“You really expect that to stop it?” She sounded skeptical, and she knew it, but he only showed his teeth in a thin, cold smile.
“Manpower isn't the Ballroom, Alley. They're not motivated by belief systems or the need to liberate the victims of genetic slavery. They don't think that way, because they're only in it for the money. They don't give a damn how many people they kill or maim or torture—just like you—in the process, of course, because people aren't human beings to them; they're only things to be used. Only disposable, replaceable, unimportant items on a spreadsheet somewhere. But they think in terms of doing things to other people. They think their wealth and their power and the Mesan security systems protect them from people who might think about doing the same sorts of things to them. We're going to have to hush the whole thing up, of course—if the rest of Beowulf found out about this, they'd probably demand an all out military strike on Mesa, and you can just imagine how the rest of the League would feel about that! But Manpower knows about it, and they'll understand our response just fine. They think of themselves as ‘businessmen,' Alley, and when they discover the cost of ‘doing business' here on Beowulf, or against people like Fairmont-Salbakken or, yes, people like you, they'll decide it's too high.”
Allison looked up at him, tasting the harsh iron in his voice, seeing the flint behind his eyes. Perhaps he was right. She hoped he was, anyway, and she felt a reflection of that same flint, that same iron, deep in her own soul. She'd always hated and despised genetic slavery. Now it was personal. Now she'd experienced at least a taste of what millions upon millions of genetic slaves had endured for centuries, and she understood the truth of their existence in a way no bloodless intellectual analysis could ever have shown her.
Jacques looked back at her for a long, still moment. Then he shook himself and smiled.
“That's enough doom and gloom for a while, Alley! Wait here. I'll be back in a sec.”
“Wait here?” she thought as he climbed out of the chair and disappeared, closing the hospital room door behind him. She looked down at the flimsy hospital gown—some things never seemed to change—and shook her head. Just where does he think I'm going to go? Until they get me some clothes, at least! Besides, he and I both know doctors too well to think anyone's going to release me just because I happen to feel fine. They're going to be running neurological tests and psych evaluations for days before anyone's willing to sign off on—
The door opened again, and her thoughts broke off as a very tall man followed Jacques back into the room. Her eyes widened, and then she realized he'd been on the other side of that door all along. That she'd known he was, even as she spoke to her brother, and that she hadn't realized she knew only because it had been so natural, so inevitable, that he had to be there. She would have recognized his absence instantly; his presence was like the beat of her own heart, so central, so necessary to her own completion, that it called itself to her attention only when it wasn't there.
That's what it was all along, she realized. That . . . incompletion. That sense that things were out of balance somehow. It was because he was too far away. Or maybe because neither of us knew what was going on, what was happening.
A distant part of her brain told her that she still had no idea what was happening, or why, but that didn't matter. It wasn't something which had to be understood; it was simply something which was, and she felt her face blossoming in a huge smile as that awareness flowed through them both.
“I don't believe the two of you have ever been formally introduced,” Jacques said. “Alley, may I present Lieutenant Karl Alfred Harrington, Royal Manticoran Navy. Lieutenant Harrington, allow me to present my sister, Allison Carmena Elena Inéz Regina Benton-Ramirez y Chou.”
He smiled devilishly as Allison darted a deadly look in his direction, but the smile softened quickly, and he reached up to lay one hand on the towering Sphinxian's shoulder.
“I don't pretend to understand everything Alfred's told me, Alley. I don't have to. I know what he did. That's more than enough for me, and I also know