"You are not frightened by the prospect?"
"It is no more real than anything else I experience or expect to experience. I would not say that it is the most agreeable fate. I should try to avoid it, of course. But if it became inevitable, I hope I should perish with good grace."
Li Pao shook his head, amused. "You are incorrigible. I hoped to convince you, now that you, of all here, have rediscovered your humanity. Yet perhaps fear is no good thing. Perhaps it is only we, the fearful, who attempt to instil our own sense of urgency into others, who avoid reality, who deceive others into believing that only conflict and unhappiness lead us to the truth."
"It is a view expressed even at the End of Time, Li Pao." The Iron Orchid joined them, sporting an oddly wrought garment, stiff and metallic and giving off a glow; it framed her face and her body, which was naked and of a conventional, female shape. "You hear it from Werther de Goethe. From Lord Shark. And, of course, from Mongrove himself."
"They are perverse. They adopt such attitudes merely to provide contrast."
"And you, Li Pao?" asked Jherek. "Why do you adopt them?"
"They were instilled into me as a child. I am conditioned, if you like, to make the associations you describe."
"No instincts guide you, then?" asked the Iron Orchid. She laid a languid arm across her son's shoulders. Apparently absent-minded, she stroked his cheek.
"You speak of instincts? You have none, save the seeking of pleasure." The little Chinese shrugged. "You have need of none, it could be said."
"You do not answer her question." Jherek Carnelian found himself a fraction discomfited by his mother's attentions. His eyes sought for Amelia, but she was not in sight.
"I argue that the question is meaningless, without understanding of its import."
"Yet…?" murmured the Iron Orchid, and her finger tickled Jherek's ear.
"My instincts and my reason are at one," said Li Pao. "Both tell me that a race which struggles is a race which survives."
"We struggle mightily against boredom," she said. "Are we not inventive enough for you, Li Pao?"
"I am unconvinced. The prisoners in your menageries — the time-travellers and the space-travellers — they condemn you. You exploit them. You exploit the universe. This planet and perhaps the star around which it circles draws its energy from a galaxy which, itself, is dying. It leeches on its fellows. Is that just?"
Jherek had been listening closely. "My Amelia said something not dissimilar. I could understand her little better, Li Pao. Your world and hers seem similar in some respects and, from what I know of them, menageries are kept."
"Prisons, you mean? This is mere sophistry, Jherek Carnelian, as you must realize. We have prisons for those who transgress against society. Those who occupy them are there because they gambled — normally they staked their personal freedom against some form of personal gain."
"The time-travellers often believe they stake their lives, as do the space-travellers. We do not punish them. We look after them."
"You show them no respect," said Li Pao.
The Iron Orchid pursed her lips in a kind of smile. "Some are too puzzled, poor things, to understand their fate, but those who are not soon settle. Are you not thoroughly settled, Li Pao? You are rarely missed at parties. I know many other time-travellers and space-travellers who mingle with us, scarcely ever taking up their places in the menageries. Do we use force to keep them there, my dear? Do we deceive them?"
"Sometimes."
"Only as we deceive one another, for the pleasure of it."
Once more, Li Pao preferred to change ground. He pointed a chubby finger at Jherek. "And what of 'your Amelia'? Was she pleased to be manipulated in your games? Did she take pleasure in being made a pawn?"
Jherek was surprised. "Come now, Li Pao. She was never altered physically — and certainly into nothing fishy."
Li Pao put his finger to a tooth and sighed.
The Iron Orchid pulled Jherek away, still with her arm about his shoulders. "Come, fruit of my loins. You will excuse us, Li Pao?"
Li Pao's bow was brief.
"I have seen Mrs. Underwood," the Iron Orchid said to Jherek, as they flew higher to where only a few people drifted. "She looks more beautiful than ever. She was good enough to compliment me on my costume. You recognize the character?"
"I think not."
"Mrs. Underwood did, when I reminded her of the legend. A beautiful little story I had one of the cities tell me. I did not hear all the story, for the city had forgotten much, but enough was gained to make the costume. It is the tale of Old Florence and the Night of Gales and of the Lady in the Lamp, who tended to the needs of five hundred soldiers in a single day! Imagine! Five hundred!" She licked purple lips and grinned. "Those ancients! I have it in mind to re-enact the whole story. There are soldiers here, too, you know. They arrived fairly recently and are in the menagerie of the Duke of Queens. But there are only twenty or so."
"You could make some of your own."
"I know, flesh of my flesh, but it would not be quite the same. It is your fault."
"How, maternal, eternal flower?"
"Great stock is placed on authenticity, these days. Reproductions, where originals can be discovered, are an absolute anathema. And they become scarcer, they vanish so quickly."
"Time-travellers?"
"Naturally. The space-travellers remain. But of what use are they?"
"Morphail has spoken to you, headiest of blooms?"
"Oh, a little, my seed. But all is Warning. All is Prophecy. He rants. You cannot hear him; not the words. I suppose Mrs. Underwood shall be gone soon. Perhaps then things will return to a more acceptable pattern."
"Amelia remains with me," said Jherek, detecting, he thought, a wistful note in his mother's voice.
"You keep her company exclusively," said the Iron Orchid. "You are obsessed. Why so?"
"Love," he told her.
"But, as I understand it, she makes no expression of love. You scarcely touch!"
"Her customs are not as ours."
"They are crude, then, her customs!"
"Different."
"Ah!" His mother was dismissive. "She inhabits your whole mind. She affects your taste. Let her steer her own course, and you yours. Who knows, later those courses might again cross. I heard something of your adventures. They have been furious and stunning. Both of you need to drift, to recuperate, to enjoy lighter company. Is it you, bloom of my womb, keeping her by your side, when she would run free?"
"She is free. She loves me."
"I say again — there are no signs."
"I know the signs."
"You cannot describe them?"
"They lie in gesture, tone of voice, expression in the eyes."
"Ho, ho! This is too subtle for me, this telepathy! Love is flesh touched against flesh, the whispered word, the fingernail drawn delicately down the spine, the grasped thigh. There is no throb, Jherek, to this love of yours. It is pale — it is mean, eh?"
"No, giver of life. You feign obtuseness, I can tell. But why?"
Her glance was intense, for her, but cryptic.
"Mother? Strongest of orchids?"
But she had twisted a power-ring and was falling like a stone, with no word of reply. He saw her drop and disappear into a large crowd which swarmed at about the halfway point, below.
He found his mother's behaviour peculiar. She exhibited moods he had never encountered before. She appeared to have lost some of her wit and substituted malice (for which she had always had a delicious penchant, but the malice needed the wit to make it entertaining); she appeared to show a dislike for Amelia Underwood which she had not shown earlier. He shook his head and fingered his chin. How was it, that she could not, as she had always done in the past, delight in his delight? With a shrug, he aimed himself for a lower level.