Ruins (Pathfinder 2)

“And yet I don’t want to do it,” said Olivenko. “Not now, not ever. Miserable as I sometimes am in this life, I like being alive.” He held up his hands. “I’m used to having these fingers do my bidding. I don’t even have to ask them. Before I even think of what I want, before I could put my wishes into words, they’re already obeying me. My feet, too. My eyes open when I want to see, and close when I want to sleep. Such obedient servants. I’d miss them.”

“So you think some part of you will persist after death?”

“If not, I won’t know it,” said Olivenko. “And if so, then I’ll miss my hands and feet and eyes and also lunch. I’ll miss food. And sleep. And waking up.”

“Maybe death is better.”

“Not according to the advertisements.”

“What advertisements?”

“You see? If it were better, there’d be advertisements.”

“Why bother to advertise, since everyone’s going to do it anyway?”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Olivenko ruefully.

Param chuckled, and then realized she was amused. That, for a moment, she was something like happy. “Well, thank you for that,” said Param.

“The laugh was your own,” said Olivenko. “I was merely ridiculous.”

“It was kind of you to be ridiculous for me.”

They talked on, the easy conversation of new friends, each telling about experiences that illustrated some point they were making, spinning out the yarns of their lives and weaving them together haphazardly into a sort of homespun that wrapped them both and made them feel warm. Through it all, Olivenko only rarely looked at her; whether it was deference to her rank or sensitivity to her shyness or a kind of shyness of his own, she didn’t know. But it allowed her to look at him fully, frankly, deciding that as grown men went, he was not bad looking. Manly enough in the cut of his jaw and the strength of his neck, but still with the eyes of a scholar, a kind of distance, as if he could see things that ordinary people never saw.

And what did he see? He had seen Father, and liked him, and cared about him.

And he sees me. And likes me. And . . .

Param felt herself blush a little and she turned away. She felt herself coasting along the edge of slow time, but did not step over. She remained here with him.

“Thanks for not leaving,” said Olivenko.

“You knew?” Param said softly.

“I don’t know what you thought of,” said Olivenko, “or what you saw, but you turned away and froze. Like a deer, the moment before it leaps away. I was afraid you were going to leave.”

“I might have,” said Param. “But I decided not to fear you.”

“Yes, that’s what everyone decides,” said Olivenko. “I’m not much of a soldier, not much of a guard.”

“But you’re guarding me,” said Param. “I’m not supposed to fear you.”

“Well, that’s good then,” said Olivenko. And then he went off on a story about a time when he challenged a drunk who was trying to stray into the wrong part of the city, and the drunk showed his contempt by urinating on him.

“No!” cried Param.

“Oh, we arrested him, which means we knocked him down, and the sergeant didn’t understand why I didn’t kick him there on the ground. How could I explain that I agreed with the man’s assessment of me as a soldier? The sergeant was ready to believe I was a coward, and he taunted me, saying that I liked it, come on everyone and pee on Olivenko, it won’t make him mad.”

“How crude,” said Param.

“They didn’t do it,” said Olivenko. “I gave the drunk a couple of kicks. It didn’t hurt him much, there was so much wine in him, and it got the sergeant to shut up.”

“Oh,” said Param, vaguely disappointed.

“If I had principles,” said Olivenko, “I would never have helped a couple of fugitives like you and Rigg get away.”

“Then I supposed I’m glad you don’t.”