Master of None (40 page)

Can’t you see that these are things worth protecting?
Yaenida had asked him. He shook his head to clear the memory of her voice from his mind.

“From what, Yaenida?” he murmured. “Where is the danger here?” A woman walking past him glanced at him curiously. Without thinking, he nodded his head deferentially, then paused, troubled. She had gone, unaware of his uneasiness. Just how Vanar had he become? Enough that he had not only given up his dreams of escape long ago, but had become so hardened to the system he no longer questioned it?

Wandering into the city center, he stopped outside the huge Assembly building, its towering white walls gleaming in the sunlight. Outside their family Houses, there were more men to be found on the steps of the Assembly than anywhere else on Vanar, Nathan noted. All of them petitioners, most of the women seated along the steps in order of their station acting as counselors and mediators.

He spent the rest of the day inside, sitting in one men’s public balcony after another to study what had once been as impenetrable a mystery to him as the language. Now he watched and listened as harried
vaktay
scuttled up and down stairs, held impromptu consultations in the halls, badgered abritators for decisions and hearing dates on civil petitions, divorce decrees, business torts, public service contracts, criminal prosecutions from petty theft to serious assault. He had been paying attention to an appeal from representatives of a small prefecture halfway around the planet—provincial farmers trying hard not to look intimidated by the imposing architecture or the arrogance of the court officials as they lobbied for an increase in budget for a new high-speed train—when a woman spoke, standing next to him.

“Qanistha bhraetae.”

He looked up at the Dhikar, the hem of her white kirtiya rimmed with burgundy. “Jah’nari Dhikar,” he responded respectfully, but his momentary rush of alarm was replaced with cold anger. He had to repress the impulse to look around for Vasant Subah.

“What are you doing here?” the Dhikar asked. Her tone was polite, not a hint of menace in her voice. But the Dhikar didn’t need to resort to bullying to be feared.

“Watching.”

“Do you have some involvement in this case?”

“No.”

The Dhikar glanced at the meeting, then back at him. It was not one of the more contentious issues of the day, and the public gallery was nearly empty of spectators.

“I see. You find this interesting?”

“Fascinating.” At the moment, the provincial vaktay was listing the price of various components for train engines, not even her junior associates able to stifle their yawning. The Dhikar smiled faintly, then nodded in the slightest of bows, and left.

He had been right; it was long overdue since he’d been in trouble. Outside, he sat on the steps, wondering how to approach a vaktay, when he recognized one of the women of a trio near the foot of a column on the bottom step. She had recognized him as well, trying hard and failing to appear haughty as he walked toward her. He bowed deferentially to all three, and straightened with his fingertips pressed loosely together.

“Good health, Nathan Crewe Nga’esha,” she said.

“Good health, Namasi dva Ushahayam ek Sahmudrah.”

She raised an eyebrow, the adolescent girl who’d befriended the desperate, hungry naekulam so many years ago having matured into a poised young woman.

“I’m pleased you still remember me,” she said.

“How could I forget your generosity to me when so few were willing to aid a bungling naeqili te rhowghá?” She smiled prettily, and he couldn’t help adding, “And for so little return, jah’nari l’amae.” He dropped his gaze modestly but not so far he didn’t catch her heated blush. She glanced at her companions, who seemed too fascinated with him to notice her reaction.

“I see your Vanar has improved greatly since then as well as your fortunes. Are you here on Family business?”

“No, not exactly. I’m looking for advice.” He stopped, smiling complaisantly.

She had not only grown up to be a poised young woman, but a perceptive one as well. Murmuring apologies to her friends, she took his elbow and steered him to a private area inside the colonnaded halls. “What sort of advice, qanistha bhraetae?”

“I am still quite ignorant in many Vanar ways, l’amae. How does one such as myself go about finding an advocate to represent him in the Assembly?”

“It must be our fate to meet again after all these years. I am a fully licensed vaktay, authorized as an advocate to speak for a client on any legal issue.”

“You may not want to speak for me at all, once you’ve heard what is on my mind.”

Namasi Sahmudrah raised her chin proudly, doing her best to appear authoritative. “It is your right to speak, even if it’s only to me. I may not be able to help you, but it’s my sworn duty to listen objectively and, if I see an injury has been done, do my best to find a way within the law to correct it.”

“Also you need the work,” he guessed.

Her professional manner wavered, but she kept her head high. “And representing a prominent member of the Nga’esha wouldn’t be such a bad boost to your career, either.”

Her self-assurance crumbled, again just another aspiring counselor, and he regretted teasing her. “It is true I’ve only recently graduated from university,” she admitted, “and haven’t had much practice yet at speaking for many clients. Naturally, a prominent member of the Nga’esha would wish to engage someone with more experience. I’m sure I can direct you to someone more qualified, qanistha bhraetae.” She wasn’t able to mask her disappointment.

“You were kind to me, Namasi Sahmudrah. And I never had the chance to thank you.”

She faltered, unused to such frankness. “It was nothing. . . .”

“An unmarried woman of a High Family, unchaperoned, consorting openly with a dangerous, uncivilized yepoqioh? You showed compassion and pity for a naeqili te rhowghá beyond just the desire to indulge your teenaged curiosity.” She had the grace to look chagrined. “You took a risk many others would not have dared, l’amae.”

“Unfortunately for me or my Family, I was not as discerning as Kallah Changriti in recognizing your potential. The Changriti tactics worked very well with the Nga’esha.”

“If you believe the official propaganda.” Her eyebrows rose, intrigued. “In any case, the dalhitri Kallah dva Ushahayam Changriti has never had to worry about her career prospects, unlike, say, a struggling young advocate fresh out of university.”

She smiled, looking even younger than he knew she was. “One who may not have the skills or experience you might need, which, knowing what I do of you, is likely to be more than a simple contract dispute or domestic mediation.”

“I’m not sure yet exactly what it is I want to do, or even what I can do. I will need your guidance and knowledge in Vanar law and custom. But you were brash and fearless, and caring when you didn’t have to be, and these are qualities I value far more in an advocate than experience. I would be honored if you would consent to speak for me.”

Nonplused, she stared at him. “Thank you,” she finally stammered. “I think speaking for you will prove an extraordinary experience, Nathan Nga’esha.”

He nodded. “Then we should discuss your fee.”

She laughed. “You
are
still ignorant in Vanar customs. We Vanar may be a business people, but a main principle to good business practice is fairness and availability to everyone. No one pays for legal counsel. Advocates are compensated by the state, so that all have equal access to the law. How would anyone expect justice if it were something that could be sold to the highest bidder?”

“An enlightened attitude.”

“We are an enlightened people.”

“I hope so, jah’nari l’amae” he said earnestly. “I really do hope so.”

XXXV

N
AMASI
S
AHMUDRAH, NOT UNEXPECTEDLY, WASN’T OPTIMISTIC ABOUT
his chances, and warned him that the Assembly was even less likely to be sympathetic.

“You already enjoy more freedom to pursue your research than any other man on Vanar,” she pointed out.

“It’s not enough. How can I gain access to valuable research facilities if I can’t approach a woman, or so much as initiate even a simple conversation?”

“We might be able to find a way around it, that is more a question of custom than law. But as for owning property...” She shook her head, doubtfully.

“If I can buy jewelry or flowers or music cubes, why not land? Especially worthless land? Is there any law preventing that?”

She sat in his library, in Yaenida’s old place, while he once again occupied the narrow chair, his posture correct if informal. “In a manner of speaking, there is. You are the legal property of either your wife or your Family, and by extension anything you buy is, again, property of your wife and your Family. You still need permission, implied or otherwise—whether it’s hair flowers for your práhsaedam or a house or land makes no difference.”

“But I do have the right to—”

“No,” Namasi said sharply. “No, you do
not
have the right, Nathan! I keep trying to explain this to you, but you don’t listen.
You
don’t have rights. Your
Family
has rights. If you are injured or wronged, it is a crime against your Family, not against you as an individual.”

“But even naekulam—”

She leaned onto the table, her forehead in her hands in frustration. “That is different. Naekulam are without family, but they are not
maenavah qili
, nonpersons. They are protected by the state, and a crime committed against naekulam is a crime against the state, not the person. This entire concept you have of individual civil rights is likely to be regarded as nothing more than your usual yepoqioh eccentricity, which has not endeared you to too many people as it is.”

She sat back, tapping fingernails against her reader. “And you and I both know this isn’t about you buying land or gaining access to university libraries, nor will the Assembly be fooled by it, either. I sympathize with you, I do. But we are not a people who accept reform easily, Nathan Nga’esha. Worse, you could not only fail, and probably will, but challenging the validity of unwritten Vanar customs that are more flexible than law by forcing a legal definition may end up taking away what few privileges you and many other men already enjoy. And that certainly won’t do much to increase your popularity.”

Nathan frowned. “I’m used to being unpopular. Will you still speak for me?” he insisted quietly.

After a long pause, she sighed. “If this is what you want, then yes. I’m a professional; this is my job. But I want you to understand it won’t be easy. Are you certain you want to stir up this sort of trouble for yourself?”

Nathan smiled wryly. “If not me, who?” He looked up at her. “And if not
you
, who else?”

She would need every ounce of her boldness and sympathy, they both soon enough discovered. Within days after Namasi’s filing a petition for a hearing at the Assembly of Families, he became a target of ominous hostility. He had accompanied Namasi on her way to the Assembly to consult with a more experienced vaktay when a woman collided with him in the crowded street, then brushed past him without a word.

“Pardon . . .” he reflexively started to apologize, turning around. The speed and military efficiency astonished him. Within seconds, he had been neatly separated from Namasi, herded into a ring of strangers. He felt rather than heard the subsonic hum, and recoiled with automatic terror. Agony exploded through him, bursting into his brain. He dropped to the ground, every muscle and nerve in his body crippled with pain. Distantly, he heard glass breaking. For a moment, as they beat him, he was convinced he was being murdered.

Then the torment stopped as abruptly as it had started. A woman bent down to where he writhed on the ground. “Give it up,” she whispered in his ear. Her face was nothing more than a vague blur. “Or next time neither of you will be so lucky.” He couldn’t even cry out as she stomped her sandaled foot on his hand, grinding her heel to break his fingers.

Then they were gone. He couldn’t stand, couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, the slowly abating waves of pain still paralyzing him.

“Nathan?” Namasi called out in the distance, puzzled and annoyed.

His mouth opened, but his only sound was an animal whimper, absurdly embarrassing him. Hands touched him, and he cringed away.

“Nathan Nga’esha, where did you go?” She must have spotted him then, because her voice changed from irritation to alarm. “Nathan!”

She flung herself on her knees beside him, unmindful of the dirt or blood, and rolled him into her lap. He gasped, but the hurt now was normal, bearable pain. She brushed the hair from his face, her hands shaking. His sati had come undone, bloody and torn, and he noted with detached amusement how she tugged at it in a ludicrous effort to defend his propriety. His attackers had melted away into the crowd now milling about the two of them, onlookers murmuring more with curiosity than concern.

“Nathan—”

“Namasi,” he managed to croak out, “are you all right?”

“Me?”
He heard her strangled laugh. “I’m fine, Nathan. What happened? Who did this to you?”

“An accident,” a woman said. “He fell.”

Her body went rigid. “Accident! This was no accident!”

“I witnessed it. He fell,” the woman repeated firmly.

“I am also a witness,” another said.

His blurred vision cleared enough to make out a pair of elderly women, Middle Family, prim and respectable.

“You’re lying,” Namasi retorted heatedly.

“Excuse me, jah’nari vaktay, but he’s bleeding rather a lot. Perhaps you should get him medical attention?” one of the elderly women suggested, unfazed.

As if by magic, an ambulance clinic arrived. The medical taemorae inspected his injuries curiously. Large bruises blossomed on his chest and stomach where he’d been kicked, several gashes from broken glass lacerating his arms and legs. One eye had swollen nearly completely shut, the other blinking away blood dripping from the wound in his scalp. He did yelp as the senior taemora examined his broken hand, grateful as the analgesic she hissed into the skin took effect.