Three - Michael Jan Friedman [59]
“Not the rest of your life,” she said firmly. Then her features softened and she added, “Just tonight.”
And she kissed him long and passionately.
Vigo was almost done eating the food he had been given when he saw Runj turn his head toward the corridor—an indication that one of their captors was coming back to see them.
He was surprised when it turned out to be Ejanix.
After their last conversation, Vigo hadn’t expected his mentor to return any time soon. And yet, there he was, seemingly back for more.
Crossing the room to where Vigo was sitting, he got down on his haunches again. As the rebels at the door watched with interest, he looked the weapons officer in the eye. “I thought you would want to know ... I considered what you said.”
The weapons officer looked at him. “And?”
[176] “And nothing’s changed. I still feel as I did before—that we’re right to do as we do.”
Vigo sighed. “It’s difficult for me to believe you’re the same man I learned from back on Pandril. The Ejanix I knew would never have violated the Virtues by gloating—even if he had something to gloat about, which you don’t.”
The gibe didn’t seem to bother Ejanix. Obviously, he had been prepared for such a remark.
“You may not think what we’re doing here is something to be proud of,” he said, “but when history judges us, it won’t be with an Elevated Caste eye. We’ll be judged by those whose lives have been made better by our rebellion.”
“By Kovajo,” said Vigo, “and others like him.”
“I hope so,” Ejanix said unflinchingly.
“And the bloodshed that will take place between now and then? What will history say about that?”
“That it was necessary,” Ejanix said. “And that in the long run, it prevented more misery than it caused.”
Vigo saw there was no point in arguing. Clearly, his mentor had made up his mind.
Ejanix must have realized he wasn’t going to get a response, because he got up and turned to go. But he had hardly taken a step when he stopped and turned around again.
“You know,” said Ejanix, “I was thinking ... how well do you remember Velluto’s?”
Vigo regarded him. “The restaurant? In San Francisco?”
Ejanix nodded. “We never ate the food there, did we? They didn’t serve anything we could eat. But we liked to sit at the bar and drink grape wine.”
[177] “Yes,” said the weapons officer, wondering why Velluto’s wine list had come to mind at such a bizarre time. “I remember.”
“I enjoyed those evenings,” said Ejanix. “I remember how much I used to hate it when the manager announced it was closing time. Do you remember that as well, Vigo?”
He did. He said so.
“They closed the same time every night,” said Ejanix. “They were very precise about it.”
“I remember,” Vigo told him.
Ejanix’s gaze seemed to sharpen then, to pierce him. “Have a pleasant evening.”
It was what the manager at Velluto’s used to say as he escorted Vigo and Ejanix to the door. The weapons officer could hear the words in his head.
“Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen. A very pleasant evening.”
But why was Ejanix repeating it now? And why was he staring at Vigo so strangely?
“It’s unlikely,” said Vigo, “that I’ll have anything even approaching a pleasant evening.”
Ejanix didn’t say anything more. He just stared at the weapons officer a moment longer. Then he turned and departed—this time, for real.
The words echoed in Vigo’s ears again, recalling that happier place and time. “Have a pleasant evening ...”
And as Ejanix had said, Velluto’s closed the same time every night. At twelve o’clock sharp. There was never any deviation from that standard.
Twelve o’clock. Time to go. “Have a pleasant—”
[178] Suddenly, Vigo thought he understood what Ejanix had been telling him.
Of course, he thought, I may be misinterpreting the situation completely. Ejanix might not have meant to communicate such a thing at all.
But Vigo’s instincts told him that he was right. They told him that Ejanix was trying to say something in words only the two of them would understand.
Of course, there was only one way to find out—and if the weapons