wanted a second, third, or even a fourth wife, and Simona thought she would rather die than submit to such a fate.
Rukkh was a peasant, but he was a good soldier in a crack regiment. He had looked at her with eyes burning with desire. This was the new world, a new social order was going to rise here.
She gave an inner shrug. None of these things counted with Filek, except the first. The Biswas clan had been a town family for centuries. Filek despised the peasantry for their ignorance and sloth.
"I have spoken to the builders," Filek had turned instead to a topic that pleased him, the construction of a shoreside hospital, along with a house for himself close by. "They assure me that the materials will be ready within a few more days. I have been over the drawings with the architect. The whole project has great potential."
Simona relaxed. She hated having to dissemble. She hated the gap that had opened between her and her father. But she knew that Filek, without Chiknulba at his side, was subjected to all the social pressures of his world. He wanted the intellectual intimacy that they had always enjoyed, but he himself was turning toward the more traditional views of Shasht society. Simona did not think that way. Her time among the mots of the Land had dissolved any remnants of belief in the official religion of He Who Eats. Thru Gillo had helped her see that there was another way.
Father did not believe in the Great God, either. Both of them knew that. Father was turning in this direction because it accorded with the views of his master, the admiral. Nor was the admiral a believer; but he was conservative in his social mores, and it was better for Filek if he became more conservative, too.
This was the same admiral who had ordered her to be tortured when she came back with the message of the Assenzi. Somehow, Filek had put this away out of his thoughts. He had hardly ever spoken to her about it, though he had heard her screams as the red tops beat on her hands and feet. Probably, she understood, he had to pretend it had never happened or he could not continue as fleet surgeon, working for the admiral. Part of her understood why he had done this, and part of her could never forgive him.
Out of the confusion of these thoughts and emotions, she recalled Thru Gillo's face. The wedge of the dark nose, the bushy eyebrows framing the eyes with their inhuman depth of color. Another being in the shape of a man. A man with grey fur covering him from head to toe. A man with an inhuman face.
They had learned each other's languages. The whole thing had taken a couple of weeks, an amazing, intoxicating process. She had learned so much from Thru. The experience had been both incredibly strange and still wonderfully familiar. She had forged a bond with Thru that was like none she had ever known.
She remembered the strange little city of the mots. The steeply tilted roofs and narrow windows, the winding little streets. Every building was unique. Compared to Shasht it was tiny, of course, but it remained exquisite.
And that was the world that her own people were determined to destroy.
Her father was happily talking about his new hospital. He had big plans.
"There will be three wings. I need an entire wing for the experimental work."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Cra-ack!" the sound of the wide bat on the white ball echoed back to the hundreds of spectators on the terraced seats behind the batting post in Sulmo's royal park.
The small white ball flew up, higher and higher, while underneath it the fielders scrambled to get back and make a catch. The crowd watching with bated breath, saw the ball reach its apogee and then fall, drifting a little in the clear air until it fell safely across the scoring line.
Another run for the Army team! Polite applause rippled from the stands, while some soldiers gathered in the tighter scrum right behind the batting post let out shouts of triumph. They were matched by the cries from the scrum of chooks gathered
Rukkh was a peasant, but he was a good soldier in a crack regiment. He had looked at her with eyes burning with desire. This was the new world, a new social order was going to rise here.
She gave an inner shrug. None of these things counted with Filek, except the first. The Biswas clan had been a town family for centuries. Filek despised the peasantry for their ignorance and sloth.
"I have spoken to the builders," Filek had turned instead to a topic that pleased him, the construction of a shoreside hospital, along with a house for himself close by. "They assure me that the materials will be ready within a few more days. I have been over the drawings with the architect. The whole project has great potential."
Simona relaxed. She hated having to dissemble. She hated the gap that had opened between her and her father. But she knew that Filek, without Chiknulba at his side, was subjected to all the social pressures of his world. He wanted the intellectual intimacy that they had always enjoyed, but he himself was turning toward the more traditional views of Shasht society. Simona did not think that way. Her time among the mots of the Land had dissolved any remnants of belief in the official religion of He Who Eats. Thru Gillo had helped her see that there was another way.
Father did not believe in the Great God, either. Both of them knew that. Father was turning in this direction because it accorded with the views of his master, the admiral. Nor was the admiral a believer; but he was conservative in his social mores, and it was better for Filek if he became more conservative, too.
This was the same admiral who had ordered her to be tortured when she came back with the message of the Assenzi. Somehow, Filek had put this away out of his thoughts. He had hardly ever spoken to her about it, though he had heard her screams as the red tops beat on her hands and feet. Probably, she understood, he had to pretend it had never happened or he could not continue as fleet surgeon, working for the admiral. Part of her understood why he had done this, and part of her could never forgive him.
Out of the confusion of these thoughts and emotions, she recalled Thru Gillo's face. The wedge of the dark nose, the bushy eyebrows framing the eyes with their inhuman depth of color. Another being in the shape of a man. A man with grey fur covering him from head to toe. A man with an inhuman face.
They had learned each other's languages. The whole thing had taken a couple of weeks, an amazing, intoxicating process. She had learned so much from Thru. The experience had been both incredibly strange and still wonderfully familiar. She had forged a bond with Thru that was like none she had ever known.
She remembered the strange little city of the mots. The steeply tilted roofs and narrow windows, the winding little streets. Every building was unique. Compared to Shasht it was tiny, of course, but it remained exquisite.
And that was the world that her own people were determined to destroy.
Her father was happily talking about his new hospital. He had big plans.
"There will be three wings. I need an entire wing for the experimental work."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Cra-ack!" the sound of the wide bat on the white ball echoed back to the hundreds of spectators on the terraced seats behind the batting post in Sulmo's royal park.
The small white ball flew up, higher and higher, while underneath it the fielders scrambled to get back and make a catch. The crowd watching with bated breath, saw the ball reach its apogee and then fall, drifting a little in the clear air until it fell safely across the scoring line.
Another run for the Army team! Polite applause rippled from the stands, while some soldiers gathered in the tighter scrum right behind the batting post let out shouts of triumph. They were matched by the cries from the scrum of chooks gathered
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