I expected them to ask questions, but they didn’t. In the train on the way into town, after I’d changed into my most official gamra clothing, I asked why.
Nicha replied, “When you have that look on your face, you have a plan. I can say whatever I want, but you will do it anyway.”
“But you are my zhayma. You can try to talk me out of it.”
He nodded and said nothing. I couldn’t get over the niggling feeling that something in our relationship had shifted since he’d been falsely accused of President Sirkonen’s murder.
It was a sad feeling. I wondered if he blamed me for any of it, or whether he just blamed Earth people, of which I happened to be one.
He’d told me he didn’t, but telling and believing were two different things.
We got off the train at the airport. With the Exchange out of
