“Spirits, he’s in a shitty mood,” Hwokó said. She left the uniform room, as did most of the other late shift riders.
“Hey,” Paulei said, coming over to Wenthi and reaching out to caress his face. “You did good. We finally got shacks on one of those fuel thieves.”
“Yeah,” Wenthi said. Paulei had that look like he often did after a shift, like he wanted to go back to the dorms and blow some steam, either the two of them or whoever else was available.
“What are you looking for tonight?”
“I just figured the hero deserved a reward,” Paulei said with a devious smile. “Or, like Hwokó said, you’re in a mood. I know how to fix that. We could rope whoever else is around?”
That did sound like a good idea. Wenthi was certainly for heading straight back to the apartments and getting comfortable with Paulei. Even though doing so in headquarters was frowned upon, he kissed Paulei quick, to let him know he wasn’t blowing him off.
“Let’s get home, figure it out there, deal?”
Paulei winked. “Deal.”
7
The KT dormitory was a nondescript building in Circle Kãtaum in the 9th Senja, just one round from Guard and Patrol Headquarters, and three floors were dedicated housing for Civil Patrol. The rest of the building housed students at Ziaparr College and other rhique who were working with Alliance Oversight to rebuild the city. It wasn’t luxurious, by any means, but it was comfortable enough. The facility was well staffed with a kitchen open the full ten sweeps, as well as cleaning and laundry services, so none of them needed to worry about those details.
Wenthi and Paulei were the first ones from late stint to come home, at least from what they saw. Most people, it appeared, opted for a stop in a club or carbon shop first.
“Good evening, Mister Tungét, Mister Jéngka,” the front manager said as they came in. “How was your day so far?”
“Fine, fine,” Paulei said as they made for the elevator.
“News, mail, calls?” Wenthi asked.
The manager presented a slip to Wenthi. “You did receive a call. She left that exchange for you.”
“Thanks,” Wenthi said, just as one of the building support staff—a maintenance man, Guiho was his name—came up from the back entrance.
“Guiho—” the front manager snapped. “Late again. You are supposed to be here at seven on fifty, and—”
Wenthi stepped up. “Oh, he wasn’t late.”
“Mister Tungét, you could see he just came in—”
“Right, but he was coming up just as we arrived, and we asked him to check something on our cycles for us. Didn’t realize he needed to check in first.”
“Oh,” the manager said. She nodded her head appreciatively. “Thank you for letting me know. Carry on, Guiho.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And thank you, Mister Tungét.”
Wenthi smiled and gave him a small salute before joining Paulei on the elevator. As soon as the doors closed Paulei grabbed him and kissed him.
“Why’d you do that?” Paulei asked.
“Do what?”
“Lie for that jifoz fellow for being late.”
“Guiho’s a good sort. And he has checked over our cycles before.”
“Oh, right.”
“And he’s coming in from, where, the 14th? With all the checkpoints, you know how long that must take. Any little thing could make him a few minutes late. Why not help him out?”
Paulei laughed as the doors opened on their floor. “You are too good, you know that?”
“I’ve heard something to that effect,” Wenthi said as they approached their respective rooms.
“I am going to take a quick shower,” Paulei said. “And see if anyone’s around I can recruit to join us in celebrating your success. I think I hear Cinden and Peshka in their room?”
“Good idea,” Wenthi said. Cinden and Peshka were essentially a bonded couple, sharing a room, even if they hadn’t formally affirmed that and they were not planning on having children any time soon. Despite that, they were usually quite enthusiastic to join their fellow patrol officers in bed, separately or together. “I’m going to make this call.”
Paulei kissed him again. “See you in a minute.”
Paulei went into the baths, while Wenthi went over to the hall phone, calling up the operator.
“Exchange?” the operator asked.
“One-Basten-Five-Three,” he said. The exchange was to the 1st Senja. Wenthi wasn’t sure who would call him from there. It rang through.
“New Renbahd Hotel,” a mildly accented voice said upon answering.
“Hi,” Wenthi said, not sure what to make of it. “My name is Wenthi Tungét, I got a message to—”
“Yes, one moment,” the person on the other end said, and there was a click of another ring through. Then another answer, and a woman with a stronger accent.
“Yes, yes?”
“This is Wenthi Tun—”
Sounds of the phone receiver being fumbled were heard, and then a very familiar voice on the other end.
“Wenthi!” Lathéi said. “Thank spirits you called back. I was getting worried I wouldn’t hear from you in time.”
He was shocked that his half-sister was there, on a local call. She was at school in Dumamång across the ocean.
“What are you—”
“Season classes are done and Mother made a frightful stink that I must come home. You know how impossible she can be.”
“All too well,” he said.
“Exactly. We were just about to head out into the nightlife—”
“We?” he asked. “Who was it who answered—”
“I want you to meet her. I want to see you. Come out and meet us.”
“Now?” he asked. “I just got off my stint, and—”
“Wenthi, I have not seen you in a year and a half, and I will not have you pull some lame story about being tired when all you’re going to do is fool around with Paulei or someone else in your cadre.”
“Paulei,” he said.
“Well, bring him along. We’re going to the Fire Chile in the 3rd. We’re leaving now so don’t dawdle.”
“But—”
“See you there.” She hung up, and as was Lathéi’s way, had assumed he would be there because she told him to.
Which he would.
Paulei came out of the baths, damp and wearing just a towel, and looking far too pretty for Wenthi’s heart to take.
“Not seeing anyone else around, but that’s fine,” Paulei said. He nodded toward Wenthi’s door. “Shall we?”
“Can’t. Lathéi got into town tonight, insisting I come out to meet her. You want to join us for a drink?”
“Really?” Paulei said. A flash of different emotions passed over Paulei’s face. He was clearly disappointed, but he was also almost as fond of Lathéi as he was of Wenthi. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ve got the ration points for any place where she would be willing to be seen with us.”
“I know I don’t,” Wenthi said. “But still—”
“No, yeah, would love to see her. Did she already finish Uni?”
“Finished for this season,” Wenthi said. “Two more years to go. Mother wanted her home.”
“Right,” Paulei said, giving Wenthi a kiss before going into his room. He left the door open as he dropped the towel and started dressing. “Can’t disappoint the great lady. Yeah, let’s do it.”
8
The Fire Chile, a brass club in the 3rd Senja, wasn’t llipe exclusive, but fancy and expensive enough that it might as well have been. Getting into that part of the 3rd meant going through three card checkpoints. Fortunately the Alliance Guard working the checkpoints respected their Civil Patrol badges and cycles while checking their identity cards. The Alliance folks had usually been pretty cooperat
ive with local patrol, especially in terms of caste-wander carding, but sometimes there was a hard-ass who would hold up any rhique crossing senjas at this hour. If they had crossed one who wanted to make trouble, Wenthi still had familial dispensation.
Even Alli nucks would think twice before crossing Wenthi’s mother.
They had little problem, though, since they weren’t going into the Damas Kom or anywhere near the estates or embassies in the 1st, 2nd, or 7th. The 3rd Senja was posh and expensive, but plenty of rhique lived there, especially the coat-and-hats who worked the Intown high-rises and the white-phone jobs.
They parked their cycles at the bottom of a sharply inclined alley before making their way up the winding steps around the street curve to the club.
Coat-and-hats were the type who filled the brass club. Scores of well-dressed men and women laughed and drank and danced to the blaring horns of the brass band. Full suits with high waists and wide legs, long coats with wide lapels and grand shoulders, vests buttoned tight and pinching waists. Most of them in bright reds and purples, limes and ceruleans. And, of course, the wide-brimmed and feather hats that had been the look in the Sehosian Unity a few years ago, and the style had now filtered down to the Ziaparr rhique. Wenthi had a couple back at home, but they were hardly practical to bring on a cycle. Instead, Paulei and Wenthi had narrow-brimmed hats, the type affectionately called a doorcheck hat. Not particularly fashionable, but certainly better than being outside without a hat like some jifozi lout. Might as well be wearing grease-stained raw denim slacks and jackets.
He spotted Lathéi at a table up on the balcony overlooking the club, sitting with another woman who was either llipe or a foreigner. Very fair, in hair and complexion. Neither of them were dressed at all like the rest of the club. They wore tight-fitting coats and skirts, double-buttoned from neck to knee, in muted taupe and aqua. Neither wore hats, which five years ago would have been scandalous for a lady to do. It was still quite frowned upon. He was surprised Lathéi even dared.
He went up the spiral staircase to reach the tables on the balcony. A muscle-armed goon stood at the top—swarthy, dark, surely jifoz, like the servers and the dishwashers certainly were—held out his hand to them.
“Gents, you can’t come up here. These tables are reserved.”
“My sister is over there,” Wenthi said, pointing over to her.
“I’m afraid—”
“Lath!”
She noticed him and ambled over, touching the custodian on the shoulder with her gloved hand. “They’re my guests, thank you,” she said. She handed him a sixer bill and waved him away. She took Wenthi’s hands and pulled him toward her.
“Look at you, boy,” she said, sounding just a little odd. “I mean, you didn’t even try to match the style of the place, and I respect that, I do. You would thrive in Dumamång. Thrive!” She gave him a bright smile, showing off her painted lips and perfect teeth. Her attention then turned to Paulei.
“Oh, my faith, Paulei,” she said. She took Paulei in a strong embrace and kissed both his cheeks, leaving the mark of her paint on him. “I suggested Wenthi drag you along, and I am so glad he did. You’ll want to meet Oshnå. You both will.”
Wenthi figured out what was odd about how she spoke. She had almost, but not completely, lost her Pinogozi accent in exchange for a Hemish one. Of course, she had been at university in the Hemish capital for two years, but it still was startling.
As she led them over to the table, it was clear why the balcony was so coveted and exclusive. Up here, the music could be heard, but not so loud to prevent conversation. Plus it had an excellent view of all the folks dancing on the ground floor.
“Oshnå,” Lathéi said as they came up. “This is my half-brother Wenthi, and his very good friend, Paulei Jéngka. Boys, Nieçal Oshnå.”
She extended her gloved hand to Wenthi without standing up. “Charmed. And yes, I am from that Nieçal family.”
Wenthi had no idea what that meant, but took the hand and kissed it, nonetheless. Paulei did the same.
“So are you at school with Lathéi?” Wenthi asked as he sat down.
“I’m obliged to be,” she said. “Though since we’re on break, I decided that Dumamång is just so dreary in this season. And Lathéi is always going on about the food and the color and the absolute charm here in Ziaparr, how could I not come?”
“This your first trip trans-ocean?” Paulei asked.
“First trip to any of the Zapisians. When I was a little girl we took a steamer to the Unity, trains to Wo Mwung Meng, the whole bit. This must have been in, I guess thirty-seven? Little bit after the Great Noble ended. Of course, no one was going to travel to Zapi around then, am I right?”
“Unless you lived here,” Paulei said.
“Oh my faith, I’m sorry,” Oshnå said. “That was thoughtless, thoughtless. I mean, especially here, right here, you boys must have grown up right in the middle of it.”
“I don’t really remember,” Lathéi said. She was only five when the Great Noble War ended, of course she didn’t. And her tone made her real message clear, to change the direction of the conversation immediately. Wenthi couldn’t blame her there. He still remembered the worst of it, what the two of them went through during the war, and there was no need to dwell on that horror.
“We need drinks,” Wenthi said, signaling a server.
“Don’t worry about them,” Lathéi said. “You’re on my ration tonight. Both of you.”
“Very kind,” Paulei said.
The server came over, “And what will you be having?”
“She and I will be having another glass of Relomé Blush,” Lathéi said. “And these two brutes will probably want carbon and rum.”
“Yes, carbon and rum,” Wenthi said. If Lathéi was paying, might as well go all in. “Dark Shumi for the carbon, please.”
“Dark Shumi and rum as well,” Paulei said.
“Well, wait,” Oshnå said. “If that’s what the locals drink, I want the full experience. So same for me. And you.”
Lathéi rolled her dark eyes. “It can be sickly sweet, but fine. We’ll do it proper for you. Four Dark Shumi with rum, thank you. And a plate of tacos for the table. Fruit pork and Ureti beef with rajas. Do you want the corn?”
“I want everything,” Oshnå said.
“Four orders of the corn, and load it with that spice. The raina?”
The server looked hesitant. “If the lady wishes, but perhaps on the side?” She glanced at Oshnå. “It’s not for all tastes.”
Lathéi scowled. “Sure, that’s fine.”
“While we wait,” Paulei said, getting to his feet. “I think the music is calling to me. Miss Nieçal?” He held out a hand to her.
“I have no idea how to dance to this,” she said.
“You’re in luck,” he said with far too pretty a smile. “No one does.”
She took his hand and they made their way to the spiral stair.
Wenthi moved his chair closer to his sister.
“So how long is she staying?”
“Probably for the whole break,” Lathéi said. “Don’t worry, she’s rented her own hotel suite in the 1st with a view of the harbor. I mean, of course I offered to have her at Mother’s house, and of course Mother would have opened her doors to her, but Oshnå wanted to have her own space.” She looked down to the dance floor. “You should let him know he’s not fucking her or me tonight.”
“No?” Wenthi asked.
“Faith, it’s a whole thing in Hemisheuk, you can’t imagine. I made so many people mad in my first season. You fuck anyone and they act like you already have a union, and everyone gets angry if you fuck someone else without formally ending it with the first, and everyone expects, what’s the word—fidelity. I got called things you can’t even translate. Madness.”
“Sorry,” he said. But that brought
up more questions. “So, do they only fuck in pairs there?”
“Only,” Lathéi said with a sigh. “The idea of a group? They would die. Die. I suggested it once, it was like I suggested eating children.”
“Sounds strange,” he said. There was hardly a person in their patrol cadre whom either he or Paulei hadn’t bedded, either individually or together. On their dorm floor, while everyone had their own beds and rooms, who was where on any given night was always fluid. The Hemisheuk method sounded stifling.
“I’ve managed. And since fidelity matters to Oshnå—and I do care a lot for her—I’m respecting that for her sake.”
“If that works for you,” he said. “How was the steamer trip here?”
“Terrible,” Lathéi said. “I would have far preferred to stay in Hemisheuk for the duration, but Mother insisted. I got a cable from her every day until I got on the ship, and then once I boarded she actually used the radio to make sure I was on.”
“I didn’t know,” Wenthi said. “I’m not in the house. I’ve barely seen much of Mother all year.”
“But you are going to be coming by, right? I can’t take Mother on my own, and I’ll only submit Oshnå to so much of her.”
“Aleiv is there.”
“She’s a child,” Lathéi said.
“So were you not long ago.”
“Hush,” Lathéi said. “But, please, try to be around.”
“I do have shifts to work.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
She looked like she was about to say something more, but the server arrived with the drinks. The server put four tumblers on the table, each with a few ice cubes and a finger of rum. Then she put four glass bottles of Dark Shumi, all still capped. She then took a moment, waiting for Lathéi to give approval. Lathéi touched one bottle, sweating with condensation and a hint of frost, and nodded her head in approval. The server produced a bottle opener from her apron and opened up each bottle, each giving off a crisp fizz of carbonation being released. She offered the caps to Lathéi, who indicated to leave them on the table.
The Velocity of Revolution Page 4
