Now..."
“Now...?"
She hesitated. “He's happy, Robb,” she said. “He really is. For the first time in his life, he's happy. He'd never known love before. Now it fills him."
“You got a lot,” I said.
“Yes.” Still the distracted voice, the lost eyes. “He was open, sort of. There were levels, but digging wasn't as hard as it usually is—as if his barriers were weakening, coming down almost..."
“How about the other guy?"
She stroked the instrument panel, staring only at her hand. “Him? That was Gustaffson..."
And that, suddenly, seemed to wake her, to restore her to the Lya I knew and loved. She shook her head and looked at me, and the aimless voice became an animated torrent of words. “Robb, listen, that was Gustaffson , he's been Joined over a year now, and he's going on to Final Union within a week. The Greeshka has accepted him, and he wants it, you know? He really does, and—and—oh Robb, he's dying !"
“Within a week, according to what you just said."
“No. I mean yes, but that's not what I mean. Final Union isn't death, to him. He believes it, all of it, the whole religion. The Greeshka is his god, and he's going to join it. But before, and now, he was dying. He's got the Slow Plague, Robb. A terminal case. It's been eating at him from inside for fifteen years now. He got it back on Nightmare, in the swamps, when his family died. That's no world for people, but he was there, the administrator over a research base, a short-term thing. They lived on Thor; it was only a visit, but the ship crashed. Gustaffson got all wild and tried to reach them before the end, but he grabbed a faulty pair of skinthins, and the spores got through. And they were all dead when he got there. He had an awful lot of pain, Robb. From the Slow Plague, but more from the loss. He really loved them, and it was never the same after. They gave him Shkea as a reward, kind of, to take his mind off the crash, but he still thought of it all the time. I could see the picture, Robb. It was vivid. He couldn't forget it. The kids were inside the ship, safe behind the walls, but the life system failed and choked them to death. But his wife—oh, Robb—she took some skinthins and tried to go for help, and outside those things , those big wrigglers they have on Nightmare—?"
I swallowed hard, feeling a little sick. “The eater-worms,” I said, dully. I'd read about them, and seen holos. I could imagine the picture that Lya'd seen in Gustaffson's memory, and it wasn't at all pretty. I was glad I didn't have her Talent.
“They were still—still—when Gustaffson got there. You know. He killed them all with a screech gun."
I shook my head. “I didn't think things like that really went on."
“No,” Lya said. “Neither did Gustaffson. They'd been so—so happy before that, before the thing on Nightmare.
He loved her, and they were really close, and his career had been almost charmed. He didn't have to go to Nightmare, you know. He took it because it was a challenge, because nobody else could handle it. That gnaws at him, too. And he remembers all the time. He—they—” Her voice faltered. “They thought they were lucky ,” she said, before falling into silence.
There was nothing to say to that. I just kept quiet and drove, thinking, feeling a blurred, watered-down version of what Gustaffson's pain must have been like. After a while, Lya began to speak again.
“It was all there, Robb,” she said, her voice softer and slower and more thoughtful once again. “But he was at peace. He still remembered it all, and the way it had hurt, but it didn't bother him as it had. Only now he was sorry they weren't with him. He was sorry that they died without Final Union. Almost like the Shkeen woman, remember? The one at the Gathering? With her brother?"
“I remember,” I said.
“Like that. And his mind was open, too. More than Kamenz, much more. When he rang, the levels all vanished, and everything was right at the
“Now...?"
She hesitated. “He's happy, Robb,” she said. “He really is. For the first time in his life, he's happy. He'd never known love before. Now it fills him."
“You got a lot,” I said.
“Yes.” Still the distracted voice, the lost eyes. “He was open, sort of. There were levels, but digging wasn't as hard as it usually is—as if his barriers were weakening, coming down almost..."
“How about the other guy?"
She stroked the instrument panel, staring only at her hand. “Him? That was Gustaffson..."
And that, suddenly, seemed to wake her, to restore her to the Lya I knew and loved. She shook her head and looked at me, and the aimless voice became an animated torrent of words. “Robb, listen, that was Gustaffson , he's been Joined over a year now, and he's going on to Final Union within a week. The Greeshka has accepted him, and he wants it, you know? He really does, and—and—oh Robb, he's dying !"
“Within a week, according to what you just said."
“No. I mean yes, but that's not what I mean. Final Union isn't death, to him. He believes it, all of it, the whole religion. The Greeshka is his god, and he's going to join it. But before, and now, he was dying. He's got the Slow Plague, Robb. A terminal case. It's been eating at him from inside for fifteen years now. He got it back on Nightmare, in the swamps, when his family died. That's no world for people, but he was there, the administrator over a research base, a short-term thing. They lived on Thor; it was only a visit, but the ship crashed. Gustaffson got all wild and tried to reach them before the end, but he grabbed a faulty pair of skinthins, and the spores got through. And they were all dead when he got there. He had an awful lot of pain, Robb. From the Slow Plague, but more from the loss. He really loved them, and it was never the same after. They gave him Shkea as a reward, kind of, to take his mind off the crash, but he still thought of it all the time. I could see the picture, Robb. It was vivid. He couldn't forget it. The kids were inside the ship, safe behind the walls, but the life system failed and choked them to death. But his wife—oh, Robb—she took some skinthins and tried to go for help, and outside those things , those big wrigglers they have on Nightmare—?"
I swallowed hard, feeling a little sick. “The eater-worms,” I said, dully. I'd read about them, and seen holos. I could imagine the picture that Lya'd seen in Gustaffson's memory, and it wasn't at all pretty. I was glad I didn't have her Talent.
“They were still—still—when Gustaffson got there. You know. He killed them all with a screech gun."
I shook my head. “I didn't think things like that really went on."
“No,” Lya said. “Neither did Gustaffson. They'd been so—so happy before that, before the thing on Nightmare.
He loved her, and they were really close, and his career had been almost charmed. He didn't have to go to Nightmare, you know. He took it because it was a challenge, because nobody else could handle it. That gnaws at him, too. And he remembers all the time. He—they—” Her voice faltered. “They thought they were lucky ,” she said, before falling into silence.
There was nothing to say to that. I just kept quiet and drove, thinking, feeling a blurred, watered-down version of what Gustaffson's pain must have been like. After a while, Lya began to speak again.
“It was all there, Robb,” she said, her voice softer and slower and more thoughtful once again. “But he was at peace. He still remembered it all, and the way it had hurt, but it didn't bother him as it had. Only now he was sorry they weren't with him. He was sorry that they died without Final Union. Almost like the Shkeen woman, remember? The one at the Gathering? With her brother?"
“I remember,” I said.
“Like that. And his mind was open, too. More than Kamenz, much more. When he rang, the levels all vanished, and everything was right at the
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