Matadora (17 page)

Dirisha returned the gesture.

"Ah, Fem Zuri. I've heard so much about you! How delightful to meet you at last."

A forthright comment, without any sign of condescension. Dirisha inclined her head slightly. "Fem Carlos."

"Beel, please." She smiled.

"And I'm Dirisha."

Beel looked at her husband. "How is he doing? He looks tired."

"He works too hard," Dirisha said.

Beel turned toward her. "Yes. He thinks he can do it all himself, he doesn't delegate nearly enough. I'm glad you agree. Maybe between the two of us, we can slow him down."

Dirisha's smile came grudgingly, but it came. Beel was concerned about Carlos, it showed in her gestures and in her voice. Dirisha liked her, a gut reaction.

"I thought you had your children with you?"

Beel smiled. "They're in the rec room. They love their father, but they aren't particularly interested in watching him work." She turned back toward Carlos.

But you don't mind, do you? Dirisha watched Beel without seeming to, cataloguing what she saw: a handsome woman, with good muscle tone; she carried herself well; she was obviously bright; she was good-natured. Dirisha could find nothing obvious to dislike.

Damn, why'd I think that? Why should I dislike her? She's my client's mate, and he's nothing special.

But far down a little-used corridor in her mind, something laughed. Yeah? it seemed to say. Who's fooling whom, child? He's special enough.

Dirisha clamped down on the thought, her attention focused on Carlos again. She had her job, her skills, her self.That was all she needed, all she had ever needed. But is it what you want, child? came the voice.

On the carefully manicured grounds of the Antag Union's complex, the three of them walked.

Carlos and Beel laughed and talked, strolling arm in arm, while Dirisha scanned the grounds and sky, alert for any possible attacks. She didn't like being in the open like this, but she couldn't force Carlos to stay indoors.

They passed three-hundred-year-old twisted trees, none more than two meters tall, bent into strange shapes, each unique in its design. The grass was a thick mat under their feet, a strain so dark the green seemed almost purple in the midday sunlight. Beel and Carlos laughed, at some private joke, and Dirisha wished she were elsewhere. She had been taught that a good matador became a piece of the furniture; that a client should be able to do or say anything, without worry that his bodyguard would care or condemn; that nothing said or done in the presence of a matador by her client would ever go a step further. Dirisha knew all this, and she was trying to be what she had been trained to be. But she was interested.

"Dirisha?" Beel.

"Yes?"

"Since we are both agreed that Rajeem works entirely too hard, don't you think it would be a good idea if he took a short leave? Got away to some place where he could rest?"

"Hold on a minute here-" Carlos began.

"Hush," Beel cut in. "Dirisha?"

Dirisha couldn't help the smile. "You're right. I think a vacation would be good idea."

"If you two are through deciding my future-"

"We aren't," Beel cut in again. "We'll let you know when we are." To Dirisha, she said, "There is an old estate the Union owns in the Southern Reaches, the perfect place. Off the cast lanes, remote enough so few people even know it exists. A couple of weeks there would do him a world of good."

Dirisha considered it. There might be some security problems, but she could manage those. Part of protecting a client was external, but part of it was in keeping the client from damaging his or her self, if possible. The man was drawn, he needed a break. "Sounds okay," Dirisha said.

"Fems, I don't want to butt in-"

"Then don't," Beel said. "I'll be here for three days before my meeting on Tatsu with the Mitsunashi Group, we'll relax and get you ready; then, you and Dirisha can go to the Perkins' estate. Oh, don't look so petulant, you can take your transceiver and keep in touch with things- as long as Dirisha promises to make you hold it to a minimum."

Carlos grinned, and held his palms out. "What can I say? Two against one, I give up."

Beel laughed, and put an arm around Carlos, hugging him to her. She smiled at Dirisha, and something in her look made Dirisha feel like a co-conspirator, in a plot she didn't quite understand, but was quite happy to go along with.

Despite Beel's comment about resting, Carlos drove himself like a work beast. He arose at dawn, did an hour of kung fu forms, showered, ate breakfast and went to work. He seldom stopped for a midday meal, and worked twelve or fifteen hours at a stretch. He wrote, called, saw visitors, made deals, spoke to groups, gave interviews. He did spend some time with Beel and his children, but only a few moments here and there, an hour at most. He seemed tireless.

Carlos leaped and chopped downward with both hands, snapping his right leg out in a kick, his bare foot extended, toes curled back. He touched down lightly on the grass, and jumped into the air again, repeating the snap kick, but thrusting his stiffened fingers into the solar plexus of his imaginary opponent this time, the backs of his hands together. As he came down, he pulled his hands apart in a tearing motion. He landed, lifted his right leg and went into a crane stance, blocking in a half circle to his right hip with his right hand, his left held ready to claw....

Dirisha watched the martial dance with a professional eye, grading Carlos mentally as he moved. He was good. Not great, but not bad. His motions were clean, mostly, and his flow even, save for a few small bobbles. The dance was called "Bear", after a terran carnivore. Many of the fighting kata were named for animals, real and mythical. Dirisha didn't know much about bears, but Carlos's motions seemed shaggy, somehow, and powerful.

Of course, dancing through forms was not altogether an indication of fighting skill; still, the Ninety-Seven Steps of sumito didn't seem all that effective as a fighting art, at first glance. Anyway, Carlos didn't have to worry about that, now.

He leaped, hands whirring in tight, clawing motions. He twisted in a half-circle, ducked, and drove one fist into an invisible groin....

"-results of the intersystem poll show Confed popularity waning in four sectors-"

"-contributions have risen by sixteen percent-"

"-insurrection has broken out on Ago's Moon-''

"-cannot transship contraindicated materials-''

The voices and holograms filled the air over the net feed in the information room next to Carlos's office. Dirisha listened with half her attention, watching Carlos eagerly absorb the input. He thrived on it, she could see that. His energy was high, his ki focused, and he moved as precisely in this as he did in his kung fu dances. He loved all this, she saw. Here was a man who got things done, something Dirisha had always admired. He was powerful and self-assured, and his competence drew her, as a Seeker was drawn to a charismatic Sermoner. Taken in pieces, there was no one thing about Carlos that was particularly outstanding; taken as a whole, the man became synergistically attractive.

It had taken some time to arrange the trip, but finally they were on their way. On the hopper to the Southern Reaches, Carlos sat across from Dirisha, staring through the densecris portal at the vast forests over which they passed. Dirisha was working, even as they flew, but there was little she could do directly at the moment. The hopper was as sound as the electromechanics could make it; there was an escort fighter, armed to the wingtips, flying shotgun; the hopper pilot was the best the An tags could find, a woman who could put the craft close enough to a ditch to net minnows without getting the hull damp, according to her stats. Port and Starboard were already at the estate, with a sweep-team.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Carlos said, interrupting Dirisha's mental catalogue of precautions.

"Yes. Beel is looking out for you. You're an important man to a lot of people, Rajeem. It isn't just the work you can do personally, you're part of something larger. A symbol. Like Khadaji."

"I doubt if I'm in that class, thank you."

Dirisha shifted in her seat. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't have Pen's long view, I'm more a here-and-now person. But if you don't take care of yourself, you won't be either a symbol or able to do the work. Simple."

He nodded. "Sensible." He turned his gaze back to the forest eight kilometers below.

Dirisha looked away, feeling pleased. The man was not stupid. He accepted the need to take care of himself without false modesty. More, he had asked her opinion as if he really cared what she thought. Pen had taught her that clients would come to trust matadors, to lean on them. That was part of his grand plan too, whatever it was. Still, Dirisha liked hearing Carlos ask, liked having him pay attention to what she said, as if she were one of his important connections, with something valid to give him. It made her feel needed. And warm.

And, yet, it bothered her. She was a professional, doing a job she had been trained to do for years. She should be able to do it objectively.... A memory flowed then, of Pen talking about objectivity versus subjectivity. What had he said? That a person couldn't be truly objective about important things? She hadn't understood it then, and she wasn't sure she understood it now, but something about it danced at the hidden corners of her mind, capering like some demented sufi. She only caught a glimpse of it, and what she saw, she didn't like. The thing pranced and pointed a finger at her. Puppet, it said gleefully.

Puppet.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DIRISHA WATCHED CARLOS work the betydelse space, amazed again at two things: him, and her perceptions of him. After all the years of working the Flex, of training to become a matador, with all the drilling, she still underestimated people. She'd expected Carlos to be a stuffed-tunic politico, a religious fanatic, a man concerned with things somehow unworldly; a man with a mission, but without means to achieve it on his own. Sister, had she been wrong.

In the betydelse space, Carlos waved his right hand in a series of quick, short gestures. Programming mode signals, she knew, though she couldn't read them. Until recently, she hadn't known that much. At the same time, Carlos fluttered his left hand back and forth, wiggling his fingers in a precise pattern. Mathematical code. And, while both hands spoke separate languages to the transmitter, he sub-vocalized yet a third set of instructions to the machine. It was like watching a master musician playing some esoteric instrument, made all the more impressive by knowing how complex the tune must be, even though she was unable to hear or understand it.

Dirisha raised her left hand to her chest and caught the chunk of black plastic hanging from her neck by a thin strap. She touched one of the controls, and a miniature hologram appeared over the small module, a single word: CLEAR.

Dirisha released the mod. A hundred sensors spread over the estate were her eyes and ears, and they saw and heard nothing dangerous to her charge.

That didn't mean she could relax, she'd learned that lesson well enough; still, it did mean it was unlikely an assassin skulked the grounds, waiting for his, her or its chance to kill.

She turned back to watch Carlos. Rajeem, as he kept telling her to call him.

An amazing man. Strong, quick, bright and caring, Rajeem Carlos impressed Dirisha as no man had impressed her before-not Khadaji, not Pen, no one.

With a quick flourish, Carlos finished his triple-command performance in the betydelse space. The glowing air around him dimmed as he stepped away from the reader and into the ordinariness of the room. He blinked, coming from the trance, and saw Dirisha. He smiled at her.

Dirisha's heart leaped, and she felt that irrational flow of joy again, at somehow pleasing him.

"I didn't hear you come in," he said.

"Good. That'd mean I was losing my touch." She returned his smile.

For a moment, they stood there, smiling at each other like idiots. Carlos broke the locked stare by shaking his head. "There's so much to do, Dirisha. I have a dozen things I should be attending to, people to see, information to process-"

"Hey," she said, "the reason we came here is for you to rest, remember? You can't do it all by yourself."

His face lost the serious look after a moment, and he smiled again. "You're right." He took two steps toward her, put his arm around her shoulders, and urged her toward the veranda. "What shall we do to rest?"

Dirisha was very much aware of the warmth of his arm touching her, even through the orthoskins she wore. Of the muscle tone of that arm, of its hardness and power-Chang, she had to stop this! He was a client, he should be nothing more, no matter how attractive he was. Besides, he was a man with a destiny involving worlds, involving maybe the galaxy. All she was was a well-trained bodyguard. But she couldn't deny how she felt. Rajeem Carlos pulled at her, a pull she had no defense against, despite all her skills.

Stupid, Deuce, stupid. He doesn't think of you that way, he's contracted, he has children, he has his work, so don't travel that lane.

On the veranda, Carlos dropped his arm and stretched, taking in the lush greenery that came almost to the edge of the stone patio. The air was fresh, full of oxy and evergreen scents, and the sun had removed the night's chill without overheating the morning. It was a beautiful place, made more so, Dirisha thought, in that she and Carlos were alone in it; Port and Starboard patrolled the perimeter, along with other guards, klicks away from the main lodge.

"Do you know about this place?" he asked.

Dirisha knew what the background sphere had told her, but she shook her head. Let him tell it.

"The estate belonged to the Perkins family. Originally, it was a hunting preserve. No-kill, of course. The house was a lodge, you can see how rustic it still is. The family would come here on outings, they would stalk the whelves and demi-trogs with tranquil darts, then come back here for rest and relaxation. At one time, the gardens here were considered the finest on-planet." He waved one arm, to encompass the estate. "Would you like to walk? There are some beautiful paths, so I'm told."