Free Cuckoo's Egg by C. J. Cherryh Page A

turned and looked out the window.
    Duun had little desire to look. He knew what he would see. The capital.
    Dsonan. The tall buildings where shonunin lived one on top of the other.
    "Look at those!" Thorn cried suddenly, pointing at the city-center.
    "I've seen them, minnow." Tall buildings failed to interest him. "We're going to land on one. We're going to live there. Inside." To explain more than that took too much shouting. The rotor noise depressed him. He remembered the perspective of the concrete canyons, the buildings passing under them. He took Thorn by the wrist and held his finger on the pulse.
    Thorn looked at him, knowing what he was doing, looking as if he were vastly ashamed of a heart he could not control. "Look down," Duun said as they began to fly over the city. "Get used to it."
    Thorn did not flinch. The pulse sped as the perspectives shifted beneath them. ("What's that?" Thorn asked, when a train whisked below them.) What's that? Duun had not wanted questions yet. There would have been time. The pulse fluttered beneath his fingertip with unbearable rapidity.
    "Are we coming down?"
    "They never miss," Duun said. "Watch the roof, minnow. See the circle there. That's where we land."

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    Cuckoo's Egg

    VI
    The window gave them a brook, a woodland. Duun cared nothing for it.
    The wind from the airconditioning brought wood-scent. It was, like the opal sand on the floor, synthetic and expensive. Thorn marveled at it, touched the window— "Are we turning?"— because the scene moved.
    "No," Duun said with acerbity. "Have you forgotten? There's city behind that wall. Behave yourself. You don't own this. I don't. It's all here, that's all. Don't be impressed with it.
    ("Whose is it?")
    Duun regretted then bringing up the matter. And perhaps Thorn suspected then that he had been in the company of more than one illusion maintained for him. Thorn's ebullience ebbed away and left a look of pain, the fine-drawn look of someone scant of resources. The lack of sleep for days, the purgative, the hunt, the wounds; a heart which had worked harder than the engines had in the copter flight— which had had, perhaps, all a heart ought to bear for a while. Duun went into his room, delved into his kit and took out a sedative, went into the kitchen and mixed it in milk.
    The apartment was larger than the house had been. There were four bedrooms, the kitchen, a sitting room, dining hall, office, bath, gymnasium, sunroom (a lie); there was a library; a viewing-room; a sauna; a robing-room; a pantry; a laundry; a servant's quarters, but that was vacant. A security post. That was not. But Thorn knew nothing about guards and monitors and the hall outside. There were several rooms that feigned sunlight well enough to have growing plants, if one bothered. The bath and master bedroom had a wraparound tridee screen that doubled as windows— gods knew, it was not all nature scenes the builders meant with that. And a man grew tempted. There were recourses in the city.
    There were places a man or woman could go, amusements to be had. A hatani would be discreet. But even a hatani might— with a woman of discretion— find some out-of-season comforts. Duun laid his ears back.
    Hours in this place and it was as if sixteen years had not happened. Except for the presence which turned up at his shoulder.

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    Cuckoo's Egg

    He turned and handed Thorn the cup. "This is yours. Drink it. Go lie down."
    Thorn took it. Perhaps Thorn was not quite that scent-blind. His eyes acquired wariness. And weary puzzlement.
    "Sedative," Duun said. "Drink it. Go lie down. You'll sleep."
    "Duun." Thorn set the milk on the counter. His face was white again. He leaned against the wall, not so strong as he pretended; he had been limping when he came in. "Have you been here before?"
    "I lived here." Duun picked up the milk and picked up Thorn's hand and joined one firmly to the other. "Drink that. Shall I convince you. Thorn?"
    Thorn drank it. All. He set the cup