Hifela’s words echoed in her head. Y’tuh gemae le. Net ya neiu.
One of the People had tried to kill her. And the father of her flesh had saved her. She had to acknowledge that paradox, and deal with it.
Or become a cartoon character herself.
It was time to stop putting off the inevitable. She went to see Kennedy — who went off like a bomb as soon as the door was opened.
‘Where’s Leo? What have you done to him?’ The woman took a step towards Diema, not in the least deterred by the two Elohim who stood, stoical and watchful, to either side of her. ‘If he’s dead—’
‘He’s alive,’ Diema said. ‘But only just. Sit down, Heather. Please.’
Kennedy obeyed — perhaps because hearing about Tillman’s condition had taken some of the strength from her, or perhaps because she’d registered that Diema had just used her Christian name and knew from this that something significant had changed.
Diema sent the Messengers away with a curt gesture and closed the door behind them.
‘Tell me,’ Kennedy said, her voice tight. ‘Tell me how he is.’
Diema recapped the blood loss, the chest and shoulder wounds, the continuing coma. It was a concise, full and factual summary. Her teachers would have been proud of her.
‘But he’ll recover,’ Kennedy said, not quite asking, still less pleading. ‘This is Leo. He’s going to get back up again.’
‘They think so,’ Diema said. ‘Everything except the shoulder. They say the damage to the muscle was very severe. They did what they could to knit it back together again, but they can’t promise.’
‘And who are they, Diema?’ Kennedy demanded savagely. ‘The doctors you trusted his life to? This place isn’t a hospital. It’s a prison. So where in God’s name do you source your doctors from?’
‘It’s not a prison,’ Diema said. ‘It’s just a safe house. The doctors are on staff here, but they’re in touch with other doctors in Ginat’Dania. They’ve spoken to the most skilful of our healers, taken advice. And those other doctors are on their way here, now. I asked for them to be sent and they’re coming.’ This wasn’t a boast: it was just a statement of fact. Kuutma had promised her all the support she needed, without question. She had told him she needed this.
‘I want to see him,’ Kennedy said.
‘He’s unconscious. He won’t know you’re there.’
‘I want to see him.’
Diema nodded. ‘All right.’
‘And Rush. What happened to Rush? I want to see both of them.’
‘Yes,’ Diema said. ‘I promise. But I’ve got something else to ask you first. The mission has reached—’
‘Oh my god,’ Kennedy raged. ‘Don’t. Don’t even talk about that. We did what we could. We did everything we possibly could, but we were outclassed. We should have known that before we went in. It was not our fault that the mission was a fiasco!’
‘No.’
‘If it had been anyone but Leo, I would have known it was madness.’ Kennedy was speaking to herself now, rather than to Diema. She shook her head in dismayed wonder. ‘I thought he was some kind of bloody Superman. I thought he couldn’t fail. And so I let him go up against those … those monsters, and I went up against them myself. As if we had a chance. But we didn’t. We failed because we had to fail, Diema.’
‘We didn’t fail.’
‘Because nobody could take on a whole—’
‘Heather, we didn’t fail.’
Finally, Kennedy wound down, assimilating what she was being told. ‘What?’ she muttered, confused. ‘What are you saying? They all died. Or else escaped. We got nothing.’
‘We got everything we needed. I know where Ber Lusim is. And we’re going in. We’re just waiting for the equipment. That’s why I came here. To ask you if you want to come. I think you’ve earned that right. And I think …’ She hesitated. It was hard to frame the words, around the bulky, ugly concepts that they covered. ‘I think you’ll be safer if you stick with me than if I leave you here.’
Kennedy’s unwavering stare was full of surprise and mistrust. Perhaps there was an accusation there, too.
‘I’m not asking you to kill anyone,’ Diema said. ‘You already told me that wasn’t something you felt you could do.’ She’d seen the police reports from the Gellert Hotel by this time and knew what Kennedy had done with a sica to a trained assassin, but she felt that might be a conversation best left for another time. ‘For your insights. I need you as a detective.’
Kennedy was implacable — and bitter. ‘To detect what? Something you say you’ve already found? Do you think I just fell out of a tree, girl? Do you think I don’t know how you spoon-fed us all the way down the line? You let Leo get a fix on your bike so he’d follow you to that factory. You let us find Toller’s book for ourselves and then went ahead and told us what was in it. You only needed Leo to cut throats — and you only needed me to bring in Leo. Which, God forgive me, I did. But I’m all done, now. You go on and play your games.’
‘But it was you that brought us here,’ Diema said. ‘You and the boy. You put together all the things you knew and made sense out of them. Gave me a direction. I want you to be with me when I go into Ber Lusim’s house, in case that’s needed again. Whatever’s in there, whatever he’s still got planned, it might help me if I can see it through your eyes.’
‘That’s a pity. They’re staying right here, along with the rest of me. Along with Leo.’
Diema’s impatience made her reckless. She slapped Kennedy hard across the face.
Kennedy’s response, before she’d even registered the pain of the blow, was to slam her fist into Diema’s jaw. Diema took the blow without a sound, without even wincing.
‘Your pain,’ Diema said, feeling the thin trickle of blood running down from the corner of her mouth, ‘and my pain. Are they the same?’
Kennedy had stepped back, arms raised, readying herself for a fight. It didn’t seem to bother her that it was likely to be a very short fight. But the question troubled her. She dropped her hands again, nonplussed. Then after a moment she shrugged it off, making a gesture of disgust and dismissal.
‘Please get out of here,’ she told Diema. ‘Let me see Leo, or get out. I’ve got nothing for you.’
‘Answer the question. Your pain—’
‘How do I know if they’re the same?’ Kennedy yelled. ‘I’m not inside your mind, am I? I don’t know what you feel. Or if you feel. I don’t know anything about you except your name, and even that’s kind of a grey area.’
‘But we’re all the same,’ Diema said. ‘Under the skin. That’s what you believe, isn’t it?’
Kennedy stared at her, angry and incredulous. ‘Never mind what I believe. It’s not what you believe. You believe in a separate creation — your people and the rest of the world. The chosen ones and the dregs at the bottom of the barrel.’
‘So which of us should care the most about a million dead?’ Diema asked.
She didn’t expect an answer, but she was pleased when the woman reacted — a succession of emotions appearing briefly in her face, like a slide show. At home in Ginat’Dania, Diema was used to saying what she thought, and even more used to refusing to do so. But in the Adamite world, talking was like fighting. You said what would give you advantage.
‘You don’t need me,’ Kennedy said. ‘You’ve got everything you need.’ But there was no conviction in her voice, and a moment later she spoke again. ‘Did you manage to take one of Ber Lusim’s people alive, after all? Have you been interrogating him all this time?’
Diema was certain that she’d won, but she didn’t let that awareness show in her face or her tone.