Valhai (The Ammonite Galaxy) (6 page)

GRACE WAS DEEP into the interscreen that Vion had sent her as promised when the tridiscreen flashed. It was her brother’s wife, Amanita, calling with her weekly punctuality.

The thin face which came up on the tridi looked at her though beady, bird-like eyes. “Grace,” she said, “How are you?”

“Fine. Busy.”

“Busy? Doing what . . . if I may ask?” Amanita was instantly suspicious.

Grace back-tracked hastily. “Oh, just . . . this and that . . . you know . . .” Then she hit on a reasonable activity. “Cataloguing the artifact rooms, actually.”

The sharp face in front of her relaxed. “An acceptable occupation. I myself have always thought it best to catalogue each acquisition as it comes in. Certainly a most necessary job.”

Grace thought of the stack of things that were heaped higgledy-piggledy around their artifact chambers. Her mother had never got around to even taking most of them out of their crates, let alone detailing size, value, source. Xenon 48 had delighted in collecting beautiful things from all over the system – a passion Grace had not inherited. It was the way all Sells invested their money. But Cimma herself had found most of the things they bought rather sterile. She had loved the vibrant paintings of the Xianthan lowlanders, for example. . . slashes of deep colour layered onto thin magmite blocks and full of movement. But they were not valued highly in the rest of the binary system, and Xenon had criticized her for bringing one back to Valhai. Her mother had told Grace his words.

“Really, Cimma, we can’t clutter up the skyrise with inferior quality art like this. We simply don’t have the room for it. You must only buy artifacts with a cost-to-bulk proportion of over 5000 to 1. And this” —he had jabbed a finger in the direction of the painting— “probably isn’t even up to 300 to 1.”

Her mother had sighed, hidden her find on the 10
^th
floor, and let Xenon think she had done as he asked. It had been an uncharacteristic defiance on her part.

Amanita was still regarding Grace, strangely. Grace wondered how long she had been sitting there with a silly look on her face. “Did you want anything, Amanita?”

Her sister-in-law gave a thin smile. “Just a duty visit, Grace. To make sure you are all right.”

“Well of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” She knew she sounded guarded and regretted it immediately. Ask a silly question, she thought.

“Well, with Cimma in the state that she is,” Amanita said.

“She is perfectly all right!” Grace was quick to say.

“Hardly that. She looked like a mad woman the other day on the tridi screen. And waving that knife around! Really!”

“She will get over it. She just needs a bit more time.”

“She is the talk of all Sell. It will have to stop.”

“She is still in mourning. It is her way of expressing grief.”

“I do hope she is not going to hurt anybody with that knife.” The older woman sniffed. “It would reflect back most badly on Xenon, you know.”

“It has nothing to do with Xenon,” Grace said firmly.

“I beg your pardon, it has everything to do with Xenon. He is head of the family, after all. Now go get your mother. She will want to talk to me.”

“That’s what you think!” muttered Grace between her teeth.

“What was that, Grace?”

“Be with you in a blink!” Grace gave the wall a growly look. It would be improper to show Amanita directly what she thought of her. She went to look for Cimma.

Her mother followed her back to the tridi at her own pace, which gave Amanita time to take Grace to task.

“What is this painting thing, Grace?”

“Err . . . just a hobby I have taken up. I like painting the views of Valhai. It is soothing.”

“Well it seems very strange to me. Perhaps you should stick to cataloguing the 48
^th
floor collection. After all, who knows when Xenon may need it?”

“Excuse me?”

Amanita gave a smile. “You didn’t think any of those things were yours, I hope? The whole skyrise is Xenon’s now, to dispose of as he wishes.” She preened herself. “Although I don’t anticipate him requiring any of the artifacts.
We
are not profligate.”

Grace raised one eyebrow, and tried valiantly to refrain from arguing with the woman. She was quite right, it was Grace’s brother who now “owned” everything. That could not be changed, however much it pained her to admit it.

Amanita went on, supremely unaware of the jostling emotions her calm words had aroused in Grace, “I heard that Vion visited you the other day, and that it wasn’t a virtual visit.”

“He wished to pay his respects to Xenon 48.”

“Yes, I was told that too. Was that the sole purpose of his visit?”

“That, again, Amanita, is nothing to do with you.”

Amanita shook her head. “I must beg to differ, Grace. As female head of the 256
^th
Sellite skyrise I may require all females of the same house to report to me any non-virtual visits.”

Grace’s eyes flashed. “If you must know he gave my mother a check-up at the same time. He prescribed a sleeping draft.”

“So I was right!” Amanita congratulated herself.

Cimma finally appeared, not very pleased to be disturbed by her daughter-in-law. “Amanita,” she said.

“Cimma. I wish you would put that stupid knife down!”

“I expect you do.”

“Well? Are you going to put it down?”

“No.”

“As female head of the skyrise, I am telling you to put that knife down, Cimma!”

“I can’t do that, Amanita. I need it for protection.”

“You are perfectly safe.”

“That’s what you want us to think. But I know better. Anyway, nice of you to call, but I am very busy. Cut—”

“I called to invite you both for dinner,” interrupted Amanita. “You can come up tomorrow night. I thought we ought to . . . that is, we thought you would like to visit with us non-virtually.”

Grace’s first reaction was to turn the invitation down flat. But she
had
promised Vion that she would make more of an effort. And it might be good for her mother to see Xenon. So she nodded.

“Fine. Come up at eight. Oh, and Grace . . .?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t have any more non-virtual visits without asking my permission first, will you?”

“Of course I will ask your permission,” said Grace in dulcet tones. The day Almagest turns blue, she thought.

Amanita gave an acid smile. “Cutting the connexion,” she said.

At last Grace was left to herself. She was so cross that she found she was shaking after the encounter with Amanita. Whatever had her brother seen in the wretched woman? She turned back to the interscreen with relief.

Using Vion’s skyrise pass, she was able to access any information she wanted about the programs. She had started with a back search to see what had happened to the past candidates after they had donated, and found very little.

All the previous candidates had mysteriously vanished into the rarified Valhai air. Grace spent the rest of the day trying without success to trace the missing candidates. None of them had been listed as residents of Valhai. But none of their names were down on any passenger manifests as leaving the planet. They had quite simply disappeared.

Finally, Grace turned her attention to the current batch of candidates. She quickly found out about the boy who had died in transit, and that another of the apprentices was under Vion 48’s treatment due to an almost incapacitating terror of shut-in spaces. The other ten were apparently doing well. It would be another year and a half before the first operations were carried out – as they normally were – under the attentive eye of the investor.

Exactly at eight the following evening Grace called up the orthogel lift at the front of her floor, and shepherded her mother inside. Grace had tried to make an effort, and dress in something which would meet Amanita’s approval, but Cimma was wearing the dressing gown, though she had changed the thin robe underneath. The lethal Xianthan knife was still clutched in her hand.

Grace was glad that she had made the effort. Amanita was clad in a very high-priced gold weave gown, and had even decked the children out in embroidered finery. Grace would have been definitely in trouble had she not made any effort at all. Even so, her lack of face highlights did not meet Amanita’s standards.

“We like to dine according to tradition,” she told Grace severely.

“I expect, since you and your mother have lived alone, you’ve slipped into more informal customs?”

Grace bowed her head, but didn’t answer. She had made up her mind not to engage in battle tonight. She would be calm and considerate, as befitted a Sell, would interest herself in the wellbeing of her niece and nephew, and avoid all controversial topics. She had decided that the problems she had with Amanita were probably in good part due to her own failure to empathize with the older woman. She would try harder. The only subject she was determined to bring up was that of the donor apprentices; and that would be when she could get her brother alone for a moment.

“I can’t believe I have two 50
^th
level grandchildren!” Cimma said, reaching down to give each of them a hug, without putting the knife down. “Hello, Xenon 50, Genna! You are so much bigger than I remember.”

“I don’t know why that should surprise you,” sniffed Amanita, “growing is a perfectly normal procedure for children.”

“Grandmother Cimma, what is the knife for?” asked Genna.

“To protect you!” said Cimma.

Genna’s eyes widened. “Are we in danger? Are there bad men out there?” She looked around fearfully and began to cry.

“Of course there aren’t,” said Amanita. “Take no notice of your grandmother. Really, Cimma, do you have to frighten her like that?”

“They have to be protected,” insisted Cimma. “They both belong to the generation who will sit at the Second Valhai Votation! It will be their votes that decide the future of the planet.”

“Naturally Xenon 50 will be fully instructed in all facets of the decision-making involved, and I can assure you he will be educated to take his obligations most seriously,” Amanita said.

“No, I meant . . .” Cimma stopped. “He’s just a little boy.”

“He is already five.” Amanita looked at them seriously. “He will be brought up to know the extent of his responsibilities. Anyway,” She went on, “Xenon will be down in a moment. He has a lot of work currently, but will join us for the meal.” Her tone implied a very great honour.

“It is kind of him to make time for his mother,” Grace murmured.

“Indeed.” Amanita inclined her head.

Grace had taken a breath and was about to reply when the food arrived. The bell on the food lift rang, and the three women hastily hurried over to the lift to remove the plates, and distribute them around the table in the eating area.

Xenon 49 put in an appearance just as they were serving out the first course.

“Mother,” He touched fingers with her perfunctorily. “you are well, I hope.”

“Very. Is the work going well?”

“Fine. What is this I hear about a non-virtual visit from Vion?”

“He only came to pay his respects to your father’s tomb.”

“An obvious excuse. What did he really want?”

Cimma hesitated. “Well, if you must know he thought I was looking a bit under the weather.”

“I knew there was more to it than just a courtesy visit.” Xenon was pleased to be proved correct. “Did he tell you to stop carrying that ridiculous knife?”

“No, but he gave me a tonic.”

“I think you may need rather more than a tonic, Mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole of Sell is talking about you.”

“Why would they do that, dear?”

“I think Xenon is a more appropriate form of address now, Mother, given my . . . err . . . status. And if you insist on waving a weapon around your head all the time you must expect some notoriety!”