A Passage of Stars (13 page)

“I can only take your word,” Lily said. He regarded her gravely. “So I will.”

With a hand leathery from age and work he touched her on the forehead, like a benediction, and left. The lock light winked red on the com-panel. As she stepped forward to test it, Bach began to sing.

Patroness, dost thou desire my translation of the conversation beyond?

Listening, Lily realized that she could hear the three people talking. They seemed completely unaware of her or Bach’s presence. Their clothes were startling in the drab room: the sheen of gray on the ruddy-skinned man, the lustrous belt of green draped around the woman, and the heavy gold fabric, inlaid with some indistinguishable design, on the blue-haired one. He rose from the chair he was seated in, one pink-tipped finger lifting to brush at a cheek, and Lily realized that the bulk of fabric that had seemed to gather at his waist was in fact long sleeves, lengths of stiff cloth that hung to sweep with graceful elegance along the floor. Ruddy-skin was speaking.

“—but what else could we expect from a cyro colonization? Their computer systems—laughable! They’ve slipped badly from what they must have brought with them. And having to leave Rayonne on the ship because of their barbaric prejudices.”

“That was not altogether unexpected,” replied the woman.

Ruddy-skin rose. The material moved with his body, highlighting muscle and the length of his limbs. “Your sociologists have blessed us again. Unfortunately they did not predict this political disagreement, and the primitive methods being used to solve it.”

The woman shrugged and looked away from him. “This is pointless quibbling, Anjahar,” she said.

The blue-haired man was running one hand along the wall that separated him from Lily, as if he could feel her presence by touch alone; now he paused. When he spoke, his voice as smoothly featureless as the wall, he spoke in the other tongue.

He says, patroness, that this latest expedition was perhaps a fool’s errand in whatsoever case, as the old man is now dead.

“Dead?” said Lily aloud. They could not mean Heredes.

Anjahar turned to glare at blue-hair. “That may be true enough, Kyosti, but dismantling his terrorist network is another matter, especially now that he is no longer around to protect them. And his sister still lives.”

Kyosti waved a delicate hand in dismissal.

“She is negligible.” The woman fixed her severe gaze on Anjahar. “But his saboteur’s lattice must be eradicated once for all.”

“Tell
him
, Maria,” said Anjahar sourly.

A sister. Heredes was sending her to his sister’s—by his own words. That he was involved in some dangerous mystery was clear now; perhaps had been all along had she cared to read the signs. That they thought her equally involved was, she had to admit, unsurprising at this stage. And what if Heredes was dead?

“I will not believe it,” she said aloud.

What believest thou not, patroness?
sang Bach.

Lily only shook her head.

In the other room, the com-panel beeped and the door slid open. The woman stood. Both the men turned to face the opening. Six white-uniformed soldiers strode in. Two were tattoos, but they remained set apart from the others. The soldiers formed a column on either side of the doorway, raised left hands to right shoulders. A woman entered. Brisk, tight-lipped, she examined her three prisoners with uncompromising energy.

“Sit down,” she ordered in ringing tones. Her gaze drifted, for an infinitesimal second, to the wall behind which Lily and Bach watched. None of the three sat down.

“By what authority have you detained us?” demanded the woman called Maria, moving forward to face the new arrival. “We are here on a safe-conduct from your government.”

“Not
my
government,” replied the woman. Thick hands, strong by their look, gave a swift tug to her plain white jacket. She looked immaculate. “Sit down.”

Anjahar’s complexion thickened to a blotchy red. “This is insufferable!”

“Anja.” The bored tones of Kyosti cut across the ruddy man’s anger. “We can’t fight them all. Much as I’m sure,” he added with a sardonic smile, “you would like to.” He settled himself fussily in one of the chairs, attention partly on the soldier, partly on the wall.

The ostentation of the gesture served to distract the soldier from Anjahar’s anger while Anjahar, breathing unevenly, his muscles tense under the gray fabric, sat down heavily in a chair. He cast a glance at Kyosti that could have been annoyance, or gratitude.

“By what authority?” repeated Maria.

“Sit, bitch,” said the soldier. A slight movement of her hand, and the six guards fanned out into the room; four more entered behind them.

Maria did not move.

“I said sit.” The dark woman gave a hard shove to Maria’s shoulders.

Maria started back; as her knees came up against the chair she sat, ungainly, her beautifully draped dress slipping so that she had to grab at it. But she had, Lily saw, controlled her anger, as if she had summed up the measure of the soul within her captor.

Kyosti said something to Anjahar, who looked ready to rise, and whatever he said caused Anjahar to settle back into his seat with a slight grin.

He assureth his companion that they be indeed amongst the uncivilized,
translated Bach.

“Huh.” The woman studied her three prisoners with disgust. “You may,” she added with the greatest of generosity, “address me as First Comrade.” A stifled sound from Kyosti caused her to shift her gaze slowly from the hem of his long gold tunic to the tips of his unruly blue hair. He smiled serenely back at her. “Such as you,” she finished, “unaware of the distinction afforded me by the title, may also address me as Kuan-yin.”

As if he could not help himself, Kyosti began to laugh.

Kuan-yin drew her gun and pointed it at him.

“Oh dear.” He stopped laughing, but Lily could not help but admire the lack of concern with which he regarded the gun. “You must tell me, what is your full name?”

“None of your business,” she snapped, gun still raised.

“You have not yet told us by whose authority you hold us here,” interposed Maria in her most neutral voice.

Kuan-yin holstered the gun. The white uniform set off her brown skin, She swept all three with a belligerent gaze. “By Jehanish authority. The Jehanish rebellion is now in control of Nevermore Station. We have ordered all ships to surrender to our authority or be blown up in their docks.”

“I see,” said Maria calmly. “What is this ‘Jehanish’ authority?”

A soft beep stirred the air behind Lily, followed by an indrawn sigh. She whirled. The door slid open. She saw Calico’s face, but he retreated beyond her view, and a man entered the room. Lily took one step back.

He had golden hair. Not just blond, not yellow by any stretch of the imagination. Gilded by the ore itself, paling at the ends. He moved with the grace of the wind, filling space as though he were meant by the laws of the universe to be there. Entering—becoming—the room, he saw Lily and offered her an apologetic smile. It said, “Forgive me, for disturbing you, for causing you any inconvenience,” at the same time, he beckoned to her to approach him, and she found that she simply walked over to him—and hated herself for doing so.

“Who are you?” she asked, unable not to ask; she felt as if her will had left her of its own volition, and gone to reside in this man.

He considered her first for a long moment, afterward turned his attention to Bach, clearly puzzled, half-amazed, but pleased, Then he walked to the window—he had that immediately definable posture that marked him as a master of whichever art he had chosen. His gaze as he studied the scene below was, if not benign, then effortlessly all-encompassing. Finally, having drunk his fill, he returned his gaze to Lily. She had not moved. His eyes were mild, a deep, rooted green, but piercing. His voice was, of course, mellifluous.

“I am Jehane,” he said. “But you may call me Alexander.”

“O
F COURSE,” SAID LILY
without thinking. She blushed.

His expression did not change. “This, then,” he said, drawing her gaze up to Bach, “is the peculiar or, shall we say, gifted, robot you”—his pause was a question—“own?”

“Not quite,” said Lily.

A different smile curved his mouth. “Possess the loyalty of?” He seemed to be inviting her to embrace some amicable conspiracy.

“Yes.”

“I see.” He shifted to look down again into the other room, lifted a wrist communicator to his mouth. What he said Lily could not distinguish, but Kuan-yin gave the barest start and the expression on her face cleared to one of polite disinterest.

“You are under arrest,” she said to her three prisoners, “under suspicion of collusion with the illegal government at Central. You will be allowed to clear yourself of suspicion.”

Anjahar shifted impatiently in his chair. “If we answer the right questions?”

“There will be questions.”

“And if we can’t answer them, or if we refuse to cooperate?” Maria smoothed out her dress with a few unhurried strokes.

“Then you will deal with the consequences.” Kuan-yin smiled.

Kyosti raised a languid hand and ran it through his hair. “Perhaps you have not yet realized,” he said, his tone as amused as bored, “that a far more dangerous authority than your government at Central will retaliate for any harm done to us or to our ship.” His gaze lingered as if he had not the energy to move it on Kuan-yin.”

“Yes,” breathed Jehane, leaning forward with more interest.

“That’s the one you have to watch,” said Lily, without meaning to.

Jehane’s glance, like fire, shifted to her. “Why is that?” It was a question he already knew the answer to.

“He’s not afraid.” Lily looked down, as if the blue-haired man’s attention might stop her from continuing to talk in this fashion to Jehane, but Maria was speaking to Kyosti in their second tongue. “It’s as if this is a game to him,” she added compulsively. “He simply doesn’t care.”

“Perceptive,” said Jehane, a wealth of compliment in one word. His attention returned to the interrogation.

“My darling Maria,” Kyosti replied in Standard. “We may as well toss our cards on the table, had we such implements.”

“Which cards?” Anjahar’s voice was sharp.

Kyosti shrugged. “As many as my feeble brain can recall.”

Maria looked at Anjahar. The glance conveyed an order that Anjahar clearly did not want to obey, but he acquiesced with a frown that manifested itself as much in his posture as on his face. And by some imperceptible communication, Lily felt that he and Maria surrendered their wills to Kyosti, a gesture she recognized, having so recently done it herself. But their surrender was willing, and conscious, as if they accepted him as more capable of dealing with the kind of situation they now faced.

Beside Lily, Jehane stood silent, but his presence surrounded her.

“Go on,” ordered Kuan-yin.

Kyosti remained silent for a space of five breaths. Everyone watched him. “Ah,” he said suddenly, as if he had just recalled an important fact. “Jehane.” He smiled. “‘It is customary for there to be modesty about him.’”

“What does that mean?” demanded Kuan-yin.

“We must inform you first of all that our ship is not hooked to this station but is in free orbit, and that by itself our ship has enough firepower to—shall we say—render this station inoperable and uninhabitable. Much as we must admire your military prowess in so swiftly and comprehensively taking control of—what do they call it?”—a chuckle—“Nevermore—really, how droll—you have no chance against superior weaponry.”

“This may be true,” said Kuan-yin, “but you would die as well.”

“Ah, death.” Kyosti examined the ceiling. “Sweet bedfellow. But we are simple pawns. And the shuttle docked here is a mere trifle. But after all”—he smiled warmly at the grim-faced Kuan-yin—“we are not enemies. We seek a handful of individuals who have committed a few violent crimes. When we have them all, we will go, quite quietly, I assure you.”

“Where will you go?” asked Kuan-yin.

Into the silence made by Kyosti adjusting his sleeves, Lily lifted her head to find Jehane staring at her with intense interest. It was utterly unnerving, and overwhelming. “Back,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “They’ll go back, over the way.”

“To the lost home worlds,” he murmured. His eyes had the cold, enticing glitter of emeralds. “You are one of those they came to find.”

“No,” said Lily quickly. “I’m not. They just think I am. It was a mistake.”

“No need to fear me.” His voice was soft. “We can help each other.”

But she did fear him, feared his power to usurp her volition. With great effort, she forced herself to turn away and look down again.

“Well,” said Kuan-yin in the room below. “You’ve had enough time to think.”

“My bane,” replied Kyosti with an exaggerated sigh. “Too much time to think.” Anjahar stifled a noise suspiciously like a laugh. The angry rush of red had subsided from his cheeks; he looked as if he were enjoying himself. Maria’s face remained impassive. “But!” Kyosti raised one hand in a patrician’s gesture. “Do not be hasty. You call your regions of space the Reft, I believe. We are from beyond it. We are”—he stood and made a gracefully florid bow to Kuan-yin—“your ancestors.”

“As I thought,” said Jehane in an astonishingly hard voice. He lifted his wrist band to his mouth, spoke into it.

Kuan-yin turned and walked to the door. “These men will escort you back to your cell,” she said.

Kyosti blinked and turned to address the black wall. “Have I miscalculated?” he asked.

“Not entirely,” said Jehane in a low voice, as if in answer. “But close enough.” He watched as the entire party left the room.

“A handful of individuals for a few violent crimes.” It rang in Lily’s head, that phrase. Heredes, a criminal? Had they already killed him? Were they just cleaning up his associates? Herself among them? Bach drifted down and nudged gently at her back, like a reassurance. She laid a hand on his gleaming surface.

“Lilyaka Hae Ransome.” Jehane’s voice, not at all loud, permeated the atmosphere of the little room. He was regarding her with the same expression the Sar had when examining the first fruits of a new vein: Will this be worthwhile to mine? Will it prove valuable? “An interesting choice of name.”