The Galaxy Game (13 page)

Serendipity nodded, pleased beyond common sense with that slight, non-specific recognition. ‘I’m Serendipity. Tell us what happened to Rafi, please?’

Delarua looked away and went silent. Her expression was unreadable, but both of them could feel the rapid current of her thoughts and emotions in their own way, and they recognised when that current slowed and reached resolution a second or two before she turned to face them again.

‘No more need for secrecy as far as I can see,’ she said. ‘We were at the spaceport. He was supposed to take a flight to Vaya. He was supposed to keep out of the Lyceum’s way until he turns fifteen. I don’t know how he ended up on Stage One.’

She did not know, truly, but she could guess and it made her furious.

‘Stage One is as out-of-the-way as you can get,’ Ntenman offered. ‘Even government can’t halt the quarantine process once it’s started. Maybe he did the right thing.’

Delarua’s thoughts were a murky swell but her words were crisp and careful. ‘I don’t know. He may have done something to annoy
two
planetary governments. I don’t call that keeping out of the way.’

A wave of turmoil, both felt and heard, came through the Hall’s closed doors, making Ntenman flinch. Delarua watched him. ‘I had to get out,’ she said. ‘It was making my head hurt – and my stomach, too.’

‘What’s happening in there?’ Serendipity asked.

Delarua leaned forward and spoke quietly, but with an air of sadness rather than conspiracy. ‘Insurrection, I hope.’ She addressed Serendipity. ‘There are stairs just inside that go up to the public gallery. You should go and listen. Your people are very much involved.’

Serendipity felt confused and apprehensive but Delarua’s steady gaze was insistent rather than reassuring, and so the young woman succumbed to the pressure and pulled open the door. Behind it was a high-ceilinged foyer embraced by the twin arms of two flights of stairs in fine architectural balance and symmetry. The far wall held another set of double doors, closed and stoically guarded by two young Sadiri. The air was solid with cacophony; bursts of rumbling and blaring dissent in male voices were occasionally punctuated by the higher chime and warble of a female elder. Disruption. Chaos. Insanity. Heavy emotions were roiling below the sound, and above it all a quick chatter of telepathic communication clicked along unimpeded, evidence that a handful of Uplanders were observing and commenting among themselves.

Serendipity took in a sharp, frightened breath. ‘What
is
happening?’ she said to herself. She went to the stairs on the left and ran lightly up, two steps at a time, to face the turmoil.

Chapter Six

The anger and tension in the Hall were directed outwards, not inwards. The Consul’s peremptory deportation of a valued colleague (and a female one at that, which made her twice-valued) was but one of several indignities that had been piling up for months. The Government of New Sadira restricted mobility, pressured certain young families (with daughters? with purer heritage?) to emigrate to New Sadira and made many fruitless attempts to police what they saw as ‘cultural deviations’ on the Sadiri settlement.

Then there was the taSadiri contingent, mainly represented by semi-adopted female Sadiri elders and a few young women, most of them new brides from Tirtha. The community of telepaths was now actively seeking full integration with Sadira-on-Cygnus with the option of a special relationship that would connect all taSadiri communities (subject to terms to be agreed on by the Cygnian government, of course).

Finally there were the pilots. They had no formal Council representation, and yet, somehow, at some stage months earlier it had become necessary to include them in the plans to develop Grand Bay. Then there were consultations on the effective oversight of the airspace over the settlement, and then it was a natural step to allow for a few ‘special representatives’ from the pilot community who could attend meetings, hold Council privileges and cast their vote.

It was messy and exhausting, especially for those who remembered the early days of settlement, when the Council was not much more than a few old men half-heartedly arguing procedure and trying not to fall apart, break down or otherwise go to pieces in front of the youngsters.

The majority opinion was clear. Sadira-on-Cygnus could not continue as the off-planet annexe of New Sadira. What new status it should have was a matter of debate. Several Sadiri Councillors were happy to become entirely Cygnian, with no conflicting loyalties. Most of the taSadiri Councillors were less eager to settle for the Cygnian citizenship they already possessed, and those from Tirtha were entirely sceptical, pointing to institutions like the Lyceum as proof that Cygnus Beta was still not ready to accept psi-based societies. The pilots, of course, were looking far beyond the planet and talking about maintaining old galactic networks and creating new ones – trade and science and transport from Zhinu to Punartam to Ntshune and farther yet. Grand Bay could become a new terminal, benefiting Cygnian and Sadiri alike.

The permanent presence of Sadiri mindships in Cygnian oceans was an open secret. The Sadiri knew, and they hoped with the strength of prayer that both human and mindship populations would flourish. The Cygnians said nothing, but they granted the settlement both autonomy and assistance with an abundance and generosity that only made sense if they were expecting some future dividend, perhaps in the form of a collaboration that would see Cygnus Beta finally get its own interstellar fleet.

Some of the Sadiri Councillors, still traumatised by their fall from the pinnacle of galactic society, were giddy at any potential opportunity for leverage and influence, and it made them misbehave a little during the formal debates. Eventually, Chief Councillor Edrasde recognised that they were feeding off each other’s high emotions in a vicious and dangerous loop. The meeting was adjourned until the following morning. When the inner doors were unsealed and opened, the grumbling, seething assembly rose up and walked out, carrying the bad mood with them like a trailing miasma.

The observers in the public gallery were also leaving. Serendipity joined them, going quickly down the stairs and into the busy foyer. She kept to the edges, careful not to bump into anyone, and dashed through the outer doors the moment there was a sliver of space to do so. She was so intent on not being noticed that she did not see when Dllenahkh turned aside from the general flow of the crowd and went up the opposite staircase to the place she had just left.

The public gallery was empty; the Hall below was empty. Dllenahkh sat on a front bench, seized the railing before him with both hands and tried to take the emptiness into his mind. Such a turbulent atmosphere – it drained him of strength and disturbed his equilibrium. He craved cool, deep breaths of quietness: either the chill, humid air of the forest uplands monastery, or the dry nip of the wind at the monastery in Montserrat. Both reminded him of early-morning meditation.

There was too little time, always, even for a breath. Slow steps approached – only slow, not hesitant. The emptiness was filled with a growing sense of presence. Not ominous, but implacable . . . yes . . . even stubborn. He would not escape this talk though he had tried for many months to preserve his innocence. The bench rocked slightly under added weight as the presence settled in beside him and waited patiently. Dllenahkh exhaled and relaxed his grip, letting his hands fall palms-upwards into his lap in resignation.

‘You’ve changed,’ he muttered to his hands. ‘The younger you appear, the more familiar your face becomes to me, the more I realise that you are very far from the pilot I knew in the days before.’

‘Too much has happened,’ Naraldi said softly. ‘We are both changed, but my friend – those worlds, those lives! You have not seen what I have seen, the best and the worst of what could be!’

‘Do you think you can direct fate?’

Naraldi laughed, a bitter, indignant huff of air. ‘Please, Dllenahkh. Directing fate
is
a pilot’s vocation – or, if you prefer, directing our path around fate’s immovables. It’s the same thing. You must start thinking like a pilot; you’re almost one of us already.’

He stretched out a hand and matched it to Dllenahkh’s, curving his fingers around the hollow of his friend’s hand as if keeping space for a sphere therein. ‘See? Together we preserve Sadira, together we hold and protect our world—’

Dllenahkh cut off his poetry with bluntness. ‘You want me to lead a rebellion.’

‘I want you to be the foundation and centre from which others will lead.’ Naraldi collapsed the empty sphere with a quick clasp of Dllenahkh’s hand, then withdrew and quickly changed the subject. ‘The pilots have petitioned for title to the lands around Grand Bay. The Cygnian Government is in agreement. I believe they have chosen to focus on the benefits to the settlement rather than scrutinise our motives.’

‘How unusually pragmatic of them,’ said Dllenahkh. The words suggested sarcasm, but he sounded tired and heavy.

Naraldi was taken aback by his tone. ‘Old friend, do not tell me you are disappointed in me.’

Dllenahkh struck his fist on the railing. ‘I am disappointed in all of us! Tell the truth, Naraldi. We are not preserving Sadira – we are breaking it apart.’

‘It broke apart some time ago, Dllenahkh. Help me to preserve the best of it.’ He spoke with a deep, sincere sadness that was harder to bear than a simple plea.

‘I have to think it over,’ Dllenahkh said finally.

‘Think, then, but not for too long. Events are moving on without us and there is no time.’

The bench shifted again as Naraldi stood and left. Dllenahkh stayed a while longer, trying to fully restore his equilibrium, but the sight of the Hall brought him no peace. He could still see ghostly imprints of debating representatives moving in the space below and their voices clattered in his memory with an echo that was almost audible. Eventually, he gave up and went to find his wife.

*

When Serendipity emerged from the crush of people exiting, Ntenman asked Delarua for a ride back to the homestead and explained why.

‘You parked an
entire
aerolight in our workshop?’ she said, shaking her head. She was not feeling hospitable, not today.

‘Pardon me, but I have called my cousin and I must go with her,’ Serendipity said. Perhaps it was a courteous withdrawal in response to Delarua’s stressed tone, but her eyes were turned away, seeking out others from Tirtha.

Delarua noticed and made a mental note to follow up later, but for the moment she merely replied to Serendipity’s polite goodbye and focused on Ntenman once more. ‘I still don’t understand why you’ve been tracking down Rafi so diligently. Is the Lyceum sending students out as spies now?’

Ntenman answered absently, watching Serendipity leave. ‘Oh, the Lyceum doesn’t know he’s missing yet – and if anyone should call and ask, tell them that Rafi is recovering nicely but will be contagious for a while longer.’

Delarua questioned him with a stare.

‘Chickenpox,’ Ntenman clarified.

‘Well, thank you, I think. So you’ll fly back tomorrow, then?’ She was pushing him to be gone. Dllenahkh was approaching, there was a lot to decide and do, and she did not want this strange boy and his murky motives hanging around.

He gave her a reproachful look. ‘Rafi’s my friend, and I don’t have many friends. I know that cap wasn’t doing him any good. And if I were a spy, it would not be for the Lyceum.’

She said nothing, waiting for him to explain further. His expression was serious, but she kept her face and her feelings guarded.

‘If Rafi comes back from Stage One, the Lyceum will be the least of his problems. He needs to be somewhere else, somewhere off-planet. I know people on Punartam.’

‘Thank you for your suggestion,’ she said with only a touch of sarcasm. ‘I know people on Punartam, too. The problem is how to get him there. First-flight quarantine is expensive and lengthy, and that ticket he has won’t take him much further. And we can’t help. We can risk our homestead credit for local travel, but beyond orbit is another thing.’

‘I can take care of that.’

She laughed. ‘You have galactic credit?’

‘Yes. I do. I owe Rafi, and someone owes me. It’s enough to get us both to Punartam.’

At last she remembered. Ntenman was the boy who went with Rafi for a vacation in the forest uplands, paid for with
her
credit, no less. Murky motives or no, the boy had a very Ntshune sense of obligation.

Dllenahkh came into view. His face was unreadable but Delarua could feel what was beneath the surface – he was exhausted. All at once she despaired. How could she find time to worry about Rafi and fret over Nasiha when she also had to hold her husband together so that he could hold the settlement together? She reined herself in quickly before her bleakness could touch him. One thing at a time.

‘Let’s go home,’ she told him.

Ntenman stood awkwardly in place as she took Dllenahkh’s arm and they began to walk away. She looked back at the boy, surprised at his sudden shyness. ‘You, too.’

*

Ntenman ended up staying for more than one day. Delarua was fascinated at how quickly he became part of the homestead. He remembered everyone’s name and face after a single meeting, and they remembered him, for he charmed, flattered and flirted his way through the homestead’s small population.

‘He’s a baby con-man,’ Delarua said to Dllenahkh with a mixture of disdain and admiration. ‘He’s like Ioan without the nasty mind-coercion.’

She was making small talk for the sake of distraction. They were in the office she had shared with Nasiha, cleaning it out thoroughly – files, specimens, souvenirs and personal effects. Should the Consul send anyone to search for clues to Nasiha’s location, they would find only bare walls, scant furniture and empty cabinets.

‘He reminds me of you,’ her husband said, and was startled when she swiftly smacked his arm. ‘But Grace, he does. He likes people and he likes to be liked. He’s nowhere near Ioan’s level.’

‘You’re being duped already,’ Delarua warned him. ‘Can’t you see how he’s building networks and notching up credit? In a little while, he could get away with anything, and if you tried to get one of the homesteaders to go against him they’d protest that
he’s such a great guy
and
there must be some mistake
.’