Chapter Fifteen
Ilikan Marankeil wasn’t paying much attention to the weather.
He left the dome of Ariyalsynai in the morning, early, before the sun had risen, wearing nothing but a thin shirt, pants, and broken-in boots, and headed into the wild lands looking for a place where he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone shouting over the inefficacy of economical sanctions against Tulor as he trekked past students loitering around the gardens of the Lunei Science Center.
Specialization training was over for the tenday, and Marankeil wanted away from it all. The transports ran all night; he caught one that was completely empty and almost slept through the gate outside the dome, where the connecting train continued on to Kerrai.
Dark grey skies held off the dawn outside the dome, low dismal clouds which hung over the bare skeletons of the trees of the rural land beyond; a light mist lingered in the morning air. He found he liked the chill, and the grey skies. It was like walking into the murkier realms of human consciousness; the weather incited his mind towards philosophical reflection, but damn it—he was freezing!
What was it about the mist that fascinated him? He wondered. He seemed to like it against all reason.
If he thought about it, he would have realized that in his mind, the mist separated reality from the realm of dreams; he ascribed a supernatural power to an environmental phenomenon that his reasoning assured him was entirely natural and causal.
In the mists, the segments of time seemed to run together, as though he could step over the present and back into the past, or into the future. What ludicracy was this? He would never have admitted this feeling to anyone. Perhaps he felt this way because the mists obscured the dome entirely; he was lost in the primitive foothills of the wild lands, seemingly alone.
There were no mists within the environmentally controlled dome of Ariyalsynai. There was no rain. Had people once thought the rain superfluous? Didn’t they miss it? Sunshine filtered down from the outside world and was often augmented by reflective mirrors; wind circulated within the dome by a mechanical process. The closest thing to rain had been the regimented showers of the gardens and arboretums; when he was young, Marankeil had found himself waiting for them, standing under the trees in the arboretums staring skyward, like a heathen waiting to embrace his religion.
Glorious sun-kissed days of the warm season—was it so surprising that he loved them as well? For did not all of humanity enjoy the warmth, the light, the beauty—the independence that the heat allowed the adventurous man? Yes, he did; yet there was at no moment a time when he was not aware that baleful radioactive light was killing them all, that this empyreal light had ushered in the old-age radiation disease. Later, he learned that the radiation permeated the mist, that the mist was no protection against the radiation, but this seemed hardly to matter; the prejudices he had formed in his youth still had an impact on his attitude and behavior.
That morning, however, he was trying not to think about the weather and just live in the moment without excessive contemplation.
He started walking, walking aimlessly into the trees, crunching over the white rime on the bare ground, fallen twigs, and scattered grasses. The sun had passed overhead when he returned towards the dome, set back to civilization by hunger pangs. He passed within a hundred paces of the station when he stopped, conscious of some presence near him.
He was aware of the shadow of the trees cast before him; he couldn’t stop staring at the shadow on the ground. Was it moving?
He turned around sharply.
Someone had ducked behind a tree. He hadn’t seen the person, but the sound hit his senses and was duly processed.
“Who’s there?” He demanded, his voice turning hoarse. He cleared his throat, gazing about in curiosity for signs of footprints. Few people ever came outside the dome...
He knew it was the shadow. After so long, it had found him again.
But he wasn’t a child anymore, a poor creature afraid of the dark.
It was time to confront his nemesis.
“Show yourself,” he demanded in a voice that was strong, ice-edged.
He waited, his eyes narrowing critically, squinting in the sylvan gloom as though this would help him to see better.
After a moment, he heard a crunching sound.
A woman dressed in a lilac-colored coat the shade of wild sherin flowers darted her head and shoulders from around the sheltering tree; with an abashed smile, she stepped over a clot of dried twigs in her way, scratching up her exposed calves as she hurdled a bush and stood in the open path, hurriedly straightening her attire.
The sight of her, almost ridiculous in her fretting, prompted a smile that welled from deep in his senses. He almost recanted his firm belief that all women were actresses, watching her. What woman would try to act so ridiculous?
He took several easy strides towards her to check out the scratches.
“Really, I’m fine,” she protested, raising a defensive hand as he came towards her. He ignored her, squatted down to take a look at her leg, brazenly reached a hand down to examine it.
It was remarkably well-formed, but there weren’t any scratches on it.
“Didn’t you cut yourself?” He asked, scratching his own lip in confusion.
“No,” she said. “But the coat tore. I’ll just have the android units at the Lunei Center sew it for me.”
“The Lunei Center? That’s where I’m training—”
He stood up, facing her, stopped.
The woman was lovely—quite pretty, but he had seen prettier ones in his life, yet there was something particularly enchanting about the shade of her eyes.
“I’m looking for vegetation samples,” she lied quickly. “Someone forgot to leave the keln leaves we collected in the hydration unit and they’re husks now.”
“You’re a scientist?” He asked. “I mean—a botanist in specialization training?”
“A biologist, actually. I should be heading back now—”
“But you haven’t gathered your specimens.” Marankeil observed. “I have all day, so how about I help you?”
“That really won’t be necessary—”
“Well, then, I’ll just take a turn and follow you this time.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were following me.”
“I wasn’t. I was looking—”
“Shouldn’t you have gone south if you wanted any keln leaf specimens that the frost hasn’t hit?”
“Well...”
“You know, I think I’ve seen your face around the center before.” He commented, scrutinizing her. “Nor are you dressed properly for a foray.”
“That’s all a matter of taste—”
“You were following me,” he declared.
She hesitated, the look in her eyes like a trapped animal; he was surprised though, that there was no betrayal of accompanying fear there. There was a mark of steel in her eyes, beneath the soft, sea blue pools.
“Yes, I was following you,” she admitted finally.
“Well, you found me.” He said, scratching his neck, blinking disinterestedly for all the world, but his eye kept straying to her neckline. “So, are you going to tell me what you want, or do I have to guess?”
She appeared flustered a moment, as though she hadn’t ever anticipated such a confrontation.
“I wanted to get to know you.”
Now he was interested.
“You did?”
“I wanted to see if all I had heard about you was true—to see what I could do to—to—”
“To what? You’ve got to stop stuttering and just say it.”
“I can’t—”
He stopped; she was shivering. “You’re cold,” he pronounced. “Let me... I left my coat,” he snapped his fingers in irritation. “Well, why don’t we just hurry back to the transport, since we’re bo
th obviously going back to the same place now that your game is up—”
“It wasn’t a game,” she insisted, with a dark, serious tone most women could never pull off effectively.
He liked her better already.
She made no protest, though, as he took her arm to lead her; then, just as they neared the transport, she cast a glance back over her shoulder. He watched with a keen eye.
“What are you looking at?” He asked.
“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just a shadow that... seems to follow me from a distance.”
His hand on her arm abruptly tightened as they stepped towards the dome.
“Well, you have the advantage.” Marankeil said, once they were sitting on the transport.
“What?”
“You know who I am, and I haven’t got a clue who you are.”
“Elera,” she answered. “Elera Erlenkov.”
“Well, Elera, do you mind explaining how you know me?”
“I work in the building one over from yours. I see you around from time to time.”
He digested her answer.
“Whatever made you decide to study biology?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Hey, don’t be defensive. I just wondered.”
“Well, maybe I study it because animal motives are so much easier to comprehend than those of human beings. Isn’t that why you’re into artificial intelligence? You don’t get along well with people, do you?”
“I won’t take that comment as an insult, but I rather thought we were getting on marvelously.”
“I mean you don’t get along with most people. Not many people spend their morning tramping around in frost—”
“No, not many, but you did.” He pointed out.
“I had my reasons.”
“Don’t we all? But if you don’t tell me what your reasons were, I’ll have to assume that you followed me because of something as meaningless as an infatuation—”
“I wanted to know if you were the one who created the prototype on The Memory Project.”
His expression worked into a blank stare.
“How did you know about that?” He demanded.
“I heard a rumor that someone at our center had created the computer who could project memories and electronic thoughts to other computers, and so I did some investigating—”
“No one knows about that,” he said, looking at her. “What kind of person—” He shook his head. “You aren’t what I thought at all.”
“What did you take me for?”
“No, actually, I didn’t think you were foolish,” he amended himself. “But I could see that you were trying hard to project that image.”
“And if I was?”
“It’s too late. You’ve exposed yourself to me,” he said. “Some people protect themselves by shielding their true natures, but you’ve made a blunder—”
“I didn’t intend—”
“Don't even think of apologizing for being intelligent and having purpose or ambition. But don’t even think of denying any of it. I won’t let you, because frankly, I couldn’t be more pleased. Yet I understand the necessity of the play; you have every right to shield yourself from the mindless creatures who would exploit or denounce you.”
“You’re very critical of people.”
“Yes.”
“Are you always so severe? Not everyone deserves censure; the students at the center—”
“Are a mixed bag, just as society is a mixed bag.”
“Maybe. But everyone has potential—” She stopped herself; his expression was stony, revealing nothing, but she seemed to be looking past him. “You don’t believe me. But you did once.”
The way he stared at her almost betrayed a hint of his surprise.
“Yes,” he said after a time. “Before I grew up, I always attributed more character and competence to people than they deserved.” Marankeil’s mouth formed the barest hint of a smile, but a smile entirely ironic and in no way amused. “I attributed order and purpose to the world, not knowing that the world is tediously monotonous and functions by simplicities and half-hearted efforts. Not to be mean unnecessarily to anyone, but it is true.”
She said nothing for a while; the train whisked along, suspended by electromagnetic power, with but the faintest sound of winds buffeting it. Outside, the white towers of the inner city ring loomed; they were approaching their stop.
“When I was young,” she said, “I used to fall asleep on these things. My friend was always talking about philosophy, but I thought I didn’t have time for it. I tried not to dwell on human nature. Now I find myself fascinated by it.”
“When I was young, I wanted to save the world,” he said suddenly. “Silly, huh? Don’t laugh,” he warned. “Well, I did. I wanted to save people from their worst selves. I wanted people to be remembered and honored. I wanted to protect them, to inspire them, to draw out their best—”
“Why? For what purpose?”
“To make the world better. But then I realied that people in general don’t care enough about what could be better.”
“No more,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to hear another word against people in general. I’m one of those ‘people in general’.”
“I wasn’t including you, though, in my criticism.”
“Well, thank you for your generosity, but—”
“You think I’m hard-hearted. Would it interest you to know that I went to the wild lands because my childhood friend and I used to roam the foothills, dreaming of adventure, and that I was suffering a momentary attack of sentimentality?”
“Yes, yes,” she hurried him along, inexplicably uncomfortable.
“I suppose there are moments in childhood too perfect to be forgotten, and too painful to be remembered. Moments when I wanted to suspend time forever,” Marankeil said, with a self-conscious, hollow laugh.
“You did?” she returned, struck by the horror that she had once also wished for the same thing.
“The train’s stopping at Lunei now,” he said after a moment. “I’ll walk you back to your building—”
“No, I think I’d better go back myself.”
She hurried off the transport, before his words could stop her.
Did she actually believe that he gave his opinions so freely to just anyone?
She was different, he could sense that well enough, and he wanted to confide what most mattered to her.
How, then, could she think that she had passed out of his life? That he would let her pass out of his life, when she worked but a short stroll from the artificial intelligence center?
Marankeil made it a habit of dropping by her work when he had the time, sometimes daily for a few minutes, sometimes once a tenday, and then he refused to leave until several hours later, when she insisted on going home for the day, without letting him accompany her. He tried to reach her by comnet on occasion, but when it became clear she didn’t respond to anything short of personal appearances, he stopped bothering and made the spontaneous visits exclusively.
Most of the time she was busy doing something when he found her in her lab, and he just started conversation, unless her lab group was still there, but she tended to work the longest hours; she always responded to the argument he presented, whatever it was, no matter how she seemed to fight against arguing with him every single time.
Thus far, their relationship was unusual in that neither of them acknowledged that it even existed.
Despite the fact that Elera made no attempt to return the casual attentions Marankeil gave her, to even agree to any excursion with him outside her lab, he had the impression that she was struggling against her composure not to respond to him, and that at some point, she would capitulate to what he felt was a positive inclination she secretly harbored towards him.
??
?My director is going to come back any minute, and I’m supposed to be finished with this.” She said one afternoon, gesturing to the data entry.
“So?” He said, scratching his chin.
“Stop being so unreasonable,” she pleaded.
“Me?” He bristled at the word. “I’m not the one who refuses to accept a simple offer to so much as go for a walk together. Are you afraid of being seen consorting with me? Unreasonable—ha! I’m not the one who stubbornly ignores her own judgments and gut feelings. You’re still treating me as an enemy—”
“I have my reasons.”
“Explain them.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You never try to make yourself understood.”
“I don’t have to respond to that.”
“Now you’re being petty. Perhaps you aren’t what I thought you were. Perhaps you are as fickle and intractable as any woman can be at her worst—”
“I’m not, and that’s insulting.”
“Just because you’ve indicated you’re as intelligent as me doesn’t make it true. You haven’t proved this to me rationally,” Marankeil said, with a sly tone. He waited a moment.
She rose to the argument, but ah, how she kept calm! She was angry—he could see he had made her angry. That thought delighted him/
“I may or may not be. Because I do not wish to flaunt my intellectual principles doesn’t mean I do not possess intellectual and reasoning abilities equal to yours. I don’t know the answer, however, but you certainly are sure of yourself.”
He laughed at her. This was his favorite game, a game he had devised of testing her character. She passed his standard, yet again.
“You never disappoint me.” He said. “So—”
“What do you want?” She said, only her eyes defensive. Would they ever stop being defensive?
“I think you know what a compromise entails.”
“A compromise?”
“I’ll stop pursuing you, if you agree to meet me half-way.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Well, I adore talking to you, but I hate standing for hours on end, so from now on, I want you to meet me from time to time—in a public place, of course. Anywhere you want.”
“Why are you being so persistent?” She wondered, with a strange, lost expression.
“Because,” he returned, “I have never respected a woman before you, or cared so much about her. And that makes me rather pleased.”
The cold season descended upon the Ariyalsynai dome in full force, darkening the skies to the point that the artificial illumination beacons switched on. Marankeil found his work drawing him away from his meetings with Elera for several tendays; then, finally, one afternoon, he ran into her coming out of the biological building on his way across the open forum towards the student’s residential building.
Marankeil’s expression betrayed a momentary glimmer of having forgotten her importance to his life; one chance meeting was enough to rekindle his enthusiasm in seeing her, and perhaps to augment his pleasure.
“Ah, Elera!” he called to her, and she approached.
They soon sat by the open forum on the ground under a tree, filling in those necessary details of work and progress; after a moment, he came to the conclusion that she still wasn’t quite able to let her guard down around him.
“Sometimes, I would like to know what other people are thinking,” he said suddenly, staring at her.
She stopped mid-sentence in her story about the humanroid project.
“What if you didn’t like what you found?” Her voice held a tremulous quality he wasn’t accustomed to hearing from her, and he grew irritated.
“What do you know about it, my dear?” he laughed mockingly.
She got up to leave.
He pulled her back down, not viciously, not violently. It wasn’t difficult; she didn’t really want to go.
“Sorry,” he offered.
“You don’t like it when I get angry at you.” She observed.
“On the contrary,” he said, “I don’t mind your anger. The only thing I don’t like about you is when you undermine your own value by venting unnecessary fears to me.”
“Shouldn’t I leave when you insult me, though? I honestly shouldn’t let you get away with it.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t, but I use that as a defensive tactic, not an offensive one,” he said.
“Anyway, I have been angry at you because of the way you think and behave at times. You can’t save me from my secret wishes and desires! Besides, Elera, you can’t go around saving others without losing something of yourself, or perhaps forgetting who you are. You are not here to rescue the lives of others! You have a single purpose that is far better than pretensions to selfless, self-sacrificing nobility—”
“Oh?”
“To be true to yourself and your own wants and needs. You have to live for yourself, before you can live for everyone else, or your benevolent intentions are meaningless. How can anyone trust you to help them if you will not even help yourself? You should care most about yourself!”
“I do know myself. And I know what I need to do.” She said, her voice hard all of a sudden, and derisive of him.
He smiled. “Good. ”
She watched him, suddenly shrugging off an ambivalent sensation. “‘O, most imperfect light of human reason’,” she intoned, “‘that mak’st us so unhappy to foresee what we can least prevent. Pursue thy wishes, and glory in them; there’s in shame no comfort, but to be past all bounds and sense of shame.’”
“I like that.”
“I thought you would. But I can’t take credit for coming up with it—”
“Where did it come from—”
“An ancient writer I once read,” she said quickly to avoid discussing it, “but anyway, how do you know so much about what I need, about what is best for me?” she asked, returning to what he had said.
“I don’t,” he admitted. “I just substituted your needs for mine according to my own philosophy.”
“You seem to have high ambitions, for a man who won’t admit to anyone that he was responsible for The Memory Project.”
“Perhaps. But it is those of us who hide in shadows who crave more than anything to be at the center of it all.”
They were watching a couple walking by a few days later while sitting under the same tree; minutes later, the couple were shamelessly kissing in the middle of the golden grass field, heedless to passers-by.
“That Pesden is a fool.” Marankeil observed.
“How do you know?”
“Men sense these things about each other.”
“What does she see in him, then?”
“Who knows?”
“He’s considerate.”
“He’s insincere.”
“Maybe, but you can’t deny the power of the illusion. Most people love what they think is a loving heart, not an indifferent one.” She sighed. “There is no reward in this life for selfishness, unless solitude is something you can live with.”
“Hmmm,” he said, stroking his chin. “Well, you seem to like being by yourself most of the time.” Marankeil commented.
“So tell me, and this is off the subject,” he said suddenly, “is it possible to be moral and act morally—and let’s assume the simplest understanding of the word here—if you’re always by yourself, with no one else to benefit from your actions or there to judge your mistakes?”
“All of this philosophy again.” She sighed.
“You know you love to argue with me.” He laughed with a seductive smile.
“No wonder you’re into artificial intelligence. You never stop arguing.”
“Is it possible?” He repeated the question. “In other words, if no one knows you’re being moral, and you’re alone, and no one benefits—don’t you
see it doesn’t matter to the universe how we behave?”
“Yes, it does matter.” She said, disagreeing with him.
“How, in your humble opinion?”
“Because whatever we do in this reality, whether or not we estrange ourselves from each other—even by flying to another world to try to escape others or—even being shipwrecked there, alone—our actions influence the environment for the bad or for the good, which is what will endure for others to find. We have a choice in anything we do or don’t do, including—”
“The environment has nothing to do with morality,” Marankeil said with a dismissive laugh. “If there are no people in it except one. There is no society comprised of a single individual.” He leaned back on the ground, growing indifferent. “And if there is no society, there is no morality necessary to govern anything—except the law of the fittest, the law of survival.”
“But the environment is related to society,” Elera said.
Marankeil looked up, almost against his will. “How?”
“We can’t escape our connection to all things that have been or will ever be—but even if we choose not to live around or with anyone else, it is still possible to act morally, because what we do to the world around us will eventually affect others, even if we don’t live to see the effect we have.”
“Hmmm.” He paused. “So by your account, even this tree seems imbued with a soul. You wouldn’t like it if I hacked it to pieces.” Marankeil made a swinging gesture with his arms towards the nearest sedwi tree.
“No, but what has that got to do with anything I said?”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” he shrugged, “but you seem to think that evil or goodness is our natures; whether or not we live in society, it makes no difference—you might as well say evil exists in us from the moment we’re born and that society has nothing to do with it—it would amount to the same thing as your argument,” he threw out, irritated.
She stared at him. “And you don’t agree?”
“No, I don’t,” he shrugged again, then leaned back against the grass casually, folding his hands behind his head. “If evil does exist at all, it is not in the self but in the society that by and by robs us of our innocence.”
She was silent.
After a moment, he looked up.
“I don’t want to argue anymore with you—today,” he said.
“Really?” She returned. “Then let’s just stop.”
“Tell me, who in the world deserves to live the most, in your opinion?” Marankeil asked Elera with an only half-serious laugh; the longest cold season had ended, and he had found her one afternoon, sprawled on the warm, sun-dry grass in a recreation field just outside the center where some of the students went to study.
The light seemed content to linger over her, he thought jealously; as he watched her, his other senses came alive, and he became aware of the scleropods chirping under the grasses, the soft whispers of the artificial wind as they were caught in the tangled bushes away on the verdant field. The wind caught the soft pink blossoms of the sedwi trees nearby; flower petals began to fall like pink snow upon the fields, carpeting the grass and the golden attorea flowers waving in the breeze.
Marankeil plucked a tall grass blade from the ground and started to caress Elera’s bare calf with it.
“I don’t think it’s a matter of deserving but more of luck—you asked me this yesterday, remember? And I didn’t much care for the subject then—”
“Okay, another philosophical question, then. If it were possible to have it, what would you do with absolute power?”
“I don’t know.” She answered, uncomfortably, turning towards him. He was sitting beside her, legs folded before him. “Is there a right answer to this question?”
He looked at her. “You would help people,” he inferred.
“Maybe.”
“Philanthropy doesn’t exist, though. Anything you do to help people is for the reward it gives you in making you feel good about yourself.”
“What if I had nothing to gain?”
“You feel good about doing good deeds. This bolsters your ego, so you do profit.”
“But if I outlive the people whom I help or if I remember longer than they do—”
“You still feel good. You still profit.”
“What if I knew I had a certain amount of time and nothing else to do, so I might as well do what I think will improve the quality of life of those around me—”
“No more of those ‘what ifs’. Don't tell me you wouldn’t be tempted to use absolute power for yourself, or for whatever you pleased, and not give a damn about what happened to anyone else.” He said it to test her, expecting her to deny his statement.
“Oh no, I won’t tell you that I wouldn’t be tempted to do what I wanted to do.” She said, agreeing with him. “I think it would be a struggle every day to do what I think is right, in order to live with myself. I think—I know I would fail sometimes, however hard I tried.”
He stared at her, unable to believe that she had been so honest with herself and with him, unable to believe that she had given him the answer he had been searching for.
“Elera—you’re afraid of power.” He announced, after a moment’s pause.
“Yes.”
“Or rather, of misuse of power. Of your own power.”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
She sighed. “Look, I’ve got to go,” she announced suddenly, clambering to her feet; a few grass blades clung to her shorts. He saw them but did not brush them off.
“Where?”
“I left some data back in my room. I have to retrieve it before I go back the lab.”
“I’ll come with you. Don’t worry, I have no intention of attacking you, my pristine beauty,” he added, as she shot him a skeptical glance.
He wasn’t even sure why she agreed.
It turned out she lived in the far residential building on the fourth level. Her room was small, but the windows made it seem larger. There was a sleep panel still extended taking up most of the room, a small desk with electro-pads strewn across it, but almost no decoration, apart from a silver necklace with a tear-shaped, polished, lapis-colored stone set at its center lying on the desk; it seemed to have been recently reshaped by a lapidary.
“You don’t believe in useless trinkets. You don’t own much.” He commented.
“Let’s just say I live a nomadic lifestyle.”
“Tell me, then—so when was the last time you lived for the moment?” he asked suddenly.
“I don’t have time for this right now.”
“I’m being serious.”
She seemed unable to recall; a fine line formed between her fair brows as she considered the question. “Live—for the moment?”
He nodded. “And I don’t mean act like an idiot who thinks living for the moment is doing whatever foolish thing he wants without worrying about the next day’s consequences.” He explained quickly, in case she mistook his sincerity for insipidity.
“Then tell me what you do mean.” Elera said.
“Living for the moment means for once putting aside all of the things you tell yourself you have to do, and submitting to all that is good that inspires us as a people. Then you have to put yourself back, back to a time when you could just sit in the sun and feel the sun and nothing else. Climb a hill and just experience the climb rather than thinking about where you’re going. Or listen to the rain, just listen, not thinking about getting wet, not thinking about how long it’s going to take for your clothes to dry. If you’re living for the moment, you shouldn’t be thinking about that. You should be living the moment, and nothing else. And if tomorrow comes, there’ll always be time to worry then.”
She was stone silent.
“I thought so,” he concluded after a moment, reading her expression.
“You thought what?”
“We’re both the same.” He declared. “We both wish we could live for the moment now, but we can’t.”
“You were a dreamer.” She guessed, as though not liking her own conclusion.
“Perhaps briefly,” he admitted. “Apparently you were, though, and more so than I.”
“I despised duty.” She corrected him. “And I had my ideals, the same as anyone. But when I was growing up, I didn’t get much chance or time to dream. There was too much going on—”
“But you were a dreamer on some level, despite that. Dreamers have a hard time,” he continued, “always looking to the future as a source of hope. Some of them can change, though, when life is difficult for them, into such hard men.”
“I don’t believe that. I think that dreams can’t die as long as we live—or we die on the inside. Without our hopes and dreams, and we must fight to defend, keep, and nourish them, well then—we’ve got little to live for.” She argued, leaning against the desk chair, suddenly animated. Her own zeal seemed to surprise her, but she continued. “To lose your dreams is difficult, though it happens so often. It can be destructive. Decency hinges upon love, hope, faith…”
“Interesing idea.” Marankeil sighed. “All true, but a luxury nonetheless. The survival of the fittest is the law that governs the universe.”
“You are the cynic, but perhaps I should say you are right. You don’t believe in decency, do you, as something that important to the race?”
“I have a vague notion of what it means to other people.” Marankeil amended her statement. “Decency or indecency—they’re the same to me. I simply don’t live by other people’s rules, moral or legal. Besides, who decides what is decent?”
“Good point.” Elera returned. “But I believe in good. And the power it wields for the greater good.”
“You’ve reduced this argument to absolutes again—you’re right, and I’m wrong, and the truth is simple.” He sighed. “Who decides what is good?”
“Every man must decide for himself, and there is law that we set out as a society, that we decide as a group.”
“That a few decide, to keep others down.” He said.
“Look, I have to go.” Elera said, having had enough.
“I also know that.”
“What?”
“That you love to run away from me. But someday, you won’t want to.”
She left in a hurry, heedless of whether or not he stayed.
Marankeil was still there when Elera returned, several hours later.
“I thought you’d never get back. I’d almost concluded that you don’t even sleep—”
“What are you doing here?” Elera demanded.
“You have a strange fascination with skipping stones and watercolors.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I adore simple pleasures. The ‘last refuge of the complex’ so to speak."
“Wherever did you hear that?” He laughed; she knew by now that this laughter was not derisive, as much as it could be taken that way.
“Somewhere.”
“What should I do to balance my life, would you say? I have no time for simple things, but I liked the idea of pleasures. Perhaps you could suggest an activity for me that is pleasant—”
“I’m all out of ideas,” she said quickly.
“I do have one.”
“You should go.”
“Why?” He demanded.
“Because.”
“You don’t enjoy pleasure?” Marankeil said, looking hard at her.
“I haven’t got time for this,” she returned. “I’m busy.”
“Busy busy shmizzy. You are evading what I want.”
“I am busy,” she returned.
“You are trying to get away from me. But, I think you should give in and love me, since I already love you.”
“I can’t—” she said, stepping back. He got up off the sleeping panel and headed towards her. “I never wanted— I was only hoping to change your fate...”
“What are you talking about?” He demanded. “Change things?”
She grew distraught; tears wouldn’t come, but she staggered back, nervous and slightly dizzy.
He helped her to her panel, turned, and left the room.
But now he knew that she was hiding something from him, and he was going to find out exactly what that was.
Perhaps he wore a knowing smile across his face five days later when he found her lying in the field again, her favorite retreat of late. He refused to speak with her there, though, and uncharacteristically insisted on taking her to the small park beyond and its sheltering grove of tall sedwi trees for the sake of privacy; he had some very important news to divulge, by his own admission.
Why did she go so willingly? he wondered. Why, despite his superficially calm demeanor, did she seem so prepared for what he was going to say?
“Who are you, Elera?” He demanded finally, leaning casually against a stone fountain situated in the middle of the remote sedwi grove. “You weren’t trained in Kilkor, like your report says. They’ve never heard of you there. I know. I checked it out.”
“You think I’m a fraud?” She returned.
He leapt to his feet suddenly, reached forward and grabbed her arm. “You have more of a right to be here than anyone,” he said, his voice strong. “The humanroid project would have failed without you. You are one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known. That wasn’t my question. I want to know who you really are.”
“What does that matter?”
“It matters. Tell me.”
“I don’t like to be told what to do,” she said, pulling away. “If you think I’ve lied to you—”
“I don’t give a damn about what you tell anyone else, but I want the truth from you.”
“You believe in truth so suddenly?”
He wanted to slap her, and he wanted to crush her in his arms. He wanted to kiss the sting from her face, to hold her now, and so much more. He loved her, loved her, hated her, loved her more.
Without her, he was alone, and he felt it acutely.
Marankeil wanted her to be with him for as long as he lived.
Meanwhile, she was staring at him with a profound horror in her eyes.
“What is it?” he demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her by the arms again. He was conscious of the fact that he was acting against his deepest beliefs; he didn’t believe in exerting physical force on anyone, at least he hadn’t until now. He found the sensation ignited the animalism in his soul. He felt like crushing her in his arms—he found he couldn’t think straight at all and fought to.
“Who are you?” He said.
She didn’t answer.
“Tell me.”
“I already did. Anyway, what right do you have to question me?”
“Because,” he replied very quietly, “right now I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in all my life.”
She just stared at him; he tried to crush her again with kisses. The more he tried, the more forceful they became.
After a moment, though, somehow, miraculously, she was able to free herself from his grasp.
Suddenly, he felt awkward, ludicrous, infuriated. He reached forward again to grab her with all the strength in his body, to force her to submit to his desire, for his life would be very nearly suspended in time until he could have her the way that he wanted—
But she was able to pull free. How?? The impossibility of it stunned him for a moment.
From a distance, at the entrance to the grove, she stopped, stood in defiance of his love, he was certain. Wasn’t there a triumph in her eyes he had mistaken for defensiveness? She had obviously just toyed with him all along.
For the first time, he
had no verbal repartée ready for the situation, and for the first time, he had no desire to say anything.
Shocked, Marankeil leaned far back in the fountain and let the forceful spray pound his body raw.