appeared to be a nervous gesture, and turned to walk away, I thought of what I was going to do when I got to Circum.
I'd best find one of the harvesters first. Someone I could convince I was neither hallucinating nor drugged. It wasn't much fun going to Circum this time. I mean, my lifepod was completely encased in what must be the cargo bay of the ship. I could feel the maneuvering and turning, in a way, but more because the lifepod slid just a little bit this way and that.
And I had a lot of time to think. A lot of time. Getting into quiet rooms, in the dark, to think was one of those things that several counselors, psychiatrists and terrified people had told me to do. I'd never taken their advice till now, when I had no choice. I failed to see what was so special about it. So here I was, sitting in the dark. And slowly smiling at the idea that I had not been very nice to the poor ELF in his darkship. I'd attacked him . . . four? Five times? And by his view of it, had tried to kill him at least once.
So why was he being so nice and taking me to Circum?
I sat up suddenly, alarmed. What if he wasn't? What if this was some elaborate scheme to . . . I stopped, the mind beggaring. To have me completely at his mercy? But he did. My attacks of him had been countered. I'd never managed to do more than, as he put it, making a hobby of cracking my head on the floor. Repeatedly.
And besides, how could he have me more at his mercy now than he did when I was out there, on the ship, with nothing but a door he controlled between me and space?
The truth was, he could have killed me any of a dozen times, in there. Oh, forget counted times, he could have killed me at any moment. I'd have been completely in his power. So . . . why hadn't he, exactly?
Frowning at the memory of what I'd done to him, I couldn't figure it out. Anyone else—even those nice people who ran reformatories for young girls, and who had reason to be scared of Father and Father's money—would have killed me if they had a chance. At least they would have after I had tried to kill them. They'd just have told Daddy Dearest that there had been an unfortunate accident.
But the ELF should have no more reason to be scared of Father than of anyone else from Earth. He had a far greater reason to be scared of me. He could have killed me at any time, and he hadn't. And now he was repaying my saving him—while saving myself—by serving as taxi service to a location that was dangerous to him.
And he'd vibroed my slip on the repair setting, so that it was closed down the front, the silk shining slightly unevenly—clearly the man had no idea how to set a vibro, really—and lent me a brush to tame my hair, so that I didn't look like a refugee from a reeducation institute.
Which meant . . .
It wasn't possible he was stupid. No, really. He couldn't be. Not and keep anticipating me the way he did, let alone answering my jibes faster and more incisively than even Father—who just tended to yell. And it wasn't like he could expect kindness to me to pay him back. Father didn't know he existed and if he did, as a member of the ruling council of Earth, Father would be more interested in catching the darkship thief and imprisoning him and stopping the raids on the powerpods than in thanking him for saving me.
The ELF couldn't even expect me to put out in recompense. Well . . . he could have, but he hadn't tried it and now he was taking me to circum and unless the telepathy came with some sort of mind-sex setting he was screwed. Or rather not.
So . . . So it had to come down to he was mad. Mad, loony, crazy, touched in the upper works, driving with a defective power pack, flying without a stabilizer, brooming in the dark . . .
Fortunately, his madness seemed to be of the kind that wanted to do me a favor, not the kind that would kill me on sight. So much the better.
Having reached this point in my reasoning, I jumped at his voice in my head, icily polite
I'd best find one of the harvesters first. Someone I could convince I was neither hallucinating nor drugged. It wasn't much fun going to Circum this time. I mean, my lifepod was completely encased in what must be the cargo bay of the ship. I could feel the maneuvering and turning, in a way, but more because the lifepod slid just a little bit this way and that.
And I had a lot of time to think. A lot of time. Getting into quiet rooms, in the dark, to think was one of those things that several counselors, psychiatrists and terrified people had told me to do. I'd never taken their advice till now, when I had no choice. I failed to see what was so special about it. So here I was, sitting in the dark. And slowly smiling at the idea that I had not been very nice to the poor ELF in his darkship. I'd attacked him . . . four? Five times? And by his view of it, had tried to kill him at least once.
So why was he being so nice and taking me to Circum?
I sat up suddenly, alarmed. What if he wasn't? What if this was some elaborate scheme to . . . I stopped, the mind beggaring. To have me completely at his mercy? But he did. My attacks of him had been countered. I'd never managed to do more than, as he put it, making a hobby of cracking my head on the floor. Repeatedly.
And besides, how could he have me more at his mercy now than he did when I was out there, on the ship, with nothing but a door he controlled between me and space?
The truth was, he could have killed me any of a dozen times, in there. Oh, forget counted times, he could have killed me at any moment. I'd have been completely in his power. So . . . why hadn't he, exactly?
Frowning at the memory of what I'd done to him, I couldn't figure it out. Anyone else—even those nice people who ran reformatories for young girls, and who had reason to be scared of Father and Father's money—would have killed me if they had a chance. At least they would have after I had tried to kill them. They'd just have told Daddy Dearest that there had been an unfortunate accident.
But the ELF should have no more reason to be scared of Father than of anyone else from Earth. He had a far greater reason to be scared of me. He could have killed me at any time, and he hadn't. And now he was repaying my saving him—while saving myself—by serving as taxi service to a location that was dangerous to him.
And he'd vibroed my slip on the repair setting, so that it was closed down the front, the silk shining slightly unevenly—clearly the man had no idea how to set a vibro, really—and lent me a brush to tame my hair, so that I didn't look like a refugee from a reeducation institute.
Which meant . . .
It wasn't possible he was stupid. No, really. He couldn't be. Not and keep anticipating me the way he did, let alone answering my jibes faster and more incisively than even Father—who just tended to yell. And it wasn't like he could expect kindness to me to pay him back. Father didn't know he existed and if he did, as a member of the ruling council of Earth, Father would be more interested in catching the darkship thief and imprisoning him and stopping the raids on the powerpods than in thanking him for saving me.
The ELF couldn't even expect me to put out in recompense. Well . . . he could have, but he hadn't tried it and now he was taking me to circum and unless the telepathy came with some sort of mind-sex setting he was screwed. Or rather not.
So . . . So it had to come down to he was mad. Mad, loony, crazy, touched in the upper works, driving with a defective power pack, flying without a stabilizer, brooming in the dark . . .
Fortunately, his madness seemed to be of the kind that wanted to do me a favor, not the kind that would kill me on sight. So much the better.
Having reached this point in my reasoning, I jumped at his voice in my head, icily polite
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