in the cloister, and you can tally what that did for a peace-loving Sister-hermit with seventy-some years on her.”
“Jael, I know, but I—I’ve got to do
something
—”
“Oh, Val . . . little sister, I know you’re holding on with your fingernails, and there’s no one there to reach out a hand to you. Please . . . don’t let go. You may have to go to Thea before the last card’s down, but we won’t run that gant unless we’re pushed to it.”
He listened through a silence, then heard a resigned sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I must get to the day’s collection of tapes and hope I don’t fall asleep right when Sister Henna tells Sister Helen she’s decided that obnoxious new novice Alexandra simply will never become a proper nun. A disgrace to Saint P’s. Damn, this is ruining my knees, you know.”
He laughed at that. “Then behave yourself, sister, they’re your best feature. With the exception of that upper-caste nose, and certain other features . . . in between.”
“Oh, Jael, please—not while I’m locked in a nunnery.”
He took a long breath. “Yes. Well, it’s a little monkish around here. So, get to your gossip and stay off your knees if you can. And thanks for the word on Betha. That gives us all a new lease on hope.” He hesitated, feeling his throat tightening again. “Val, I’ll be here waiting for you. Always.”
Her voice was only a whisper. “I know. Fortune, brother.”
“Fortune . . .”
2.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember the security procedures. Today, Erica forgot to call ahead to Ben before she transed from the COS HQ. She’d been too preoccupied with medical indices, with the data that spelled out a medical paradox. The wound was healing—slowly, to be sure, but it was healing—yet the patient was on a long, inexorable downward slide; psychologically, totally unresponsive, physically, only weakly responsive.
Twelve days. The exiles at the Cave of Springs would have been totally demoralized except for two factors: Jael and the LR-MT.
Jael had assumed command of the COS HQ from the moment Alex surrendered it, and none of the exiles took exception to it; he made it seem both natural and inevitable. There was no breakdown in discipline, no changes in duties or schedules, and, above all, little free time for anyone. The COS HQ staff was, if anything, busier now than before Alex’s collapse, and Andreas had plunged with that intense concentration that always amazed her into the LR-MT. Two more Fina physicists had joined him and James Lyden and Caris Bruce, and together they retreated into another world whose language was numbers and equations. From that world, messages occasionally emerged to give hope to the exiles. Tentative plans for an experimental test were already being made.
But Alex lay in his guarded cubicle, drifting in and out of consciousness, always out of her reach, evidencing no awareness of her or anything around him, except the biomonitor screen. He seemed to understand its function, and she knew why he watched it; she knew it wasn’t in hope. Not hope in the usual sense.
Erica only realized she’d slipped up on the security procedures when she transed into the Fina MT room and found Ben waiting for her at the door. She looked over at the two techs manning the console. There were always two on every shift now, and both these men were loyals.
“Hello, Phil . . . Chan. Thanks for the ride.”
Chan Orley was hurriedly clearing the orientation board. “Any time, Dr. Radek. How was your trip?”
She knew the real meaning of that question and shrugged uncomfortably.
“Nothing’s changed. Hello, Ben.”
He only nodded, wearing that typical, faintly anxious frown as he walked with her into the corridor.
“Erica—”
“I know, I didn’t call you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, Mike Compton signaled me, and I happened to be close by; the Council meeting just adjourned.”
The corridor was busy for this late hour.
“Jael, I know, but I—I’ve got to do
something
—”
“Oh, Val . . . little sister, I know you’re holding on with your fingernails, and there’s no one there to reach out a hand to you. Please . . . don’t let go. You may have to go to Thea before the last card’s down, but we won’t run that gant unless we’re pushed to it.”
He listened through a silence, then heard a resigned sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I must get to the day’s collection of tapes and hope I don’t fall asleep right when Sister Henna tells Sister Helen she’s decided that obnoxious new novice Alexandra simply will never become a proper nun. A disgrace to Saint P’s. Damn, this is ruining my knees, you know.”
He laughed at that. “Then behave yourself, sister, they’re your best feature. With the exception of that upper-caste nose, and certain other features . . . in between.”
“Oh, Jael, please—not while I’m locked in a nunnery.”
He took a long breath. “Yes. Well, it’s a little monkish around here. So, get to your gossip and stay off your knees if you can. And thanks for the word on Betha. That gives us all a new lease on hope.” He hesitated, feeling his throat tightening again. “Val, I’ll be here waiting for you. Always.”
Her voice was only a whisper. “I know. Fortune, brother.”
“Fortune . . .”
2.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember the security procedures. Today, Erica forgot to call ahead to Ben before she transed from the COS HQ. She’d been too preoccupied with medical indices, with the data that spelled out a medical paradox. The wound was healing—slowly, to be sure, but it was healing—yet the patient was on a long, inexorable downward slide; psychologically, totally unresponsive, physically, only weakly responsive.
Twelve days. The exiles at the Cave of Springs would have been totally demoralized except for two factors: Jael and the LR-MT.
Jael had assumed command of the COS HQ from the moment Alex surrendered it, and none of the exiles took exception to it; he made it seem both natural and inevitable. There was no breakdown in discipline, no changes in duties or schedules, and, above all, little free time for anyone. The COS HQ staff was, if anything, busier now than before Alex’s collapse, and Andreas had plunged with that intense concentration that always amazed her into the LR-MT. Two more Fina physicists had joined him and James Lyden and Caris Bruce, and together they retreated into another world whose language was numbers and equations. From that world, messages occasionally emerged to give hope to the exiles. Tentative plans for an experimental test were already being made.
But Alex lay in his guarded cubicle, drifting in and out of consciousness, always out of her reach, evidencing no awareness of her or anything around him, except the biomonitor screen. He seemed to understand its function, and she knew why he watched it; she knew it wasn’t in hope. Not hope in the usual sense.
Erica only realized she’d slipped up on the security procedures when she transed into the Fina MT room and found Ben waiting for her at the door. She looked over at the two techs manning the console. There were always two on every shift now, and both these men were loyals.
“Hello, Phil . . . Chan. Thanks for the ride.”
Chan Orley was hurriedly clearing the orientation board. “Any time, Dr. Radek. How was your trip?”
She knew the real meaning of that question and shrugged uncomfortably.
“Nothing’s changed. Hello, Ben.”
He only nodded, wearing that typical, faintly anxious frown as he walked with her into the corridor.
“Erica—”
“I know, I didn’t call you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, Mike Compton signaled me, and I happened to be close by; the Council meeting just adjourned.”
The corridor was busy for this late hour.
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