Twilight Crossing. Susan Krinard
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she said nothing of it. She was grateful when Timon checked her dressings and seemed satisfied. His lean and muscular body relaxed as if he felt more at ease in their new location.
“Tell me about your life in the Enclave,” he said.
Startled by the abrupt question, Jamie looked at him. His profile gave nothing away, but she knew he didn’t mean to make idle conversation. He was still looking for reasons for her strange behavior, and he wouldn’t give up unless she distracted him with other topics.
“What do you want to know?” she asked cautiously.
“About your childhood. Your parents. What you were like when you were younger. What you dreamed of doing and becoming.”
“My whole life story,” she said, trying to laugh. “Believe me—it isn’t very interesting. My mother was a biologist—a geneticist—and my father was a physician. They met while doing similar research at the Enclave Medical Center.”
“What kind of research?”
“They never really talked about it. I know they were both interested in recovering the lost pre-War treatments for diseases humanity once thought were wiped out.”
“And you carried on in their footsteps.”
“I grew up around scientists,” she said. “I only went to school until I was ten, and after that my father homeschooled me.”
“You didn’t have many friends.”
It was a statement rather than a question, and Jamie winced. “There weren’t many young people my age helping their parents in a lab,” she said.
“You were lonely.”
“I was too busy to be lonely,” she said, irritated at his presumption. “My parents didn’t deprive me of anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“But you had at least one friend. Greg Cahill.”
She wasn’t about to fall into that trap again. “My parents’ closest friends were my godfather and Greg’s parents,” she said. “He always had ambitions to go into politics, and he was very successful.”
“So it seems.” Timon shifted his weight. “How does he feel about the Conclave?”
“He supports it, of course!”
“And you’ve dedicated yourself to it, even though you’ve never had to deal with Opiri.”
“My parents advocated for a new peace for many years. My mother spoke of it often, and wrote about it in the journal she left me.”
“But you didn’t grow up with open war. At worst, Opiri and humans have lived in a state of cold war for most of your life.”
“The Citadels stopped claiming serfs from our Enclave five year ago.”
“And that’s why you think the Conclave can succeed.”
“I know that not all Opiri are barbarians.”
“In spite of your lack of experience?”
She wished she could stand up and pace away her anger. “Why are you asking these questions? Have we given you any reason to doubt our commitment?”
“I’d heard rumors that the San Francisco Enclave had reservations about this new effort.”
“That’s outrageous,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “You supposedly have no interest in the outcome of the Conclave. Is this some part of your job, to test how devoted we are to the Conclave’s goals?”
His head came up sharply. “I only want to know more about you.”
The intensity of his gaze made her feel dizzy and uncertain. “I told you,” she said. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“I think you underestimate yourself,” Timon said. “What did you do when you weren’t in the lab? Did Greg take you out to dinner in one of your restaurants, or to walk by the Bay?”
Back to Greg again, she thought.
“You said you’d never been to San Francisco,” she said, changing the subject.
“I did my research.” He looked away. “Did you ever have fun, Jamie?”
“Of course I did. My parents were very cultured. My mother...” She swallowed. “Eileen saw the joy in everything, in every part of the world she saw in the lab or outside it. She died before my father, when I was still a child. He never told me how it happened, and he died when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult to lose both your parents when you were young.”
“And you...did you have a family, Timon?”
“I was born in freedom, outside the Citadel,” he said. “My mother also died when I was very young.”
“I’m sorry. Is your father—”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “He and his second wife are still living.”
“But you’re not close to them.”
“I’m a Rider. We put those relationships behind us when we join the Brotherhood.”
“You ever see them?”
“Not in fifteen years.”
She touched his hand. “When did you join the Riders, Timon?”
“I was seventeen.” He slid his hand out from under hers. “It’s not a very interesting story.”
So he didn’t want to talk about his past, Jamie thought. “Did you run away?”
“I was very young,” he said.
Had something his parents done driven him away? Jamie wondered. Something trifling and foolish he’d never admit to? Or had it been a matter of youthful rebellion, the kind she’d never experienced?
Had he had a choice to keep his family, when she’d been robbed of hers?
“Your whole life is the Riders now,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Your freedom is very important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But we have our duties. Our leaders choose our assignments.”
“And how do you choose your leaders? Do you fight for your positions, like the Opiri of the Citadels do?”
“We don’t fight amongst ourselves,” he said, flashing her a reproachful look. “It’s a matter of consensus. Except in times of emergency, we hold elections. The highest-ranked Rider is called the captain. He arranges our hiring and holds ultimate authority over us.”
“You’re the leader of a band. Have you ever wanted to be more?”
“I wouldn’t want the responsibility.”
Jamie realized that he was being completely honest. He liked his life simple, uncomplicated by binding relationships or the desire to control others.
“Tell me more about your people,” she urged. “I already know you serve whoever hires you, regardless of their politics or race. What happens if—”
Moving as quickly and effortlessly as always, Timon got to his feet. “If you’re all right,” he said, “I have another thing to take care of. It might require a little more time, if you think you can stay alone for a while.”
“What is it?” she asked, sucking in her breath as she pushed herself a little more upright against the tree trunk.
“Horses. Lazarus can’t carry us both for long stretches of time, so we’ll need another mount.”
“You plan to go back to the tribesmen?” she asked in alarm.
“No.