The Braided World (36 page)

The records referred to her as Remy. No last name, though of
course it was Shaw.

All that remained of her now were medical records and stray notes from caretakers, recording things they thought important: test scores, treatments for infections—oh, the health records
were
important—and sometimes an entry about a birthday or holiday. Through a succession of caretakers, a patchwork history emerged.

She was fond of sofiball, with a good arm and a tendency to hit to right field. She was good at spelling and math; had little interest in science. She read boo, not always good ones, but lots of them. And, oh yes, she could sing.

How much did her caretakers guess about the place; so far removed, home to pampered but undereducated children? Somehow the enterprise evaded government raids. Perhaps the story was that the children's families were being hunted by gangs and the children must be separated from their parents. Or that they had a rare infection needing isolation and study. That would explain why their health was such an emphasis. And there
was
a rare health threat: Their
wealthy counterparts would by and by harvest them for needed parts.

Bailey went back to her reading:

Remy broke a toe in a fall at age fourteen. She was a bad patient, played sofiball anyway, was grounded. Ignored the grounding. Result: The toe healed imperfectly; caretaker dismissed.

As though any caretaker could prevent a Shaw girl from doing exactly as she pleased. Bailey shook her head.
Play sofiball, my dear…

She read pulp fiction, especially sports fantasy stories. Young girl from backwoods hits the big time. Remy liked to sing. She was good at it.

Bailey closed her eyes, rubbing them. To imagine a life from the piecemeal entries required concentration. It required a vivid imagination to fill in the blanks.

She concentrated on the screen again. She must continue, no matter how hard it was. You had to know what you did, in order to repent it.

Sometime during this session, and without directly thinking about it, Bailey decided not to go back to Earth. Whether the mission succeeded or failed, they didn't need her any longer for inspiration, for patronage. They needed Anton. Despite a shaky start, Anton Prados had grown into a fine captain. He'd handle the rest of it. But as for the rest of
her
life, it wouldn't be spent back on Earth. She was too old for long trips. She was staying, and that was the end of it. Perhaps she'd known it would come to this when she'd accepted Shim's clothes as a gift. Anton didn't like the costume, but in his heart, he must have known she was staying.

If not, she'd certainly have to tell him …

A hall screen opened. Zhen stood there.

“Where's Captain Prados?”

“Good evening, Zhen.” Bailey blanked the screen, then looked up at the woman. Her hair was pressed down as though she hadn't combed it today. It had been two days since Zhen had poked her nose out of the science lab—the little room down the hall where they'd put all the scientific
equipment that had been salvaged off the islet. “He's with the king.” Bailey waved in the direction of the king's quarters.

“When did he leave?” Zhen looked around the room as though Anton might be hiding from her.

Bailey tucked a wisp of hair into her new upswept hairdo. These people had never heard of bobby pins. You just took your meter-long hair, twisted it several times, and dug in combs the size of daggers.

“I don't know. Some time ago, I think; I've been busy.”

“Why is it so dark?”

“Is it?” Bailey looked out into the corridor. It was a bit shadowy

Zhen looked at her in consternation. “I have to find him. Don't you pay attention to
anything?”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “If it's my business, I pay attention.” Zhen looked distracted, even alarmed.

“Can I help, Zhen?”

But the woman had already fled down the dark corridor.

Bailey tapped the screen, bringing the records back.
Sixteenth birthday. A cake, chocolate. A box of boo, autographed …

Anton slapped the screen aside and strode into Nick's sleeping hut. The king had given them an extra space as a sickroom for Nick. But it was empty, the bedclothes twisted and heaped, pots of moldy food scattered around.

As he turned from the doorway, he collided with a hoda. He recognized her as the woman assigned to administer to Nick. “Where is he?” Anton demanded.

Her face froze. Oh, he is wandering, but will return now and then. <

“Wandering where?”

He goes everywhere, since he cannot rest.<

Anton took her arm to make her pay attention. “I said,
Where?”
A look of confusion came into her face. Realizing
he had just made an unintentional sexual advance, he released her. She
would
be surprised that a human chose a hoda as a sexual partner, when the whole palace was at his disposal. A surge of frustration went through him, at the bizarre rules of Dassa intimacy, at the easy betrayal by his own crew. It was all twisted here from the way things
should
be.

Leaving the hoda, he strode to his quarters to ask Bailey about Nick's whereabouts, but she was gone. As a last resort he checked in on Zhen, only to find her screen left wide open and the lab empty. Papers covered her workbench, full of scrawl, some pasted to the wall screens and stirring in the breeze through the slightly open river screen. He turned on his heel and plunged into the corridor again, his anger mounting.

Nick had been subverting him from the very beginning. He hadn't even waited to lose confidence, he'd just tossed it out right away. It had been all jealousy and resentment from the day that Bailey had chosen him over Nick. It was from that day that Nick's eyes had grown cold.

Anton found one of the king's brothers lounging on the deck off the plaza. Had he seen the lieutenant?
The one without pri?
That was what they called Nick. Anton almost said,
No, the one without honor.

Yes, he'd seen Nick near the baths not long past…

Anton took the ramp into the lamp-lit gardens. He stopped a hoda he recognized and asked again, but she pointed in the direction he'd just come from.

Taking a deep breath, Anton paused. He was standing on the very bridge where he'd first spoken with Maypong, the woman he'd thought was without a heart. And now, in this moment, he realized that it wasn't Nick who'd driven him to this frenzy. He'd already known that Nick had turned from him; it was one reason he gave him nothing important to do. No, he was frantic at the thought that Maypong had betrayed him, that she'd done everything for the king's sake, that it had all been duty to her, never love, or what passed
for it here. He would have taken such love as she could give. Because she was Dassa, he would have taken her on her terms. The terms of this world, where she was perfectly adapted and full of grace.

And standing on that bridge, he believed her. She hadn't betrayed him; she had managed to hold her loyalty to her king and to him in the same strong arms. She'd done both. He believed that. So when it came to betrayal, it was human betrayal that took the prize.

Someone was standing at the foot of the bridge, looking up at him where he stood. It was Nick.

“I heard you were looking for me, Captain.” His voice was reedy. The polyps in his throat were rampant now.

Anton turned to face him. “No, Nick. I was looking for the man you used to be.”

Nick started to laugh, then coughed instead. “If you find him, let me know. I liked him better.”

“So did I.”

Nick swayed a little, bracing his hand on the bridge railing. “Sick people make you nervous, Captain? Afraid I'll contaminate you?”

Anton let that lie. If Nick wanted the moral high ground, he'd have to come up with a better excuse than that. “Who do you take orders from these days? Just so I know.”

“I was looking for a captain.” The voice was small and simple.

“And I wasn't it,” Anton finished for him. “So you chose Oleel.”

Anton approached him, walking down the slope of the bridge. As he did so, Nick swung away from him, heading down the path, staggering, but somehow staying upright. He was thin, his fatigues hanging on his frame.

Nick's voice came back to him as he wobbled on: “Didn't choose her, no. Never went that far.” He turned around, almost tripping over his own feet. “Think I'm a traitor? Of course I didn't
choose
her.” He resumed his headlong rush
down the path. “Talked to her, though. Like you should have done.”

Anton caught up to him, jerked his arm to stop him, bringing him around to face him. “I should have had concourse with a woman who hates us?”

“Yes.”

Anton's stomach rose. “You bastard. You lying bastard. You're up on charges, Nick. I don't care if you live to see them, but I'll have your commission for this.”

Nick's eyes brightened. “Oh, a court-martial is a good idea. I hope I live to have one—it'll be a hoot. We can talk about how you cozied up to the king and screwed his daughter while the ship went to hell and the Dassa—”

Anton struck him. He pulled back enough that he only clipped him on the chin, but it was sufficient to send Nick rolling down a slope next to the path. Anton stood there, fist still clenched, ready for Nick to come back at him. But he could barely gather himself into a crouch, much less rise.

“Good hit, Anton.” Nick said, struggling to rise. “Good one, Captain.”

Anton felt like an ass. He would have welcomed a retaliating blow from Nick Venning, but the man could barely walk, let alone fight. It was a damn shame.

Instead of rising, Nick seemed to give up on the maneuver and just drew his knees up, then sat and gazed at the narrow canal nearby Anton found himself walking down the slope and sitting next to Nick.

His sweat mixed with drops of water condensed out of the air, but as wet as he was, it was still damn hot for the middle of the night. What was Nick doing out here, anyway? Why did he roam?

When Nick began to talk, it was in a conversational tone, as though that was all he could muster.

“I was going to tell you. But I got sidetracked with the medicinals. I knew you wouldn't let me test them on myself, but I knew you'd like me to, as long as you didn't have
to approve it.” He nodded over and over. “I did that for you, Anton, so you could keep your nice, soft hands clean.”

Anton had known about that; they'd all known he was taking drugs. They just hadn't known he'd got them from Oleel.

“It didn't work.” Nick pulled his sleeves up and gazed at the purple welts on his lower arms. “But that's how I found out the truth, so I guess it doesn't matter because eventually I found out.”

A couple of viven walked by, glancing at them.

Nick turned around, staring at the two Dassa men. “Look normal, don't they? See, that's your problem, Anton. You got all tangled up with them, with the king, with Joon, with Maypong. You couldn't keep perspective anymore. You took them as human.” He glanced over at Anton. “They're not.”

“You should have talked with me, Nick. You've been spinning theories, but all by yourself. You could have talked to me.”

“Yeah, I did talk with you. I begged you to get on with it. If you'd listened to me, you'd have been to the big stone place, seen the variums, seen how they hatch …”

“The variums?” Oh, Nick had been busy indeed.

After a pause, Nick said. “Yes. Variums.” He was trying to swallow, and it sounded like he was strangling. Finally, he said, “When the eggs split open, a white gruel comes out. It's not full of blood, like a natural birth. The creatures don't live in blood, they live in a white sap. That's why they're so cruel. No blood. I guess they get up blood in their veins, but by then it's too late.” Now that he was good and warmed up, the words poured out of him. “See, if you're raised up in a pond, kept inside an egg, the whole reality of your being is animal, not human. So if a child dies, it's like an animal sniffing, feeling a loss, and then rutting again to pass along the genes. They don't love anybody. They can't love. All they can do is be animals. And hate the women who bear—and for the same reasons.”

“We know all this, Nick. It's never been a secret, how they bear, that they distrust us. That some of them hate us.”

Nick's voice cracked. “But you didn't
see
it. The baby coming out of the fulva.” He turned to Anton, grabbing onto his sleeve. “The uldia was there, sucking out the fluid. The hatchling came out, looking like a ghoul, dripping with the stuff, no mother to hold out her arms in welcome, just the witch. And the smell… oh God, the smell of it…” His face had contorted, and his eyes were bright, seeking Anton's, but somehow looking past them. “They'll kill what we are, they'll change us into something we don't want to be. If you'd seen … if you'd tried to see … but you never did, Anton. You never wanted to think what we'd become if we mixed with them. Whatever they are, we should run from them. Run hard.”

“So now you think they want to conquer us?” Nick had said he did, the day they took Maypong.

Nick pushed Anton away, staggering to his feet. “You think I've lost it. You're not listening. Maybe before, when I was in a fever, I said some things … I was still trying to figure it out. Maybe they're not going to enslave us… but see, they don't need to. All they need to do is
absorb
us. Same deal. We'll become Dassa. Some of us will be monsters, some of us will be slaves. Just like them. Me, I'd rather be a hoda.” He started climbing the bank. “Of course, guys can't be hoda, so …” He was muttering as he hurried over the bridge, with Anton following him.

Anton caught up to Nick and tried to steady him. “Calm down, Nick. Don't you see this is just what happens to people when things look their worst?”

“Yeah, they see the truth.”

“No, they start looking for easy answers, absolutes. Scapegoats. I never took you for xenophobic. Your psych scores were good. But now you're turning out to be just like all the doubters back home. ‘The universe is out to get us; stay home, be safe

Nick had calmed, in fact. He was breathing deeply, regularly.
“Captain, one last thing? Can I tell you one last thing before you throw me in a cell?”