Capitol - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,21

was Bergen who was going to be the artist, not Dal. It was not just or right or fair that Dal should be able to paint whiptrees.

And in anger Bergen shouted something unintelligible and struck out at Dal, catching him a blow at the side of his head. Dal was stunned. Not from the force of the blow, but from the fact of it.

"You've never hit me before," he said, wonderingly.

"I'm sorry," Bergen said immediately.

"All I did was paint the whiptrees."

"I know. I'm sorry. Hitting servants isn't the kind of thing I do."

And now Dal's surprise turned to fury. "Servants?" he asked. "For a moment I forgot that I'm a servant. I saw us try our hands at the same task and I was better at it than you. I forgot I was a servant."

Bergen was frightened at this turn of events. He hadn't meant anything by his statement-- he just prided himself on not being an uncontrolled master.

"But Dal," he said innocently. "You are a servant."

"That I am. I must remember that in the future. Not to win at any games. To laugh at your jokes even when they're stupid. To let your horse always be a little faster. To always agree that you're right even when you're being a fool."

"I've never wanted anyone to treat me like that!" Bergen said, angry at the unfairness of it.

"That's the way servants treat their masters."

"I don't want you to be a servant. I want you to be my friend!"

"And I thought I was."

"You're a servant and a friend."

Dal laughed. "Bergen, sir, a man is either a servant or a friend. They're opposite directions on the same road. Either you're paid for service, or you do it for love."

"But you're paid for service, and I thought you did it for love!"

Dal shook his head. "I served for love, and I thought you fed and clothed me for love. I felt free with you."

"You are free."

"I have a contract."

"If you ever ask me to break it, I will!"

"Is that a promise?"

"On my life. You aren't a servant, Dal!"

And then the door opened, and Bergen's mother and uncle came in. "We heard shouting," his mother said. "We thought there was a quarrel."

"We were having a pillow fight," Bergen said.

"Then why is the pillow neatly on the bed?"

"We finished and put it back."

The uncle laughed. "What a regular little housemaid you're raising, Selly."

"My Lord, Nooel, he wasn't joking. He still paints." They walked up to the painting and looked at it carefully.

Finally Nooel turned to Bergen and smiled, and put out his hand. "I thought it was just bluster and blow. Just a teenager spouting off. But you've got talent, boy. The sky's a bit rough, and you need some work on detail. But whoever can paint whiptrees like that has a future."

Bergen could not take credit unfairly.

"Dal painted the whiptrees."

Selly Bishop looked furious, but smiled sweetly at Dal nonetheless. "How nice, Dal, that Bergen lets you play with his paintings." Dal said nothing. But Nooel stared at him.

"Contract?" Nooel asked.

Dal nodded.

"I'll buy it," Nooel offered.

"Not for sale," Bergen said quickly.

"Actually," Selly said sweetly, "it's not a bad idea. Think you might want to develop the talent?"

"It's worth developing."

"The contract," Bergen said firmly, "is not for sale."

Selly looked coldly at her son. "Everything that was bought can be sold."

"But what a man loves enough, mother, he'll keep regardless of the price he's offered."

"Loves?"

"Your mind is disgusting, Selly," Nooel said. "Obviously they're friends. Sometimes you can be the worst bitch on the planet."

"You're too kind, Nooel. On this planet it's an achievement. After all, there's the empress."

They both laughed and left the room.

"I'm sorry, Dal," Bergen said.

"I'm used to it," Dal answered. "Your mother and I haven't ever gotten along too well. And I don't care-- there's only one person here I care about."

They looked at each other closely for a short time. Smiled. Then dropped the subject, because at fourteen there are few gentle emotions that can be openly borne for very long.

When Bergen turned twenty, somec came to their level of society.

"A brilliant stroke," Locken Bishop said. "Do you know what it means? If we qualify, we can sleep for five years at a time and wake up for five years at a time. We'll live for another century beyond what we would have otherwise."

"But will we qualify?" Bergen asked.

His parents laughed uproariously. "It's pure merit, and the boy asks if his family will qualify! Of course we'll qualify, Bergen!"

Bergen was quietly angry, as