selfish. And I
wouldn't tell anyone but you. It's embarrassing to care about it.”
“Well, considering you've been raised to
take on this big public mantle, I can understand it being disappointing
to find out it's just a plain black umbrella after all. Hey, can I have
some of that? I love these things.”
They chewed contentedly for a minute. Then
Snow wiped her chin and said, “Why do you suppose Ko wants to hide what
you're doing?”
“Huh?”
Snow gave her a you-heard-me look.
Jackal threw her satsuma peel scraps onto
the table. “Can't you just let me have this for a while?” she said, and
only then realized that she was angry. And underneath that, scared of
the conversation, scared to think too much. “Can't I just have this one
good thing without there being something bad about it?”
“I didn't mean—”
“I don't care what you meant. Ko doesn't
want a lot of visibility in the investiture because it's not like we're
really a nation of our own yet as far as EarthGov is concerned. Okay?
So I'm not really as good as the rest of them to begin with, and it's
important that we keep that our little secret for as long as possible.
And thanks very much for bringing it up.”
They sat in bruised silence for minutes.
Jackal knew that Snow was hurting but too stubborn to leave. And Jackal
was too angry to be the conciliator.
“Fire and ice,” Snow said.
Another silence.
“There you go again,” Jackal said, “it's
that nordic thing.”
“Peel another one of those.”
She handed half a satsuma to Snow and
chewed on a segment. The juice was sharp in the corner of her mouth
where the salt had been.
Snow's voice, when she finally spoke
again, was quiet. “I didn't mean anything about you. I think you'll be
a great Hope, you'll do a wonderful job. I don't want to take anything
away from you. But I think you've been really jerked around and I don't
understand why you don't want to look at that.”
Jackal chewed her way through another bit
of fruit. You don't know the half of it, she thought. She wondered how
to explain her fear to Snow without telling the rest. Finally she said,
“What do you think it's like for Jeremy Sawyer right now?”
Snow sat back and thought about it. That
was one of the things Jackal loved about her, that she wasn't jarred by
conversational side trails. She assumed that they had a point, that the
different threads would wind together in the end. For Snow, they almost
always did: her mind worked that way.
“I'd be scared. I can't imagine being cut
off from my web and my community. He must feel so alone. And guilty
about his family. And vulnerable.”
“Of all of those, which do you think is
the worst?”
Snow said, even more quietly, “Being
alone.”
Jackal arranged her second set of satsuma
peels into a careful abstraction on the tabletop.
Snow said, “Do you really believe that
protesting poor process and bad communication would be cause
for…whatever you want to call it? Expulsion?”
“The Hope doesn't bite back in public,”
Jackal answered. “The Hope doesn't embarrass the sponsor. The Hope is
only valuable as long as she is perceived to be an asset to the
company. Don't look at me like that. It's true for everyone. It's just
a little harder for me right now. I'm lucky to be a part of Ko. They
take good care of us. Everyone has to compromise to be part of a
community.”
Snow scowled, but her shoulders unbent a
little. “All right. I understand about compromise.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Jackal said, and they both
leaned back in their chairs and looked up. There were no stars, only
cloud smeared across the sky like grease on glass. They held each
other's hands.
6
A WEEK LATER THE RECALCITRANT
HARDWARE DEVEL oper began turning up in fuzzy bunny slippers,
and Jackal knew she was back in the groove. The project kicked into
higher gear as the team began preparing for the relocation, and Jackal
was in charge, confident, supported by Chao and Neill, back in
wouldn't tell anyone but you. It's embarrassing to care about it.”
“Well, considering you've been raised to
take on this big public mantle, I can understand it being disappointing
to find out it's just a plain black umbrella after all. Hey, can I have
some of that? I love these things.”
They chewed contentedly for a minute. Then
Snow wiped her chin and said, “Why do you suppose Ko wants to hide what
you're doing?”
“Huh?”
Snow gave her a you-heard-me look.
Jackal threw her satsuma peel scraps onto
the table. “Can't you just let me have this for a while?” she said, and
only then realized that she was angry. And underneath that, scared of
the conversation, scared to think too much. “Can't I just have this one
good thing without there being something bad about it?”
“I didn't mean—”
“I don't care what you meant. Ko doesn't
want a lot of visibility in the investiture because it's not like we're
really a nation of our own yet as far as EarthGov is concerned. Okay?
So I'm not really as good as the rest of them to begin with, and it's
important that we keep that our little secret for as long as possible.
And thanks very much for bringing it up.”
They sat in bruised silence for minutes.
Jackal knew that Snow was hurting but too stubborn to leave. And Jackal
was too angry to be the conciliator.
“Fire and ice,” Snow said.
Another silence.
“There you go again,” Jackal said, “it's
that nordic thing.”
“Peel another one of those.”
She handed half a satsuma to Snow and
chewed on a segment. The juice was sharp in the corner of her mouth
where the salt had been.
Snow's voice, when she finally spoke
again, was quiet. “I didn't mean anything about you. I think you'll be
a great Hope, you'll do a wonderful job. I don't want to take anything
away from you. But I think you've been really jerked around and I don't
understand why you don't want to look at that.”
Jackal chewed her way through another bit
of fruit. You don't know the half of it, she thought. She wondered how
to explain her fear to Snow without telling the rest. Finally she said,
“What do you think it's like for Jeremy Sawyer right now?”
Snow sat back and thought about it. That
was one of the things Jackal loved about her, that she wasn't jarred by
conversational side trails. She assumed that they had a point, that the
different threads would wind together in the end. For Snow, they almost
always did: her mind worked that way.
“I'd be scared. I can't imagine being cut
off from my web and my community. He must feel so alone. And guilty
about his family. And vulnerable.”
“Of all of those, which do you think is
the worst?”
Snow said, even more quietly, “Being
alone.”
Jackal arranged her second set of satsuma
peels into a careful abstraction on the tabletop.
Snow said, “Do you really believe that
protesting poor process and bad communication would be cause
for…whatever you want to call it? Expulsion?”
“The Hope doesn't bite back in public,”
Jackal answered. “The Hope doesn't embarrass the sponsor. The Hope is
only valuable as long as she is perceived to be an asset to the
company. Don't look at me like that. It's true for everyone. It's just
a little harder for me right now. I'm lucky to be a part of Ko. They
take good care of us. Everyone has to compromise to be part of a
community.”
Snow scowled, but her shoulders unbent a
little. “All right. I understand about compromise.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Jackal said, and they both
leaned back in their chairs and looked up. There were no stars, only
cloud smeared across the sky like grease on glass. They held each
other's hands.
6
A WEEK LATER THE RECALCITRANT
HARDWARE DEVEL oper began turning up in fuzzy bunny slippers,
and Jackal knew she was back in the groove. The project kicked into
higher gear as the team began preparing for the relocation, and Jackal
was in charge, confident, supported by Chao and Neill, back in
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