THE TWELVE -- Chapter 23 - Prison Counselor

Wysire had asked Kiacyl again two nights after he had visited the three imprisoned boys, and again Kiacyl had put him off.  The next night, Wysire had asked once more, and this time Kiacyl had agreed.  They had set up a time and place to meet the next night, after both had finished work and before they met the others for supper.
 

The next night was the fourteenth night of capture, and Kiacyl found himself again in the prison blocks, this time with Wysire at his side.  He took Wysire first to Faquire's room which was closest.  When they entered the room, Kiacyl saw that Faquire was lying on his back on his cot again (or still, he was not sure which), his face turned up to the ceiling, his eyes open.  Kiacyl could not be sure, but he thought that the boy looked less well now than he had previously.  Wysire looked immediately concerned: to him, Faquire looked both thinner and paler than was normal for him.
 

"Hello," said Kiacyl.  "I've come again, and I've brought someone with me this time."
 

Faquire did not move or turn.  Wysire waited a moment, then stepped up to the cot.  He gently took Faquire's hand and leaned over him.
 

"Faquire," he said softly.
 

Faquire still did not move, so Wysire lent further forward over him so that their eyes met.  Faquire still seemed to take no notice of Wysire, looking up at him with empty, expressionless eyes.  Wysire held his gaze for a long moment with a look of intermingled pain, worry, and compassion, then pulled back again a little.  Faquire's eyes remained fixed immovably on the ceiling.
 

"Faquire," Wysire tried again.  "Don't you recognize me?"
 

There was no response.
 

"It's Wysire," he continued.  "I've come to see you.  Won't you look at me?"
 

Wysire continued to talk to him, now lightly pressing his palm to Faquire's face, now gently squeezing Faquire's shoulder, and always holding tight to Faquire's left hand, but Faquire would not look at him or speak.  Wysire was in tears before he would stop.  Even Kiacyl felt strangely moved by the feeling with which Wysire spoke.
 

At last, Wysire gently laid Faquire's hand back at his side and stepped away from him.  He shook his head.
 

"There's nothing that I can do for him here," he said.  "If we were on the ship, or even in a neutral setting, it might be different, but not here.  He needs to be taken home.  I don't know what could be wrong with him.  This is not good!  This is not natural for a Komislavian.  I'm afraid that he may be dying."
 

"What do you suggest?" asked Kiacyl quietly.
 

"I suggest that he be sent back to Komislava!"  Wysire spoke with suppressed anger.  "But I know that that is not possible.  Perhaps if Eriane could examine him too . . ."  He shook his head.  "I just don't know."
 

They were both silent for a moment, then Kiacyl moved toward the door.
 

"We should leave now," he said.  "You do still want to see the other two, don't you?"
 

"Yes!" Wysire answered quickly.  "Yes, if I may.  I can only pray that they are better."
 

Kiacyl silently led Wysire to the next room, but the guard at the door refused them entry.
 

"The medics are in there now," he said.  "You'll have to wait till they've finished."
 

"What are they doing?" asked Wysire.  "Is there something wrong with him?"
 

"Wrong?  No, no more than should be.  They're just taking blood and tissue samples and checking up on some test that they're running, they said.  They should be out soon."
 

Kiacyl was impatient with the delay, but in the end they did not wait more than a few minutes before the door opened and two medics exited the room.  Kiacyl then entered, followed by Wysire.  Creole was sitting on the cot, his legs stretched out along it towards the door, his shoulders leaning back against the far wall.  His hands were folded behind his head and his eyes were closed.  His expression was still the same look of unrelenting self-possession that Kiacyl had noticed the first time.
 

"Hello," said Kiacyl.  "I've come back again."
 

"What of it?" asked Creole indifferently, not opening his eyes.
 

"Do you remember me?" asked Kiacyl.
 

"Refresh my memory," was the response.
 

"I'm the one whom you called a cowardly dog."
 

"You'll have to be more specific.  I've called a lot of you rats cowardly dogs."
 

Kiacyl blinked.  He was very offended but awed at the same time.  Creole had a boldness that was completely new to Kiacyl's experience.  He looked at Wysire and saw that the latter was smiling, though Kiacyl had to admit that it looked more like a relieved smile than a laughing one.  Even so, it grated on Kiacyl's nerves.  Wysire quickly attempted to hide his smile when Kiacyl looked at him though, guessing, apparently, that it could be easily misinterpreted.  Kiacyl frowned.
 

"I haven't done anything to you," Kiacyl said to Creole.  "Why do you insult me?"
 

"You're Vukasovian, aren't you?" was Creole's quick response.
 

"And do you despise me because of the actions of my kinsmen?  Even knowing me so little as you do?"
 

 

"Well, I might understand your anger with them then, but why me?  I didn't do it to you."
 

"Do you condemn their actions?"
 

Kiacyl paused, unsure of what to say.
 

"Or do you condone them?" persisted Creole, his eyes still closed and his posture still relaxed.
 

Kiacyl felt uncomfortable and upset, so he looked to Wysire to see whether he would say something.  Wysire, however, looked as though he had no desire to interrupt the exchange just yet, though he had looked upset when Creole had first shown them his arm.  Wysire smiled amiably now at Kiacyl as if awaiting his reply to Creole's questions.  Kiacyl felt even more annoyed at this.
 

"Why don't you look at me?" he at last demanded of Creole, thinking to turn Creole's attention from himself by his notice of Wysire's presence.
 

"I can't," replied Creole.  "Those rats of your kinsmen whose actions you do not condemn have being running tests on my eyes, and I won't be able to see anything for another twenty-four hours at least.  I can't even open them at the moment."
 

Wysire's smile failed immediately and he took a quick step forward.  "Creole?" he said.
 

Instantly Creole sat upright and thrust out his right hand in the direction of the voice.
 

"Wysire?" he said, his voice and quickness of breath betraying his emotion.  "Wysire, is that you?"
 

Wysire moved forward and took the outstretched hand.  Creole pulled Wysire quickly to himself, held him by the shoulder with his left hand, and felt Wysire's face and hair with his right.
 

"Wysire," he said.  "It's you.  It's you!"
 

Creole grabbed Wysire to himself and embraced him, holding him tightly.
 

Kiacyl watched in wonder as Creole himself began to cry, still holding Wysire.  Kiacyl was now very confused.  A moment ago, Creole was a hard, confident young man, ready and willing to speak his mind about the whole of the Vukasovian race, regardless of the possible (or rather probable) consequences to himself.  Yet here he was now, all but dissolving in tears, wrapped in the arms of a friend.  Kiacyl shook his head and sighed, wondering if he ought to give up even trying to understand the Komislavians.
 

Creole held Wysire for a full minute before letting go.  He then drew back, wiping his eyes with his right hand and laughing a little, still holding Wysire by the shoulder with his left.
 

"I'm sure they'd be furious if they knew I'd been crying," he said smiling.  "Very bad for my eyes in this state.  Oh, they sting now!  But I don't care.  Oh, Wysire, it's so good to see you!  Or, not to see you, but to have you here."
 

Wysire smiled, though he knew that Creole couldn't see it.  "We've all missed you too.  You, Christopher, and Faquire.  We pray for you three every night."
 

"There's not an hour that goes by that I don't think of all of you," Creole answered with feeling.  "Tell me about everyone.  How are you?  How are all of them?"
 

"We're all well," said Wysire.  "We meet every night for dinner, so we see each other often.  There's really not much to tell.  At least, not that you'd want to hear, for we are still working for the Vukasovians.  But I came to find out how you were doing.  How have you been?"
 

"Well, you've caught me on a bad day," said Creole, indicating his eyes.  "This isn't usual, though this is."  He indicated his legs with the last half of the sentence.  "But there's really not much to tell about me either.  Or, as you say, not much that you'd want to hear."  His voice had assumed a slight edge to it after Wysire spoke of working for the Vukasovians, and it didn't soften as he spoke.
 

"Creole, please don't be angry," said Wysire.  "We none of us want to work for them--"
 

"Then why do you?" Creole interrupted roughly.
 

There was silence for a moment, then Creole bowed his head.
 

"I'm sorry, Wysire," he said.  "I didn't mean to get into this.  I don't like to think about it."
 

Wysire nodded.  "I know," he said.  "I shouldn't have mentioned it."
 

"But do tell me how everyone is doing," reiterated Creole.  "Tell me about each and every one of them, as much as you know.  Leaving out their work, if you don't mind," he added.
 

Wysire smiled.  He understood Creole's hunger to hear about the other boys, even if only to hear their names mentioned by a voice other than his own.  Creole had, by this time, been a full two weeks cut off from the rest of the group with no news and no mention of them (at least not in a friendly way) in all of that time.
 

"Jaeger has been acting the true leader lately," Wysire began.  "He holds us all together, as best he can.  Jade helps, where he can, but mostly he's just an emotional support for Jaeger, I'd say.  Leil is quiet as always.  The circumstances aren't treating him well, but I do hope that he'll come through alright.  There's really no way to know just now, especially considering that we don't know how or when this is all going to end.  Eriane is . . . well, he was doing very well in the beginning.  I . . . really can't go into all of the details just now (we haven't the time), but he has been forced to do some very painful things.  He had the hardest time of it for the first week, I'd say.  For myself, it's hard to not be able to talk to the others as I would on the ship.  It's very painful to see them going through such hard times, and not to be able to do anything about it."
 

Wysire was silent for a moment in contemplation before continuing.
 

"Detrin is well.  He's a bit more quiet and morose than is normal for him, but he doesn't seem to have it too terribly hard.  Cycil and Sandy are much the same as ever.  They spend each day together though, so I'm sure that that helps: they're not alone all day."
 

Creole waited for a moment after Wysire had finished, then said, "You don't mention Djaisiuk."
 

Though Creole could not see Wysire, he could feel the slight tensing of the muscles in Wysire's shoulder (which Creole still held) at this comment.
 

"We don't see him now," said Wysire evasively.  "We've really only seen him once since we arrived.  He seemed well enough then, but . . . it's hard to tell with him."
 

Creole waited for Wysire to continue, then, when he didn't, Creole frowned.  "You're not telling me everything," he said.  "I know that you're holding back information, and you think that it's for the best, but please don't spare me; I want to know everything, good or bad."
 

"Creole, I'm sure that you'd want to know, but I'd rather wait to tell you," said Wysire.  "Or better yet, I'd rather let Djaisiuk tell you, if he wishes.  It's really none of my business."
 

"You mean then that it's none of my business," replied Creole, smiling now.  "Very well then, you certainly needn't tell me for I've no wish to meddle, but Wysire, you're the ship's counselor: everything that concerns the mind is your business."
 

"We're not on the ship."
 

"Tell me this at least, if you can: is he serving them willingly?"
 

Wysire thought for a moment before answering.  "I don't know," he said, "but that is not the concern, if that's what you're thinking."
 

"Good, although I still can't understand why he would work for them at all, willing or unwilling; he knows better than that!  I know that it can't be motivated by fear, not in his case."  Creole sighed.  "I wish I understood."
 

Kiacyl cleared his throat, thinking that they had stayed here long enough.  When Wysire turned to him, he said, "We really should be going if we want to see the third yet tonight and still make it back in time to join the others."
 

"Who is that?" Creole asked Wysire, referring to the new voice.
 

"I would have told you," said Kiacyl haughtily, "if you'd ever asked.  You didn't seem to want to talk to me."
 

"And I still don't," said Creole.  "I'm talking to my friend.  You may have noticed that I said, 'Who is that?' rather than 'Who are you?'"
 

Wysire laughed a little, sensing the half-humor in Creole's voice.  "This is Kiacyl," he said before Kiacyl could answer Creole's statement.  "He's about the closest thing that we have to a friend in the Vukasovian ranks.  He's been spending a lot of time with all of us, and he really is a nice boy for a Vukasovian.  He works with Djaisiuk daily, so he's our main source of information as far as Djaisiuk goes.  You ought to be nice to him, really; he's the one who made it possible for me to come and see you."
 

Creole frowned, but turned his face towards the direction of Kiacyl's voice.
 

"I suppose that I owe you my thanks," he said, "but I won't know for certain until I know your true motives.  What's your opinion of Djaisiuk?"
 

Kiacyl looked at him, unsure of how to reply.  What a strange question, he thought.  What has that to do with anything?
 

"He's not very talkative," Kiacyl answered aloud.
 

Creole laughed briefly, and then continued.  "Does he work willingly?"
 

Kiacyl considered for a moment before replying.
 

"I would say no," he said at last.  "Or at least he doesn't seem to enjoy any of what he does, except for playing his piano.  He does--"
 

"His piano?!" Creole and Wysire broke in together.
 

"You never mentioned his piano before," said Wysire.
 

Kiacyl considered for a moment.  "You never asked," he said.  "And I didn't think of it before now."
 

"Why would they have given him his piano?" Wysire wondered aloud.  "For that matter, how would they even have known that it was his?"
 

"How would they have found it?" asked Creole.  "It isn't as though they could have accessed his room without his help."  Turning to Kiacyl again, he asked, "Did Djaisiuk request it?"
 

"Yes," Kiacyl answered, thinking back.  "He did ask for it.  He just stopped working one day and said that he had to have his piano or he wouldn't work anymore."
 

"And they just gave it to him?" asked Creole.
 

"Well, not right away, no, but he kept his word," said Kiacyl.  "He wouldn't work until they brought it to him."
"At least we know that he hasn't changed in some respects," said Wysire.  "I'm glad to know that he has it; it makes me feel better about him."
 

"Well, it worries me," said Creole.  "Why would he have shown them his workroom?  If they had found it accidentally, the piano would have been destroyed before they could get into the room.  Why would Djaisiuk have asked for his piano at all?  It sounds as though he's settling himself in for a long stay."
 

"Creole, none of us knows how long we'll be here," said Wysire.  "And it has been a rather long stay already, I'd say."
 

"I wonder how long Djaisiuk expects us to be here," mused Creole.  "And how long does he intend to work for them?  Indeed why is he working for them in the first place?"
 

There was silence for a moment again, then Kiacyl looked at Wysire with a questioning expression, reminding him that they ought to be going.
 

"I'm afraid that we really must go now, Creole" said Wysire.  "I wish that we could stay longer, but I would still like to see Christopher if possible before we have to leave.  We were able to see Faquire, and now you, so I'd hate to have to leave without being able to see him too."
 

"Yes, yes," said Creole.  "Don't let me keep you, if that is your aim.  Do give my love to him and tell him to stay strong.  I wish that I could see him myself.  And give my greetings to all of the boys.  But quickly, if you have time, how is Faquire?  Is he well?"
 

"No, I'm afraid that he isn't," Wysire replied.  "He is in very bad shape emotionally, it would seem, though it may be entirely a physical problem.  I really haven't time to describe it in detail.  He needs help, but I don't know that I can give it to him here.  The one thing that he needs right now is prayer.  God is the only one who can help him right now."
 

"Yes, that seems to be true of all of us," said Creole.  "But thank you;  I will pray for him.  Now go, and come back again soon, if you can."
 

"I'll try," Wysire assured him.
 

They embraced again.  Finally, Wysire pulled himself away and followed Kiacyl out of the room.
 

In the third room, they found Christopher sitting on his cot with his legs stretched out straight in front of him in much the same position as Creole had been, except that his arms were crossed over his chest and his head was lowered.  His back was to the wall, and he sat staring at the floor with a look of dejection.  His expression gave Wysire some worry at first, because it looked very similar to Faquire's.  When they entered, however, Christopher looked up at them and almost immediately gave a cry of joy.
 

"Wysire!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.  He cringed and his face twisted with pain as he put weight on his right leg, but he quickly recovered himself and balanced on his left.  Without moving forward any more, he held out a hand to Wysire and pulled him forward when Wysire stepped towards him.  Christopher then embraced him tightly.
 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as he finally released him.  "You're not a prisoner too now, are you?  No, I can see by your uniform that you're not."
 

"No, I'm not," Wysire admitted.  "At least not in the same sense as you, Creole, and Faquire."
 

"Oh, how are they?!  Have you seen them?  Or have you heard any news of them?  They won't tell me anything here."  Christopher carefully sat down on his cot as he spoke, apparently wanting to take the weight off of his right leg (which he carefully kept straightened), but he continued to look up at Wysire with interest.  

"And how are the others?  Are they all well?"
 

"The others are all well," replied Wysire.  "And yes, I have seen Faquire and Creole."  He then hesitated, and this did not escape Christopher's notice.  His expression changed quickly to worry.
 

"Oh, please tell me that they are also well!  They are, at least, alive, aren't they?"  he asked anxiously.
 

"Yes, they are both alive," Wysire quickly assured him.  "It's just that . . . they are both in very different states of . . . life."
 

Christopher still looked worried.  "Please don't keep me in suspense.  Tell me straight how they are."
 

"It's hard to explain," answered Wysire, "without giving the wrong impression.  Faquire seems to be well physically, and Creole is certainly well mentally, though each lacks some well-being in the area that the other does not."
 

Kiacyl, listening, had to think hard for a moment to sort out this last statement.  Christopher, on the other hand, did not need time.
 

"What have they done to them?  How bad is the damage done to either?  How are they?"
 

"Please calm down, and I'll try to explain," said Wysire softly, sitting down beside him.  "I don't know how bad they are.  I can only tell you my observations.  Faquire is certainly not well; he wouldn't speak to me or even look at me, although he didn't look as though he was suffering physically.  I honestly do not know what is wrong with him.  As for Creole, he is his normal self mentally, though he looks a little worse for wear physically.  It seems that they've been running tests on him of different kinds.  Today, he said, they'd been doing something with his eyes, such that for the next twenty-four hours, he'll be unable to see."
 

Christopher uttered a cry of indignation at this.  "They're animals!" he cried.  "Beasts!"
 

"No, they are human," Wysire corrected him.
 

"Fallen and depraved humans!" insisted Christopher.  "They've come so far in their own eyes as to be almost completely stupid.  I have no pity for this race!"
 

"Christopher!" admonished Wysire.  "Are you any better than them?  I don't mean in actions, but in worth; are you worth more than a single one of them?"
 

Christopher still looked upset for moment, but he lowered his eyes and remained quiet until he could regain his self-control.  Kiacyl was too shocked by the words of both to say anything, but simply stared at the two of them silently.  He didn't know whether he was more surprised with what Christopher had said or with what Wysire had replied.
 

"It is difficult, Wysire," said Christopher at last, "seeing what they do, to feel anything but contempt for them as a race."
 

Wysire nodded silently.  "I know," he said.  "But that doesn't mean that we can damn them as people, though we may condemn their actions."
 

Christopher nodded reluctantly and gave a soft sigh.  "You said that Creole was well mentally?" he asked, looking up again and changing the subject.  "Then the atrocities being committed are not damaging his spirit?"
 

Wysire laughed.  "No, by all means, no!" he said.  "You ought to have heard him raving about his captors.  He had no qualms about telling them what he thought."
 

"You laugh about him," smiled Christopher, teasingly, "and yet you rebuke me for what I said.  Explain that."
 

"The difference is that he does pity them," replied Wysire, serious now.  "He does not consider himself better than them.  I know that you do not either, but your emotions may lead you astray, if you're not careful."
 

"He pities us?!" exclaimed Kiacyl, forgetting that he was not a part of their conversation.  "You'd certainly never know it to hear him talk.  I thought that he hated us."
 

Christopher looked at Kiacyl as if seeing him for the first time.  He turned back to Wysire questioningly, waiting for an introduction or explanation.  Wysire indicated that he would explain in a moment.  He turned first to Kiacyl.
 

"Creole does pity your race," he said.  "I know that his pity is not obvious, but he really does not hate you.  It is possible -- rather I ought to say that it is probable -- that he holds in contempt the Vukasovian race as a whole, but he doesn't hate them."
 

Without waiting for Kiacyl to reply, Wysire turned back to Christopher and said, "This is Kiacyl.  He works with Djaisiuk and has spent a lot of time with the rest of us.  He is the one who enabled me to visit you three."
 

"In that case, I owe you my thanks," said Christopher to Kiacyl, standing up carefully and extending a hand to him.  "And I do hope that I haven't offended you in what I may have said just now about your kinsmen."
 

Kiacyl hesitated a moment before taking the proffered hand.  He had never shaken hands with a prisoner before, and, other than Wysire's touch a few days earlier, he had never touched a Komislavian.  It felt quite strange and uncomfortable, to say the least.  It was, perhaps, fortunate that Christopher did not know the reason for the hesitation; for himself, he attributed it to possible offence that Kiacyl may have taken from his words.  Kiacyl did take Christopher's hand, but his grasp was weak and almost unwilling.  Christopher made no comment on this, but only reseated himself and turned back to Wysire.
 

"You said that he spends time with all of you; then do you all see each other often?" he asked.  "How are the others?"
 

"Everyone is well," replied Wysire.  "Jaeger tries to make sure that we all stay well, and Jade does his best to help.  Leil and Detrin are a bit quieter than normal, but I think that they are well enough on the whole.  Sandy is quite himself, actually.  Eriane is having the most difficult time of it all."
 

"Really?"  Christopher raised his eyebrows.  "I would have thought that Leil or Sandy would have it hardest."
 

"It is hard on them," nodded Wysire, "as it is on all of us, but not so hard as on Eriane.  Sandy and Cycil are apparently always together, so that makes it easier for them, and Leil silences all of his own questions with the knowledge that Djaisiuk is serving them.  If it weren't for Djaisiuk, I don't know what he would do."
 

Christopher nodded sadly.  "I still don't understand why Djaisiuk would serve them.  He knows better!  Does he simply not care?'
 

Wysire shook his head.  "I don't know.  I would give much to know what he is thinking; to know why he serves them."
 

"Have you ever asked him?" asked Kiacyl.
 

"You don't question Djaisiuk," Christopher told him.  "No one does."
 

"We did ask him once if he would please tell us his reasons," said Wysire to Kiacyl.  "We asked if he would help us to make our decision, that day that we first arrived, but he wouldn't."
 

"That's right," Christopher recalled.  "Leil said that he would follow Djaisiuk, but Djaisiuk said not to do so; he said that we should not turn to him for the answer."
 

"He never talks to me, except to tell me what to do," said Kiacyl.
 

"That's more than he ever speaks to us," smiled Wysire.
 

Kiacyl and Wysire stayed and spoke with Christopher for a few minutes longer before Kiacyl said that they ought to be going.  Wysire looked as though he would have liked to stay longer, but he reluctantly agreed.  They bade Christopher goodbye and left.
 

Walking back to the main levels, Wysire was quiet, as if in thought.
 

"Why did you tell the third one that he shouldn't hate us?" Kiacyl asked him suddenly.
 

Wysire looked at him, surprised at the question.  "Because he hated you for the wrong reasons," he answered.
 

Kiacyl's eyebrows rose.  "Why didn't you just give him the right reasons then?" he asked, half sarcastically.  "I suppose that you hate us for the 'right' reasons?"
 

Wysire sighed.  "Kiacyl, we had this discussion before, you may remember, with the other boys.  No, I don't hate you or your kinsmen.  None of us do.  Yes, there are reasons where hate is right, but I do not know what they would be in this case, nor would I ever encourage someone to hate another person for any reason.  And, with Christopher, I know that his reasons were wrong."
 

"Why was he so cringing with me and yet so angry with the rest of my race?"
 

"Christopher has a kind and gentle spirit, really.  He may get very angry with the people who have hurt him or Creole or any of the rest of us, but when face to face with someone who has not directly harmed him or his friends, regardless of their association with others who have, he will behave much more gently."
 

Kiacyl considered for a moment.  "Don't you think that the second one has the right to hate us?" he asked.  "Or the first one?  My people have done some rather strong things to both of them by Komislavian standards, it would seem."
 

"I think," began Wysire, choosing his words carefully, "that while they may both have a right to be angry with your people for what they have done, hate is too strong an emotion to be so easily bestowed.  The Bible says that we are to love our enemies and to do good to those who spitefully use us.  That does not mean that we approve their actions, nor does it mean that we do not try to defend ourselves.  As I said, there are cases where hate is permissible, so I will not say that Creole and Faquire haven't the 'right' to hate those who have wronged them so in this case.  I wasn't trained for counseling in situations like this, so I honestly don't know what the right choice would be.  Even so, I would strongly advise them against it if I thought that they did hate your people."
 

"But why?" asked Kiacyl.  "What's wrong with hating those whom you don't like?"
 

"Hate is a very dangerous emotion," replied Wysire.  "It more often destroys the one who feels it than it does its object.  It eats away at a person from the inside.  In Creole, Christopher, or Faquire's case, their hate would accomplish nothing good; it would only make them bitter, which would be very dangerous for them.  It would only cause them further unhappiness, and they don't need that now."
 

"Are you saying that they're happy now?"
 

"No!  By no means.  Not in their situations, anyway.  But they are all alive and happy to be so.  Except for Faquire."  Wysire paused and shook his head.  "I wish that I knew what they had done to him to make him like that.  Something is very definitely wrong there."
 

Wysire fell silent again, thinking.  Kiacyl said nothing more but also remained quiet until they reached the main floors again.  They then went together to the main eating room where they knew that they would find the other boys.

THE TWELVE -- Chapter 22 - Discussions

Kiacyl entered the eating room that night at a far later time than was normal for him.  All of the boys were there already, and most looked up and smiled as he approached.
 

"Hello," said Eriane, as Kiacyl came to the table.  "You're late tonight."
 

"Yes," Kiacyl answered, seating himself between Wysire and Cycil as usual.  "I went to see the other three of your group."
 

Dead silence fell over the whole table as they all turned to look at him.  Kiacyl had wondered what their reaction would be to this announcement, but he had certainly not expected what he now saw.  As he looked around at their faces, he saw that for the first time since he had met them, he was not able to read any of the emotions there.  They all stared at him blankly and yet with an intensity that he couldn't quite understand.  He wondered now whether he should have phrased it differently, or whether perhaps he oughtn't to have said anything at all.  There was a long moment of silence where Kiacyl felt exceedingly uncomfortable, then finally 

he started to stand, thinking to leave.
 

"Excuse me," he said.  "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything."
 

Immediately the spell was broken and all of the boys began speaking at once.
 

"No!' exclaimed Wysire, putting a hand on Kiacyl's arm.  "Don't leave!"
 

"No, stay!  Tell us about them."
 

"How are they?  Are they well?"
 

"Did you talk to them?  What did they say?"
 

"Did you see all three of them?  Are they all together?"
 

Jaeger raised his voice over them all.  "Hush, hush!" he said.  "Let Kiacyl speak."  Then to Kiacyl he said, "Please don't leave.  We would very much appreciate it if you would sit back down and tell us all that you can about them.  You see, we've been without any news of them since we arrived here, though we have tried to find out about them.  Your people won't tell us anything.  If you can give us any news at all, we'd be exceedingly grateful."
 

Kiacyl had started back when Wysire touched him, but he then paused, feeling rather overwhelmed by the response of all of the boys.  Their faces certainly expressed a lot of emotion now!  Slowly he sat down in his usual chair.
 

"Well," he began uncertainly, "which question should I answer first?"
 

Several of the boys started to speak again, but again Jaeger interrupted them.
 

"I think that it would be best if you just start from the beginning and tell us everything, if you don't mind.  That way most of the questions will be answered."
 

The other boys nodded in agreement, and all eyes were again fixed on Kiacyl.
 

Kiacyl cleared his throat a little nervously and began.  "Well, I went to the holding cells tonight shortly after leaving my workplace.  I did see all three of them, but I saw each separately; they're not all together.  I suppose that I've been with them for nearly half an hour.  The first one that I met was very unresponsive.  He was lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, the entire time.  He wouldn't look at me or talk to me.  He reminded me a lot of Djaisiuk.  It wasn't like I was bothering him by talking to him; it was more like he either didn't want to talk to me or like there was something wrong.  He didn't move at all while I was there."
 

"Creole is most like Djaisiuk," said Sandy.
 

"Yes, and he'd be the one most likely to ignore you too, I'd say," agreed Jade.  "Was he a strong chap with blond hair?  About seventeen years old?"
 

"No, his hair was red, and he looked to be about my age," Kiacyl answered, and would have continued but was again interrupted by exclamations.
 

"Faquire?!"
 

"No!  He's not like that!"
 

"Faquire's not quiet or withdrawn!"
 

"What else have they done to him?!"
 

This last exclamation was from Eriane who looked very distraught, but Jaeger once more called for silence and asked Kiacyl to please continue.
 

"I tried to talk to him," Kiacyl continued, "but, as I said, he wouldn't even look at me.  I finally left and went to the next room."
 

"Poor Faquire," murmured Sandy.  "I wish we could go to him."
 

"Well, the next was not at all like the first," Kiacyl quickly assured him.  "He was up and active.  I found him pacing the room.  But when I tried to speak with him, he was very aggressive; he really wouldn't tell me anything about how he was.  I didn't stay with him very long."
 

"I wouldn't have described any of those three as aggressive," said Jade.  "Though I could see how Faquire might be so; he gets very emotional at times.  I suppose Creole could be too, if he wanted to be, only not as much so.  Did he have blond hair?"
 

"I don't remember what color his hair was," Kiacyl answered, "But he did look older than the first one, and he had dark blue eyes.  He was a little taller than me and looked very strong."
 

"That describes both of them," said Eriane.  "Creole and Christopher both have blue eyes, are strong, and they're both about the same age and height.  But Creole has blond hair, and Christopher has black."
 

"Creole's skin is tan too," said Cycil, "but Christopher's is pale.  That's another way that you can tell them apart."
 

Kiacyl put in quickly.  "I do remember that.  And his skin was very pale too, even more so than a Vukasovian's skin.  I thought that he was sick or that it was the result of some treatment done to him."
 

"That's Christopher," said Jaeger, nodding.  "And no, that skin color is natural for him, strange as it must seem in a Komislavian.  So then the second one must have been Creole.  But please continue."
 

"As I said, he wasn't friendly," continued Kiacyl.  "He was quite hostile really.  To be honest, I found it rather amusing.  I think that I upset him though, because he finally laid down on his cot and wouldn't say anything else.  So then I went on to see the third.  He was asleep at first, but he woke up just after I entered.  I spoke with him for a short time but didn't learn much from him either.  He was very strange."
 

"Strange how?" asked Eriane.  "Did he seem like there was something wrong with him too?"
 

"Yes," Kiacyl stated decisively.  "I would say that it definitely seemed like there was something wrong with his mental faculties, but I would have to admit that I don't know if his behavior was just what's normal for a Komislavian.  He seemed very strange to me, but he might have been perfectly normal to you."
 

"What specifically struck you as strange?" asked Jaeger.
 

"Well, he said that he doesn't lie and seemed quite nonchalant about it," replied Kiacyl.  "Then he seemed rather worried that he might have offended me when he suggested that I might have been lying.  His whole manner seemed more fitting of a Londarian with how cringing it was at first, but his words and bearing did seem more like some of you.  And he did straighten up and act a little more sure of himself by the end, although I can't guess what caused the change.  At one point, I thought that he was trying to act defiant, but then I couldn't decide what to think.  I would certainly have to label him an enigma."
 

"So was it his actions or his words that you thought strange?" asked Wysire.
 

"Both," answered Kiacyl.  "His words didn't always make sense to me, but his whole manner too was contradictory.  At first he looked upset because he thought that I was a medic there to do some tests, but then when I explained that I wasn't, he immediately became very suspicious of me.  After I'd talked to him for a little bit and started to get frustrated, suddenly he relaxed and spoke almost casually, though not for long.  After that, he became very quiet and really wouldn't say much at all."
 

"Did he look well?" asked Eriane.  "Other than being very pale?"
 

"He looked at first as though he was in pain," Kiacyl admitted, "but once we started talking, he didn't show the pain anymore."
 

"What did he say?" asked Cycil.  "Will you tell us everything?"
 

Kiacyl thought hard for a moment.  "He really didn't say that much, now that I think about it.  As I said earlier, he thought at first that I was a medic, and asked if we couldn't leave him alone for just a few hours.  I told him that I wasn't a medic, and he then became very suspicious of me and just kept asking what I wanted.  When I finally made it clear to him that I was there to learn about your race, he said that he wasn't the best one to talk to about that.  He wouldn't recommend anyone in particular, but he suggested all of you in general.  He said that he hoped that I was lying about all of you working for us willingly, but then immediately apologized for having suggested that I was lying.  I said that he was as likely to lie to me as I was to him, and he said that he didn't tell lies.  After that he would say only 'yes,' 'no,' and 'I don't want to talk about it,' in answer to my questions.  So I left and came here."
 

The boys were silent for a moment, seeming to be trying to process all of this.  Most looked unhappy; some very much so.  Finally Detrin spoke again.
 

"You didn't say much about Creole," he said softly.
 

"Yes, that's right," said Eriane.  "Except that you said that he was aggressive.  Do you mean physically or verbally?"
 

"Oh, it was verbal, not physical," Kiacyl assured him with half a smile.  "I tried to provoke him a to physical reaction, but he refused.  He struck me as a little strange too."
 

"You tried to provoke Creole?" asked Jade incredulously.  "He could have killed you, if he had wanted to do so, unless you're a great deal stronger than you look.  He's as powerful as a bull and just as stubborn."
 

"I knew that he wouldn't hurt me," replied Kiacyl.  "I'm a Vukasovian, and I'm sure that he would know better than to really try anything.  And if he had, I could have just called for the guard."
 

"Then why did you try it?" asked Detrin.
 

Kiacyl drew himself up a little, feeling as though he ought to be offended by Detrin's tone of voice.  "He provoked me," he replied.  "He insulted me."
 

"How?" asked Jaeger.
 

"He treated me as though I was below him," said Kiacyl.  "And I don't take that from anyone, least of all a Komislavian."
 

Kiacyl cut off rather abruptly and looked a little uncomfortable.  He hadn't meant to insult them, but he wasn't about to withdraw his statement either.  Most of the boys didn't look offended, but they looked as though they were trying to hide their real opinions of his statement.  Sandy and Cycil looked uncomfortable too, more as if they were hurt by Kiacyl's statement than offended.
 

"What exactly did he say?" asked Wysire in his customarily soft voice.
 

"He said a lot of things," answered Kiacyl evasively.  "It was more his attitude than his words, most of the time."
 

"Did he say how they'd been treating him?" asked Eriane.
 

"No," said Kiacyl.
 

"Can you tell us what he did say?" asked Cycil.
 

Kiacyl was quiet for a moment, considering.  He didn't want to repeat all that Creole had said, but he did still wonder what the other boys would say on that subject.  He might as well tell them, he thought.  At least then he'd have an idea, judging from their reactions, as to whether or not they agreed with what Creole had said.  He swallowed once and raised his chin.
 

"He said that all Vukasovians were self-centered, cowardly dogs who use their larger numbers to justify their thinking themselves great," he said all in one breath.  "He said that Vukasovians want to rule the world and to make all of the other races their 'pets' to study at will.  Then he said that he, for one, wasn't going to put up with it, and he ordered me out."
 

Kiacyl was very surprised when most of the boys suddenly burst into laughter.  Jade actually clapped his hands.
 

"Bravo, Creole!" Jaeger exclaimed.
 

"Oh, he'll tell them what he thinks, indeed," laughed Jade, "and I hope that they hear it."
 

"Yes, that's definitely Creole," smiled Leil.
 

"Good for him!" said Sandy.
 

"He is obviously still well," said Eriane.  "At least mentally well."
 

"I wish that I had that kind of courage," put in Cycil admiringly.
 

Now it was Kiacyl's turn to stare at them all in stunned silence.  Did they all agree so strongly with what the boy had said?  Was this how they felt as well?  But they had all been so friendly, so unassuming.  Never once had any of them insulted him intentionally or said anything so horrid about his race in general, but neither had they seemed deceitful, as if they were hiding their true opinion of him and his race.  Had he indeed been playing the fool, deceived by their open expressions?  Apparently there was still a lot more to this race than he had yet learned.
 

Jaeger was the first to notice Kiacyl's amazed look.
 

"Please don't take offense," said Jaeger quickly.  "I'm afraid that we have become so accustomed to your being with us that we speak openly in front of you without thinking first.  I can understand how you, as a Vukasovian, might be upset with . . . that kind of talk, but understand that we refer to your race in general and not you in particular."
 

"Oh, Kiacyl, you're not like that!" said Sandy.  "At least . . . not most of the time.  I mean . . . ."  He trailed off, not knowing how to finish.
 

It was now the boys' turn to look uncomfortable.  None were going to take back their agreement with what Creole had said, but none seemed to want to hurt Kiacyl either.
 

"I didn't know that you all felt like this," said Kiacyl at last.  "You've certainly never given me any indication of it before now.  Does your whole race hate Vukasovians then?"
 

"No, we don't hate them," Wysire quickly assured him.  "Truth be told, most Komislavians pity your race."
 

"Pity us?!" exclaimed Kiacyl, in disbelief.  "Why?"
 

"Because you don't know Christ," answered Detrin.
 

Kiacyl frowned at him.  "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
 

"Our race has been blessed," said Wysire.  "We have dedicated ourselves to seeking after God and to raising up each generation after us in the same way.  Our parents and grandparents were very firmly dedicated to this.  And the Lord has blessed us for it."
 

"Vukasovians don't have the love of God in them," said Sandy.  "Or at least none that I've ever met.  Are there any Vukasovian Christians as far you know, Kiacyl?"
 

"If you mean followers of your religion," answered Kiacyl scornfully, "then no, I would say that there are certainly not.  Vukasovians are not bound by any superstitions whatsoever."
 

"They are bound up by lies," said Jaeger.
 

"Our race is so much stronger and more powerful than yours," argued Kiacyl.  "We ought to be the ones to pity you."
 

"You may seem stronger as a race, but you are not as individuals," answered Wysire.  "Vukasovians suppress emotions.  This does enable them to advance better at times in a military sense, but it destroys them in a personal sense.  There is no longer a simple joy of life with them.  The only pleasure that they seem to find is in conquest."
 

"You seem to forget again that I'm one of 'them'," said Kiacyl, "and from my own experience as well as what I know of my people, I would strongly disagree with you."
 

"Kiacyl," said Detrin quietly.  "Are you happy in life?"
 

Kiacyl frowned at him, half-annoyed, half-confused.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.  "I'm not happy at the moment, no, because I'm trying to understand what you all are saying."
 

"Do you find joy in life itself?" asked Eriane.
 

Again, Kiacyl looked confused and upset.  These were not questions that it was proper to ask on Vukosava.  No Vukasovian would ask another something like this unless he wanted to be thought insane.  Kiacyl shook his head in frustration.
 

"I don't know what you mean," he lied.
 

Wysire nodded.  "That is precisely what we mean," he said.  "You, as a Vukasovian, have been taught to ignore or to suppress all emotions but those that assist the goals of your race.  Simple joy in life is one of those emotions that your race does not have."
 

"'Simple joy', as you put it, is a weakness," retorted Kiacyl.  "It's the emotions of your race that make you all so easy to control."
 

Leil and Jade frowned darkly at this, but Wysire only smiled and Jaeger laughed.
 

"Say rather," said Jaeger, "that our emotions -- or rather still our faith in God -- keep us alive wherever we're put.  We know how to be content in our circumstances without necessarily being content with our circumstances.  Can you imagine a Vukasovian living in captivity?"
 

"No," Kiacyl replied without hesitation.  "Why would he want to do so?"
 

"Because life is worth living," answered Wysire.  "It is the Hope within us -- what you Vukasovians call the 'emotions' or the religion of our race -- that makes us strong.  Here we are in an incredibly difficult situation, and yet we are able to continue.  I agree with you in this: I don't believe that any normal Vukasovian would survive in like circumstances and yet maintain his sanity."
 

Kiacyl considered for a moment, trying hard to grasp what was being said, while at the same time still trying to swallow his annoyance at apparently being rebuked by a group of Komislavians.
 

"If what you say is true," he began slowly, "then how do you explain the one you call Faquire?  He seemed to have no 'joy of life' in him, though he was certainly still alive."
 

The boys were silent for a moment and looked at one another, none seeming sure of how to answer.
 

"That is why we were so concerned," said Wysire at last.  "Faquire ought not to be like that.  It's not natural.  Something, or some number of things must have happened or have been done in order to him to make him like that."
 

Here Eriane clenched his fist, and Jaeger and Jade looked thunderous.
 

"If I knew what they had done," said Jaeger, "and who was responsible . . ."  He trailed off into silence.
 

"Then none of us would blame you for whatever action you chose to take," Jade finished.
 

"There is something else that I don't understand," said Kiacyl to Jaeger.  "How can you jump from one emotion to another so quickly?  A moment ago you were laughing.  Now you're angry.  Will you be laughing again in another moment?"
 

"Not if I keep thinking about Faquire," answered Jaeger.  "How would you feel if your brother was being held prisoner and mistreated and there was nothing that you could do about it?"
 

"I don't have a brother, as far as I know," said Kiacyl.
 

"It's a hypothetical question," said Jaeger.  "Imagine that you did have a brother, or imagine that it was a close friend."
 

"I haven't any 'friends' either."
 

"Do you have anyone for whom you care?" Jaeger asked with a hint of frustration in his voice.
 

Kiacyl look furtive for the briefest moment, then replied, "Caring for someone leaves one open to manipulation."
 

Jaeger sighed and shook his head.  "Yes, I forgot.  You're a Vukasovian.  I should have known that you'd say something like that.  Forget the analogy; I suppose that you can't understand our feelings if you've never experienced anything similar."
 

"I'd like to understand you," said Kiacyl.  "I'm trying to understand you now, but to me your feelings do not make sense."
 

"That's because your race prefers to feel none at all," said Cycil quietly.
 

Kiacyl shrugged.  "It's one of the things that makes us strong."
 

"No," said Eriane.  "It makes your culture weak, because no one will stand up for anyone else.  Everyone fights, but everyone fights alone."
 

Kiacyl looked appalled at this last statement.  "That's not true!' he snapped.  "All Vukasovians fight for the same things.  We've always fought together."
 

"Kiacyl, would you ever give your own life for another Vukasovian?" asked Wysire.
 

"Do you mean die for him?" Kiacyl asked.  "No, probably not.  Why should I?"
 

"Yes, Wysire, why should he?" asked Jaeger, half sarcastically.  "He said himself that he has no close friends and he doesn't have any brothers, as far as he knows.  Who is there for whom he could give his life?"
 

Wysire frowned at Jaeger but did not answer.
 

"Are you mocking me?" Kiacyl asked Jaeger.
 

"No, not at all," Jaeger answered, speaking seriously now.  "Actually, I'm very much hoping that you'll contradict me.  I'd like nothing better right now than to hear you say that there exists anyone in this universe for whom you care at all."
 

"You want to think that I'm like a Komislavian," accused Kiacyl.
 

"I want to think that you're remotely human," retorted Jaeger.
 

"Jaeger!" Wysire exclaimed.
 

"I'm sorry!" Jaeger exclaimed in true repentance.  "I didn't mean to say that."  He sighed.  "Look, I should probably just bow out of this conversation.  I can't seem to add anything constructive to it.  If you truly want to learn about our race, Wysire is the real expert."
 

"I do think that I'm learning something from you," said Kiacyl, looking at Jaeger strangely with the slightest hint of a sneer playing about the corners of his mouth.  "It would seem that our races can be similar when tempers are aroused."
 

Jaeger returned the gaze silently for a moment.  The other boys began to grow immediately uncomfortable at the obvious tension building in the air, but Kiacyl held Jaeger's gaze unflinchingly.  His expression was now touched with both defiance and sarcasm.
 

"If you're trying to arouse mine now," said Jaeger at last, his voice quiet but firm, "then you're certainly going about it in the right way."
 

"Yes, actually I was," Kiacyl answered honestly.  "I find it fascinating to think that you consider it a compliment to compare me to Komislavians, and yet you get offended if I compare you to the Vukasovians.  With your looks, you could never pass for one, but I think that your temper and sarcasm, if properly used, could get you close to being accepted in Vukasovian culture, at least among the near-sighted."
 

Jaeger held Kiacyl's eye for a moment or two longer without speaking.  He no longer looked angry, though it would be difficult to say what emotions he was feeling just then.  After a brief moment, he turned away and quietly asked Jade an unrelated question.  Jade answered, and the two became engaged in a quiet conversation of their own.
 

"May I ask you a question, trying to understand your race a bit?" Sandy asked, turning to Kiacyl.
 

"Yes, of course," Kiacyl answered.  "I may not answer, but you may certainly ask."
 

"You say that you don't have any brothers 'as far as you know,'" said Sandy.  "How is that possible?  I mean, how is it possible that you don't know whether or not you have any?"
 

"I'm my father's first-born," answered Kiacyl, "but I don't know whether he might have any younger sons, because he has never told me.  I really don't think that he does, but in order to be perfectly honest, I have to admit that he might.  I suppose that your morals are rubbing off on me."  He gave a sarcastic half-smile as he said the last statement.
 

Sandy looked very confused at Kiacyl's explanation.  "Don't you live with your mother and father?" he asked.
 

"Of course not," answered Kiacyl, seeming offended at such a question.  "I've never seen my mother, and my father has his work to do."
 

"Did your mother die?" asked Cycil quietly.
 

"I don't know," shrugged Kiacyl.  "Probably not, considering the fact that I was, from birth, both strong and healthy.  And I was natural, at that!"
 

Kiacyl smiled proudly at this, but the other boys only looked at him, thoroughly confused by this last statement.  Jaeger and Jade seemed to have just finished their own short discussion and now sat quietly listening to the ongoing conversation.
 

"I wasn't enhanced," said Kiacyl, seeing their confusion and trying to explain himself.  "I was natural, but I was still strong."
 

Most of the boys still looked confused, and Kiacyl started to look frustrated at not being able to make himself understood.  Then an idea seemed suddenly to strike Eriane.
 

"You mean that you weren't genetically engineered at conception, don't you?" he said.
 

"Yes!" Kiacyl exclaimed, glad that at least one of them understood.  "It's very rare now to find any who have been born naturally, and those that are so are almost never as intelligent as I am.  Generally they're good for nothing but physical labor.  That makes me all the more valuable, of course."  Again he looked very proud of himself.
 

Sandy and Cycil shuddered visibly, and several of the others looked disgusted though they tried to hide it.
 

"You'll have to excuse our slowness in understanding you," said Eriane.  "None of our race is genetically enhanced before birth unless there is seen to be a defect in the unborn baby.  Even then, genetic manipulation is purely optional and generally not desired."
 

Sandy shook his head.  "I can't imagine what it would be like to be 'programmed' like a computer."
 

"That must be why the members of your IC School are considered so valuable," said Kiacyl.  "To be that intelligent without enhancement is very rare and valuable indeed."
 

Wysire laughed a little.  "It is rare, I admit, but we're not considered any more valuable than any other member of our race," he said.  "At least not on our own planet.  We just have different functions than most of the other boys our age."
 

"Intelligence isn't valued among the Komislavians?" asked Kiacyl.
 

"Oh, it's certainly valued," said Eriane, "but not in the sense that it makes the person of any greater worth in a general sense than any other person.  As Wysire said, it only makes us better able to perform the functions that the IC school requires of us."
 

"But what does that have to do with your siblings?" persisted Sandy, turning to Kiacyl again.  "I don't know anyone who doesn't have brothers or sisters.  I come from a very small family by Komislavian standards, because I have only one brother and one sister.  I can't imagine not having any siblings."
 

"You do know someone with fewer," said Jade.  "Jaeger was an only child."
 

"Was," said Jaeger.  "I'm not anymore."
 

"But that doesn't really count," said Sandy.  "In your case, Jaeger, it wasn't natural."
 

"How long were you an only child, Jaeger?" asked Cycil.  "It was a long time, wasn't it?"
 

"I was twelve when my father remarried," said Jaeger, "so yes, I suppose that it was a rather long time."  To Kiacyl he explained, "My mother died when I was young, so I was an only child for some time, but that is very unusual in our culture."
 

"But you say that you don't know if you have any brothers, Kiacyl?" asked Sandy.  "Do you know if you have any sisters?"
 

"No, I know that I don't have any sisters," said Kiacyl, shaking his head in disgust.  "None of us do.  I might have a younger brother, I suppose, but I don't think that I do.  I may have a very young brother whom I just haven't met yet, but he'd have to be less than three or four years of age.  As I said, my father hasn't said that I do, so I really don't know.  I think that he'd tell me if I did."
 

"But," Sandy began, confused again, "how could you not know whether or not you have siblings?"
 

"My father hasn't told me," Kiacyl repeated, again getting frustrated at not being able to make himself understood.  "I suppose that I could ask if I do, or someone else might tell me if they knew, but really my father will tell me, if he wants me to know.  What difference does it make to me anyway?"
 

Sandy and Cycil looked at each other, both confused.
 

"But why would he have to tell you?" asked Cycil.  "Wouldn't you know if you had any younger siblings?"
 

"How would I know if he didn't tell me?!" Kiacyl demanded, throwing up his hands in obvious frustration.  "And how is it that you are all called geniuses and yet can't understand something so simple?"
 

"May I try to clarify things?" interrupted Wysire.  "In the Komislavian culture, the children live with their parents until they marry, generally between the ages of fourteen and seventeen.  The students of the IC School are exceptions to this, of course, but we're a very small percentage of our people, and we still each visit our homes as often as we can.  In the ordinary family, if there are younger siblings born, the older ones know as soon as and really before the younger ones are born, because they see their mother pregnant.  After the child's birth, the older ones often help in raising their younger brother or sister.  You can see how it is, therefore, not really possible for a Komislavian boy or girl to have siblings, unless they are very much older or younger, whom they have never met.  And even if they had never met them, they'd hear about them from their other siblings or family."
 

Kiacyl nodded in partial understanding, though his expression showed plainly that he thought this a very strange way of life.  "I see," he said.  "So the father or mother lives with all of the children together while the children are young."
 

"The father and mother," Sandy corrected.  "They both live together once they get married."
 

"How is that possible?" asked Kiacyl.  "Doesn't the father have to work?"
 

"Yes, but he works on his farm," said Detrin.  "Komislavians are, for the most part, an agricultural society, you know.  The whole family works the farm together: father, mother, and children.  When the sons marry, they often stay on their parents' farm and continue to work there, though they'll build their own house.  It's not uncommon to have up to three or four generations working on one farm.  My brothers work with my father on my great-grandfather's farm."
 

"That's very strange," said Kiacyl.
 

"Don't you live with your father?" asked Sandy.
 

Kiacyl shook his head.  "No, I don't," he said.  "I see him occasionally, but I live with other boys of the facility."
 

"Might any of them be your brothers?" asked Sandy.
 

"No, no, definitely not," Kiacyl assured him.  "As I said, I'm my father's first, and I know that he doesn't have any more near my age.  If he does have another son, then he's still very young.  I doubt that I have any brothers, but there's really no way to be sure unless I ask him."
 

"Why don't you ask him?" asked Cycil.
 

Kiacyl shrugged.  "I suppose that I could, although I don't see that it would matter.  What difference would it make, after all, if I had any brothers?"
 

"I'd want to know, if it were me," said Leil quietly.
 

"I can't imagine not having any brothers," said Detrin.
 

"I can't imagine not having any sisters," laughed Jade.  "I haven't any brothers, so I know what that's like, but no sisters?  I really can't imagine."
 

"Why would your father want daughters if he could have sons?" asked Kiacyl.  "I should think that he'd want sons all the more if he works on a farm."
 

"Well, as Eriane said, we generally don't use pre-birth genetic manipulation," answered Jade, "so he really couldn't choose one over the other even if he wanted to do so.  Besides, my father was more than happy to have daughters, and, having been spoiled all my life by four sisters, I can understand this."  Jade smiled broadly.
 

Kiacyl looked disgusted at this, but he said nothing.
 

"If no one minds, I think that we may want to stop this conversation now before it gets any deeper," said Jaeger.  "It's getting late, and we may want to have devotions now while we still may."
 

This suggestion was accepted all around, though Kiacyl did not express an opinion.  He had, by this time, grown accustomed to their evening ritual of study and prayer, and he didn't mind staying and observing, although he never participated.  Sandy handed his Bible to Detrin and then shared one with Cycil; Eriane shared his with Wysire, and Jade shared his with Jaeger.  Kiacyl didn't care to have one, though he didn't mind listening to the boys' devotions, feeling that he was gaining more information on their race through their beliefs.  Cycil had always offered to share his own Bible with Kiacyl, but Kiacyl had always declined.
 

That night, when at last the boys dispersed to seek their own chambers for the night, Wysire followed Kiacyl and caught up with him after they had left the eating room.
 

"Kiacyl," he called.  "May I speak with you?"
 

Kiacyl stopped, surprised at being followed.  "Wysire, you shouldn't be coming this way," he said.  He glanced around the hall to make sure that no one was around.  "It's nearly time to retire, and this area won't be safe for you."
 

"I just wanted to speak with you," said Wysire, looking surprised.  "Is that not permitted?"
 

"It's permitted, but it isn't safe," answered Kiacyl.  "At least not near the sleeping quarters at this time of the evening.  Let's walk back this way."
 

Kiacyl led Wysire back toward the eating room.  "What was it you wanted?" he asked.
 

"I just wanted to ask whether you are able to visit Creole, Christopher, and Faquire whenever you like," replied Wysire.
 

Kiacyl shrugged.  "Yes, so long as I am not forbidden, and so long as it doesn't interfere with my work."
 

"Would it be possible for you to take me with you?"
 

Kiacyl stopped and frowned slightly.  "I don't know.  Have you ever asked for permission to go to them?"
 

"Yes, once," Wysire nodded.  "I asked my supervisor about it some time ago, but he said that he didn't know where they were being held.  I assume that you know where they are if you've been to see them.  I thought that perhaps if I could accompany you, I might be allowed to see them too."
 

Kiacyl considered.  Might there be some reason that Wysire's supervisor had not given him permission to see the boys?  It would have been very simple for the supervisor to find the information, had he desired it.  And, if there had been some reason for the denial, might Kiacyl then be in danger of disapproval if he were to take Wysire to see them?
 

It would likely be enlightening to see the boys in the company of Wysire, Kiacyl thought.  Wysire was the one whom they called a "counselor."  It would be interesting to hear what he might say to those three boys.  Would he talk about the "simple joy of life" to those suffering confinement?  Kiacyl liked the idea of going with him very much.  Still, there was risk involved.  He would have to give the matter thought.
 

"Perhaps," said Kiacyl noncommittally.  "I'll have to think about it.  Ask me again in a few nights."
 

Wysire looked disheartened, but nodded.  "Alright," he said.  "Thank you for agreeing to consider it.  I'll remind you again later."
 

"Just don't come to the sleeping rooms of the workers to do so," smiled Kiacyl.  "Don't forget your race.  I'm sure you've noticed that I'm the only Vukasovian who'll speak with all of you outside of your work."
 

"Would it really be dangerous for me to simply walk down that hall?" asked Wysire, looking at him with more than a touch of incredulity.
 

"Yes," stated Kiacyl emphatically.  "At this time of day, yes, it would.  In the middle of the workday when everyone is working, or in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep, then no one would care, so long as you just walked through and didn't stop or go into any of the rooms.  But right now, when all of the workers are there and awake, it wouldn't be safe.  They might not kill you, seeing how valuable the authorities consider you, but you wouldn't want to take that chance.  You certainly wouldn't get out uninjured."
 

"Not even if I was with you?"
 

Kiacyl gave a scornful chuckle.  "I've already told you that I wouldn't risk my life for another Vukasovian," he scoffed.  "What makes you think that I'd risk it for you?"  He shook his head.  "I wouldn't even try to defend you."
 

Wysire again looked at him in surprise, but he said nothing.  Kiacyl simply shrugged and continued.
 

"Look, it's getting late, and I need to get to bed," he said.  "I can explain it all to you sometime, if you like, but for now it would just be best for all of you to keep to your own sections and the public eating rooms.  There's a reason that they've given all of you your own rooms; no Vukasovian of your age would have that."
 

Wysire nodded, obviously not understanding this but content to wait until what time as Kiacyl could or would explain further.  He again thanked Kiacyl for his time and turned and left.

THE TWELVE -- Chapter 21 - A Time of Learning

Kiacyl had sat with the Komislavian boys as they ate dinner almost every night after that first night.  He never ate with them -- for no Vukasovian would ever eat at the same table as a member of another race -- but he was careful to avoid giving them offense on this score; he always simply informed them that he had already eaten.  He worked with Djaisiuk who was on an earlier schedule then were any of them, so this was an easy excuse.
 

Kiacyl found the boys to be fascinating.  They were like no others he had ever met.  They were perfectly open with their thoughts and emotions, and in this way they reminded him much of the Londarians.  But they were unafraid in his presence.  They were not in any way cringing, even though they were now captives of an enemy race.  In that way, they were nothing like the Londarians.  Kiacyl at first attributed this seeming courage to ignorance, supposing that the boys may have great abilities in some areas and yet be stupid in others.  Their words and actions, however, seemed to contradict this conjecture.  They gave no indication of being below acceptable Vukasovian intelligence levels in anything that they actually said, and yet their speech was comfortable and friendly, never conceited or vainglorious.  They were not afraid of Kiacyl for being Vukasovian, but neither did they despise him for his lower intelligence level.  They continually fascinated Kiacyl, and yet they also confused him.  One conversation, the second night that he sat with them, went as follows:
 

"You're really not what I would have expected for super-geniuses," said Kiacyl at one point in the evening.
 

"What do you mean?" asked Eriane.  "What would you have expected?"
 

"Well, I suppose that I would have expected that I wouldn't be able to understand you all when you spoke to each other."
 

A few of the boys smiled at this and some laughed.  Jaeger, however, being in a much better mood tonight than he had been on the night previous, nodded understandingly, took a deep breath, and, with a perfectly straight face, said:
 

"Although the possession of a mammoth capacity for rational cerebration enables one oft to verbalize unintelligibly, the feat is deficient in estimable appreciation and consequent delectation due to the effect determinant that said exploit generates adjudication of one being a lusus naturae."
 

Kiacyl's eyes widened a little at this, and Jade slapped Jaeger's arm in a friendly rebuke.
 

"Behave yourself!" scolded Jade.
 

Jaeger spread his hands and looked at Jade with a perfectly innocent expression. “I was only answering him,” he said in a defensive tone of voice, trying hard to suppress a smile.
 

"I must respectfully disagree with your statement, Jaeger," said Detrin.
 

"Respectfully disagree, indeed!" Jade scoffed playfully.  "It was utterly ridiculous!"
 

"What Jaeger just said," Eriane explained to Kiacyl, "was that even though we could talk like that if we wanted to do so, we generally don't because people would label us as freaks."  Turning to Jaeger, he continued, "But I would give other reasons than those.  To be perfectly honest, I don't think that your argument was very good."
 

"I wouldn't have used 'adjudication' there, Jaeger," said Wysire.  "That's a bit strong."
 

"And I object to the label 'lusus naturae,'" said Jade.  "You make us sound like a group of five legged horses."
 

"And you must admit that occasional bouts do afford their delectation," smiled Detrin.

"Alright, alright!  I'll withdraw the statement!" laughed Jaeger.  "It was supposed to be a joke, but it's not funny if you pick it apart."
 

"A joke is only funny in so far as it is accurate," said Wysire gently.  "Your statement was quite inaccurate."
 

"I suppose that I ought to withdraw my statement, really," said Kiacyl.  "You do fit what I would have expected for super-geniuses."
 

"Now see what you've done, Jaeger!" exclaimed Eriane, smiling.  "Now we really have been labeled as freaks!  What have you to say for yourself?"
 

"I plead insanity!" said Jaeger throwing up his hands.  "I accept no responsibility for my actions."
 

"Your plea is granted," said Jade, striking the table authoritatively.  "You are admitted to being insane."
 

All of the boys joined in a hearty laugh at this, including both Jaeger and Jade.  Their laughter was so infectious that Kiacyl could not help smiling, although he didn't quite understand what was so funny.  Laughing from pure enjoyment without causing another pain was an experience completely new to Kiacyl.  He had often found pleasure in seeing or hearing about the misfortunes or discomfiture of others, and he had thought at first that the boys were taking pleasure in attacking Jaeger.  But they weren't; Jaeger was laughing with them.  They were having fun together in a group while causing no one any pain.  It was a very strange thing to a young Vukasovian.
 

Kiacyl could not help wondering whether they ever evinced pleasure from the pain of others.  He had never seen them do it.  He realized that he could himself quite easily have become the victim of that type of enjoyment after Jaeger's unusual statement about "unintelligible verbalization."  All of the other boys had understood his statement perfectly (with the possible exceptions of Cycil and Sandy), and they could probably also have seen quite clearly that Kiacyl did not understand it at all.  They could easily have scorned him or mocked him, but they hadn't.  Kiacyl knew that a Vukasovian
 

The boys still did occasionally speak in terms that Kiacyl did not understand, but they were always quick to explain themselves if they suspected that Kiacyl was at all confused.  This they did in such a manner that Kiacyl never felt that they were being condescending.  They were so smart and yet so kind.  It was a combination entirely outside of Kiacyl's experience.
 

After the fourth night of meeting with them, Kiacyl decided that he would like to meet the other three boys of which he had, by now, heard much through the 'free' boys, as he took to calling them in his own mind.  Given the unity of these eight -- he did not group Djaisiuk with them -- Kiacyl wondered what the other three must be like that they would refuse to work for the Vukasovians.  What reasons did they have for their refusal?  Why, when most of their companions had chosen this way, did they insist on taking another?  Kiacyl wanted to know.  With this desire in mind, Kiacyl decided to visit the holding cells before meeting with the other boys on the evening of the tenth day after the capture of the boys.

* * * * * * *

Arriving at the holding cells, Kiacyl asked for access to the three cells holding the Komislavian boys.  He was granted access and was directed to three cells, located very near to one another.  He knew that each cell was perfectly soundproof, and there was no opening through which one could look either out of or into a cell, other than the constant security cameras within each cell, so the proximity of the cells did not in any way imply that the boys had access to one another or even that they would have seen each other since being brought here.  Kiacyl gave this no thought, however, and proceeded to the first cell.
 

The rooms were very small, about five feet wide and ten feet deep.  The only furniture in them was a small cot in the far right-hand corner of the room, stretching just over five feet along the right-hand wall as one entered.  The walls, floor, and ceiling were white, as were the cots, giving the cells an appearance of always being perfectly clean, and indeed they were always kept clean.  If a prisoner was subjected to any sort of experiment or punishment that broke the skin, the wound must be fully sealed before he would be returned to the cell.  This further gave many of the prisoners an appearance of being in better condition than they might actually be.
 

Kiacyl was rather surprised upon entering the first cell.  Within it, he saw a young Komislavian lying on his back on the cot, staring at the ceiling with an expression similar to that which Kiacyl was accustomed to see on Djaisiuk every day.  This one's expression was slightly different however, in that it was indifference laced with hopelessness.  Kiacyl, unused to seeing the latter emotion, did not recognize it, but instead only thought the expression very similar to, but "somehow different" from the one worn by Djaisiuk.
 

The boy did not look up as Kiacyl entered, nor did he acknowledge his presence.
 

"Hello," said Kiacyl, stepping up to the cot.
 

The boy did not move, but continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, his breathing slow and measured.
 

Kiacyl paused.  "I've, um, met your compatriots," he continued haltingly.  Now that he was here, talking to one of the prisoners, he wasn't at all sure of what he should say.  It didn't seem to matter though, because the boy did not move or look at him.
 

"You remind me of one of them," Kiacyl continued.  "I've started to get to know them.  They talk about you from time to time, though they've never described you as being very quiet."
 

In truth, Kiacyl had no way of knowing which of the three boys this was.  He did know that the other boys would speak of all three from time to time, but none of the three had ever been described as being quiet; therefore his statement was correct.  Regardless, the boy still refused to acknowledge Kiacyl's presence.
 

"You remind me a lot of the one with whom I work.  He doesn't talk either.  I can talk to him, but he doesn't acknowledge me.  If I didn't know better, I'd think that he was deaf or dumb.  Or both."  As he continued to speak, Kiacyl reached out a hand and waved it in front of the boy's eyes.  There was still no response.  "As is, I think that he's just terribly self-centered.  I know that none of the other Komislavians would agree with me, but then I don't know him as well as they, and probably you, do."
 

By this time, Kiacyl was talking mostly to himself.  The boy said nothing and made no movement.  Kiacyl waited for a moment in silence, but the boy still did not move.
 

"Very well," said Kiacyl after a pause, realizing that he was making no headway.  "I suppose that either you don't want to talk, or that something is very wrong with you.  In either case, I doubt that either of us will derive any benefit from my staying here, talking to myself, so I'll leave you alone now."
 

With that farewell, Kiacyl left.  He wondered whether this was the natural result of imprisonment on an emotional person, or whether this boy was simply someone like Djaisiuk.  If it weren't for the fact that the boy's eyes had been open, he would have thought him unconscious.  If it weren't for the breathing, he would have thought him dead.  Kiacyl decided that if the second boy were like this as well, he would give up his plan and leave without seeing the third.
 

Entering the second room, Kiacyl met with a very different sight.  Within was a distinctly Komislavian boy, pacing up and down the room, his hands clasped behind his back.  The young man was a little taller than Kiacyl and looked to be a few years older, though Kiacyl claimed no great skill in guessing Komislavian ages.  He looked up and frowned when Kiacyl entered.
 

"I've not seen you before," said the boy gruffly.
 

Kiacyl was surprised and pleased.  This one spoke!
 

"No," said Kiacyl.  "I've never been here before."
 

"Well?" asked the other, continuing his pacing.  "What do you want?"
 

"I wanted to meet you."
 

The boy stopped and turned.  He was standing near the far end of the room now.  He looked at Kiacyl irritably.
 

"Why?"
 

Kiacyl regarded him.  "You're very unfriendly."
 

"And you're very blunt," came the reply.  "What do you want?"
 

"I've already told you," said Kiacyl.  "I came to meet you.  I've met your friends out there, and now I wanted to meet you and the other two."
 

The boy regarded him suspiciously.  "Again, why?"
 

"I just want to understand your race better," Kiacyl replied.  "I feel that I'm getting to know those who are here willingly, so now I wanted to know what the effect of this displacement would be on the mind of one who was here unwillingly."
 

"Get out," the boy ordered, and he returned to his pacing.
 

Kiacyl bristled slightly.  This boy had no right to speak to him in such a fashion!  He was a prisoner and a Komislavian prisoner at that.  He might be a genius, but he should still remember his place!
 

"I'll leave when I please!" snapped Kiacyl.  "You're in no position to give orders, especially to a Vukasovian."
 

"What do you want?" asked the boy again, not looking at Kiacyl now.
 

"I've already told you," said Kiacyl.  "I want to know how you feel about all of this.  I want to know why you won't go along with your friends.  What do you think of this displacement?"
 

"Very well," said the boy, slowly approaching Kiacyl as he spoke.  "You want to know what I think?  I think that you Vukasovians are a lot of cowardly dogs who hide behind their superior numbers, thinking that they give you the right to proclaim yourselves rulers.  You're so self-centered that you think that the entire universe revolves around you.  You're so caught up in looking at yourselves that you never give a thought to those around you except as animals to be studied.  If your pathetic little race was given its way, you would rule the universe, and all other peoples and species would be made your pets to play with or to study according to your whim.  Well, I'll not be put under your little psychological microscope, so get out!"
 

The boy had come now right up to Kiacyl and stood with his hands behind his back, looking down at him.
 

Kiacyl was shocked.  Never had anyone of another race dared to speak to him like that.  Granted he'd only ever met two other races before this, but they both acknowledged his own race's superiority.  And yet what the boy had said shook him.  He was not at all what Kiacyl had expected.  This was no pliant, emotional little Komislavian boy.  This was a young man with strength of mind and will.  He seemed quite different from the other Komislavian boys, and yet he was not like any of the Vukasovian boys that Kiacyl had known either.  He seemed to have no fear.  Looking at him, Kiacyl felt that he could see a slight resemblance to the other boys, especially to Jaeger in the area of the eyes, but the expression was one that he had never seen on any of the others.  He wondered what the other Komislavians would say on the subject of the Vukasovian race in general, had they no fear of retribution.
 

The boy had again returned to his pacing, ignoring Kiacyl.  Kiacyl, however, was intrigued now and had no intention of leaving just yet.  He drew himself up proudly and crossed his arms over his chest.
 

"Make me leave," he said defiantly, curling his lip in a sneer.  Kiacyl was not afraid of him.  The guard was just outside the room, and the boy surely knew that retribution would be swift if he attempted to injure a Vukasovian worker.
 

The boy had again reached the other end of the room in his pacing.  He turned slowly and looked at Kiacyl with something that might almost be considered hunger in his eyes.  The slightest hint of a smile played about the corners of his mouth as he looked Kiacyl over closely.  Slowly he shook his head.
 

"Don't tempt me," he said in a low voice.  "You wouldn't like it if I obeyed."
 

"You're afraid of me," responded Kiacyl, tauntingly.
 

"You're not going to leave, are you?" asked the boy.
 

"No, I'm not," replied Kiacyl, shaking his head and looking at the boy arrogantly.
 

For a long moment, the two regarded one another.  Then, without a word, the boy stepped over to his cot, laid himself down on it, laced his hands under his head, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh.  Kiacyl continued to watch him, but the boy refused to acknowledge Kiacyl's presence anymore.  Kiacyl considered trying to speak to him again, but doubted that he would receive a reply now.  He considered standing and waiting in the hopes that the boy would grow tired of this and get up again, but he realized that it was far more likely that the boy would fall asleep.  Finally, Kiacyl decided that the best course would be to simply leave now and go on to the last boy.  So, without another word, he turned and left the room.  It wasn't until he had started down the hallway that he realized that the young Komislavian had succeeded in what Kiacyl had challenged him: he had made Kiacyl leave the room.  In frustration, Kiacyl nearly turned again to go back to the room, but he restrained himself.  The boy would surely only mock him.  It was too late.  The best course would be to continue as he was now going and hope that the Komislavian had fulfilled the challenge ignorantly and unintentionally.
 

Entering the third room and having no idea of what he should expect, Kiacyl found what seemed now a painfully familiar sight.  There was a boy (or young man, rather, for he looked about the same age as the young man in the last cell) in this room, and he was lying on the small cot provided, fast asleep.  For a moment, Kiacyl stood still, wondering if he ought to wake him.  Looking at the boy, he saw pain in his expression.  He wondered how much this boy suffered in his confinement.  He wondered whether this one would be resentful as with the second boy or withdrawn as with the first.  Or might he be different altogether?
As Kiacyl considered, the boy stirred slightly and opened his eyes.  He blinked and looked around.  Seeing Kiacyl, he groaned, closed his eyes, and turned his face to the wall.  But, unlike the other two, he spoke even from this position.
 

"Can't you even give me a few hours?" the boy asked.
 

"A few hours?" asked Kiacyl.  "For what?"
 

The boy turned to look at him again.  "A few hours between tests," he said.  "Must they be constant?"
 

Kiacyl frowned and didn't reply at first, and the boy looked Kiacyl up and down.  Frowning himself, the boy spoke again.
 

"You're the youngest medic I've seen yet," he said.
 

"I'm not a medic," said Kiacyl.  "And I'm not here to perform any physical tests, if that's what you think."
 

The boy blinked.  "Physical tests?" he repeated cautiously.  "Are you here for some other sort of test?"
 

"Not exactly," frowned Kiacyl, trying to choose his words carefully.  "I'm trying to learn more about your race, and I thought that perhaps by seeing and speaking with you, I might come closer to that goal."
 

After another pause, the boy asked suspiciously, "Why me?"
 

"Well, not only you," replied Kiacyl.  "Actually, you're the last one.  I work with one of your compatriots, and I visit with eight of the others every night.  I just met with the other two who are being held against their will, and you're the last of the three."
 

The boy slowly sat up, watching Kiacyl closely, and drew himself back against the wall.
 

"Why are you here?" asked the boy.
 

"I just told you," said Kiacyl, beginning to get a little frustrated.  "I'm here to learn about your race.  I thought that you were all supposed to be geniuses, but I'm beginning to think that that must mean something different in our two races."
 

"How do you intend to go about it?" asked the boy, not reacting the attempted insult.  "Learning about my race, I mean.  What part do I play in all of this?"
 

Kiacyl shrugged.  "I just wanted to see what the effect of imprisonment would be on an emotional person."
 

The boy stiffened.  "You certainly know all of the wrong things to say."
 

Kiacyl sighed, exasperated.  "What would be the right thing to say?" he asked, obviously frustrated.  "I want to learn more about your race.  It's a desire based purely on curiosity, nothing more.  I certainly don't have to do any of this, and I'm beginning to wish that I hadn't come at all.  This is ridiculous!"
 

Strangely (from Kiacyl's point of view), the boy actually relaxed a little at this and even looked a little remorseful.
 

"I don't mean to offend you," he said softly.  "I'm sure that you can understand my being suspicious of anyone who walks through that door."
 

Kiacyl frowned at him, but the other boy had lowered his eyes and did not now look at Kiacyl.
 

"If you want to learn about my race," the boy continued, "I'm sure that I am not the best member from which to learn.  I would suggest . . . no, I won't suggest any of the others specifically.  I would suggest generally that you ask one of the ones who are working for your people, if they really are still doing that.  I must admit that I do hope that you're lying about that.  Oh, but I'm certainly not accusing you of lying," he added quickly, looking up to see whether he had offended Kiacyl.
 

Kiacyl was assuredly not offended at being accused of lying, and he was surprised that this Komislavian would even consider that.  Obviously the boy didn't understand Vukasovians.  It was rather amusing, really.
 

"I'm not lying," Kiacyl smiled, "though I certainly don't expect you to believe me.  You have no more reason to believe anything that I say than I have to believe anything that you say."
 

The boy blinked.  "Then why do you speak at all?"
 

"Well, you might believe me," said Kiacyl.  "At least, you might accept that to believe me would do no harm and would probably make no difference as to how you should act.  That's how I'll probably treat everything that you say."
 

"I don't lie," replied the other.
 

Kiacyl raised his eyebrows.  "That's a bad policy," he said.  "If I asked you for some information that would help to destroy your race, would you give it to me?"
 

"I wouldn't answer.  I may refuse to give information, but the information that I do give is always accurate, to the best of my knowledge."
 

"That's very strange," said Kiacyl, shaking his head.  "Is that peculiar to you, or is that a common trait among your people?"
 

"It is common to my faith.  I am a Christian, and as such I am not permitted to lie.  Ergo, I don't."
 

"Now you are starting to sound like your compatriots," Kiacyl smiled.  "That's the way that they speak."
 

The other boy made no comment on this but sat silently, still watching Kiacyl.
 

"So, will you tell me what you think about all of this?" asked Kiacyl.  "What are your thoughts on this displacement?"
 

"No," the boy replied.  "I don't want to talk about that, so I won't tell you."
 

Kiacyl raised his eyebrows.  "Will you tell me why not?"
 

"I just did: I don't want to talk about it."
 

"Have you anything that you'd like to say about the Vukasovian race in general, perhaps?"
 

"No."
 

"No?"
 

"No."
 

"Perhaps . . . is there anything that you could tell me about . . . ?"  Kiacyl trailed off, unsure of what to ask further.  This boy had seemed communicative enough earlier; what had changed?  "Would you tell me why you refuse to work for my people?"
 

"No."
 

"Why not?"
 

"I don't want to."
 

"But why not?"  Kiacyl was beginning to get frustrated again.
 

"It would only make you angry," the boy said at last.  "I have no desire to say something that would serve no purpose but to upset you."
 

"Your refusal to answer any of my questions is upsetting me," snapped Kiacyl.
 

"I'm sorry," answered the other.  "But my answers might upset you more than my silence."
 

"Why do you care?" Kiacyl frowned.  "My race is the one that is keeping you imprisoned.  Why do you care whether you upset me or not?"
 

"You are not your race, nor are you responsible for their actions."
 

"I am a member of my race, and I approve their actions."
 

The boy did not answer.
 

"Have you nothing more to say?"
 

"Your statement was just that: a statement.  It wasn't a question."
 

"Then you're only going to answer when I ask a question?"
 

"Probably."
 

Kiacyl sighed.  "You're not being very helpful.  Is this intentional?"
 

"No."
 

Kiacyl didn't know whether to laugh or to be angry.  This particular Komislavian reminded him of Djaisiuk in this, at least: he answered the questions in as few words as possible.  Perhaps, Kiacyl considered, he should at least be grateful that the boy answered them at all.  But in any case, it was now beginning to get late, and he doubted whether much would be gained by continuing this particular interview.
 

"Very well, I won't trouble you any further today," he said aloud.  "It has been interesting, even if not very informative.  Perhaps I will speak to you again another time."
 

The boy inclined his head in acquiescence but did not answer.  Kiacyl then turned and left the cell without another word.  It was indeed beginning to get late, and he still wanted to meet the other boys at dinner.  He knew that they would have all assembled in the eating room by now, so he walked a little more quickly than usual down the many halls to the Detu section.  He wondered what they would say about their compatriots, particularly after he had told them that he had seen them himself.