The Sardonyx Net (24 page)

“Zed Yago!” said a voice. Zed turned, inwardly cursing. “How lovely to see you! I said to myself as soon as I walked in behind you, how elegant he looks, oh, my, yes. But Imre tells me that Rhani is not well! Of
course
it can't be anything serious or you would not have left her side, all Abanat knows how devoted you two are to one another, oh, my, yes. We are all looking forward to the Auction. I'm looking for a new cook; my old cook's contract just expired, so inconvenient. I don't imagine I'll find anybody half as good. And then, there are so many tourists in residence this season that I'm worried one of them will outbid me. Of course, the Yagos
never
have to worry about that. Such a handsome young slave dear Rhani had with her the other day, crossing the park. A secretary?” She looked up at him, eyes brilliant with curiosity and malice.
 

“Her new pilot,” said Zed.
 

“Oh, yes,” said Charity Diamos.
 

“Excuse me,” said Zed.
 

Escaping as swiftly as he could, Zed worked his way to the isolated, relative safety of the stairs. A well-dressed child sat on the lowest step. As Zed approached, he scrambled to his feet. “C-C-Commander,” he stammered.
 

“Hello,” said Zed. Like most of the Kyneth children, he had Imre's build, but Aliza's features and her thick red hair. “Which one are you?”
 

“Davi, Commander.”
 

“You don't have to call me that,” said Zed, amused by the look of worship in the boy's green eyes. He probably talked back to his father without a qualm. “My name is Zed. How old are you?”
 

“Ten. I'm the youngest.”
 

“You Kyneths are hard to keep track of. Ten. When I was ten, I never got to stay awake for the parties.”
 

“Did you want to?”
 

Zed grinned. “No.” He tried to recall just how many Kyneth children there were. He didn't know all their names. Most of them worked with and for their father, on Chabad, but one, he knew, was studying engineering, and another was working toward being a medic. It was mostly the older ones and the very young ones, now, who could be found at home.
 

“I don't either.” Davi tugged at the white ruffled collar of his shirt. “I hate parties.”
 

“Why are you here, then?”
 

“All our slaves are busy. Mother told
me
to guard the stairs. I have to stay here until she sends me to bed. And
talk to people
.”
 

“Zed,” said a woman's voice, not Charity Diamos. It was Margarite Kyneth, Imre's heir. She was a tall woman; she overtopped him by half a head. “What are you doing, hiding in the shadows talking to the Brat?”
 

Davi scowled at his older sister. Zed said, truthfully, “Getting away from Charity Diamos.”
 

“Oh. Poor man. Davi-ka, Mother wants you by the wine table.” She reached a hand to pluck at Davi's lopsided collar as he slid by. He was still scowling. “What did you talk about?”
 

“Charity and I?”
 

“No, of course not. Who can talk to her? You and the Brat.”
 

“He seems a smart child.”
 

“He's more intelligent than I am,” said Margarite. “Did he tell you he wants to be a Hyper?”
 

“No. But so did I, when I was ten.”
 

“Me, too,” said Margarite. “But I got over it. So will Davi.”
 

“You sound certain of that.”
 

“I am. The Family needs him. And, dreams aside—he's a Kyneth. That's what matters on Chabad. Excuse me.” She walked toward the booktape alcove. Zed watched her regal pacing. She was practicing, he thought, for when Imre died, and she was the Family's head. Conversations faded in and out around him.
Auction, money, slaves, money, parties, tourists, heat, money, oh, my, yes
. Margarite was right. For the Families' children, there was no escaping Chabad. A woman pranced by, wearing a red brocade tent embroidered with blue feathers. Zed wondered if Rhani were sleeping, or if she were still awake, reading or working or perhaps standing by the window, looking at the stars. It was not as easy to see the stars in Abanat as it was to see them at the estate. The city lights paled them.
 

In the next room over music started up. Feet thudded. People danced. There were too many people in the place, too much noise, it was stuffy, and hot, and very bright, and he longed suddenly for the cool silences and white curving walls of the Net.
 

In a sudden lull he heard a voice like a fingernail scraping glass.” ... Such a
handsome
young slave, oh, my, yes.”
 

Davi wriggled by, holding a brimming glass of wine. He brought it to his father. Seeing Zed watching him, he flashed a sunny smile, and ducked around the circumference of the crowd to arrive at Zed's elbow. “Do you want some wine?” he asked. The heat had wilted the crisp, red curls on the back of his neck.
 

For an instant, Zed's mind rocked with fantasy: Davi drugged, helpless, bound to a bed under his hands. He caught his breath. Passing his plate to a nearby slave, he ruffled the boy's curls, a careful gesture, like a magician casting a counterspell. “No, thank you. See you later.” Davi gazed at him worshipfully. Zed strode toward the knot of laughing, talking strangers like a man plunging headfirst into an icy pool.
 

He was listening to two men discuss three-dimensional chess—a game in which he had no interest—when Imre Kyneth appeared at his side. “Zed Yago,” said the older man. “Have you a minute?”
 

“Certainly,” said Zed. “Here?”
 

“No. Come with me.” Imre led him out the back of the room through a high, arching doorway, to a small round door set in a paneled wall. “In here.” He opened the door. The lintel was only a few centimeters taller than Imre. Zed had to duck. Inside the room, he could stand upright. Imre touched a switch. Lights came on. Zed turned. The room's walls were shelves from floor to ceiling, and the shelves were filled with old-style, bound-paper books.
 

“This is my den,” Imre said. He smiled. “Every adult should have one.”
 

“I'm impressed,” Zed said. There was a desk to his left. Something about it was odd. He frowned. What—ah. It was out of proportion—at least, for him. He glanced back at the books. “Have you read them all?”
 

“Most of them. But not these, not literally. These I don't handle very much. They're originals. Most of them were manufactured on Old Terra. Some are actually of animal skin: vellum, it was called. I've got a few that are six hundred years old, made of cloth and leather and glue, and they still hold together. The temperature in this room is controlled, of course.” He touched the light switch again, and a lamp nearby came on. Underfoot, its color matching the wood of the shelves, a carpet gleamed copper. “I'm glad you like it, Zed.”
 

“It's very handsome.” Zed touched the satiny finish of the desk chair. It was just a little smaller than the other chairs in the house. “What may I do for you, Domni?”
 

Imre scowled at him. “Imre to you, if you please. Are we strangers that we need to use titles to each other, or enemies?”
 

Zed grinned at the smaller man. “Imre, never that.”
 

Imre sat. “I asked you in here to talk to you about Michel A-Rae. I had thought to speak with Rhani—”
 

“I will tell her what you say,” Zed said.
 

“I am grateful. I invited him to this party, you know.”
 

Zed was surprised. “A policeman? Why?” He did not think such an invitation had ever been made to A-Rae's predecessors.
 

“I wanted to see what he would say,” Imre said. He steepled his hands against his chin. “I didn't expect him to accept, and he did not. He did, however, reply. We spoke over the com-unit screen. He called.”
 

Zed nodded. “Yes. He did the same with me, when I was on the Net.”
 

Imre looked relieved. “You've spoken with him? Then you know what he's like.”
 

“As much as one can tell from a five-minute conversation,” Zed said, “yes.”
 

“He's dangerous,” Imre said flatly. “A fanatic. His name's Enchantean, and I wonder if there might be something accessible and explanatory in his past.... He hates you, you know.”
 

“I got that impression,” Zed said. “It doesn't trouble me, Imre.”
 

“It should. He hates your sister, too.”
 

Zed's shoulders tensed. “How do you know this?”
 

“From what he said.” Imre looked at his hands. “He called her several indelicate names, and made comments about—about the two of you—”
 

Zed said harshly, “You needn't elaborate. I've heard them.” Needing suddenly to move, he walked a slow circle around the desk. “Is there more to this, Imre?”
 

Imre nodded crisply. “Yes. I want to know what Rhani plans to do about the dorazine shortage.”
 

Zed stopped pacing. “Has it begun to affect you?” he said.
 

“Yes,” said Imre. “Our stores are particularly short over at the purification plant. Without dorazine, we cannot trust slaves to do the work there, which means that if there is no dorazine, we shall have to hire outside labor instead of purchasing slaves. And we are not the only ones. If we rely on an outside labor force instead of slaves, then the Auction will not go well, which means there will be an excess of slaves in holding cells—”
 

“You needn't continue,” Zed said again, gently this time. “I know what will happen next.” With no dorazine, the slaves could not be kept in the holding cells without security precautions, guards, even weapons.... This year might see the beginning of a reaction which could blow Sector Sardonyx apart. Metaphorically speaking, Zed thought. “I'm rather sorry Michel A-Rae did not attend this party,” he said. And again he thought, I know him. Or knew him. He scowled, hunting through memory for the source of that elusive sense of familiarity.
 

He did not find it.
 

Imre Kyneth laughed shortly. “I'm not.”
 

The two men looked at each other. Finally Zed said, “Imre, I must go. Rhani will be concerned; I said I would not linger.”
 

“You wouldn't anyway,” Imre said.
 

“I will tell Rhani what you have told me. How short of dorazine are you?”
 

“We have enough to last another three months.”
 

“Stars!' Zed said. “That's short.”
 

“Family Yago's stores are better, I gather,” Imre said.
 

“I believe so,” Zed said cautiously.
 

Imre stood. “You'll need it,” he said. “Tell Rhani I look forward to hearing from her soon.”
 

“I will,” Zed said. “I'll find my own way out, Imre, don't move.” He walked to the entrance. At the door, he glanced back. Imre stood beside a tall pole lamp, holding between his palms an old, skinbound book.
 

Part way to the front door, a voice said Zed's name and a hand groped his shoulder. Muscles bunching, Zed turned. A pasty-faced stranger held his upper arm. He wore gold and red, the Dur colors, and Zed realized that he was looking at Ferris Dur.
 

He said, “Domni Ferris, kindly take your hand off my arm.”
 

Ferris Dur let him go.
 

Zed smoothed his shirt. “My thanks.”
 

Ferris Dur said, “Isn't Rhani here? Why is she not with you?”
 

Zed said, “She's at home, she isn't feeling well. I imagine she'll be well enough to attend your party.”
 

“Has someone from the Clinic seen her?”
 

Zed said, “I am a senior medic.”
 

Ferris stared at him. “That's right,” he said. “I forgot.” His shirt was grease-stained. Kerit bait, Zed thought, despising him. “She isn't seriously ill?”
 

Zed set his teeth. His fingers curled at his sides. “No,” he said. “Now, if you'll excuse me....” If you don't get out of my path in five seconds, Ferris Dur, he thought, I'm going to walk over you. Ferris stepped back: Zed took a deep breath and slid past him. Davi Kyneth was watching him with that damnable look of hero-worship, not two meters away.
 

“Bring my cloak,” he snapped to a slave near the door. The slave brought it. “Please give my regards to your mistress.”
 

The slave bowed, clear-eyed. “Commander.”
 

The night, like most Chabadese nights, was cold and crisp. Overhead, the stars glittered like points of ice. Zed pulled the cloak closer to him. He walked north along the deserted Promenade. He thought, steadily, holding his mind to it; I shall have to tell Rhani about my conversation with Imre—and then pain welled up inside him; he swayed, body bunching as if he walked into a wind. A tormentor of children, is that what he was destined to become? I'll kill myself first, he thought. For a moment he wished that there could be an easier way out of what he had made of himself. He could go to Nexus, or better yet, to Psi Center, and put himself into the care of the telepaths. He could try again to find a lover. He could leave Chabad, be a pilot for a corporation, perhaps return to Nexus and train to be a Starcaptain.... But his attachment to Rhani had spoiled him for anyone and anything else, and he knew none of those would work.