Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
blinding.
"You."
They had truth-drug. He knew that. He'd heard men struggle, cry "No!"; then the same voice flat and
mindless, revealing secret intentions, treasons against the Yeolis, dully spilling its own death. Sometimes
they'd scrape someone, and he'd hear personal things, things so trivial he couldn't see why they were
such terrible secrets, or things that made him flinch.
"Name."
He couldn't see the Yeoli's face in the dark, the light behind him placed to shine on his noteboard.
"Matthas Bennas.Fessas ."
"You got hair long." Even holding a pen, the hand waved."Half-long. Like hurry-cut. 'Tai, note here says
you caught cutting it."
"I amfessas . Truth-drug me if you like. Send for the birth register of Karoseth, son of Mantalas Bennas,
born Month of the Pipe, 106. Why my hair's half-long… is a story longer than it ever was."
They didn't believe him, of course. Out came the box, the syringe. Naked Yeoli fingers handled it quite
deftly.Tricks we taught them , he thought. "You swear to Chevenga or die—choose," said the first man.
"I'll swear if you like. But I'mfessas . What's it matter?"
After all those years, he thought with an inward laugh,of cursing that I was fessas.
"Well, swear anyway. Or die."
What choice do I have, realistically? It wasn't as if there was still an "our side" left to work for, to
struggle to maintain his loyalty to, to get paid by. An old memory came, a childhood memory, of
Karoseth, the wind with its sea-taste through the spread-hand palm trees, playing Don't Step on the
Crack on the boardwalk. Then rain pattering on the clear glass pane of his office in Brahvniki, the smell
of thick Brahvnikian tea in the samovar, a finger-cup of Saekrberk.I'll be a merchant for the rest of my
life , he thought.Most people in the world would fall on their faces to their gods for such good
fortune as that .
He cupped his hands on his temples. "On my hope of Celestialis, Second Fire come if I forswear…" As
he forced his tongue to shape those obscene syllables, he thought,it's a simple matter of this: do I ever
want to see the sun again ? He did.
"Fourth Shefen-kas Shae-ra-noi. Imperator." Three times they made him say it, as if to make his tongue
keep it ringing in his brain so it sank deep into his heart, like a slow knife.
Then they made him lie down in the filthy straw, and extend his arm.Celestialis. Too suspicious. Too
suspicious. They're going to truth-drug me anyway. I'm dead. It's done. I swore, and I'm dead
anyway .
Even descending into it feels different, in enemy hands, he thought, when the drag had worn off
enough that he could think again.