by Jean Lorrah
By the time it was over, every person in the room was crying. The performers remained in stillness as the silence told them more than any applause how much the audience had been moved.
Jonmair dabbed at her own tears, and looked over at Baird. He reached out a hand, and she took it, feeling at last that he understood, and that next month he would accept transfer from her. She wanted it so badly—it had to be how Need felt for a Sime.
Finally Zhag got up, cradling his shiltpron, while Tonyo moved his chair to center stage. Zhag sat down again, and Tonyo spoke to the audience.
“We have with us tonight soldiers, both Sime and Gen, who fought in the battle against the Raider bands who almost brought on Zelerod’s Doom. They tell me that in that campaign Simes and Gens had to learn to fight side by side, shoulder to shoulder, comrades rather than enemies.”
“That’s true,” said Conta. “I was there.” She took Robert’s hand across their table.
“That was when you learned that Unity was possible,” said Tonyo.
“It was,” called some of the soldiers at other tables.
“And you tell me,” Tonyo continued, “that after the battle was won, Simes and Gens who had fought together, had shared food and selyn, did not separate back into Sime and Gen units, but celebrated together.”
“Aye!” “We did!”
“And there was a song everyone knew,” Tonyo added. “They say the music goes back to the Ancients, but the words are different in different times and places. I know it, Zhag knows it. You know it—and it doesn’t matter if we all sing different words. We all know the same tune. Join me!”
The shiltpron crashed into a vibrant marching rhythm, and everyone began to sing, growing louder as they gained confidence. Tonyo was right that everybody knew different words to the verse—but whatever they had once sung for the chorus, there were new words now, spread throughout the territories by those who had been there:
“Peace to Sime and Gen forever,
Hope for Sime and Gen together,
Peace to Sime and Gen forever,
Together one and all!”
When the song ended the cheering and whistling were loud enough to raise the roof. Everyone rose to their feet in acknowledgment of the catharsis they had experienced, Sime and Gen alike.
The performers bowed, holding hands, Zhag’s tentacles sealing Sime and Gen hands together. Zhag’s laterals dripped ronaplin all over Tonyo, who didn’t seem to mind or even notice.
But on the stairs up to the Gold Salon, both performers wiped sweat and ronaplin off themselves as the mob surrounded and carried them upward, the entire audience trying to crowd into the small room where supper was laid out.
Baird and Treavor Axton signaled to their staff, and waiters quickly began circulating with chits for the gambling tables and promises that after they had eaten, Zhag and Tonyo would circulate through all the rooms so everyone would get the chance to see them again.
The near riot averted, Treavor Axton turned to Baird. “You made a real find, Son. That’s the most amazing act I’ve ever zlinned, and I’ve been in Norlea all my life. Offer Zhag a raise and a year’s contract before someone snatches them from us the way you snatched them from Milily. Give them free rooms into the deal! People will come in at all hours if there’s a chance of running into our star attraction.”
When Baird and Jonmair reached the Gold Salon—by the back stairs that were not open to the public—they found their “star attraction” holding court.
Zhag and Tonyo sat behind the largest table in the room, drinking porstan and talking to people who had formed a receiving line. Jonmair saw a Sime woman surreptitiously pick up the ronaplin-soaked towel one of them had left draped over the back of a chair. A rather odd choice of souvenir.
Someone brought Tonyo a plate of food and he ate heartily, trying to entice Zhag. Suddenly Zhag gasped and grabbed for the canapé Tonyo was about to bite into.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” said Tonyo.
“That’s poison to you!” said Zhag, turning pale. Then he looked up at Baird. “Doesn’t your chef know brown dagger mushrooms are deadly to Gens?”
Baird seemed taken aback. “Probably not. I didn’t know it.” He looked helplessly at Jonmair.
“It’s on the list we got at Carre,” she said. “Tonyo—didn’t you learn what to watch out for?”
“Yes—but I just assumed food would be safe here.”
“You’d pay attention if you stopped breathing!” said Zhag, his fear for his partner and Companion turning to anger.
“All right,” said Tonyo, “I’ll be sure to look under the toppings before I eat anything.”
Zhag said to Baird, “Gens can’t zlin. How are they supposed to know if some ingredient in a sauce or a salad is poison to them?”
He took Tonyo’s plate, zlinned it carefully, removed a small sandwich made of many layers of colorful ingredients, and handed the rest back.
“I’ll make certain Chef gets the list from Carre,” said Baird.
“Chef likes Tonyo,” said Jonmair. “He’d never deliberately—”
“I know it wasn’t deliberate, but if he had eaten that he’d be just as dead. You have Gen patrons now,” said Zhag. “You don’t want them to have to worry about whether they dare eat your food.”
“Just label it,” said Tonyo, “the way they do in Householding refectories. Simes Only, Gens Only, and if it’s unlabeled it’s safe for everybody.”
Jonmair could see Baird trying to assimilate the idea of Gens as patrons. If it sounded strange to her, how much more difficult must it be for him?
How could it be so easy for Zhag?
The Householders arrived just then, and Zhag and Tonyo invited them to sit with them. Jonmair realized that that was why the two had commandeered a table for eight. She enjoyed seeing the way Zhag and Thea, although neither was post, lit up when they saw one another. Baird told Zhag and Tonyo about his father’s promise that they would circulate through the salons, and left them to their friends.
“Come on,” he said, taking Jonmair’s hand as they left the crowded salon. But when they reached the back stair again, he led her up, not down, to a landing where they would not be seen, nor zlinned through the post-heavy ambient below. Baird drew her into his arms and kissed her. At last!
Jonmair kissed eagerly back, loving the feel of his hot mouth exploring hers as his arms supported her, one hand cupping her head, handling tentacles sliding into her hair. In a moment he drew back, gray eyes luminous with promise. Then he took her hand again and led her to his room.
Her breath coming rapidly, Jonmair turned to Baird the moment the door closed, and began unbuttoning his shirt. His tentacles dealt with the fastenings of her dress, and they laughed as they stripped one another and fell onto the bed.
Their mating was swift but sweet, Baird grinning up at Jonmair as she straddled him, working her hips to pleasure herself while she saw in his eyes that she was carrying him away. He caressed her with hands and tentacles, even extending his laterals to tingle her nipples with ronaplin.
By now they knew many of each other’s quirks, but there were still little surprises, such as Baird’s helpless gasp when Jonmair held him suspended with her field as she built her own desire to its peak before she released him to share the moment of perfection.
Panting, Baird pulled her down into his arms, kissing her aggressively. “You are incredible!” he whispered.
“So are you,” she responded. “I wish we could stay here forever.”
He sighed. “Don’t tempt me, sorceress.”
And then something wary entered his eyes, and he frowned. Sitting up, he said, “Why did I let you do that? I have duties, and so have you, Jonmair.”
“No one missed us,” she said, putting a hand carefully on his forearm, knowing now exactly how to torment him with her field without hurting his delicate laterals.
“Don’t!” he said, pulling away. “Get dressed,” he said, pulling on his own
clothes. “We’re expected downstairs.”
His laterals were now tightly retracted, so her field could have no effect on him. They did have to go back downstairs, but Jonmair was certain that their few stolen moments had hurt nothing.
Still, she didn’t argue, but found her own clothes and put herself back in order. Her carefully-coiffed hairstyle was a casualty, though. She brushed it into shining waves and followed Baird out of the room.
The Post remained crowded, the biggest house Jonmair had seen since she had come to work here.
“It will be even more crowded once word gets out,” said Baird, all business once again. “We’ll take out the back tables in the main salon tomorrow, and put more chairs in. We’re going to be sold out for the foreseeable future.”
In the gambling hall, Jonmair saw a greater bustle than any night since the Last Kill. All the tables were crowded, and at the bars at either end Emlu’s girls plied their trade successfully for the first time in two weeks. As Jonmair watched, three of them led customers out. She refused to let herself think of the torn sheets to mend tomorrow.
Zhag and Tonyo were circulating through the hall, accepting congratulations on all sides. They had changed from their costumes into casual shirts and denims. Jonmair held her field tight so her moment’s amused speculation would not show—but the musicians were not post. They would have changed clothes only so their costumes could be cleaned for tomorrow’s show, not because of any hasty, sweaty encounters with the opposite sex.
The performers were alone—not surprising that the Householders had left, as so many channels and Companions could not have time off at once. Thea would probably save her free time until she and Zhag were post again.
The musicians settled on stools at the end of the bar, where they continued to charm everyone who approached them. When the crowd finally thinned out, Zhag and Tonyo got up to leave. Tonyo staggered slightly, and Zhag righted him. Drunk?
“Nah, just tired,” the Gen reassured them with a sleepy grin. “Great night. Don’t want it to end.” But his words were smothered in a yawn.
Zhag laughed. “I’d better get you home, before I have to carry you!”
“I want to talk to you about that,” said Baird. “Come into the front office for a minute. Tonyo, you can take a nap if you like.” He gestured to the couch as they entered the office.
But Tonyo elected to remain standing. “If we’re gonna talk business, I’d better stay awake.” His eyes widened, and then he glanced at Zhag. “Thanks.”
“What did you do?” asked Jonmair, who had sensed a change in the ambient that caused her to shift position to shield Baird, but couldn’t say what it was.
“I’m projecting Need,” Zhag replied, “and just a hint of interest in you. It puts my Companion into alert mode. Now, Baird, what did you want to talk about?”
“We’d like to offer you a raise and a year’s contract,” said Baird.
“Six months,” said Zhag as if he negotiated such things daily, “extendable for six more if both parties agree, payment to be renegotiated quarterly.”
Jonmair choked back a giggle. She hadn’t expected the shy artist to turn abruptly into astute businessman.
But, “Agreed,” said Baird. “Fifty percent increase over what we’re paying you now.”
Zhag looked at Tonyo, who nodded.
“Agreed,” said the shiltpron player. “Draw it up, and we’ll sign it.”
“Wait a minute,” said Baird. “It still includes Tonyo eating lunch and supper in our public dining rooms.”
“As long as they don’t try to poison me,” said Tonyo.
“I’ll get Chef the lists of foods from Carre in the morning,” said Baird, “and we’ll start labeling immediately.”
“Payment,” said Zhag. “Half and half between Tonyo and me.”
Baird shrugged. “I don’t care how you split it.”
“No—hold off on the contract for a few days. Tonyo will take the citizenship exam as soon as the office opens in Norlea,” Zhag explained. “Then he can open his own bank account, and sign his own contracts. It’s important, Baird. People have to get used to Gens handling their own affairs.”
“What difference does it make?” Baird asked in annoyance.
“It makes a difference,” Jonmair put in. “Take my word for it.”
Baird scowled at her. “Zhag and Tonyo are an act,” he said. “Zhag’s managing it. It’s routine to pay the manager rather than the individual performers.”
“Then put Tonyo down as manager,” said Zhag. “There’s a point to be made, and we have an obligation to make it.”
Baird sighed. “All right—I’ll have our bookkeeper split the payment. Now—one more perk. We want to give you rooms here.”
“No,” chorused Zhag and Tonyo, without the consulting glances.
“But why?” Jonmair asked. “It’s so much nicer here than that old house you’re living in.”
“Privacy,” said Zhag. “We’re not just Sime and Gen—we are channel and Companion. You don’t have a suitable suite of rooms. When we have transfer, we don’t want to have to traipse over to the Old Pen or to Carre to use one of their antiseptic cubicles, or else have to use your—” distaste in his voice “—old Killroom in order not to have every Sime in the vicinity zlin what we’re doing.”
“But your house isn’t selyn insulated at all!” said Baird.
“It’s far away from everything and everybody,” said Zhag. “Besides, we’re looking for better quarters. We also require musical privacy—someplace we can compose without being overheard.”
“My father really wants you on the premises,” said Baird.
“Not gonna happen,” said Tonyo. “Baird, I don’t know exactly what relationship you and Jonmair may have,” although the way the corners of his mouth turned up as his eyes went to Jonmair’s loose hair indicated that he knew perfectly well. “However, it’s obvious she Companions you. I nightward Zhag when he’s in Need—but when we’re post, we both require privacy. We are neither sexual partners nor voyeurs,” he said bluntly.
“So?” said Baird. “No one cares, Tonyo.”
“Well, we do,” the Gen explained. “We have to have a house or an apartment that allows us to be together during Need and have privacy when we’re post—yet always be within reach. The Householdings build suites for Simes and Gens to accommodate the Need cycle. There are houses built on that design for mixed Sime~Gen families over near Carre. We’re looking for something like that, with far more insulation than average, but we’re not going to ask you to remodel for us.”
“Tonyo requires a place where he doesn’t have to control his field every minute,” Zhag added. “If he overwhelms me at times, think how careful he has to be among renSimes.”
“I can handle the ambient in public,” said Tonyo. “But, well, it’s really hard to find a place to relax. Think about it—you wouldn’t want me sleeping in the room next to yours. If I had a nightmare, I’d spook every Sime on the floor!”
And you wouldn’t dare lose control during your sexual escapades, Jonmair realized. She hadn’t thought of a field as strong as Tonyo’s was reputed to be as a liability.
“I see,” said Baird. “All right—we won’t make residency a requirement. But don’t be late for lunch. And we do have a sound-insulated rehearsal room you can use.”
The terms were agreed to, Zhag and Tonyo left, and Baird and Jonmair were free for what was left of the night.
Jonmair was not as tired as Tonyo, as she had been off duty most of the day. They walked through the gambling hall, which stayed open all night. Inveterate gamblers were still at the tables—there was never a time when this room had no patrons.
Less than half the tables were occupied at this hour. At one of them, Robert and Conta played poker with a group of Simes who, she deduced from the pile of chips in front of the Gen soldier, were learning that a poker field was a greater advantage than a poker face.
At the back of the room, Treav
or Axton played cards with a group of Simes his own age. He looked better tonight than he had since his rough transfer. If Zhag and Tonyo could keep making Simes—and Gens—feel post even after poor transfers, the Axtons should consider expanding their main salon!
Jonmair moved nearer to Baird as they climbed the stairs, letting her anticipation show. When they entered his room, she turned into his arms.
Tentacles tightly retracted, he grasped her upper arms and pushed her away, saying, “Stop that!”
“Stop what?” she asked, letting honest puzzlement show in her field.
“Stop controlling me!”
“I’m not!” she protested. “I’m only letting you feel what I feel.”
“So you can get what you want from me!”
“I thought we wanted the same thing.”
“How does Zhag stand it?” Baird asked.
Jonmair tried to follow his train of thought. “You mean how he lets Tonyo protect him from the ambient?”
“I mean how he lets Tonyo run his life!”
Jonmair frowned. That was not how she saw the two musicians. “They’re partners—equal partners. It’s hard for people to think of Gens as fully human, but we are. Zhag makes sure he treats Tonyo that way because they are in the public eye, setting an example.”
“That’s what you want us to think, isn’t it?” asked Baird.
“Us? What do you mean, Baird?”
“Us—Simes. You Gens want us dependent on you. You already have the power of life and death. Why do you have to control our thoughts, too? Is it revenge?”
She fought to control her emotions, although she could tell Baird was deliberately not zlinning. “Baird, you know I can’t control your thoughts,” she said reasonably. “I can influence your feelings only if you let me. What you’re doing right now is all you ever have to do to escape Gen influence.”
“Right,” he said, “just give up one of my senses!” He shook his head. “Get out of here, you whore! I know what you are now. How I could have let you use me earlier—”
“Baird, no!” she gasped, cut to the quick.
“I said go!” he insisted. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
