“Civic duty is not at the forefront of most Sertarian officials’ agenda,” Jolar said dryly. “More like how fast they can line their pockets. The Sertarians euphemistically call it ‘giving consideration’ and believe me nothing happens here without a bribe. You don’t even want to call SerSec if you’ve been robbed. If they took your billfold, you won’t get an officer to fill out a report because they know they won’t get the expected bribe.”
“So I don’t want to call SerSec if I’m in trouble?”
His mouth was a grim line. “You can get swift justice if you’re prominent, or under the protection of someone prominent. I’m sure Bruscan gives enough ‘consideration’ that someone harassing one of his guests would win a wicked beating and lengthy imprisonment.”
Arissa’s lips parted in horror. “That’s awful.”
Jolar’s smile was cynical. “That’s Sertar.”
“I guess it’s not worse for me though.” Arissa looked out over the city. “I don’t even have the right to a trial, no matter what world I’m on.”
“I know.” His mouth was a grim line. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“To ask you to help people who would treat you like that. Especially when the best I can offer right now is that you’ll be given a falsified ID. You have the right to live openly.”
She shuddered. “I can’t even imagine. Even if they gave me a pardon, allowed me to live, I wouldn’t be welcome anywhere.”
“You would on Zartan. I’d make sure of it.”
“How?” she wondered. “How could you make people there accept me?”
“Because I—” he started sharply then broke off. “I don’t know,” he continued, his voice steadier. “But you’d have at least one person who would welcome you there.”
She threw him a warm smile. The green space below was growing more pronounced, the residences larger. “This area looks nice.”
Jolar raised an eyebrow at her. “And each house has a security shield and armed guards and privately paid street patrols . . .”
At this speed she couldn’t see guards or any street patrols but the high walls and redundant pulse gates encircling the estates made each a veritable fortress.
“Where is not so nice,” Jolar continued. “Is Tano-Sertar itself. The city is crime-ridden and dangerous as hell. I should have asked before—how are you with a blaster?”
“You mean firing one? Gods, I’ve never even held one.”
He tensed beside her. “Okay. How about self-defense?”
“I’m a fast runner,” she said lightly. Her throat closed. “You’re angry.”
“Yes, I’m fracking angry!” he burst out. “I was showing you how to play festering Star Quest and carrying you back to bed when I should have been—” She felt him take control of himself but his grip on the shuttle’s yoke was tight. “I can’t go back and do what I should have done. I’ll get you a blaster. I’ll show you how to use it and how to defend yourself.”
She hunched her shoulders. “All right.”
He spared her a glance. “This is my fault, not yours. I’m not angry with you.”
“I know. I just . . . I’m not sure I can hurt anyone.”
“Promise me,” he said sharply. “Promise me that if it’s ever you or someone else that you’ll do whatever it takes to survive.”
She hesitated, thinking of the rush of emptiness she felt when Jolar shot the Utavian.
His eyes were intent. “If you love me, Arissa, promise me this.”
“All right, Jolar,” she said faintly. “I promise.”
Her vow set his mind at some ease as he began to set the shuttle down on a large, beautifully landscaped estate. The landing was a gentle one but after he powered the shuttle down Jolar went very still.
“Gods,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t fly one of these things, can you? Or operate a groundcar?”
“No,” she said, surprised. “Of course not.”
“Because you didn’t have an ID.” His jaw hardened. “Okay, we’ll add them to the list.” His attention shifted to outside the shuttle. “That’s Bruscan. What do you think?”
Arissa stretched her senses toward the tall, well-dressed man wearing a pleasant expression as he walked out to great them.
“Quick, sharp mind,” she said. “Ruthless but very self-disciplined. He finds all this amusing but he’s wondering if he can get paid more. Surprised.” She sent a questioning gaze at Jolar. “He wasn’t expecting anyone to be with you.”
Jolar threw her an unapologetic grin. “Fracking amazing,” he murmured then pressed the control to open the shuttle doors.
Arissa kept her focus on Bruscan as she stepped out of the shuttle and she flushed a little as his glance darted over her and then lingered.
Bruscan’s attention swung to Jolar and his smile and embrace of welcome was sincere.
“Jolar Legan!” he said, plainly aware he was being observed by a gardener. “It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s been too long.” Jolar agreed and nodded at her. “I’m glad you finally get to meet my wife. Of course, even after four years I’m not sure Arissa’s forgiven you for missing our wedding.”
“Let me say again how I sorry am I missed it, Arissa.” Bruscan took her hand. “I hope while you’re here I can earn your forgiveness.”
He wasn’t a handsome man but with his height, dark hair and eyes and easy confidence, he was very much a charming one.
She flushed a little at the vibrating interest he directed at her, at his warm, strong fingers wrapping around hers.
She managed with a shy smile. “Of course.”
Jolar nearly snatched her hand out of Bruscan’s grip. “I like the new house,” he said, a little loudly. “How long have you been here again?”
“Three years. Yes, it’s worked out quite well for me. But please, come in out of the sun.”
Nothing in her experience prepared her for the opulence of Bruscan’s home. It was a mansion of gleaming Novician marble and soaring domed ceilings. Arissa spied a painting by Jol Dethara hung, as if placed offhandedly, in the vestibule of the house. The palatial foyer was dotted with almost primitive looking carved birds and her mouth parted when she recognized them as kanta idols of the early monarchal period.
The kanta’s oversize eyes looked out at her with the same dispassion that had watched a thousand generations come and go before their jeweled gaze; their dark blue, glazed bodies glossy in the afternoon sunlight of Bruscan’s front hall.
Just one of these sculptures was worth more than her parents’— no, her uncle’s, she remembered darkly—home.
As Bruscan led them past the curved staircases and down the hall, Arissa became aware of other people inside the house. Plainly garbed and obviously servants of the household, their interest in the visitors was unnervingly intent. Remembering that she’d promised Jolar to use her Seer senses at every opportunity she reached out to one of them . . .
And grimaced.
A quick inventory of the staff nearby showed them at best unethical and at worst unmerciful. Clearly there were none inside these walls that could be trusted either.
“My office,” Bruscan said, over his shoulder by way of explanation. The room was done in soft shades of cream, and a whole wall of plexisteel overlooked the sunny landscaped grounds and swimming pool. A young brunette woman dressed in a yellow quilted jacket of Xeltan design followed them in, pausing expectantly just inside the door.
“Nela,” Bruscan said. “These are my guests, Jolar and Arissa Legan. Jolar, Arissa, this is Nela, my estate manager. She oversees—well, pretty much everything. Feel free to ask her for anything you need while you’re here.”
Nela sent them a friendly smile but Arissa was very glad that Jolar had encrypted his datapad and put an ID lock on it. A mind touch showed Nela already cataloguing everything about her and Jolar in case it was information she could sell.
“Your suite is ready,” Nela said. “I’ll have your luggage brought to your r
ooms right away. Can I get you anything else now?”
Bruscan glanced over the refreshments that already awaited them on the low table then threw them a questioning look. Jolar shook his head.
“That’s all for now, Nela,” Bruscan said. “Please close the door after you.”
When the woman had gone, Bruscan saw them settled on the sofa with iced fruit drinks in their hands and urged them to help themselves to the bite sized offerings in front of them.
Bruscan leaned back against the cushions, a drink held casually in his hand. “So, how can I be of service to you, Jolar,” his mouth quirked infinitesimally upward, “Legan?”
Jolar sent him a narrowed look. “I’ve had the good fortune to be chosen to select the next supplier of the Fleet’s crystal needs. It’s a five year contract.”
“How lucrative,” Bruscan said. “I’m sure a number of people will be interested in acquiring such a rich opportunity for themselves—or their friends.”
Jolar gave him a tight smile. “I have few people in mind already. Can you introduce us?”
“Of course,” Bruscan said. “You know, I’m in the security business. My home and grounds are quite shielded from eavesdropping, Jolar. And my private guards are the best.”
“That’s good to know.” Jolar glanced at Arissa. “I still have every intention of showing . . . care.”
Arissa weighed it but it was a question one wouldn’t have to be a Seer to ask. “What about your staff? Do you trust them?”
Bruscan’s mind sparked with amusement. “Oh, frack no.”
Arissa’s brow creased. “Why have them in your home then?”
“Because they’re as trustworthy as any on Sertar,” Bruscan said off-handedly and gave a nod toward the refreshment tray. “And they do their jobs superbly.” His mouth curved, his brown eyes warming. “Your accent is quite charming, Arissa.” Jolar’s flare of jealousy seared her mind even as Bruscan’s gaze shifted to him. “And your husband is very protective.”
Jolar’s eyes narrowed. “You baited me.”
“We all have vulnerabilities and weak spots. It’s good to know your own.” Bruscan raised an eyebrow. “You can stop glaring at me, Jolar. I see the boundary line.”
Jolar’s jaw worked for a moment. “Clearly I need to watch that.”
Bruscan shrugged. “It makes you a more believable married couple. So, to whom am I introducing you?”
Jolar gave him the names and Bruscan gave a nod. “Tovic and Mirat I know. I’ve seen Carlea Renn here and there but Broc Atarr is recently come to Sertar. I’ve only met him once.”
“Do business with any of them?” Jolar asked.
Bruscan shook his head. “They’re wealthy even by Sertarian standards. They have their own private security staff and code slicers. But I know at least Larner Tovic and Danlen Mirat as friendly acquaintances. I should be able to track where they’re all going to be so we can bump into them.”
Arissa frowned. “I thought they had private security staffs.”
“Yes,” Bruscan said. “But whoever will be hosting them might not.”
Arissa blinked. “You’re just going to hack private transmissions till you find where they’re going to be?”
“Of course,” Bruscan said surprised.
“Heartwarming place, Sertar, isn’t it?” Jolar asked Arissa sardonically.
“You want warm? Go to Nima,” Bruscan retorted. “Wait—Carlea Renn is Niman, isn’t she? I’ll need to find out if she’s even planetside right now. Anything else you’re going to need from me?”
Jolar glanced at her. “Arissa needs some small arms training and self-defense instruction. She needs to learn how operate a groundcar and shuttle.”
Bruscan blinked and Arissa could feel his unspoken questions. That she might not be accomplished with a blaster or close combat could be expected but not to know how to operate a groundcar or a shuttle was odd.
“Well,” Bruscan continued. “I’m sure all that can be arranged. But do try not to scratch the groundcar, will you, my dear? It’s new.”
Sixteen
Arriving at the party that evening Arissa swallowed hard to see that this villa, no less extravagant than Bruscan’s, was already filled with guests. Sensing the easy confidence of those around her in their polished evening attire, Arissa wet her lips. She had chosen what she thought was the most cosmopolitan of her new wardrobe for this first night out but now she felt awkward in her low cut evening gown and strappy high-heeled shoes—a little girl playing dress up in a room of sophisticates.
The floor of the mansion was plexisteel and water, tinted pale blue, was visible beneath its clear surface. The lining beneath the water was reflective as well, increasing the visual depth so that guests appeared to move across the shimmering surface like naiads. Fat, iridescent-scaled momu fish, each with fins spread out and billowing like the wings of a gossamerfly, swam lazily beneath the floor and made Arissa, unused to heels—and a floor that appeared made of water—step even more gingerly.
She had been excited at the prospect of attending her first party but now her stomach was churning. Her glance darted about afraid these people knew she didn’t belong here. Unused to crowds still, already the flood of emotions from the revelers was a growing rumble in her mind.
She began to wish she’d stayed behind at Bruscan’s house.
“You look beautiful,” Jolar said, taking her hand. He leaned over to murmur in her ear. “Just focus me if you start to feel overwhelmed, all right?”
She gave him a quick, grateful look and, narrowing her focus to him, felt her nerves begin to settle at the familiar feel of his mind. Bruscan warmly greeted their hostess—a regal, dark-skinned Novician woman whose height rivaled Jolar’s—and introduced them as his friends, the Legans from Aylor.
Bruscan stopped here and there introducing them to his friends and acquaintances. The Sertarian was plainly an accomplished charmer and conversationalist and Arissa was relieved to find that she hardly had to do anything but stand next to Jolar and smile. A short time later and with a meaningful look at Jolar, Bruscan parted company from them and wandered off into the crowd.
Small groups had formed into circles of conversation and laughter floated over the soft music. Tentatively Arissa widened her focus, catching snippets of emotion—amusement, desire, excitement, boredom . . .
Boredom?
Curious, Arissa tightened her focus. The man was pudgy; his high-necked gray evening tunic highlighted the roundness of his face. He leaned in an archway, wine glass in hand as he surveyed the room. His mouth was tucked a bit at the corner, the only outward sign that he regarded the setting and other guests—so extraordinary to her—as uncultured and crass.
Arissa chewed the inside of her cheek, recalling her wide-eyed awe the first time Jolar had taken her to a restaurant onboard the cruiser.
“I think it’s a lovely party,” Arissa ventured quietly to Jolar as they crossed to the bar. “The house is beautiful.”
To her relief his smile of agreement was sincere.
“The floor has me a little thrown. I keep worrying I’m actually going to step on one of those things,” he said with a nod at their feet—and the momu fish gliding beneath them. “What would you like to drink?”
“Nothing for now,” she said.
Jolar raised a hand to summon one of the bartenders.
A gorgeously dressed woman nearby—pouting as she waved away a servant offering sumptuous looking tidbits on a tray—adjusted her light, sheer wrap so it lay over the inside of her elbow and exposed her left shoulder. The effect was very alluring, looking both casual and urbane and caused the fabric of the wrap to float behind her as she strolled toward the open doors to the enclosed courtyard beyond.
With a glance at herself in the reflective surface behind the bar, Arissa quickly readjusted her own shimmersilk wrap the same way before Jolar turned back.
He regarded her with a warm smile. “You know, sweet, I’ve never seen you even tipsy.”
>
The bright tones of Novician liternwood pipe music had enticed more than a few couples nearby under the soft glow of the lantern lit dome to dance and no one was paying them any attention at the moment.
“I’ve never been.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, now that’s something I have to see. Maybe a few glasses of sparkle wine on a Niman beach?” His eyes went hot. “A private beach, of course.” His smile widened as she felt her face warm. “Gods, you blush beautifully.”
The bartender brought his Aylorian brandy. Jolar nodded his thanks and his twenty credits vanished discretely into the man’s palm.
“You have to pay for refreshments? I thought—” Her flush deepened, what did she know of parties outside of books and holodramas? She lowered her voice. “Doesn’t a hostess provide those?”
“She is. That was just some ‘consideration’ for the bartender.” Jolar drank from the snifter and made an appreciative sound then offered the glass to her. “Want a sip? It’s very good.”
Arissa took a scant swallow to find the brandy held the mellow overtones of verum with a hint of spice.
“It’s wonderful,” she agreed.
And strong. She could already feel the brandy’s warmth spread through her chest.
“Do you want to keep it?” he asked, a mischievous glint in those blue depths. “I can get another for myself.”
“I’d better not.” She handed the snifter back and touched Jolar’s arm lightly. “Let’s go talk to Bruscan.”
Jolar rippled with surprise as he followed her nod at the other side of the room where Bruscan stood talking to a slender man of middling height.
In just that moment Bruscan’s glance sought them out and his eyes flashed with urgency. Jolar took a quick, final swallow of the brandy and then caught her hand. More guests had arrived and even with Jolar’s formidable physical presence it took time to cross the room to where the two men stood.
“Larner, these are my friends, Jolar and Arissa Legan,” Bruscan said. “This is Larner Tovic.”
Jolar shook his hand and Arissa reached out quickly to brush Larner’s mind. Her lungs suddenly felt as if they were filling with icy air. The man’s cool, emotionless gaze was echoed by the chilly and methodical nature of his sense.
The Seer Page 14
