by Jaine Fenn
The healer was true to her word. For about half a day Ifanna was ecstatic. She was grateful to the healer, to the Skymothers, even to her unseen jailers: she was not going to die! But then reality reasserted itself: her fate was not averted, merely delayed. The child, though . . . The child might live.
For the first time, Ifanna began to think of what was growing inside her as a blessing. Though she herself might be cursed and worthless, she nurtured a life of value. It would be a boy, she decided, and more: he would be a skyfool! She was sure she had heard it said that those boys blessed by Heaven were most often born to skycursed women. Now she thought about it, it struck her as odd that to be touched by the sky was cherished in a boy, but the mark of evil in a girl. She put that blasphemous thought aside and prayed for forgiveness for even considering it. She prayed a lot now, for many things. Alone apart from the bedbugs, with only the passing shadows from the high window to mark the days, she had nothing else to do save think or pray, and the latter gave comfort that the former did not. She did not ask for forgiveness for herself; that would have been too great a presumption. But for her son . . .
She dared entertain dreams of his fate: how one day he might be found worthy by the Beloved Daughter of Heaven, and sent to take his place as a Consort of the Skymothers. And once he reached Heaven, perhaps he might even intercede on his mother’s behalf, and her own soul might be freed from the Abyss where it would otherwise be bound.
From time to time she wondered what was happening back home, but then she decided that she did not want to know. Ifanna felt the love she had for her father curdling slowly to hate as she thought about the unforgivable things he had done. Even Pedrog’s death was his fault, for he had forced Ifanna to marry the man, and she prayed that the justice of Heaven should be visited on him. Yet even as she murmured the words she felt guilt, for he had loved her, really he had. And much of the blame was hers . . .
As the summer wore on, the cell grew humid, the air close. Flies became her constant daytime companions, and she developed a wrenching cough which, once it became loud and persistent enough to annoy her jailers, was treated with a sticky syrup that came with her morning stew. The cough slowly abated.
Meanwhile her thoughts circled, and her prayers grew longer and more complicated. She spent whole days trying to recall passages from the Traditions. She still cried, often unexpectedly. Sometimes she wished she were dead, and all this discomfort and boredom and uncertainty were ended. But then she remembered her unborn son, and how she must live so that he might come into the world and fulfil his destiny.
One night she awakened in agony, and knew at once it was the baby – but not yet, surely? She had tried to mark the days with fingernail scratches on the slimy rock wall, and she was sure this was too soon. But such sensible thoughts were soon driven from her head by pain. She screamed, grasping her belly, cursing the man who had brought her to this pass, and begging Turiach, the Mother of Mercy, for respite.
As something tore, deep inside, and she howled, she realised that she was no longer alone, and recognised the healer’s face. The pain rushed out, and with it came a wet, soft mass.
By the time she had regained her senses, the healer was already busy with a blanket, and Ifanna was too weak to stop her, but she did see one thing. Had it lived, her child would have been a girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘No wonder you look like shit,’ said Taro. He’d forgiven Jarek for tearing him away from their nice comfy bed-with-full-room-service once Jarek’d explained what’d happened during his early morning stroll. He yawned.
‘Thanks,’ said Jarek, taking a bite of fried not-meat.
‘You’re sure they were Luornai?’ asked Nual.
‘Well, no, not totally – but assuming they were, do you think they were working for their City? The other two Cities do have their own equivalent of Angels, don’t they?’
‘They weren’t Asps – Asps wouldn’t have used guns,’ she said firmly. ‘And sending an Agent of the Concord into a rival City is a provocative move.’
‘So they were – what, some sort of runners?’
‘Like I used to be, yeah,’ muttered Taro. The conversation was stirring up bad memories.
‘What do you think they wanted? They were only packing tranq.’
‘I suspect they wanted exactly what they said they did,’ answered Nual, ‘to ask you some questions. I would imagine the other City minds still have no idea what caused the “cityquake” your sister unwittingly unleashed, so when an Angel who was associated with that event returned, they would be sure to take an interest. They can’t touch me, or Taro, now he’s had the mods, but you . . .’ She paused, then said quietly, ‘Once they’d found out what they could, I imagine they would probably have killed you, rather than allow you to reveal that you had been questioned. Careless tourists turn up dead in back alleys all the time around here.’
Jarek paled. ‘I shouldn’t have come, should I? You two are under the City’s protection – I’m not.’
Nual replied, ‘You are under the City’s protection, just not as directly as we are, and that little incident just proved it: the Minister was obviously keeping an eye out, and he sent an Angel to rescue you. You won’t be in any danger, provided you stay in the hotel, or only go out with one of us. Of course, now Luorna has made an overt move, and failed, I don’t imagine it’ll try again. Such is the nature of the Concord.’
‘How about the third City . . . Yazil, isn’t it?’
‘The Minister’s already pretty pissed off with them,’ Taro growled. ‘They wouldn’t dare.’ In his mind’s eye he saw the face of the Yazil assassin who’d murdered his line-mother. At least the last memory he had of Scarrion was the fucker’s brief expression of surprise just before Taro killed him.
‘Ah, now look who it is,’ said Jarek.
The Minister was weaving his way between the tables. Those few guests who were paying him any attention smiled at his smart-but-eccentric appearance, currently completed by a silver-headed walking cane. None of them had any idea who he was, of course; the only people who ever met him were the downsiders who worked for him, as Angels or runners. Downsider legend had it that he was immortal, and many of those who lived in the Undertow saw the City itself as some sort of god. For most of his life Taro hadn’t given either possibility much thought. Turned out they were both true, in a way.
‘Mind if I join you?’ the Minister asked when he reached their table.
Jarek pulled up a spare chair. ‘Have a seat.’
The Minister sat. ‘I believe I might be able to help you,’ he said immediately.
‘You can get us a beacon?’ Jarek’s voice was neutral, but Taro could see the eagerness in his eyes.
‘Well, I don’t happen to have one lying around, no. But I might be able to give you access to the source for them.’
‘And where’s that?’ asked Jarek.
‘Before we go any further,’ said the Minister, ‘I have a question and a proposition for you. Well, two questions, really.’
‘Ask away,’ said Jarek, guardedly.
‘The easy question first: do you have a stasis chamber on your ship, Captain Reen?’
‘A comabox? Yeah, I’ve got one.’
‘Splendid. Now my second question is this: if this lost world of yours has no beacon, then there is nothing for your ship’s transit-kernel to latch onto, correct? So how exactly were you intending to get back there to plant this hypothetical beacon?’
Taro noted she said I, not we; she wasn’t going to admit to the Minister that she needed his help. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
‘Excellent. That’s very impressive for a lone Sidhe, especially one of your tender years.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nual drily.
‘And I assume you know what transit-kernels actually are.’ The Minister didn’t quite make it a question.
‘Oh yes,’ said Jarek darkly, ‘we know.’
‘So you’ve thought through the implications of bringing— What is the name of the place?’
Jarek hesitated a moment before answering, ‘Serenein.’
‘—yes, Serenein, into human-space, have you?’
Jarek answered with a question of his own. ‘I take it you know what goes on there, then?’
‘Let us just say I took an educated guess, which you have now confirmed. And my question still stands.’
‘I know there’ll be – well, complications, in the long term, but the Sidhe – the females – have manipulated humans without their knowledge for too long. We’re going to bring them out into the light, and break their hold on humanity.’
The Minister raised an eyebrow. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘Don’t you want us to trash them?’ Taro wondered what people would think if they knew that an ancient race they all thought dead and gone was not only still around, but still quietly at war with itself.
‘Obviously I would like that very much, but that does not prevent me thinking you might be a little over-ambitious.’
Jarek said, ‘You mean you’re not convinced that a handful of humans will succeed where the male Sidhe failed?’
‘We didn’t fail,’ the Minister said, the faintest trace of anger in his voice. ‘We led the rebellion that broke the Sidhe Protectorate and brought humanity out from under the yoke of the females – even if they still, as you say, exert a degree of control from the shadows.’
‘But they wiped you out – most of you, anyway.’
‘Actually, no, that is not the case. We will perhaps get to that later. First, let us discuss my proposal. Captain Reen, I would like to buy your ship.’
‘You’d like to what?’
‘Buy your ship. The Heart of Glass, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not for sale.’
‘Really? I was under the impression that it is about to change hands imminently.’
‘I’m going to fight that—’
‘With what, precisely? Righteous indignation?’
‘Wait a moment!’ said Taro loudly. ‘Why can’t you just pay off our debts? Or at least give us a decent loan? It’s not like you don’t fucking owe us!’
The Minister frowned. ‘You are disturbing the other diners, Taro. Please don’t. It is true I owe you, and Nual, as you so eloquently put it, and whilst I was happy to deal with your immediate problems, I do not owe either the ship on which you travelled here, or its captain, anything.’
‘Why would you want a shiftship?’ asked Jarek. ‘What use is it to you?’
‘Let us just say that I am broadening my horizons,’ the Minister said expansively. ‘And although you might not see it this way, I will in fact be doing you a considerable favour. I am not looking to exert any control over you, Captain Reen; I would act as a silent partner. You will be free to carry on your business without any interference from me.’
‘So what would you get out of the deal?’ Jarek looked bemused.
The Minister smiled thinly. ‘The knowledge that you were continuing the fight. All I ask is that you report any relevant activities to me.’
‘Would you expect me to consult you before carrying out any such “activities”? I know we’re both fighting the same enemy but, with all due respect, I’m not doing it for you.’
‘I understand that. I just wish to be kept fully informed. In return, you will have my financial backing, and that will ensure that earning a living does not distract you from your crusade. I am quite sure you can see the sense in that.’
‘And if I can’t? What if I refuse to turn over ownership of the Heart of Glass to you?’
‘Then I shall provide safe passage out of the Tri-Confed system, and you will go with my best wishes for the future.’
‘But no beacon.’
‘That is correct. This is one of those “all or nothing” deals they talk about, I’m afraid.’ When Jarek didn’t say anything, the Minister continued, ‘Obviously you will need to think about it; I imagine you may wish to discuss my offer amongst yourselves. You will find you have a mailbox number on your com labelled “City information”. Use it to let me know your decision.’
After he left they sat in silence. Finally, Nual covered Jarek’s hand with her own and said gently, ‘Ultimately, it’s your choice.’
‘I know,’ said Jarek. ‘Can I trust him?’
Nual smiled. ‘I trusted him with my life when I was hiding here.’
Taro said, ‘The Minister’s a funny old cove, but he won’t break his word.’
When it came down to it, though it wasn’t much of a choice, it still took Jarek several hours to commit to a decision.
The Minister arrived within an hour of Jarek leaving his voicemail message. They all met in the hotel’s otherwise deserted bar – the rest of the guests were apparently spending the afternoon sightseeing. The first part of the meeting was pretty boring, as Jarek and the Minister thrashed out the details of transferring ownership of the Heart of Glass. Some of the shit they were discussing sounded a bit smoky, far as Taro could see; it looked like no one would know Khesh owned the ship unless they looked really fucking deep.
He stopped listening after a while. He sipped his drink, his other hand on Nual’s knee under the table, thinking about his former life here in Khesh City. He was getting used to being back, but then, this was topside. His real home had been the Undertow, and there were a few people down there he still considered friends.
Finally the deal was done. Jarek sat back, stony-faced.
The Minister cleared his throat. ‘Right then, this beacon.’
‘So you can get us one?’ Jarek’s tone implied that after what had just happened, he’d better be able to.
‘I can arrange for you to get hold of one, though you will have to fetch it yourself,’ said the Minister.
‘Where from?’
‘A system called Aleph – although that will mean nothing to you. You won’t have heard of Aleph, because there is no record of anywhere of that name.’
‘Another lost world?’ asked Jarek, sounding interested.
‘Not exactly. Aleph was never ruled by the females. And it is in another galaxy.’
‘You’re shitting me!’ Now he’d signed over his beloved ship to the Minister, Jarek appeared less in awe of him.
‘No – well, to be completely accurate, the Aleph system is in one of the smaller satellite galaxies that orbit our own. When the conflict between the male and female Sidhe was at its height, a large number of males fled there. It turned out to be a one-way trip for them, though shiftships can travel to and from the system.’
‘That’s where the rebellion was coordinated from, wasn’t it?’
‘Aleph was a major centre of operations, though those of us who remained behind did our part too.’
‘And how will these males at Aleph feel about us turning up out of the blue and asking for a beacon?’
‘You won’t be turning up out of the blue. I have been in contact with Aleph; they are willing to provide a beacon to help you in your fight against the females. However, you must bear in mind that we males have a rather different outlook than our sisters. We are less interventionist – and less unified. The females like nothing more than to band together in dark corners and plot how to manipulate human destiny. We tend to keep our distance, both from humanity and from each other.’
‘You’re saying there may be factions at Aleph who won’t be too pleased to see us?’ asked Jarek.
‘I would say there is a high risk of that, yes. But given what I know about you, Captain Reen, I suspect that is a risk you would be willing to take to win your beacon.’ He turned to Taro and Nual. ‘And you two as well, apparently.’
‘I already saved your invisible arse,’ said Taro. ‘Reckon it’s time to get really ambit
ious now.’
Nual just smiled.
‘One thing you should probably know about Aleph: the males there are similar to me and my two brothers. Like us, they live through their machines, and interact through their avatars. Right—’ The Minister made a show of looking at his com, like he actually needed to check the time. ‘I still need to thrash out a few details with my distant brothers, so I will have to leave you for a while. I recommend you take some time to see the sights, Captain Reen. I am confident there will not be any further unpleasantness – though I would still advise against going out alone.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
As part of the deal, the Minister had taken their cargo from Hetarey off their hands. Taro suspected he’d only done it to indulge them, but whatever the reason, they now had spare credit to their names. Jarek wanted to use some of their new-found wealth to take the Minister’s advice. Taro let Nual act as guide, and they took him to a decent restaurant, then on to an ‘exotic cabaret’ complete with glitter and grav manipulation. Nual elected to stay sober, so Taro and Jarek kicked back and relaxed – in fact, Jarek acted like a man who didn’t know where the next party was coming from. Taro could sympathise: Jarek’d had his head taken apart by the Sidhe, spent months on a lo-tech mud-ball where he’d nearly died, then when he’d finally got away, he’d found that his sister, his one surviving family member, had been murdered. Since then the three of them had been running to keep one step ahead of both creditors and enemies. They sure as shit deserved a bit of fun. The cabaret was heavy on man-on-man action – Jarek was taking advantage of being somewhere without stupid sex-laws – but though he was obviously getting off on the show, he stopped short of taking advantage of the additional services on offer.
The next day Taro and Nual took Jarek to the Gardens, an area of topside that Taro had always loved; they watched an outdoor play, which Taro found pretty boring, and Jarek had a go at tree-walking, which Taro found pretty funny. When the Minister still hadn’t called that evening, they ate out again. Thinking he might be in touch later that night, they spent a boring evening in the hotel bar. He didn’t call.
