Grail - By Elizabeth Bear Page 0,71

dealing with, uh—with natural-minded individuals such as yourselves. And because resistance to the mandated administration of early forms of this process is one of the reasons why your ancestors left Earth.”

“And the other,” Danilaw said, “was because decades of irrational human competition had driven the homeworld into a state of ecological catastrophe, such that it could no longer support large human populations.”

“We were not supposed to survive,” Perceval said.

“We know,” Danilaw said. “The Kleptocratic government—and what they did to your ancestors—was the final weight that really spun public opinion in favor of rightminding everyone. At first it was used to treat incurable ideologues and criminals. Then we moved on to sophipaths and Kleptocrats. The arcane priests of destructive religious systems such as Capitalism and—forgive me—Evolutionism came next. This was around the time your people moved on. Eventually, the rightminded population exceeded the unrightminded, and the procedure was made mandatory. Those were the last extensive wars Earth fought. Since then, they’ve managed through negotiation and compromise.”

“It’s not so shocking,” Tristen said, thinking of the modifications he’d made to his own mind, memories, and emotional landscape over the years. “The romanticization of a natural human state as somehow superior to a managed one is—your word, I am not certain I’m using it properly?”

“Sophipathology?” Danilaw asked.

“Thought-sickness,” Mallory supplied. Tristen smiled over his shoulder at the necromancer, and was rewarded by a flash of angelic grin through dark coiled hair.

Tristen rubbed his hands together. “So the implication of what you are telling us is that whoever sabotaged your vessel did so in a spirit of complete rationality?”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “And in the spirit of the public good.”

“That is useful information.” Perceval inclined her head like a queen, leaving Tristen to wonder what the squat, earthbound alien couple made of her. “Please, I must address the crisis now; Samael will see you are made comfortable. Now that the autonomous response is complete, there will be decisions that require my full attention.”

Amanda looked at Danilaw, seeking support, Tristen imagined, for whatever she would say next. His nod must have offered it, because when she turned back she spoke directly—and passionately—to Perceval.

“Captain,” she said. “I understand that you have exceptionally good reasons not to trust us currently. But I beg of you—you must have wounded, and I feel a grave responsibility for their pain. As a Legate and ship’s Captain, I have some medical training. Will you allow Danilaw and me to help in your recovery efforts?”

“Wounded?” Perceval thought for a moment. “We have facilities for them. But if you would care to observe, you are welcome to join us. I would recommend you allow us to provide you with armor before entering the damaged zone.”

“That would be welcome,” Danilaw said.

The Captain nodded. “All right then. Mallory, Tristen? You’re also with me.”

The pressure suits provided for Danilaw and Amanda were not at all what Danilaw was used to. But having observed Tristen’s “armor” in action, Danilaw was confident that it was a superior technology—as long as it wasn’t prone to catastrophic, untelegraphed failures.

Instructing him and Amanda in its use, Mallory seemed confident that they could handle it. “Even young children have no problem adapting to armor. The armor will take care of you. All you have to do is trust it.”

Danilaw wiggled his fingers in the gauntlets, trying to accustom himself to the feel of the sticky-cool colloidal lining, and eyed the necromancer dubiously. “Trust it?”

“Danilaw,” Mallory said, “this is armor. Armor, this is Danilaw. He is in your charge.”

“I am pleased to be of service, Danilaw.” The armor spoke through pinhole speakers in the neck aperture. Based on Amanda’s jump, she was hearing something similar, which told him the voice response was directional. “Are you familiar with my operation?”

“No,” Danilaw said, finding his voice. He was grateful for his rightminding. He could feel his body’s adrenaline response, the atavistic desire to panic, but he was aware of it as a chemical response, and he controlled it. “I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“Shall I place myself in training mode?” the armor asked.

“Affirmative,” Danilaw said.

“Normally phrased commands will suffice.” Was that his own embarrassment causing him to imagine a comforting tone in its speech? Or a touch of hesitancy?

“Thank you,” Danilaw said, concealing his stress and irritation that they were not yet moving to relieve the inevitable wounded. He did not know the disaster protocols on the Jacob’s Ladder. Captain Perceval’s apparent air of leisureliness might mean only that the situation was under control, and she was