The Court of a Thousand Suns (12 page)

Red light fired by emotional changes; blue from the musk of wild valley animals; and all the other primary colors from the constantly changing humidity and temperature of the valley itself. Some lights flickered from hue to hue in constantly shifting moods; others stayed one color for hours on end—the bass notes in the color orchestra.

Marr and Senn thought of the tower as a simple place, a place they called home. And that night it glowed more frantically than most others as the guests arrived. Because that night they were having a special party.

Sten's throat was suddenly filled with abrasive phlegm. Cough as he would, he couldn't clear it, it just seemed to clog his throat more. What's more, his ears burned and his toes and fingers felt frostbitten and his tongue plas-coated. He was trying to figure out what to do with the gorgeous woman pressed up against him. His arms waggled on either side of her body, trying to make up their minds whether to paddle in or paddle out. It didn't help that the woman's musk was designed—well designed—to incite lust in any male dead less than ninety-six hours. Finally, he put his hands on the woman's slender hips, hugged them slightly for politeness' sake, and then pushed her away. "Uh… nice to see you, too, Sofia."

Sofia stepped back and took him in with melting eyes. She was looking at him with, well, approval, Sten thought, wishing a guy could wear something resembling underwear beneath the skin-tight formal uniform of a Gurkha officer.

She crammed herself against him again in another full-body melt and whispered in his ear. "It's been so long, Sten, love… I could… I could—You know…"

Yeah, Sten
did
know. He could remember quite well, thank you, and all of his memories were pleasant.

The trouble was, he almost hadn't recognized Sofia when she appeared before him. Not that she was unpleasant to look at; far from it. But he had fixed in his mind a portrait of the straightforward woman of nineteen or twenty, with a dark short-cropped halo of hair and eyes that questioned and judged things as they were. Instead, he was staring at a surgically perfect curve of a woman, with a glittering tumble of hair that reached just below her buttocks. It was also her only covering. Sofia was fashionably naked, her skin pricked here and there with highlights of color. Still, it was Sofia, after a fashion, a Sofia with hungry, knowing eyes.

Sten was sorrier than hell that he had ever had her introduced at Court. "You… look great, Sofia," he said, trying again to edge her gently away. It wasn't that he didn't like having a naked woman in his arms, he just liked it better without everyone watching him.

"We have so much to catch up on," Sofia draped an arm in his. "Let's go someplace private and talk."

Sten felt himself being led away like an obedient little dog.

"Here's our drinks, Sten," came the welcome voice from behind him. "You can't believe the cute little robo-server they… oh… uh… Sten?"

And Sten turned with great relief. Police Lieutenant Lisa Haines was standing with two drinks in her hands and a puzzled-going-to-hurt look on her face.

With the numb but still nimble fingers of a born survivor, Sten jumped for the rope she was dangling out.

"Lisa," he said, his voice a little high, "you're just in time to meet an old friend of mine, Sofia Parral."

Sofia stared coldly at the woman. "Oh," she said, her voice steel-edged.

"Sofia, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Haines. She's uh… I mean, we're… uh…"

Lisa extended a hand to Sofia. "I'm his guest—a
new
friend of Sten's," Lisa purred. "So nice to meet an old one. Knowing the captain, I'm sure we have a great deal in common."

Sofia coldly took her hand and shook it. "Yes," she said. "I'm sure we do."

She turned her attention back to Sten. Frost coated her eyes. "Forgive me, Sten, but I simply must not ignore the other guests. Perhaps we can talk later." She turned a smooth, lovely back to him and ankled away. Sten was not quite sure what he had escaped, but clotting glad he had. He absently reached for one of the drinks Lisa was holding and was brought up short by the smile on her face.

"I didn't realize you knew anyone here, Sten."

He swallowed his drink and then found the other one being thrust into is hand.

"Oh, maybe one or two." Then he laughed, suddenly at ease. "Put it at one. Just one. And thanks a hell of a lot."

He looked Lisa over approvingly. Her body was curved richly and deep, and displayed in a very uncoplike white gown that hugged and hollowed in all the proper places. She took the glasses from him.

"Now, let's go find a refill," she said. "And enjoy the party. Assuming there are no more surprises.

Mmmm?"

"No. No more surprises. I hope."

Sten couldn't have been more wrong. In seconds he had a refill, Lisa was close against him, an orchestra was playing, and there was just enough room on the dance floor. Sten figured he could fake it, especially since the orchestra was playing what even Sten could recognize as a three-quarter-time slow dance.

He bowed to Lisa and led her onto the polished metal floor. That, he realized later, should have been the key.

But there he was, settling gently into Lisa's arms, moving his feet along the floor, and then he started to understand why Marr and Senn's events were superparties.

When the band began the song's reprise, someone turned the generators on and surprised dancers found themselves floating straight up, then drifting sideways into counteractive generators.

The ballroom instantly became less a dance floor than a flurry of slow-motion acrobatics.

Sten blessed his null-grav training when Lisa, looking bewildered as her gown billowed around her waist, floated past him. He tucked and swam toward her, grabbing an ankle first, then working his way up until he had her by both hands.

Lisa recovered, smiled, and resorted to the traditional " 'nother fine fix."

Sten had no idea what she was talking about, but decided to seize the instant.

Weightless kisses taste about the same, even if there does seem to be a sudden excess of saliva.

Seizing the instant also meant that Sten, watching out of the corner of his eye, dolphin-bent his legs, waiting. Until a flustered matron floated nearby.

Sten used his feet as a kickoff point, and the drive sent Lisa and him spinning down toward the floor.

They bounced near the edge of the field, close enough for Sten to pirouette Haines sideways onto a normal-grav floor. She in turn dragged him out of the McLean field.

"Nice party," Sten managed.

"Mmm," Lisa said. "So zero-gee winds you up, Captain?"

"Isn't heterosexual love odd in its incarnations?" Marr whispered after closely watching Lisa and Sten's slow orbit.

"Perambulations is the word you're looking for," Senn corrected. "Shall we arrange those for later?"

"Regardless. We should take them under wing, and—Sr. Hakone! You honor us!"

Hakone had approached them unnoticed. He sipped from his half-empty glass of quill.

"As the guest of honor, may I comment on the evening thus far?"

Senn opened his liquid-black eyes in mock astonishment. "Is anything wrong?"

"For a party that purported to be in my honor," Hakone said, "I find too many people here who would like to use my bones for toothpicks."

"We made our invitations before your masque was previewed, Sr. Hakone," Marr said. "We had no knowledge—"

"Of course you hadn't," Hakone said dryly. "You two aren't the sort who believe a party is best gauged by the number of duels it creates."

"You offend!" Senn hissed.

"Perhaps." Hakone was indifferent. He drained his glass and fielded another from a passing tray. "My idea of a gathering, after all, is a group of comrades, with something in common to share. Evidently we differ in that regard."

"If we had known," Marr pacified, "that you wished a group of fellow ex-soldiers to sit around and become comatose while sharing lies of your long-gone youth, we would have done so."

Hakone allowed a smile to crawl across his face. The writer was dressed entirely in black, close-fitting trousers and a flowing tunic. "As I said before, we differ. By the way—one man I would like to meet."

"There is someone we didn't introduce to you? Our failing."

"Him."

Hakone waved a hand toward Sten, who was recovering his sense of gravity with a full glass.

Marr flicked a glance at Senn. Puzzlement. Then took Hakone by the hand and led him over to Sten.

"Captain Sten?"

Sten, who was about to kiss Lisa again, turned, recognized his hosts and, thanks to his cram course in the palace files, the guest of honor.

"Sr. Hakone."

"This is a young man," Marr said, "who we believe will progress greatly. Captain Sten. And?"

"Lisa Haines." Like most good cops, Lisa didn't believe in unnecessarily letting anyone know what she was.

Hakone smiled at her, then effectively shut Lisa, Marr, and Senn out of the conversation. "You command the Emperor's bodyguard, isn't that correct?"

Sten nodded.

"It must be interesting work."

"It's… different," Sten said neutrally.

"Different? What were you doing previously?"

Sten's background, as a member of the Emperor's Mantis Section, was of course never to be admitted.

For that period his record showed service on some far worlds, enough to justify a double row of medal ribbons that had been won for far stealthier and dirtier deeds.

"Guards. Mostly out in the pioneer sectors."

"Unusual," Hakone said, "for someone—and I mean no offense—as young as yourself to be picked for your current post."

"I guess they needed somebody who could climb up and down all those stairs in the palace without having heart failure."

"You have a mentor," Hakone pursued.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Captain, may I ask you something frankly?"

"Yes, sir."

"I note from your ribbons that you've seen combat. And now you're here. At the heart of the Empire. Do you like what you see?"

"I don't understand."

"You joined the service, I assume, like all of us. Expecting something. Expecting that you were serving a cause."

"I guess so." Sten knew damned well why he'd joined—to get the hell off the factory world known as Vulcan and to save his own life.

"When you look around"—and Hakone's expansive hand took in the bejeweled Court denizens that had flocked to the party—"does this match what you expected?"

Sten kept his face blank.

"Don't you find this all a little, perhaps decadent?"

Not a chance, Sten's answer should have been. Not when you come from a world where boys and girls go into slavery at three or four. But that wasn't the right thing to say. "Sorry to be so thick, Sr. Hakone,"

Sten said, "but on the world I come from,
animals
are normal sex partners."

Hakone's face flashed disgust, then he realized. "You joke, Captain."

"Not very well."

"Do you read?"

"When I have the leisure."

"Perhaps at another time we can discuss this further. In the meantime, I would like to send you some of my works. Will you receive them at the palace?"

Sten nodded. Hakone bowed formally and turned away. Sten looked after him. Question: Why would the guest of honor decide to look him up? And then stand there and play games? The evening was increasingly surprising.

The party was ending on a muted note. It had gone from a mass of egos forced together to a swirl of excuses for other appointments. Sten and Lisa, not being very experienced in Prime World high society, were among the last to add themselves to the swarm of beings making polite exit.

Marr grabbed them just before they hit the pneumotube to their sled. "Too soon, my loves," he cried.

"Much too soon."

And he latched on to their hands and began pulling them back through the crowd. Sten tensed—soldiers, like cats, don't look back. He felt equal tension through Lisa's fingers. Somehow that made him feel more at ease and very close to her. It was a sharing of distrust. "Really, Marr," Sten said. "We gotta go. We both have duty tomorrow, and there really isn't time for—"

Marr broke in with a sniff. "As you might say, clot duty. And as for time—that's just something the science types use to keep everything from happening at once."

He pulled them forward, out of the crowd and into a long, pulsing yellow hallway. Sten hesitated once again, and then felt Lisa's fingers tense before tugging him on. They turned a corner and were instantly confronted with a tricolored split, tunnels leading in different directions. Marr urged them toward left—blue—and Sten realized from the tension in his calves that they were moving upward.

"Senn and I have had our eye on you," Marr said. "Through the whole party. Both of you are a bit out of place, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Sten apologized. "I'm not very used to—"

Marr waved him down. "Don't be foolish. Our gatherings are not about social niceties. In fact, people's general appreciation is that we provide just the opposite."

"Oh, my god," Lisa said. "I knew I'd foul this up." She glanced down and checked the gossamer that was her dress. "You can see through it, right? I knew I should have—"

Sten pulled her close to him, shutting her off.

"I think he's trying to tell us something else," he said.

Marr pulled them onward, seemingly ignoring their hesitations. They rushed past rooms gleaming in haunting colors or dimmed to impossible shades of blackness. They were near the top level—the gallery section—and although the two guests didn't realize it, each room represented a fortune in art works.

Scents and sounds slipped out, taunting, urging, but Marr pressed on, babbling all the time.

"This is special," Sten realized Marr was saying, "Something only the two of you would understand.

You'll see—see for yourselves—why Senn and I built our home here."

The hallway suddenly blossomed into the open and Sten felt a soft, perfumed breeze.

"See," Marr said. "See." He waved a small, furry arm around, taking in… everything.