“Because humans created me for that purpose,” Ceravanne countered. “And I crave to serve them. But unlike the dronon, I never force my rule on anyone. If humans desire to elect a human leader, that is their option. But the dronon will not let you serve as equals. They will never accept human leaders.”
There was a long pause, and Gallen listened to her words but could not understand how any sane person could arrive at her conclusion. He finally managed, “The Dronon will accept us. Maggie and I, we are the leaders of the Sixth Swarm. We could take our rightful place, show them how to live together with us in harmony!”
“But humans don’t want to live with them!” Ceravanne said.
“Agreed, most of them don’t,” Gallen whispered, and there was an unusual intensity in his voice. He felt almost as if his mouth moved of its own accord, and he merely listened to the words it said. “But what of the people of Babel? They are not humans. Can’t you see how your policies afflict them? They have no sense of purpose, so few social bonds across tribes. They have no law, no access to technology. You created them, then abandoned them. They need what humans and the dronon have!”
“Gallen, I was not formed to be a judge of the peoples of Babel. I can’t take care of them, any more than the dronon could. I don’t understand all of their needs, all of their hopes. I don’t even force my judgments on humans.
“But let me ask you this, Gallen. Is it our obligation to govern other peoples, or to find a purpose in life for them, or to be their friends?” Ceravanne asked, and her voice was desperate. “You are human, from a world not unlike Tremonthin: who ever tried to give you a purpose in life? Who ever protected you? Can’t you see-all of these things that you say the humans owe the people of Babel, in your own country, you don’t even force them on your own children. It would be wicked to do so. If these people in Babel want law, then they have to figure out how to create and enforce their own laws. They weren’t designed to live by human standards, and I can’t take the right to govern themselves away from them.”
“But you deny them life …” Gallen objected, angry that she would not or could not see his point.
“And we deny most of our own people more than one life,” Ceravanne said. “Even the best of us often only get our lives extended by a few decades.”
“But the humans of Tremonthin created these people,” Gallen objected. “You owe them!”
“Since we created them, doesn’t it stand to reason that they owe us for the blessing of life?” Ceravanne countered. “Think of it. Do we owe them more than we owe our own children? Even for our own children, we make no guarantees. We make no promises of love or acceptance or wealth. No society can promise all of these things to its individuals. Happiness comes as a reward for a life well lived. It cannot be an entitlement.”
“But …”
“There are no buts,” Ceravanne said. “Gallen, all of your thoughts, all of those confused feelings, those are just the Inhuman talking. Those notions don’t make any sense when you look at them closely. But the dronon want you to believe them. The dronon want you to believe that their Golden Queen will take care of us. But you’ve seen what the dronon offer on other worlds. They want to feed off us, as parasites. Gallen, the dronon showed you the lives of a few folks. They told you a story, providing the sights, the smells, the emotions. They told you a lie.
“But more importantly, I want you to realize that you are spouting dangerous dogma that doesn’t necessarily follow from the information you’ve been given. Think about it, and you’ll know I’m right. The dronon are teaching you on a subconscious level, altering your thought patterns. The memories they feed you only serve to cover the deeper alterations, and to make you think that you changed your mind on your own.”
Gallen was stunned. She had all the answers, all waiting in her hand like needles to prod him with. It seemed obvious that she had argued against the Inhuman before. He felt confused, and a buzzing sounded in his ears, sounded so loudly that he had a hard time thinking. He wanted to speak against her, but he could not think what to say next. The room seemed to be spinning, and Gallen found himself wanting to take Ceravanne by the throat, shake some sense into her. For the moment he seemed certain of only one thing: she was his enemy.
He grabbed her neck and pushed her against the wall. “Liar! Deceitful little vixen!” he said, and the room spun mightily so that he wondered if he could even stand. In his mind, her presence registered only as some hateful creature, a woman with long skeletal hands, groping for him.
Ceravanne hit the stone wall and slid down, her mouth open as if she would cry out, her eyes wide with fear, and Gallen knew that if she spoke again, he would have to silence her. Lightning struck outside-once, twice, a third time.
But the Tharrin only sat heavily in the ivy leaves. For a long moment, she only breathed, and Gallen’s anger began to pass. The room quit spinning, and Gallen’s mantle whispered, Seek shelter below, next to Maggie, quickly! And suddenly Gallen knew that the Inhuman had been communicating with him, trying to download its arguments directly into his mind.
Gallen stood gazing down at Ceravanne. “Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, and she folded her arms, sat gazing up at him, a helpless child.
Gallen found that his sword had unaccountably appeared in his hand. Some time in the past minute, he had drawn it. And he’d been prepared to kill her, without thinking.
He shoved it back into his scabbard, and he wanted to run then, wanted to rush down the stairs and hide in the woods for what he’d almost done. He felt terribly embarrassed.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, white shock registering in his brain only as numbness. “The Inhuman can be … subtle.”
“You’re forgiven,” Ceravanne said with a tiny nod. She reached up her thin hand, so that he could help her up.
He took it, pulled her to a standing position. His heart was hammering with fear, and something else … The air in the room was moist and closed, and Ceravanne’s scent was thick. She was trembling, frightened, and he wanted to ease her mind. So he kissed her hand, looking into her eyes. She was small and pale, like a porcelain figure. Her hand, when he kissed it, tasted sweet. He’d almost forgotten how sweet the taste of a Tharrin could be.
Ceravanne reached up, and she was shaking, leaning against him. Her whole body trembled. She gazed deeply into his eyes. “You see,” she whispered desperately, “that I was right when I told you that I needed your heart. If you do not give it to me, the Inhuman will take it. Gallen, give me your heart!”
She kissed his chin experimentally, then brushed her lips against his. A burning passion rose in him, and Gallen kissed her full on the lips, pulling her close. She drew tight against him, her flesh folding into his like a lover’s, her arms embracing him. All thought retreated, and for one moment, there was only that passionate kiss blossoming like a field of wild poppies in his mind. Every nerve in his body tingled, her touch was lightning, and she groaned, tried to pull him to the floor there among the ivy.
Desperately, he pushed her away. “No!” Gallen cried. “I am married to Maggie!”
And he fled across the room from her, stood by the doorway. Ceravanne was on her knees now, breathing heavily, gazing at him, stunned. “No man has ever rejected me,” she said, hurt in her voice.
He turned for the door, and she said, “If it is Maggie you want, then be faithful to her, Gallen-remain as faithful to her in Moree as you have been tonight.”