but exerting no undue pressure on his joints.
The elevator that connected the Naahk's residence with the Inner Deck began moving. Since the cable was seldom used, it now groaned loudly. Netwar idly imagined that the strain of moving affected the cable in the same way moving affected his joints.
Netwar moaned as pain stabbed his knees and hips. He tried to stand perfectly still to deny the pain a target, but either he failed to remain motionless or the disease had reached a new stage of intensity.
As the Naahk, Netwar commanded the skills of the best doctors on the Ship, but they couldn't help him. They could only give a name to his suffering: arthritis. The doctors couldn't prevent the accelerating deterioration of his joints; they couldn't even slow it down. All Netwar could do was accept his disease as a necessary evil that went along with his rank and hope that he would be freed from it sooner rather than later.
Through the transparent plastic floor of the elevator cabin, Netwar saw people waiting for him. Several Tenoy, but no officers—no one from the higher ranks of the administration, not even a Tenarch.
Why get their hands dirty, when others would do it for them?
He pulled himself together as the cabin approached the Inner Deck. Just before the elevator glided to a stop, he injected himself with pain medicine, his hand clenching the injection gun in his pocket.
The pain disappeared at once, replaced by a feeling of elation for which Netwar knew from experience he would pay dearly. The injection freed him from pain for several hours: the problem with eliminating it was that he ordinarily used the pain to regulate his movements. By paying attention to his level of discomfort, he could avoid actions that would aggravate his condition. Without the pain to guide him, he almost certainly gave the deterioration of his joints a push, and in the long term twisted the screw of his pain one turn higher.
The Tenoy bowed to him mutely, their eyes fixed firmly on the chain around his neck. This was perhaps the most significant moment of their lives: they were meeting the Naahk in person! Perhaps their emotion was so great that they would be able to repress the memory of the screams they would soon be hearing. Netwar already knew that he would not be able to do that. These screams would join the many others that tore him out of his sleep at night.
The Tenoy had brought an electric three-wheeled vehicle, and now politely indicated for him to sit on the wide padded seat. The Naahk refused. If he only had a few dearly purchased hours left to use his body, he didn't want to waste them by sitting, even if doing so would have been easier on his joints. More importantly, refusing the ride would reinforce his status. The Tenoy would tell every detail of their meeting with the Naahk, including, of course, his modesty.
They started out. The walk led them through the steel landscape of the Inner Deck. Netwar knew that most metach came to this section of the Ship only reluctantly. They missed the green that defined the Middle and Outer decks, but most of all they felt oppressed by the close quarters. The Inner Deck had such a small diameter that there could be no illusion of a sky. If one raised his head, he saw the opposite side of the deck, on which the machinery complexes and people hung upside down, attached to the floor by centrifugal force. After all these years, even the Naahk found it hard to shake off the feeling of being about to fall toward the ceiling.
But Netwar didn't look up. He concentrated entirely on the miracle of his legs carrying him forward with the effortlessness and strength of a young man.
The walk lasted almost half an hour. Too long for the Tenoy, who felt increasingly uneasy in the presence of the silent, mysterious Naahk; too short for Netwar, who wanted to enjoy his fleeting illusion of health and was reluctant to reach their destination.
It couldn't be avoided. The small group arrived at a low-roofed
The elevator that connected the Naahk's residence with the Inner Deck began moving. Since the cable was seldom used, it now groaned loudly. Netwar idly imagined that the strain of moving affected the cable in the same way moving affected his joints.
Netwar moaned as pain stabbed his knees and hips. He tried to stand perfectly still to deny the pain a target, but either he failed to remain motionless or the disease had reached a new stage of intensity.
As the Naahk, Netwar commanded the skills of the best doctors on the Ship, but they couldn't help him. They could only give a name to his suffering: arthritis. The doctors couldn't prevent the accelerating deterioration of his joints; they couldn't even slow it down. All Netwar could do was accept his disease as a necessary evil that went along with his rank and hope that he would be freed from it sooner rather than later.
Through the transparent plastic floor of the elevator cabin, Netwar saw people waiting for him. Several Tenoy, but no officers—no one from the higher ranks of the administration, not even a Tenarch.
Why get their hands dirty, when others would do it for them?
He pulled himself together as the cabin approached the Inner Deck. Just before the elevator glided to a stop, he injected himself with pain medicine, his hand clenching the injection gun in his pocket.
The pain disappeared at once, replaced by a feeling of elation for which Netwar knew from experience he would pay dearly. The injection freed him from pain for several hours: the problem with eliminating it was that he ordinarily used the pain to regulate his movements. By paying attention to his level of discomfort, he could avoid actions that would aggravate his condition. Without the pain to guide him, he almost certainly gave the deterioration of his joints a push, and in the long term twisted the screw of his pain one turn higher.
The Tenoy bowed to him mutely, their eyes fixed firmly on the chain around his neck. This was perhaps the most significant moment of their lives: they were meeting the Naahk in person! Perhaps their emotion was so great that they would be able to repress the memory of the screams they would soon be hearing. Netwar already knew that he would not be able to do that. These screams would join the many others that tore him out of his sleep at night.
The Tenoy had brought an electric three-wheeled vehicle, and now politely indicated for him to sit on the wide padded seat. The Naahk refused. If he only had a few dearly purchased hours left to use his body, he didn't want to waste them by sitting, even if doing so would have been easier on his joints. More importantly, refusing the ride would reinforce his status. The Tenoy would tell every detail of their meeting with the Naahk, including, of course, his modesty.
They started out. The walk led them through the steel landscape of the Inner Deck. Netwar knew that most metach came to this section of the Ship only reluctantly. They missed the green that defined the Middle and Outer decks, but most of all they felt oppressed by the close quarters. The Inner Deck had such a small diameter that there could be no illusion of a sky. If one raised his head, he saw the opposite side of the deck, on which the machinery complexes and people hung upside down, attached to the floor by centrifugal force. After all these years, even the Naahk found it hard to shake off the feeling of being about to fall toward the ceiling.
But Netwar didn't look up. He concentrated entirely on the miracle of his legs carrying him forward with the effortlessness and strength of a young man.
The walk lasted almost half an hour. Too long for the Tenoy, who felt increasingly uneasy in the presence of the silent, mysterious Naahk; too short for Netwar, who wanted to enjoy his fleeting illusion of health and was reluctant to reach their destination.
It couldn't be avoided. The small group arrived at a low-roofed
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