Duun walked away from him. Duun was limping, but not much. Thorn wiped sweat from his face and found his hand shaking.
(In everything he ever promised me-he always knew that.)
He was abysmal in his lessons. The figures floated past without meaning. He studied his history and the dates settled into his mind but the names eluded him.
"Something's bothering you," Sphitti said. "Do the sound-routines. You can do that."
It insulted him. (I'm hatani, he wished to shout at Sphitti; things don't bother me.) It was the worse because it was patently true. Cloen walked warily around him. Elanhen worked silently at his own console on something abstruse and statistical, while Betan gave Thorn looks over her shoulder and said nothing.
Can I help? the message said in the bottom of his screen.
After, he sent back, and nothing else.
(Duun had cheated him. Duun had maneuvered him all his life. But why did Duun spend his life on one student? Why did Duun have so much wealth and the countryfolk live in a tin-roofed house-but now they had Sheon; and Duun had this place, which was at the top of one of the tallest buildings in Dsonan, in the capital of the world, where power was. Why me? Why Duun? Why all this effort?)
(Why do I know so little about the things I want and so much I never wanted to know, and why do they lock the doors and guards take us where we go in this building? Guards for what? What do they guard? Us? Someone else?)
(I used to live here, Duun had said.)
(Ellud's an old friend.)
(I grew up at Sheon. So did Duun. Where did he know Ellud from?)
The numbers blurred. Thorn keyed in letter function.
Betan Betan Betan, he wrote, and again, Betan, and filled the screen with the repeat key.
The hours dragged. The clock came up noon and in silence they shut down terminals and got up off their desks. But Thorn kept his terminal alive. He had told the guard who walked with him that he would have extra work to do. "I have to catch up in my history," he said when Sphitti asked. The others passed him without a word to him, talking to each other- perhaps Betan had changed her mind, perhaps Betan would forget, it had only been a casual thing to her. He heard the door snick shut and turned about on his desk and saw Betan come back in.
Thorn stood up. Betan walked to his desk and they both sat down knee-to-knee on the side of it. She was grave and looked at him in a quiet way no one but Betan used, not even Duun. She sensed something amiss. He knew. His heart sped and his breath grew tight; but she smelled of flowers and herself, she always did, like sun and warmth. "Something's wrong," she said, but it was different the way she said it. Her face was vastly concerned, open in a way no one else was with him. "What is it?"
"I almost beat Duun yesterday." Thorn was dismayed by the way the exaggeration leapt out so easily and then he could not take it back.
"Was he angry?"
"I don't think so." His breath grew tighter. "Betan, I lived at Sheon-" (but she knows that, this is a stupid way to start) "-I don't know the city, I've never been outside, except once, when I flew in- You do, a lot, don't you?"
"Oh, yes. I go to the coast every spring."
(Conjuring ribald jokes and student humor and mystic somethings every male in the world knew but him, more marked than Duun, scent-blind and naked as something newborn.) Betan sat close, knee touching his knee. Her eyes were wide and dark. "I never learned," he said, and lost track of what he was saying, (not hatani, no: she was not; he did not need to be, for once he did not have to be complex, only simple, with Betan, who used to frighten him and now set her hand on his knee and slid it up.) He put his on hers, and felt the silkenness of her fur and felt the muscles slide, alive and taut as she leaned and stretched and came up against him with her hand on his body. "I never learned-"
He felt things happening to him all at once, felt things vastly out of his control and brought it back again. It was all very clear suddenly what he wanted and what his body was doing on its own, and he held her against him and maintained that good feeling as long as he dared, until he felt everything slipping again, and he took her belt and unfastened it quickly. She unfastened his. Her head burrowed underneath his chin and she leaned on him, all warm, and her smell had changed.
It was fear. He flinched, jerked her back by both arms and she twisted in his grip-"Betan!"
The door opened beyond her. A man walked out into the foyer. Betan jerked out of Thorn's hands and scrambled off the riser.
Duun.
Betan stopped, of a sudden crouched and backing away. Thorn got to his feet. "Dammit- Duun!"
Duun stepped marginally out of the doorway and waved Betan to it. She hesitated.
"Get out!" Thorn cried. (Gods, he'll kill her-) "Betan! Get out!"
She skittered out the foyer doorway and through the outer door like escaping prey. Duun glanced after her and looked back at Thorn.
Thorn shook. He stood with one foot on the sand and one knee on the desk and shook with reaction as he put his clothes together. Duun stood there as if he would wait forever.
"Leave me alone," Thorn said. "Duun, for the gods' sake leave me alone!"
"We'll talk later. Let's go home, Haras."
"I haven't got a home! A hatani doesn't have anywhere! He hasn't got anything-"
"We'll talk later, Thorn."
Thorn shivered convulsively. There was no choice. (There's never been a choice. Come home, Haras. Give up, minnow. Pretend nothing's wrong.)
(But she was scared. She panicked. Scared of me-)
"Come on," Duun said.
"I wish you'd been a little later!"
Duun said nothing. Held out his hand toward the door. Thorn left the desk and the room blurred. (Your eyes are running, Thorn.) He walked out and in a vast blurred haze Duun walked beside him down the hall to the elevator. The silence lasted all the way to their door and past the guard there. That watcher was noncommittal, as if he read them both.
Duun closed the door behind them. Thorn headed for his room.
"There was no choice," Duun said. "You know what you'd have done to her?"
"I wouldn't have hurt her!" He spun about and faced Duun squarely, at the distance of the hall. "Dammit, I wouldn't have-"
"I have to be more plain to you about anatomy."
"I wouldn't have hurt her/ I'd have-I'd-" (I can't; couldn't; but touching her, but her touching me-)
"I can imagine you'd have tried." Coldly, cooly, from age and superiority. "Common sense was nowhere in it, Thorn. You know it."
"Tell me. Lecture me. Gods, I don't mind what you do to me, but you came in like that on her-What do you think you did to her, Duun-hatani? Is that your subtlety?"
"I promised you an answer. Years ago you asked a question and I promised you an answer when you could beat me. Well, you came close yesterday. Perhaps that's good enough."
Shock poured over Thorn. Then reason did. He flung up a hand. "Dammit, dammit, you're maneuvering me! I know your tricks, you taught them to me, I know what you're doing, Duun!"
"I'm offering you your answer. That's all. What you are, where you came from-"
"O gods, I don't want to hear it." Thorn turned. He ran. He shut the door to his room and leaned against it shaking.
The intercom came alive. "When you want, you can come out, Thorn. I don't think badly of you. Not in this. Even a hatani can take wounds. This is a great one. Come out when you can face me. I'll wait for you. I'll be waiting, Thorn."
He was dry-eyed when he came out. He unlocked the door and walked out into the hall, and down the hall into the main room. Duun was there, sitting on the riser that touched the wall. The windows were all stars and dark. Nightview. Perhaps it was. Duun did not look at him at once, not until he had crossed the sand and sat down on the riser in the tail of Duun's view.