Flight of the Vajra (35 page)

“Such an outlook is not difficult to entertain,”
Ioné said, “under the right financial conditions.”

I should know, I thought; I’d had the same kinds
of thoughts when I first set off on my own. I just knew better than to believe
in them now.

Cioran put his hand down and smirked sidelong at
her. “Really! I didn’t imagine I would have to explain, but that is a
philosophy I confirmed within myself when I was
least
able to support
myself. I’ve had nothing, I’ve had everything, and I’ve stood on plenty of other
rungs in between on that ladder —and right now I’m on a somewhat comfortable
in-between rung, if you must know. Now, on the whole I’d rather be rich—who
wouldn’t?—but I know better than to expect being rich to automatically take me
somewhere
interesting.
”

Something about the way he was stringing his words
together had caught my attention since the beginning of the conversation.
Unlike our first meeting, or the patter he’d delivered to Angharad to win her
over, this wasn’t a performance. He was just sitting knee-to-knee with friends.
His words still had flamboyancy, but they had the flavor of a freely-given
gift, not a bribe for our attention.

“I think the Kathaya’s question remains
unanswered, though,” Kallhander said. “
Is
there something you call
home?”

“Yes. That very state of homelessness,” Cioran
replied, and stuffed more shoots into his smiling mouth.

“What—you’re afraid if you stop moving, you’ll
die?” I said. “That just sounds like a great way to goad yourself into never accepting
there might be a place for you.”

“There
is
a place for me! Not a
physical
place, mind you—or a rank, or a station in life as such. It’s the place of
having no place at all, of being that way by choice and design, and seeing what
that have to give both you and others.”

I’ve heard this line before, I thought. Ioné’s
talk of how that was something only a person of privilege could have arrived at
had was part of it—but there was something else to it, too. It was the talk of
someone who could always fall back on that to explain why he’d reneged on any
of his promises. But whether that was something he in fact did was another
story; all I had was my suspicions, and I knew better than to treat them like
facts.

“Here’s a question for you,” I said. “What if
someone offered you a situation which demanded a little commitment on your
part—nothing major—but in return offered you something you just couldn’t get
anywhere else? Not something tangible, mind you—not something that has a
pricetag attached to it, but something that’s all about the presence of some
specific other?”

“I had that once,” Cioran said. “With Ludi. She
was very, very good to me indeed, and I wouldn’t have become what I am without
her. But she was honest with herself; she saw that I was one to wander, and she
let me go free. I’ve come back from time to time, but she’s never been the
possessive type. Then again, neither have I. The one thing I
do
guarantee, though, in the short term, is my devotion, as long as my curiosity
lasts. And when that wanes, I’m never shy to admit it. And furthermore—” He
leaned towards Angharad. “—my curiosity about you has been unslaked ever since
I first heard your name.”

Angharad looked like she was about to blush. That
would be a first, I thought.

“This must all sound so strange,” Cioran went on,
“but really—after all these millennia, honesty is still the best policy for all
people, Old Way and Highend. I don’t imagine I’ll stay fascinated with anyone
forever, but I’m dead-to-rights certain I’ll stay fascinated through the
duration of the summit. Besides, as Formynxi go, in their eyes I’m still a mere
tadpole. I’m learning just now that much more how to slow down and savor
things.”

“How is it that you see them, then?” Angharad
said.

“The other Formynxi? They’re about as much fun as
your own funeral with no resurrection party afterwards. Everything for them is
about a
plan,
a
method
, a
system
, a
function
, a
bleahhh.
”
He shook his head as if kicking something inside it back into position. “Their
entire
existence
is predicated on being prostitutes of technique. The
only society they know is the society of preparing someone for being in the
service of another. It’s everything to them; it’s nothing to me.”

“But being in the service of another, by itself,
is scarcely a dreadful thing.”

“Yes, but you’re the Kathaya! To suggest anything
less on your part would be a dereliction of duty, wouldn’t it? See, it’s closed-ended:
duty equals service, service equals duty. But really, outside of that
. . . they’re just one of the many examples of how the Highend worlds
have . . . well, forgive me for saying this in mixed company—” (by
which he meant Kallhander and Ioné, whom he was glancing at down the length of
his nose just then) “—but the Highend worlds have all become experts at exactly
one thing:
stagnation
. They have found a dozen, a hundred different ways
to stagnate. And stagnation isn’t the same as stability, mind you. Stability’s
a base on which you build. But what are they building? Citadels, into which few
ever go and few ever leave—especially not a successive generation!” He did another
secretive-looking leaning-in, specifically towards Ioné. “D’you know why there
are just as many restrictions on protomic humaniforms on Highend worlds as
there are on Old Way worlds? Even more so, in some cases? Because the Highend
worlds keep discovering that when you give people such things, surrogates
through which they can live dangerously, you tempt them all the more to leave
the nest, to actually
do
the dangerous and wonderful things that a
living being does anyway. They become tempted to
do it with something
actually at stake.
To do it, in other words, with their own real,
impermanent, fragile little bodies. The ‘temptation of the real’; you see now
why they say those words so bitterly? And that’s why they’ve clamped down on it
and become so testy about it.

“And the more you talk to them individually,
face-to-face, the more you see how clever they are at rationalizing it! Finding
so many ways they can believe that’s all they’ll ever need to be: sustainers of
their own statuses quo! To you—any of you, especially you, Your Grace—they’ll
say any number of things to keep you at bay. Make any number of promises about
an emigration quota this or a personnel-exchange program that. But when all the
doors are closed—and even to
me
they say this, me the ‘traitor’ (because
even a ‘traitor’ is still closer to them than any of
you
, mind you)—to
me, they’ll say, and they
have
said, what’s
really
to be done.
And it’s always variations on the same theme: ‘
All we have to do is wait.
All we have to do is outlast them
.’ This in their heart of hearts they
believe they can do. And why shouldn’t they believe it? They’ve built entire
civilizations around it! Around the sole idea that all they need to do to
conquer you is outlive you, collectively.”

“Sure seems like they’re winning,” Enid said.

“And not in the form of a mob sacking Achitraka
House; not some goons smashing open your throne room and tossing you onto the
pavement, Your Grace. Nothing that . . . obvious.”

“If it was that obvious it would be easy to
resist,” Angharad said. “But there is no building a fence around the hearts of
others. The Highend ones you mentioned know this, too. Perhaps we and they
share far more than either of us admit.”

Cioran put his glass of Olduvai Pinot to his lips (he’d
ordered the bottle along with the groceries) and swigged it hard.

I tried another tack. “But if you, by your own
admission, aren’t part of any of this, why help out? You can always just float
on to the next thing.”

“Oh, I
could
. But if I’m going to be a
drifter in any kind of universe, I’d rather be a drifter in one where things
like the Old Way aren’t dying arts. I would like very much for it to still be
around in my ripe old age.”

Sure, I thought. Where else are you going to find
a captive audience?

The discussion wound down after that. Not out of unease,
though: everyone seemed happy with the meal, and no one there could dispute
that Cioran had made a point or three. Plus, the less Highend among us—meaning
me, Enid, and Angharad—all felt like a nice warm bed was in our immediate
futures.

Kallhander stood and offered his hands. “Excellent
meal,” he said, “and thank you for the hospitality.”

I shook hands, then realized what he was really
trying to say: thank you, period.

“Look. I know you have a job to do,” I said, “and
a lot of that didn’t involve making me happy. But . . . I try not to
hold grudges when I can.”

“All the same, I imagine you will still count the
silverware after I leave.”

“Out of habit, I will. But we’ve both got the same
boss now, sort of. It’s not exactly going to be in our best interests to keep
biting at each other’s necks, so I’ll keep my fangs tucked away.”

“I’ll do my best to do the same.”

You damn well better, I thought, or they’ll get
ripped out. And it might not be me who does the ripping.

“You’re going to follow Angharad back to Achitraka
House, then?” I said.

“There’s an IPS liaison office close to it.
Inspector Ioné and I originally based this operation out of that branch. That
said, if the Kathaya prefers us to remain on premises, then we’ll be staying
with her.”

—
Do you think she’s in danger?
I CLed.

Kallhander looked to Ioné—not that she needed the
cue (CL saved you so many kinds of trouble, in theory anyway), but as a way to
hint to me that this was her domain before she began speaking. —
We’re going
to recommend Prelate Jainio be reassigned,
Kallhander CLed. —
We are also
fairly certain Angharad has compromised a great deal of her own security in
similar ways. She is in a way quite right to distrust her own staff, and we are
not going to assume anyone she brings along is automatically sanitary.

—Including me and Enid.

—Not as such. But if she includes Cioran, then
he falls under scrutiny as well.

—You’re entertaining the idea that Cioran is a
Highend spy of some kind? A guy whose involvement with anyone in the Highend is
mostly to appeal to whatever sense of decadence they have before peer pressure
kicks in and he’s booted off-world? Who’d he spy
for
?

—We shouldn’t rule out the possibility he is a
freelancer
, CLed Ioné.
Both your descriptions and his own indicate he
has a very high degree of social aptitude, so much so that he has been able to
insinuate himself intimately with individuals whose larger society has ignored
him at best and condemned him at worst.

—He’s rather proud of it, too,
CLed
Kallhander.
I’m going to recommend that his offer be turned down. Ioné,
though, is of the opinion
—

Ioné CLed right over him; I hated it when people
did that. —
The Kathaya’s receptivity to him indicates she may well accept
the offer. From what her behavioral dossier tells me, this may be an attempt on
her part to pre-emptively dispel his influence as an agent.

Kallhander:
—Keep your friends close and your
enemies closer
.

Ioné: —
It’s also likely Cioran’s offer is
little more than a way for him to make his way to Bridgehead.

Me: —
I don’t doubt that; I smelled him
scrounging a ticket from the beginning. And maybe some diplomatic immunity as a
freebie, too. But why Bridgehead, specifically? Was that just where the dart
landed the last time he threw it into the map?

Kallhander: —
It might well be. But both of us are
set to make further investigations.

Ioné: —
Cioran’s strategy does seem to work with
her.

Me: —
Yeah, what better way to destroy your
enemies than by making them into your friends? Look at the two of them—they’re
both halfway there already.
I nodded across the cabin, where Cioran had
pulled one leg straight up and down and was pressing his raised heel against
the ceiling, and Angharad had encircled it with one arm and was trying, not
very successfully, to pull it loose. Enid was watching the whole thing with one
hand wrapped across her grinning mouth.

“Hey, no putting footprints up there! I just
extruded all this!” I said out loud.

The whole CL-versation had taken maybe twenty
seconds, but all three of us—well, Kallhander and I, mostly—had filled that
time by talking outwardly about some innocuous aspect of the local IPS liaison
office.
Do all these major assignments down here go to that branch
office?—Mostly, although there are a few regional branches where
. . .
We filled the air with nonsense like that, although I kept
hesitating all over the place; it shocked me how rusty I was at such CL-walling.
I hadn’t needed to CL about one thing in private and talk about another thing
out loud for ages, especially not for more than ten seconds at a time. I’d
better brush up, I thought.

Angharad thanked me one last time as Kallhander
and Ioné prepared to lead her out. We promised to speak again sometime
tomorrow, to iron out some more details and share information about the summit.
Eyes-only stuff; I was to be granted access to her diplomat’s repository.
Kallhander and the rest of the IPS had probably been giving me unprecedented
amounts of kid-gloving in the last couple of days, and it must have turned up
cleaner than I thought for that degree of trust. I suspected they were going to
spend the next sleepless night or two doing the same thing to Cioran, just to
see what popped out of his bushes when they beat them.