Palace (58 page)

Karlo made a small growling noise deep in his throat, but he knew that she was right.

‘In a few months,’ he said, ‘we’ll have another ally on the Council anyway. Once Vida’s a Not-child, Roha and I can get her seated.’

Even though he knew that Vanna would turn sour at the mention of the L’Var girl, still it irked him to see her lips tighten and her nostrils flicker in disgust.

‘Damn it, Vanna!’ he burst out. ‘Why do you hate the child so much?’

‘She’s a L’Var. That should be enough reason. I’ve told you what her family did to mine.’

‘Yeah, sure. Over a hundred years ago now, wasn’t it? By God’s Eye, that’s ancient history!’

‘I still remember.’ Vanna got up. ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

‘I don’t care if you do or not.’ Karlo rose to face her. ‘I want to work this out. I’m sick and tired of seeing you snarl at her. It’s not good for our public image.’

‘Oh damn you!’ Vanna turned and strode to the windows.

Karlo took one step after her, then stopped. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, pushing some kind of forced peace through. Against the backdrop of gauzy white curtains Vanna stood stiff and straight in her grey Fleet fatigues. Beyond the windows hung cold grey light. He saw her suddenly as an image of herself, trembling like pixels on a screen in a memorial video of her career. With a sigh he walked over and laid gentle hands on her shoulders. She spun round. Tears streaked her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Karlo said. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

‘Oh damn you!’ Her voice hissed like a Lep’s. ‘Why shouldn’t I hate her? I’m dying, Karlo. You know that as well as I do. What do I have left? Two years, three years at the most? If I’m lucky I have that much. And there she is, a stinking L’Var, young and beautiful and with all that life ahead of her, all those years, a hundred years, a hundred fifty, and she’ll bring her ugly genotype back again, and there’s nothing I can do about it, because she’s young and I’m dying.’

He wrapped her in his arms and let her cry.

* * *

Samante and Jak were both gone, and Greenie curled up in its water-den in the pantry. Vida debated music, decided against it, and walked through the rooms: her bedroom and dressing room, the enormous bedroom she’d share, at least on occasion, with Wan; a room that would be Wan’s study should he want one in her suite; the guest rooms; the gather; the eatery; back to the gather again. At every shiny surface she paused to look at her reflection and wonder if the clothes she was wearing were the right ones - a soft wrap dress that would open if someone, if Rico, pulled on the ties at her waist. It was modest, it was flowered, it was what she called ‘giggly girl’ but which, she supposed, he would see as innocent. Men liked that, Aleen always said, if you looked innocent.

From the vidscreen the doorbell sounded, and Rico’s image appeared, windowed in a corner, dressed in his guild coveralls and carrying a toolkit. Vida arranged a smile as she walked to the door, but when she opened it, she felt nothing but solemn. For a long moment Rico merely looked at her, his lips half-parted.

‘I really like that dress,’ he said.

‘Thank you. Come in.’

Rico walked in, glancing around.

‘It’s sure quiet in here,’ he remarked.

‘Yeah. Samante’s gone. I made sure she had errands to do.’

Rico very nearly dropped his toolkit. He caught it, then knelt beside her and set it on the floor. When Vida stroked his back, she realized that her hand trembled, that he trembled as well at her touch.

‘Fixing Calios can wait, can’t it?’ she said.

‘Sure.’ He stood up and turned to her. ‘If you - well.’

She merely smiled. He caught her by the shoulders, bent his head and kissed her, pulled her close while she wrapped her arms around him and took a kiss in turn. It seemed to her that the entire world had shrunk to this room and to Rico, that nothing else would ever matter, not in her entire life, as much as his kisses did.

‘Vida, Vida,’ he whispered. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

The words had spoken themselves, or so it seemed. She drew back, looked at him, smiling at her as if no grief could ever touch him again. What, she wondered, had happened to the rational transaction she’d so carefully planned?

‘Do you?’ he said. ‘Do you really?’

‘Yeah. I’m kind of surprised, but I really do.’

He laughed, kissed her, caught his arms round her waist to swirl her off her feet while she laughed with him. When he set her down she refused to let him go, kissed him, felt him respond.

‘Oh Vida,’ he was stammering. ‘Please? Can we I mean oh please, come to bed with me?’

‘Of course.’

With his arm twined around her she led him down the hall to her bedroom, hesitated, then steered him across the hall instead to the master suite. Wan would never know or care who’d been here before him, and so what if he did? In the dimly-lit room she sat on the green satin quilt that covered the bed and watched Rico strip off his boots, his coveralls. Still wearing an undershirt and a pair of trousers he sat down beside her and drew her into his arms. As she kissed him, she felt his hand at her waist, felt the ties loosen and the dress slide open across her bare skin underneath. That at least was going according to plan.

‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you, too.’ Not a surprise, this time, but the words still felt strange and foreign. ‘Help me take this dress off?’

He laughed and kissed her, but she felt his hand, running over her shoulder, pulling the cloth down, then lingering at her breast. From that moment on she could think of nothing but him and his body, so warm, so close to hers.

Afterwards, she lay cuddled next to him, her sweaty face resting on his sweaty chest, and luxuriated in the feel of his hand stroking her hair. She could hear his heart beating, steadying out its rhythm, and she smiled. She’d thought to give him a gift, she realized, only to receive one in turn.

‘Vida?’ he said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t marry Wan.’

She sat up, glaring at him. He lay still and considered her. ‘Don’t talk about that now,’ she said. ‘Don’t spoil it.’

‘I’m going to talk about it. Don’t marry him.’

‘Rico, I’ve got to.’

‘Why? Are you worried about being sent back to Pleasure? Well, sign a contract with me. They won’t be able to touch you if you do that.’

Vida went stone-still. Somehow the thought of being Rico’s wife had never occurred to her. He did sit up, then, and grabbed her wrists. His beautiful dark eyes brimmed with tears.

‘You can live here in Government House with me, and you’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe.’

She shook her head, battled to find words while his grip tightened and his voice turned pleading.

‘Vida, please, I can’t stand it. I love you, and you say you love me. I can’t stand it, thinking of him - well, you know.’

‘It’s too late,’ she whispered. ‘We made the announcement and all of that.’

‘So what? People break off contracts at this stage all the time.’

‘Yeah? They’re not with the Peronida family.’

‘Oh hell! What’s Karlo going to do to you if you’ve signed with me? We’re Cyberguild, Vida. I’m the heir of the man who runs Cyberguild. Don’t you realize what that means?’

She did, suddenly, and she realized as well that none of her rational objections to marrying him, none of the reasons she’d thought would put him off without hurting his feelings, were going to work. She looked up and shook her hair back.

‘I can’t marry you and restore the L’Var family both,’ she said. ‘I need Karlo’s support for that. Yeah, I could sign with you, and I really really want to live with you, but what’s going to happen when we get tired of each other? What’ll I have then?’

‘I’ll never get tired of you. I’ll love you forever.’

‘A hundred and fifty years?’

Rico let her go, turned away, still sitting on the bed, and let the tears run. Vida threw herself across his back and sobbed.

‘Don’t, Rico, don’t. I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I love you, I really do. But I just can’t marry you now. I’ve got to have something of my own, and the Peronidas will help me get it. But I’ll never love anyone else, ever. I’ll always love you, too.’

He sat like stone, unmoving, dead-silent, his flurry of tears over.

‘When my contract with Wan is up, I’ll sign one with you.’ She rubbed herself against his back like a cat, stroked his shoulders, kissed the back of his neck. ‘I promise, Rico.’

At last he sighed and turned toward her.

‘Please?’ she said. ‘Please forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ He flopped back, lying on the pillows with his hands tucked under his head. ‘You don’t want to take my offer, and that’s that.’

‘Don’t be a jerk!’

‘I’m not being a jerk!’

‘Yes you are. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t, I just plain can’t. If you can’t see the difference, then you’re being a jerk.’

‘Damn you!’

Vida got to her knees, leaned over and kissed him. Her hair hung over them like a canopy. He tried to ignore her; she sidled over closer, kissed him again, then lay down, half on top of him. As if to push her away he took his hands out from under his head, but when they touched her shoulders they stayed to caress her.

‘Oh please, Rico?’ Vida whispered. ‘Let’s do that again. Please?’

She kissed him, felt his hands tighten on her shoulders as he took the kiss open-mouthed and hungry. With a little laugh she slid on top of him and felt his body fit into hers.

* * *

Hi returned to the Cyberguild suite in Government House just at the eighteens. The day’s work with Molos had been immensely profitable, but he felt his worry as a sick cold in the pit of his stomach - not for himself, but for Rico. He’d realized about halfway through their session that if Molos were using the Gate, Rico would have to know. What if he called the Gate up and found it unavailable? He’d be bound to come running to Hi and raise the alarm, or even take steps to track the interloper down himself.

Hi found Rico sprawled on the couch in the gather and watching the evening interactives on the vidscreen. When Hi glanced at the screen, he noticed that the usual presenter had coloured her hair red.

‘Evening,’ Hi said. ‘You eaten yet?’

‘No.’ Rico looked up, then pitched his voice to the screen. ‘Sound off. You want to go out and get something?’

‘Good idea. How was your afternoon? Did you get Calios repaired?’

Rico hesitated, then stood up, visibly thinking hard. Finally he shrugged and seemed to be deciding on the truth. ‘No,’ he said and smiled.

Hi was about to say more, then realized that he really didn’t need to ask one damn thing. Nju strode in briskly from stowing the aircar.

‘Se Rico,’ the Garang said. ‘Hail.’

‘Hail, Nju,’ Rico said. ‘Want to go out for dinner?’

‘I’d be honoured.’

As they all trooped out, heading for El Mercado, Hi felt a quirk of shame. You’re practically a pimp, he told himself. He’d just handed his nephew over to a powerful woman in a bid to gain influence. Aleen, he suspected, was going to laugh at him when she heard. At the restaurant, of course, Hi could say nothing about the Chameleon Gate, and even when they returned to the suite, he put it off. He could think up plenty of jobs that would keep Rico busy without needing the Gate for at least a couple of days. If the guild was going to catch Molos, it would happen fast. Better to wait so that if the worst did happen, he could swear under oath that his nephew knew nothing of his crime.

* * *

As the most recently hired members of the D & B clean-up team, Kata and Elen had got stuck with the night shift. With the UJU rally coming the next day, they expected to be assigned to the Floating Amphitheatre, but when they reported to their shift boss, a fat human with bristling brown hair and a moustache to match, they found him unlike his usual tyrannical self.

‘Uh well, hey, guys,’ he said. ‘I’m, afraid I can’t offer you time off with pay, but if you wanted to take the night off, well, hell, can’t say I’d blame you. I’d fix it with the super so it wouldn’t go on your records.’

‘Uh, thanks, I guess,’ Kata said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Well, the only job lined up for tonight is prepping the bowl for that UJU rally. If you couldn’t stomach it-’

‘It’s all right,’ Kata broke in. ‘I need the money. But I appreciate the gesture, boss.’

‘Me, too,’ Elen said. ‘Thanks, but I’ll take the work.’

The service bussed six full crews over to the amphitheatre and a truck full of cleaning bots as well. With so many sapients hurrying back and forth on various errands, Kata and Elen had no trouble putting their plan into effect. First Kata volunteered for the job that everyone hated - hand-polishing the brass wall decorations that were too delicate to trust to a bot. The job brought with it a work cart, loaded with brushes, rags, and polishes - a perfect place to put his lunch box and the toolkit hidden inside.

His first job lay up in the Floating Amphitheatre itself. The service lift booth took him and his cart up and let them out behind the stage. Humming under his breath, Kata trundled the cart through a split curtain and walked out into the actual amphitheatre. For a moment he paused, admiring. In front of him the purple bowl, striped with blue plush seats, stippled with brass railings and fixtures, stretched away and curved out and up to the night sky. The force-field surrounding the structure gave it a perfectly transparent roof. When Kata looked up, he could see in the streaming lights rain falling, but when it reached the field the water parted and ran off, defining the invisible sphere it had just touched. What a pity, really, to destroy something so marvellous! It was just like the humans, to waste beautiful tech like this on their stupid bigotry.

The front of the speaker’s podium sported a decorative panel of intertwined brass wires, the work of a Lep artist that would have to be sacrificed to serve his people. Kata got out his brass polish, the small brushes, and a handful of rags, set them in front of the art work, then went back to the cart. If by some odd chance anyone should be watching him from the darkness of the farthest seats, they would only see the janitor pick up a different brush, glance at the podium, and scowl at dirt somewhere on the inside. The little transmit unit he’d just palmed would be invisible. Kata strode up to the podium and began scrubbing some non-existent filth away with his rag while with the other hand, he attached the tiny unit, attuned to Wilso’s voice, to the underside of the microphone panel. Since cleaning the podium was his job, no-one would bother to look under there again.