'I'm Cerrelle, and I'll be your guide.' Her voice was girlish, but the piercing green eyes and the thin face were not, despite the welcoming smile.
I just looked at her. Guide? To what?
'To Lyncol, for one thing.' She sat in the rocking chair and leaned back.
Lyncol?
'Lyncol - that's where we are. It's the coordinating center of Rykasha. Here.' She took a deep breath. 'I'm not likely to be as good as I probably should be. We don't get many converts anymore. That's if you can call unwilling nanite possession conversion.'
Once again, I had the feeling of knowing most of the words and understanding little. All I really understood was loss. In the last few days, I'd lost everything - Foerga, my life in Dzin, my teaching, and nearly my life itself. Why? Because I'd changed a little?
'You really don't understand a word, do you?' She paused. 'Some of this is going to be hard, especially for you.'
For me? What did they know about me? 'I would appreciate it... if you could tell me exactly what happened.'
You do speak. Good.' A smile - sardonic, warm, wistful, all in one - crossed her thin lips.
I waited.
'You were infected with self-replicating nanites, and you happened to be one of the lucky ones with compatible genes. Relatively compatible. If we hadn't reengineered your system, you'd have burned out in another year or so. Painfully. About half who are infected die before they reach us - or get caught and killed by mites.'
I just looked at her.
'Let me try again. In simple terms, nanites are subcellular organic machines that can undertake a wide array of tasks. Nanites immobilized you when they brought you in. They can block virtually any weapon short of high-powered lasers, particle beams, or nucleonic weapons. They come in various sizes, all of them submicroscopic. Let's see. How do I put this? A human cell averages twenty microns. Most nanites are one micron, although some of the specialized varieties are less than a tenth of a micron.'
I struggled with the idea - something that capable that was a ten-thousand of a millimeter in size or smaller? My thoughts skittered away from the whole idea.
The woman frowned, not angrily, then smiled gently, almost as if I were a child. 'I was afraid this was going to be hard for you. It will be harder than you think because, in a way, you've been subtly conditioned against higher technology.'
Higher technology? What did technology have to do with where I was?
Cerrelle moistened her lips. 'Somehow, one of those nanites infected you. They're old high technology. They changed you from being an unmodified human into a nanite-enhanced human. Weren't you able to run faster and farther and to lift heavier objects?'
'Yes.' I nodded.
'That was because of the nanites,' Cerrelle said.
My stomach tightened and sank. If what she said were correct ... I was a demon, and so was she. Me - a Dzin master - a demon?
'We call ourselves Rykasha.' She smiled again, an expression warm and helpful, and just a hint patronizing. After a moment, she added, 'People who aren't nanite-enhanced call us demons.'
'But...' Aren't those just words? Aren't you demons, the ones who brought down the ancients? I didn't want to say anything out loud, but I might as well have done so.
Cerrelle shrugged apologetically. 'Your legends are partly correct. The inability of the average mite ... Dorchan ... to cope with the advantages of nanotech was what destroyed the ancients.'
My stomach growled.
You need to eat. Your blood sugar's low, and you'll have enough trouble dealing with the changes in your life even when it's normal. Are you going to behave?' The green eyes glinted, humorously, directly, and that honest directness told me, again, how much I missed Foerga. I had the feeling I was going to miss her for a long time.
'It appears my choices are limited.'
'For the moment. That will change once you get more settled.' Cerrelle's lips quirked momentarily. 'It might also be nice to know what to call you.'
'I'm sorry. I'm Tyndel. All this seems like a nightmare. So much has happened.' Hadn't I told her my name?
'It seems that way, I'm sure, but it's just the beginning. I'm sorry for being so direct in asking your name, but I had to ask because self-identification isn't the same as appellation. Early guides learned that.' She stood and pointed to a sliding door in the wall. 'That's a closet. There's a set of trousers and other clothes inside - and your boots. While you get dressed, I'll be waiting outside.' She slipped out the door as silently as she had entered.
For a moment, I just sat on the high bed. Then I rose. The cool floor tile somehow reassured me as I walked to the closet. The pale green shirt and trousers felt almost silk-smooth, but I had the sense that they were close to indestructible. My own boots seemed crude in comparison, but I was glad something of my past remained.
I tried the other door - a shower chamber and toilet of odd design. I washed my face and hands before I stepped out of the room into a wood-paneled hallway where Cerrelle waited.
'You seem to be adjusting. It's hard, but try to take it moment by moment. Your Dzin might help with that.'
I almost nodded to myself. Concentrate on being aware of what is; seek no explanations; seek but awareness. The mantra helped, and I squared my shoulders.
'If you're ready ... ?'
I did nod then, and she turned and walked quickly down the white-tiled corridor, her boots padding on the hard surface. I had to stretch my legs to catch her, and by the time I did, she'd pushed through another door.
The low murmur of conversation caught me. Some of it died away as I stood in what seemed to be a dining common, then resumed.
'... new convert ... Cerrelle's charge ...'
'... keep her busy.'
The redhead ignored the comments and walked along the end of the room to the far side. Cerrelle paused before a low console with several doors less than a half meter square and something like a miniature iconraiser's screen and keyboard. 'There's a menu here, and it does have some Dorchan dishes.'
I glanced around. There was no kitchen, yet the small dining area had a dozen diners, all with hot food. 'Another demon miracle machine?'
'I guess it looks that way, but it's just a different way of processing molecules into food. Try to think of it like that.' She lifted a card, one that was coated with a shimmering surface through which the printing appeared, and extended it to me. 'There's the menu. If you see something you like, press the numbers on the board there. I'll show you.'
Her own fingers tapped out the numbers, and a hum came from behind the far left door. Then a green light flashed over the door, and Cerrelle opened it, withdrawing a large slab of meat with an unfamiliar odor. Beside it was some form of steaming potato and what looked to be beans covered with buttered almonds.
'Steak. Beef protein. Rare. Quite good.' She nodded toward the tables. 'Join me when you decide. Drinks are there.' She pointed to a small table with several pitchers.
I read the list on the stiff and shining card. The printing was strange, angular, but recognizable, and that startled me momentarily. Somewhere half down the list was an entry I recognized - Orange Chicken Dorcha. I pressed the numbers, and the hum indicated the machine was at work.
I took the steaming dish to the table where Cerrelle sat, cutting her steak. She looked up and said gently, 'Don't forget a drink. You'll need plenty of liquid.'
So I got a large glass of water and seated myself, beginning to eat as my involuntary salivation told me just how hungry I was.
'How is it?' asked Cerrelle.
'It's good. Not the best, but very good.'