'But you said it helps to talk,' I pointed out.
Her lips twisted wryly. 'I did, but talking doesn't help that much when most of your questions turn out to be variants on how far north is north.' She stood.
North? What was to the north of Rykasha? Even before I finished formulating the question, I had the answer. There really wasn't anything north of Rykasha, because the demons had basically taken over the colder regions of Amnord.
There was no doubt that the demons were physically and technically superior to the older and numerically larger earth cultures ... yet they had let Dorcha, the Dhur gens, the Toze peoples, even the floating cities - they had let them be. Why?
Cerrelle had been clear enough that the nanites that made demons out of humans did not change basic genetics or cellular-level programming. So the Rykasha weren't somehow more moral, and I wondered if even the masters of Dzin would have been as forbearing if they wielded the power of the demons.
Yet Cerrelle had denied the dream of Dzin, of faith. Was that why their suicide rate was high? Because even nanite-modified humans needed dreams, and forced rationality created too great an internal conflict? Or was there a hidden dream behind Rykasha?
For all the knowledge that filled me, I still knew so little - or had had so little time to sort it out.
'We can talk more later, if you'd like. Right now, you have another appointment.' Cerrelle was always bringing me up short. Cerrelle - my keeper.
I held in a sigh as I stood, but not the bitterness in my eyes as I thought of another, gentler, keeper, and of a time I had not held dearly enough.
Was that to be the story of my life?
SCIAMACHY
16
Right in itself has no authority, but follows might as the smoke the wind.
When golden starbursts flared through my brain, recalling again the memory of those first days of nanite possession, I looked out the window at the hillside. The winter green of the conifers was pallid compared to the golden fires, weak compared to the more vivid greenery of a garden in Hybra.
I turned at the knock on the door. 'Come in.'
'Time for an educational experience,' Cerrelle said.
'Like the walk in the snow?'
'This won't be as enchanting. We're going to some adjudication adjustment hearings.'
Adjudication adjustment hearings? I scarcely liked the sound, and I racked my new stocks of knowledge. Adjudication adjustment hearing: the procedure by which an individual's self-responsibility is assessed to determine whether specific actions merit permanent adjustment.
'It's necessary so that you know how seriously we take personal responsibility. Like many things you get in the nanosprays, this is something that needs the reinforcement of personal experience. It may not be pleasant, but it's not yours. So don't worry.'
How did the demons measure self-responsibility? And why was that a societal procedure? I stood up and followed
Cerrelle. There wasn't any point in protesting, especially since it was clear she thought what I was going to see was in my best interest. I wasn't sure that what the demons felt was good for me was what I would have chosen, but until I knew more, I just accepted what arrived and did as she asked. In a fashion, I felt dead anyway, and it was easier.
We walked from the front foyer outside and up a low hill, then down another set of stairs from what appeared as a small building holding nothing but a staircase. There was, surprise of surprises, a tunnel platform and what looked to be a covered glider.
'Yes, we use gliders. Why wouldn't we? We believe in appropriate technology.'
I sat on the padded bench seat beside Cerrelle, conscious for the first time of a faint floral aroma as she closed the permaglass canopy. Scent? From my prodding, demanding keeper?
The glider slipped into the darkness of the tunnel, except that I could see the outlines and sense the speed - far swifter than any glider in Dorcha.
Cerrelle turned on the seat to face me. 'You've been here for weeks, and you still act as though you were in some sort of afterlife, like a nanite zombie. The diagnostics say you're metabolically and chemically extraordinarily well-balanced. I'm sure adjusting isn't easy, but you have to work on it. You keep acting as if nothing really affects you, and it does, whether you like it or not.'
'It's difficult to believe any of this is real' I pointed out.
'It is real, Tyndel. Your Dzin should tell you that. Doesn't Dzin state that you have to begin by being aware of what is?' She gave me a sardonic smile.
Her use of Dzin bothered me. 'It's still hard to adjust to a whole new culture.'
'It is,' she acknowledged. 'It isn't easy, but there are others who've gone through a lot more than you have. If I were a little more sadistic, I'd give you a solid slap on the side of your face to let you feel some reality.'
'You really don't like me, do you?' I asked.
'Actually, I do like you. That's what makes it difficult. You're intelligent, perceptive, and hurting. I think you have a lot to offer. That's why I keep pushing you. I think you're wallowing in self-pity. No matter how bad the transformation was for you, no matter how upsetting the past weeks have been, you have to live in the present. You have the ability to do well in Rykasha, and you keep shoving away the opportunity.'
'I didn't ask for the opportunity.'
There was a long deep breath from Cerrelle before she spoke again. "None of us ask for some things. We don't ask to be born where we were. We don't ask for those things which limit us. We have to do the best we can with what we have where we are. And we can try to change things, but you can't do any of that if you refuse to accept where you are.' She paused so briefly that it almost wasn't a pause. 'At least as a place to begin.'
What if I didn't want to start again?
'Tyndel,' she answered my unspoken question, 'if you want to live, you don't have a choice.'
'Can everyone read my thoughts the way you do?'
'First,' she said patiently, 'think about why you don't want to face reality. And second, the thought reading has been explained. You were injected with what might be called neural transmitter nanites. They form a network and broadcast, but only those people who have similar sets of nanites in their systems can receive your thoughts. They have to be close to you and attuned to you. Those nanites have a tendency to decay, and in a year most who are attuned to you now won't sense a thing.'
'Most?'
'If you form an emotional bond with one of them it's possible the effect will last longer.'
'That's hardly likely.' I smiled crookedly in the dimness, and my smile had barely faded when the glider emerged into the light of another platform.
'The way you're pushing people away from you, I'd have to agree, but you never know.' She stood as the glider came to a halt. 'We're here.'
Everything Cerrelle said made sense, but I was still having trouble with what she said.
We climbed four flights of steps from the glider tunnel platform. The stairwell was smoothed rock, polished to a luster and showing grains of stone I didn't recognize. Like every structure I'd visited in Rykasha, the adjudication chamber smelled clean, with the faintest hint of pine in the air. Despite the clouds outside, the indirect glow strips had the room bright.
At the far end of the stone-floored room was a dais. Two women and a man sat in a wooden-paneled enclosure on the left side of the dais. Each wore a lightweight headset. Below the dais were chairs, only about two dozen, a dozen on each side of a cleared space approximating an aisle.