by Amy Thomson
Samad finally understood. These were hetaerae, only much more forthright than the discreet women of Thalassa. He blushed deeply red. But moved by a sudden impulse, blurted, "I-I'm sorry, I like men."
He fell silent, amazed at himself for saying it out loud. It felt somehow safer to speak such secrets here, a thousand light years from home.
"Well then you're in the wrong neighborhood!" the second hetaera said.
"Oh," he said. Then, made suddenly bold by the same impulse that had driven him to blurt out his hidden truth, asked, "Where's the right neighborhood?"
"That depends," the hetaera said. "You buyin' or looking for free sex?"
Samad blushed darkly. "Uhm, free, I guess. Is it hard to find?"
The women standing around listening to this conversation erupted in raucous laughter.
"Look in a mirror, manis," one of them remarked. "They'd pay you!"
Samad's blush darkened, but inwardly he was reassured and a bit flattered.
"Go on over to the corner of Bebas and Sepuluh Streets. There's a bar there called Denys' Place. Go in there and ask around for Miss Corazon. Tell her that Sumalee said to take good care of you.'
"A-all right." Samad stammered. Why was he being sent to a woman, when he was interested in men? Never mind, it was the next step on his journey. He turned to go, but remembering his manners amid his eagerness, he paused and looked back. "Thank you!" he called, and then ran off to the nearest taxi rank.
"Why do all the good-looking ones like men?" one of the women complained as Samad climbed into a cab.
"S'a damned shame," another one agreed. "Hope he knows what he's getting into."
"He'll learn," said the one who had directed him to the bar. "He'll learn."
Denys' Place was dark and elegant. He caught the faint, subdued gleam of polished wood and the aqueous shine of mirrors made of rippled glass. There was the smell of sweat and some kind of exotic dreamsmoke in the air. The music
was loud and slow, horns and drums peaking and fading like warm, lapping water. The bar was full of men. Samad was struck by how ordinary most of them seemed, chatting in groups around small, high-topped tables. There were a few women in the bar. They were tall and elaborately dressed in shimmering gowns, clearly posing for effect. He wasn't really sure what he had expected, really. A seedy bar full of furtive, solitary men in baggy coats taking a break from preying on children, perhaps. The thought seemed so outrageous in this setting that his lips quirked in a sudden grin. Then, in a corner, he saw two men kissing each other with a passionate, focused intensity. His breath caught for a moment, then quickened. He had found what he was looking for.
He stepped up to the bar. The bartender wore a very short kiltlike skirt and sheer stockings of some glittering, figured fabric. Tiny green gems glittered in the young man's bright copper hair. The bartender's skin was pale as ivory and gleamed as though coated with oil. Samad stared at him in awe. He had never seen a man like this on Thalassa.
"Can I get you something?" the beautiful bartender asked him with a sultry pout.
"Do you have Thalassan pear cider?" he asked hopefully.
"No," the bartender said. "I'm afraid not."
"A beer then. Whatever's on tap." The bartender drew him a beer.
"Is there a Miss Corazon here?" he asked as he paid for the beer. "I was told to ask for her."
"Over there," the bartender said, pointing to a corner lit by one dim spot. A tall woman sat there, alone on a stool, watching the crowd with tired, worldly eyes. As he watched, a man came up and said something to her. She laughed, patted him on the cheek, and ran one hand slowly up the inside of his leg. Samad blushed.
"Go ahead," the bartender urged. "She won't bite—at least not too hard." He smiled and added, "She'll like you," in an insinuating voice.
Samad took a sip of his beer, gathered his courage, and walked over to introduce himself to Miss Corazon.
"Good evening, young man," she said, in a deep, velvety voice. Sitting on her barstool, Miss Corazon was almost as tall as he was. She looked incredibly elegant in a long, high-necked gown that glittered in the dim light of the bar. Her dress was slit almost up to the hip, revealing a long, smooth expanse of leg. "Where did the strong west wind blow you in from?"
"Thalassa," he said simply. "I'm here with my mother."
"How charming," she replied, chilling perceptibly. "And did you bring Mother with you tonight?"
"She's asleep. I met a woman named Sumalee over in the Market, and she said I should talk to you."
Miss Corazon took out a cigarette and carefully placed it in a long, jeweled holder. She held it up, eyebrows lifted questioningly, and he realized, after a long moment, that she was waiting for him to light it. He patted his pockets and blushed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't have a lighter."
Miss Corazon arched one thinly plucked eyebrow. For a moment, Samad thought she was insulted. But then she laughed lightly. "You are a charming young thing." She reached into her gold purse, pulled out a lighter, and handed it to him. Her jaded eyes studied his face as he fumbled to light her cigarette. Then she took a puff and blew out the smoke with airy experience.
"And what did this Sumalee want you to talk to me about?"
Samad shrugged. "I-I'm not sure," he said. "I told her I was interested in men, and she sent me to you. I think she
was a hetaera. Um, you call them prostitutes, here. She said to tell you to take good care of me."
"Oh. That Sumalee. I see."
"But why did she send me to you, when I was interested in sex with men?"
Miss Corazon stared at him for a long moment, clearly startled, and then laughed, a surprisingly deep-throated, chesty laugh, almost, he thought, a man's laugh.
"My dear young man," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, the pronoun she is a courtesy title. I'm a man. In drag. Dressed like a woman," she explained with a hint of asperity.
"Oh," Samad said again, noticing a certain heaviness along the jawline, and the size of the knuckles on her beautifully manicured hands. "We don't have that sort of thing on Thalassa."
"You poor thing! What a very dreary place it must be."
"No, actually, it's beautiful. I love it there." He remembered sailing through the Bonifacio Strait, with towering cliffs of twisted golden rock rising out of the startling turquoise water, a cloud of white seabirds calling overhead, and he was suddenly, powerfully homesick.
"But now you're here. For how long?" Miss Corazon asked.
"A couple of months."
"And you're sightseeing?"
"I guess. I've never been in a place like this. There's nothing like it on Thalassa."
"I'm sure there is, dear. You just haven't found it yet. Now, let me introduce you around."
Corazon took him over and introduced him to the men in the bar. They welcomed him with sultry looks and flirtations, and soon he was the center of a laughing, talkative group, telling stories about Thalassa and eagerly listening to their gossip to learn as much as he could about the new
world he found himself in. He felt simultaneously keyed up and oddly at ease. For once he was being completely himself. Then one of the handsome, laughing men put his hand on Samad's knee and slid it slowly higher, his eyes lingering on Samad's face. Samad felt his heart begin pounding.
"So, are you going to talk all night long, or do you want to do something more?" the man asked him in a low, urgent voice.
"Sure," Samad said, his groin suddenly tight. "Let's go."
As they left, Samad looked over at Miss Corazon, who was now sitting on the bouncer's lap. She glanced up at him, smiled a slow, sexy smile, and fluttered a long-nailed hand at him in farewell.
Samad followed the man out of the bar and into the sultry, humid night. The man led him into a warren of darker streets. Once off the main street, the man slipped an arm around Samad's waist. As the night grew darker around them, they stopped, kissed, and then continued on to the man's apartment
, where all of Samad's forbidden desires were finally realized, several times over.
The light leaking past the drawn shades had grown watery and pale when his lover finally fell asleep. Glancing at the clock, Samad realized that Teller would be waking in another couple of hours. She would worry if he wasn't there, and there would be questions that he wasn't ready to answer. He slipped out of the bed, dressed, and found his way back to a main street, where he was able to get a taxi back to the hotel. Halfway home, he realized that he'd never learned the name of the man he'd slept with, and he laughed out loud.
During the next two weeks, Samad returned to the bar as often as he could get away. The rest of the time he spent with Teller. They toured the city, shopped, and met with Teller's investment managers. He tried to be interested in the details of her financial empire, but his heart and mind
weren't in it. His real life was at night, in the bars and in bed with the men he met in Denys' Place or one of the other bars he learned about as he slept around.
Then Samad found Teller waiting for him in the living room when he came in one night.
"The night doorman says that you've been going out late and coming home early. Would you mind telling me where you have been going? I'm responsible for your health and well-being, and I need to know where you're going," she said.
"I was out," Samad told her, playing for time.
"I was aware of that, Samad," Teller replied. "But that was not what I asked you. Where did you go when you went out?"
"I've just been exploring the city," he said. "I'm fine."
"Please, Samad," Teller said. "Don't go out alone. It's a strange city. All kinds of things could happen to you."
They already have, Samad thought, and they were a lot of fun.
"Teller, I've been out there, and I'm fine. Really."
"Where did you go? What did you see? Do you have any stories to tell?"
Samad looked down and shook his head. "Not really. I just went places and saw stuff."
Teller arched an ironic eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like the Samad I know. Usually I can't get you to stop telling me stories about what you've seen. Are you afraid I'll be mad at you? Are you in some kind of trouble? Is it a girl?"
"Damn it, Teller, I'm not a child anymore!" Samad lashed out at her. "It's my own damned business where I go and what I do."
Teller's face became expressionless. "Yes, I suppose it is, Samad. But it's been my business to keep you safe for the last eight years, and it's a hard habit to break." She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "If you ever need help from me, Samad, all you have to do is ask."
"Thanks, Teller," he said. "But I'm fine, really."
"The rejuve clinic called," Teller said, changing the subject. "One of their clients had to change their appointment. They have an opening the day after tomorrow. I'd like to leave tomorrow, so that I have an extra day to settle in before my treatment starts. It would give me a chance to get the treatment over with."
"Oh," said Samad, trying to hide his disappointment. "How far away is the clinic?"
"Just a couple of hours by 'thopter," Teller said. "You'll like it there, it's green and unspoiled and private. It reminds me a little of some of the islands in the Dellys chain."
"Yeah," Samad said, trying hard to summon up some enthusiasm for leaving behind this incredible new banquet of sex, after years of secret longing. "It'll be great."
"Better get some sleep, Samad. You sound tired, and we're going to have to get up early tomorrow to pack."
CHAPTER 12
THE REJUVE CLINIC LOOKED FAMILIAR. OF course it does. They understand what it's like, Teller thought to herself. The directors took great pains to ensure that the rejuve clinic was an island of reassuring continuity in an ever-changing universe. Even the paintings on the walls looked exactly the same as they had on her last visit, fifty years ago. They'd looked just the same the first time she'd visited the clinic three and a half centuries ago.
The clinic staff even looked familiar, though many of them were not rejuved. They were all tall, blond, and tan, with the same professional, welcoming smiles. Even the rejuved staff seemed to glow with healthy youthfulness.
The clinic director met her at the door and escorted her through a phalanx of applauding clinic staff and flashing cameras.
She had never had this kind of welcome before. "Why all the fuss?" she asked the director.
"You're the oldest living patient in our files, Sera Bernardia. There are very few people who've lived as long as you have."
"I see," she said. She was tempted to ask just how much older the oldest person alive was, but refused to yield to the impulse. "I must be good advertising then. I don't suppose I'd qualify for a discount?" she inquired with an ironic lift of one eyebrow.
The clinic director paused noticeably. "I'm afraid that isn't our policy here, Sera Bernardia. You must understand that the older the patient, the more difficult the rejuvenation becomes. For a person of your exalted age, the difficulty and the cost are . . ." He spread his hands.
"Considerable?" Teller supplied.
"Exactly. I will be meeting with you to discuss your treatment after you and your companion are settled."
"Samad is my adopted son. I was hoping that we could begin the preliminaries for his future rejuvenation."
"I see. That will require a full gene scan, and ah, some blood tests."
"I believe that there is enough in my account to cover such things," Teller assured him. "And I have also purchased a full rejuvenation policy for him, so that when the time comes, the funds will be assured."
"We will be privileged to provide whatever services Ser Bernardia would require."
"Thank you," Teller said.
The director lifted a hand to cover his right ear, listening intently to his internal phone. "I'll be right there," he said, replying to the person on the phone. "Forgive me sera, ser, but there is something I must attend to. My staff will see to your every comfort, and I will meet with you later this afternoon to discuss your treatment."
They were ushered into their suite, which transformed
the sterility of a medical clinic into a monastic, Zen-like elegance.
"Well, that was a graceful preliminary to letting me down easily," Teller remarked when they were finally alone in their suite.
"What do you mean?" Samad asked, a note of concern in his voice.
"They give me a similar speech every time I come here, a polite little lecture about how the treatment may not work this time." She shrugged. "It always has before."
"Are you worried?" Samad asked.
Teller frowned. "I always am, and then everything turns out all right. The director was just preparing the ground for his usual little speech."
"What about me?" he asked. "What are they going to do to me?"
"They'll just draw a little blood, Samad, and scrape the inside of your cheek for some cells."
"The gene scan, what's that for?"
"They're looking for any genetic defects that might affect your longevity. If they turn up anything, they'll want you to stay long enough to repair them."
"I-it won't tell me anything about my family, will it? I mean—" he began.
"It's all right, Samad. I understand your need to know. By itself the gene scan will tell us nothing." She scowled. "We'd have to go to the Pilots Union for that information, since both of your parents were pilots. They'd have any next of kin on file."
"You don't sound happy about that," Samad observed.
"The Pilots Union always seems to get their kilo of flesh," she said. "I don't trust them. But knowing more about your parents is important."
"Thank you, Teller."
She shrugged and smiled. "I expect that the Union will try to get their cut, but I know the kind of tricks they pull. I'll make sure that they don't try anything with you." She sat down on the bed. "Time for this old lady to get a nap," Teller said crisply. "You should go and get settled in your room."
&n
bsp; "All right then," Samad said, "Let me know if you need anything."
"I know." She took Samad's hand in hers and gave it a brief, reassuring squeeze. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Samad." He slipped out, taking care to close the heavy door as silently as possible.
Teller smiled at Samad's care in closing the door. He needn't have bothered. Everything in this expensive mausoleum of a place was carefully engineered to be expensively unobtrusive. It was impossible to slam the doors here. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, glad to be alone. She had lied to Samad. She was very afraid. Her last rejuvenation had not lasted nearly as long as previous treatments. And Abeha's death and her subsequent starvation had both taken their physical toll. Had she waited too long this time?
Raising Samad had brought her closer to people again, especially after Abeha's death. She liked her life. It was not the life she had with Abeha, but it was still a life filled with love and things to do. She didn't want to die.
Tears of self-pity threatened to well behind her eyelids. Well, waiting won't make this any better, she told herself with asperity. She sat up and blinked to clear her eyes, then reached for the phone and called the front desk.
"Yes, this is Ariane Bernardia, could you please tell the director that I'm ready to meet with him? Thank you."
Teller surfaced from the light doze that always followed the rejuvenation treatments. She stretched, seeking what she inwardly referred to as "that golden feeling." It was a sense of well being and pleasant warmth, like spring sunshine on her back, only all throughout her body. But this time she felt only a very faint glow.
Perhaps, she told herself, fighting back a rising panic, perhaps I'm remembering that feeling to be stronger than it actually was.
Teller held that thought firmly in her mind and let it lull her back to sleep.
The director sat, poised and confident in his too-familiar office.
"It's not working, is it?" Teller stated.
The director held out his hands helplessly. "To be honest, Sera Bernardia, you're responding to the treatments, but . . ." His hands flew wide, like two startled birds. "You're not responding well enough."
