Perrymeade by the mod.
At last he made a small bow and said something in a language
that must have been Hydran.
“What did he say?” I murmured to Perrymeade.
“I don’t know,” Perrymeade said. “Some sort of greeting. I
don’t know what it means.”
“You don’t speak their language?” It wasn’t that difficult
to learn a language by accessing. And someone at his level in a corporate
government had enough bioware to let him run a translator program, if accessing
was too much trouble for him. “Why not?”
He shrugged and looked away from me. “They all understand
ours.’t
I didn’t say anything; I just went on looking at him.
“Besides,” he murmured, as if I’d said what I was thinking,
or maybe because I hadr’t, “the Hydrans claim all language is only second best.
So there’s really no difference.”
DKEAMnALL / 79
“Yes, there is,” I said. I looked away again, listening for
something else: trying to tell whether Hanjen reached out to me with his mind,
trying to be open. Waiting for a whisper, a touch, anything at all; desperate
for any contact, for proof that I wasn’t a walking dead man, or the last one
alive in a world of ghosts.
But there was nothing. I watched the Hydran’s face. Emotion
moved across it like ripples over a pond surface. I didn’t know what the
emotions were because I couldn’t feel them, couldn’t prove that he was real,
any more than I could prove that I wasn’t utterly alone here.
“Mez Perrymeade,” he said, glancing away from me as if I didn’t
exist. “We have been expecting you. But why have you brought this one,” meaning
me, “with you?” The words were singsong but almost uninflected, not giving
anything away.
“Mez Hanjen,” Peffymeade said, trying to hold himself as
still as the Hydran did. He looked like he was trying to hold back water. “I
asked him to come.”
“No,” I said, forcing myself to meet Hanjen’s stare. “You
asked me to come. Last night, at the party.” We were all speaking Standard,
now. I wondered whether anyone from Tau had ever bothered to learn the Hydrans’
language. I wondered suddenly why Hydrans even had one, needed one, when they
could communicate mind-to-mind. The data on Hydran culture that was freely
accessible on the Net was so spotty I hadn’t been able to learn even that much
about them.
Hanjen made a small bow to me. “That is true. However, I
hardly expected, under the circumstances ...” He broke off, looking toward the
spot where I’d discovered the hidden statue. He shook his head, glancing at me again
as he began to turn away.
He stopped suddenly and turned back, making eye contact with
us. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “I meant to say, ‘Please follow me, the members
of the Council are waiting.’”
“Are they all like that?” I muttered as we started after
him.
Perrymeade shrugged and grimaced as Hanjen disappeared into
patterns of light and shadow.
For a second I thought Hanjen had disappeared entirely,
tele-ported himself, making some point by leaving us behind. My chest hurt as I
wondered whether I’d been the reason. But when I stepped into the shadows
beyond the courtyard I saw him moving ahead of me through a lightplay of
organic forms—trees and shrubs, columns and arches built on the same fluid
lines. There wasn’t a right angle anywhere; wherever I looked, my eyes had trouble
telling life from art.
Hanjen led us without a word, not looking back, along a sheltered
walkway. The pbth wandered like a stream through a maze of vine-hung arbors;
the arbors became a series of chambers, their ceilings and walls as random as
the walls of caves. In some of the chambers every inch of wall was covered with
patterned tiles; some had ceilings inlaid with geometries of age-darkened wood.
There were flower-forms and leaf-forrns spreading like vines up any pillar or
wall that wasn’t decorated with mosaics. My mind could barely take it in as we
passed through one room and then
At last he made a small bow and said something in a language
that must have been Hydran.
“What did he say?” I murmured to Perrymeade.
“I don’t know,” Perrymeade said. “Some sort of greeting. I
don’t know what it means.”
“You don’t speak their language?” It wasn’t that difficult
to learn a language by accessing. And someone at his level in a corporate
government had enough bioware to let him run a translator program, if accessing
was too much trouble for him. “Why not?”
He shrugged and looked away from me. “They all understand
ours.’t
I didn’t say anything; I just went on looking at him.
“Besides,” he murmured, as if I’d said what I was thinking,
or maybe because I hadr’t, “the Hydrans claim all language is only second best.
So there’s really no difference.”
DKEAMnALL / 79
“Yes, there is,” I said. I looked away again, listening for
something else: trying to tell whether Hanjen reached out to me with his mind,
trying to be open. Waiting for a whisper, a touch, anything at all; desperate
for any contact, for proof that I wasn’t a walking dead man, or the last one
alive in a world of ghosts.
But there was nothing. I watched the Hydran’s face. Emotion
moved across it like ripples over a pond surface. I didn’t know what the
emotions were because I couldn’t feel them, couldn’t prove that he was real,
any more than I could prove that I wasn’t utterly alone here.
“Mez Perrymeade,” he said, glancing away from me as if I didn’t
exist. “We have been expecting you. But why have you brought this one,” meaning
me, “with you?” The words were singsong but almost uninflected, not giving
anything away.
“Mez Hanjen,” Peffymeade said, trying to hold himself as
still as the Hydran did. He looked like he was trying to hold back water. “I
asked him to come.”
“No,” I said, forcing myself to meet Hanjen’s stare. “You
asked me to come. Last night, at the party.” We were all speaking Standard,
now. I wondered whether anyone from Tau had ever bothered to learn the Hydrans’
language. I wondered suddenly why Hydrans even had one, needed one, when they
could communicate mind-to-mind. The data on Hydran culture that was freely
accessible on the Net was so spotty I hadn’t been able to learn even that much
about them.
Hanjen made a small bow to me. “That is true. However, I
hardly expected, under the circumstances ...” He broke off, looking toward the
spot where I’d discovered the hidden statue. He shook his head, glancing at me again
as he began to turn away.
He stopped suddenly and turned back, making eye contact with
us. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “I meant to say, ‘Please follow me, the members
of the Council are waiting.’”
“Are they all like that?” I muttered as we started after
him.
Perrymeade shrugged and grimaced as Hanjen disappeared into
patterns of light and shadow.
For a second I thought Hanjen had disappeared entirely,
tele-ported himself, making some point by leaving us behind. My chest hurt as I
wondered whether I’d been the reason. But when I stepped into the shadows
beyond the courtyard I saw him moving ahead of me through a lightplay of
organic forms—trees and shrubs, columns and arches built on the same fluid
lines. There wasn’t a right angle anywhere; wherever I looked, my eyes had trouble
telling life from art.
Hanjen led us without a word, not looking back, along a sheltered
walkway. The pbth wandered like a stream through a maze of vine-hung arbors;
the arbors became a series of chambers, their ceilings and walls as random as
the walls of caves. In some of the chambers every inch of wall was covered with
patterned tiles; some had ceilings inlaid with geometries of age-darkened wood.
There were flower-forms and leaf-forrns spreading like vines up any pillar or
wall that wasn’t decorated with mosaics. My mind could barely take it in as we
passed through one room and then
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