Primary Inversion (26 page)

      
“I didn’t expect so many questions.”

      
He smiled. “It’s not every day they get to talk to a marvel of biosynthetic technology.”

      
I laughed. “Thanks. I think.” His comment left me with the same odd feeling as the last question, as if I could malfunction like the engine in a flyer. I rubbed my neck, pushing my thumb over the socket there.

      
“Need a lift to the city?” Char asked. “I noticed you didn’t bring a flycar this morning.”

      
“Thanks. But no. The underground is fine.” I actually hated the underground. This morning, when I had come down from my apartment to leave for JMI, I had stood looking at my flycar for almost five minutes trying to convince myself to get in. But for some reason I couldn’t.

      
So I took the underground. People had stared as if I had two heads. True, most commuters weren’t Jagernauts in full uniform. I was tight and deadly black from head to toe. I had even worn standard-issue black gloves, to hide the bandages on my hand. The Jumbler at my hip hadn’t helped. I brought it because I planned to talk about how it was keyed to my brain, but after I boarded the train I wished I hadn’t worn it. The commuters looked terrified. Well, yes, most people didn’t carry a particle accelerator with antimatter on their hip. But I had the safety engaged. It wouldn’t discharge.

      
The sun was setting by the time I left JMI. The air was clear and the day still pleasantly warm. A lovely evening. Why take the underground? It was only twenty kilometers through Jacob’s Shire from here to my apartment. I could jog it in less than two hours. Or I could take the road, a country lane that meandered for twenty-five kilometers through the countryside until it reached the city of Eos. If I felt tired, I could catch the flybus that ran along it every few hours.

      
I headed along the road, walking past meadows filled with cloud-grass and double shadows, double shadows, one in each pair stretched out from the setting sun, the other a fainter silhouette from the rings. Birds with gold feathers hopped through the grass and sporadically fluttered their wings to fly a few meters. Purple-furred animals with big ears loped after them, sailing above the ground, momentarily outlined against the bronzed sky, then disappearing below the grass. The scenery looked unreal, as if it were a holomovie shot through gold filters.

      
After an hour or so I came to a café by the road. Someone inside was singing. I hesitated, wanted to go in but not wanting to be stared at. Loneliness finally won, and I pushed open the door.

      
Inside, tables stood along the walls and in the middle of the room. Nothing but candles lit the place, star-shaped molds with purple wax pooling in their points. With the evening fading, very little light came from outside. A man with curly brown hair sat on a stool on a dais, relaxed and informal, singing in a husky baritone. A few people sat around, talking or listening to the music. I slipped into the seat at an empty table by the wall. When the waitress came, she barely glanced at the Primary’s bands on my jacket. Perhaps this close to JMI, she was used to seeing officers.

      
I ordered a glass of gilder rum. And drank it. And ordered more. And drank it. I had downed more alcohol in the past two days than in the previous year. But I felt comfortable here, ensconced in this dusky room with nothing to do but listen to this fellow sing. He reminded me of Jarith. He didn’t really look like Jarith, other than his brown hair, but he was an artist and he was handsome.

      
I motioned the waitress over to the table. “I’d like another drink.”

      
“Rum?” she asked.

      
“Yes.” I indicated the singer. “Would you—when he finishes—would you ask him if he’d like to join me?” I hesitated. What if he didn’t want to come over? Hastily I added, “Unless he has to prepare for his next set.”

      
The waitress smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

      
I had finished two more drinks by the time the youth stopped singing. The waitress beckoned to him. After they spoke, he peered across the room at me. Then he nodded to her and went behind the stage.

      
I winced. So much for my invitation. Before I had time to feel stupid, though, he reappeared and came toward me. He stopped by my table and bowed. “Evening, ma’am.”

      
With a smile, I said, “Soz.” I indicated the booth. “Like t’join me?”

      
“It would be my pleasure.” He sat down across the table. “I’m Nik.”

      
“Nik.” Had a good sound to it. “What’d you like to drink?”

      
“Ale would be fine.”

      
I motioned the waitress over. “Bring us ale and rum.”

      
“Yes, ma’am.” She had that look waitresses got when they thought you had drunk too much.

      
Nik glanced at my empty glasses, then at the waitress. “Actually, I think I’d rather have coffee.” He smiled at me. “Will you join me?”

      
Coffee?
Gods, the Allieds had infiltrated even this place. “No thanks,” I said. “Rum’s fine.”

      
After the waitress, left I tried to think of something clever to say. My mind wouldn’t cooperate. It kept wandering. All I came up with was, “You sing well.”

      
“Thanks,” Nik said.

      
“My brother is a singer. Ballads n’things.” I grimaced. “I try never to inflict my voice on people. Scares ‘em.”

      
Nik laughed as if I had said something funny. “I’ll bet you have a beautiful voice.”

      
“Beautifully off tune.” It scared even me. “The only person I ever sang to was my little brother Kelric, when he was a baby.” I could see him in my mind, smiling that smile I had so loved. “I guess he didn’t mind. When he was two and I was eleven, he used to run up for a hug.”

      
Nik’s face gentled. “That sounds nice.”

      
I warmed at the memory. “It was.”

      
Although we continued to talk, I was having trouble with the words. They kept slurring. For some reason Nik seemed to enjoy my company anyway, despite my inability to communicate like an intelligent human being.

      
When the waitress returned with our drinks, Nik gave her an odd look. It reminded me of how my “little” brother used to look when something worried him. Little. Huh. Kelric had grown into a giant, as big as Kurj. But where Kurj was hardness and metal, Kelric was sunlight and laughter. It was strange to see Kelric’s look on this Nik person, though. Whatever he wanted, the waitress seemed to understand. She nodded slightly and left the table.

      
I took a swallow of rum. “Kelric liked that lake too.”

      
“Lake?” Nik looked puzzled.

      
“It was—this big lake.” My thoughts wandered. Across the room, the waitress was talking to a balding man with a large stomach who had the look of a proprietor. He walked in our direction.

      
“You went to a lake with your brother?” Nik asked.

      
“We—yes.” That proprietor was definitely focused on us. “He’s comin’ here.”

      
“Your brother?”

      
“Nooo.”

      
The proprietor reached the table and gave me a deep bow. “Evening, ma’am. Welcome.”

      
“Lo’,” I said. The room tilted behind him.

      
He smiled broadly. “I’m glad you enjoyed Nik’s show.”

      
“Yes.” I wished he would go away so I could enjoy Nik.

      
“Maybe you would like a change from the rum?” he suggested. “We have excellent mineral water.”

      
“Rum’s fine.” Fizzy water was almost as bad as rootberry juice.

      
The proprietor tried again. “Perhaps a litt— “

      
“Thanks,” I interrupted. “But I’m fine.”

      
“Well. Good.” He nodded, looking troubled, and left.

      
Why did they keep bothering me? I unholstered my Jumbler and put it on the table. Of course I had no intention of using it. But it would keep away unwanted visitors.

      
Nik stared at the gun, then looked up at me.

      
“Ever seen one of these beauts before?” I asked.

      
“Not up close.” He looked like he didn’t want to see it now either.

      
“It won’t hurt you.” I lifted the Jumbler and tapped it against my temple. “We used t’swim in that lake.”

      
Nik’s face went white. “Soz—the safety—”

      
“What?” I was having a hard time holding my hand steady. The gun slipped, skittering against my head.

      
The proprietor suddenly reappeared, speaking in a fast voice. “Why don’t you give me that?”

      
I stared at him, astounded he would ask for my weapon. When he reached for it, I pulled back with a jerk, and he barely managed to push it away from my head.

      
Then he clicked the safety into place.

      
For a long moment I sat there, staring at the gun in my hand. The safety had been disengaged. Off.
Off.
I had put a loaded Jumbler to my head without the safety on.

      
I slowly slid the Jumbler back in its holster. Then I stood up, regarding the proprietor. “Do you have a place where I could lie down?”

      
Relief washed over his face. “Of course. Just follow me.”

      
He took me to a small living room in the back of the building. It looked like part of his own house, separated from the café by a hallway. As I dropped onto the sofa, I heard the faint sounds of Nik singing again. The proprietor brought me a jug of some hot drink, but I couldn’t swallow any.

      
Although I didn’t actually lie down, I must have sat for over an hour while my mind cleared. Finally I lifted my head and looked around. The proprietor was sitting in an armchair across the room.

      
“How do you feel?” he asked.

      
“Drunk.” Comprehension of what I had done had sunk into my skull. One slip of my finger and I would have annihilated my biosynthetic head. I put my elbows on my knees and my forehead in my hands. I could feel the gloves against my skin, the leather shields that hid the bandages on my hands.

      
He came over and sat on the couch. “Do you want me to call someone to pick you up?”

      
“No.” I stood up, then held still while queasiness rolled through my stomach. “I thank you for your help. But now I need to—” Need to
what?
“To walk.”

      
“Are you sure?”

      
“It will clear my head.” I headed for the door, not the one back to the restaurant but another on the other side of the room.

      
The proprietor came with me. “No more buses run to the city until morning. You can sleep on the couch here.”

      
“I’ll be all right.” I tilted my head toward the cafe. “Say goodnight to Nik for me. Tell him I enjoyed talking.”

      
“I will.” He opened the door and let me out into a field behind the restaurant.

      
More stars showed here than in Eos, though they still weren’t easy to see in the glare of the rings. The planet’s shadow had moved up them until it cut the span in half, the two sides like scythes it the sky, their edges rimmed in red. The perfume of cloud-grass filled the air, along with the chirps and rustles of a country night. I headed along the road, still drunk enough for my brain to feel dull. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to know what impelled me to point a primed Jumbler at my head.

      
I walked for hours. Eventually the road widened into a highway, which meant I was about five kilometers from Eos. Up on the left, the subdued light of Soldier’s Green glowed in the night. It was a huge park, its wide lawns interspersed with gardens and tiled pools. A beautiful park. But it didn’t exist for beauty. It was a memorial to the ISC soldiers who had died in battle.

      
I stopped and stared into the Green. I had never visited it despite the many times I had been on Forshires. I didn’t want to go now. But my feet took me anyway. I walked down gravel paths through garden after garden, avoiding the monuments and statues, the sculptures and plaques and obelisks. I let myself see only lawns and flowers.

      
Until I reached the Dome.

      
It was a circular structure, about ten meters wide and as tall as a two story building. The walls reached almost to the domed roof. They consisted of twenty-nine panels, each a meter wide, with a handspan of open space separating each panel. The thirtieth panel was missing, leaving an entrance at the top of three steps. The entire monument was made from white marble. And that was it.

      
Except for the names.

      
They appeared inside, carved into the panels, filling about half of them. Every year the unused space diminished. What would we do when the last panel filled with names? How many more Domes would we need to list the Imperial Jagernauts who had died in combat? For that was the monument’s sole reason for existence—to honor Imperial Skolia’s defunct biosynthetic marvels.

      
I walked up the steps and into the monument. I didn’t want to see the panels. I didn’t want to see the names. But I kept moving, unable to stop. I went to the wall opposite the entrance and looked at the engravings in the marble. The date of death carved next to each name was old, decades old.