have done—without letting it smother us.”
Rin smiled with a dashing exuberance Cley had seldom seen among the other Supras. Except for Kurani, she suddenly thought with a pang. Rin waved happily as what appeared to be a flock of giant, scaly birds flew through the hall, wheeled beautifully, and flew straight through the ceiling without leaving a mark. The illusion was startling.
A bundle of complex comments rattled through her in the Talent, about the dinner. Cley sniffed in disdain. Good food was like sex, one of life’s blessings, but they both lost their edge when talked about too much. Better go back to experience, then. She amped up her Talent and ate, feeling to her surprise the synergy between these senses. Down deep, the Talent was not just another way to hold a conversation. It reverberated from other senses, altering the texture of her world.
Her first bite was slow and deep, sinking through layers of thick taste. Onion-sharp, apple-sweet, fishy-rich—but not those flavors, not at all. Something beyond those. Supra food embodied all the feel of both Natural diets, animal and vegetable, and those of manufactured fare. She bit deeper, letting the savors drift through her sinuses and throat. It felt as if she were tasting with her eyes—a startling confusion. Now the salty fish-roe savor did not have to fight for recognition. Then came quick, hot spurts of texture, blending with Talent senses from others. Naturals ate together to talk; those with Talent, to heighten their world through one another. Very well, then.
She inhaled the rest of the cuisine-stack, not caring whether this was correct Supra etiquette. Nor did she allow herself to look at how the others took in the ottoman-sized slices of a cake tower—too tempting. Mingled with the Talent, this stuff was simply too good. To wrap yourself around it required no intellect, but resisting it would take a towering will. Vaguely she remembered something about entire sybaritic civilizations that had ebbed away, seduced by such delights. One of her Moms had told her of a lost year, all memories gone, after the Mom got addicted to a particular Supra gastronomical delight. She decided to leave the Supra treats table for special occasions, since she still intended to retain her ability to walk upright.
Still, it was hard to fight such temptation; she had the nagging thought that it might not come again.
Self-consciousness came tiptoeing in. The Talent buzz was intense, like a migraine hum. She tuned it out. A Supra man glided by with their characteristic smooth carriage, arched an eyebrow with a turn of his upper lip, and they sidled into a conversation. Now, this was more like it, she thought. He was named Fanak and was of exactly the same physical variation as Kurani. Something about him made her sing inside—final proof, as if any were needed, that she had a type.
The odd, off-key tone of this party had unsettled her. A pall had hung over their world since the attack, and she suddenly wanted to get out from under the emotional overcast. Do something frivolous and unthinking. So…
Fanak said something mild, a clear opening, and she jumped in. Made a weak joke. Got flustered. Blundered into fake profundity. Laughed it off. Concluded with a roll of the eyes and, realizing that she was coming over as rough, obvious…“I’m Cley—sometimes, I guess, the sort of woman who needs a woman’s touch.”
To his credit, he laughed anyway.
They spoke of trifles, mannerisms—anything except the Library and Furies—and he shrugged off a small recent bit of gossip with “Education may banish ignorance, but nothing can ban stupidity.” She thought this was very amusing, and told him so before she could stop herself. She went on about Seeker and Fanak was interested, asking all sorts of questions about the procyons as a species, which she did not know answers for, so she shrugged and just described Seeker alone, concluding in a rush, to her own surprise, “You
Rin smiled with a dashing exuberance Cley had seldom seen among the other Supras. Except for Kurani, she suddenly thought with a pang. Rin waved happily as what appeared to be a flock of giant, scaly birds flew through the hall, wheeled beautifully, and flew straight through the ceiling without leaving a mark. The illusion was startling.
A bundle of complex comments rattled through her in the Talent, about the dinner. Cley sniffed in disdain. Good food was like sex, one of life’s blessings, but they both lost their edge when talked about too much. Better go back to experience, then. She amped up her Talent and ate, feeling to her surprise the synergy between these senses. Down deep, the Talent was not just another way to hold a conversation. It reverberated from other senses, altering the texture of her world.
Her first bite was slow and deep, sinking through layers of thick taste. Onion-sharp, apple-sweet, fishy-rich—but not those flavors, not at all. Something beyond those. Supra food embodied all the feel of both Natural diets, animal and vegetable, and those of manufactured fare. She bit deeper, letting the savors drift through her sinuses and throat. It felt as if she were tasting with her eyes—a startling confusion. Now the salty fish-roe savor did not have to fight for recognition. Then came quick, hot spurts of texture, blending with Talent senses from others. Naturals ate together to talk; those with Talent, to heighten their world through one another. Very well, then.
She inhaled the rest of the cuisine-stack, not caring whether this was correct Supra etiquette. Nor did she allow herself to look at how the others took in the ottoman-sized slices of a cake tower—too tempting. Mingled with the Talent, this stuff was simply too good. To wrap yourself around it required no intellect, but resisting it would take a towering will. Vaguely she remembered something about entire sybaritic civilizations that had ebbed away, seduced by such delights. One of her Moms had told her of a lost year, all memories gone, after the Mom got addicted to a particular Supra gastronomical delight. She decided to leave the Supra treats table for special occasions, since she still intended to retain her ability to walk upright.
Still, it was hard to fight such temptation; she had the nagging thought that it might not come again.
Self-consciousness came tiptoeing in. The Talent buzz was intense, like a migraine hum. She tuned it out. A Supra man glided by with their characteristic smooth carriage, arched an eyebrow with a turn of his upper lip, and they sidled into a conversation. Now, this was more like it, she thought. He was named Fanak and was of exactly the same physical variation as Kurani. Something about him made her sing inside—final proof, as if any were needed, that she had a type.
The odd, off-key tone of this party had unsettled her. A pall had hung over their world since the attack, and she suddenly wanted to get out from under the emotional overcast. Do something frivolous and unthinking. So…
Fanak said something mild, a clear opening, and she jumped in. Made a weak joke. Got flustered. Blundered into fake profundity. Laughed it off. Concluded with a roll of the eyes and, realizing that she was coming over as rough, obvious…“I’m Cley—sometimes, I guess, the sort of woman who needs a woman’s touch.”
To his credit, he laughed anyway.
They spoke of trifles, mannerisms—anything except the Library and Furies—and he shrugged off a small recent bit of gossip with “Education may banish ignorance, but nothing can ban stupidity.” She thought this was very amusing, and told him so before she could stop herself. She went on about Seeker and Fanak was interested, asking all sorts of questions about the procyons as a species, which she did not know answers for, so she shrugged and just described Seeker alone, concluding in a rush, to her own surprise, “You
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