Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 622
It was still dark, and the temperature well below freezing,
when Armiger walked to the edge of town and sat down on a
broken piece of masonry. His breath made a white cloud
before him; the sand crunched under his feet. He adjusted his
body to the cold, and gazed up at the stars.
No ships. Just the faintest hint of the Diadem swans, a
slight iridescence at certain degrees above the horizon. Beyond
them, Diadem itself glowed bright and constant.
He had not yet had a chance to test the knowledge he had
taken from the boy in the cave. He was, Armiger thought
ruefully, too human now to focus his concentration that well.
During the ride here he had thought about his companions,
about the war, about his intentions when they reached the
Titan’s Gates. He had tried to think about Jordan’s implants,
but the kind of thought required was nothing like human
cognition. He was quite simply out of practise.
Life held strange ironies. The more he pursued his goal
here on Ventus, the more human he became. The more human
he became, the less he wanted to achieve that goal.
Even more ironic was that his reasons for wanting it had
changed. Where before he was obeying the deep-seated
programming 3340 had laid in him, now he wanted to
overthrow the Winds because he loved these women he
travelled with, and wanted them and their kindred safe.
The question was whether he was acting only to help
3340 or the humans, or somewhere in there was he doing this
for himself?
What do I want, he had asked himself as they rode here.
He had come to conclude that he didn’t know.
He sighed heavily. Enough. He had come out here to
work; he should get to it. With one last glance at the stars, he
shut his eyes.