The Summer Queen (61 page)

And after they were done ruining their heritage they had
come to Number Four, where he was stationed, to deliver the final blow to his
crumbling facade of control—to tell him how they had lost the estates, sold the
family name to some social climber with money for honor. Until then, he had
been able to go on functioning, as long as he kept his own dishonor
hermetically sealed; believing that his family was unstained by his humiliation
as long as he stayed away from Kharemough. But his brothers had destroyed that
last hope, and had come to Four to tell him that they intended to buy back the
estates by striking it rich in World’s End. He had warned them off, warned them
about making what the Fours called the Big Mistake ... watched them go anyway.
And then when they did not return, he had gone after them; not because he cared
about them, but only because there was nothing he cared about anymore, not even
his own life.

He had found them ... and the stardrive. World’s End had
changed his life forever. But it had changed his brothers, too. He had brought
them alive out of that soul-eating hell ... and then they had ambushed him and
stolen the stardrive plasma he had brought out with them, leaving him for dead
in a back alley of the Company town.

But he had not died. He had lived, to see them arrested, see
that the plasma was delivered into the rightful hands of the Hegemony, and not
held for ransom. And then he had used the sudden influence that his “selfless patriotism”
had thrust upon him, to reclaim his family’s estates and name.

He had sent his brothers home under a kind of glorified
house arrest, with enough money doled out to them by a trust fund—and enough
threats of retribution—to keep them comfortably under control. Because blood
was still thicker than water. He had told himself the stress of their ordeal in
World’s End had made them turn on him; that even though he had never gotten
along with them, they weren’t murderers, only fools—and someone had to oversee
the estates ....

But now he was back on Kharemough, and the very sight of
them was enough to paint everything within his vision black.

“BZ—?” HK said again, and Gundhalinu realized that his
brother had gone on speaking, even though he had stopped listening. “Why did
thou refuse to let us do it?”

“What?” he said, frowning. The crowd around them seemed
settled now; an expectant silence was falling. He realized they were waiting
for him to begin the entertainment. He looked at the headset, like a silver
crown, clutched between his clenched fists. He forced his hands to loosen,
afraid of crushing it.

“The opportunity we had to invest in lightspeed shipfitting?
Now that you’ve—now that thou have returned, and the new fleet is almost ready ...
well, there’s no going back is there? It’s a sure investment. Since thou’re on
such good terms with Jarsakh-bhai, thou could still put in a word, couldn’t
thou?”

“No,” he said, cutting off the flow of HK’s speech. “Thou
get more than a sufficient stipend to cover thy needs. I told thee, if thou
ever tried to profit off the stardrive again, in any way at all, I’d have thee
up on charges. I meant it. And I’m here, now.”

“Yes, but, BZ, I’m head-of-family—”

SB caught HK’s arm, jerked it, silencing him again. “Drop
it,” he said, speaking to HK but looking at BZ. “He’s not interested. He thinks
he’s some kind of god. We’ll do it our own way.”

BZ frowned. “If thou cause me any embarrassment, thou will
be stripped of all rank and rights. Push me further and there will be charges
of attempted murder. Just remember that.” He looked away, and settled the
headset carefully onto his head. SB sniggered as if he were crowning himself.
Gundhalinu swore under his breath, pressing the contact points until he felt
the tingling sensation of on-line seep in through his ears. Whatever was in the
box would respond to his emotions, translated into some sort of electronic
stimuli, he had been told. Then gods help it, he thought. He shut his eyes,
concentrating.

Red-gold incandescence exploded into the air, to the gasps
and startled cries of the waiting crowd. Wave upon wave of it spilled out of
the box and fountained into the sky like erupting magma, congealed as it struck
the stones, thickening, darkening, struggling like vague semi-human forms
wrestling to the death, filling their collective vision with fire and blood,
Fire Lake—

BZ slammed the controls down on his emotions, astounded and
appalled; was relieved to hear a chorus of sighs and a patter of applause from
the unsuspecting watchers. He pulled himself together, watching the colors fade
and soften as the violence of the exploding material died back into a sinuous
outpouring that made him think of fog, smoke, water falling into that molten
sea, rising up again in clouds, filled with rainbows, filled with ghosts ....

He concentrated now on the artsong he could hear still being
played somewhere inside, its graceful, poignant measures and counterpoints like
a dance between would-be lovers, stepping forward, moving back, filled with hesitancy
and yearning .... He saw the music and his vision of it suddenly begin to
appear, in front of him, not quite real, not quite imaginary, like the ghosts
he had seen in Sanctuary, like the face he saw in dreams, her face, hazed in
blue ....

She was there, forming out of the not-quite-matter,
not-quite-fog, always re-forming and melting away at the same time, her hand
held out to him, as he remembered her, as he had wanted to believe she was,
waiting for him ....

He rose from his seat, lifting his own hand, oblivious to
his brothers’ stares or the murmurs of the crowd as he stepped forward into the
vision, to gently mime the touch of his hand on hers, feeling the cold, faint
tangibility of the mist from which she took her form as he began to lead her
with his thoughts, and with his heart, through the precisely patterned motions
of the dance that matched the music. And she smiled and met his gaze, with her
eyes the color of mist and moss agate, filled with yearning like his own, and
her long, pale hair tendriling about her like fog ....

They danced until the music began to fade away; he bowed to
her with its final strains, letting her fade back into the mist, into formless
swirls of color like a rainbow, like the ribbons of light in the night sky
overhead. He turned back to his seat, through a stars warm of applause, already
reaching up to lift the crown from his head and pass it on ....

He stopped dead, staring, as his eyes cleared of one vision
and he saw, standing before him like another, the mystery woman he had given
sanctuary to this evening.

She stood before him, shimmering in pearls and black velvet,
staring back at him with equal astonishment—and an upraised pitcher, in raids
wing through an arc, its contents aimed straight at him.

He flung up his arm in a defense gesture—saw her expression
already changing from disbelief and recognition to horrified dismay: Her arms
jerked as she tried, too late, to stop the motion. He lowered his guard just in
time to watch the contents of the pitcher spewed squarely onto his brothers’
heads. HK bellowed in surprise and SB fell off the end of the bench. Whatever
had been in the pitcher was all over them now, and looked like liquefied
garbage. Smelled like it, as the odor hit him.

The space around him was absolutely silent then, for an
endless moment, except for the gasping and cursing of his brothers, and his own
sudden, wildly heartfelt laughter.

The aghast crowd of partiers sat gaping a moment longer. And
then household security appeared, human and otherwise, surrounding the woman in
black where she stood motionless and unresisting, staring back at him with a
look that he suddenly understood perfectly. His laughter fell away, and he
opened his mouth.

“BZ, ye gods, are thou all right—” Pematte was beside him,
putting an arm around him; not even looking toward his brothers. Vhanu was at
his other side, frantically asking him something he ignored, as Pematte
gestured at the waiting security staff, “Take her away, for gods’ sakes! Have
her arrested!”

“Wait!” Gundhalinu put up his hand, stopping them in midmotion
as they began to lay hands on the woman. “Let her go,” he said, walking toward
her, and the armed guards, with a calm authority he didn’t quite feel. They
looked past him at Pernatte, who must have given them a signal, and then backed
off. “There’s been a misunderstanding here. It was ... just a part of the art
experience. No harm.”

He held up the silver circlet of the headset in both his
hands, and as he reached her he set it on her head. “This belongs to you.” Not
even making it a question. He took her hand and she followed him like a
sleepwalker out into the open center of the patio where the box lay, the
creative medium tendriling faintly, aimlessly, or whispering like ashes beneath
their feet. He turned back to the crowd, glancing at his brothers just long
enough to catch SB’s murderous glare as the security guards helped them up and
away, through a ripple of disgusted faces.

“Sadhanu, bhai,” he said, raising his voice to catch the
watchers’ attention. “This is the artist who is responsible for tonight’s
entertainment. Please show her your appreciation.” There was more applause,
some of it uncertain, some of it punctuated by small noises of approval. “Through
an oversight, she was not invited to attend this evening’s affair.” He turned
back to her, saw that the expression on her face was utterly lost. “If you will
allow me to rectify the matter right now—” He looked back at Pernatte, saw the
flash of awkward alarm in Vhanu’s gaze as he said, “I would be most grateful to
have you welcome this woman as my honored guest.”

“Of course,” Pernatte murmured, staring at him and at the
woman, clearly remembering what had been said about their relationship. Pematte’s
expression “iuggested that he thought someone had had too much to drink, but he
wasn’t sure ho. “Delighted. And sorry about the misunderstanding.” He looked at
the woman again. “I suppose we shall just have to toss that bit of business off
to artistic temperament, eh? We all make mistakes, eh—but please, my dear, be
more circumspect in the future about how you express your ...” He grimaced, attempting
a smile.

“Of course, sathra.” She bowed to him, with a grace any Technician
would have envied, her flawless mask of composure securely back in place, and
the perfect image of a chastened smile on her lips. She looked up again, and
took the headset carefully from her head, offering it to Pernatte. “It would
give me unforgettable pleasure if you would take the next turn, sathra.” He
accepted the headset, somewhat mollified by her show of manners, and eager to
get the party flowing again. He put it on. She looked at Gundhalinu, and raised
her eyebrows.

He nodded and touched her elbow, asking her wordlessly to
follow him.

“Sir—?” Vhanu said, his own face uncertain, his body twitching
with conflicting signals.

“It’s all right, Vhanu. I’ll call you when I need you.” He
led her through the edge of the crowd, which had begun to ooh and ahh again as
their host tried his hand at guiding her creation. She did not look back, and
he suspected she did not really want to see it. He wondered what she had
thought of his own performance. Not much, probably.

He led her along the neatly trimmed hedges of the maze that
protected the Pernatte family shrine, until they reached a cushioned
waiting-seat of the sort that were always located in spots like this, lying in
the half illumination of the mansion’s windows. They sat down and looked at
each other. Sweet a capella voices singing a song whose words he could not make
out drifted across the lawn, filling the empty silence that neither of them
seemed able to break.

At last she said, “You told me I could ask your name when we
met again. But I guess that really isn’t necessary.”

“I guess not.” He looked at his hands. “But at least I can
ask yours. Netanyahr, I believe my brother said—?” He looked up again. “They
said that you owned our estates?”

“Pandhara Hethea Netanyahr,” she said, and met his uncertainly
upraised hand. “Although for a brief, beautiful time I was PHN Gundhalinu.” She
met his gaze, unflinching, and he saw the embers of anger in her eyes, saw too
the pain and humiliation that had driven her to the act of absurdist revenge
she had committed tonight.

He felt the painful heat of his own chagrin; remembered his
humiliation at his own loss, how it had made him willing to do anything to get
back what was his by right. “Now I know why you thought I’d personally
forbidden you to come tonight. But I hadn’t. I had no idea—” But someone must
have had, and it made him feel peculiar to have taken the blame for it.

“I know.” She nodded. “If I hadn’t met you earlier tonight,
the way I did, I don’t know if I would believe you. But ...”

“I don’t even know how someone had the temerity to ask you
to provide entertainment for tonight ... although the quality of your work is
spectacular,” he added hastily. “I don’t mean to—”

“Thank you,” she said, and actually smiled. “What you chose
to do with it was quite wonderful. I actually forgot myself, watching you dance
with that beautiful vision ....”

“Really?” He smiled, hesitated. “I ... have become a
believer that certain meetings aren’t by coincidence, Netanyahr-kadda. Perhaps
this is one of those.” He glanced down. “At least it gives me a chance to
apologize to you. You see, when I heard that my brothers had lost the family
name, I—my own life ... was not going well. To hear that ... It seemed ... it
seemed as though my lifeline had snapped.” His hands made fists in the shadows.
“I was desperate to get my birthright back. And when the—opportunity came, I
took it. I never even thought about the person at the other end, whose new life
I was disrupting.” He looked up at her again, with an effort. Except to imagine
some crude profiteer with money for honor. Her expression said that it was
exactly the attitude she would have expected of an arrogant, classist
Technician. “If that’s what you think of us all,” he murmured, “then why did
you want so badly to be one of us?”