“We’re some little time from rendezvous,” she said. “Do you want some water or something to eat?”
It was the first offering of such. A slight hesitation still occurred to him, consciousness that there was obligation involved, had they been mri.
Here too, obligation.
“If it is set before me,” he said, “free, I will take it.”
It was. Boaz ordered, and a guard set a paper cup of water within reach on the bench, and a sandwich wrapped in plastics. He took the water, held it under the mez to sip at it slowly. It was ice-cold and strange after days on the desert Water: antiseptic.
Likewise he tore off bits of the sandwich with his fingers and ate, without removing his veil. He would not give his face for their curiosity. He had no strength to sit and trade hate with them, and the veil saved questions. His hands shook, all the same. He tried to prevent it, but it was weakness: he had been too long without more than the pipe for nourishment. His stomach rebelled at more than a few bites. He wrapped the remainder in the plastic again and tucked it into his belt-pouch, saving it against need.
And he folded his hands and waited. He was tired, inexpressibly tired. In the long monotony of approach he wished to sleep, and did so, eyes shut, hands folded, knowing that the dus watched balefully those others that occupied the compartment, watching him.
Boaz came and went. Luiz came and offered a sincere offer, Duncan reckoned to give him treatment for the cough that sometimes wracked him.
“No,” he said softly. “Thank you, no.”
The answer silenced Luiz, as he had silenced Boaz. He was relieved to be let alone, and breathed quietly. He stared at the man in command of the regulars knew that one’s mind without the help of the dus, the cool mistrust, the almost-hate that would let the human kill. Dead eyes, unlike the liveliness of the mri among brothers: Havener, who had seen evils in plenty. There was a burn scar on one cheek, that the man had not had repaired. A line man, by that, no rear-lines officer. He had respect for this one.
And the man, perhaps, estimated him. Eyes locked, clashed. Renegade, that was the thought that went visibly through the man’s gaze; it wondered, but it did not forgive. Sucfr a man Ducan well understood.
This man he would kill first if they laid hands on him. The dus would care for the others.
Let them not touch me, he thought then, over and over, for he remembered why he had come, and what was hazarded on his life; but still outwardly he kept that quiet that he had maintained, hands folded, eyes unfocused, sometimes closed. There was need for the moment only of rest.
At last came maneuvering for dock, and the gentle collision. Neither Boaz nor Luiz had been there for some time… consulting, doubtless, with higher authority.
And Luiz nodded toward the door.
“You will have to leave your weapons,” Luiz said. “That is the simplest way; otherwise they’ll force it, and we’d rather not have that.”
Duncan rose, weighed the situation, finally loosed the belt of the yin’ein and the lesser one of the zahen’ein, turned and laid them on the bench he had quitted., “Boz,” he said, “you bring them for me. I will be needing them.”
She moved to gather them up, did so carefully.
“And the dus stays,” Luiz said.
“That is wise,” he said; he had not wanted the beast thrown into the stress of things to come. “It will stay here. Have you made all your conditions?”
Luiz nodded, and the guards took positions to escort him out. He felt strangely light without his weapons. He paused, looked at the dus, spoke to it, and it moaned and settled unhappily, head on paws. He looked back at Boaz. “I would not let anyone try to touch him if I were you,” he said.
And he went with the guard.
Saber’s polished metal corridors rang with the sound of doors sealing and unsealing. Duncan waited as another detachment of regulars arranged itself to take charge of him.