The Summer Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  Gundhalinu sipped his own drink, searching the crowd until he spotted Vhanu. Vhanu met his gaze briefly, then glanced away, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

  Gundhalinu started forward, wanting to speak to him. But the Prime Minister was suddenly in front of him, between them, smiling at him with benign dignity. “A toast to Chief Justice Gundhalinu? Nothing could be more appropriate, or give me more pleasure. Few people in our history have deserved our tribute more, for their contributions to the prominence of Kharemough and the prosperity of the Hegemony.”

  Gundhalinu bowed his head, with the gesture avoiding having to look anyone in the eye. He wondered, in that moment, why it had to be that such an honor, which once would have meant more to him than life itself, was given to him now, when it scarcely meant anything at all.

  When he raised his head again, Vhanu was nowhere in sight. Someone spoke his name, behind him, and he turned around. Moon came toward him, with Sirus, and her family around her. “Thank you, Justice Gundhalinu, for your defense of my reputation and my family,” she said.

  He nodded, hiding the surge of emotion he felt as he saw her face. “It was no more than what was due … to any of us, to set the record straight, Lady.” He avoided Sparks Dawntreader’s gaze, the silent watching eyes of Ariele and Tammis; turning to Sirus, instead: “My gratitude, sadhu.”

  Sirus’s mouth quirked up in a slightly embarrassed smile. He was a tall man, large-boned for a Kharemoughi Technician; Gundhalinu remembered vaguely having been told that he was in fact half Samathan—a son of the Prime Minister’s from some distant visit to Sirus’s homeworld. The accident of Sirus’s birth had helped him to become an important political leader on Samathe; he had been invited to fill a vacancy in the Assembly, on their next visit. “I would be grateful, Gundhalinu-sadhu, if you would consider the scales equal between us, after what must be, for you, so long.”

  Sirus glanced away, at Sparks and at Ariele and Tammis. Tammis stood behind his mother, beside Merovy, his own young wife. “We in the Assembly have been unstuck in time, due to our travels, for all these centuries. But now you have given me the chance to see what great things my son and his wife have accomplished … to see my grandchildren. It was something we put much store by, among my mother’s people—something I have regretted about my choice in joining the Assembly.” He put an arm around Sparks’s shoulders, turning to him. “I know I have not had the chance to be any kind of father to you, Son; and perhaps my pride is presumptuous. But it is heartfelt, nonetheless. And it seems you have done extremely well with your life, in spite of my absence.”

  Sparks smiled briefly, looking back at his father. But the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. Gundhalinu wondered what doubts and regrets and secrets hid behind the expression that replaced it; suddenly sure, somehow, that Dawntreader’s expression hid as many secrets as his own had a few minutes past.

  He stood with them, making desultory polite conversation as an excuse to go on watching them speak and interact among themselves. He knew that he should be mingling with the crowd, doing his duty, however unpleasant; and yet he was somehow unable to make himself leave Moon’s side, unable to take his eyes off her, to stop watching her surrounded by her family.

  Her family. He glanced at Ariele, whose face was still so much like he remembered her mother’s, except for the chronic mocking smile, the restless impatience in her eyes. She had pasted a stim patch from the passing tray in the middle of her forehead like a third eye. Her cropped, cream-white hair was caught up in a cascade on top of her head; she wore a clinging dawn-colored bodysuit and loose soft trousers knotted around her slender waist, relentlessly expensive and sophisticated, as usual.

  Her gaze settled momentarily on Sirus as he spoke to her mother; glanced away again, and Gundhalinu suddenly found himself being stared at. She half frowned, glancing at Sirus and back at him, and then at Sparks, the man she had always known as her father. Just for a moment Gundhalinu saw her mocking mask slip, saw the confusion of a lost child in her eyes. She turned away as she caught him still watching her, and disappeared into the crowd. He wondered if she had gone looking for that miserable little snot Elco Teel. Kirard Set Wayaways and his family were here tonight, being too influential to snub, although so far he had managed to avoid even the sight of them by some good fortune.

  “It is quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Sirus said to him, gesturing at Ariele’s disappearing back. Gundhalinu looked over at him, only then realizing that he had been staring, and the others had noticed it. “The resemblance between her and her mother, I mean.”

  “Yes,” he said, glad to take that as an excuse for his behavior. “I actually mistook her for the Queen, the first time I saw her.” He smiled, glancing at Moon, seeing her surprise.

  “Tammis here takes after his father more.” Sirus’s smile widened, as he turned to the young couple still standing beside him. “He has the look of a Kharemoughi about him; don’t you think, Gundhalinu-sadhu?”

  Gundhalinu hesitated, feeling five sets of eyes suddenly fixed on his own face. “Yes,” he said softly, “he does.” Tammis glanced down; Gundhalinu thought the boy was simply avoiding his gaze, until he realized that Tammis was staring at his trefoil. Tammis’s hand rose, touching his own sibyl sign; dropped away again, to take and hold his wife’s hand. Gundhalinu saw her try surreptitiously to avoid his touch, and then give in. He had heard that they were having marital problems.

  He looked back at Sirus. The First Secretary seemed mercifully oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, caught up in the pleasure of his illusory fantasy about his son’s family life. He would not have to be here for long enough to see it shattered, if he was fortunate … any more than he ever had to be anywhere for long enough to experience more than an illusion of life in the real world, with all its pain and pitiless imperfection.

  Gundhalinu had wondered from time to time what could make someone like Sirus choose to join the Assembly, to sever his ties so completely with the life he had always known. Now, tonight, he thought that perhaps he finally understood. He was suddenly aware of the music that was playing—a limpid fuguetheme work from his homeworld. Somehow the music he had always known had never seemed as beautiful to him, or as poignantly sad.

  Sirus turned back to Moon, as she spoke his name. “Please, call me Temmon—”

  “Temmon,” she said, nodding, with a brief smile, “you said that we might discuss the mers.”

  “Yes, of course; it’s obviously a question that needs to be addressed. Sit with me at dinner, and we’ll—” He broke off, as guests began to stir and mutter across the room.

  Gundhalinu strained to see past the random motion of half a hundred heads turning toward the doorway. He made out Tilhonne, standing at the focus of a small open space, holding up something vaguely familiar. He froze as recognition hit him, hearing Moon’s audible gasp: Tilhonne held a vial of the water of life.

  “Sadhanu, bhai,” Tilhonne announced, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd’s. “Dinner waits for us. But first, thanks to the diligence of our new Hegemonic government, and the cooperation of our Tiamatan friends—” he gestured, and suddenly Kirard Set Wayaways was standing beside him, smiling and bowing, “we have a special gift for our honored visitors tonight. The first fruits of a renewed harvest. The water of life.”

  A murmur of surprise and eager anticipation spread through the crowd; ripples of motion followed, as the Assembly members began to press forward toward Tilhonne.

  Gundhalinu stood motionless, feeling the people around him suddenly staring at him again. He looked at Moon, seeing disbelief and betrayal in her eyes.

  “Well done, Gundhalinu-sadhu!” Sirus said, his face beaming. “No mere speech could have silenced the arrogant bigotry of certain fools so neatly.” He clapped Gundhalinu on the shoulder. “You have given them their dream—you and the Lady.” He turned to Moon, but she had looked away, watching in anguished fascination as the Assembly members passed the vial from hand to h
and, lifting it to their mouths, inhaling, swallowing the spray of heavy silver droplets with an eagerness approaching lust.

  “Well, come then,” Sirus said, his expression turning to surprise as everyone around him remained motionless. “Surely we are all entitled to our share of this blessing? Unless of course you’ve already sampled it?”

  “No,” Moon said, her voice filled with desolation. “I don’t drink blood. Mers die for every drop of the water of life you take. The Hegemony has broken our laws to slaughter them—”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if it had never actually occurred to him before how the water of life was obtained.

  “This was the matter concerning the mers that I wanted to talk with you about,” she said, looking at him now, with pain-shadowed eyes.

  “Ye gods,” he murmured, chagrined. “I never imagined the two things would be related.… But yes, I still wish to discuss it, more than before. Dinner will run long, if I recall, and we can—”

  “No.” She shook her head, her face stiff and unyielding. “To attend your dinner as if nothing had happened would mean that I accept what was done here tonight, and that would make me a complete hypocrite.” She looked at Gundhalinu, away from him again, before he could speak.

  “Moon—” Sparks said, catching at her arm as she started to turn away.

  “Stay if you want to,” she answered, with both understanding and anger in her glance. She started away, with Tammis and Merovy following her wordlessly.

  Sparks hesitated, looking at his father. But then he shook his head, murmuring something that Gundhalinu could not make out, before he went after them. As he passed, Sparks met Gundhalinu’s eyes briefly, with a look that raked his conscience like claws. Surprised and disturbed, Gundhalinu watched until the other man disappeared through the doorway across the room.

  Sirus shook his head, caught between concern and embarrassment, as they found themselves standing abruptly alone in the crowd. “Will you join me, then, at least, Gundhalinu-sadhu?” he asked, gesturing toward the water of life.

  “No, sadhu,” Gundhalinu said. “I’m afraid I would find it undrinkable.”

  Sirus stared at him a moment longer, and then looked away again at the silver vial still circulating through the crowd. He sighed. “Well, perhaps I am beginning to lose my interest in it—at least until I’ve heard more about this. You are staying for dinner, I hope?”

  Gundhalinu smiled faintly. “Yes, Sirus-sadhu. I have no choice in that matter, unlike the Queen.” He glanced toward the doorway that she had disappeared through, watching the counter-ripple of comment her abrupt departure had caused collide with the spreading excitement of the water of life. As he watched, he saw to his surprise that Ariele Dawntreader was arguing angrily with someone. He saw her turn and leave, as if she was offended like her mother by the water of life and all that it stood for.

  As she disappeared from his sight, his gaze fell on Vhanu, standing near the door. “Excuse me. I have someone I have to speak with first.” He left Sirus and made his way through the gossiping crowd, trying to hear as little as possible of what was said along the way.

  He reached the place where Vhanu stood waiting. “Damn it, NR,” he said furiously, “how the hell did this happen? This is a diplomatic slap in the face. The Queen was so angry she’s left the complex. I never authorized this—”

  “It was Tilhonne’s idea, to have the water of life here and present it to the Assembly—”

  “With Wayaways’ eager cooperation, no doubt.” Gundhalinu said sourly.

  Vhanu shrugged, and nodded.

  “How did they perform a hunt, without the Queen’s cooperation? Arienrhod used her Starbuck, and dillyp hunters from Tsieh-pun to—”

  “I authorized any supplies and operators they might need to get the job done.”

  “Gods! And it was thy doing—?” Gundhalinu repeated, feeling himself flush. “By what authority? Goddammit, NR, how could thou not bring this to me?”

  “Because I knew thou would reject it out of hand.” Vhanu frowned, his hands twitching at his sides. “In the name of a thousand gods, BZ, we have to make a good impression if we want the continued support of the ones who count, back on Kharemough. We have to prove we’re getting the job done. That we’re in control here, and not some enclave of superstitious natives. And damn it, thou were letting this obsession with ‘enlightened government’ get in the way of that.” Gundhalinu saw his own troubled image reflected in the other man’s eyes, and looked away. “Thou were cutting thy own throat. I did this thing for thee.”

  “You did it for yourself,” Gundhalinu snapped, suddenly both angry and defensive. “Don’t confuse the two things.”

  Vhanu’s mouth tightened, at his use of the formal you. “Very well then. I did it for both of us—for all of us, just as Tilhonne did.” His expression changed; he put his hands on Gundhalinu’s shoulders with gentle insistence. “BZ, thou know I have always had the highest regard for thee. Thou are my friend. There is no one I admire more. But whatever thy reasons are for wanting to be here, I promise thee, once thou have taken the time to think it through thou will be grateful for what we did tonight.”

  Gundhalinu said nothing more, watching the last of the water of life disappear down the last eager Assembly member’s throat. “They’re going in to dinner,” he said finally, turning back, meeting Vhanu’s gaze. “Shall we join them?”

  Vhanu nodded, and they went in together without further conversation.

  * * *

  The rose-colored light of dawn was showing through the storm walls at the end of Azure Alley as Gundhalinu reached his townhouse door at last, weary and alone. He glanced toward the dawn, the proof that a world, and a universe, still existed beyond the changeless walls and undimming light of Carbuncle. He looked away from the brightening sky again, without emotion, too drained to feel anything at the sight of it, to find any false symbolism in the simple light of day.

  His memory of the night just past, after the appearance of the water of life and the disappearance of the Queen, was a blur: an endless meal that he had barely touched, punctuated by endless questions from the First Secretary. He had answered the questions to the best of his ability, unable to focus on anything but the knowledge that Sirus was a powerless figurehead, which Sirus knew as well as he did; that no protest anyone made, no matter how influential, would be enough … that Moon had left the starport without giving him a chance to explain. All that he knew clearly now, standing on his own doorstep, was that he had a headache three times the size of his head, and even the complexities of his door lock were barely within the capacity of his problem-solving.

  He tripped over something that lay in the shadows of his entryway, swore as he lost his balance and banged his shoulder against the wall. He bent down, to discover a wide, flat bundle sitting on his step. He explored it cautiously with his hands. It was large but very light, and rustled faintly when he shook it. There was no note attached to it, not even his name; but for a reason he could not explain he sensed no threat about it. He picked it up, holding it under his arm as he deactivated the security lock and let himself inside. He dropped the lidded basket on a table in his living room, and went in search of a pain patch for his aching head.

  He came back through the wide, arched doorway, loosening his collar, and collapsed on the earth-colored native couch. He breathed in the faint ocean-smell of the dried seahair that had been used to stuff its cushions. He sighed, realizing that he had actually begun to find the peculiar odor soothing. He put his feet up and closed his eyes, calling on music from the entertainment system across the room. The familiar strains of a Kharemoughi art song filled the silence of the house as he let the analgesic patch do its work; feeling it dull the pain until there was only a bearable heaviness behind his eyes, and he could think again.

  But the thoughts that seeped back into his consciousness as his mind cleared only seemed to him to be a different kind of pain: the nagging ache of his growing frustration, of
futility, isolation and regret.

  He sat up, telling himself angrily that this was no more than he could have expected. Had he really become such a fool that he believed his own press—believed that the Hegemony would grant his every whim because of what he had done for them? Or that Moon Dawntreader had been secretly longing for him to return, thinking only of him all these years, as he had thought only of her—that they would fall into each other’s arms like the lovers in the wretched Old Empire historicals he had been addicted to in his youth?

  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Gods … he was exhausted, he should go to bed before he sank any deeper into this trackless bog of self-pity. He had always known what the reality of the situation here would be; he had just never wanted to believe it. He let his eyes take in the timeless, vaguely alien contours of the room, picturing the layout of the townhouse, one of the best in the city: ten rooms, their walls covered with beautiful murals of sea and mountains, in which he lived all alone, in rattling emptiness—as he would likely go on doing for years, unless he … unless he …

  He stood up abruptly, and spoke the music off again. This had been his own choice. He had made his bed; he might as well lie in it.

  As he started across the room, his eyes caught on the package he had brought inside, still waiting on the stolid, square-legged table beside the couch. He sat down again, taking the lidded basket into his hands, breaking the seals that held it together. He lifted off the lid and set it aside; sat staring in amazement at the thing which lay in a nest of sea grass inside.

  It was a mask—a traditional Festival mask, handmade, exquisitely crafted; like the masks he remembered from his last Festival on Tiamat, and not the hurried, uninspired things he had seen cluttering shops in the Maze as this Mask Night approached. He had not bought one, had not even looked at them twice.

  And yet this mask was new, not some relic that had been stored for a generation in someone’s closet.… He touched it tentatively, wonderingly, seeing the glittering pinpoint diamonds of the stars, fragile veils of nebulosity spread across the dark silken reaches of space; the wings of midnight; the utter blackness of a Black Gate’s heart, of the Transfer, of eyes without sight … and at its heart, a face made of light, reflecting, mirroring the world and all its variety … showing him his own face, looking back at him. And suddenly he knew whose hands had made this thing for him; who had sent it to him, and why.