Master of None (49 page)

“For which she should lose her authority and be immediately recalled in disgrace,” Yronae snapped.

“She’s hardly the first woman to have an affair with an Hengeli man on Station. Or off,” Mahdupi said lightly. “Even your esteemed mother Pratha Yaenida seemed fond of them in her immature youth, particularly large furry ones who liked to drink and talk too much.”

Yronae glanced away, but not quick enough to hide her anger. “My esteemed mother, Mahdupi, never betrayed Nga’esha secrets in exchange for sex.”

Mahdupi must have known how treacherous was the ground she walked on, but shrugged, unruffled, and retrieved her brandy glass. “No, but it wouldn’t have been beneath
her
to attain secrets in return for sex. It served her well the first five decades of her rule. We think we know them, because we come and go as we please, while Vanar remains closed to them. But bear in mind, my child, we have only one of theirs.” She nodded in Nathan’s direction. “
They
have many, many more of
us
out there. And it’s so very tempting, out among those enchanting peoples.”

Yronae scowled. “What could our women possibly find so tempting about such a dangerous primitive culture?”

“Freedom,” Nathan whispered.

“
Khee?
”

He felt the sweat on his palms against the spheres, the drugs still scintillating through his bloodstream making him reckless. He looked up, straight into Yronae’s eyes. “Freedom, pratha h’máy. The freedom to go anywhere you want, any world and any Station, to say what you feel, to be with who you want, to love who you want, to do whatever you please. To escape all the traditional restrictions and have all the pressure of Family obligations a billion billion miles away.”

Mahdupi watched him gravely, her head tilted as she listened. Whatever the sphere still in Yronae’s hand was indicating, it was unpleasant enough for her to wince. Yronae passed her other hand across her forehead, shielding her eyes for a moment. When she looked back at him, he had lowered his gaze, once again the epitome of a properly deferential Vanar man.

“Paranoia or not, bluff or not,” Yronae said, “even the allegation Nga’esha security on Station has been compromised can hurt us. The Changriti will use any charges of corruption for their own gain, whether they can prove it or not.”

“It may not be a flaw in Nga’esha security,” Mahdupi said calmly.

“No?”

Again, Mahdupi glanced at him, averse to discussing Nga’esha Family business in front of him. “They made every pretense his presence was an act of luck they hoped to turn to their advantage. And it is true the ambassador and her aide spent several hours in contact with their ship, accessing their own data records, before they asked to meet him.”

“But?”

“If they have equipment sophisticated enough to evade the surveillance in our guest quarters, surely they can conceal their real communiqués behind a technological smokescreen.”

Yronae snorted in contempt. “Now who is infected with Hengeli paranoia?”

Madhupi shrugged a shoulder, unconcerned. “Your mother and I have been playing these games since before you were born, Pratha. I may see patterns you do not.” When Yronae looked thoughtful, she continued, “So how did the Hengeli know Aenanda Changriti is only five years old?”

Startled, they both looked at Mahdupi. She smiled and sipped her brandy.

“The Changriti would
never
—”

“Perhaps not knowingly.”

Yronae was silent for several tense moments. “There is still too much we don’t know.”

“Agreed.”

“But whatever the Hengeli have sealed in their barrel, we cannot afford
not
to buy it. If it is a subterfuge to buy them passage through to Novapolita, we’ll deal with the consequences later.” To Mahdupi: “Keep a close eye on Sukrah. Declare a complete lockdown if you must.” To Nathan: “And you will meet with the Hengeli again when they return. It shouldn’t arouse suspicion to say we are simply reassuring them one of their own is being well-treated.”

Nathan nodded silently.

“If they give you something to pass on to us, go through Mahdupi. Mahdupi has always had the right of private access to the pratha h’máy—that will go unnoticed.”

“Hae’m, jah’nari l’amae.”

She paused, observing him. The drugs and tension elevated his blood pressure, his heart thudding dully, making him slightly nauseous.

“You have an unnaturally close rapport with your daughter. Children often know more than we give them credit for. She will trust you and will tell you anything you ask. We should arrange for you to see Aenanda as soon as possible. You will naturally be overcome by paternal love, beg Kallah’s forgiveness and to be allowed to return to your rightful duties as her kharvah—”

“No.”

Yronae stopped with her mouth open, stunned at being abruptly interrupted. For several seconds, she stared at him. “What did you say?” Her tone was very low, dangerous.

“No, Pratha Yronae. I will not do that.”

Mahdupi found something fascinating at the bottom of her brandy glass.

“You will do as your pratha h’máy requires of you,” Yronae said softly, her face pale.

He exhaled a deep breath before he spoke. “Forgive me, Sister, but you can’t have it both ways. Either I am Vanar or I am not. I will not exploit Aenanda as a pawn in your strategy. Use me in whatever manner you like, but not my daughter.”

“I do what is in the interest of the Nga’esha Family. Your daughter is Changriti—”

“She’s an innocent child!” He struggled to get his anger back under control.

“You enjoy all the rank and privileges of a Nga’esha,” Yronae snapped. He bit back a laugh, and her scowl deepened. “With that privilege comes duty. If you are not prepared to fulfill your duty on behalf of your Family, perhaps you should not profit from the benefits of that Family.”

Mahdupi glanced up at her, startled, before her gaze slid back to the now empty glass in her hand.

Nathan stared at Yronae in disbelief.

“Well?” Yronae finally snapped.

Slowly, he shook his head, a completely Hengeli gesture. “I have always considered you difficult and demanding, sometimes even ruthless, but never dishonorable,” he said quietly. Yronae was silent now, sitting a shade too fixed. “You’ve treated me harshly at times, as is your right as my pratha h’máy. But if you would make me naekulam as punishment for protecting my daughter, then I welcome it. Yours would no longer be a Family I would be proud to be a member of.”

Mahdupi’s mouth pursed thoughtfully as Yronae flushed, struggling with her own emotions. He hoped the sphere still clutched in her hand convinced her that he, at least, was not bluffing.

“I will not tolerate this sort of debate from a bah’chae,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “It is not your place to judge me.” She flung the metal sphere back into the box with enough force to make him jump.

The muscles in her jaw worked. “We will meet with the Hengeli tomorrow, and talk about the rest later.”

Mahdupi’s subtle smile told him he had won.

“Hae’m, pratha h’máy.” He swallowed hard and bowed deferentially.

XLI

H
E NEVER GOT THE CHANCE TO MEET WITH EITHER RASHIR OR RUUSPOELK
again, however. In the early hours of the morning, he started awake at the sound of a woman’s voice. “Little brother.”

He blinked awake to see a woman standing in the open doorway of his private room. Women very rarely ever came to this part of the men’s house, particularly this late at night. It was Bidaelah, Yronae’s youngest daughter, he was astonished to see, and was just as suddenly afraid.

She stood flanked by two Dhikar, the blue borders around the ends of their white kirtiyas marking them as Nga’esha household security. They each carried heavy articulated rifles strapped onto their arms and shoulders, the first time Nathan had ever seen any of them carry weapons. He could hear the faint whispers of the soundpearls nestled inside their ears, connecting them to their Nga’esha overseers.

“Come with us,” Bidaelah said grimly.

“What have I done?” It was out before he had thought about it, and flinched as one of the guards deliberately flexed her hand, the subdermal implants squirming to life with a harsh hum. The Dhikar’s expression was totally blank, without malice.

“Be quiet and do as you’re told,” Bidaelah said sharply. Wordlessly, he stood, still clutching his reader and the ancient book he had been transcribing when he’d dozed off. No one objected as he held them against his chest, bowing jerkily before he followed Bidaelah into the long hallway. He watched her thick braid swing with her stride, the beaded end brushing the curve of her rear. Behind him, he heard one of the guards murmur something indecipherable, speaking through the transmitter to someone at a distance. He saw no one in the men’s section, the halls and rooms surreally silent. The huge carved doors separating the women’s house from the men’s opened to admit them, then closed with an audible thunk of a lock dropping into place.

He was marched quickly past the halls leading to the library, past those branching off to the gardens and the women’s private rooms, past the huge receiving hail, down long, twisting corridors into a part of the House he had never been in before. Two other heavily armed Nga’esha household Dhikar stood before a large door, the wood functionally solid rather than carved into lace, ignoring them stoically as they approached. He stopped behind Bidaelah as she placed her palm against a security scanner by the door.

It slid open to reveal an empty elevator larger than his own room in the men’s section. He flinched when one of the Dhikar laid her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers pressed into his skin, firm but not unkind, there simply to prompt him into the elevator and hold him in place.

His mouth was dry, his chest constricted, and he had to force himself to take deeper breaths. The doors slid shut behind him. After a moment, he felt the elevator begin its descent with only the faint sensation in his stomach as evidence of motion. He had no idea how far into the earth it sank, but knew it was deep under the House. It opened to a large, busy room filled with white-clad security and the noise of many voices speaking at once. Several people stopped to stare at him, their expressions inscrutable. He noticed he was the only man.

The Dhikar’s hand on his shoulder prodded him forward to follow Bidaelah at a quick pace to the far end of the vaulted space. It was cool, a tang of damp ozone in his nostrils, and he tried not to imagine how much rock lay above his head.

The corridors here were plain, smaller and far more utilitarian than the luxury of the House above. He was admitted past another set of doors, these made of heavy reinforced steel. They closed behind him on silent oiled tracks before another identical set rolled open. Behind these, he found himself inside a circular room, many arched doorways around its circumference, and in the center, pacing agitatedly, was Yronae. She held one finger to keep the bead in her ear in place, muttering softly to the black transmitter looped around her neck. One eye was concealed behind an odd contact lens, green and red light flicking across her iris, bright enough to reflect against the bridge of her brow and nose.

She glanced up at him as he entered. The lens continued to blink its data, unheeded. Her other eye was bloodshot, tired, and she stopped speaking to whomever was on the other end of the transmission. The guard’s hand released him as they neared her. His arms still clenched the book and reader against his chest, but he bowed to her respectfully.

She didn’t return his gesture, staring at him for several moments. Then, in two quick strides, she stood in front of him, glaring up at him, her lips thinned into a tight, angry line, fists curled in anger. She was close enough for him to hear the tinny sound of a voice whispering in the soundpearl. He braced himself, thinking she was about to strike him, waiting with as much dignity as he could under the circumstances.

When she spoke, it was in the private Nga’esha women’s dialect he didn’t understand, her words addressed to her daughter. Bidaelah nodded, grasped his forearm, and tugged him to one side of the room. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see his guards were no longer behind him, and allowed himself to be led to a small semi-circular alcove behind an arched, open doorway. The only furnishings were a pile of floor cushions.

“You will stay here, out of the way,” Bidaelah said.

He nodded, trying to be cooperative. “What is happening?” “Shut up,” she snapped. Startled by her rudeness, he gaped at her. “You are to do as you are told and say nothing, do you understand?”

Stunned, he bowed slightly before he sank down to the floor cushions, still holding the book and reader tightly. Biting her upper lip, she turned away, taking only two steps before she stopped. “It is necessary,” she said to him over her shoulder without looking at him. The color was high on her cheeks, and he knew Bidaelah was not used to being discourteous.

He took that for an apology. Left alone, he drew his knees up toward his chest and watched Yronae pace the circular room. No one spoke to him, no one even acknowledged his presence, as they listened to the beads speaking in their ears and murmured in the women’s language he couldn’t understand. He kept his attention on the pratha h’máy.

Her concentration had focused back on whatever messages were being transmitted to her lens, her expression distant, listening and responding to a world beyond the enclosed room. Other women wore similar lenses. He spotted Mahdupi standing hunch-shouldered, her weight shifting from foot to foot as she read the information being projected against her retina, her eyepiece a larger monocular lens held in place over one eye, anchored to the earbead she touched occasionally. She looked up sharply, snapped her fingers, and pointed toward an archway. Four of the Dhikar security left briskly, already settling their rifles into place around their shoulders. As she turned, he caught her attention for a moment. She stared at him for several seconds, not hostile, but impersonal.

Nathan felt the fear rise along his spine, an ache settling between his shoulder blades. He shuddered, and forced his fingers to unlock from around the book and reader to set them gently on the floor beside him. It was several seconds before he noticed someone standing beside the archway and looked up sharply.