Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  “Thank you, Delegate.”

  “We want to solve this peacefully.”

  “Sure.”

  “I will see you then.” Marin Federza bowed and strode to the shop entrance.

  Thayu watched him, the listening device attached to her ear. Her face showed no emotion.

  As he walked across the plaza, the realisation came to me: like Delegate Akhtari, Trader Marin Federza was an Aghyrian, the original inhabitants of Asto who had almost been extinct.

  I also had a feeling his meeting me here had been no accident.

  After I finished ordering the uniforms, Thayu took me to the Trader Ledger. The gamra financial organisation occupied a freestanding building in the middle of one of the courtyards. The outer walls made entirely from glass, it looked like a giant crystal cube, strangely out of place in this stately complex with its ochre-walled buildings, mosaics, carved columns, arched entranceways and nary a right angle.

  I had been to the office before, but as I stepped into the cooled air and padded onto the soft carpet of the light-filled hall where couches stood around low tables, the whole atmosphere obtained a new meaning. This was the office of gamra’s most important financial institution, and it belonged to the Trader Guild. No other entity had commercial representation within gamra headquarters.

  And Marin Federza, whom I had just met, represented them, represented this entire building with its wood panelling and glass walls, with its luxurious carpet and polished wood tables surrounded by soft chairs; he represented all the employees, dressed in Trader red, a bright carmine, who worked quietly at their desks, modern holo-projectors before them.

  Thayu led me towards an employee who beckoned, and then bowed as we took seats opposite the table.

  I gave my name and details, and the employee brought up my account.

  There had been a modest transfer as part of my gamra advance. Not a great amount. Not enough, I thought, to pay for the accommodation when that bill appeared.

  “Is there anything else? I’m expecting an advance to come in from Nations of Earth.”

  The man used his eyes to give a command. More figures hovered in the air; he shook his head. “Nothing as yet.”

  Damn Danziger. What was going on?

  “Could it be that the transfer is held up because new accounts need to be set up?” My first stipend was meant to have gone in at the signing of the handover.

  “It could be . . . but in that case the hold-up is at the other end. Any transfer affected anywhere at any of our offices is available immediately. That is our service guarantee.”

  I blew out a breath. The money simply wasn’t there. Right—I reordered the six office staff in my mind—I had to reserve one person to chase up the funds more aggressively for a few days. If I had a few days, because right now, I had nothing to pay them, and someone was sure to turn up with a bill.

  12

  WE MADE OUR WAY back to the apartment along the tree-lined waterfront. Delegates clad in various amounts of blue sat on benches, quietly discussing or reading. The windows of the administrative offices of gamra subdivisions looked out over the marshland. A lazy harvester floated in a field, sunlight glinting off its beetle-like back and the surrounding water. Locals waded through the paddy to load bags onto a flat-bottomed boat.

  In the distance, the main island of Barresh basked in sunlight. Pink-flowered trees spread their crowns over the roofs of the blocky mansions of the old families. The white dome of the council building protruded from a mass of green.

  The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of wet mud.

  I felt Thayu’s presence next to me without looking. The warmth radiating from her pricked my skin, even in the bright morning sun; I hovered between wanting to step away and wanting to get closer. If she had been Nicha, we would have touched in some way, one of those wordless Coldi gestures. A hand on the shoulder, a tickle in the side, a pat on the head. Just to confirm that yes, I’m still here. I still support you.

  I halted and walked onto one of the eating-house terraces, if simply to step away from her, to have an excuse not to touch her, and put a table between us.

  We sat down under a large tree, and I studied the branches for listening equipment.

  Dappled shadows fell over her face, each with one yellowish and one bluish edge, an effect of the binary suns. It gave her eyes a soft look.

  Those gorgeous eyes. I had dreamed of Inaru again last night. Was this bewitching woman going to leave me in peace?

  The guards had stopped at a few benches that lined the edge of the terrace. For security, I guessed. Evi unclipped a reader from his belt and used his thumb to flick through the screens.

  A small beep signalled the arrival at our table of a serving robot, a circular column about half a metre across, on three sturdy wheels. The top part swivelled so a screen faced us.

  “Any idea about the specialties of this place?” I asked Thayu.

  “The chilled juice isn’t bad.”

  I went through the robot’s menu, making sure that whatever juice I ordered from the selection was suitable for both of us. Even that simple action brought memories—asking for lists of ingredients from restaurants when I took Inaru somewhere away from the Coldi community. As afterthought, I added two lots of yellow-coded juice for the Indrahui guards, who sat, silent and observant, watching every movement on the terrace.

  The robot accepted my code and ambled into the building. Silence lingered.

  Eventually, she asked, “Is there a problem?”

  I said, in a low voice, “I’d like to know who is going to pay for my accommodation. Is anyone paying you?”

  Thayu frowned at me. Her gold-speckled eyes reflected the blue sky. “I get my usual stipend.”

  I presumed the money came directly from gamra headquarters. “What about the apartment? How much am I being charged for that?”

  “You haven’t been told?”

  “No. I know nothing. All I knew was that I’d have accommodation, and I assumed that would be on the ground floor.”

  “You are unhappy that gamra gave you better accommodation?”

  “The quality of the accommodation is not the issue. Didn’t you see my fund balance back there at the ledger? That’s all I have. There is no way I’ll be able to pay for the accommodation, and for the staff.”

  A frown made her eyebrows bristle. “Maybe someone is lending it.”

  “Yes, but whoever lends me accommodation will want something in return. That’s why I want to know whose apartment it is. Who is spying on us?”

  She blinked, still frowning. “I don’t know. I thought it wise to make you aware of the equipment. It may not be used for a reason in particular. As far as I know, all apartments are bugged this way. I don’t know who owns the apartment.”

  “And I don’t believe that.”

  She blinked. “The only thing I know is a name, a local I think, someone who is not in the assembly. The apartment is registered in the name of Renkati. I have no idea who this person is.”

  I tried hard, but didn’t entirely succeed, in stifling my Earthly anger. She had known the name of the owner all along. How very Coldi.

  “To me, the name alone is an answer, even if you don’t know who the person is.”

  A short silence. She looked down. “My apologies, Delegate.” Back to formal pronouns.

  I touched her then, lifted up her chin until her eyes met mine; a Coldi gesture of forgiveness. “I said to call me Cory. I understand what you’ve been taught. Only the full reply will do, but listen: giving me the name would have told me that whoever owns the apartment, it’s not anyone I know. I don’t know why I was put in here or even if it’s important, or if the listening equipment is routine, but one thing we do know: this is not a routine situation. I am sure this is not a standard job for you either. My boss was murdered. The person you replace has either been framed for the crime or arrested on the basis of discrimination. Delegate Akhtari seems to think someone is after me. Every bit o
f information, no matter how incomplete, is valuable to me, and it should be valuable to you. We are stuck in the same shit together.”

  She winced; I had used the word orro, meaning the putrid contents of the latrine in army desert camps, drawn from Nicha’s extensive vocabulary of Coldi swear words. She said nothing, blinking several times.

  I let out a breath. “Thayu, I want you to find out who this person is, who is listening to me, and with whom they’re allied.”

  “I will do that, Delegate. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I will try to do better.”

  I lifted up her chin again. “I told you to call me Cory.”

  She gave me a blank look.

  I cursed myself for much of the way back to the apartment. This was not going well. How could I make her understand that I couldn’t, just couldn’t, be as close to her as a normal zhayma relationship demanded?

  Eva would not understand that the reassuring pats on the head didn’t mean anything, or weren’t supposed to mean anything, but reminded me of Inaru, or . . . awakened memories I thought I had forgotten. So many things I had never told Eva. How could I not adore anyone whose eyes were so incredibly beautiful? How could I not gaze and marvel?

  It wasn’t right. I didn’t want to be touched by her, and when she got a feeder, I didn’t want to share my thoughts with her.

  With Nicha, it had been easy. Nicha grew up in London; Nicha understood.

  And now Thayu thought she failed me, and this whole mess was my fault. I, who had lived under the illusion that I understood Coldi so well. That I could handle cultural differences. That I could separate intimacy for bonding and intimacy for love.

  And I couldn’t.

  I wanted Nicha back.

  As I stepped into the hall, Devin ran out of the darkened hub room. “Delegate. Someone has been most insistent to contact you.”

  “Someone?”

  “I don’t know who it is.”

  Danziger. Hope flooded me. “What did you tell them?”

  “I couldn’t tell them anything. They don’t write Coldi.”

  In a few steps, I was in the hub room. I sank into the chair, still warm from where the young man had been sitting. “Where is the message?”

  Devin bent over the control panel and dragged out the message from behind other projections.

  It was from Eva. I knew I shouldn’t feel disappointed, but I did. Why was Eva the only person writing to me?

  Cory, I’m scared. The press, World Newspoint and Danziger’s people are saying a lot of horrible things about you. Ever since you left our street has been blocked off. The place is swarming with journalists. They want information, as if Dad can give that to them. No one in Athens is willing to speak to the press. Nicha has been arrested. Some people are saying how you might have something to do with Sirkonen’s murder because you disappeared. I don’t believe this at all, of course, but I worry. Now there are rumours that you have been kidnapped in Barresh. Please Cory, let me know how you are.

  I stared at the text.

  I had sent her messages. “You disappeared”? What had happened to the contribution I had written for Word Newspoint yesterday?

  I pushed Eva’s letter to the side and opened the Exchange link.

  As I scrolled through the World Newspoint service, my first thought was that they hadn’t put the statement up at all. Eventually I found my long letter . . . in the fucking opinions section? I linked to the many comments attached to the article, half of which, or at least the ones I read before my eyes clouded over with anger, seemed to doubt the authenticity of my message.

  If you are really Mr Wilson, some loudmouth said, maybe you could tell us why these aliens are dictating the terms to us.

  Someone else said, I hope the police are reading this. You do understand that impersonation is a criminal offence and that electronic mail is traceable?

  I scrolled down further—

  No. I must write to Eva first. Tell her that I had written to her and ask her if—

  Nothing from Danziger or Delia or Amarru. Nothing from Nixie Chan about Nicha.

  Who had been blocking my messages?

  I breathed out, closing my eyes.

  I could almost hear Eva’s voice, Work, work, work. Do you ever think about anything else?

  The truth was, and I might as well admit it, I didn’t. I was my work, totally committed to the project that had grown from a small suggestion I had made to Sirkonen many years ago. I lived the project, I breathed it. I might be stuck here forever because of it, but if I didn’t believe in it, then who else would?

  Not World Newspoint obviously. Not Nations of Earth, who seemed to have cast me adrift like a malfunctioning satellite. Who was blocking my messages?

  I had to answer Eva.

  I opened a blank message screen on another patch of air and slid the thought sensor behind my ear. No typing—thank the heavens.

  Dear Eva,

  That sounded stupid. Delete.

  My love,

  No. The whole technologically-enabled universe was watching me. Delete.

  Eva,

  Not ideal, but heck, I’d think of something more endearing before I hit send.

  I stared at the blank page. Saw Eva’s face as she had kissed me goodbye, not knowing that I’d leave, saw the silhouettes of her parents in the hall of her house, always watching what she was doing. Her street blocked off, her house besieged by journalists. She would be terrified.

  I remembered how I had first met her, at a Victorian ball organised by a group of wives of Nations of Earth ambassadors. I had happened to be visiting from Athens, and had been invited along to the matchmaking ball by someone in Delia’s office, a girl who had long since left, and had probably had an eye on me and who knew I was looking for a woman after my painful break-up with Inaru had been publicised. Instead, I had become enchanted by the daughter of the Polish ambassador, and had dived headlong into a quaint society of dinners and balls, public morality and abstinence before marriage. Far removed from the New Colonist society of which I had been a part since I was ten. Ichi and ata-ichi.

  Eva, with the innocent brown eyes.

  The message was still as blank as ever.

  Thayu sat in the corner of the room. A slight frown made the hairs of her eyebrows stand up. Inaru used to look just like that, and then the next thing she’d say something hilarious and break into laughter.

  Would Thayu have the same wry sense of humour? I’d seen some of it yesterday.

  Damn, I was supposed to be writing to Eva.

  What would I write? I couldn’t, couldn’t write her a fake good-news letter. With everyone watching, I couldn’t tell her the truth either. I have no money and it looks like Nations of Earth no longer want to know about me.

  Besides, there was no need to alarm her. Eva was safe with her parents. Eva might be upset by a picket line of journalists outside her house and some malicious gossip, and yes, I knew that was not very nice, but her father knew about potential risk involved in these types of situations. He had security staff at his disposal. There was no need to say, Look, Mr Zbrowsky, it might be wise if you kept your daughter away from anyone you call a “chan” for a while. She might be a target for kidnapping.

  Would Asto do that, if they were really involved in the whole mess? That was not at all the style of the Asto military. Never discount anything, of course, but in the history I had read of Asto, their policy was shoot first, ask questions later. OK, so let’s just presume they had shot. Where were the questions?

  Oh, confound it. My mind was wandering all over the place. I needed to think about this letter, and I didn’t feel comfortable with both Devin and Thayu watching me like cats before a mouse hole.

  I grabbed my reader, pushed myself from the chair and strode out of the room, across the hall, through the sitting room. I opened the doors to the balcony and stepped into the hot midday air. The heavy scent of tropical flowers enveloped me. I leaned on the railing, looking out over the marshland tha
t glittered in sunlight like a bath of mercury. A few flat-bottomed boats travelled lazily along the channels between the reeds. For a moment I pictured myself in such a boat. Nicha sat opposite me and on the floor stood a picnic basket. Way out beyond sight, following the currents across the marshes, the delta ended in a sand spit where the water tasted like liquorice and waves crashed on the shore. Waves perfect for surfing. On the other side of the island city, where the escarpment met the marsh, there was a lagoon surrounded by lush forest where water steamed in pools of pink and orange.

  I’d seen pictures.

  When all this trouble was over, I should find the time to see these things for myself. With Nicha.

  A bench stood in the corner of the balcony. A tree in a planter box cast dappled shadows over the wooden seat. I sat down and balanced the reader on my lap. A sting reminded me that I was favouring my right hand today, and that simply picking something up with my left hand required bending the fingers, and that was just too painful. At least I could stop shivering here.

  I tucked the thought-sensor behind my ear.

  So what could I write to Eva?

  I have arrived safely and everything is fine.

  No. Delete that. I was not on a holiday; she knew that.

  I just want to say I’m fine, and have arrived safely, contrary to what the gossip press might say.

  Oh, it wasn’t just the gossip press, and language like this sounded too stiff. I wasn’t writing a political document. Delete.

  Eva, don’t worry about me, no matter what people say. I am fine, and starting work here in Barresh. No one has kidnapped me. Not entirely true, but what the heck, I had a start. There are reasons why I had to come here quickly, and in time, those reasons will be revealed. No, scratch that, try again. I can’t tell you why I had to come here so quickly. There are reasons which I didn’t know when I left your house. I wish it had been different.