She whispered fiercely, close by his ear, “Sparkie, I’m afraid.” He held her tightly and did not answer.
55
Jerusha stood in the fiery hell-glow of the red-lit docking bay, beneath the vast umbrella of the suspended coin ship. The final ship, taking on the last of her police officers — the last off worlders to depart from Tiamat. In the frantic finality of the past few days the ships of the Assembly had already lifted into planetary orbit, into the company of the other coin ships already there to take on shuttle loads of die-hard merchants and exhausted Festival refugees.
She endured the inventories patiently, checked and rechecked the data from reports and records, trying to be certain that no one was left, nothing vital left undone, unsalvaged, unsealed. It was her responsibility to make certain that the job was thorough and complete. She had done the job to the best of her ability, making certain that her men left no power pack in place, no system unstripped, no outlet accessible. And all the while she had known, with a strange double vision, that tomorrow she would be trying to undo again everything that she had just undone today.
But by the gods, I won’t make it easy on myself! Knowing that if she finished the career that had meant so much to her once with an act of betrayal, she would never be able to build a new life on its foundation that would have any meaning. Nothing worth having is easy to get. She looked away from the loading of miscellaneous supplies, away from the cluster of blue uniforms and containers by the coin ship’s suspended loading foot. The ship, the docking bay, beyond it the spaceport’s throbbing complexity that was almost like a living organism — all that they symbolized, she was giving up. Not in a year, or a week, or even a day — in less than an hour, all that would be behind her, would be leaving her behind. She was giving it all up… for Carbuncle. And before the last starship left Tiamat space, it would send down the high-frequency signal that would demolish the fragile microprocessors that made virtually every piece of technology left on the planet function. The tech hoarders would hoard in vain, and Tiamat would be returned to technical ground zero. She remembered with sudden incongruity the sight of a windmill on a lonely hilltop on Ngenet Miroe’s plantation. Not quite ground zero. Remembering that she had had no idea of what use he could possibly have for a thing like that. There are none so blind as those who will not see. She smiled, as suddenly.
“Commander?”
She pulled her eyes back to the space around her, expecting one more request or verification. “Yes, I’m — Gundhalinu!” He saluted. His grin highlighted the spectral gauntness of his face; his uniform hung on him like something borrowed from a stranger.
“What the hell are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be—”
“I came to say good-bye, Commander.”
She broke off, set down the computer remote on the makeshift desk of empty shipping containers. “Oh.”
“KerlaTinde told me — that you were resigning, that you’re going to stay on Tiamat?” He sounded bewildered, as though he expected her to deny it.
“It’s true.” She nodded. “I’m staying here.”
“Why? Your reassignment? I heard about that, too.” His voice turned flat with anger. “Nobody likes it, Commander.”
I can think of one or two who were overjoyed. “Only partly because of that.” She frowned through him at the idea of the force chewing gossip about her resignation like old men in the town square. Having decided that it would be useless to complain, she had kept her anger in; but there was no way she could keep the fact of her humiliation from the others. And she had refused to discuss her decision or her resignation with anyone — whether out of fear that they would try to change her mind, or fear that they wouldn’t, she wasn’t sure.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her frown faded. “Ye gods, BZ. You’ve had trouble enough without me giving you another load.”
“Only half the trouble I’d have had if you hadn’t covered for me, Commander.” The point of his jaw sharpened with feeling. “I know if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t still have the right to wear this uniform. I know how much it’s always meant to you… a lot more than it ever meant to me, until now; because I never had to fight for it. And now you’re giving it up.” He looked down. “If I could, I’d do my damnedest to help you get this assignment changed. But I—” He was looking at his hands. “I’m not my father’s son, any more. ‘Inspector Gundhalinu’ is all I have left. I’m ten times as grateful to you that I still have that much.” He looked up at her again. “But all I can do in return is ask you, Why here? Why Tiamat? I don’t blame you for resigning — but hell, any world in the Hegemony is better than this one, if you want to make a new life for yourself. At least if you don’t like it you can leave it.”
She shook her head, with a small, resolute smile. “I’m not a quitter, BZ. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have something better I was going to. And I think I’ve found it here, unlikely as that sounds.” She glanced up and away, toward the line of high windows overlooking the field — the empty hall where Ngenet Miroe kept unseen watch on the Hegemony’s departure, waiting for the moment when she would become wholly and irrevocably a part of this world at last.
Gundhalinu followed the line of her glance, puzzled. “You always hated this world, even more than I did. What in the name of ten thousand gods could you have found—?”
“I’ll be swearing by just one, now.” She shook her head. “And working for Her too, I suppose.”
He looked blank. Comprehension came back into his eyes: “You mean… the Summer Queen? You mean Moon… you, and Moon?”
“That’s right.” She nodded. “How did you know, BZ? That she’d won.”
“She came to me, in the hospital; she told me.” The color faded from his voice. “I saw the mask of the Summer Queen. It was like a dream.” His hands moved in the air, touching something out of memory; his eyes closed. “She had Sparks with her.”
“BZ, are you going to be all right?”
“She asked me that, too.” He opened his eyes. “A man without armor is a defenseless man, Commander.” He smiled, bravely, barely. “But maybe he’s a freer man for it. This world… this world would have broken me. But Moon showed me that even I could bend. There’s more to me, more to the universe, than I suspected. Room for all the dreams I ever had, and all the nightmares: heroes in the gutters and in the mirror; saints in the frozen wasteland; fools and liars on the throne of wisdom, and hands reaching out in hunger that will never be filled… Anything becomes possible, after you find the courage to admit that nothing is certain.” His smile twitched self-consciously. Jerusha listened in silent disbelief.
“Life used to look like cut crystal to me, Commander — sharp and clear and perfect. My fantasies stayed in my pockets where they belonged. But now…” He shrugged. “Those clean hard edges break up the light into rainbows, and everything gets soft and hazy. I don’t know if I’ll ever see straight again.” A forlorn note crept back into his voice.
But you’ll be a better Blue for it. Jerusha saw his eyes search the vastness of the sunken field, settle on the nearest exit, as though he expected that somehow his new vision would grant him one last glimpse of Moon. “No, BZ. She isn’t here. The star port is forbidden ground to her.”
His gaze sharpened and cleared abruptly. “Yes, ma’am. I know the law.” But it told her he understood now that even the laws of nature were imperfect; that the laws of men were no less flawed than the men who made them; that even he could realize what Moon was and what she, Jerusha, intended to help her do… and look the other way. “Maybe it’s for the best.” Not even believing that.