Look up."
Thorn obeyed that voice. He heard the sound of his tapes over and over again.
"Blink. That's right. You can blink when you have to."
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"He's following that, isn't he?"
The voice drifted out again. He heard another voice babbling at him; there were images, he was in the simulator; more voices, more images, there were people like him moving in the dark, there were faces that babbled at him, there were machines and more machines—
He tried to leave this.
Eyes stared at him, mirrorlike. More machines that spun in dark and arms that moved—
He fought. He evaded and escaped and fought.
"This is your heritage," a voice told him out of the dark. "Accept it, Haras-hatani. This is your heritage. Accept what you hear and see. Stop resisting.
Accept this. This is your heritage."
Chaos of images.
"Listen to the sounds. Learn this, Haras-hatani. Remember these things."
"Wake up."
He was lying on the table. The sheet was over him. He was drenched in sweat. He wanted only to lie there and his eyes stung as if sweat were in them; it might be. Someone wiped his face and the cloth was neutral-feeling, wet and rough but neither cold nor hot. Someone lifted a weight off his chest and legs. "Are you sure you ought to? He's not awake yet."
He was, but he preferred to keep that secret to himself, and stare at the stark steel of the machinery, ignoring the faces and the touches, the sudden nakedness of his body as they peeled electrodes away in small twitches he ought to have felt keenly and did not.
"His color isn't good."
(I'm cold, fool.)
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Something stung his arm. It was not a great pain. In a moment he began to feel his heart thumping the way it did in nightmares.
(Go away. Let me alone. Don't touch me.)
"Hold him, don't let him move."
He blinked. Meds held his limbs in a hurtful grip. He lifted his head. "Let go. I'm awake. I want to sit up."
They looked foolish, with a dropping of their ears. After they had mulled it over they let him go and one at his side got a hand beneath his back and one and another helped him sit up, holding him.
"Are you through?" Thorn said.
"We're through," one said. They rarely spoke to him at all. "We'll put you to bed awhile."
"I'm going home." Thorn gave a sudden heave and landed with his feet on the floor. His feet were numb, but his knees held. The med reached and he stopped that reach with a backhand lift of his arm, slow-motion, gentle warning. The med took the warning when his stare followed the turn he made, and backed off.
"Sagot," someone said, "Sagot, get in here fast."
Thorn waited then, if Sagot was coming. He remembered he was naked. "I want my clothes." A med gave him his kilt, and he took it and worked with numb fingers and diminished balance to put it on.
A door opened. He looked up at Sagot. "Sagot," he said; he was very careful to be polite. Duun would hit him if he was rude to the meds, and he was desperate. He made his voice ever so calm and courteous, and stood as easily as he could. "Sagot, they think I ought to go to bed here and I'd much rather go to my own and sleep. Please get me home, Sagot."
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Sagot looked at him with her thin mouth all taut. A long while she stood there. "All right," Sagot said. "Call his guard and call Duun and tell him we're coming back." Sagot came and took Thorn's arm, wound her thin, fragile forearm about his and locked both her hands on his, and he walked with her, out of that room.
"We'll wait here a moment," she said in the other room; and stood there with him, holding to his arm. In a moment the door opened and the guard was there who walked with him everywhere. Ogot was his name. He said little, but he was a pleasant man; he was Duun's, and if Ogot had taken him to this place and never told him, perhaps Ogot had not known half as much as Sagot had. Ogot looked worried to see him, and Thorn felt ashamed to be so helpless.
"It's all right," Sagot said, "they've just given him a little sedative; we'll walk slowly. The boy wants to go home now. Come on, Thorn."
* * *
"Here." Duun sat down on the riser and took a cup and poured him tea.
"It's got aghos in it, don't spit it: you could use the calories."
He took it in one hand and sipped at it. The spice was sickly sweet, but it tasted better than his mouth did. He blinked at Duun. His neck was stiff; he had been sleeping wrong.
"That's good," Duun said. "I moved you in here."
"Carried me?" He remembered bed; remembered Duun rousing him once and making him drink.
"I still can."
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"Duun, they—"
"Hush."
Thorn caught his breath. So he had been about to embarrass himself. (You have a need, Thorn.) He felt drained and placid now after the storm before.
The illusory rain spattered the windows. "That's Sheon, isn't it?"
"I saved that image. I had it done about a year ago. I thought I'd use it someday."
(Some special day. Today? Is it a gift? To make up for the other thing?)
"More tea?" Come on. I want you to wake up now. We're going to have a round in the gym this afternoon."
"You'll kill me."
"I'll go easy, minnow." Duun's face staring at him, half good, half bad, with that forever mocking smile. "You'll manage."
(Is he happy with me now? Was it a test I passed?) "Duun, they had me—"
Duun lifted his right hand, the single finger. Silence, that meant. (I don't want you to talk.)
"They—"
"It didn't happen."
"Dammit, it—"
"It didn't happen. Hush."
Thorn's pulse picked up. He lay there staring at Duun's scarred face, at the unblinking stare. His heart thumped against his ribs. (What are you doing to me? What are you doing to me, Duun-hatani?)
* * *
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"You're slow, Thorn. Slow. Speed!"
Thorn tried. He spun and lost his centering, dived backward to save himself as the capped knife crossed his belly: he felt the touch of it, spun away and brought his blade up in defense at what followed. Time, Duun called, and hunkered down. Thorn sat down and wiped his face.
"I'm off. I'll get it back."
"You'll go on practicing." Duun said,
"What— 'go on'?" (Has something changed? What's wrong?)
Go on
had the sound of finality.
"Three mornings of a five you'll have your study. Every other day you'll go back to that room. It's another kind of study."
"Duun—"
"—which we won't talk about."
"Duun, I can't!"
"Can't?"
Thorn flinched. He clenched his arms about his knees. "Have you? Have you been through it?"
"We won't talk about it. Every other day you'll face that. You'll know you're going to face it; and you'll walk in on your own and be polite with the meds. This is the only time I'm going to tell you this. If you truly begin to suffer they'll put you down to once a five-day. But that's something the meds will decide for medical reasons, not your untutored whims."
"
Forever?
For the rest of my life?"
Duun hesitated. Duun rarely hesitated in answers, though he might stop to consider. In this, the pause was minute and Duun frowned. "It's a test, 144
Cuckoo's Egg
minnow. You're not going to fail it, hear? I'm not going to tell you how long it lasts. You're not going to bring the matter through that door. Next time you'll sleep it off in the medical section. When you can walk home on your own you'll do it; and you'll walk in at whatever hour and say Hello, Duun, I'm home, what are we going to do?— the way you do every day.
Sagot was soft and let you do as you pleased, and I should have sent you back right then and not coddled you. Life's not likely to coddle you."
"Neither are the meds, Duun! It
hurt,
it— I don't know how to handle it.
Duun, give me some help, for the gods' sakes tell me how I ought to handle it!"
"Accept it. With dignity. Embrace it. With all the strength and cleverness you've got."
"Did I fail today?"
"No." Duun said. "No, you did marvelously well. You can be proud of yourself. You've made a lot of people happy with you, people you've not met. But we won't talk about it anymore. You'll come home and you won't have to talk about it; we'll do everything we always do. I think you'll be glad of that."
"You won't shout at me."
A second time Duun looked taken aback, and that was rarer still. "No, minnow. I won't shout at you."
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XI
"Good morning," Sagot said.
Thorn walked across the sand the length of the room to where Sagot sat, as she had sat the first time he saw her. Reprise. He walked to the riser facing hers and sat down on the edge, feet dangling, hands locked in his lap.
Sagot's face was a stranger's face, withholding everything behind the eyes, an aged, white-dusted mask.
"How are you, Thorn?"
(As if we started over.) "I'm fine, Sagot. Duun says I have to go back there tomorrow. Is it going to be the same?"
"I can't discuss it, Thorn."
He sat there a moment. "I want to know, Sagot. What are they doing?"
"I can't discuss it. Can we get to our lessons?"
"Will you go with me tomorrow?" (Please, Sagot.) A long silence. "I don't think I can really make much difference. They won't let me bring you home; they're going to insist you stay there; they think they woke you up too fast. They weren't happy at all about my taking you out of there; you were on your feet and you were being reasonable—" Sagot's mouth puckered in humor. "—but a drunk hatani's not to argue with. Tomorrow you'll know what to expect and you won't argue with the meds, all right?"
"I know. I'd still like for you to stay."
"Thorn—"
"Don't talk to Duun about it. I know he'd say no. Just do it, Sagot. I don't trust the meds. I've never liked them."
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"I'll be there." Sagot smoothed the heavy fabric of her kilt and rested her hands on her ankles. "Let's talk about the weather— like atmosphere. Like the interaction of the oceans and air masses. When I was at the north pole, that was back in '87, I flew up there, but I went out on this exploration ship,
Uffu Non
was its name. Ask me about the hothonin some time—"
' "What are hothonin?"
"It's this kind of fish, about shonun size. They catch birds. That's right.
They have this white spot on their heads which looks like a small fast-swimming fish when they run just below the surface; a bird dives down, the hothun dives up—
snap,
no bird. See what assumptions do? Anyway, we put out of Eor port and headed out to sea—"
* * *
"Let's not push it, Ellud."
"I'm not pushing it," Ellud said. "Council's pushing me.
Betan's
surfaced.
She's alive."
Duun let his face relax in his surprise. "That's no good news. Where?"
"She's in seclusion. Shbit's got her, of course, in his house. That's the report that's gotten to me, via a councillor who talked to a councillor who talked with her. Don't go in there, Duun. For the gods' sake, don't try it at this point. Everything's going our way and Shbit's got nothing but a failed agent."
"The bureau agents must be in Shbit's bed if they're sure what he
hasn't
got. I don't like their complacency. Tell them that."
"Stay out of it, Duun, Gods, you go after Shbit and you could blow this whole thing into the public eye again, and gods know we've been there too often as it is. The council's riding even just now. The appropriations keep coming."
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"I know when Shbit will move. Shbit doesn't know it yet." Duun decided on the tea and poured himself a cup. "One has to suppose he restrains Betan; but I'd rather not suppose at all. What's the report from Gatog? Any details?"
"They've got the problem solved. It turned out to be a software glitch.
They took each other out."
Duun frowned. "I figured. False alarm, then. Dammit, Ellud. Those ears go down again and we'll have councillors in the trees."
"It could be worse."
"Believe me, I never quite forgot that." Duun picked up the cup with two fingers of his right hand and turned it with his left, feeling the incised design, natural clay, the costly happenstance of obu art, which was like Ellud, both clever and lacking plan. The paradoxes of the man confounded him lifelong. "I want to see the reports on Shbit. I want to know when he breathes in and how long he holds it. To the second, Ellud, tell your agents that."
* * *
"…in 1582 the Dsonan League established the international council. The immediate motivation was the drought which occurs in cycles in Thogan and which in that year had created considerable hardship on the seventeen million who inhabited the region stretching from—"
"…in 1593 the first satellite was launched from the Dardimuur coast—"
(Satellite?)
"…in 1698 Botan no Gelad became the first shonun into space."
"Sagot." Thorn's heart beat very fast. He looked up from his monitor at a placid, aged face. "Sagot, we're in space."
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"I was a little girl when Nagin walked on the moon. I remember my oldest brother coming and bringing me to the television and telling me that was the moon and shonun were walking on it. Nagin and Ghotisin and Sar. I went outside in the dark— it was spring and it was a clear night; I looked up at the moon and tried to see where they were, but of course I couldn't. I stared and stared and my brother came out and stood beside me. 'I'll go up there someday,' he said. He did. He flew all the way to Dothog and he walked on another world. He sent me a picture of him standing there in front of a sea of red dunes, you can't tell it's him, of course, the suit's big and cumbersome, and the sunvisor's down, but I know it's him. I still have it."