“You hardly touch your meal. And after all the trouble your finest chefs go to to please us. This canawba rind be excellent.” He spoke Klostan easily; an accomplished linguist, like most Kharemoughi Techs. But what else has he got to do with his time?
She smiled insipidly. Gods, get me out of here—”I not eat many twelve-course dinners in my line of work.” Her own language felt more foreign on her tongue than Tiamatan, after so many years. “I guess I not be up to the challenge.” Any challenge, any more.
“Try the melon, Commander.” He nodded as she picked up her serrated spoon obediently. “To enjoy good food be the only way to survive the excruciating boredom of these state affairs, I say. And to drink good liquors—”
So that’s what loosened your tongue. She ate another spoonful of melon, suddenly realizing that against her will she had enjoyed it. Oh, what the hell — live in a dream world for an hour; if II have to last you a lifetime. Pretend that it’s all turned out the way you wanted it to, that it won’t all end with the final departure. She looked out across the windowed hall, into the awesome, red-gold pit
M, of the landing field, where the ships of the Assembly had come to rest like dim cinders, like a thousand other battered coin ships, after the fiery splendor of their descent. The energized grids of the field and its peripheral bays were crusted with light, like the congealing surface of a lava flow. And for a moment she felt a surge of pride and pleasure at the sight of humanity’s most incredible accomplishments, at her presence among its first citizens, at the ever more glorious future that lay ahead… the siren promise that had lured her away from her homeworld. And for what… ? She looked back again along the tree-form of the banquet tables, the faces like animate leaves shifting in a wind, to Sirus’s face, thinking suddenly, painfully, BZ… this moment should have belonged to you, not me.
“Tell me, Commander, how happened you to—”
“Excuse me, Commander.” The sergeant of the guard intruded on their space with apologetic effrontery. “Excuse me, sir,” to the First Secretary.
“What is it, TessraBarde?” Jerusha couldn’t recognize the peculiar urgency in his tone.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but I thought you’d want to know — we just got Inspector Gundhalinu back.”
Jerusha’s spoon clattered on the petals of her flower-form dish. “He’s dead.”
“No, ma’am, I saw him myself. Some native woman brought him in. We’ve got a medic checking him over now, down in the hospital—”
“Where is he?” Jerusha threw the question at the nearest technician as she entered the examining room from the hall of the hospital whig. She had left TessraBarde to make an explanation to the First Secretary, hoping but not really caring if her apologies had been sufficient. “Inspector Gundhalinu—”
“In there, Commander.” The woman pointed with her chin, hands full of equipment.
Jerusha went on through the second doorway without stopping, still only half believing that the room would not be empty. “Gundhalinu!” It was not empty, and his name burst out of her with more feeling than she had intended.
He turned to look at her from where he sat, feet hanging over the edge of the examining table, stripped to the waist while a blue-clad med tech ran a diagnosticator down his chest. She counted each and every rib standing out like staves along his side. She saw his face, felt disbelief as it registered: gaunt, unshaven, gap toothed. She saw him grope for a shirt that wasn’t there as she came to a stop before him. He waved the medic away, moved his hands in the air, and finally folded them across his chest like an embarrassed little boy. “Commander—”
Yes, by all the gods; it is you, BZ… She controlled the urge to ruin his dignity and her own completely by embracing him like a mother. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, Gundhalinu,” grinning until she thought she couldn’t stand it.
“Gods! Excuse me, Commander; I didn’t mean to see you looking like this… that is, I meant, presentably—”
“BZ, all I give a damn about is whether that body’s the real thing. If it is, then this celebration upstairs isn’t pointless after all.”
His face fumbled with a smile. “As real as they come.” He slouched forward, putting up a hand to catch an ugly cough.
“Are you all right? What’s wrong with him, medic?” Jerusha turned to the technician, realized for the first time that there was a fourth person in the room, sitting quietly in the corner.
The medic shrugged. “Exhaustion. Walking pneumo—”
“Nothing a couple of antibiotic lozenges can’t take care of,” Gundhalinu said abruptly, cutting him off. “And a hot meal for my friend and me.” He glanced at the silent fourth party with a quick smile, focused official disapproval on the medic like a gun.
“I’ll see what I can do, Inspector.” The technician left the room, his face utterly expressionless. Jerusha wondered whether he was hiding irritation or simply laughter.
“If I’d known, I would have brought you my leftovers. The first half of my state dinner would have fed the starving masses of a planet.” Curiosity pulled her around even as she spoke, looking past sinks and shelves filled with medical obscurities, to study their silent observer. A fair-skinned girl draped in a white parka, with a yellowing bruise on her face; a native? Jerusha frowned. The girl looked back at her, not with the cowed timidity she had expected, but with a measuring stare. And there was something familiar
Gundhalinu followed her gaze, said almost too quickly, “Commander, this is the Summer woman who saved my life, who got me back in time for the final departure. Moon, come and meet Commander PalaThion; if there’s anyone on this planet who can help you reach your cousin, she can.” He looked back. “I was taken prisoner by bandits, ma’am, and so was she. But she—”
Jerusha let his words roll over her unheeded. Moon… Summer . Moon Dawntreader Summer! The kidnapped innocent, Ngenet’s murdered guest, the Queen’s lost clone… the Queen’s clone. Yes, she knew that face now, now that she saw it clearly at last. A cold tremor fell through her: What is she doing here? How can she be here, how can she be the one who brought him back? Not her-The girl came to stand beside Gundhalinu; his hand closed over hers protectively. Doesn’t he know she’s proscribed; doesn’t he remember her? “Commander PalaThion?” Moon smiled with subtle anxiety.
“What are you doing—”
“Commander, I take responsibility for bringing her—” Gundhalinu broke off as a crowd of voices filled the outer room. Jeusha saw his face light up, and then flash panic, as he realized what language they spoke. “Sainted—! Commander… Moon,” jerking the parka off her back, “I need your coat.”
Moon let him take it, even helped him struggle into the sleeves as though she somehow understood his embarrassment. He slid to his feet alongside the table, sealing the jacket up the front as the First Secretary and the Speaker entered, trailing an exquisite wake of half a dozen banquet guests and their companions. Jerusha saluted them, saw Gundhalinu salute in a rictus of pride.
“Commander.” First Secretary Sirus acknowledged them with a nod. “When we learned that the lost officer was one of our own people, we decided that we ought to come and congratulate him ourselves on his safe return.” He looked at Gundhalinu, and at Moon; back at Gundhalinu again, as though he couldn’t believe a Kharemoughi had ever looked like that.
“Inspector BZ Gundhalinu, sadhu.” Gundhalinu saluted again as though he had to prove it. Jerusha was suddenly glad that she had spent the last month of sleepless nights listlessly learning spoken Sandhi for this occasion. She still could not sort out the convolutions of the rank forms. “Technician of the second rank.