Human After All (3 page)

“You’d like it, though, wouldn’t you?” Drue chimed in.

“I’d be proud to be that desired,” Jaymes replied.

“T-breds,” Drue said under his breath, as though it were a swear word.

Alvera pursed her lips. “Let’s keep the bickering to a minimum, shall we?” she said. “We want people to think you’re friends.”

The two Companions nodded automatically, but neither looked particularly friendly as they escorted Lady Alvera into the Covillion.

T
HE
doors of the lift opened on a vast space capped with a transparent dome that gave the illusion there was no ceiling. The floor was paved in black synthetic marble veined with opal, mirroring the star-field overhead. The fifty or so visible guests appeared to float just above the highly polished surface. Several of the Hote raised hands in greeting to Alvera, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

“Good luck,” she said to Jaymes and Drue and walked away from them with imperial grace.

Jaymes turned to Drue. “I assume you have instructions.”

“You’ll have all the instructions you’ll need when you need them. Meanwhile, we’re supposed to enjoy ourselves. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Of course you are. This is a Zot’s wet dream come true, isn’t it?”

“You really are a big snob, you know that?”

“Well, doesn’t every Exotic hope to hook a Hote and live in the lap of luxury?”

“Sounds good to me, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jaymes said. “You’re on a secret mission.”

“I sense that you’re less than sincere.”

“I’m making fun of you,” Jaymes clarified in a stage whisper.

“If you had any idea what we’re trying to accomplish—” Drue began but was interrupted.

“Your Highness.” A handsome, fair-haired man bowed drolly to Jaymes. “Wilt thou deign to bend so that we might salute thy sacred nether regions with our unworthy lips?”

“Parry.” Jaymes nodded to the blond and then to his companion. “And Valens. How nice to see you both.” He took a breath to tell his friends that he’d been compromised, but the thoughts refused to emerge as words.

Drue could see that the newcomers were T-breds. Their oval faces, with geometrically perfect bone structure, large eyes, and delicately sculpted lips, were enough alike to suggest a blood kinship. They were long-limbed and willowy like Jaymes—like every T-bred Drue had ever seen. The one called Valens had skin like ivory, glossy mahogany curls, eyes like a fawn, and a tiny
t
in a circle like a beauty mark on his upper lip. It was classic coloring, like his fair-haired, blue-eyed, roses-and-cream complexioned friend with the discreet T inked on his earlobe. There was nothing showy about them, nothing like Drue’s fiery sunset curls, bright aquamarine eyes, and large, ornately scrolled Class tattoo. Drue shook off the automatic impulse to treat them as superior. He was no longer in thrall to his conditioning, but lifelong habits die hard.

“Always a privilege to be in your presence, Highness,” Valens said as he languidly inspected Drue. “Looks as though someone has slipped his leash, though. Who’s your frair?”

Drue didn’t shrink from the attention. He was used to it, and he liked it. “So is this a T-breds-only private kennel?” he asked.

“Spankt!” Parry crowed. “The Boho has your op-code, Vale, my fine friend.”

“Pardon me. I don’t see many Exotics at these affairs.” Valens smiled good-naturedly, deploying a pair of beguiling dimples. “What may we call you?” he asked Drue.

“His Persona is the Fox, and his name is Drue,” Jaymes said. “Drue, I have the dubious honor to present Parry Hayvin, the Archangel, and his foil, Valens Waukeen, the Faun.”

“Oh my,” Drue said. “Do I bow, curtsey, or genuflect?”

“I’d like to see you on your knees,” Parry drawled, letting his legs sprawl wide.

“He doesn’t look all that submissive to me,” Valens countered. “He reminds me a little of a Rec. You know how Recreationals all have that certain body tone?”

“True,” Parry answered. “You expect a Zot to be sleek, but not as shreddy as a Rec.”

“He looks like a real slamwit too,” Valens said.

“You’ve always been perceptive,” Jaymes said. “He’s certainly not a Subordinate.”

Parry chuckled. “I’d never take our new friend for a Sub.”

“Wise,” Jaymes said. “Any good Scenarios running tonight?”

Parry shrugged. “Standard. My current contract casts me as a seducer with a heart of gold who falls for the conquest. The object of my unlikely infatuation is a Sirene of a Hote Totus House. I’ve escorted her mother, the Siress, on one or two previous occasions, and she contracted me as a coming-of-age present for the girl.” He paused. “Fortunately, neither of them is here, so I can relax and enjoy myself tonight.”

“Oh, how sweet and tragic.” Valens put a hand over his heart. “You and the young Lady will fall madly in love, but alas, it is not meant to be. You are of different castes, and the gulf that separates you is wider than her mother’s ample—”

“Vale, please!” Parry interrupted. “If you’re going to quote dialogue from popular entertainment, at least choose something that isn’t drivel.”

“
Citizen Seeks Companion
isn’t drivel,” Vale protested. “Well, perhaps it is, but you must admit that the serialization is compelling.”

“Must I?” Parry turned to Jaymes. “Tell him.”

“Parry’s right,” Jaymes said to Valens. “At least in my opinion.
Citizen Seeks Companion
was a terrible novella and a worse holodramedy, appealing to the basest sensibilities. There’s nothing subtle about it. They play rather heavy-handedly on your emotions and end each broadcast in the middle of a lurid scene so you’ll watch the next installment out of sheer vulgar curiosity. It would be best suited to children with a taste for melodrama, if it weren’t for the generous—and admittedly quite arousing—sexual content.”

“I like it,” Valens said. “Tease me if you must… you will anyway.”

Parry rolled his eyes. “Vale has a pash on the thesp who ’motes Dook Falko.”

“He’s not a real Companion, you know,” Drue put in.

“I know,” Valens sighed. “The template was lifted from some twenty-first century actor. I heard the sim-model for Falko’s gorgeous body lives in Foxtown. I’d love to go there.”

“Not likely you’ll ever visit Sinema City,” Jaymes said. “Speaker Londean will never go anywhere so decadent, and therefore, neither shall you.”

“Cade hasn’t bought my contract,” Valens quickly corrected him.

“But you think of your patron as Cade, don’t you? Not Scion Londean, or Speaker Londean, or even Citizen. You’ve grown accustomed to addressing him familiarly. He indulges you.”

“So what if the Speaker allows him liberties?” Parry asked, putting an arm around Valens. “I’d think you’d be happy for our friend.”

“I fear for our friend when Londean activates his marriage options. If Vale is put aside—”

“And why should that happen?” Parry interrupted.

“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” Jaymes said. “The Merger might hinge on the bride’s acceptance of certain aspects of the groom’s lifestyle. What Citizeness, especially a new bride, is going to want someone like Vale in the house for the first years of the marriage? That’s only an example, but if he is put aside, the next noble who books him might not be as… liberal as Speaker Londean.”

“Why even talk about it?” Valens said harshly. “What difference does talking make? I’m product. I have no say in what happens to me as long as Gentren owns my contract.”

Jaymes drew breath to retort, but Drue spoke first, dispersing the growing tension.

“I lived in Foxtown,” Drue said, and the three T-breds focused their attention on him. “My very first contract was booked by Transweb. I was a present for one their current stars. He liked me so much that he asked for an extended booking that lasted six months. I was his favorite accessory, and he took me everywhere with him.” The Exotic smiled. “Once I went to a party for Ursalion Nine when she was launched as the avatar of the Lau-Chan-Fendi Conglom’s perfume division. Biggest bash I’ve ever been to. They had four temporary Veetle ports set up besides the commercial port on the roof.”

“What was it like?” Valens asked, as though his bitter outburst had never occurred. “Was it wonderful? I’m sure it must have been terribly exciting.”

“It was… fast and loud and very shiny,” Drue said.

“Who was your patron?” Parry asked.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Are you saying you’ve forgotten?” Jaymes raised an eyebrow.

“I just didn’t think anyone would be interested, but if you must know, I was with Stane Smythe. The Scenario that evening called for me to portray a fanatical admirer who would stop at nothing to have him.”

“Are you buffing me?” Parry asked. “Stane Smythe, the singer-thesp? The self-proclaimed God of Perp-Rock? Not to mention Ursalion Nine’s ex-partner?”

“That’s right. In fact, Stane and Ursa had parted ways shortly before the event.”

“So this was right after they broke it off.” Valens whistled, drawing his lips into an enticing bow. “That must have been… interesting.”

“You hoitys have a real talent for understatement. I made my grand entrance by throwing a security guard through the front door, and then I pushed my way through the crowd to fight three more bodyguards to get to Stane. He had positioned himself as closely as he could to Ursa, and to say the Scenario ruined her big moment would be a very, very, very large understatement. I wasn’t wired in to all the nuances of Stane’s bizarre vengeance on his ex-partner, but he seemed pleased with the outcome.”

“Sounds like a childish prank that spoiled everyone’s evening,” Jaymes said.

“Yeah,” Drue said. “But to see Ursalion’s famous rack heaving and the way her eyes flashed while she screamed the nastiest curses I’ve ever heard almost made it worth it. Anyway, I was just playing out a Scenario, not making moral judgments about it.”

“That’s right,” Valens said. “Slack it, Jaymes. The Fox was just fulfilling his contract.”

“As we’re doing now,” Jaymes said, wishing he could say a lot more. Several times during the conversation, he’d tried to tell his colleagues that his contract had been breached, but the words would not make the transition from thought to speech. Jaymes did what he could to control the systolic rhythms that triggered the inhibitor, but the mechemical was far too finely calibrated to be fooled. “Are you with Speaker Londean tonight, Vale?”

“Of course he is,” Parry answered for his friend. “Do you think Londean would miss a chance to keep company with Vale?”

“The Speaker is such a proponent of Bioware rights,” Jaymes said. “So why is he so shy about being affectionate with a Companion in public?”

“He’s a very private man,” Valens said softly.

“Of course.” Jaymes dropped the subject with a slight bow in Valens’s direction. He had no wish to hurt his friend’s feelings, no matter how impractical he thought they were. It was not up to him to tell Vale whom he could fall in love with… and Jaymes did not doubt that Vale had fallen. He only hoped it wouldn’t end too messily. There was no more prominent or blue-blooded a politician than Speaker Scion Cade Londean of House Bretan, and it was hardly likely that one destined to move in the highest circles of power would allow himself to speak of love to a Companion unless it was part of a Scenario.

“Look at all the Hoties.” Drue broke in on Jaymes’s thoughts.

Jaymes gave his friends a droll look behind the Zot’s back as they joined him in gazing down at the dance floor, where the political and social leaders of their world mingled on an equal footing with Bioware. “For one night each year, they get to put aside the burden of leadership and the need to live circumspectly, and the slate is wiped clean in the morning.”

“Convenient,” Drue commented. “There used to be a religion kind of like that. It was acceptable to sin if you told a priest afterward and had him absolve you.”

“That’s absurd,” Parry said. “And even if it were true, I still don’t see your point.”

“Zots rarely have a point,” Jaymes said. “Their function is to look striking and strokable.”

Drue had a smoking retort ready, but noticed Alvera trying to get his attention. He read the hand sign in the flickering of her gilded nails and was careful not to look at her again. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” he suggested. “We can have some nice drinks, and I can tell you more about Foxtown. Did you know it was named after me?”

Valens chuckled. “Absoposi! Right this way. Cade bespoke a small salon we can use.”

Taking Jaymes’s arm, the Exotic exerted pressure to the inside of the T-bred’s elbow to get him moving. Jaymes saw by the droop of Drue’s eyelids that the Exotic already knew about the private salon… just as Lady Alvera must have known that Jaymes and Valens were friends. It was all taking on a patina of inevitability; each passing second was another boulder poised on a cliff, another imminent avalanche. Jaymes saw the hulking outlines of a brace of Combat-Ulteem bodyguards at the end of the short corridor, and the sense of impending doom became stifling. He was relieved when the lacquered door beside him opened, and Drue herded him inside.

“C
ADE
!”
Vale called out in delighted surprise.

Drue’s gaze went to the man who stood up to greet Valens. Speaker Cade Londean’s image was well known to most inhabitants of the Inner and Outer Cities, as well as The Cloister. They were used to seeing his aristocratic features in broadcasts spreading the message of Bioware rights. Drue supposed the T-breds conversed with Hote royalty every day, but it was the first time he’d stood in the presence of such an important man, a man he’d pledged to protect.

Londean’s face was as chiseled as it appeared in the holos, but he also had a myriad of tiny wrinkles, and the Exotic assumed the Speaker’s image was automatically tweaked for broadcast to smooth out the weathering. There was a web of fine lines around the man’s bright blue eyes, and the crowning thatch of blond hair owed much of its pale gloss to threads of silver among the gold. So Londean was older than Drue had guessed, but he appeared no less potent for the extra years. Broad-shouldered, trim, and narrow-hipped, the Speaker cut an impressive figure in his conservative, exquisitely tailored suit. However, as much as Drue appreciated the presentation, it was something intangible that set this man apart from other Citizens with their inborn assumption of entitlement. Cade Londean had all the easy self-confidence of a predator that has no rival, but he also had something best described as charisma, an invisible glow, a beacon that called to others to follow him, that made them want to be in his company, to win his approval. Drue felt it and automatically resisted its pull. Even though he supported Londean’s politics, he had an aversion to being led.