Master of None (26 page)

Feeling his face grow hot, he struggled to remain expressionless. She puffed smoke from around the stem of her pipe without looking at him. She smiled, more at herself

“Ah, Nathan,” she said, “and it is also true, I confess, I have a weakness for Hengeli men. I love their spirit and humor, even at the worst of times. Especially at the worst of times.”

That disturbed him and he looked away, out at the passing shadows of clouds against the window glass. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said distantly.

“I know,” she said gently. “I also understand why Lyris has fled Vanar, and it isn’t out of fear of me. Vanar is beautiful but stifling, life outside is just too damned much fun. If I wanted Lyris back, it would be easy enough to apprehend her. How long do you think she could really hide on some colony outworld?”

“Why don’t you then?”

“Because she’s much like myself, as I was at her age.” Her old eyes glittered with bitter amusement. “I paid her in full, despite her failure. Her own Family would never have given her enough money to leave, and I suppose I wanted her to escape from Vanar, as I once had, for much the same reasons.” She shook her head. “But not all. You see, Lyris is Vanar through her mother, but her father was a flight control officer on Beacon Station. He’s Hengeli, like you.”

He sat back in surprise, but said nothing.

“I’m not the only Vanar who’s found you brash young Hengeli men irresistible. Her father didn’t even know he had a daughter. Lyris’s mother was recalled to Vanar before the child was born.” She grinned at the look on his face. “We don’t care about half-breed children, Nathan. Only the mother’s line is important. Her mother was a prominent Arjusana, a proud, powerful High Family. Legally, Lyris has all the rights and privileges to her Family motherline. In the extremely unlikely event that she had been the daughter of a Vanar man and a foreign woman, she would have had no birthrights whatsoever. She might have been happier that way.

“Only our most trustworthy and dedicated are allowed off-world. It is discouraged, but not forbidden to fraternize with yepoqioh. But you off-world men are so appealing to Vanar women, so innocent and arrogant and carnal. Passion sometimes interferes with common sense. Vanar women are entirely capable of controlling their own reproduction. That she fell in love with a Hengeli was appalling enough, but permissible. To allow herself to become pregnant by him was quite unacceptable.

“So, instead of being the daughter of an eminent Arjusana, Lyris grew up on Vanar trying to make reparations for her mother’s weakness. She grew up dreaming of her Hengeli father, but when she finally found him, he wanted nothing to do with her. Terrified, in fact, that if his Vanar superiors found he had even spoken to her, he’d lose what was left of his career on-Station. Then she met you. Her mother’s fatal attraction to yepoqioh men apparently runs true in the daughter as well. In the end, Lyris Arjusana became a very bitter, unhappy young woman who has had a very bitter, unhappy life. I wish her luck wherever she is.”

It made sense, the fierce animosity between Lyris and her Vanar shipmates, her fury with him when he, her Hengeli lover, had betrayed her.

“Unlike me, she doesn’t have to come back. Her disappearance makes little impact on the overall infrastructure of the Arjusana Family.” Yaenida smiled fleetingly at him. “Frankly, I think they’re all secretly relieved to see her gone.”

She leaned back, staring dreamily toward the ceiling through the haze of smoke, and smiled at the memories hidden there. “But I never had the luxury of such a choice. Although my mother was pratha h’máy, it was my sister who had been groomed since birth as heir. I was a bored troublemaker, a rebellious little shit too smart for my own good. I refused to marry any of the men my Family had chosen. I didn’t want to settle down to a life I thought would smother me alive. My mother hoped time off Vanar might satisfy my wandering nature, get the restlessness out of my system, and bring me back with enough worldly experience to make me a valuable advisor to my sister.

“But crewing on a Nga’esha Cartel liner was almost as dreary as Vanar itself. I ran off when we reached Rhodus, got a hitch with a hairy old freighter navigator more interested in filling up his time with drink and talk than with sex. He took me as far as Novapolita, where I completely humiliated my illustrious Family by enlisting as a lowly foot soldier in the Hengeli civil dispute.”

“You fought on Hengeli?” He was startled. “For which side?” “It’s all the same, who cares? I picked one at random.”

His jaw tightened. “People died in that war. A lot of people.” Including his father, he didn’t add. She knew it already.

“I suppose so.” She shrugged. “But that sort of violence is all so remote, so dull. Push this button, pull that trigger, fire and smoke and destruction, certainly a lot of dead bodies. I probably killed a few people myself, who knows? But after the initial thrill wore off, I found war tiresome and stupid, and such a waste of my valuable time. So I deserted.”

She laughed. “Of course, once the Hengeli found out who I was, they diplomatically altered it to a ‘voluntary discharge.’ I may have been a deserter, but I was still Nga’esha. We do as we damned well please. Everyone else can rewrite history however it suits them.

“But while I was off scandalizing half of Vanar, my sister, Q’sola, had botched several important business ventures. My mother conceded the favorite she wanted wasn’t the heir she needed. I was dragged back to Vanar.” She chuckled. “Quite literally, in fact, kicking and screaming the entire way. But my experience with the outside worlds my poor sister detested came in handy before too long.

“Q’sola considered the Stations simply utilitarian depots for ships on their way from one system to another. We hold the monopoly, the Stations are a necessity, who cared how uncomfortable or basic they were? She couldn’t understand why I pushed so hard to spend precious Nga’esha resources to expand Richter and Cooper, to develop casinos and theaters and restaurants and taverns and brothels—all the sort of recreational amenities that don’t appeal much to the Vanar but do to quite a lot to the Hengeli systems. It required negotiating with non-Vanar companies to run and police the Stations. Which meant establishing permanent non-Vanar communities on-Station, with schools and hospitals and shops, more money out of Nga’esha coffers going straight into yepoqioh pockets. You wouldn’t believe the protests I had to continually appease. All I did for years was beg, borrow, threaten, blackmail, bribe, scheme, and conspire before we ever saw the first return on such an extensive investment. When we finally did, I plowed it all straight back into building a new Station: Sukrah, the largest ever built. The profits on Sukrah alone made us the biggest fortune in Vanar history. The Nga’esha became the most powerful of the Nine Families, and I’d sealed my reputation. Q’sola was discarded and I was named heir, the next Nga’esha pratha h’máy.”

She paused, puffing on her water pipe thoughtfully. Why she was confiding the details of her past life to him, he didn’t know, and didn’t dare ask.

“But success and pride went to my head. I became arrogant, insolent, convinced I was always right. When my mother died, Q’sola tried to have me assassinated.” Her gaze hardened as she glanced at him. “Did you ever believe women were any less bloody-minded or greedy than men, Nathan?” she asked with dangerous softness. “Did you ever suppose
I
did?”

“No, l’amae,” he said carefully. She smiled without warmth. “Fortunately, she was as incompetent at murder as she was at business. I survived, and the experience made me wiser. Q’sola’s firstborn was about twelve then: bright girl, sharp. Yronae. I did two things very quickly. First, I adopted Yronae as my daughter and designated heir; then I married two kharvah, the first a youngest son in the Daharanan Motherline, a somewhat minor but respectable High Family, and the second the son of the Ushahayam pratha h’máy, a powerful Family I needed at my back. I chose them both very carefully, and my senior kharvah balanced out his junior partner quite nicely.”

“What happened to Q’sola?” Nathan asked, caught up in her narration enough to momentarily forget his own worries.

“Oh, I forgave her, naturally. The matter never became public, as it was a private Family concern. You see, when a man is rejected by his Family, he becomes naekulam. There is no such thing as a female naekulam. The shame is too great. If Q’sola had been exposed, she would either have been exiled or gone into permanent retreat in the Temple.

“Q’sola already had an established network of cronies as well, while I’d been off on my grand adventures. I returned experienced in everything but what I needed to survive on Vanar. So I forgave her and showered her with honors and gifts. She was my right hand at every Council, my most trusted advisor. We were inseparable, true sisters once more. Willingly or not, she taught me everything I needed to know about Vanar Family intrigues and politics.”

She blew smoke at the ceiling then lowered her head, bright eyes fixed on his. “Then a few years later, she conveniently died.” She raised an eyebrow at the suspicion in his face.

“Q’sola was a surly, unforgiving bitch whose incessant bungling was becoming an embarrassment the Family couldn’t afford. She drank too much, so I provided her with vast quantities of the very best with a few untraceable additives to speed her along the way.” She exhaled another gust of smoke, squinting at him. “Which is how murder is done
properly
in High Families, Nathan,” she said mildly.

“Does Yronae know?”

“Of course. How else would she have learned as well as she has? She has her mother’s rigidness, but none of her obstinate stupidity. Q’sola threatened the stability of the entire Family, not just me. Had she succeeded in murdering me and taking my place, sooner or later Yronae would have had to find a suitable way of killing her mother herself. For the good of the Family.”

He felt the skin on his cheeks prickle, a sharp ache in the pit of his stomach. “As you would have me killed if I became a threat to the Family?”

“Exactly,” she said without hesitation. “Even as fond of you as I am. And it’s far easier to get rid of troublesome men than troublesome sisters.”

He sat wordlessly as she returned his gaze steadily, smoke wreathing a halo around her head. Finally she smiled, not unkindly. “As a man, however, you’re an insignificant liability. There’s not much you could do short of a serious act of violence that would warrant disposing of you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said dryly, forgetting himself. “That makes me feel a hell of a lot better.” Then he bit his lip nervously, not in the least relieved when she laughed.

“Don’t worry, Nate,” she said affectionately. “Your smart mouth is one of the things I like best about you.”

“My smart mouth nearly got me killed,” he said sourly.

“Ah, yes. Your smart Hengeli mouth.” Her eyes were bloodshot from the smoke, almost glowing. Dragon’s eyes. “Your world may be a burnt-out wreck, but Hengeli remains the most common universal language throughout the inhabited systems. Even the Vanar must use Hengeli to negotiate with yepoqioh. Do you know why?”

“I keep telling you, jah’nari l’amae, I’m not a linguist.”

“Because Hengeli was the first language of flight. We took our traffic vernacular with us wherever we went. It’s a wonderfully plastic, forgiving language anyone can adapt to.”

“The lingua franca of the stars,” he said dryly.

She laughed. “If you
were
a linguist, you’d understand the irony of what you just said.”

“I don’t need to be, Pratha Yaenida. I know damned well what I said. But other than as casual entertainment, what do you want from me?”

Her eyebrows rose slightly as she waved a bone-thin hand toward the walls of books, a fortune in gold jiggling on her wrist. “Seven hundred years of Vanar literature, culture, science, philosophy, history— all that makes us what we are—are in this room.” She nodded to her flatscreen. “The books are merely artifacts. Far more information is contained in the library archives under our feet, enough to fill a thousand rooms this size. Nearly all of it is completely unknown outside Vanar.”

He glanced around, puzzled.

“Like it not, Nathan, you are going to be my linguist,” she said, her voice flat. “You will learn not only our language, but the history and the culture, the art, the music, the mentality. Learn it well enough to help translate this work into Hengeli.” She waved a vague hand to take in the whole of the library. “You have the working understanding of the outside culture, and you will be able to make us understood where we cannot hope to explain ourselves.”

His jaw dropped. “My God,” he breathed. “You can’t be
serious
...”

“It has been my own private project. I’ve devoted nearly a century and a half to it, already. Bit by bit, I’ve been exporting it, while I’ve done what I can to import new ideas. I want to expand Vanar’s influence, for us to be accepted and admired, not just feared because we are unknown. Make us understood.”

“And how do I do that?” Nathan demanded. “I have even less contact now with the outside than any other Nga’esha man in your House.” Aelgar had made it clear that Nathan would never serve at another banquet, the likelihood he would ever see anyone other than the Vanar again near zero.

“The reach of a pratha h’máy is very long, Nathan, sometimes even from beyond the grave, “ she said dryly. “You need worry only about the translations.”

“And if I refuse, you’ll have me drink myself to death?”

“Of course not,” she said contemptuously. “Your life will simply become even more interesting than it is now.”

“I’m just an overrated gardener, Yaenida! I don’t have the training, the background, I can’t
do
this—”

“Wrong answer. You
will
do this.”

The finality of her voice silenced him.

“I don’t expect you to translate everything. But you have plenty of time.” She smiled vaguely.

He stared around at the room of books in horror, feeling the weight of the databank below like an anchor sucking him down into black water. “I couldn’t finish this if I lived to be a hundred.”