She couldn't help it. She laughed, and he cocked his head at her.
So much for the frigid-bitch theory, Josif said.
You should see me in bed, Kyaren said, joking, and then was appalled to realize that instead of averting his attempt at seduction she had brought up the topic instead. He avoided any of the obvious repartee, however, and changed the subject.
Your big mistake today was asking Warvel about history. How would he know? He could stand in the middle of a war and not know that anything had happened. For him there aren't any events-only trends. It's statistical myopia, a disease endemic to our trade.
I just wanted to know. How it all works. He blew it up out of proportion, I'm amazed that the word spread so quickly.
Josif smiled at her, reached out and touched her arm. She did not appreciate the intimacy of the gesture, but tolerated it. I'm awfully bored, aren't you? he asked. I mean, bored with the whole business.
She nodded.
I mean, who the hell cares about any of this? It's got to be done, like sewage and teaching children how to read and all that, but no one really enjoys it.
I would, Kyaren said. At least, I would enjoy it at a higher level.
Higher than what?
Higher than punching pension information into a terminal.
Go up fifteen ranks and they're still all asses.
I wouldn't be, Kyaren said, then realized she had sounded too intense. Did she really want to confide her ambitions to this boy?
What are you, immune from asshood? Anybody who presumes to make decisions about the lives of other people is an ass. Josif laughed, only this time he seemed embarrassed, made a gesture as if to draw a mask down his face, and, as if he had actually donned a mask, his face went frivolous and innocent again, with any hint of deep feeling gone. I'm boring you, he said.
How could you bore me? You're the first person to talk to me about anything other than statistics in three weeks.
It's because you reek of competence, you know. A week before you got here, everyone heard about your scores on the Princeton examinations. Pretty impressive. We were all set to hate you.
Now you say we. You are part of the group, aren't you?
Josif shook his head, and his face went serious again. No. But in the opposite direction from you. You they shut out because you're better than they are, they're afraid of you. Me they shut out because I'm beneath contempt.
When he said it, it occurred to Kyaren that he believed that assessment of himself. It also occurred to her that if she let this conversation go on any longer, she would not be able to get rid of this man easily.
Thanks for the company at lunch, she said. Actually, though, you needn't make a habit of It.
He looked surprised. What did I say? Why are you mad?
She smiled coldly. I'm not. Her best you-sure-as-hell-can't-get-in-bed-with-me voice was enough to freeze a tropical river; she imagined the icicles forming on his nose as she turned her back on him, walked away, and instantly regretted it. This was the most human contact she had had in weeks. In years, in fact-he seemed more personally concerned than anyone she had known at Princeton. And she had cut him off without even learning his name.
She did not know he was following her until he caught up with her in the glass corridor that crossed a strip of jungle between the lunchroom and the work buildings. He took her by the arm, firmly enough that she could not easily pull away, but not so firmly that she even wanted to. She didn't slow down, but he matched her pace perfectly.
Are you sure? he asked.
About what? she answered, coldly again.
About not being friends. I need a friend, you know. Even a cold-hearted, suspicious, scared-to-death lady like you. While of course your social life is so full that you'd have to look months ahead in your appointment book to find an evening you could spend with me.
She turned to him, prepared more by reflex than by desire to cut him dead, retrieve her arm, and go back to her office alone. But an inadvertent smile ruined the effect -she said nothing, just tried to stifle the grin, and he mimicked her, struggling comically to force his face into a frown and finally failing. She laughed out loud.
I'm Josif, he said. You're Kyaren, right?
She nodded, trying to get rid of the smile.
Let's pretend you think I'm worth having around. Let's pretend you want to see me tonight. Let's pretend that you give me your room number, and we go walking in the Zone so that you don't have to worry about me trying to get you in bed. Let's pretend you trust me.
She pretended. It wasn't hard. Thirty-two seventeen, she said. Then he let go of her arm and she went back to her office alone, feeling strangely delighted, the humiliation of the morning's reprimand from Warvel forgotten. For the first time since she had first come to Earth, she genuinely liked someone. Not a lot, but enough that spending time with him might even be fun. The idea of having fun appealed to her, though she was not altogether sure what fun felt like.
To her surprise, she had only been at her desk for a few minutes when one of her co-workers, a parrot-beaked woman who did actuarial estimates for the population at large, came over to her and sat on the edge of it.
Kyaren, the woman said.
Yes? Kyaren asked, suspicious and prepared openly for hostility, though inwardly she hoped vaguely that this would actually be a friendly overture-she was in the mood for it, now.
That bastard from Death, Josif.
Yes?
Just a friendly warning. Don't bother with him.
Why not?
Parrot-beak's expression grew darker-she was apparently not used to being questioned when she gave unsolicited advice.
Because he's a whore.
That was so far from her impression of Josif that Kyaren could only look surprised and say, What?
You heard me.
But-he didn't try anything, didn't offer anything.
Not to you the woman said, rolling her eyes impatiently heavenward. You're a woman.
And the woman got up and went to her own desk, leaving Kyaren to punch money into the lives of old people while wondering if it was true, insisting that it made no difference, and knowing that the thought of Josif as a homosexual prostitute completely destroyed her delight at the quarter-hour she had spent with him,
She was tempted not to answer his voice at the door. I'm not here, she thought. Not to you.
But when he spoke a second time, she couldn't resist getting up from her bed and opening the door. Just to see him and confirm for herself whether it was true or not.
Hi, Josif said, grinning.
She did not smile back. One question. True or false. Are you a homosexual whore?
His face went ugly, and he didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, quietly, You see? You don't have to be one of the in-group to get the dirt on someone else.
He hadn't said no, and her contempt for people who sold themselves became dominant. She started closing the door.
Wait a minute, he said. You didn't answer my question. You asked two questions. She digested that, All right then.
I'm not a whore, he said. And the other just guarantees you're safe from me tonight, doesn't it?
The whole thing was ugly. Today had been fun, but now she could not think of him except in a sexual context. She knew about homosexuality, of course; the mental picture she had of the act between men was an ugly one, and now she could not stop herself from picturing him performing that act. It made him ugly. His slenderness, the delicacy of his face, the innocence in his eyes-they became deceptive, repulsive to her now.
I'm sorry, she said. I just want to be alone. No you don't, he said. I know what I want. No you don't.