The Galaxy Game (11 page)

‘I shall have to call his mother,’ he said unwillingly. It was almost a lie. On Monday, when the fog of a strangely tiring and unproductive weekend had somewhat lifted from his brain, he had tried to contact first the grandmother, then the aunt. Both were unavailable: the former was likely on a boat somewhere in the middle of Tlaxce Lake; the latter . . . well, her comm cheerfully invited him to leave a message, but none of his messages had been answered.

The mother, Maria Delarua (formerly Adafydd) o-Montserrat i-Tlaxce, had never been in the habit of replying to messages, hence her position as third on Rafi’s emergency contact list.

Ntenman winced, and that ridiculous aura of pure honesty became dimmed with an awkwardness that was far more trustworthy. ‘His mother doesn’t really like us Lyceum types, does she?’

Silyan gave him a hard look. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘She doesn’t.’ Varicella indeed! No doubt after the three-week period was up there would be some other excuse, or else complete silence. It was hardly the first time a relative had tried to take a student out of the Lyceum without going through the proper channels. The psi-normal ones were particular offenders in their suspicion and dislike for the school. He would have to submit a report to the Lyceum Board and let their surveyors deal with the recalcitrant family.

He tapped the screen on his handheld clear and straightened in his seat. ‘That will be all.’

Ntenman got up and was already at the door until the realisation that Serendipity had not moved from her chair slowed his haste. He gave her a look of puzzled concern; she responded with a brief, reassuring nod which he accepted with some reluctance. Continuing to glance over his shoulder, he stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Silyan frowned slightly. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Today I submitted my withdrawal from the Lyceum, but it felt rude not to say something to someone in person,’ she explained.

He smiled. ‘You have always been a guest, Serendipity, not a student. I am only sorry that you will not stay until the end of term.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘Some of the others are enjoying their time here. I believe there will always be a connection between the Lyceum and my community.’

He waved off her embarrassment and her stiff attempt at diplomacy. ‘Quite understandable. We Sadiri tend to keep to ourselves. The Lyceum is Terran of a very specific era, and what isn’t Terran is as much concentrated Ntshune as you could hope to find on Cygnus Beta. They like their communities, too, but they don’t mind pulling Terrans in. Once they can keep up, of course.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you taSadiri, Master Silyan? I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes, and no. Most Sadiri pilots live up to their reputation of being totally attached to their ships. A few act more like the Terran sailor stereotype, with a lover in every port. It only becomes unfortunate when psi-gifted offspring are born into a society that isn’t really equipped for them. You at least have developed and maintained a culture that supports telepathy. Galia and I have lacked such advantages, and we need the Lyceum far more than you do.’

He truly could not read her mind, nor did he need to when he could see the changes in her face. She appeared to be encountering the sensation of empathy and finding it a new but not unlikeable experience. The moment inspired an unexpected thought that passed unchecked into speech. ‘Maybe you should come to visit us.’

He was ridiculously surprised and pleased at the spontaneous invitation. ‘I should say yes,’ he replied sadly. ‘I should say yes and thank you and how soon will you be able to receive us . . . but Galia and I have a special kind of tenure at the Lyceum, a tenure that does not permit us to travel beyond its gates.’

It was her turn to show surprise and even more sympathy. It was strange how different she became when she was looking out at others rather than focused in on herself, and sad how rare that difference was. Why did people imagine that telepathy always led to closeness? He could see how her seemingly idyllic community had produced an example of such extreme self-absorption and introversion, victim of a runaway survival mechanism.

After a final formality of courteous farewells, she stood up to leave but took only a few steps towards the door before she hesitated. Before he could ask her what was the matter, she turned and spoke. ‘We have a tradition in Tirtha, something they say we kept from the days when we first came to Cygnus Beta. Whenever we travel, we take with us a piece of home to make sure we return.’

She approached his desk, put her hand into the side pocket of her tunic and drew out a small grey stone, slightly spheroid and river-smoothed. ‘Here is a stone from the monastery’s pool. When you and Mistress Galia visit the monastery, you must put the stone back into the pool.’

He stretched out his hand to take the little gift. He rubbed his thumb over its cool surface and tried to find words. There were none to be found, so instead he gave her a grateful nod and, when he could manage it, a small smile that was neither sad nor faltering. She smiled in return, a crooked, self-conscious smile, and left his office for good.

*

Serendipity took so long I feared the old boy had taken her captive or something. Not that he looked the type, but . . . pretty little thing like her, schoolmaster who never gets out, it’s a crisis begging to happen, isn’t it? But she came out just as I was working myself up to barge back in, passing me like a queen as she walked quickly down the corridor. No use. I saw her face: calm, yes, but with sorrow-struck eyes.

‘Sad, Serendipity? Why? I thought you would celebrate to leave this place.’

She threw me an exasperated noise, something between a cough and a snarl, and continued walking. I kept up. I always do.

‘It’s a long way home and you’re not expected till term-end. Want to come travelling with me?’

That got me a full look, a look that told me where I could stick my presumption.

‘Tlaxce City, maybe even Sadira-on-Cygnus. We could do a mini-tour.’ I was waving my hands like a street thespian, blocking my own sight, so I ran into her when she stopped suddenly.

‘Do you know where he is?’ she whispered angrily. Why was she always angry with me?

‘I’m going to find out,’ I told her with sudden and complete seriousness.

She started moving again, her walk slow and thoughtful rather than peeved and imperious. ‘I’ll come with you.’

As if she would have chosen differently! ‘Pack light,’ I warned her, almost skipping in unashamed glee. ‘We’re flying.’

*

I planned my stops and journey times to make sure it was mid-morning when we reached the capital. Day-trippers take over the early-morning hours and I don’t like heavy traffic, ground or air. Not much private commuter air traffic is allowed within city limits, for obvious reasons, but Tlaxce does have the best floating runway in Cygnus Beta, and it’s all for aerolight play. I nearly cried the first time I landed there. The lake inlet was narrow, the buildings looked sharp and greedy and the wind felt far too high – but once you’ve actually done it, it’s easier than a squat in the desert, let me tell you. I expected Serendipity to be a little nervous, but if she was she didn’t want me to have the satisfaction of seeing it. Cruel Serendipity. Never any fun for me, or for herself.

I had satisfaction enough, having her with me as we made our way to the address for Rafi’s sole legally registered parent. Yes, I
liked
Serendipity, but beyond that I knew everyone could see she had . . . poise? Dignity? Some indefinable quality which made it less likely that Abowen’s mother would call the police when she saw us? We entered the building easily with our IDs, found the right door and set our feet on the welcome mat. I smiled at the cameras and sensors with all the bright, beaming innocence I could muster as our information went swiftly to the occupants within. The door did not open, but a chime invited us to explain our presence further.

I pitched my voice smooth, cool and neutral. ‘Good day. We are here to see Rafi Abowen Delarua. Is he available?’

The welcome mat hummed lightly under our feet as invisible eyes and ears considered us. Time passed. I nudged Serendipity to say something.

‘It is of utmost importance that we speak to your son.’ Her voice was firm – too firm. The mat emitted a lower, less welcoming chime, a warning to step off.

‘No, wait! We’re not government. We’re his friends.’

Her words had little effect. The warning chime paused for the space of two calm heartbeats then returned with increasing volume. I skipped quickly to the side, but Serendipity stood for a while glaring at the door. I pulled her away before we accidentally summoned the residence security.

‘Appeal to authority has failed; appeal to emotion has failed. I am open to your suggestions,’ I told her.

She was still glaring, all paralysed with puzzlement, so baffled at being denied. ‘She didn’t even open the door to face us,’ she muttered.

I thought to myself that if I had spent years of my life living with an inveterate and unrepentant mind-controller, I wouldn’t be too quick to open doors either. ‘She doesn’t know us, Serendipity. What do you expect?’

Serendipity turned quickly to look at me, suddenly smiling. ‘Of course. Let us go and ask someone who
does
know me.’

There was no reason for me to feel worried, no reason at all, but her sharp swerve into enthusiasm was unnerving. In fact, so enthusiastic was she that no further wait would be tolerated. We had to leave for Sadira-on-Cygnus before sunset. She had a cousin, or maybe it was a friend’s cousin, quite close, shared quarters on a three-week trek and didn’t fall out once, and this person, this friendly relative or relative’s friend, was now living a newly-wed life in Sadira-on-Cygnus very near to the Dllenahkh homestead.

I wasn’t sure where Serendipity’s new energy was coming from, but I was glad to hear she knew a neighbour we could question. Even before we left the Lyceum, I had been sending out multiple comm messages to Rafi’s aunt, messages which remained unanswered.
That
was a good reason to worry. Grace Delarua did not strike me as a woman who hid behind closed doors until inconvenient visitors went away.

Of course, we couldn’t leave immediately. I had to draft a new flight plan and submit it to the Tlaxce Airspace Authority, so I coaxed Serendipity into being seen with me in a booth at a traveller’s restaurant where she could eat and relax (or rather, fret) and I could access the tech I needed. It took me a bit longer than I expected, which meant it took a lot longer than her patience could stretch. She ate quickly, ordered several pots of fresh, hot tea to replace the cups I sipped then neglected and began to hover at my back trying to get inside the privacy cone of the monitor. As if she could understand the least little bit of what I was doing! For the first time in our acquaintance I grew genuinely irritated at her.

‘Do you
want
to help?’ I asked her. Ignoring the bad-look she gave me in answer, I continued, ‘Find out from that cousin of yours how long airspace over Sadira-on-Cygnus has been restricted.’

Curiosity erased her anger in a flash as I pushed my handheld over to her. She wrote for a longish while and finally sent off a message. I’d given up on the flight plan and started researching the cost of hangar space and a groundcar instead. I wasn’t pleased. I was even less pleased when I learned that city regulations required me to have five years of groundcar experience and full taxpayer status, neither of which I had, and which was completely ridiculous since the nav and autopilot do better than most human drivers and city groundcars are almost impossible to steal.

‘Unless you’re as handy with cars as you are with elephants, our choices are getting meagre. We could use the slow, utterly legal and far too traceable public transport, or we might be able to beg or bribe the driver of a private car going in the right direction. Perhaps if we find a driver who likes the way you smile. You
do
smile sometimes, don’t you, Serendipity?’

Her face twisted with a combination of worry, distaste and that special grimace she saved for my wit.

‘Might need some practice on that,’ I teased her, but it was a weak effort. The monitor pulled away my attention – no, not the monitor, the flight plan I couldn’t use. I stared at it for a long minute, slowly drew nearer, and slowly began to input new data. The results were slightly – very, very slightly – encouraging.

‘Would your cousin be willing to meet us halfway?’ I asked. ‘Can she handle a draughtcar?’

‘I should think so. She lives on a farming homestead.’

I began to smile. ‘Ask her to reserve one, my credit to cover the cost. I’ll send her the information if she agrees.’

So, you see, there was actually a good reason why we drove into the Dllenahkh homestead in a heavy-duty hauler holding my aerolight disassembled and tucked in tight. There was actually a good reason why we were so damn late.

*

Two days after the clandestine night swim with a baby mindship, and two days before the unexpected visit of Ntenman and Serendipity to Sadira-on-Cygnus, Rafi found himself once more in Tlaxce City. Hours of driving from the homestead, twenty minutes of travel through the city, ten minutes of waiting for the Consul to acknowledge their presence, seven minutes of sitting outside the Consul’s office with Aunt Grace while Nasiha, Tarik and Dllenahkh tried whatever last-minute persuasion they could find in the depths of their uncomplicated, non-duplicitous Sadiri souls, and there was still no way to stop his hands from sweating. He crumpled the hem of his tunic in his fingers for the tenth time, shifted in his chair and tried not to look furtive.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Aunt Grace asked him, her tone and expression all solicitude. ‘You look like you’ve eaten something indigestible.’

‘No, I’m— I—’ He stuttered into silence, already empty of excuses, and tried diversion instead. ‘It’s . . . well, it’s sad, isn’t it? Don’t you feel sad?’

Grace Delarua, eternal optimist and warrior against grim realities, looked bleak. ‘Yes, it is, and I do. Not that we didn’t expect this would happen, but . . . everything is so uncertain now. It feels like a sentence, not a posting.’ She belatedly bit her lip after the last, hushed words.