forget about me. Gundhalinu swallowed the hard knot in
his throat, and only said, faintly. “Thank you, sir. You show me more
consideration than I deserve.”
“You’ve been a good officer,” Savanne replied, a little mechanically.
“You deserve whatever time it takes to resolve your problems ... however you
can. Rest, enjoy this vacation from your responsibilities. Get to feel at home
on this world,” He glanced at Gundhalinu, his eyes touching uncomfortably on
the pink weals of scar at his wrists. “Or perhaps ... what you need is to look
into your brothers’ disappearance in World’s End.”
Gundhalinu felt a black, sudden rush of vertigo, as if he
were falling. He shook his head abruptly; saw a fleeting frown across the Chief
Inspector’s face.
“Come back to the force, Gundhalinu,” Savanne murmured. “But
only if you can come back without scars.”
Gundhalinu stared at him. He made a final salute, before his
body turned away smartly and took him out of the office.
Without scars. The hallway stretched out, shining and inescapable
before him. Without the past. He wondered what point there was to having the
scars removed. The Chief Inspector would still see them. And so would he. It
would only be one more act of hypocrisy. He began to walk. Life scars us with
its random motion, he thought. Only death is perfect.
TIAMAT: South Coast
“Miroe—?” Jerusha called, stepping out of the ship’s cabin
onto the gently rocking deck. She saw him standing at the rail; still there, as
he had been for hours, observing the mers. The sea wind was cold and brisk,
rattling the rigging, rudely pushing at her as she came out into the open. But
the sky was clear today, for once, and for once the sun’s heat on her face
warmed her more than just skin-deep.
It was more than she could say for her husband’s expression
as he glanced up at her. He shut off the makeshift recording device he held,
and pulled the headset away from his ears. “Damn it,” he muttered, as much to
himself as to her, “I’m not getting anywhere—”
She sighed, controlling her annoyance as his frustration
struck her in the face. She joined him at the catamaran’s rail, looking down at
the water’s moving surface. At the moment there were no mers visible anywhere
in the sea around them. “When you suggested that we go away for a few days,
just the two of us, and sail down the coast, I was hoping this would be ...
restful,” she said. Romantic. She looked away again, unable to say what she
felt, as usual, when it involved her own feelings.
“Don’t you find it restful?” he asked, surprised. He had
insisted that they were both working too hard, after her third miscarriage.
Enough time had passed that they could safely try again for a child, and she
had hoped that he meant this trip to be for them ... just them.
“I find it ... lonely.” She forced the word out; forced
herself to look at him.
“You miss Carbuncle that much?” he asked.
“I miss you.”
His brown eyes with their epicanthic folds glanced away. He
put his arm around her, drawing her close. He held her, his nearness warming
her like the sun; but his other hand busied itself with the recording
equipment, allowing him to avoid answering her. He had always been a man of few
words; his emotions ran so strong and deep that they were almost unreachable.
She had known that when she married him. It was what had drawn her to him, his
strength and his depth. That and his face. golden-skinned and ruggedly handsome
when he smiled at her ... his straight, night-black hair; the absurd
stubbornness of his mustache and the way it twitched when something took him by
surprise—as she had when she’d told him she was staying on Tiamat, and asked
him the question he could not ask himself ....
She had always understood his reticence, his guardedness, so
well because it was so much like her own. But understanding had not kept the
silence from accreting like an invisible wall
his throat, and only said, faintly. “Thank you, sir. You show me more
consideration than I deserve.”
“You’ve been a good officer,” Savanne replied, a little mechanically.
“You deserve whatever time it takes to resolve your problems ... however you
can. Rest, enjoy this vacation from your responsibilities. Get to feel at home
on this world,” He glanced at Gundhalinu, his eyes touching uncomfortably on
the pink weals of scar at his wrists. “Or perhaps ... what you need is to look
into your brothers’ disappearance in World’s End.”
Gundhalinu felt a black, sudden rush of vertigo, as if he
were falling. He shook his head abruptly; saw a fleeting frown across the Chief
Inspector’s face.
“Come back to the force, Gundhalinu,” Savanne murmured. “But
only if you can come back without scars.”
Gundhalinu stared at him. He made a final salute, before his
body turned away smartly and took him out of the office.
Without scars. The hallway stretched out, shining and inescapable
before him. Without the past. He wondered what point there was to having the
scars removed. The Chief Inspector would still see them. And so would he. It
would only be one more act of hypocrisy. He began to walk. Life scars us with
its random motion, he thought. Only death is perfect.
TIAMAT: South Coast
“Miroe—?” Jerusha called, stepping out of the ship’s cabin
onto the gently rocking deck. She saw him standing at the rail; still there, as
he had been for hours, observing the mers. The sea wind was cold and brisk,
rattling the rigging, rudely pushing at her as she came out into the open. But
the sky was clear today, for once, and for once the sun’s heat on her face
warmed her more than just skin-deep.
It was more than she could say for her husband’s expression
as he glanced up at her. He shut off the makeshift recording device he held,
and pulled the headset away from his ears. “Damn it,” he muttered, as much to
himself as to her, “I’m not getting anywhere—”
She sighed, controlling her annoyance as his frustration
struck her in the face. She joined him at the catamaran’s rail, looking down at
the water’s moving surface. At the moment there were no mers visible anywhere
in the sea around them. “When you suggested that we go away for a few days,
just the two of us, and sail down the coast, I was hoping this would be ...
restful,” she said. Romantic. She looked away again, unable to say what she
felt, as usual, when it involved her own feelings.
“Don’t you find it restful?” he asked, surprised. He had
insisted that they were both working too hard, after her third miscarriage.
Enough time had passed that they could safely try again for a child, and she
had hoped that he meant this trip to be for them ... just them.
“I find it ... lonely.” She forced the word out; forced
herself to look at him.
“You miss Carbuncle that much?” he asked.
“I miss you.”
His brown eyes with their epicanthic folds glanced away. He
put his arm around her, drawing her close. He held her, his nearness warming
her like the sun; but his other hand busied itself with the recording
equipment, allowing him to avoid answering her. He had always been a man of few
words; his emotions ran so strong and deep that they were almost unreachable.
She had known that when she married him. It was what had drawn her to him, his
strength and his depth. That and his face. golden-skinned and ruggedly handsome
when he smiled at her ... his straight, night-black hair; the absurd
stubbornness of his mustache and the way it twitched when something took him by
surprise—as she had when she’d told him she was staying on Tiamat, and asked
him the question he could not ask himself ....
She had always understood his reticence, his guardedness, so
well because it was so much like her own. But understanding had not kept the
silence from accreting like an invisible wall
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