Part of that was true. In some regards I did have to pretend. The camouflage made it impossible for it to be otherwise.
“It was not all false,” I said. “It gave me great contentment to make you happy.”
“Did it?” Her face lit, as it had when I bought her that length of cloth. Such simple things gave her joy. She carried the loveliest heart in her soft, ungainly body. “Then it is my turn, surely? If you trust me, I would know you, the truth of you; and then we shall see what I may do for you.”
So we lay in my bed that night, and I talked. No one has ever heard my story so fully since, nor known me inside my skin as she did then. She lay beside me with sweetness and wonder, listening rapt to the chronicle that brought me to Gehenna. For the first time, I spoke of Ithiss-Tor and the life I had left behind. Her acceptance remade me into something I did not loathe.
Afterward, she touched me as only mates do, and we discovered that there was something we could share. I learned the purpose of pleasure for its own sake. I gave back to her, such as I could. It was a crossways fit, not natural design, but there was rightness in it.
After that, she did not argue my need to wear camouflage to avoid trouble on Gehenna, but on regen-nights, she seemed happiest because it was real then.
And I was happy. Can you quantify such moments? Can you catalogue them by intensity and say, This is the best of times. I cannot. I can only say that those turns with her were good.
I did not leave her by choice. I did not return to hunting because I wanted to. Given the opportunity, I would have stayed with her until she died. I altered my outward appearance appropriately, aging as she did. I was content with that life.
But as all things do, they came to an end. She saw it more clearly than I. At that point, we had been some twenty turns together by my reckoning.
One night, after sharing in our way, she lay with me, running her fingers along my mandible. She had learned the flesh was sensitive where it joined my throat. No Ithtorian mate would do so, for it offered no measure of rank or dominance. It was not done to prove her superiority, and for that reason alone I would have knelt to her where I would acknowledge no other female so.
“It’s time for you to go,” she said quietly.
At first I did not understand. I rose and regarded her; many-faceted images of her came back to me since I looked through my own eyes, and I relished every one.
“Go where?”
“Away.”
“Why?” It was a pointless question, but I hoped she would answer it.
“I will not see you bound to me,” Adele said. “While I grow old and weak and eventually you are my nurse, not my lover. In thirty turns more, that is where we shall be. Already I find it hard to speak these words, so I need you to go and carry the memory of me. In you I will live on, always.”
“Since I cannot give you young,” I said bitterly.
That is our way, our immortality. We are long-lived, compared to humans. We breed less often, but we create a new generation at a time. And I could give her nothing of it.
“You have given me the universe,” she responded, smiling.
That she could smile while I hurt in ways I could not understand—it broke something in me. I did not understand the heart of her, then. She is made of brightness, too much for sorrow. Such a glad spirit—I am humbled now that she shared it with me.
And so, I went from Gehenna, went back to building my own legend, with a hole in me that would take longer to fill than I knew. But that, too, is another story.
CHAPTER 17
Twenty turns, such a long time. The weight of the story
bears on me, making me understand why it’s hard for him to see her like this, now. Because of his life span, their time together doesn’t feel like an affair that ended long ago; in Vel’s terms, theirs is a fairly recent breakup, strange as that might seem to me.
“You love her still.”
“I do not know,” Vel answers. “I have never been sure if I have the capacity. It is not an Ithtorian emotion.”
Maybe not love, then. But caring. Affection. Whatever word he chooses, it applies to what he shared with Adele. I finish my drink and clear our tab with the servo-bot, then it’s time to move along. We step back onto the public walk, only a short distance from Adele’s flat now. Given what he told me, I can’t imagine what this is like for him, but he’s determined. I follow in his wake as the crowd eddies around him. The stares still bother me, but I don’t start anything. On Gehenna, people don’t remember my face like they do on New Terra. It would be a mistake to make myself notorious here as well.
Then I’m standing outside, gazing up. Unerringly, I find the row of glastique windows along the top. Mary, I was so happy there; sleeping right up against the windowpanes reminded me of flying. It was the only time I’ve ever been content when I wasn’t jumping. The rest of the building is an artistic nightmare, and as I recall, the lifts don’t work. There’s no security to speak of, so we pass inside unquestioned and walk up the flights to her apartment.
Vel touches the panel beside her door, but instead of asking who it is, she buzzes us in. She always had a whisper of prescience about her—and I hope it’s kicking in now. Otherwise, she’s too trusting for her own good. I step into the flat, which smells of tea and good fruit marmalade. She has a tray waiting on the table in her salon, but she does not get up. As I step closer, I see the lap robe tucked across her legs. She has aged visibly since the last time I saw her, more gray in her hair, and her skin has gone sallow.
“Forgive me for not greeting you properly,” she says warmly. “But I’m not getting around as well as I once did.”
“Were you expecting us?” Vel asks.
“I said I’d see you again, didn’t I? I’m never wrong about these things.”
He crosses to press the side of his face to her cheek. The chip recognizes the gesture as akin to a kiss, at least in Ithtorian terms. She touches the hinge of his mandible with familiar tenderness, her milky eyes lit with such joy that it hurts me to look at them. I sit down and take a cup to give my hands something to do, doctoring it with sweetener to avoid violating their privacy.
Vel clicks to her, and the translation software can’t process it, but even without interpretation, I sense it’s a sound of deep and abiding affection.
“Will we meet again?” he asks.
Adele shakes her head. “At last the time has come to say good-bye, my dear.”
“How can you
know
that?” I don’t mean to interrupt, but the question stands.
“That is my gift—and my curse. The knowing.”
“Are you saying you’re Psi?” That would explain a lot.
“I’d never say that because it would mean I broke the law by not turning myself over to Psi-Corp for indoctrination and training. But
if
I were, well, it’s such a tiny little talent. I can’t foretell the fate of random strangers, only those I love.”
I smile. “I won’t tell, I promise.”
Vel takes a seat opposite me, visibly disturbed by talk of permanent farewell. To see her withered with age like this, it has to be awful for him. She was right to send him away, even if he was lonely, because he would’ve hated seeing her grow old, up close and personal. From the poetry of the story he shared earlier, he remembers the vibrant young woman she was instead of the dying flower she’s become. His claws flex against the arm of the chair, leaving jagged scratches in the polymer.
Adele pretends she doesn’t notice. “Come over here, Jax, and give me a kiss.”
Since she’s the mother I always wanted, I oblige. She hugs me, and her frailty sends a shock of horror through me. Beneath her loose robe, I can feel her bones. She’s brittle like a bird, as if precious little ties her to this life.
“Are you eating enough?” I ask, stepping back.
“Food doesn’t taste good anymore.”
That’s when I know for sure she’s dying. I’ve seen it before, and that’s the unwavering symptom. It hurts me even to think it, but she’ll be gone soon. Vel sits very still, his claws cutting deep into the arms of his chair. But it’s not in me to let people go without a fight.
“You have to try. I could fix you something.” I half rise to go check out her kitchen-mate, but she waves me down.
“No, I’ve seen the end. I’m just happy you came to see me off.”
We should offer to stand deathwatch, but before I can, Vel rises. “We should conclude our business with Dr. Carvati. Then we can return and do whatever is needed here.”
“If you need to go,” I tell Vel softly, “I understand. But I’m going to stay here for a little while.”
He offers a jerky nod. “I will catch up with you later, then.”
Vel springs for the door. When he moves quickly like that, it highlights his alien qualities. But I understand what drives him now. He needs to escape, so I just watch him leave, and when I turn back to her, there are tears in Adele’s eyes.
Heart twisting, I pour the tea and make some toast with her good marmalade. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, child.” Not true, obviously. She’s dying. And she hates that Vel is hurting.
“Did you suspect?”
“That there was something different about him?”
I nod.
“I knew he wasn’t like other men. I had no notion just how special he was.”
“He told me your story. It’s . . . beautiful.” I take a sip of the tea, conscious of how brave and selfless she was to send him away. While they would have had more time together, I don’t know how he could have survived her loss if he’d stayed. Even now, after so many turns, it seems like it’s killing him.
“He’s easy to love,” she replies. “As I think you know.”
Oh, Mary.
Does she think I’m trying to replace her? Pain tightens my chest.
“I’m not—I could never—”
“Love him?” For the first time, she frowns at me. “I thought better of you.”
“No, I meant I could never take your place.”
Adele laughs softly. “Oh, you foolish girl. Did you feel March was trying to take Kai’s place?”
“A little. Sometimes.” It’s hard for me to remember the way I fought loving March because I thought it meant disloyalty or betrayal or I don’t know what. I was a mess.
“It doesn’t work that way. Each love is unique. Special. Giving to one never takes away from another.” Those might be the wisest words I’ve ever heard.
I don’t know her as well as Vel does, but when I focus on losing her, I could cry. Because I know she doesn’t want me to be sad, I fight back the tears and finish my snack. This afternoon tea reminds me of the happy times I spent here on Gehenna with her.
“Would you like me to stay with you? Until . . .” There’s no reason for her to be alone at the end. Our business on Gehenna will keep.
“It’s enough you came at all.” She radiates peace now. I feel it flowing from her, as though she has no more unfinished business. If she has pain, it doesn’t touch her any longer, either. “I’d rather be alone, if you don’t mind.”
It’s a dismissal, so I stand, but I don’t want to leave her. “Is your kitchen-mate fully stocked?”
“I’m provided for, and the chair gets me around. Don’t you worry.” Her easy smile absolves me of guilt.
Finally, I have no reason to stay. I can’t insist she let me stand deathwatch for her. “See you soon, Adele.”
On the street, I find him waiting. Pacing. Vel wheels to face me, and the flare of his mandible, the spread of his claws, communicate his tremendous disquiet.
“Vel.”
“Human death is terrible,” he says in a neutral tone. “Your bodies break down like machines inadequately maintained.”
“It’s not like that for your people?”
“No. Since we have three hearts, when one wears out, the others compensate. When the last beats its final time, life simply stops. But there is no external deterioration.”
“No brittle chitin, then? No crippling of limbs?”
“Our aging process does not work in that fashion.”
At least I’ve distracted him. So as we move down the walk away from her building, I continue with the questions. “How many do you have left?”
“I have two functioning hearts, Sirantha.”
Relief flickers through me. Though I don’t know what that means in practical terms, it should mean he has plenty of turns left. I know he’s already old by human standards, but I’m nowhere near ready to say good-bye.
I hail a hover cab because we’re in the wrong part of the city entirely to call on Ordo Carvati. It would take us all day to walk across the city, and I do want to get back to Adele as soon as possible. Vel slides in beside me, quiet now, and I respect his need to process the impending loss in his own fashion. Death isn’t like separation, after all. With the latter, you have some hope of seeing the person again, which is why I try not to think about March too often. I tell myself we’ll be together again; I just don’t know when.
“I will not be coming in with you,” he tells me, as the hover cab slows. “I need some time.”
“It’s not a problem. I can handle this.”
What seems such a long time ago now, I first met Ordo Carvati through Doc. What I intend to do strikes me as unbearably presumptuous. First I’ll inform him of his loss, then I’ll try to hire him. Mary, I’m such a dumb-ass. I stew over the unlikelihood of success as we fly toward Carvati’s private clinic. You can’t even reach the place from the ground; it perches high atop one of the top-security aeries, so if you can’t afford the emergency skywagon or a hover cab, then you’re out of luck.
I alight on the platform, but Vel does not. I lift my hand as the vehicle carries him away, then turn toward the hospital. It’s an exclusive, expensive haven built of ultrachrome and diamante with a marquee that reads, WE BUILD A BETTER YOU and a second one that flashes WHERE THE STARS COME WHEN THEY FALL. Inside, it is bright and clean. They’ve changed the chairs in the foyer since I was here last—no more bright orange. Instead, it’s a tasteful ecru edged in silver. The plants are new, too; these bear lightly scented blossoms with delicate crimson petals. Overhead, the skylight remains, bedazzling me with titian-tinged glamour.