Storyteller

by Amy Thomson

  "Jose, you are an outrageous flirt and a heartbreaker," Teller scolded. "You may join us for dinner." It would be wise to keep an eye on this one, she thought. It wouldn't do to have Samad's reputation as a teacher tarnished by an overly affectionate protege.

  They went to Carlucci's, a small, very old restaurant in a quietly exclusive quarter of the city. Teller looked around at the warm, wood-paneled room, remembering the place when it was new. That had been nearly ninety years ago. She had known the owner then, a young widow named Maria Carlucci, who was working as a chef at one of the out­worlder hotels. She had been struggling to find capital to start her own restaurant. Through intermediaries, Teller had quietly arranged a loan at an outrageously low interest rate. The Carlucci family had created and maintained a wonder­ful, intimate restaurant that had lasted several generations. Whenever the restaurant was in trouble, Teller found a way to help out. Sometimes it was something as simple as send­ing them a good chef or headwaiter, occasionally another small loan. In return, Teller had a tiny island of continuity that had lasted over the years.

  Teller needed such familiar places even more since Abeha's death. How I miss you, Abeha, she thought to herself. She smiled, remembering sitting on the harsel's broad back,

  the wind in her hair, the sun on her back, and Abeha savor­ing the glorious day in his own familiarly alien way.

  ". . . Isn't that right, Teller?" Samad was saying.

  "What?" Teller blinked, startled out of her reverie. "I'm sorry, Samad. What were you saying?"

  "We were trying to remember which island the story of Roxana and Paoli originally came from. Jose insists it's from Ventiseri, and I say it was Filitosa."

  Teller paused, trying to remember. For a long, frighten­ing moment, the memory simply would not come, and then she remembered the funeral cortege, the grieving, weathered faces of the farmers and herders following the two coffins past a row of rough stone columns carved with austere faces. The rest sprang instantly to her mind. "It was Filitosa. But Roxana was from Ventiseri, so it's easy to be confused."

  Teller sat back, feeling immensely relieved to have an­swered the question. She should have known it immedi­ately. One of Roxana's cousins had married her grandson. She had felt the impact of the two young lovers' deaths on the islands, so heavily embroiled in vendetta. The tragedy had brought peace, but at a dreadfully high price. She had ensured that peace by making sure that the story had been told throughout the Corsican Archipelago. The story had been popular, and other storytellers had carried it all over Thalassa.

  "What a tragedy it was," she murmured, remembering.

  "But beautiful, and so romantic," Jose sighed. To Teller, he seemed impossibly young in that moment. She pressed her lips together and said nothing, letting the rest of the dinner pass uneventfully.

  That night, Teller paused as she was brushing her hair, and regarded her reflection in the mirror. An old woman looked back at her. Her skin had grown thin and papery; her hair was growing in completely white now. Thinking back,

  she'd been feeling tired, and her joints had begun to ache over the past year. But she'd been too busy to notice.

  Her rejuve was wearing off. It was time to go off-world and get another treatment. She set the brush down on the counter thoughtfully. At least this would help separate Samad and Jose. Visiting the Central Worlds required at least six months, two months there and back, and at least two months for the treatments. And as long as they were go­ing, it would be nice to do some sightseeing afterward. By the time they returned, Jose would be well-established with a new teacher.

  She picked up her hairbrush again and began to brush her hair thoughtfully, remembering how good the last rejuve had made her look and feel. Perhaps she could have a discreet off-world affair when she had her new, young body. And she wanted Samad to get a rejuve baseline done. He was too young for it now, but in another decade he would be a prime candidate, and having a youthful baseline made a big differ­ence in how well the rejuve worked.

  But what if this rejuve didn't work? Teller set down the brush and stared at her reflection. At her age, rejuvenation was far from a certainty.

  Well, there was no way to find out except by trying. Teller tried to push the possibility of rejuve failure out of her mind as she braided her hair.

  In bed, waiting for sleep, her mind reached back, re­membering family, friends, and lovers, all dead now. Through the decades and centuries of her life she had watched them all grow old and die. Abeha had been her constant companion. Now he was gone, too. She remem­bered Samad, burning with intensity up onstage tonight. Her son. She wanted him to remain that young and vital forever. With rejuve, he would. And she would have some­one who would not leave her behind.

  Samad picked up his backpack and followed Teller down the ramp of the shuttle and into the spaceport. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp and took a deep breath of the alien air of Hanuman. It smelled sweet and clean after the recy­cled air of the ships and the stations, but there was a metal­lic, industrial tang to it. As they walked toward the baggage station, he tried hard not to gape at the fortune in metal that surrounded these people. There were shiny metal pan­els on the walls of the corridors. In the lobby of the space­port, there was a huge bronze statue of a shuttle taking flight. On metal-poor Thalassa, a bronze statue that large would have been immensly valuable, but here, people walked past the statue with hardly a glance.

  They had cleared customs and quarantine when they ar­rived at the port satellite. All they needed to do was get their luggage and take a jitney into the city of Bindara. It was warm and humid as they stood at the jitney rank. The air smelled of oil and rubber. There was a fitful breeze, and it felt like it was about to rain.

  The jitney arrived. It was brightly painted with stylized flowers and birds.

  "Hotel Li Salle please," Teller told the driver as he took their bags and stowed them in the back of the vehicle.

  "Yes, madame," the driver replied crisply. His accent was nasal and harsh. He put the jitney into gear with a jerk and hurled the car into the midst of the traffic speeding by.

  To Samad, everything in Bindara had a metallic sheen. Tall buildings of glass and steel towered like faceted metal cliffs over the streets. The streets were filled with crowds of people. Cars and trucks raced everywhere, honking their horns. Even the big city bustle of Nueva Ebiza seemed sleepy beside the Bindaran traffic.

  The jitney pulled up in front of a gleaming hotel.

  "The Li Salle!" the driver announced.

  Two men in bright red coats with stiff, high collars of some shiny black material stepped up to help Teller down from the jitney. Samad reached for his suitcase.

  "Allow me, monsieur," one of the uniformed men said, deftly taking the suitcase from him before he could protest.

  "Teller, why can't we carry our own suitcases?" he whis­pered as they followed the red-coated retainers and their luggage through doors held open by still more servants.

  Teller smiled. "It's a very good hotel, Samad. They're fa­mous for their excellent service. Just relax and try to enjoy it."

  By then they were in the lobby, and Samad stopped dead, astonished by the magnificence surrounding them. Metal, glass, marble, and wood gleamed under tasteful lighting. Deep carpets with elaborate patterns and rich colors covered the floors. Everything seemed to quietly murmur the hotel's luxurious expense.

  "Teller, we can't be staying here!" he whispered. "It must cost a fortune!"

  Teller turned, her smile widening. "It does. It's all right, Samad. We can afford it."

  "But—" Samad protested.

  "I'll explain it to you later, Samad. In the room," Teller told him. From her tone, Samad knew better than to talk about it any further.

  At last the platoon of porters, greeters, servers, and room Suffers had all performed their duties and been thanked, tipped, and seen to the door. Teller kicked off her shoes and settled into a deep chair with a glass of champagne and a sybaritic sigh. Samad prowled
the room restlessly, examin­ing the suite and its elaborately luxurious fittings.

  "Hey, Teller, there's two toilets in here! One's kind of funny looking. Is it for aliens?"

  Teller hauled herself out of the comfortable chair and peered over his shoulder.

  "That's a bidet, Samad," Teller said, and then she told him what it was for.

  "Oh," Samad said, emerging from the bathroom consid­erably subdued.

  Teller hid her amusement. "Stop prowling around like a caged tiger and come sit down and drink your champagne. It's the real thing, and it's absolutely lovely."

  Samad settled himself self-consciously into one of the chairs. He jumped as the cushions oozed into a more com­fortable position.

  "Teller, this chair's moving! And it's way too friendly!"

  "It's all right, Samad, that's a formchair. They're sup­posed to do that. Just relax and let it make you comfortable. Here, try some of this," she said, handing him a delicate crystal flute of a clear, golden champagne. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface. He sipped at it cautiously. Behind its initial astringency, a wealth of complex flavors blossomed.

  "It's good," he admitted and took another sip.

  Teller beamed. "Every few decades, I like to take a year off and come to the Central Worlds and wallow in luxury for a while. I figure I deserve it."

  "You said you were going to explain about the money."

  Teller nodded. "I was working my way up to it. You re­member I was a Jump pilot, once, a long time ago."

  "Of course, you were the Pilot," Samad agreed.

  "Yes, well, on Thalassa, I'm the Pilot. But out here, in the wider universe, I'm just another pilot. Pilots are very well paid, and once they burn out, they receive a lavish life­time pension. I spent most of my piloting career out in space, so my salary just piled up in the bank. And then when I was marooned on Thalassa, I couldn't spend any­thing. After the colony was up and running, I went back to

  the Central Worlds, proved who I was, and collected my back pension. After I invested my pension, I was downright wealthy.

  She took a sip of champagne and smiled smugly. "The Pilots Union is still paying me my pension."

  "After five hundred years?" Samad said, his dark eye­brows raised in surprise.

  Teller shook her head. "It's only been four hundred and some. But it's a lifetime pension, and it does pile up. You've heard of the Thalassan Land Trust?"

  Samad nodded. It was Thalassa's biggest conservation or­ganization; they owned millions of acres and took care of millions more.

  "That's me." She named half a dozen of Thalassa's largest companies, as well as several more that he had never heard of. "I'm a majority owner of all of them, mostly through holding companies and a number of different aliases, which change over time. I've also invested in hundreds of major Galactic companies."

  "How much money do you have?" Samad asked.

  Teller shrugged. "I don't know, exactly. That's one of the things I'll find out in the next few days. I'll be meeting with my financial people and getting current reports. As my heir, I'd like you to come with me."

  "Your heir!" Samad said, incredulous. "But Teller, you'll outlive me by several lifetimes!"

  Teller shook her head. "Not if you get the rejuve treat­ment, too," she said. "Samad, even with the rejuve, I could get hit by lightning, or fall off a mountain, or drown. I've been very lucky for a very long time, but no one lives for­ever. I need an heir, and you're the most logical choice."

  "But—" Samad began and then stopped. He felt dizzy and disoriented by so many changes.

  Teller touched his arm. "I'm sorry, Samad. I've hit you

  with too many things in too short a time. Go unpack, lie down for a bit if you need to. When you feel a little better, we can explore the city. We'll go shopping and get some lo­cal clothes so we don't look quite so much like tourists."

  Samad started to leave, then paused in the doorway. "Teller? You're not—you aren't planning on killing your­self, are you?"

  Teller shook her head. "Of course not! Would I be spend­ing a fortune on a rejuve treatment if I were? I'm just plan­ning ahead. I'd rather pass on what I've built to you. I want someone to carry on what I've started."

  "I'm just glad that you're not planning on dying anytime soon, Teller." Samad said and went into his room to unpack.

  That evening, dressed in the latest Bindaran fashions, they dined at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. The restaurant was set in a huge glass teardrop sus­pended from one of the city's jeweled, gleaming towers. From their table they had a commanding view of the space­port and the wide, dark bay. The sky overhead looked into the heart of the Galactic core, and the haze of brilliant stars shone so brightly that it was possible to read by their light. They ate exotic dishes imported from a dozen worlds and drank wines that tasted like floral-scented sunlight.

  "Teller, how come you don't live like this all the time?"

  Teller set down her glass and looked thoughtful. "What would people back on Thalassa say about me if I did?"

  Samad rolled his eyes expressively.

  "Exactly," Teller said. "Besides, if I lived like this all the time, I'd get bored with it. And I'd be the size of a house. But if it's a rare treat, I savor it when it comes around." She took a last sip of the incredible wine. "Still, I wouldn't mind drinking this more often. I wonder if we could grow these grapes on Thalassa." She asked the wine steward for the empty bottle. "I know someone who can pass the word to

  the Thalassan agricultural development office. It's a long shot, but we really could help our wine exports if we could pull it off."

  The bottle, discreetly wrapped in a monogrammed linen napkin, arrived along with the check. Samad glanced at the check, and his eyes widened in shock. Their dinner had cost half a year's wages for a Thalassan shepherd.

  Teller saw his shocked expression. "It's all right, Samad," she told him. "We can afford it."

  "But it's so much money!" he blurted. "Couldn't we help someone with it instead?"

  "Samad, do you remember Agnese and her mother?"

  He nodded.

  "You remember that her mother was left some money by a long-lost great-aunt that she didn't know she had?"

  He nodded again.

  "There wasn't any aunt, Samad. That was me. I arranged it. Agnese's mother doesn't know. She thinks it really was her great-aunt. But it was enough money for her to build a new life on another island. I was sorry that you had to lose your friend, but I could see what living there was doing to. her. I help when I can, Samad, which isn't as often as I'd like. Money isn't the solution to every problem. Sometimes it's as simple as the right word in the right ear. There's a lot of good that can be done simply by listening for trouble and finding a way to help. The Guild does a lot of that. You and I aren't the only storytellers who help people out and report trouble back to the Guild House. The Guild is continuing and expanding on what the Pilot did. Do you remember the tsunami that hit the Kerkenah Archipelago two years ago?"

  Samad nodded. "We went there with Hannah, Fatima, Juan, and Miguel to help out. Oh," he said, as he realized that they had all been Guild members, except for Miguel and Fatima, who were still apprentices. "But it was the har

  captains who brought in all the food and tents and stuff," he added, and then another realization struck him.

  "The har captains: Do you help there, too?"

  Teller shook her head. "The har captains are financially pretty self-sufficient. But the Pilot inspired a lot of people to step in and lend a hand. They set up a transport network for disaster relief supplies without any help from me. But I did help start the harsel hospitals. Those hospitals have res­cued thousands of harsels. A lot more of them live to be­come mothers now." She looked away, out at the brilliant view, her expression somber and preoccupied. She was re­membering Abeha's death again, Samad realized, and cursed himself inwardly for reminding her of it.

  "I'm not sure that we're doing the harsels any favors b
y healing them so that they can die as mothers, but they think so," Teller added after a long silence.

  The check paid, they rose from the table. "Shall we walk back to the hotel?" Samad suggested. Perhaps the walk would distract her from Abeha.

  Teller shook her head. "We should take a taxi. The streets here can be dangerous at night."

  "Dangerous?" Samad said.

  "This isn't Thalassa, Samad," Teller pointed out. "There's real poverty, and real crime here."

  "And there isn't on Thalassa?" Samad demanded.

  "Not like here. This city has nearly as many people as all of Thalassa. We're strangers. We don't know which neigh­borhoods are safe and which ones are dangerous. We could get killed simply for being outworlders in some parts of this city. I didn't get to be five hundred years old by taking silly chances for no reason. Besides, I'm tired. It's been a long day."

  They rode back through the glittering streets in silence.

  Samad looked moodily out the windows at the alien city passing by. There was a whole world to explore, and they were going home to their hotel.

  When they got back to the room, Teller went to bed al­most immediately, but Samad felt restless. He stared out at the brilliantly lit city streets, itching to explore them, de­spite Teller's warnings. Teller had already been everywhere and done everything. But this was his first time on another world. He wanted to have some adventures, too. He scooped his wallet and room card off the coffee table, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

  Samad walked down the busy street that the bellhop had di­rected him to. A group of gaudily dressed women stood on a corner.

  "Hey handsome, you busy tonight?" one of them asked.

  "Not particularly," Samad said. "You?"

  "Not as busy as I want to be," she said with a knowing look at the other women. "Want to have a good time?"

  Samad shrugged, aware that he was missing something and unwilling to commit himself until he understood the situation a bit better.

  "You could have a really good time with two of us if you've got the money," another woman volunteered.