Jenna Starborn (38 page)

V
ery little of the rest of that day passed for me in anything like coherent sequence. We lingered several more minutes in Gilda Parenon's bungalow as Mr. Merrick made a few more despairing attempts to connect with his sister, whose perfectly still, perfectly placid face did not change in the slightest. I found myself looking from her face to her hands and back to her face, wondering what expression she wore when she slipped into her fits of rage and violence. What caused them? An electrical malfunction seemed the most obvious—a kink in the circuits that could not be repaired, that fed directly into the neural passageways and caused erratic behavior. Androids with such flaws were routinely deprogrammed and cannibalized for parts—but a cyborg presented a whole new set of ethical problems. For, as Mr. Merrick had pointed out, a cyborg
was,
indeed, part human; and our society had rejected capital punishment even for felons, so it could not routinely take the life of a creature whose only crime was a form of uncontrollable madness.

Thus she lived, and suffered, and wreaked damage, and forgot her brother, and railed against her confined environment, and destroyed my life.

As I say, we stayed a few more minutes before returning to the manor. Everett would have drawn me beside him into the Vandeventer, but I would not go. I discovered reserves of physical strength and detached my hand from his, then I climbed unassisted into the bus. Mr. Soshone had taken the others to their various destinations around the park, then returned to wait outside the bungalow for us. Once Mrs. Farraday and I were seated, he flew us at a slow pace to the house, where Mrs. Farraday and I disembarked, then he took off back toward the estate hangar.

Everett scrambled from his aeromobile just as we were alighting from the bus, but I took Mrs. Farraday's arm for support as we entered the foyer. “I believe I need assistance to my room,” I said in a low voice, but loud enough for the master of the house to hear. “Could you help me upstairs?”

“Oh, Jenna, you poor child, of course I shall help you! Lean on me, poor girl. There now, once I've got you settled, I shall bring you some hot soup and tea. That will make everything better—well, no, I suppose not everything—dear me—”

Her voice trailing off into embarrassment and I making no attempt to speak, we completed the rest of the climb in silence. I did not even look back to see if Everett watched from the foot of the stairs. I made it to my room, which seemed a haven out of all proportion to its physical amenities, and thanked Mrs. Farraday gravely at the door. Locking it between us, I stood for a moment, eying the great distance between the threshold and my bed, and wondering if I could cross so much space without falling. I did not think so. Carefully, so as not to bruise myself, I lowered myself to the floor, and on hands and knees crawled across the room to my bed.

But I could not summon the energy to raise myself to the mattress; I could not pull myself so high. So there, at the foot of the bed, in a pillow of ivory satin, I lay for the next few hours, and I did not move at all.

I
t was sometime past midnight when I lifted my head from the floor. Every bone in my body had compacted during these past few hours; every muscle had coiled into a stiff, unyielding knot. It hurt to shift position, and it was agony to stand, but the physical discomfort was almost a relief—a distraction from the soundless, soulless interior desolation that had robbed me of thought and volition.

I managed to stand—and once standing, managed to undo enough buttons of my dress that I could strip it from my body. I stepped from its crushed satin carcass, left it mournfully at the foot of the bed, and toed off my shoes one by one as I crossed the room. All of my new clothes were in suitcases somewhere—I had no idea where—but there were a few old pieces of clothing left hanging dispiritedly in the closet. I pulled on battered gray coveralls and slipped into a pair of worn-out flats. Running a hand through my hair, I found the bridal headband still in place. I yanked it from my head and dropped it on the floor, and stepped away.

What now? Where to?

I had not eaten since breakfast. I had ignored Mrs. Farraday when she had knocked on the door shortly after our return, for at the time I had believed I would never eat again. I would die of starvation if my stubborn heart were so ruthless as to fail to break. But now, some fifteen or sixteen hours past my last meal, I found my stomach as stubborn and impossible to direct as my heart. It too clung to life and the needs thereof; it demanded sustenance. If Mrs. Farraday had not left the tray at my door, I must go downstairs to seek out whatever food I might find at this hour.

I opened the door and nearly fell over Everett Ravenbeck.

He had wedged himself into the door frame and sat on the floor, immovable, intractable, awaiting my decision to exit. As I stumbled over his unexpected body, he scrambled to his feet and caught me, restoring my balance.

“Jenna!” he exclaimed, peering down at me. “Thank God! I had begun to think you would never emerge, and I had grown so worried. I don't know how much longer I could have endured the silence before I broke down the door and ascertained that you were still alive.”

“Alive,” I repeated, for somehow the word did not seem to describe my state. “Yes—”

His hold on me tightened; the expression on his face (which I looked at most fleetingly) was all apprehension. “But barely so,” he added in a grim voice. “You look so ill, Jenna—not that that is to be wondered at, but you look so pale! As if you have half determined to cross over into the realm of death, and only the faintest memory of what it means to be corporeal has kept your face solid and your limbs from dissolution.”

I had no idea how to respond to this, so I said nothing. Perhaps I swayed a little in his hold, for the anxiety on his face grew sharper, and he bent over me again as if to read some script in my expression.

“Yes—I have got it exactly—you would be willing to die, right now, this instant, except that your body does not know how to go about it,” he said. “It is your spirit that is sick, not your flesh, and the spirit is not used to death blows. It cannot translate them into action.”

I could not answer that either; all I could do was enunciate my most pressing need. “I must eat something,” I whispered. “I feel faint.”

Without another word, he scooped me into his arms and carried me down the hall. My own weakened condition made his strength seem so much more impressive; he seemed alive with energy. By contrast, I felt even smaller and more frail than ever. How could I gainsay him, what would my pitiful negatives be in defiance of his raw animal power?

He brought me to the breakfast room and propped me up on two chairs drawn close together, and bade me “Be good and sit still now.” I did not have the will to do otherwise. He bounded through the connecting door into the kitchen, and I heard him rattle around looking through cabinets and refrigeration units for suitable menu items. Soon enough he emerged with a plateful of food I could not have consumed had I sat at this table for a solid week, eating without pause, and set this before me.

“Would you like wine, Jenna? Or tea? Water if you like. What can I get for you?”

“Water will be fine,” I said in a low voice. “Thank you.”

I swallowed a few bites of bread and cheese, and this revived me enough that I could sit up straighter and eat more heartily. Everett set a glass of water before me, then sat across from me and watched every single forkful I took. He seemed hungry himself—not for food, but for reassurance—and my willingness to eat was only part of the reassurance he craved. I knew what else he starved for, but that I could not give him.

When I at last pushed my plate away, he leaped to his feet again. “Done, Jenna? Not another bite? Then let us go into the library, where it is more comfortable. We must talk.”

Yes—we must—but, oh, how I dreaded the things that would be said in this conversation!

I did not allow him to pick me up again, but walked to the library under my own power, albeit somewhat unsteadily. Here, he attempted to install me on the sofa, where he could sit beside me, but I chose instead a narrow high-backed chair with carved wooden arms where I could rest my hands. He settled himself in a similar chair, and drew it as close to me as its construction would allow.

“I do not know where to begin, Jenna,” he said at last, in a quiet though somewhat hopeful voice. “There is no apology, there are no words strong enough to convey to you the depth of my remorse, the strength of my assurance that I did not mean, could never mean, any harm to come to you. That the harm has been spiritual instead of physical does not make it any less real. You must believe me, Jenna. Had I had any inkling of the way events would transpire—of how you would be humiliated and horrified and emotionally brutalized—I would never have embarked on this course of action. I would have kept quiet till my days ended, hugging to myself the great joy of this love I have for you. I would have sacrificed any chance I had at happiness rather than bring a moment's distress to your life. You must know that, Jenna.”

“I do know it, Everett,” I said, and relapsed into silence.

That I spoke at all encouraged him; he tried to hitch his chair another inch or two closer. “Yes—but you only understand part of it. You do not know how it all came about.”

“I will listen, if you care to tell me the story.”

“Yes! I must tell you! It has been more than fifteen years since the tale was enacted, let alone recited. There was a day I could not fathom of my own will giving the details to another living creature. But
you
—I want to tell you everything, Jenna. I want nothing to be hid.”

I glanced up at him, thinking,
A little late for honesty now,
but he looked so eager that I could not say the words. “Then be frank” were the only words I could muster. He nodded twice, decisively, and began his story.

“I have told you before how matters stood between my relations and myself. Specifically, I told you that I had two brothers and a father, and that they had determined to keep the Ravenbeck property between the three of them, excluding me. I was young and resentful when all of this became clear to me. I did not see any reason I should have to work hard for my bread and board when others so near to me did not. So I committed some foolish excesses and showed my anger to my family and delayed pursuing any kind of meaningful career.

“Then one day my father and my oldest brother approached me, saying they had found a way to secure an inheritance for me. Would I be interested in hearing the details? Well, of course I would! It turned out that one of their business partners—a Fordyce Merrick of Wesleyan-Imrae—had a daughter whom he wished to marry off to someone of level-one citizenship. Merrick himself was rich enough to have bought himself a pedigree, but he did not have much polish—at least, this was the story that was told to me—and he wanted to marry his daughter into a family of high rank.

“The rewards seemed great all around. I would inherit a sizable property from Merrick himself upon my wedding day—property in no way dependent upon the future success of my marriage—and jointly, his daughter and I would inherit additional lands and funds. Which I would administer, because, as I was told, she had no interest in business transactions. Meanwhile, old Merrick would achieve his goal of seeing his daughter gain unimpeachable social status—and my father would benefit from Merrick's gratitude, in unstated but lucrative ways that were not explained to me.

“I was eager for the union, but I stalled a week or two, pretending I had to think things over. I did not go to Wesleyan-Imrae to meet my intended bride. I did seek out the family name on the StellarNet, and find her picture, and consider it acceptable enough, and read the official information presented in the family history. I did not search for the Merrick name in the old news services, for why should I? It did not occur to me there was any mystery to this girl. Just as there was no mystery to me.

“Finally, having given my father and brother enough time to become impatient, I agreed to the arrangement, and the three of us traveled to Wesleyan-Imrae to have the wedding performed. Here I met Beatrice Merrick for the first time. She was a strange and yet alluring girl, quite quiet in the company of her family, but almost giddy on the few occasions we managed to get free of them. She had a way of moving that was hypnotic, because it was so fluid and almost balletic. She was constantly in motion. Her hands were never still, her head was always turning from side to side to gaze at something, and yet she moved with such grace that she was a delight to watch. Like observing a waterfall or a strand of brightly colored seaweed in a wash of tide—ocean metaphors kept coming constantly to my mind.