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She had stopped caring for living. That was the way she had coped with the shocks. I saw that suddenly, and it made me cold. She jumped from attacking Ly
Percy talking about God and Modred turning on us—and Lance and Gawain at odds....
O God help us, I thought, which was unintended irony. We’re all lost in Dela’s dream.
And in it we faced our war.
They were busy on the bridge, Percy and Gawain and Lynette and Griffin and my lady Dela—there was nothing I could do there. They were busy trying to figure out what Modred had done on the bridge; but Modred was very good and I doubted they could find it at all if Modred had taken pains to hide it.
And Lance guarded the small room down the corridor which was a small cabin we had used on other voyages, where he had found to put Modred, I reckoned. Lance stood there, against the wall by the door, not moving, and looked tired beyond reckoning. “I can get a chair for you,” I offered. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m well enough,” he said, “but I’d like the chair, thanks.”
I brought it, out of Dela’s rooms, and set it down for him. He sank into it, with shadows round his eyes, with his big shoulders bowed. There was nothing anywhere to be happy about ... and still that hammering continued.
I knelt down, took Lance’s hand and looked up at him, which was the only way I could have his attention on me. It was focused elsewhere until then—somewhere insubstantial, maybe, on my lady, on our prospects. On what craziness brought him to lay hands on Gawain. I had no idea. His thoughts had grown complex, and they had never been that before. But he saw mebecause he had to, and his fingers tightened a little on my hand, cold and loose in mine until that.
“We’ve done all we can do,” I said. “Lance—it’s still all right. He can’t have done us that much harm. Let me talk to him, can I? I always could talk to him. I might make sense of him.”
“You don’t know what might be in his head.”
“I know you’ll be right outside,” I said in all confidence. His eyes flickered—it was a touch of pride, of what his shadow was. He wanted so much—so many things. For him a little praise was much.
“I think,” he said, “he got nothing at all to eat or drink yesterday: he might want that.”
Break Modred’s neck he might; but cruelty was not in Lance. He thought of such things. I nodded.
“I think he might,” I said, and got up and went off about that, while Lance kept his watch at the door.
So I came back from the dininghall stores with a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and Lance got up and let me through the door. Just a moment he stayed there, while Modred got up from the bed where he had been sitting, but Lance said nothing, and Modred said nothing, until Lance had closed the door.
“You haven’t had anything to eat,” I said.
“Thank you.”
As quiet as before, as precise and proper, his thin hands clasped before him.
“Modred, why did you do a thing like that?”
He shrugged. “Thank you for the food,” he said. I had not set it down. He meant I should leave, that was clear.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” I asked. “Haven’t you got any nerves at all?”
“If they make the bridge across, they might be right or wrong. But they don’t know. And it’s reckless.”
Modred—to talk about recklessness, after what he had done. I set the tray down. “Then why won’t you talk to them, tell them what you’ve done?”
“I don’t see that it makes any difference.”
“Youdon’t see. When did you see everything?”
Another shrug. No one attacked Modred. I stared into that dark-bearded face that frightened born-men and tried not to think of the tape, of that otherModred.
“Modred, pleasetalk to them.”
“The program isn’t locked,” he said. “They’ll have had no trouble accessing it.”
“You could have asked permission.”
“I did.”
It was so. I knew that he had done that again and again.
“And if I’m wrong,” he said, “there’s Lynette’s way; but if she’s wrong—there’s nothing left, is there?”
“You might be right. And if you are, come back, beg their pardons, talk to them.”
He shook his head, walked over matter of factly and investigated the tray I had brought. “Thanks for the food. I hadn’t time yesterday.”
“Whywon’t you talk to them?”
He looked up at me. There was a hint of pain, but he looked down again and unwrapped the sandwich, looking only tired.
“Modred.”
A second time he looked up at me. “They will never listen—to me—even when they should. Reason won’t work, will it—not against what a born-man wants to believe. I’ve seen that before now.”
“Do you understand—what it was in that tape Percy found in the locker?”
“Entertainment. A fancy. The logic on which this ship exists.”
And the Maidwas for him—the reason he existed. So it had gotten through to him. There was no reason in it. Modred had not even the nerves to be afraid: he was only trying to think it through and coming out with odd sums. He took a bite of his sandwich, a sip of the coffee. “It was kind of you to come,” he said.
“If you could explain to them—”
“I have explained to master Griffin. I don’t think he really understands. Or he looks at my face and stops listening.” His brow furrowed. “I’ve exhausted reason. There’s nothing else but what I did.” A second sip of coffee, and absently he turned his back on me and walked away.
“Modred, look at me. Don’t be like that.”
He turned back again. “I don’t precisely understand what kind of reasoning it is. Only that I’m not trusted. And that Griffin commands this ship.”
“He’s a good man.”
“But do you think he’s right?”
That was the logic that divided us ... We went by other things; and Modred only on his reckonings.
“I’m still following original instructions,” Modred said. “To get us out of this. Vivien has the right idea and none of you will listen to her either.”
“You said it can’t be done.”
“I said there was no escaping the mass. I said other things no one heard.”
“You mean talking to that thing.”
“It’s not attractive. It’s dangerous. You don’t like things like that. I know.”
“You left Gawain in trouble on your account.”
“Gawain did as Gawain chose to do.”
“Then you’re not alone. You can’t say no one believes in you.”
“Or the tape chose for him. He’s my ... brother ... in the dream. It’s a very dangerous thing, to see one’s whole existence, from begi
The door opened, abruptly. Born-men do such things, without a by your leave. It was Griffin.
“I’ll see you now,” Griffin said, “in the dining hall. Now.”
And Griffin left, like that, leaving the door open and Lance standing there.
I was afraid suddenly, seeing the look on Modred’s face, that was stark frustration—a born-man could do terrible things to us; there were all our psych-sets. There was all of that.
Modred set the tray and cup down, click, mostly untasted, and straightened his shoulders and walked out, past Lance without a look or a word. Lance followed him directly. I hurried after—knowing nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.
So we all came—not alone Lance and I, but all of us on the ship, the rest of them already gathered there, in that hall beneath the embroidered lion. My lady Dela was at the head of the table along with Griffin, and my place and Lance’s and Modred’s were vacant. We went to our places, Lance and I having to pass all that long distance down the table—and Modred took his after a moment, understanding that was what was wanted of him. Gawain was there, his hands clenched before him on the table, not looking up. Percy sat there equally pale, beside Lynette. And Vivien, whose bright eyes missed nothing.