The Sardonyx Net (22 page)

Rhani said, “They're vicious little beasts.”
 

“Horrible,” said Erith Allogonga.
 

They entered the office through a back door. In a small room, Erith Allogonga produced a pitcher from a cooler, and two glasses. She poured wine for Rhani and for herself. Rhani gestured to Dana. He found a third glass, and filled it from the pitcher. The manager would serve Rhani Yago but not her slave; it was a perfect and impersonal example of the automatic Chabadese hierarchy.
 

Voices mingled in the outer office, where the secretary sat. Erith Allogonga said, “Domna, that's the tour.”
 

Rhani cocked her head to listen. “They sound angry.”
 

“They probably are. Since the litter deaths we've been keeping the tours out of the breedery, fearing some kind of contamination. The report from Enchanter came yesterday. I forgot to change the rule.” She opened the inner office door.
 

“We were told we could see everything!” said an irate male voice. “What kind of a cheap place is this?”
 

The secretary answered in measured tones. “This isn't a tourist attraction. This is a factory. We produce a product. We reserve the right to limit access to parts of the plant when we feel that outsiders might interfere with the manufacturing process.”
 

Dana saw Rhani nod in admiration. “Perfect,” she said.
 

There was a moment's confused babble. The man muttered about a runaround. “That's right,” a woman shrilled aggressively, “When my sister was here last year, she saw the babies. They were all in cages. She said they looked darling. I want to see them.”
 

A rising clamor of voices supported her. “Tourists,” said the manager. She rolled her eyes upwards. “I'd better go out there.” She slid open the door. Rhani beckoned to Dana. They followed her. The outer office was crowded with people dressed in bright, flimsy gowns, holding sunshades, and parasols. They looked hot and tired; a few looked green from the bubble flight, or perhaps from the smell. Calmly, Erith Allogonga said, “I'm sorry. The breedery section of the farm is not open to visitors at the moment.”
 

A thin, sallow woman with a taut mouth said, “Who are you?” She glared with suspicion at the manager. It was she who had spoken before.
 

“My name is Erith Allogonga. I am the manager of the Yago Kerit Farm.”
 

“And who are they?” The woman transferred her gaze to Rhani and Dana. “
Important people
, that's for sure. If
you're
the manager, how come you aren't out here, greeting your guests, instead of leaving us to talk to—to some ex-criminal!”
 

Someone gasped. The room fell silent as Marisa started to rise, her face bloodless with fury. Erith Allogonga put a hand on her arm.
 

The woman looked at Rhani. “I bet
you
saw the babies!” she said.
 

Rhani said, “That's right.”
 

“How come you can go where we can't?”
 

Rhani said, unsmiling, “Abanat Production Quality Control Inspection Bureau. We can go anywhere.”
 

The sallow woman opened her mouth and shut it again. She said, “But my sister—”
 

“One time has nothing to do with another,” said Rhani. “The manager is perfectly correct in refusing you entrance.”
 

“But why?”
 

“I'm afraid she doesn't have to tell you that. Neither do I. However, you may rest assured, the original reports of contamination are definitely false.”
 

The tourists all took one step backward toward the door. “Contamination?” quavered one. “What reports?”
 

The original speaker said, “I can live without seeing the babies.”
 

“I can live without seeing anything.”
 

“I want to leave. This is my holiday, I didn't come here to get sick.”
 

The sallow woman said, furiously, to Rhani, “We should have been warned! I'm going to report this! What's your name?”
 

Rhani said, “Irene Sokol.”
 

The office emptied. As they streamed toward the hangar, Dana could hear the shrill voice in the midst of the other tourists, talking about her sister.
 

Marisa broke the awed silence. “Thank you, Domna.” She was smiling, her face its normal color. Erith Allogonga began to laugh resoundingly. Dana remembered the woman's incredulous expression. He grinned. The grin became a chuckle. Rhani smiled. Finally they all broke up, leaning on the desk and shelves and on the computer, sweating, howling.
 

They stayed at the kerit farm for lunch.
 

Erith Allogonga pointed out: “Domna, it's near noon, and the flight back to Abanat is a two-hour flight. Wait till the heat has passed.” Rhani agreed. They ate in the cafeteria, at a round table with Erith Allogonga and the section heads. As the staff filed in for lunch, Dana saw the heads turn to look, and heard the whispers go around. Occasionally, someone started laughing. They finished the meal—which was not bad, though not up to the standards of either Immeld or Corrios—with tall glasses of the ubiquitous Chabadese fruit punch. Rhani added sweetener to hers. Slowly, the lesser members of the staff went out.
 

Kay Seponen said, “Domna, I think you've halted the tours for a while, till the rumors die down.”
 

Dov I-Kotomi said, “Not such a bad thing.”
 

Rhani said, “Do they get in the way of your work? I'll have them stopped.”
 

The section heads looked at one another. Kay Seponen said, “They don't really take up any time. The slaves like them. It's just that—you know. Tourists.”
 

Erith Allogonga said, “I'd love to see the look on that woman's face when she discovers that there is no ‘Abanat Production Quality Control Inspection Bureau'!”
 

Rhani sipped the punch. She was looking tired; her eyes had lost that animated gleam. Softly, Dana said to her, “Rhani-ka, if we're going to be staying much later, perhaps we should call Abanat. You don't want Zed to worry.”
 

She pushed the glass away from her. “We won't be staying later. I've seen all that I came to see.”
 

Erith Allogonga and the section heads accompanied them along the dusty path to the hangar. They crammed into the narrow seats. The bubble hummed under Dana's fingers; the hangar roof pulled back; the sky blazed in. They lifted toward it.
 

Rhani sighed. She wriggled against the hard padding of the seat. “I'm tired,” she said.
 

Below them, the bubble shadow dipped and lifted over the contoured ground. Dana took them higher. Rhani had a smudge of dust on her left cheek. Curled into the seat, her pinned-up hair falling down, she looked like a dirty-faced child, done with exploring some wild and private wonderland. Dana smiled at her. “We'll be home soon.”
 

“Not home,” she corrected. “We'll be in Abanat.
Home
is the estate. May I have some water, please?”
 

Filling a cup, he gave it to her. She lifted her face to drink. The small age-lines around her eyes stood out, clearly defined. She no longer looked like a child.
 

Dana felt a rush of tenderness for her. He reached out his hand to brush her cheek clean. She smiled. “My Starcaptain,” she said. She turned her face toward his palm. In the hollow of his hand, he felt the lingering moist warmth of her lips and tongue.
 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

On the way up the steps to the house, Rhani turned to look at Dana. Coming from the landingport, he had remained silently and watchfully beside her, a perfect image of a bodyguard. She touched his wrist, afraid of putting too much weight on their unexpected rapport. “Be careful,” she said. “You will have to be careful.”
 

“I know,” he said. The door opened, and they went in. They separated at once: Rhani went to the stairway, Dana to the slaves' hall. She glanced at him before ascending the stairs. He was watching her from the hallway, his face impassive except for his eyes, which brimmed with warmth.
 

As she went upstairs, Rhani remembered that she had asked Tak Rafael, manager of the Yago Bank, to attend her that afternoon. She sighed, scrubbing her face. She felt dusty, begrimed, and hot. Perhaps she would have time to shower. She went into the bedroom.
 

Zed was there.
 

He looked weary and tense. Rhani's head stabbed with sudden pain; she could not bear the thought of a second fight with him, she would not.... She touched the intercom. “Amri,” she said, “bring me something cool to drink.” As she started to pluck the ivory pins from her hair, Amri entered with glasses and a pitcher of chilled wine.
 

“I'll do that,” Zed said, as the slave began to pour. Amri left. Zed cleared his throat. “Rhani-ka,” he said, “I was stupid, and jealous yesterday, just as you said. I will support whatever you choose to do, even if you choose to marry Ferris Dur. Can we be friends?”
 

She turned to him, deeply grateful. She reached a hand to him. He lifted it to his cheek. His face was grainy with exhaustion. “Thank you, Zed-ka,” she said.
 

He let her hand fall and presented her with the glass of wine. “You look tired,” he said.
 

“It's a long flight from Sovka. So do you.”
 

“Yukiko called me in. I spent the morning repairing a badly shattered elbow.”
 

She nodded, knowing that he had battled his way to his capitulation under the surgery lights. “They found out what was killing the kerit kits at Sovka,” she said. “It's called hemophilia.”
 

Zed frowned. “The name's familiar.” He shook his head. “Tell me about it.”
 

Rhani repeated Erith Allogonga's explanation.
 

“Of course.” He leaned on the back of the chair. “It must have been a spontaneous mutation. As I recall, it was sex-linked in humans; females carried it, but it was expressed in males.... How many breeders were affected?”
 

“About half the Prime Strain breeders, Erith said.”
 

Zed winced. “They'll have to be killed, and their kits as well, even the healthy-seeming ones. You can't continue to breed them.”
 

“I know,” Rhani said. “They've already sent the hunters out.”
 

“It'll dilute the strain.” Prime Strain kerits were so designated because of the color, texture, and superior reflectivity of their coats. “But I suppose it can't be helped. Something like this was bound to show up eventually.”
 

Rhani drank and set the glass down. Recalling Jo's letter, she pulled it from her pocket. “Zed-ka,” she said, “look at this.” She held it out.
 

He read swiftly. “Loras U-Ellen has taken Sherrix Esbah's place. Who the hell is that?” He read further, and scowled. “Is not, as far as anyone can tell, dealing dorazine? He'll go out of business in a week! How did he persuade Sherrix to—oh, I see. Probably a bribe. U-Ellen, U-Ellen. It's an Enchantean name, but I don't think I've ever heard it. Better tell Binkie to get the word out.”
 

Rhani nodded. “I shall. I wonder what's going on, Zed-ka.” She frowned, and her temple twinged with pain. She hated dealing with shadows, names, never faces. In five years, she had never met or even spoken with Sherrix Esbah. That, too, was a consequence of the Federation ban.
 

A step drew her attention. Binkie stood in the doorway. He spoke, not looking at Zed: “Excuse me, Rhani-ka. Tak Rafael has arrived, and waits downstairs. And you asked me to remind you; Family Kyneth's party is tonight.”
 

“Oh, hell!” Rhani said. Her shoulders hunched. Parties, she thought with disgust. She did not want to go; her back hurt from the flight, she was hot, and tired, and her head ached.... She looked at Zed. “Zed-ka,” she said, “would you go in my place? One of us has to.”
 

Zed groaned. Rhani knew he hated parties, and never went to them unless she was there. But it was hard for him, as she knew it would be, to deny the direct request. “I wouldn't have to stay long,” he said hopefully.
 

She smiled at him. “An hour or two,” she said. “No more. You can tell them that I'm not feeling well, and you have to return to take care of me.”
 

He sighed. “I'll go.” He glanced at the clock display on the com-unit. “I'd better eat and dress.”
 

“Come and see me before you leave,” she said. She looked longingly toward the washroom. She had wanted to shower. It would have to wait.
 

“I will,” Zed promised. He walked to the door. Binkie had vanished. “Don't waste your strength on that bank manager, Rhani-ka.”
 

She grinned at him, amused despite her fatigue. “But, Zed-ka,” she said, “he's
my
bank manager.”
 

Zed left. Rhani rose from the chair and went to the washroom. Her eyes ached, and she patted them with a cold towel before scrubbing her face with hot water. She combed her hair out, braided it, and then, over the intercom, told Amri to bring Tak Rafael to her room. He entered quietly: a slim, brown man with gray-green eyes.