Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (141 page)

"What
drives
me?"
Hal
Mayne's
tone
was
almost
perfunctory,
although
his
face
wore
a
kind
of
smile;
but
his
body
spoke
too,
conveying
a
message
of
profound
weariness
that
resonated
with something
inside
Bleys
himself.

"A
million
years
of
history
and
prehistory
drive
me,"
Mayne
continued,
"as
they
drive
you.
To
be
more
specific,
the
last
thousand
years
of
history
drive
me.
There's
no
other
way
for
you
and
I
to
be, but
opponents.
But
if
it's
any
consolation
to
you,
I've
also
been
surprised
by
the
quality
of
your
opposition."

"You?"
Bleys
found
himself
startled,
as
if
the
Universe
had turned
itself
over.
"Why
should
you
be
surprised?"

"Because
I'm
more
than
you
could
imagine,"
Hal
said,
"just
as you've
turned
out
to
be
something
I
couldn't
imagine.
But
then when
I
was
imagining
this
present
time
we
live
in
I
had
no
real
appreciation
of
the
true
value
of
faith.
It's
something
that
goes
far
beyond
blind
worship.
It's
a
type
of
understanding
in
those
who've paid
the
price
to
win
it.
As
you,
yourself,
know."

Bleys
was
at
a
loss.
He
was
sure
Hal
was
telling
him
something important—was
even
letting
his
guard
down—but
Bleys
could
not tell
what
his
words
meant,
or
what
they
were
leading
to.

"As
I
know?"
he
said,
temporizing.

"Yes.
As
you,
of
all
people,
know."

Bleys
shook
his
head,
more
in
puzzlement
than
in
denial.

"I
should
have
dealt
with
you
when
you
were
much
younger,"
he said.
Once
again,
he
was
only
making
conversation,
trying
to
cover himself
with
words
while
he
thought,
furiously.

"You
tried.
You
couldn't,"
Hal
said.
His
voice
was
soft,
and
his face
serious,
with
no
hint
of
a
threat
or
boast.

"I
did?"
said
Bleys.
"I
see.
You're
using
faith,
again,
to
reach
that conclusion?"
He
was
probing,
trying
to
find
something
for
his
mind to
draw
understanding
from.

"Not
for
that,"
Hal
said.
"No,
only
observation
and
fact."
Hal's eyes,
Bleys
thought,
were
watching
him,
as
if
he
were
a
laboratory subject.
"Primarily,"
Hal
went
on,
"the
fact
that
I'm
who
I
am,
and know
what
I
can
do."

"You're
mistaken
if
you
think
I
couldn't
have
eliminated
a sixteen-year-old
boy
if
I'd
wanted
to."
Bleys
was
repelled
by
this line
of
conversation,
but
he
felt
compelled
to
go
where
the
thoughts led,
to
see
where
Hal
might
be
going.

"No,
I'm
not
mistaken,"
Hal
said.
"As
I
say,
you
tried.
But
I wasn't
a
boy,
even
then
when
I
thought
I
was.
I
was
an
experienced adult,
who
had
reasons
for
staying
alive.
I
told
you
I've
learned
faith, even
if
it
took
me
three
lives
to
do
the
learning.
That's
why
I
know

I'm
going
to
win,
now.
Just
as
I
know
my
winning
means
your
destruction,
because
you
won't
have
it
any
other
way."
Three lives? What is he saying?

"You
seem
to
think
you
know
a
great
deal
about
me,"
Bleys
said, forcing
a
smile
that
he
hoped
would
cover
his
confusion.

"I
do,"
Hal
said.
"I
came
to
understand
you
better
by
learning
to understand
myself—though
understanding
myself
was
a
job
I started
long
before
you
came
along."
He
paused,
as
if
gathering himself
for
some
effort,
and
Bleys
found
himself
tensing
up.

"If
you'd
been
only
what
I
thought
you
were
the
first
time
I
saw you,"
Hal
said,
"the
contest
between
us
would
already
be
over. More
than
that,
I'd
have
found
some
way
by
this
time
to
bring
you to
the
side
of
things
as
they
must
be
for
the
race
to
survive."

Bleys
was
unable
to
believe
what
he
was
hearing.
Never
before had
he
heard
this
boy—
man,
he
reminded
himself—speaking
in terms
that,
in
a
lesser
person,
could
be
construed
as
braggadocio.

"But
since
that
day
at
the
estate,"
Hal
was
going
on,
"I've
learned about
myself,
as
well
as
more
about
you,
and
I
know
I'll
never
be
able to
bring
you
to
see
what
I
see
until
you,
yourself,
choose
to
make
the effort
to
do
so.
And
without
that
effort,
we're
matched
too
evenly,
you and
I,
by
the
forces
of
history,
for
any
compromise
to
work."