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justified.  But looking at him now, no matter what he might have done or been in the past, it was no surprise Pellaz had always adored Cal.  Haunted by memories of this exquisite being, how could Pellaz ever have been expected to care for anyhar else?  No wonder he'd loathed the fact that Caeru had ended up at his side instead.
     
                What am I doing? Caeru thought.  This is pointless.
     
                “I'm putting a program together,” Cal said as the first course was brought out.  “I think it's important that victims of the atrocities in Megalithica should receive firsthand Gelaming care.  They've been neglected too long.  What do you think?”
     
                “I don't care.  I just appear at state functions and look pretty.”
     
                “You could help me.  It's a big job.”
     
                “I don't want to.  You can't make a difference, so why bother trying?”
     
                “I have the kind of nature that has to keep trying.  You might have noticed.”
     
                “You do have a trying nature, that is true.”
     
                Cal laughed.  “I'm so pleased you enjoy our meals together.  It's a kind of blood sport, isn't it?”
     
                “So I'm told.  You don't have to come, so I assume you enjoy it too.  Is it the same with Pell?  Are you into being dominated?  Perhaps you still remember the young boy you had incepted into Wraeththu.  It must be quite a shock to see how he's turned out.  And now he has you, bound hand and foot.  Was it worth the trouble?”
     
                Cal didn't say anything, and Caeru realised he had hit a nerve, perhaps several.  Not good.  That wasn't supposed to be the purpose of this meeting, even if it was almost impossible to rein in the bitterness.  “Tell me your plans,” he said.  “I don't want to help you, but it might pass the time to hear about them.”  He knew Cal would recognise a peace offering when it was given to him.  Apology would be going too far.
     
                Cal spoke of his dreams, those he had cherished for years.  Caeru realised that Pellaz was perhaps not the only reason Cal was here in Immanion.  He spoke with greater and greater passion as the meal progressed, of how he wanted to help all those hara who had been incepted into violent tribes and who were still hunted as criminals now that the Gelaming had mostly established control in Megalithica.  “It is all about choice,” he said, “and how some hara never had it.  If I'm going to be a Tigron I might as well try to do some good.  Looking pretty is not enough for me.”
     
                “You never had to go through what I did,” Caeru said.  “Don't judge me.”
     
                “I know what you went through.  We all went through something.   Remember: I was Uigenna.  I have blood on my hands.  You don't.  Pell doesn't expect anything of you, Rue.  In that, you are lucky.”
     
                “Are you confiding in me?”
     
                “I wouldn't be so stupid.  It's just a fact, and everyhar knows it.”
     
                “Calanthe: champion of the underdog.  It's a good image; as good as mine, I suppose, though just as rhetorical.”
     
                Cal sighed through his nose.  “You are exhausting.”  He pushed his plate away from him.  “Dinner was good.  We eat like kings, while in other places...”
     
                “Shut up.  I don't want to hear it.”
     
                “I know.  Not many do.”
     
                “I'll give you five years at most before you get totally disillusioned and just sit back to enjoy the good food.  Don't you realise what Tigron and Tigrina are?  Carnival attractions.  We're not supposed to have opinions or do