Mary Rosenblum (40 page)

Those fanatics pointed to Ahni’s deadly touch as proof of the divine. Her first encounter with that interpretation of events left her full of nausea.

Dane’s image was absent and so was any mention of the girl the CSF had killed.

That frightened her more than anything else.

She had only one doorway to Dane and that was through the gates of the Council island. She could only negotiate that doorway as daughter of The Huang. She had sent Li Zhen a message as they left the platform.
I want to be there
. He had so far sent no response. That worried her. She wasn’t at all sure they were on the same side anymore.

On the surface, nothing had changed since she had left the commpound a handful of weeks before.

Servants came running to carry luggage, when they arrived, to bow to her father, usher her to her apartment with its pool. Ahni stood in the doorway, for a silent moment. “I will sleep in another apartment,” she told Fan.

Her servant-relative murmured acquiescence, bowed, and hurrried ahead of her across the courtyard to the tiled entry of a spotless, principal guest room. Barely able to contain her curiosity, Fan hurried through a list of apologies for the bed that was not aired, the room that was surely dusty (although it had the look of a dusting within the past hour) and the lack of comfort.

“I am not a guest,” Ahni finally snapped at her. “I apologize,” she amended, instantly guilty. “I am tired.”

Fan assured her many times that there was no problem, and scurried about to straighten and polish for what seemed hours and Almi couldn’t tell her not to, because she had been wrong and they both knew it.

Fan finally left, her eyes downcast in a silent rebuke of Ahni’s behavior.

Ahni stripped off her filthy singlesuit and tossed it into a corner. She hadn’t washed since her arrest. Her skin and hair smelled of old sweat, the tug, of Xai and the platform. Of Tania. She crossed the room naked, stepped into the tiled bath. This one had a deep, square tub with a shower. The shower turned on as she stepped beneath it, just warmer than blood. It fell with the gentle rhythm of a spring shower and she scrubbed with soap scented with sandalwood, let the water sluice away the smell and memory of Tania’s kiss, let it wash away the tears as they came. “Cold,” she said finally. “Cold, cold, cold,” until the rain pelted her like liquid ice and her teeth chattered.

She stepped from the shower and the water shut off instantly. Dripping she stood on the cool, glossy tiles, her skin thick and ridged with goose flesh.

Her mother stood in the doorway.

She wore a sleeveless dress woven from raw silk and dyed the color of milky jade. She stood straight and still, her arms relaxed at her side, her face tranquil.

“Why are you here?” Ahni asked softly.

“To greet you.” Her mother smiled silkily. “Surely you did not think my husband and those who know me would credit any ranting of desperate criminals. My son was misled by that evil woman. I grieve for him.”

She smiled and her smile was genuine. “It is not against the law to belong to Her, daughter. Your father is angry … but at Xai, who disgraced him. You are his heir. I do not matter.” Her eyes flashed.

“But I know the truth. About you and others in your cult.” Ahni spat the word, “You stood behind Tania, didn’t you? Those were your clever plans, not hers.”

”Your anger is to be excused after your brush with death. I feared for you.” Her mother’s smile softened.

“Not one shred of evidence ties me to this cult as you call it. One uses the sharp tool at hand. Our paths have converged, child. We walk together, now. You will see the rightness of it in time. We will rule this planet, you and I. You are my heir, not his.”

Ahni stood still, nearly dry now, still naked on the wet tiles as her mother vanished through the doorway.

Her mother’s
certainty
frightened her. The first scents of evening stole in through the open window and transported her back to that homecoming after her first trip upside. I walked into the spider’s web, she thought, and then,
no
.
I was already there
. Shivering, she pulled a silk robe from a convenient hook beside the shower. The air from the garden caressed her, thick and humid, as she sat crosslegged on the low bed and accessed her link.

She accessed Jira, the family synthesist and one of the best, a woman with an impeccable reputation for predicting trends and compiling pertinent information. Ahni expected her formal interrface. But to her surprise, Jira’s torso materialized in front of her in realtime, her sari a soft gold that made her skin glow.

“Ah, I wondered if I would hear from you.” She twinkled at Ahni, the dimple beside her mouth making her look childlike and innocent. “I wish to congratulate you on your father’s announcement of your status as his formal heir. How may I help you?”

“I need a solid forecast of the Council vote on platform indeependence, Jira. Who is going to vote how, and their leverage points, if any suit my profile. And I want a forecast on the Judiciary decision on Dane Nilsson. Double fee if you can do it in less than six hours.”

Jira’s glazed look grew more pronounced and a sitar played softly in the background as she left a virtual placeholder to run a quick assessment of what it1formation she had on hand “Doable.” Her gaze refocused. “Can’t cut it finer than six hours. This topic is up in the air right now and I suspect half the delegates don’t know for sure which way they will vote yet. The deals are humming.” She chuckled.

“Gonna take a lot of AI hours. I’ll need advance payment. Even from you, honey.” Her speech had shifted from formal English with a trace of Bengal to something more like North American city-street.

Ahni had never entirely decided what Jira’s personal history might be. Not Bengali upper middle class, the pose she wore for clients. Possibly not even female. Whatever the nature of her … or his … flesh reality, she delivered a high quality information synthesis. For a price. “I’ll send it to you directly from my private account. I want something else, too.”

Jira, about to exit, paused, one perfect eyebrow rising.

“I want solid proof of Gaiist influence on national coalitions. Past two years only. Look at local-focus media for a start.”

“Your shift in interests intrigues me.” Jira smiled politely, back to Bengali formality.

A new data point for Jira to add to her syntheses. Ahni wondered how much money it would earn for her. “Time bonus,” Ahni said shortly. “ASAP.”

“It is, as always, your money.” Jira’s smile turned creamy and feline.

Anhi blanked the connection, opened a new one, to Noah’s private email. “I need one last thing,” she said. “Go through what you found on the Gaiists and find me proof of Michelle Raud Huang’s involvement with the Gaiists. It will be difficult to find. I need this, Noah.” She ended the link and flung herself on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling. That, she dared not trust to Jira. One more task. She levered herself from the bed, opened her link again, highest security, diplomatic. “Li Zhen, Chairman of Dragon Home.” She smiled, imagining him looking up, mental alarms going off at the expensive security level of the message. Just so, Chairman. “I wish to thank you for your assistance in the recent matter of orbital security.” She used formal, diplomatic Mandarin. “I hope our goals are still aligned.” She paused to let his tension rise a bit. “I wish to discuss the plight of Dane Nilsson with you.” Another pause. He would be waiting now to find out just what she thought she could use in leverage against him.

“I was quite impressed with your son. He is charming, and reppresents a powerful future for the Zhen name in the universe. I am sure that his grandfather will share this opinion and it occurs to me that I should congratulate him on this continuation of his DNA into the future.” Ahni broke off, let the silence hum for several heartbeats. “I will speak with you before the Committee meets to judge Nilsson, Chairman of Dragon Home. I look forward to our mutual support. End message,” she instructed and stared at the delicately carved and painted screen that decorated the room. This was her only hope to save Dane. Translation: Make sure that Dane doesn’t become a scapegoat or I will take DNA evidence of your son to your father. Perfection was expected of a Zhen heir. Imperfections did not come into existence. The price Li Zhen ultimately exacted from her for this blackmail would be … significant.

DNA. Something nagged at her. It came to her suddenly, a suddden memory of Dane, returning with the proof she needed that Xai was alive.
Check them
, he had told her and he had not realized that the DNA belonged to her half brother. That should have been obvious to him. Frowning, Ahni searched for it in her email, found it, unopened, archived and waiting.

It was standard report, a direct readout from the sequencer, stamped and legal, titled ‘Huang, Ahni’, the second titled only ‘subject’. Ahni accessed the family archive, called up the birth registry for both herself and her brother, security stamped and encrypted. Curious, Ahni ran a comparison between Dane’s sequence and the sequence from her birth registry and from Xai’s.

Stared at the results, thinking furiously.

No wonder Dane had been puzzled. Ahni called up the very secure directory that contained the DNA sequence of all Elite members, alive and dead. It confirmed her guess.

Still numb, she tried Jira’s access again, this time got her widesmiling, “I have a message for you.” face.

Opened it.
The media has forgotten Dane Nilsson,
Jira’s image said.
That is not by accident. I would
suggest that his is a lost cause. I seriously doubt that sufficient media momentum could be built in
time to motivate the Judiciary members. The crime he is accused of carries illogical,
emotion-based baggage for a majority of the voting members.

Ahni accessed Security. “I need a skimmer to take me to the Council island. Private pickup, top priority.” There were advantages to being The Huang’s heir, she thought bleakly.

Security had the skimmer at the private dock within half an hour. Ahni sat silently as it whisked her across the ocean, her mind circling back on itself again and again as she watched the sky lighten.

In spite of the early hour, a private Courier met her on the Council Island, with a greeting from Li Zhen.

He was watching her. Ahni smiled bitterly. She still carried his beacon, hadn’t bothered to search it out and destroy it yet. The sun was just peeping above the horizon as he delivered her to the small but luxurious hotel suite occupied by Li Zhen.

He greeted her formally, his icy anger carefully restrained. Without speaking he poured tea.

Ahni shook her head. “I did not come as your guest. I meant to blackmail you with your son, as you surmised.” She faced him in the cluttered little European-furnished room. “I apologize.” And she bowed.

Felt surprise and disbelief dilute his anger.

“You would not throw away such a lever, Huang Ahni,” he said at last. “You are very concerned about this man, Nilsson.”

“I am tired of levers.” Ahni drew a slow breath. “Dane Nilsson does not deserve to die, and I cannot save him.” Bitterness twisted her lips. “I have a gift for you.” She handed him a data sphere. “You will find my DNA scan on it. You will discover that I am your sister.”

“What?” Li Zhen said softly.

“I am as much a created tool as was my brother. I was meant to be a lever. My mother found a better lever in the Gaiists. The exisstence of your son is between you and your father.” She bowed again.

Deeply. “I will not turn your son into a lever.” And she turned and left.

THE ACCOMMODATIONS ON WORLD COUNCIL ISLAND were a lot more luxurious than the cell upside, wherever it was the Council Security Forces had held him. Dane prowled the carpeted suite, gravity leaning on his shoulders. Carpeting, a small, limited refreshment center, and a video screen with a library of popular vid selections in English softened the space. The bedroom with its slidding door offered an illusion of privacy that didn’t fool him. The camera eyes were well disguised, but they were there. He made no effort to keep track of time, and the unchanging light didn’t help. Meals came and were taken away. Sometimes he ate, mostly he didn’t. The drag of the planet turned food to stone in his belly. He drank juice from the refreshment center. It said a lot about the security of this place, that they could be this generous.

A legal counsel had been appointed to his case. She arrived soon after a meal, dressed in a natural-fiber power suit, hair a crisp inch long, unselected-Scandinavian by the look of her fair skin, and pale hair. Had she expected a genetic countryman? He watched her take stock of his face and reconsider.

She tried hard. She had the formal charge and wanted him to read it and to retina that he had done so.

He refused. She laid out various strategies for defense with their pros and cons, and he told her he had no interest in any defense. Let the gene scan speak for itself, he told her. She spent a lot of time explaining in carefully simplified English just why this wasn’t a reasonable defense.

He let her work it out for herself … that he wasn’t reasonable. She finally left, after delivering dire warnings about his future, and he was impressed that she kept her simmering fury at his uncooperative behavior utterly buried behind an impassive demeanor.

Dane completed his circuit of the carpeted space, aware of the mass of bone and muscle with every step, pain twinging through his joints and up and down his limbs as ligaments took the strain of gravity’s pull. It had been a long time since he had lived in measurable gravity. Longer still since he had set foot on the planet.

He threw himself down on the bed. It offered a small relief from the endless drag of his leaden flesh. But it wasn’t the physical discomfort of the overtaxed ligaments and joints that bothered him. The sense of weight brought with it … memories. Memories of life in the refugee camps, and an older brother who seemed so old at twelve.

Dane levered himself to his feet and began to pace again, the discomfort providing a focus, a way to avoid the memories.