by Chris Bunch
He moved Jasith toward the center of the floor, extended his arms just as the two bands, in exceptionally ragged nonsynchronization, broke into a new number.
“Oh,” Jasith said in disappointment. “This is that new dance … well, I guess it wouldn’t be new to you, ‘cause it came out from Centrum a couple of years ago, so it’s old journoh by now. Anyway, I don’t know the steps.”
Garvin thought of telling Jasith the deep, thorough knowledge he’d gained of the Confederation capital’s recreational tastes in three weeks in the recruit reception depot mainly spent cleaning ‘freshers, decided there wasn’t any point in spoiling the woman’s fondest beliefs. He was about to ask if he could get her a drink when he caught the tune’s rhythm line.
“Hell,” he said, “this one is easy. I’ll show you.” He drew her out onto the dance floor. “It’s all flash,” he explained. “Keep about, oh, five or six centimeters between us, hold your hand up like this, I put one hand around your waist, and it’s step to the side, to the side, back, back, to the side, to the side, and so forth. Every tenth measure or so I put pressure on your waist, and you spin using your hand as a pivot … that’s right. Then turn back … see, you’ve got it.”
Jasith, pink tongue clenched between her teeth, concentrated on her movements for a time, then looked up at Garvin. “You’re a very good dancer. Where’d you learn?”
Garvin smiled wryly, remembering a handsome man and a gorgeous woman, dressed in archaic formality, turning in a spotlighted ring, with hundreds of people cheering.
“In a circus,” he said.
Another memory came — an old-fashioned tarred tent, roaring in flames, screams, howls of fire lifters and a small boy, sitting in ashes, crying for the world that had just died around him. He pushed the thought away.
Jasith laughed.
“Sure. A circus. And you were the, what did they call it, master of the ring?”
“Ringmaster, actually. But that was a long time afterward.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m not that foolish. You’re not old enough to have done that.”
“If you say so,” Garvin said. “But I look a lot older with my hair dyed black, a phony pencil-line moustache, and a top hat.”
“Oh, stop! You know I’m not going to believe you. So what’s the new dance on Centrum?”
“It’s very interesting,” Garvin said. “First, you tie your arms together at the wrists, both men and women. Then you loop your hands over the other person’s neck.”
“That sounds romantic,” Jasith said.
“Oh, ‘tis, it truly is,” Garvin agreed. “When the music starts, you prance backward and forward, four steps, while shouting ‘Ha! Hoo!’ at the end of each sequence. Oh yeh. And everybody’s naked.”
“You took it too far,” she said. “I almost was believing you.”
“That’s the story of my life,” Garvin agreed, as the music stopped for a minute, then became a syrupy ballad. “Here’s another new style,” Garvin said, and took her in his arms, holding her close.
“It’s nice,” she breathed into his ear.
“So are you,” Garvin said, feeling a little drunk without having had anything at all to drink, her sleekness warm and giving against him. “Your hair smells like a soft tropical night, with the wind whispering through it.”
“Maybe you did work for a circus,” Jasith said. “You sure can use the words.”
“Ah, milady, when you’re poor and in love with someone far above you, words are your only help,” Garvin said.
“Only?”
“Well,” Garvin said, “the only ones you can use on a dance floor.”
“I’m not going to ask,” Jasith said. “Because if I did, I’ll bet you were going to say something dirty.”
“Not me,” Garvin protested, “for I’m as pure as … as … as what?”
“Flower petals?” Jasith suggested.
“Flower petals,” Garvin agreed. “And I’d like to take you in my arms, put you down on a carpet of them, and then lie down at your side.”
“Careful,” Jasith warned. “I think I know what comes next.”
“I put nine meters of tongue in your ear and drill for uranium?” Garvin said.
Jasith giggled. “That’s enough, silly.”
“That’s only a beginning,” Garvin said, and the music came to a halt. “Now we both deserve a drink.”
They walked off the dance floor. Garvin stopped to admire a fountain, brass cups of various sizes and shapes, each cascading water down into the next with a soft tinkling sound like half-heard bells. A dozen people, mostly men, were gathered around it, listening to a darkly handsome man a few years older than Garvin, who sat on the banquette around the fountain.
“Of course there’s a supreme being, Jermy.”
Jermy, a man very bald for his years, shook his head vigorously, a smile on his lips.
“Prove it, Loy.”
“Quite easily,” the other man said. “If there is no god, put him or her in upper case if you choose, then all would be chaos.”
“Not necessarily,” Jermy said. “Natural order. Evolution and that.”
“Fiddle,” Loy said. “Nothing happens accidentally, or quote naturally end quote. Show me an example of natural order … which you needn’t bother trying, for there’s none.”
“Better, since you’re the one trying to make a point,” Jermy said. “You give me an example of your god-dictated system that shows things are always as they ought to be.”
“Easily. Look about you. We freely concede the ’Raum are a distinctly lesser class and, I believe, race as well, correct?”
Garvin’s skin crawled as he heard too many murmurs of agreement.
“Therefore, they must function in a lesser capacity. Do you think it’s chance that our servitors are ’Raum, fitting quite comfortably into their meniality? You’d hardly expect to see one of them on the dance floor or standing with us, would you? We are their superiors, of course, so therefore they are content, with their god-ordered role as servants, whether it’s working in the mines or” — Loy held his empty glass out to a nearby white-clad man — “getting me another drink.”
The man, old enough to be Loy’s father, bowed and took the glass, expression blank. As he turned away, his eyes met Garvin’s, and the soldier noted the hard glitter.
“Yet another example — ” The handsome young man yelped in surprise as water cascaded down his back. He whirled, to see Garvin, looking ostentatiously aghast, moving one of the brass cups, so the water fell into it once more.
“My apologies,” Garvin said. “My hand must’ve conflicted with the natural order.”
The man came to his feet, flushing in anger. Garvin smiled, a tight, unpleasant smile. His hands curled, lifted, his left foot slid out and he centered himself, then semi-crouched.
Loy hesitated.
Jasith hissed, “Men!” and flounced away.
Garvin waited, but Loy didn’t move. Garvin ducked his head in dismissal, and went after Jasith.
He found her outside the great room, at the edge of the lake, staring out at the night. “Hey.”
She didn’t move.
“Hey, beautiful,” he tried again.
She spun. “Why do you men have to do things like that? You and your damned testosterone!”
“The crap that idiot was spouting needed interruption,” Garvin said. “And I’ve learned you can never argue with a bigot. Nothing testerone about that.”
“What bigot? Loy Kuoro’s well educated and a good friend of mine! His father’s publisher of Matin, and he’ll take over the holo in a few years. He’s very clever.”
“Okay,” Garvin said equably. “He’s a very clever asshole. But do I have to like him to be permitted to think you’re wonderful?”
Jasith hesitated, then shook her head. “No. But … but you can’t behave that way.”
“What do I know?” Garvin said. “I’m just a simple soldier, with simple desires.”
Jasith
looked skeptical.
“Sometimes they overwhelm me,” he said. “For instance, with the moonlight behind you, I’ve got an overwhelming desire to kiss you.”
“You can’t — ” Her protest was muffled by his lips. The kiss lasted quite a long time. Eventually she drew back. “Oh dear,” she said. “I’ve never been kissed like that that I remember.”
“You sure?” Garvin asked.
“No. Maybe you should do it again,” she said. He did.
“My,” she said softly, melting closer. Garvin slid his hand through the gap in her dress, cupped, stroked her hips, then her naked buttocks. He slid a finger between them, caressed her. She murmured wordlessly, breath coming more quickly as her tongue curled around Garvin’s.
“Should we think about finding a nice, soft pile of flowers?” he whispered.
“We can’t,” she said sadly.
“Why not?”
“The Bampurs put alarms everywhere, and I don’t want a scandal if people came running and found us … well, found us.”
“ ’Kay, that’s out,” Garvin said. “How’d you come here?”
“I brought my lifter.”
“Well?”
“It’s a little two-seater. We’d never be able to … to be comfortable.”
“So let’s go somewhere. I just happen to have a nice, luxurious hotel,” Garvin whispered. “With a big soft bed, and nobody pays any attention to people’s comings and goings.”
“Comings?” she whispered.
“Anywhere you want to,” he promised, and they kissed again. He brought his hand up, fondled her breasts, felt her rigid nipples.
“Hey,” a voice came. “You. Shithead!”
Jasith squeaked in surprise, jumped back. Garvin turned, very quickly. Loy Kuoro stood, face angry, fists balled. Jaansma forced his mind away from Jasith.
“That was a shitty thing you did to me,” Kouro said.
“Those were some shitty things you were saying,” Garvin said reasonably. “Especially in front of some people.”
“People? ’Raum people?” Kouro sneered.
“Publishers? People?” Garvin echoed in an equally nasty voice. “I hear the only way you can breed is with your own sisters? Any truth to that?”
Jasith gasped, and Kouro turned white. Garvin had a moment to realize he’d touched on something explosive, and the man tried to kick him. Garvin stepped back, and the kick barely touched Garvin’s jacket.
“Don’t do that,” he said in a calm voice. Kouro stumbled, recovered, and Garvin realized the man was somewhat drunker than he appeared. He swung, and Garvin grabbed his hand, pulled, and Kouro stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees.
“Go back inside and get yourself a drink,” Garvin suggested. “You’re pushing the framework.”
Kouro came to his knees, and lurched forward, head down. He butted Garvin in the chest. Garvin almost fell, recovered.
“That’s enough,” he said, still in the same mild tone, and slammed two straight forefist strikes into Kouro, the first into his eye, the second into his midsection. Kouro whuffed, puked, staggered back, and teetered on the edge of the lake. Garvin reached out, pushed, and the man shouted surprise, windmilled his arms, and fell backwards into the lake, landing with a thoroughly satisfying splash.
Garvin Jaansma didn’t bother seeing whether Kouro surfaced, saw Jasith was gone. Garvin swore, went after her, through the great room, along the causeway, and through the estate’s entrance. He went down the steps in time to see a small, bright red lifter streak down the driveway.
“I should’ve killed him,” Garvin said, and went back, looking for Erik.
He couldn’t find him anywhere. He looked at the crowd of utter strangers. “No friends, no taxis. I think,” he said to himself, “it’s gonna be a long walk home.”
• • •
“Curious,” Jo Poynton mused. “Most curious.”
The voice came again: “Your instructions?”
Poynton keyed her mike: “Stand by.”
She returned to her analysis: A group of soldiers stops one of our children from being beaten. Odd. They then somehow have enough money for rooms in one of Leggett’s most expensive hotels and outfit themselves in luxury. Even odder. Three of them then elude one of my most experienced agents and disappear. The other two attend a very exclusive party in the Heights, at the home of one of the most anti-'Raum swine. One is identified by an agent of ours, working as a waiter, as Erik Penwyth, whose family, while not the worst of the giptel, isn’t considered an especially fervent supporter of our cause. He mysteriously joined the Confederation oppressors a short time ago, for no known reason. Now his companion, name unknown, starts a fight over a minor insult made by the giptel Kouro about the ’Raum. He then leaves and is walking toward Leggett. All this is very unusual, and we do not need unusual occurrences this close to Dawning Fury.
“I don’t understand,” she said softly, looking around her room in the depths of the Eckmuhl. Bare except for three transceivers, it gave no answers. She thought of trying to reach Corn-stock Brien or, perhaps better for his fresh thinking, Jord’n Brooks. But there was no time, and certainly she might have a better understanding of the problem than they would, far distant in the hills.
She opened her mike. “Is there traffic in your area?”
“Almost none.”
“Do you and Lompa think you could take him alive? There must be no misunderstanding — alive or do not make the attempt.”
“Wait.” Silence, then: “Affirm. Lompa has a pacifier.”
“Take him then, before he leaves the Heights,” Poynton ordered. “Move him to a secluded area, and I’ll have a pickup craft ready to home on your signal.”
“Understood,” the voice said. “Stand by.”
Poynton picked up another com. “This is Watch Control,” she ordered. “Wake the alert team for action.”
• • •
“I forgive this barraco,” Njangu said in a noble tone, trying to sound like Garvin Jaansma being pompous, “for trying to eat me, for I find the mother pretty goddamned delicious.” He realized he was a little drunk, just loopy enough for almost any silliness to sound like an excellent idea. Njangu took another piece of grilled barraco from the fire-warmed stone, put it on a disk of flat, unleavened bread. He poured a dipper of fiery green sauce over it, folded the top over, and took a huge bite.
“How many of those are you planning to eat?” Angie asked him, speaking with the careful pronunciation of the quite drunk.
“What do you care? I won’t let it spoil my girlish figure,” Njangu said.
“I don’t want you to founder and not be able to … take care of other things.”
“The day that happens,” Njangu promised, “is the day the heavens crumble.”
“Yeesh,” Angie said. “Ego!”
There were five of them lying on mats around the small fire — Ton Milot; his girlfriend, Lupul; Njangu; Angie, who lay curled with her head on Njangu’s ankles; and a slender, large-breasted girl about sixteen named Deira, with tied-back dark red hair, a slow smile, and lips Njangu didn’t want to think about kissing. She wore only a wrap, tucked in above her breasts, and insisted on showing far too much of her upper thigh to Yoshitaro.
“Men’re all like that, aren’t they?” Lupul said.
“ ‘Cept for me,” Ton Milot said. “I’m perfect.” He belched loudly. “Wanna see?”
“It is about that time,” Lupul said, getting up. She tottered a little. “Wups. Earthquake season, I guess.”
Ton Milot clambered to his feet and stood, grinning foolishly. He looked down the beach, where two or three dozen fires guttered down. There were shadows around them, some sitting, talking; others dancing slowly to their own music; others on the sand, moving, twined; still others motionless, paired or alone. “Looks like things’re trickling down to the last hard-cases,” he said. “Guess I’ll see you sometime after the sun comes up.”
“Would you come on,” Lup
ul said. “You see these guys every damned day, not me.”
“Coming, dear.” He followed her into darkness.
“So now it’s just us,” Njangu said. He bent over, and kissed Angie.
“Well,” she said. “Not quite. There’s Deira. She’s locked, loaded, and ready.”
The girl giggled.
“Ready for what?” Njangu asked.
“Show him,” Angie said.
Deira stood, unfastened the tie, shook her head and let her red hair cascade down almost to her waist. She walked slowly around the fire until she bestrode Njangu, pulled the tie on her wrapper, let it drop. Her body was shaved clean.
“Don’t you like these colorful local practices?” Angie asked.
“Uhhh,” Njangu managed.
“She came over,” Angie said calmly, “while you were fishing, and told Lupul she thought you were very handsome, and wanted to know what our customs were, since she guessed I was already with you. She told Lupul that she thought I was handsome, too, and wondered what I thought of her. I said I thought she was pretty, and that I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to kiss me. So we did. She’s a very good kisser. And she does … other things real nice, too. We borrowed one of the huts while we were waiting for you.”
Njangu realized his mouth was dry.
“Well,” Angie said reasonably, “she’s awfully pretty, isn’t she?”
“Uhh … yes.”
“Can I kiss him?” Deira asked.
“Sure,” Angie said, and laughed.
Deira knelt, and pushed Njangu gently down onto his back. She lowered her body onto his, her mouth opening. Njangu felt her breasts hard against his bare chest. An eon or so later, Deira lifted her head. “I do like him,” she said dreamily.
“So do I,” Angie said.
“Now I want to kiss you some more,” Deira said.
“That could happen,” Angie said. She unbuttoned her uniform blouse, took it off. Then she took off her shorts and briefs.
Njangu’d turned on his side, was watching. “You don’t act like this is a total shock,” Angie said.
Njangu smiled slightly, inclined his head, said nothing. The girls in his clique had done anything and everything they thought might shock the cits, with each other or the boys.
