizing that the station is enormous, I strip a bit of matter from the walls and floors of the closest chambers. A few molecules here and there won’t be missed. Since a door is a fairly crude construct, the task is accomplished quickly and with little effort.
“I’m sorry I ruined dinner,” Tara says. “You’re right. It was a rough day, and Clive’s sarcasm was a slap in the face.”
“I wish I were better company. Some of the others might be better at improving your mood. I think I’m too serious.”
“You’re perfect,” she says. “I’ve always felt that. If you have any idea how much I regret…” She stops. She isn’t used to talking about the way things ended at Vuernaco. For years, she’s avoided the topic to indulge my delusions.
“It’s all right. I have to face what happened.”
“What happened was that I was an idiot, and then you got killed for my sake.”
“What happened…” The words die in my throat. But I understand now. I have to force myself to say it. “What happened was that I was dishonest with you, and too afraid to break the Great Silence, and I let you think that Daniel was dead rather than tell you the truth about myself. I can’t blame you for taking Johannon as a lover. You couldn’t have known.”
“Stop. I don’t blame you either. We were both so young. Now everything is different.” She sits on the side of the bed. I join her, and she rests her head against my shoulder. Despite everything, I’m happy. I can be happy now, without having to rewrite the past.