So it was he who broke the stalemate. “Lady Sezen, I thought it would be pleasant if we walked to supper together. I hope you can forgive my impertinence.”
“I can forgive you.” Very true, since I mostly felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to try to pluck out one of his beautiful eyes. “I’m willing to improvise—this time.”
He offered his arm, and I took it. We walked together through the Charmayne guest compound. I regretted that I couldn’t stare at Gennady as we made our way past the support staff—he had considerable impact close up, even without all the other predator in my territory alarms that were going off in my head. But the reaction of the staff made up for it—they parted for him as if he generated a wake. As we exited the compound, not a few Security officers took a moment to dab sweat from their brows.
How did you stay hidden for so long, Gennady? I wondered.
Medusa managed to hide for decades. I doubted Gennady had confined himself to a research tower, but there were plenty of other places on Olympia to stay out of sight.
Yet as we strolled along that wide, well-lit corridor toward the lavish rooms in which the muckety-mucks socialized (when not at formal parties), none of the Executives or Security personnel seemed surprised to see Gennady. They didn’t even try to stare at him when they thought he wasn’t watching, the way they would have if he had been new in their circles. It was as if he were nothing out of the ordinary.
As if they had known him a long time.
* * *
Lady Sheba’s ghost had warned that what Executives said was less important than what they refrained from saying. In this case, I assumed that referred to what I shouldn’t ask Gennady: Where the blazes did you come from?
How I wish I could have found a time and a place to ask him exactly that. What would he have answered? Asking a direct question can be the worst way to gather information.
Observation is usually better. That approach seems the most cautious.
But it can also throw you for a loop. That became clear to me when we got off the mover and entered a part of Olympia I had seen only on schematics: the Social Complex.
In a society less rigidly stratified than ours, a Social Complex would stretch from one end of Olympia to the other, allowing equal access to all its citizens. But in our case, equal access was not even granted to all Executives. Stratification was enforced in part by the location of the Social Complex in Central Sector, where the Charmaynes and the Changs would have easiest entry. But the class system was most ruthlessly observed by the friendly, hyperalert support personnel who ran the complex. The moment Gennady and I set foot on the fine carpeting, they fastened their bright gazes on me.
They were the friendliest thugs I’ve ever met.
They uttered no hostile words as they ushered us to our seats, weaving a path around ponds full of lily pads. Their body language was cordial. But from the intensity of their scrutiny, I was made to understand that had I not been in the company of Gennady Mironenko, my table would not have been located next to the little waterfall that splashed so charmingly, their service would not have been so attentive, and my visit would not have been a pleasant experience.
Gennady saw it, too—and it angered him. But here is where things got even more interesting, because the servers were not alarmed by his disapproval.
Their training must have come, in part, from their own childhood, because they were lower-tier Executives. And when I checked the background of the hostess who seated us and the young man who took our order, I discovered that they were also gardeners—serving meals was just one aspect of their roles in the food chain of Executives.
Their interaction with us was confident. And the response from the Executives who sat at the other tables was far more relaxed than it would have been at an Executive party.
“So it would seem,” she replied.
If that were the case, there must be two spheres in which Executives vied for status: the one that operated within the House of Clans, and the one inside the Social Complex. With a few notable exceptions, being a VIP in one would not guarantee success in the other.
I heard a little splash in the pond nearest our table, and glanced that way to discover a blue creature looking at me. It had surfaced near a waterfall, between two lily pads.
Lady Sheba’s ghost provided an explanation. “Koi. They are decorative fish, not for eating. Some of them are orange—like that fellow just surfacing.” A second creature joined the first, apparently finding me as odd as I found him.
“Amazing,” I said aloud.
Gennady glanced at me over the menu pad. “Yes. And the food is splendid.”
“Apparently I’ve led a sheltered life.” I referred to the fact that Lady Sezen had never visited the Lotus Room before. That was part of my background briefing, but I had failed to wonder why.
“I’m glad of that,” said Gennady. “I can’t say I approve of this conceited crowd. But I will enjoy hearing your reaction to the dishes. Will you allow me to order for us both?”
I set my menu pad aside. “I think that would be lovely.”
While his attention was focused on the menu, I could stare at Gennady without seeming rude. He had no blemishes. He was slim, well toned, and had the posture of a man in perfect health. His hair was short but thick, and I could see no evidence of artificial coloring—it really was that pale.
As were his eyes. His natural eyes. My orbs are artificial, and when the Executives aren’t controlling what I see, I am able to perceive much more detail than someone with organic eyes. But I wondered if I had that advantage over Gennady, because his eyes were perfect, as if the wear and tear of daily living did not affect them.
When he had greeted me at my door and escorted me to the movers, I gained the impression he must be in his mid- to late thirties, or possibly older, because he possessed the confidence of a mature man. But now that I could study the details of him, he looked no older than twenty.
This was not possible.
He focused his perfect gaze on me. “I think we should try three dishes. We’ll both sample them.”
“I enjoy trying new dishes,” I said—a laughable claim for Oichi, but true of Sezen Koto.
For the next hour, I let Gennady Mironenko guide me through a culinary adventure that I could never have had as Oichi. And it’s not just that I had no access to the foods in the Social Complex; it was Gennady’s love of cuisine that made the experience extraordinary. We didn’t simply eat bites—he showed me different ways to enjoy the aromas, and flavor combinations that dazzled my senses. It was delightful to surrender to his expertise. (And, yes, I’m aware how naughty that sounds.)
When we had finished, we rose together.
“I hope you will allow me to walk you back to your quarters.” Gennady offered his arm. “I have arranged a surprise, and I would like to see if it pleases you.”
I laid my hand on his arm and strolled with him past the upper-class diners in the Lotus Room. None of them looked directly at us, but all of them saw us.
“This was not the place he expected to learn anything about you,” warned Lady Sheba’s ghost. “The evening is not over.”
Perhaps it was unwise of me, but I was glad to hear it.
* * *
“By the way,” Gennady said just before my door opened. “I took the liberty of having some items brought from the Koto compound—so you will feel more at home here.”
The door opened, and we walked in to find my quarters had been transformed. Several of the Kotos’ antiquities had been brought there and artfully arranged. The most prominent of these was the screen with the tiger painted on it.
“You have a good eye,” I said.
Gennady cocked an eyebrow. “Of course, dear Lady—it is why I keep good company. I couldn’t resist the tiger. He seems so worried about getting his feet wet.”
“He’s
my favorite,” I said. “I’m very happy to have him here.” This despite the fact that he probably had listening devices stuck to him somewhere. Perhaps cameras as well.
“And”—Gennady indicated a table with two chairs—“I have brought you a gift.”
A chess set sat on the table. I recognized what it was, though I had never played the game. I moved closer. “It seems quite elaborate.”
“It was crafted for me especially,” said Gennady. “It’s based on one of my favorite books, The Lord of the Rings. The book is very old—the chess set, not nearly so.” He indicated one of the chairs. “Shall we play?”
“Of course,” she said. “But we shouldn’t win.”
Once we were seated, I examined the set. “The pieces look as if they were carved by hand. Is that possible?”
“It is,” he said. And I realized I had almost stepped in it. No one on Olympia carved anything by hand. My question had sounded like an accusation.
“It is too lovely,” I said. “Won’t you miss it?”
“I have others.” Gennady looked at me with those too-perfect eyes. “And I hope I can visit this set from time to time.”
I raised an eyebrow without answering. And then I turned my full attention to the board. “Do you wish to make the first move?”
“Since I am now your guest,” he said, “I do.” He moved a pawn. “I enjoy the beginning of the game the best—seeing what others do for their opening moves is very instructive.”
He really did not seem inclined to give up his perch on my proverbial rock. But I found his attitude refreshing. Under Sheba’s direction, I also moved a pawn.
For his second move, Gennady moved another pawn.
“If he’s the player I suspect him to be,” said Sheba’s ghost, “he’ll checkmate us in five moves.”
I considered the board. I had no intention of becoming a chess expert; I simply studied the carved characters. My pieces were cream colored; his were amber. I played the knight Sheba directed me to move, and waited to see what point Gennady was really trying to make.
He moved a king. When I moved another pawn, I tried not to see too much symbolism in the situation.
For his fourth move, he selected a bishop. “Sezen—do you ever think about God?”
Even Sheba’s ghost was surprised by that question. But she offered no advice about my answer.
I couldn’t tell him about the Sector 200 air locks and how their baroque grandeur inspired the only thoughts about God I currently entertained. But there was one truth I could relate. “I wondered about God when I was eight years old, because I worried about death. I asked my father about Heaven.” I moved another pawn.
“What did he tell you about Heaven?” Gennady asked.
“He said he didn’t believe or disbelieve it. He said time and space are woven together, and regardless of whether we have spirits that survive our deaths, we are all part of that weave. We have always been so, and we always will be.”
Gennady didn’t look at the board. His attention belonged to me. “I contemplate God all the time,” he said. “But there are no churches on Olympia. There are no priests and no worshippers.”
I thought about that a little longer before I answered. “Our ancestors were not inclined to have them, I suppose.”
“My ancestors were Russian. Not just some of them—all of them.” Gennady said this in the same tone he had used to caution Baylor and Ryan Charmayne when they tried to minimize the discovery of the deepsleep units.
I might have pointed out that he couldn’t be sure every single person in his lineage was Russian—no one can be that certain. But I had a feeling he wasn’t referring to his ancestors. More likely, he was referring to mine.
“When he moves his bishop again,” said Sheba’s ghost, “he will checkmate us.”
He did so, then looked into my eyes. “Five moves. You weren’t trying to win this game. You just wanted to see what I would do.”
“Winning isn’t always the best strategy,” I said. “At least, not in chess.”
Gennady smiled. I thought he was pleased.
“It is not,” she said.
So I maintained a friendly neutrality.
“I played to win,” he said, “because I thought you would play the same way. You fooled me completely.”
“I regret if I’ve dampened your enjoyment of the game,” I said. “But I confess that I feel nothing more than curiosity about chess. I have no competitive spirit for it.”
“I’ve bored you,” Gennady said regretfully.
“Not at all. But now I won’t be any fun at chess, because you’ll know I don’t have the proper attitude.”
“Perhaps. But I think I can entertain you with this chess set, even if we don’t play a game.” He picked up his king. “Do you see this fellow? He is Isildur. He was a great king, but he fell under the spell of a powerful, dark technology—a ring.”
I blinked. “A ring. Like this ring?” I waggled my finger with Sezen’s turquoise on it.
“Like, and unlike,” said Gennady. “Isildur’s ring was made by a necromancer who bound all forces, dark and light, into his construct. With it, he could achieve dominion over Middle-Earth. The ring appeared to be a plain band that could be worn on a finger, but that was an illusion.” Gennady picked up my king and set him next to his own. “This is the necromancer—Sauron.”
“I played the side with the evil necromancer on it?” I said. “Dear me.”
“I’ve played on that side, too,” said Gennady. “You need not embrace evil to play on the dark side.”
“You need not,” I agreed. “Yet there you are, helping the bad guys. You may regret keeping their company.”
Gennady’s eyes might have been constructed of crystal, they were so cool. “Regrets are part of the bargain. And if you succeed, you get to call yourselves the good guys.”
I glanced at the chess piece that represented the necromancer. “If Sauron calls himself a good guy, will anyone believe him? His appearance would seem to give him away.”
“Perhaps that is why some of us ponder God,” said Gennady. “Lady Sezen, I hope to see you at Baylor Charmayne’s garden party tomorrow evening. I think we should be seated next to each other.”
“That would be lovely,” I said. “Though I think Baylor’s wife makes the seating arrangements.”
Gennady smiled again. “Not for me, she doesn’t.”
“Now a return smile would be good,” said Sheba’s ghost.
I gave Gennady the best one I had. “Then I believe we have a date.”
We rose, and I walked him past the carved and painted landscape of Sezen’s legacy, to the door. When we paused there, he took my hand and kissed it. “Until tomorrow evening,” he said.
“I look forward to it.” My smile still lingered.
Gennady departed. I felt the memory of his kiss on my skin. I said to Sheba’s ghost.
She raised a virtual eyebrow. “That’s precisely what you were meant to wonder.”
I turned, intending to explore the superior resources of an Executive bath, but before I could go more than a few steps, the door signaled that someone wished entry. As before, there was no identifier to go with the signal. Had Gennady remembered something he wanted to tell me?
Or something he wanted to do?… I would say no, but it would be fun to debate the details. I opened the door.
Lady Gloria Constantin stood on the threshold, surrounded by four of her kinsmen. She glared at me as if I were the biggest fool she had ever suffered.
“Just how long did you think you could avoid me, whore?” she demanded, and pushed past me into the room.
17
… And the Message Is the Messenger
Lady Gloria’s kinsmen followed
her in, though they were less brusque about it. (Even stormtroopers would have qualified as less brusque.) One of them nodded to me as he passed.
Lady Gloria spent a few seconds looking at my screens and carvings, then dismissed them and turned back to me. “Every cycle you wait, your goods become a little more tainted.”
The ghost of Lady Sheba smiled when she heard this. “Let her hang herself. Don’t respond directly to anything. Remember that they can cause you no physical harm—and they are no threat to your status.”
“Dear me,” I said aloud.
Gloria bared her teeth in what could never be considered a smile. “You know what makes me laugh? This delusion you bitches have that you’re anything but walking baby factories. You think you need an education? It’s wasted. You think what you wear, or say, or paint matters to anyone? It doesn’t. The only thing you’ve got going for you isn’t up here.” She jabbed a finger at her own head. “It’s between your legs.” (I was grateful she didn’t feel inclined to point in that direction.)
Even if Sheba’s ghost had not advised me to resist arguing with Gloria, I’m not sure I could have come up with a response for that outrage. But I had to admit, it was a fascinating display. Gloria’s kinsmen stayed silent, negating her implication that the female of the species had no power. The one who had nodded to me flushed a darker shade, and it was plain he felt uncomfortable with his role as—witness?
Or was he there for another reason? Sheba’s ghost seemed too confident the Constantins could offer me no violence. Without Medusa, I was no killing machine, but if this bunch attacked me, at least one of them was going to lose an eye.
Gloria’s smile widened until I wondered if she was going to hurt herself. “You think Mironenko will protect you—is that it? He’s got no status on Olympia. In fact, he’s got even less than you.”
Ah, but Gloria had not seen what I had seen—the two top dogs in the Charmayne clan cringing at the sound of Gennady Mironenko’s voice in that utility tunnel where the deepsleep units had been discovered.
“You want status, Sezen?” Gloria blithely ignored the fact that everyone knew she had been forced to execute her heir for raping and murdering his own kinsmen. “Marry one of these.”
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