“Fine.” Gundhalinu nodded. “It’s nothing pressing,” he said, answering Vhanu’s unspoken question. “Just my curiosity about one of the objects on the mantel over there.” He gestured casually, leaning against the table, looking toward the doorway the Ondinean had disappeared through. He was not sure why he didn’t say more; whether it was simply the fear of seeming absurd, or something deeper. Maybe tomorrow he would know.
Vhanu looked up as Kitaro approached them. “Excuse me, sathranu,” she said. “That friendly cycle of tan is about to begin on the upper level, if you care to join us?”
Gundhalinu nodded; answering both a spoken and an unspoken question.
“Tan?” someone said behind him. “May I join you?”
Kitaro shook her head. “Sorry. We already have our set. Next round—?” He shrugged, and drifted away. They followed her to the back of the room, and up the curving stairway. On the second floor they entered the gaming room, where five others waited expectantly, sitting cross-legged on floor mats around the circular game board. Gundhalinu looked down at the complex pattern of geometries on its surface. The board had been hand-crafted somewhere on Tsieh-pun from perfectly fitted inlays of colored wood. He admired its workmanship as he took his place in the circle. Vhanu sat down across the board from him; Kitaro closed the door and sat down on his left. To anyone looking in on them through the single window they would appear to be doing exactly what they were doing.
But they were doing something else, playing games within games, playing the Great Game, in this private room within the walls of the Survey Hall. He looked around the circle of faces, all but one of them Kharemoughis, and familiar to him. The one offworlder was a businessman from Four; the only woman was Kitaro, who was the only other sibyl besides himself. He looked down at the tan board again, the glittering colored-crystal gaming pieces, the almost hypnotic patterns of the wood. There were subtleties hidden within subtleties among the interlocking geometries of the board; he had learned to seek them out visually in all their permutations, as one of the disciplines he had been forced to master to reach the Seventh and the Fourteenth levels within Survey … discovering, the second time, all that he had missed the first, and wondering how he could have been so blind.
Tan was rumored to be nearly as old as the Great Game, if not older. There was an entire twelfth-level adhani made up of meanings ascribed to the crossings and combinations of the various forms, as if it were a kind of mystical genetic code. Some of the numerical symbolism had a relation to patterns occurring in the real world; some of them were completely obscure to him, and yet seemed to be utterly consistent within themselves. Others seemed to him to be nothing but accumulated superstitions … so far. He had yet to learn whether he would ever be required to study the game of tan again, at some future stage of his ongoing initiation into some unknown heights of perception, from which he could look down more clearly on the endless complexity of the human condition, on the interfaces of Order and Chaos.
Kitaro gathered up the colored fire of the gaming pieces and scattered them casually as she began the Recitation of Questions, taking on herself the role of Questioner. He marked in his memory where the pieces came to rest, randomly scattered across the board, but showing a heavy concentration of single-figures. The businessman from Four gathered up the crystals, tossed them out again, as he gave the first response. The sine wave of question and answer moved on around the circle, touching Vhanu, touching the official who sat next to him; the game pieces clattered against the edges of the game board and regrouped.
Gundhalinu made himself remember the outcome of each throw, searching for the greater pattern that would inexorably take shape out of the random motion; forcing himself to comprehend it, whether he believed it had any significance or not. The question-and-answer pattern of ritual response was the same one they used in the larger meeting hall below, at the formal social gatherings held there. But the questions asked here were not the same ones; nor, more importantly, were the answers.
He had found the rituals of the Survey he had known in his youth to be excruciatingly empty of meaning. But this ritual sang in his brain: Order and Chaos, the random workings of fate precariously balanced by the laws of universal motion. He found himself thinking of the Ondinean. His eyes wandered away from the game board toward the wide window looking out on the hall, as a pattern began to take form in the motion of falling stones, and fell apart again.
“And who has called this fellowship into being, and given us our duty, and shown us the power of knowledge?” Kitaro asked.
“Mede,” Abbidoes answered, beside him.
Gundhalinu looked down at the game board again, and gathered up the crystals. “Ilmarinen.” He spoke his ancestor’s name as he cast the stones. He watched the pieces fall, stared at the sudden, subtle shift in the pattern he held inside his head. “Vanamoinen—!” he murmured, echoing Kitaro’s voice as she spoke the response in proper progression beside him.
Gundhalinu looked away at the window again, not even noticing the sharp looks of annoyance several people directed at him; half expecting to see a face staring in at them, at him, disguised by a fold of cloth, by skin dyed black, eyes darkened to indigo—but still with a gaze as insistent as a madman’s.
The window was empty. But he had seen Kullervo: Kullervo. Kullervo was here. He bit his lip to keep himself from shouting out the name, interrupting the pattern again, inexcusably. He forced his emotions back under control, recognizing the significance of the pattern, the importance of not breaking the surface tension of the group’s concentration.… Holding to his own place in the ritual, while at the same time his mind scattered clues like gaming pieces and read their pattern.… Kullervo had been here tonight; had been here before, disguised. But Kullervo was in the Brotherhood … Survey corrupted by the power of knowledge, using its secrets and its influence to destabilize and poison societies, feeding off the chaos they created, profiting off of it. The ones who had turned the values and beliefs of the guild’s original members inside out … who had murdered his brothers, and tried to keep him from returning to Tiamat.
Why had Kullervo come here tonight, and deliberately—he was sure of it—tried to attract his attention? He remembered the vial on the mantel suddenly. Even if Kullervo had not put it there, he had made Gundhalinu notice it. Why? Kullervo worked for the Brotherhood; Kullervo was a bioengineering genius, who knew more about technovirals than any living human being in the Hegemony.…
And suddenly he understood: It was about the water of life. The Brotherhood was already at work here, insinuating itself into the fabric of the new society, as if he had set up no safeguards at all to prevent it. They wanted the water of life for themselves.… and Reede Kullervo was here to give it to them.
But then, what had Kullervo been doing here tonight? Spying, possibly; gathering data on the strength and organization of his enemies. Except that he seemed to have been deliberately drawing attention to himself, intentionally placing clues in the path of the one person who would understand them.…
The gaming pieces rattled for the final response; Gundhalinu stared at the element that completed the pattern, the forms which he had graven on his mind.
“Are there any questions which must be asked to be answered?” Kitaro murmured, glancing around the circle of pensive faces.
“Yes,” Gundhalinu said. “There was a man here tonight, passing as one of us. I just realized who he is. He’s one of the Brotherhood—the man who stole the stardrive from me at Fire Lake. His name is Reede Kulleva Kullervo.”
Vhanu started, across the table from him. “The Smith?” he murmured. “Ye gods—they say the Smith’s responsible for everything from the illegal stardrive market to half the drug trade coming out of Ondinee. He’s linked to Thanin Jaakola—”
Gundhalinu stiffened. “I hadn’t heard that. For how long?”
“Since the stardrive incident,” Vhanu said.
Gundhalinu grimaced, and frowned. “Vhanu, you have scanne
r data on his bionomes.… I had him investigated through official channels once; what I got didn’t satisfy me. I would like to put our resources to work on revealing who and what he really is. I think it could be vital to us to know exactly what he wants.”
“Let the Police pick him up, then, BZ,” Vhanu said with sudden eagerness. “Deactivate him, put him through deep questioning. Gods, to capture the Smith! It would be a phenomenal victory for us—for the Golden Mean.”
“No,” Gundhalinu said, filled with sudden repugnance. Vhanu stared at him. “No, NR,” he said again, less abruptly, and shook his head. “I think … I think the consequences would be too unpredictable.” Because Kullervo was too unpredictable. He tried to imagine the effect deep questioning would have on Kullervo’s unstable personality. It could easily cause him to have a complete breakdown. He wasn’t even sure exactly why that mattered to him, after what Kullervo had done to him at Fire Lake. Only that he wanted that mind intact … and, perversely, the soul of the man it was attached to. “We’re better off just watching him discreetly, now that we know he’s here; seeing where he leads us. There’s time enough to short-circuit him, if that becomes necessary. He isn’t going anywhere. I’m sure of that much.”
Vhanu nodded reluctantly.
“We’ll run a search on him, then,” Kitaro said. “As soon as possible.”
Gundhalinu nodded, barely listening as the next question was brought up by Abbidoes … as his mind sank into memories of Reede Kullervo, the mystery, the contradictions of the man. Realizing suddenly how deep his need to have the answers was … how deep his need to see Kullervo again, and confront him, really ran. The pattern between them was incomplete; they had unfinished business.…
TIAMAT: Carbuncle
Sparks Dawntreader entered Tor Starhiker’s new gaming club, feeling an unnerving flicker of déjà vu. Nothing had changed. His memories told him so, even though his eyes said that this club did not really resemble anything he had seen in the old days, when he had roamed the Street with a bottomless credit rating, playing the decadent jade as if his life depended on it; secretly Starbuck, sniffing out information to help Arienrhod keep on top of the offworlders.
But the feel was right; his inner eye knew this place. Tor Starhiker had once run the best club on the Street, and she had the best club now, even it was only by default. He saw her across the room—recognizable, at least, not transformed completely as she had been in the old days. Then she had been decorated like a puppet, to suit the bizarre fantasies of the offworlder who had really owned the club, the living nightmare they had called the Source.
Tor lifted a hand, acknowledging him. He nodded, but stayed where he was. He had not wanted to come here, had told himself he would not come.… But still, like a man sliding helplessly down a muddy slope, he had found himself stepping through the doorway.…
“Hello, Sparks.” A hand took hold of his arm, drawing him around.
“Emerine,” he said, only half surprised. She smiled at him, and he saw the age lines that bracketed her full-lipped mouth deepen. He hadn’t looked at her closely in a long time—the changes in her face were startling; unlike the changes in his own, which had crept up on him day by day over the years. But she was still a beautiful woman, with her hair dark and long, her eyes the color of the sea. “All alone—?” she said, with gentle reprimand. “Join us, and you won’t be.” She drew him after her.
He followed her willingly across the room to the secluded corner where Kirard Set Wayaways and half a dozen of his other friends from the old days were sitting. He noticed without really thinking about it that Kirard Set’s wife was not among them.
He sat down with them, feeling his sense of having slipped outside of time deepen as he sank under the weight of their welcoming hands, the spell of the hypnotically strobing lights and bizarre sound effects of the games that were the backdrop to their spoken greetings.
“Have some of this.” Kirard Set pushed a bottle of tlaloc at him, and a cup. “A survivor of the time before, just like we are. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He gestured, filling the air with a cloud of cinnamon-scented smoke. “Seems just like old times.…” His smile turned rueful, and genuine. “I feel young again—reborn. Gods, I never realized how miserable I was, lost in the void, until now, when I have something to look forward to again besides my own death.”
“Yes.” Sparks nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of empathy as he echoed the murmured sentiments of the others around the table. He sipped the tlaloc, its bittersweetness vaporizing as it touched his tongue, filling his head, matching his mood. He sighed.
“Tor Starhiker has done all right for herself, for a common dockhand, I must say.” Kirard Set raised his head again, looking away into the room. “She’s made good use of the Queen’s favor, and a certain native shrewdness.” He rested his chin on his palm.
“What about the restaurant?” Sparks asked, leaning back in his seat.
“She’s still part-owner, but she leaves the running of it to Shotwyn now. Business is better than ever, I hear; but dealing with practical matters is not Shotwyn’s strong suit. He’s fit to be tied.” Kirard Set chuckled.
“I suppose he’ll just have to find someone else to tie him up, from now on…” Cabber Lu Greenfield said, smirking.
Laughter spread like ripples over water around the table, until Sparks found himself unexpectedly laughing.
“Good!” Kirard Set said, his eyes shining. He reached out, squeezing Sparks’s arm. “That’s what I like to see. We’ve all missed your company, you know.”
Sparks looked back at him, waiting for the usual venomous coda; surprised when it didn’t come. There were only nodding heads, smiling faces all around him. “I guess I’d forgotten how much I missed the old days too,” he murmured. He looked away from the too-curious scrutiny of his former friends, feeling suddenly as if he sat in a room with mirrored walls. He let his eyes wander, taking in the random stimuli of light and noise.
“Look,” Emerine said, pointing. “Isn’t that your son? Tammis!” she called.
Spark found Tammis’s face in the crowd as the boy turned, startled at hearing his name. Tammis looked back at them, and his expression was stark with guilt. He turned away again and disappeared.
“Well, what was that all about?” Emerine murmured. “I thought your son was a happily married man, Sparks. What’s he looking for here, looking so guilty, and all alone…?”
Sparks frowned, his hand tightening around his cup; hearing implications inside the implications. “He’s not my son.” He took another sip of tlaloc, tasting only the bitterness.
“Come now,” Kirard Set said gently. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Just because he’s out wandering the night with the rest of us lost souls, troubled in his marriage and looking for something he can’t get at home…”
Sparks looked back at him in sudden anger, remembering the wedding feast, the upstairs hall. “He’s not my son,” he said flatly. “I have no children.” He saw Ariele suddenly in his mind, the expression on her face as he had almost collided with her, outside the hidden alcove where he had caught his wife watching BZ Gundhalinu like a voyeur. The look on her face, always so much like her mother’s face, told him she had heard everything that had passed between them: Even Ariele and Tammis … They’re his!
“Da?” she had said, reaching out to him, catching at his sleeve. “Da—!” she had cried, as he jerked his arm free and pushed past her without a word, unable in that moment even to bear the sight of her. From that moment on he had not spoken to her or her brother again.
Kirard Set raised his eyebrows. “You mean the rumors really are true? About Moon and that offworlder—the one who’s come back as Chief Justice? Is he really what’s come between you and her? Is that why he supports her every whim so passionately?”
Sparks shrugged, a knotted, jerky motion. “Yes,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kirard Set said, as if he actually meant it. Sparks glanced at
him dubiously, and wondered how many of those rumors Kirard Set had set in motion himself. “Are they actually … seeing each other, in secret?”
Sparks shook his head, studying his hands with sudden intentness. “No. She won’t let it happen. It would compromise her position too much. But they make love to each other with their eyes, whenever they’re in the same room.…” He shut his own eyes, but still he saw them, gazing at each other.
“My old friend,” Kirard Set said, touching his arm again, “this battle was lost a long time ago, even if you only bleed from it now. Moon has not been the woman you loved, and I respected, for years. You know that. Leave her and that tightassed Kharemoughi to their sterile futility. There are layers within layers here, ways that were closed that are now open again, and will lead you to satisfactions you never dreamed of—”
Sparks met Kirard Set’s gaze, as curiosity forced its way up through his darker preoccupation. “What are you talking about?”
“We are part of a … secret order that has members on all the worlds of the Hegemony, and an ancient lineage, independent of any government or group—including the Hegemony itself. We have our own rules, and our own goals, and our own rewards, which have the potential to surpass anything you could imagine.… Does this interest you?”
Sparks looked away from the sudden intensity of Kirard Set’s eyes, searching the other faces around him at the table. They were all people he knew—or had thought he knew, years ago, in Winter. Then, green from Summer and longing for acceptance into their shining, sophisticated dreamworld, he would have done anything to be one of them.… He had done anything, whatever they asked, until finally he believed he had seen and done everything, that nothing would ever surprise or repel or humiliate him again. That he was shockproof.
He realized suddenly that he wanted to feel that way again; to feel nothing at all, except sensation.… “Tell me more about it,” he murmured.
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