The Galaxy Game (26 page)

‘I’ll let you get back to work,’ Rafi mumbled.

‘I’ll get the message to your aunt,’ Lian promised.

*

A combination of Ntenman’s insistence and Rafi’s own cowardice meant that it was only one Standard day later when the two went, with no prior warning, to visit Rafi’s nexus. Ixiaral was in one of the sun rooms below Academe Maenevastraya. Rafi had asked her once why she chose to visit the sun rooms during the long day when everyone preferred to go to the parks and woods above-ground. Her reply had been simple: less of a crowd, more staff attention and marvellous peace and quiet. She looked the embodiment of those three factors as she sat on a padded bench, eyes half-closed and hands upturned and empty on her knees, with two male servers standing quietly nearby, awaiting her signal for food, drink, a cold cloth . . . anything.

With eyesight now more attuned to Punarthai ways, Rafi looked at her and was able to identify the concentration of a person who was listening to their channel – or, in Ixiaral’s case, three or more channels at the same time. The complexity of her tracings indicated as much, and he smiled at the memory of a time not so long ago, yet ages away in experience, when he had innocently admired the pretty art on her skin with only a vague thought that it might have utility. He sat beside her and waited to be noticed.

She exhaled a long breath but did not move. ‘What is it, Rafi?’

‘Ntenman has questions about what I’m doing. He wants to talk to you.’

Her eyes opened wide and she turned to him, irritation tensing her jaw and creasing her forehead. ‘You thought he wouldn’t notice you.’

Rafi shrugged. ‘It was luck that he did at all. He’s waiting outside now. Do you want to speak to him?’

Ixiaral’s posture sagged, now wearied instead of relaxed. ‘Yes,’ she said, but her hand swept out to stop him when he tried to get to his feet. ‘I’ll have him sent in.’ She beckoned to the nearest server with a tilt of her head. ‘Ytsani, take him up to the gardens.’

Rafi questioned her with a look, but she turned away and half-closed her eyes again in dismissal. Ytsani approached and stood politely but implacably before him until he unwillingly got to his feet and allowed himself to be ushered out of the door and past a confused Ntenman who had been hovering close to try to eavesdrop. He gave Ntenman a semi-encouraging smile as he went by. The other server came to the entrance and escorted Ntenman in. Rafi slowed his steps and strained his ears to hear the opening greetings between them.

‘Esteemed Ixiaralhaneki . . .’ Ntenman began.

Ixiaral spoke briskly over his words. ‘There is more at stake here than your good opinion and even if it were not so, I would not be inclined to explain myself to you. Let us instead discuss a more sensible topic – the price of your silence.’

Ytsani’s hand rested on Rafi’s shoulder, steering him away from the door, his expression and attitude so obviously disdainful of Terran discourtesy that no Ntshune sensitivity was needed to discern it. Rafi shook him off with irritation. ‘I know how to get to the gardens from here.’

Chapter Twelve

I know how to bargain. I’m no off-kilter booby. I can hold my ground. When Ixiaralhaneki did her little bluster and bluff about the price of my silence I told her direct – knowledge is worth more than credit. Knowledge can create unlimited credit whereas credit can only buy limited knowledge. She gave me a hard stare for that, but I stayed smiling until I saw the smallest bit of a considering expression on her face, as if perhaps I
might
be worth dealing with.

She began by undercutting me. ‘I see that your father uses the Haneki–Mwenil transit on occasion.’

‘He does, and I hope he may continue to do so,’ I replied, reproachful at the whiff of blackmail. ‘Your rates are high enough; there’s no need to put more obstacles in his way.’

‘That wasn’t my intent,’ Ixiaralhaneki said. I had misjudged her – something I was far too apt to do in Punarthai society – and that little flicker of sympathy she’d shown for me was extinguished. ‘I was merely stating that we know what your father does and how he manages to do it. We are a private entity and we are under no obligation to offer services to someone who is acting against our interests.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, and went on the attack. ‘Then tell me how illegal speculation on semi-pro Wallrunning game results is acting in your best interests.’

She did not flinch. ‘The results are sacred. We do not permit anyone to speculate on wins and losses. We only entertain bets on individual skills and stylings. You should be pleased. Our main customer base is Zhinuvian. What we give up in transit and communication fees, we later collect in the name of entertainment. That’s balance and symmetry, don’t you agree?’

‘That depends on who’s drinking up the majority of the credit – galactic credit at that. Is it you, Ixiaralhaneki?’ I did not have to pretend to sound disgusted.

‘Not me, not personally. I really cannot tell you more, Ntenman. What will you do next? Denounce me to the Credit Exchange Bureau? Then you should really denounce yourself.’

‘I, at least, have the excuse of being an off-worlder with too much Terran in my line, and a juvenile as well,’ I snapped. Her coolness, her utter arrogance was waking up some old, untapped vein of idealism in my soul. She didn’t care about the Game, she didn’t respect our galaxy’s oldest and most reliable monetary system and she was still talking down to me as if I was complaining about shoddy umpiring at a junior league scramble.

She lowered her eyes discreetly and said with effort, ‘If you’re looking for a cut—’

‘No!’ my voice shouted.
Maybe
, my mind whispered. ‘I’m looking for you to tell me that you haven’t involved my friend in something that could lead to his being wanted by the law on three planets instead of one. He’s running out of galaxy to run to, you know.’

‘Witnesses will attest that Rafidelarua merely runs personal errands for us, carrying our tokens of appreciation and esteem to prospective additions to our networks.’

I sneered reflexively. She was not impressed. The situation was going down a bad road. I tried to salvage some pride for both of us. ‘Esteemed Ixiaralhaneki, look at me. Yes, I am a mere Cygnian, but I am bound by ties of love and heritage to both the world that birthed you and the world that provides you with credit, attachments and good business. Grant me a little credit in this! I have made promises to Rafi’s family; I have made promises to my padr. Help me keep my word!’

The bare walls of the sun room rang with my last words and left behind a silence that was no less loud. The attendants, who were supposed to be invisible and unobtrusive, vibrated with the tension of pretending to have neither ears nor eyes in the midst of such excellent theatre. Ixiaral was the only one of us who looked at peace, her hands in the hollow of her lap, her eyes half-closed and her breathing steady, steady as counting.

‘Come with me.’

When the words came, I was bracing so hard to hear ‘no’ that I could barely understand them.

She spoke again, gently. ‘Come with me. I have things to show you and discuss with you.’

As soon as she heard my kitten-squeak of
yes
we made our way by fast chute from the depths of Academe Maenevastraya to its heights, only a few levels below the start of the orbital spire. I was deferent, quiet and obedient – in the right context, that can be a part of hard bargaining, too. I was also very, very excited and trying my best not to project that excitement like an incontinent child. There had been rumours (there are always rumours) about secret research at the Academes; not the ordinary, everyday secret research, but projects specifically geared to address the hole the Sadiri had left in galactic operations. Minor projects are easily funded with private credit from an individual or a small group, but that kind of undertaking would be massive. If such large-scale research did exist, it meant that Punartam – and possibly also Ntshune – was trying to make a move to tilt the field in their favour.

To my surprise, Ixiaralhaneki did not take me to the work section but to a place in the recreation centre that I knew well, what we Cygnians might call a museum or showroom of transportation. It held everything from aerolights to orbital shuttles to interplanetary probes and exploratory skiffs. The largest display hall held a replica of a Sadiri passenger module –
sans
mindship of course – with its nautilus array of coffin-like dream chambers. Beauty, utility and awe-inspiring complexity . . . I wanted to spend a moment to admire it, but she hustled me through it to a door on the opposite side.

The door opened before we reached it, revealing a sour-faced Syanrimwenil. He (can you really call a discredited nexus
she
?) glared at me. We had never met, strangely enough, but I figured he had heard plenty about me via his channel from Ixiaralhaneki and he’d very likely filled in the gaps with bits and pieces about my failed Year. My mother’s father’s brother was linked by kin contract to a Mwenil; they were close enough to my line to have too much information on me, distant enough to owe me no favours.

‘In and close the door,’ he said abruptly, without greeting or welcome.

The bad temper was for Ixiaralhaneki as well, not only me, so I kept my courteous, accommodating mask in place, walked in and was immediately lost in curiosity. The hall beyond rivalled the previous one for size, but it was filled with more than one exhibit in mid-assembly, or disassembly – I didn’t know which. They looked like variations on a template, and from the shape of them, the tiers of shallow recesses like strings of half-pearls, I guessed it was another kind of passenger module, but for what manner of ship I could not tell. What fascinated me was that unlike the replica on the other side of the door, this one, like a real mindship module, was being
grown
. Curators and caretakers tended to vats of nutrient liquid and recycling filters set on scaffolding surrounding the specimens. I thought it resembled the apparatus that kept our tower wall flora verdant and captive.

‘You don’t know what you’re looking at,’ Syanrimwenil scoffed at my interest. ‘But you’ll remember this day because in the future these will be as familiar as aerolights.’

‘This is where the majority of the credit goes, Ntenman,’ said Ixiaral. ‘This and improved duplication technology. Soon you will be able to tell your Zhinuvian tradesmen that you no longer have any need for their commodities.’

‘I look forward to that!’ I said, surprising even myself with my intensity.

‘Then perhaps you would like to help?’ Syanrimwenil suggested with a hint, just a hint, of slyness.

I opened my mouth to say yes, but then I froze, frowned and pondered. ‘My padr would have to approve. I have duties to him, as you know.’

It was the correct thing to say. Syanrimwenil looked less dyspeptic and Ixiaralhaneki appeared almost relieved.

‘Prepare a message for him,’ Ixiaral said. ‘I can have it delivered as soon as possible, and we can hope for his reply before the next long night.’

‘I do have a question,’ I said, still taking in the sight of the module and trying to discern its workings. ‘How do you send a live person via the Haneki–Mwenil transit?’

Syanrimwenil laughed in disbelief. ‘I assumed you knew. Did you not try to bribe your way through some years ago?’

‘I know it can be done, but I want to know
how
. Transit isn’t kind to the human brain.’

Ixiaralhaneki and Syanrimwenil looked at each other, a significant look. ‘It is not easy. Someone has to take you,’ Ixiaral said, still looking at Syanrimwenil. The expression on her face . . . there was a bad memory underneath that, and Syanrimwenil replied with a gaze full of very mixed emotions: sympathy, regret and a little defensiveness.

‘Prepare your message,’ Ixiaralhaneki repeated, shaking off the shade of the past. ‘Ask your father whether he is willing to work with us.’

‘We need allies and backers,’ Syanrimwenil added. ‘We are stretched beyond our resources.’

The admission scared me, and it brought me to the question which, for all my speculating, I had not wanted to ask. ‘Who is all this for? Is it the Academes, or something greater?’

Another look passed between them.

‘Let us hear from your father first,’ said Ixiaralhaneki.

I nodded, accepting that the conversation was over, and went back to my quarters at my own Academe to figure out how to explain this to my padr.

*

Rafi fell slowly.

He was falling along the Wall in the recreational section of Academe Maenevastraya. The old Wallrunners and coaches kept shifting the levels, never satisfied with the standard gravitational topography of a League Wall, and the constant unfamiliarity made boobies of even the most seasoned players. At least the pilots kept the edges standardised as a safety net. But Rafi liked it. It was play by instinct rather than rote, and even if he did not learn the standard runs in this way, he did learn how to adapt and react quickly. He often wished he could run that Wall always and drop the harsh and increasingly unfriendly training under Baranngaithe, but he knew that was impossible.

Old players tended to think like coaches, coordinating team plays rather than indulging in personal gimmickry. Pilots, interestingly enough, were similarly collective, moving in mutual awareness and mimicry like birds, or fish, or a fleet of ships in silent communication. That was why, even though he was falling, and even though this small and not-very-perilous wall had no bodycatcher, he did not feel worried.

‘There you go!’ A strong grip caught him by the ankle and swung him out of the light grav-field to crash into a ledge with four times the pull.

‘Thanks, Oestengeryok,’ Rafi croaked.

The stringy, bald man, once a slinger in his pro-running days, waved cheerily as he leapt past. On
this
Wall, falls were never at dangerous speeds, and there was always someone willing to catch you.

Teruyai, a Sadiri pilot, stopped for a moment on the ledge. ‘You’re getting shaky, Rafidelarua. When last did you eat?’ she teased him. ‘Come, Oesten! Gather up your team and let us go to the dining hall before the boy faints.’