The Sardonyx Net (11 page)

Rhani shook her head. “Obsessives don't think like that, Zed-ka. He'll keep on until he's circumvented or stopped.”
 

“He's being paid to do a job. Eventually he'll have to do it,” Zed argued.
 

Rhani spread her hands. She was not going to argue about obsessions with her brother: the only ones he understood were his own. “Maybe,” she temporized. “I will certainly think about what you say.”
 

Dana Ikoro sat in the kitchen, wondering what they were talking about, and—he thought—going a little mad.
 

After Zed had sent him from the terrace, it had taken him half an hour to stop shaking. During that time, he hid in his room. When he felt strong enough to move, he went into the garden, like a dog seeking a hole to hide in. He met Timithos, a sturdy, dark man with dirt under his nails and hair burned pale as straw by the sun. When Dana spoke with him, he simply smiled and did not speak. The dragoncats came by to sniff at him; Dana found a string and dragged it for them, and they consented to some regal play, but they grew bored before he did. The inactivity made him itch. He wanted to ask permission to visit the hangar behind the house, but to do that he would have to seek out Zed. He also started to walk through the front gate, just for the hell of it, but a vestige of sense held him back.
 

Finally Cara took pity on him. “Come,” she said and brought him to the kitchen. Cutting vegetables did not make him feel better, but at least it gave him something to do. He had begun to comprehend Immeld's constant curiosity about Zed and Rhani's talk. During their meal, the slaves gathered in the kitchen to eat. Amri ate first, since she served the meal. Dana wondered what would happen if, in the middle of the meal, he screamed.
 

He decided he was not yet crazy enough to want to find out.
 

“Here,” said Immeld, thrusting a dish between his hands. His fingers closed automatically. He glanced down; it was sherbet topped with nuts.
 

“Why are you giving me this?” he said.
 

“Because I'm sick of you hanging around,” she said. “Go spoon it into those glass bowls over there.”
 

He did as he was told. Binkie, seated on a stool, smiled a private, ironic smile.
 

“Now what?” Dana said.
 

“Now take it into the alcove,” said Cara. “What are you, a moron? That's dessert.”
 

“Oh,” Dana said. “Right.” He wondered what Rhani would say to see him march out with the dishes. He wondered if Zed would comment. Sweet mother, he told himself, it's nothing, you're simply going to serve a meal! He walked from kitchen to alcove and set the first dish in front of Rhani, the second in front of Zed. The Net commander didn't bother to look up. Relieved, Dana returned to the kitchen. Timithos had come in, a dragoncat at his heels. Immeld gave him food in a brown, covered pot. He smiled at them all, murmured something incomprehensible, and left.
 

Binkie said, “That man's a fool. He can barely talk. He won't even sleep in the house.”
 

Amri said, “The garden's nice at night.”
 

“Would you sleep there?”
 

“I can't. I have my work to do.”
 

“Yes. Well, Timithos likes his work too much.”
 

Amri said, “What's wrong with that? I like my work.”
 

“You would.”
 

“Don't torment the child,” said Cara. Immeld banged the lid on a cook-pot, frowning.
 

“Don't you like your work?” asked Amri.
 

Binkie said, “It has its advantages.”
 

Immeld said, “What are they talking about tonight?”
 

“About the mines at Gemit,” said Amri, “and about dorazine.”
 

“The shortage,” said Immeld.
 

Cara said, “It won't affect us.”
 

Binkie said, “It wouldn't affect you anyway, Cara,”
 

Cara said, “Don't snip at me.” She glanced at the white scar on her own arm. “It did once.”
 

“Yes, I know,” said the secretary. “You were lucky.” He looked at Dana. “Cara was so devoted to the Yagos she stayed on as steward after her contract ended.”
 

Cara said, “It's a good job.”
 

“So's my job,” said Binkie. His tone was ironic, brittle as glass. “But when my contract runs out, Chabad will never see me again, and Sector Sardonyx and Family Yago can go to hell!”
 

Cara said softly, “You'll get into trouble talking like that.”
 

Binkie's lips tightened. He swung around and left the kitchen for the dark slaves' hall.
 

“Poor Binkie,” said Amri. She trotted from the room, and returned with the plates. “They're going upstairs.”
 

Immeld put the leftovers into containers, and the containers into a cooler. “That's done till tomorrow,” she said, sighing. She and Cara walked toward the slaves' hall, their arms around each other.
 

Amri cleaned the table, and wiped the kitchen counters. Dana wiped the pots and dishes clean. It only took a few moments. “What Binkie said—” he hesitated.
 

“About what?”
 

“About Cara—did he mean she's not a slave?”
 

“Yes,” said Amri. “Immey told me. She was a slave when Isobel Yago, Rhani-ka's mother, died. Then her contract was canceled. That's the law. You go free if your owner dies. Her contract had three more years to run. But she stayed. She's been here all this time.”
 

“If Rhani died, would you stay?”
 

Amri looked shocked. “Don't talk like that,” she said. “It's bad luck to talk about somebody dying.”
 

“I'm sorry,” said Dana. “Do you want me to stop talking?”
 

“No.” She sat on a stool. “I like it. Cara and Immey don't talk to me much.”
 

“How long have you worked for the Yagos?”
 

“Three years.” said the girl. “They bought me to help Immeld.” Reaching out, she dimmed the kitchen lights.
 

“What do you do?”
 

“I do the housekeeping. I straighten the rooms, I do the laundry. I water the plants inside. Wash the windows. I'll show you. You can come with me tomorrow.”
 

“I'd like that,” Dana said. “Can I ask you something else?”
 

“Sure.”
 

“What happened to Binkie?”
 

Amri bowed her head. Her hands twisted in her lap. Dana was not sure she had understood him. Finally, she said, “It was Zed.”
 

“Oh.” I should have known, he thought.
 

“He tried to run away. Out the front gate. It was stupid, you can't live out there, it's too hot. He left at night. In the morning, Zed took the bubble and brought him back. His lips were all bloody where he had bitten them for moisture, and he was sick, because he tried to eat the plants. Zed took care of him until he was stronger and then—”
 

“You don't have to tell me,” Dana said.
 

“—punished him,” finished Amri. “Rhani was angry. She and Zed had an awful fight.”
 

“Good,” said Dana grimly.
 

“It wasn't,” protested Amri. “It's horrible when they fight. But then Zed went to Abanat, ice climbing, and when he came back it was all right. He leaves Binkie alone, but Binkie hates him.”
 

Dana said, “I can see why. When was that?”
 

“About a year ago, I think.” Amri frowned. “I can't remember. It was sometime before the last Auction. When there isn't any weather, all the times seem alike.”
 

In the dim kitchen, the sentence, spoken in Amri's high child's voice, was poignant as a cry. “Where are you from?” Dana asked.
 

She twisted her hands. “We're not supposed to talk about that.” Her huge gray eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, stared past him. “Belle,” she whispered. “It rains there, all the time. I miss it.”
 

He put his arm around her. “Don't cry.”
 

She stiffened. “I'm
not
crying!” She sounded very much like one of Dana's younger brothers. She yawned, a great jaw-cracking shuddering yawn. She put a belated palm up to hide it.
 

“You should go to sleep.” He walked her to her door. She clung to him a moment in the hushed hall.
 

“I like you,” she said. He kissed the top of her head lightly. Her hair smelled of cinnamon. “Good night.”
 

“Good night.” Silent as a ghost, she slid inside her room. Again Dana wondered what she had done to come to Chabad. What sort of system made slaves of children?
 

There were lights on in Binkie's room, none in Immeld's, a flicker of a candle in Cara's. Dana went to his room. He sat on the bed. He didn't think he could endure ten years of this: kicking around a lonely house, doing nothing, piloting Rhani Yago once in a while, fighting off shudders whenever Zed came near him. He would go mad. Nobody could live like that.
 

Tears of rage and despair swelled into his throat. He stood up violently. The bed rocked. Don't cry!” he ordered himself, as he had Amri. He had no use for tears; he had cried enough.
 

The panic—that was what it was—halted.
 

Through the jitter of misery in his head, Dana heard music.
 

He heard it clearly; Stratta's “Concerto in A Minor.” It grew in strength: a soft, precise, intransigent construct of song. It stopped the tears. His head and his bowed spirits lifted of their own accord. He listened until it stuttered in his mind, and was lost. Walking to the washroom, he scrubbed his face. A somber reflection looked at him from the mirror. He made it grin. You won't go mad, he told himself.
 

The next day Rhani was aware of an oddity in the house: whenever Amri appeared to make a bed, straighten a room, replace a towel, Dana came with her.
 

The girl chattered to him blithely, mostly about Abanat. He listened, smiling. He seemed almost happy. Rhani had not expected him to adjust that fast. He was young, of course, and flexible—but his docility surprised her, and it made her watch him. Once he was in the bedroom when Zed came in; he froze, and she saw his shoulders hunch. Amri looked at him in puzzlement. Zed said, “Go on with what you're doing.” After a moment Dana's hands moved again. Zed turned away from him. “You had something to show me, Rhani-ka?”
 

“To ask you.” She hunted through the printed Net report. “I see that we lost a technician again. Can you think of anything to stop that? They disappear in the sector—I don't like the idea of just anyone being able to learn all about the Net. I don't understand it. Where do they go?”
 

“Enchanter, or Ley, or Sabado. They see green, water, rain—and they just jump ship.” The discussion engrossed her.
 

But when it was done, and Zed gone from the room, Rhani retained her awareness of Dana bending over the bed: an afterimage. He was gone. He had been a Starcaptain; did he like making beds?
 

Before lunch she went into the garden, half to take a walk, half looking for Cara, to tell her Zed was leaving the next day at dawn and would be back that night. She could hear Amri singing off-key in the slave's quarters. She passed through the kitchen. Dana sat there, on a stool, hands on his thighs. His face was intent, shuttered. He looked as if he were listening to something. She listened for it but all she heard was the hum of the aircooling system, and Amri's discordant voice. “Dana?”
 

It took him several seconds to respond. “Yes, Rhani-ka.”
 

“What are you doing?”
 

“I was listening.”
 

“To what?”
 

“'Concerto in A Minor for Electric Flute,' by Stratta.”
 

“I've never heard of it,” Rhani said.
 

“Not many people have.”
 

“It doesn't sound contemporary.”
 

“It isn't. Stratta wrote about four hundred years ago. He's obscure ... I like his music. I had a lot of tapes of it in
Zipper
. I don't know what happened to them.” He looked away from her. “They're probably destroyed by now.”
 

"Zipper?"
 

“My starship.”
 

She wondered if he knew that Zed had bought the ship for Family Yago. Property taken from slaves belonged to the world their crime was committed on. “You hear this music in your head?”
 

“Not very well. I was trying. Is there something I can do for you, Rhani-ka?”
 

Rhani bit her lip. He was warning her off the subject, as deferentially and adroitly as Binkie might. “I was looking for Cara.”
 

“She and Immeld are walking in the garden.”
 

His face had taken on that look of patient waiting shared, Rhani thought, by slaves and children. She had worn it as a child. He had not looked like that smiling at Amri. She wanted to see him relax. With a twinge of disloyalty, she said, “Zed's going to Abanat tomorrow.”