The officer looked at the ID, made a call on his belt unit, . . . would have retained the card, but that Raen held out her hand and insisted. She turned, pocketing it, and gestured to the two guard azi to take charge of the baggage. Jim was leaning on the counter, seeming to have recovered himself, although he was still shaken. She returned the gun to him and he hastily put it in his pocket, missing the opening several times in his agitation. He walked well enough. Warrior and companion stalked along with them, and the shop personnel and the terminal employees and others who had reason to be in the cordoned area stared at them uneasily as they sought the door.
“The car will be there,” the senior officer said. “There’s an executive from the Board coming out to meet you, Kontrin; we’re profoundly embarrassed—”
“My sincere regrets for the next of kin. I want a list of the names and citizen numbers and relatives of those killed. There will be compensation and burial expenses. Relay the information to that address. As for the executive, I’m more interested in settling myself at the moment. There’s another call I want you to make. I understand there’s an Outsider trade mission in the City. I want someone from that mission . . . I don’t care who . . . at that address as quickly as possible.”
“Sera—”
“I wouldn’t advise you to consult with ITAK on it. Or to fail to do it.”
Outer doors opened. She heard the officer behind her speaking urgently on the matter through his belt unit; it would be relayed. An ITAK police personnel transport waited outside, armored officers with rifles ringed about it. Raen kept her hand near her own weapon, trusting no one.
It took time to load baggage in, to have the azi and the two majat settled in the available space in the rear of the transport. “We can find a car,” an officer said; Raen shook her head. She did not trust being separated from her belongings. She still feared majat, a sniping shot; their vision could hardly tell one human from another, but they were stirred enough not to care for such niceties.
The majat must go in last. Warrior fretted, nervous at so many humans it must not touch. Raen touched the sensitive palps, held it attentive an instant. “You must not touch the azi in the vehicle, Warrior. Must not frighten them. Trust. Be very still. You-unit tell the other Warrior so.”
It boomed answer, protest, perhaps; but it boarded, its partner with it. The officer slammed the door. Raen hurried round and flung herself in beside the driver. A man slammed the door. She set her drawn gun comfortably on her knee in plain sight as they moved out, watching the shadows of the pillars as they whipped past the terminal entry for the exit ramp.
They were clear. She gave the officer driving the address she wanted and relaxed slightly, trying not to think of Warrior and its companion and the azi in the rear, behind the partition, and what misery they were severally undergoing, two Warriors forbidden to touch and three azi pent up with majat in near darkness.
Night-time city whisked past, lines of domes marching out into dark interstices of wild land, asterisk-city, mostly sealed or underground. The flavor of the air was coppery and unpleasant. The stormclouds boiled above them, frequent with lightnings, and a spattering of rain hit the windshields and windows, fragmenting the lights. Then they were underground again, locked into the subway track, whisking in behind a big public carrier. Raen hated these systems, this projectile-fashion passage through public areas; but it was, perhaps, the safest means of travel this night.
Majat hives did not have communication equipment— no links with station— but majat had been ready for them: red-hive, with ambush prepared. Humans had participated in it almost certainly.
And more than Warrior had died: two beta envoys were gone, two who had been in prolonged contact with a Kontrin, who had perhaps talked too much.
She was not about to trust ITAK. She doubted, at least, that they would move against her openly: it might be— if they knew she was alone, that there was not behind her an entire Kontrin sept and House—
But one bluffed. It was all, in fact, that Kontrin had ever been able to do among betas, in one sense— for the armed ships that rested solely in Kontrin hands were inevitably far away when one might need them; but the ships did exist. So did the intimate knowledge of the psych-sets with which the original beta culture had been created. So did the power to license and embargo, to adjust birth quotas, to readjust any economic fact of a beta’s existence, individually or by class.
The beta beside her did not attempt friendliness, did not speak, did not acknowledge her: stark fear. She had seen the reaction elsewhere. She remembered the port, the salon of the ship . . . reckoned what her coming might mean to Istra, which had not seen Kontrin onworld in centuries, many beta lifespans; the veil jerked rudely aside, a whole world subjected to what she had done to the folk of Andra’s Jewel.
In her present mood, her hand clenched and sweating on the grip of the gun, with the reaction of the ambush finally overtaking her, she little cared.
iii
The car disengaged from the tube-system and nosed up the ramp into a residential circle. It was an area of lighted paving, with space for greenery— or something similar— in the center. A high wall encircled them, gates 41, 42, 43 . . . the rain-spattered windshield showed the glare of more lights, vehicles clustered at the area of 47. A guard let them through the open gate; they eased up the curved drive. Floodlights from the cars had the grounds in garish clarity: twisted tree-forms, dappled trunks and tufts of tiny leaves. The garden was all rocks and spiky plantings, and the house was a white, tiered structure, contiguous with the neighboring houses, so that the whole would form a cantilevered ring, like one vast apartment, each groundlevel with its own walled garden. The driver wove past two obstructing vehicles and stopped the car before a well-lit entry, a portico with uniformed officers aswarm about the door.
Raen opened the door and stepped out, spattered by rain-drops, whipped in under the portico, and waited while the driver and another officer opened the rear doors. They retreated in haste, and Warrior one and Warrior two climbed out, grooming themselves in evident distaste. Jim followed, and the two guard azi . . . unharmed, Raen was glad to see.
“Jim,” she said. “You two. Get the luggage out and put it inside the house.” She looked then to the officers on the porch and those with her. “Are there occupants?”
“The house has been shut for half a year, Kontrin.” A man in civilian clothes edged forward among the others . . . dark-haired, overweight, balding. There was a woman with him, likewise civilian, matched in age, and in corpulence. “Hela Dain,” she said. “My husband Elan Prosserty, vice-presidents on the board.”
“ITAK is vastly sorry,” the man said, “for this reception. Our profound apologies. If we had known you were without sufficient guard . . . You’re not injured, Kontrin.”
“No.” She recalled the gun and slipped it back into its place beneath the cloak. “I’m a guest of the Eln-Kests. Posthumously. I regret the circumstances, but I’ll take the hospitality nonetheless. If one of your security people will lodge himself at the front gate . . . outside, if you will . . . to discourage the most obvious intruders, I’ll take care of the rest Kindly come inside. I requested another presence here; have they arrived?”
The Dain-Prossertys made shift to follow her in the wake she cut through the crowd of police and armored guards, into the house, with its stale air and mustiness. Agents were inside likewise, and another group, conspicuous for their white faces and their bizarre dress, four of them.
Outsiders, indeed.
“Kontrin,” Hela Dain said with careful deference. “The senior of the trade organization, ser Ab Tallen, and his escort.”
Armed. She did not miss that. Tallen was gray-haired, thin, aging. There was one of his young men of strange type, a physiognomy exotic in the Reach. She put out her hand, and Tallen took it without flinching— smiling, his eyes unreadable, cold . . . real. No Kontrin had dev
ised the psych-set behind that face.
“Kont’ Raen a Sul hant Meth-maren,” she said. “The Meth-maren. A social courtesy, ser Tallen. How kind of you to come.”
Tallen did not flinch, though she reckoned the summons as delivered by the police had had no option in it. “An opportunity,” he said, “which we were not about to refuse. The fabled Kontrin company.”
“The Family, ser. The company has set its mark on things, but those days are past.” The Outsider’s ignorance dazed her; she was pricked by curiosity, but it was not the time or place, not with betas at her elbow. She turned away, made a nod of courtesy toward the ITAK executives. “How kind of you all to come. I trust the little difficulty has settled itself and that it will stay settled. Would you kindly rid me of this commotion of police, seri? Extend them my thanks. I trust my communication lines are free of devices and such. I trust they have been making sure of that. I shall trust that this is the case. I don’t have to tell you how distressed I would be to discover something had slipped their notice. Then I would have to carry on some very high inquiries, seri. But I am sure that no one would let such a thing happen.”
Fear was stark in their faces. “No,” Dain assured her at once. “No,” her husband echoed.
“Of course not,” she said very softly, put a hand on each of their arms as she turned them for the hall, dismissing them. “I thank you very much . . . very much for disarranging yourselves to come out here on such a night. Convey to the board my thanks for their concern, my sorrow for the Eln-Kests and for the damage at the port. And if one of you will contact me tomorrow, I will be very pleased to make that gratitude more substantial; you’ve done very kindly by me tonight. Such attention to duty should be rewarded. You personally, seri. Would you be very sure of the guards you set at the gate, of their dependability? I always like to know who is accountable. I shall be through with these folk in very short order. Merely a courtesy. I do thank you.”
They let themselves be put into the hall; Raen turned back then, hearing them quietly ordering police out. There was a sudden disturbance; she looked back: the majat were in, stalking back through the house, on their own security check.
She regarded the man Ab Tallen, gave a deprecating shrug. “I shall be staying, ser. I wanted to be sure your mission was informed of that fact. And I shall welcome the chance to talk with you at leisure, as soon as matters are stable here.”
“You’re of the government, Kont’ Raen—”
“Kont’ Raen is sufficient address, ser. Kontrin are the government, and the population. And is your mission permanent here?”
“We understood that our presence onworld had official—”
“Of course it does. ITAK is competent to extend such an invitation. I have no plans to interfere with that. In fact, I’m quite pleased by it.” It was truth, and she let a bright smile to the surface, a conscious weapon. “If I had not asked to see you, you would have had to wonder whether I knew of your presence and how I regarded it. I’ve told you both beyond possibility of misunderstanding. Now we can both rest tranquil tonight. I’m extremely tired. It’s been a very long flight. Will you favor me with a call tomorrow?”
This man was not so easily confused as the Dain-Prossertys. He gave a self-possessed and slight nod of the head, smiled his official smile. “Gladly, Kont’ Raen.”
She offered her hand. “How many Outsiders are on Istra?”
His hand had grasped hers. There was a very slight reaction at that question. “A varying number.” He withdrew the hand in smooth courtesy. “About twenty-two today. Four went up to station at the first of the week. We do come and go with some frequency: our usefulness as trade liaison depends on that freedom.”
“I would expect that, ser Tallen. I assure you I’ve no plans to interfere. Do make the call tomorrow.”
“Without fail.”
“Ser.” She gave a nod of courtesy, dismissal. Tallen read it, returned it with the same thoughtfulness, gathered his small company, and left; the others not without paying their courtesy likewise . . . not guard-types, then. She stared after them with some curiosity as to precisely how authority was ordered among Outsiders, and what strange worlds had sent them, and how much they truly understood.
The police had vacated; there was the sound of cars pulling away outside. The Dain-Prossertys had disappeared. She walked into the hall, the door open on the rain on one side, Jim and the two guard-azi with the baggage on the other. The majat stalked up behind her from another doorway, and stopped, sat down, waiting.
She drew a breath and looked about her, at the house and the azi. It was a comfortable place: execrable taste in furnishings . . . it gave her a little pang of regret for the Eln-Kests, for in its betaish way it had a certain warmth, less beauty than Kontrin style, but a feeling of habitation, all the same.
“Stay now, Kontrin-queen?”
She looked at the Warrior who had spoken, the smaller of the two. “Yes. My-hive, this place.” She looked at Jim, at the new azi. “You have names, you two?”
“Max,” one volunteered; “Merry,” the other. They were not doubles. Max was dark-haired and Merry was pale blond, Max brown-eyed and Merry blue. But the heavy-bodied build was the same, the stature the same, the square-jawed faces of the same expression. The eyes told most of them . . . calm, cold, stolid now that their existence was reordered. They could recognize threats; they were likely compulsive about locks and security; they would fight with great passion once the holder of their contracts identified the enemy.
“You two will take direction from Jim as well as from me,” she told them. “And identify yourselves to the majat: Jim, show them. Warrior, be careful with these azi.”
The two Warriors shifted forward in slow-motion, met Jim; auditory palps flicked forward in interest at his taste, Kalind blue’s memory. Max and Merry had to be shown, but they bore the close touch of mandibles with more fortitude than betas would have shown: perhaps the ride enclosed with the majat had frightened all the fear out of them.
“That’s well done,” she said. “There’s not a majat won’t know you hereafter; you understand that.—Luggage goes upstairs, mine does; the other can go to some room at the back: Jim, see to it. You two help him; and then check out the place and make sure doors are locked and systems aren’t rigged in any way.” She wiped a finger through the dust on a hall table, rubbed it away. “Seals aren’t very efficient. Be thorough. And mind, Kontrin azi have license to fire on any threat: any threat, even Kontrin. Go on, go on with you.”
They went. She looked at the two majat, who alone remained.
“You remember me,” she said.
“Kethiuy-queen,” said the larger, inclining its head to her.
That was Warrior’s mind.
“Hive-friend,” she said. “I brought you Kalind blue, brought Kalind hive’s message. Can you read it?”
“Revenge.”
“I am blue-hive,” she said. “Meth-maren of Cerdin, first-hive. What is the state of things here, Warrior-mind? How did reds know us?”
“Many reds, redsss, redsss. Go here, go there. Redss. Goldss. I kill.”
“How did reds know us?”
“Men tell them. Redss pushhh. Much push. I defend, defend. The betas give us grain, azi, much. Grow.”
“How did you know to come to the port, Warrior?”
“Mother sendss. I killed red; red tastes of mission, seeks blue, seeks port-direction, I reported and mother sent me, quick, quick, too late.”
It was the collective I. I could be any number of individuals.
“But,” she said, “you received Kalind blue’s message.”
“Yesss.”
“This-unit,” said the other, “is Kethiuy-queen’s messenger. Send now. Send.”
“Thank Mother,” she told it. “Yes. Go.”
It scuttled doorward with disturbing rapidity, a rattle
of spurred feet on the tiles— was gone, into the dark.
“This-unit,” intoned the other, the larger, “guards.”
“This-hive is grateful.” Raen touched the offered head, stroked the sensitive palps, elicited a humming of pleasure from Warrior. She ceased; it edged away, then stalked out into the rain— no inconvenience for Warrior, rather pleasure: it would walk the grounds tirelessly, needing no sleep, a security system of excellent sensitivity.
She closed and locked the front door, let go a breath of relief. The baggage had disappeared; she heard Jim’s voice upstairs, giving orders.
The temperature was uncomfortably high. She wandered through the reception room and the dining room and located the house comp, found it already activated. That was likely the doing of the police, but the potential hazard worried her. With proper staff she would have insisted on a checkout; as it was, she stripped off her cloak and set to work herself, searching for the most likely forms of tampering, first visually and then otherwise. At last she keyed in the air-conditioning.
Failing immediate catastrophe, feeling the waft of cold air from the ducts, she sat down, assured that she could see the door in the reflection of the screen, and ran through the standard house programs from the list conveniently posted by the terminal . . . called up a floor plan, found the usual security system, passive alarm, nothing of personal hazard: betas would not dare.
Then she keyed in citycomp, pulled Merek Eln’s ID from her belt and started inquiries. The deaths were already recorded: someone’s extreme efficiency. The property reverted to ITAK; the Eln-Kests had not used their license-for-one-child, and while Parn Kest had living relatives, they were not entitled: the house had been in Eln’s name. A keyed request purchased the property entire, on her credit.
Human officials, she reflected, might be mildly surprised when citycomp and ITAK records turned that up in the morning. And Parn Kest’s effects . . . Merek Eln’s too . . . could be shipped to the relatives as soon as it was certain there was no information to be had from them. It was the least courtesy due.
The Deep Beyond: Cuckoo's Egg / Serpent's Reach Page 35
