Free Lord of Janissaries by Jerry Pournelle, Roland J. Green

alphabet used by the Confederacy. She made very little progress learning that language. There were too many words referring to places and people and things and ideas that were thoroughly unfamiliar. This didn’t surprise her. The real shock came when the computer showed her the languages of Tran.
    She spent a day being certain. Then, in the evening, when they were together with a glass of amontillado (“One of Earth’s finest products,” Les had said. “Nothing to match it anywhere. Too bad regular trade with Earth isn’t allowed.”), she could stand it no longer.
    “I was listening to Tran languages,” she said.
    He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing there to interest you.”
    “But there is! Les, I recognized some of the words! A lot of them. That language is based on an ancient Indo-European tongue! Some of the words are unchanged from Mycenaean Greek!”
    “Astute of you to notice,” he said. “I expect you’re right.”
    “Les, you’re teasing me. You know what this means. It means that there was an exchange of people—a lot of people, enough to bring languages with them—between Tran and Earth as far back as four thousand years.”
    “Other way,” he said. “From Earth to Tran.”
    “I meant that. It’s obvious that humans didn’t evolve on Tran. It’s only a colony. But why is it so primitive? Even relative to Earth. And Earth is primitive by your standards—Les, is Earth a colony?”
    “No.” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps that’s not the right answer. Perhaps you’re right. Earth is a colony—”
    “Les, you’re not making sense. Did humanity evolve on Earth?”
    “What do you think? You’ve read Darwin and Ardrey and Leakey. More sherry?”
    “I don’t want sherry, I want answers!”
    He came over and filled her glass. “Don’t be so serious,” he said. “Now. You obviously think humanity is native to Earth. Tell me why.”
    An hour later, it was time for dinner. He still hadn’t answered her questions.
    * * *
    Dinner was exotic, as usual, but she wasn’t interested in food.
    “Hey. You’re crying,” he said. “What’s the matter? You don’t like nastari ?”
    “You treat me like a child.”
    “No. I treat you like an adult,” he said. He was very serious.
    “I—what do you mean?”
    “You are an intelligent woman. You raise fascinating questions. Don’t you want to find answers for yourself?”
    “But you know, and I don’t—”
    “Do I?”
    “You mean you don’t know? You don’t know where humanity evolved?”
    “I don’t even know that it did.”
    “But—” The enormity of what he’d said struck her. “But you—your culture—you’ve had space travel for four thousand years,” she insisted. “If you don’t know the answers, at least you have a lot more data! Give me some.”
    “I’m doing that. How much can you absorb in a few weeks?”
    “Oh.” She was silent for a long time.
    “Gwen.” His voice was very gentle, his expression very serious. “Gwen, accept it. All of it. Believe me, I care for you. And believe me when I say I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us.” He laughed. “My, aren’t we serious. And the dessert will melt.”
    * * *
    Gradually she realized it: he was interested in what she thought. He wanted to know her ideas, and more than that, her reactions to what she was learning. But he was getting her talking to herself.
    “What am I?” she asked her mirror. “Lover or laboratory animal? Anthropologist’s informant, mistress, or—” She broke off. She’d been about to say “wife” and she didn’t have any right even to think that.
    And he did want to know. When she pointed out that some of the intelligent races she’d seen in pictures were identical to descriptions found in ancient mythology: centaurs, an aquatic race that might be mistaken for mermaids, a saurian race that might or might not have inspired the Minotaur legend—he not only listened, he insisted on having her describe and sketch the