“If we knew the time and place of the end of our lives,” Sittas said, glancing at the Watchman, “we would hardly find life interesting enough to go through with it.”
“That’s not much help.”
The old priest smiled. “Then perhaps your next visitor will have better words for you.”
Puzzled, Vorgens stepped over to the entrance of the tent, where Sittas was still standing. Walking through the Komani encampment toward them was a Shinarian girl. Vorgens recognized her as the girl he had seen while he was still half-unconscious after being shot.
“So she’s not a dream,” he muttered.
“Altai? She is my niece. We are from the same village. She joined the rebel forces at the university, where she met Merdon.”
Vorgens frowned. “One of Merdon’s rebels. So she hates the Terrans, too. And me. Just as Okatar said they all do.”
“She is too young to hate,” Sittas said.
They stepped back from the entryway as Altai walked into the tentThe girl looked at Vorgens for a moment, then turned to her uncle and nodded silently.
Sittas said, to no one in particular, “Let us pray for guidance.”
The old man stood a few paces from the entrance, and began chanting. But his eyes were on Vorgens, and he gestured with one hand, first pointing to his ear, then to the guards outside.
Vorgens smiled in understanding. Altai pulled a low bench up to the table in the middle of the room and sat down. Vorgens sat next to her. She took a thin slip of plastifilm and a stylus from the waistband of her slacks and began drawing as Vorgens watched,