Master of None (24 page)

She indicated the box, and he reached to open it, finding an ear-bead nestled like a pearl inside. “You may speak in Hengeli, if you feel you are unable to explain yourself competently in Vanar,” she continued. “That is only just.”

Just?
He wanted to say he would be surprised if there were actually any such synonymous word in Vanar. Instead, he picked up the earbead. “Thank you, jah’nari l’amae.” He worked the tiny bead into his right ear. “May this naeqili inquire as to the nature of the charges against me?”

She sat back deeper into the pillows, wincing slightly in pain. “There are no charges, Nathan,” she said, dropping her formal tone. They could have been alone in her library. “This is a private Family matter. Where did you hear your presence on Vanar was by a pre-arranged contract?”

“Then it’s true, isn’t it?” The lack of anger in him felt as sharp-edged as a hole left behind after its removal.

Yronae looked annoyed as she spoke, the interpreter’s light, passionless voice translating the Hengeli intimately in his ear. “You are not to ask questions—” she said before Yaenida’s raised hand impatiently cut her off.

“Yes, it’s true. Where did you hear it?”

“Lyris Arjusana, subcaptain on the
Comptess Dovian
.”

“Why would she tell you this?”

“She hates me,” he heard himself say dispassionately. “She’s jumping ship, not planning to return to Vanar after this next flight, and she wanted to get in a few last kicks before she left.”

He noted the rustle of surprise ripple through the room. As Yaenida eyed him silently, Yronae hastily strode from the room, returning a few minutes later. She faced her mother, lips pressed thin with disgust. “The
Dovian
left last night for St. Kiranne,” she said. “Crew of four. It’s carrying Cooperative Family cargo. Do we stop her?” The interpreter didn’t translate this into Hengeli for him, but Yronae’s Vanar was clipped enough in anger for him to follow.

“No,” Yaenida said, her voice bored. “She’s not stealing anything. Let her go.” Nathan felt rather than heard the disapproval in the room. “Why does she hate you, Nathan?”

“It’s a personal matter.”

Yronae glanced at her mother in irritation, but said nothing. Yaenida smiled, the barest hint on her lips. “Your gallantry is commendable, but misplaced,” she said, surprisingly gentle. “When I ask you a question, it isn’t a request. You do understand?”

He listened to the words, their meaning following belatedly on the sound. Then he glanced at the medical taemora watching him impassively, no doubt the gear beside her lethal.

“Yes, I understand, jah’nari l’amae.”

So he relinquished what few secrets he had left, recounted the whole tawdry story—his infidelity, the botched plans and lies, her anger and hurt—detached from it all as if it had happened to someone else. In a way, it had been someone else, so long ago. He closed his eyes as he spoke, his skin quivering as it remembered Vasant Subah’s merciless touch on a deeper visceral level even if his conscious mind had been anesthetized.

Then they grilled him with questions Vasant Subah had neglected to inquire into. Questions about his childhood, questions about the occupation, his mother, university, friends he hadn’t seen in decades and never would again. He struggled to remember the minutiae about people and places he hadn’t thought about in years, even as he recognized the prying insignificance.

When they had finished with him, his privacy utterly violated, he sat, his legs beginning to ache stiffly, and listened to the flawless but somehow stilted Hengeli in his ear as Aelgar rose to disclose the details of his fight with Tycar, including, he noted, the resolution. The senior kharvah didn’t like him, and his annoyance at being outmaneuvered was plain, even in the interpreter’s impersonal monotone.

But Aelgar knew how far he could take it, and managed to avoid outright judgment or condemnation. As did the other men of Yaenida’s House who rose to answer questions about his behavior, their hostility tacit but carefully neutral.

Nathan looked at none of them until he heard one of them say, “He spends too much time digging in the dirt.” It was Yinanq, one of Yaenida’s great-grandsons, as yet unmarried. Nathan knew he was envious of his forthcoming marriage to Kallah, and raised his head to study the young man with vague curiosity.

Yaenida blinked at him owlishly, as if perplexed. “He was trained as a botanist. He likes to grow plants. Why should you feel threatened if he chooses to make a garden?”

The young man’s face was rigidly bland. “He uses tools he takes away from the grounds machines. Why does he need to garden when the machines can do it? The tools are sharp and heavy and he could use them as weapons.”

Aelgar ducked his head to hide a rueful scowl. Even Yronae winced. Any false accusation, even those implied, would reflect badly on the Family’s integrity.

“Has he ever made a threat or any gesture like a threat with these tools?”

“He stabs the ground violently—”

“Toward you, or any other person?”

It took Yinanq several empty moments before he grudgingly admitted, “No. But he is strange.” The man’s demeanor slipped. “He should not be allowed to garden. It makes him dirty and smell bad.” Aelgar glanced at him warningly. Yinanq dropped his gaze.

“Being strange is not a crime,” Yaenida said quietly. “Nor is being dirty or smelling bad, however offensive it might be. Life sciences may be more common to women, but the nurturing of growing things is one of the devotions to our Mother earth, and all that live from Her. Surely you can’t disapprove of that?”

Although she was speaking to the young kharvah, Nathan was sure her remarks were directed toward the women. The man flushed, but said nothing. “We are not concerned if he shocks your sense of propriety. We are here to decide if Nathan Crewe Nga’esha, your
brother
, is a violent and dangerous man. Other than the one time with Tycar, have you ever seen Nathan attack or threaten anyone?”

The man’s lips compressed, determined. “No, but I’ve heard . . .” “Heard what?”

“I heard he threatened the children in the quarters where he sleeps,” the man finished resolutely.

In the long silence, Yaenida looked back at Nathan questioningly. He drew a complete blank, his memory sluggish. He shrugged.

“Threatened how?”

“He shouted at them, waving his fists and threatening to hit them. They complain they are frightened of him.”

Nathan shook his head at Yaenida, puzzled; then his face cleared as he remembered. “Ah,” he said. “The malicious little brats tormenting Raemik. I got tired of the noise, and yelled at them to shut the hell up and leave him alone. They did.”

“In Vanar or Hengeli?” Yaenida asked.

“Hengeli,” he admitted.

“Did you ever shout at them again?” she asked wryly.

“I haven’t had to.”

He caught the amused looks on the women’s faces from the corner of his eye, but kept his gaze on Yaenida. She rubbed her fingertips over her dry, thin lips thoughtfully.

“I’d prefer not to bring children into this,” Yaenida said.

“Then you’ll have to take one of us at our word,” Nathan said evenly. It seemed the lajjae was good for something.

“Thank you, Yinanq,” Yaenida said finally. He heard the rustle of cloth as the disgruntled man retook his place. “Now, Nathan, we must address the violent behavior you exhibited toward me yesterday.”

Despite the dampening effect of the band on his wrist, he knew his life depended on his answers now. “Jah’nari l’amae, you’ve been on Hengeli worlds. You know Hengeli express ourselves verbally far more directly and passionately than do the Vanar, but we don’t resort that often to physical violence.”

“Your wars, Nathan, are quite violent.”

“Are you judging me, or are you judging the entire Hengeli history and culture?” Even Yronae raised an eyebrow. “I was angry and I shouted at you, l’amae, but I had no intention of striking you or causing you any bodily harm. Despite the fact that I’ve been abducted, sold like an animal, and held prisoner on Vanar—serious crimes on any other civilized world including Hengeli—all I did was shout at you. And for that small offense, you may murder me.” He raised his steel-clad wrist. “I am neither a criminal nor a madman. I’m not sure the same can be said about those who conspired to kidnap me in the first place.”

He heard the sharp intake of the interpreter’s breath through the bead in his ear as she faltered, then continued translating his words into Vanar. Yaenida regarded him with amused, narrowed eyes.

“You came to Vanar of your own free will, Nathan,” she said. “Did I?” He forced himself to smile, despite the lack of emotion. The expression felt as strange as a mask being held over his face. He held the smile and sat still with his spine erect. After a very long moment, she nodded.

Without a word, the men stood up and filed out of the room. Once they had gone and the door closed behind them, the women stood and followed Yronae, retreating to a small anteroom, folding the screen around them. He could barely make out the murmur of voices as they talked among themselves. Except for the omnipresent Dhikar and the interpreter seated behind her, Nathan and Yaenida were alone.

“So what happens now?” Nathan asked. He noticed the interpreter still recorded their conversation.

“We wait for their decision.”

“You don’t have a vote?”

She smiled. “I have the only vote.”

“Ah.” He shifted slightly, his knees beginning to ache, and he stared out at the reddening sky. The murmur of voices went on, like the rush of wind through leaves in a tree. He tried to arouse anger, fear, regret. Nothing. He thought of Pratima, and felt no distress he might never see her again.

When he looked back, Yaenida was still watching him. “Promise me something, Yaenida. Even if you decide to kill me, first tell me why you did this to me. I think I at least deserve an explanation.”

She considered it before she nodded.

It took several hours, Yaenida dozing off at one point. The medical taemora discreetly approached the sleeping woman to examine her before gliding silently back out of sight. He placed his hands on the floor, pushing up to relieve the pressure on his throbbing knees, ignoring the interpreter’s scowl of disapproval.

The muttering continued, rising and falling soporifically. Forbidden to stand, the ache spread from his cramped legs up his spine. Finally, he shut his eyes, concentrating on making himself into a thin string, flowing down evenly into the center of the world, trying to escape into the spaces between time and matter.

It helped enough to startle him back to awareness as the women filed back into the room. Several looked unhappy, including the two from the Changriti Family, and the rest looked far from pleased. Yaenida was instantly awake, her eyes alert.

“We have discussed this matter completely, Pratha Yaenida Nga’-esha,” one of the women said as they seated themselves on the floor cushions. The others nodded their assent. “We must remember that Nathan Crewe Nga’esha is now legally your youngest son. That of course complicates this matter. His personal offense must be considered as the act of a Vanar, not yepoqioh.”

The interpreter tactfully translated the term as “foreigner,” although Nathan had heard it often enough to recognize the connotation of “ignorant nonperson not fully civilized.” Yaenida frowned.

“While the incident is regrettable, we agree he has not demonstrated a sufficiently violent nature to represent any real or lasting threat to your House or to Vanar society.”

Nathan felt no sense of relief.

One of the Changriti women spoke. “However, we do feel Vanar culture is incompatible with others of the outside, which his actions have surely proven. For the sake of our own continued harmony as well as doing no injury to other foreigners, we strongly recommend that no more foreign males be allowed admittance to Vanar for any reason whatsoever. While we understand the Nga’esha feel it occasionally necessary to permit foreign guests for business purposes, we strongly urge the Nga’esha to tighten their restrictions on any visiting non-Vanar women and strictly limit contact between the Vanar and foreigners. We further condemn granting citizenship through adoption of non-Vanar into the Families, regardless of gender.”

“Is this the consensus reached by you all?” Yaenida asked. The women muttered and nodded. “Sisters,” Yaenida said gently to the two Changriti women, “you still appear unhappy. Do you feel this matter of sufficient importance to call an Assembly of Families?”

After an embarrassed moment, one of the Changriti women answered, “No, Pratha Yaenida. We have an obvious interest in this matter, of course, but there are better things to concern the Assembly than something as minor as a private Family quarrel. We trust, however, you will be able to correct this situation before it becomes a Changriti problem as well.”

Through the film of his own detachment, he saw Yaenida’s flash of anger at the Changriti’s intimated barb, and wondered dryly at it. “My thanks to you all,” Yaenida said, and watched with hard eyes as the women left. The interpreter packed up her instruments and retreated as Yaenida signaled the taemora, pointing at Nathan’s wrist.

He watched as the taemora slid the keypin into the band, springing it open, and removed it from his hand. The skin underneath had reddened, itching in the sudden exposure to air. Tiny pinpricks made neat patterns where microscopic needles had inserted themselves into his flesh. He felt no rush of feelings flooding back as he rubbed the chafed skin, looking up expectantly at Yaenida.

“I’m too tired to go into long explanations at the moment, Nathan,” Yaenida said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll be up to it,” he said quietly.

She chuckled. “Don’t bet on it.” As he got to his feet, he grimaced, lurching slightly. His legs had gone to sleep, feeling returning with painful needles as the blood flowed to starved muscles. The taemora caught him by the elbow to steady him gently. Bowing with her hand still holding him, he headed for the door.

“Naeqilae ae malinam,”
he heard Yaenida growl, and for a brief moment thought she was cursing him. Then he remembered the gender shift. Somehow, he understood she meant Lyris.