He didn't know why he'd asked it. Didn't know why he had thought his question worth it, skimming a toe towards unfamiliar sincerity. Ishmael didn't like sincerity. Sincerity was dangerous, and stupid, and damning.
He was surprised, then, when Galina answered in the affirmative, a sentiment that rang true at the same time as it sounded pitiful and sad and small. She missed being human, then. And he did, too, felt that wrenching ache from time to time, as though there were panes of glass stuck between him and the rest of the world; as though the world would revolve along on its axis, but leave him there, alone and standing still.
Well, she would. Her existence now could not be as comfortable for her as her human life had been. She didn't mix with humans as he did; of course she would be lonely. On the other hand, he, if he balanced it all up, forced himself to make a tally of his lives, divided into after and before, well: if he determined to think it through logically, if he knew who'd turned him all those years ago he ought to be thanking them for the favour they'd done.
All one had to do was think logically. Easy enough. Missing things was for suckers.
"All the same, pity for you," Ishmael said, with a sympathetic strain to his casual snort. His own answer was airy and light, but delicately placed. "I damn well don't."
He was surprised, then, when Galina answered in the affirmative, a sentiment that rang true at the same time as it sounded pitiful and sad and small. She missed being human, then. And he did, too, felt that wrenching ache from time to time, as though there were panes of glass stuck between him and the rest of the world; as though the world would revolve along on its axis, but leave him there, alone and standing still.
Well, she would. Her existence now could not be as comfortable for her as her human life had been. She didn't mix with humans as he did; of course she would be lonely. On the other hand, he, if he balanced it all up, forced himself to make a tally of his lives, divided into after and before, well: if he determined to think it through logically, if he knew who'd turned him all those years ago he ought to be thanking them for the favour they'd done.
All one had to do was think logically. Easy enough. Missing things was for suckers.
"All the same, pity for you," Ishmael said, with a sympathetic strain to his casual snort. His own answer was airy and light, but delicately placed. "I damn well don't."
