“He was threatening to kill himself, sir,” Varlan replied. “It was a calculated risk.”
“He threatened to kill himself...?” Terian stared at his lead infiltrator, fighting to incorporate the new piece of information. “Why? Why would he do that?”
Varlan didn’t answer. Turning, he focused his eyes back on the downed seer.
Terian watched as Dehgoies raised his head, groping for a med tech, his eyes glassy from the drug. The young seer blanched, backing off. All of them had been unnerved by Dehgoies’s apparent imperviousness to the darts.
But Terian was familiar with his friend’s biological quirks.
Impatient, he pushed his way forward, kneeling by the dark head. He listened briefly to his muttered words, then clicked his fingers at one of the seers in the back.
“You...Legress. You are from Asia, yes? What language is this?”
A different voice answered, from closer. “Magadhi Prakrit, sir.”
Terian’s gaze swiveled. The male tech knelt behind the two working on Dehgoies’s abdomen. They lay a patch on his bare skin, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Is that a human language?” Terian said.
“Yes, sir. Old, though. Very old.”
“From where?”
“Nepal.” The Sark paused, seeing all eyes on him. “I recognize it from the camps, sir...they used some of the older languages as codes.” He smiled wryly. “That one was a particular favorite with the kneelers.” Seeing Terian’s gaze sharpen, the tech let his smile fade. “...It was supposedly the language the Buddha spoke. When he was alive.” He looked down at Dehgoies. “He must have learned it while he was imprisoned there. He’s about the right age.”#p#分页标题#e#
Terian raised an eyebrow. “Imprisoned? Why not a slaver, like yourself?”
The tech caught the edge in Terian’s choice of words.
Losing the smirk, he met Terian’s gaze. Swallowing, he glanced around, noting the flavor of hostility from the seers around him before he said,
“Smugglers didn’t use the language, sir. The prisoners did...so we couldn’t understand them. We learned enough to prevent them from organizing, but it was never in common use in the barracks.”
Terian motioned him forward. “What is he saying?”
The Sark crouched by the floor, lowering his head as Terian indicated.
After a pause, he said, “He’s apologizing to someone, sir. Saying he’ll do better...something about wanting to serve, that he’s ready to serve now.” The man lowered his ear to another broken stream of words. “No cave...he doesn’t want to go to the cave. A name...Merenj? Merenged? And something about wanting light, to touch light...I don’t fully understand that phrase sir, iltere ak selen’te dur...that’s old Prexci. I think something about the old God...”
The man leaned closer, straining to hear.
“He’s mixing languages...arendelan ti’ a rigalem...destiny is harder...isthre ag tem degri...to lead is...I think the word is sacrifice. It’s some kind of scripture.” Giving Terian an apologetic look, he said, “I’ve heard things like this before, from more arcane versions of the myths. I wouldn’t swear by the translation, though. It’s likely something local.”
“And you say Magadhi Prakrit is a human language?”
“Yes, sir. Human. The other is a bastardization of old Prexci...but I don’t think they spoke that at the camps. He must have gotten it somewhere else.”
Terian focused back on Dehgoies.
Slave camp. That didn’t fit anywhere in the biography of Dehgoies Revik he’d read, and Terian had read them all. Nor did he really believe his friend would have worked in one, either. Whatever Dehgoies’s ability to adjust ethical systems when it suited him, he never would have aligned with the worms to that extent.
Not for any amount of money.
He studied the angular face, noting its pallor. The blood on his hands shone a dark red, almost black in the light of the yisso. He’d lost so much his skin looked gray. He likely wouldn’t last the night, no matter what the techs did.
Still, caution seemed warranted.
Reaching into a pouch under his cloak, Terian pulled out a thick, organic, sight-restraint collar he’d commissioned specially for the purpose. Catching hold of Dehgoies’s hair, he lifted his head, sliding the collar around his neck. He clicked the ends together at the base of his skull, then bent down, opening a thumbnail latch to access a retinal scanner. He let the device scan his eyes, which it did, turning the skin of his friend’s neck briefly red.
When it clicked off, Terian tugged at the collar briefly, checking that the lock activated.