Trickster. Part 11

Back in the main room, she learned that the furniture was comfortable and that the compartment Delta Maura had taken the food from seemed to be some kind of dumbwaiter. Martina put the food tray back inside it, closed the door, and heard a faint hum. When she opened the little door again, there was nothing on the other side but a blank wall.

The computer did indeed have a variety of games, but all of them were holographic or flat-screen. There were no virtual reality sims. The library was fairly extensive, but all the books were ones she had never heard of. There was no non-fiction. Nothing she saw contained any clue as to where she was or who owned this place.

It took Martina a moment to realize there was no clock in the room and no clock function on the computer. How long had she been drugged? She had no idea. It could have been a few hours or several days. Even weeks, for all she knew.

Martina perched on the edge of the couch, baffled. Was she a prisoner or a guest? Had she been kidnapped or rescued? She felt off-balance and uncertain. Abruptly she wished for her sketchbook and a pencil. Were her art supplies still at DrimCom? Would she ever see them again?

Martina wasn't worried about being in physical danger. If these people had intended to hurt or kill her, they would have done so already. Plus she was one of the few Silent left in the galaxy who could still reach the Dream, someone far too valuable to harm. If they gave her access to her drugs, she could even get into the Dream and shout for help. Even now she could hear the faint whispers around her, whispers she had begun hearing not long after she had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the colony s.h.i.+p and sold into slavery.

It was a part of Martina's life that she didn't like to think about, but every so often she had terrible nightmares about that terrible day, about someone s.n.a.t.c.hing her out of cryo-sleep on a colony s.h.i.+p and hauling her, cold and s.h.i.+vering, into a smelly, tiny room aboard a slave s.h.i.+p. Her father and mother had been there, at least, as had been her older brothers Evan and Keith. All of them were descended from Australian Aborigines, but Aboriginal culture in Australia had been almost completely lost by the time the terrible droughts came and the Outback desert had spread even into the farmlands. In an attempt to rediscover their roots, a group of Aboriginal descendants had banded together to form the Real People Reconstructionists. Martina had only been four or five when her parents joined the group, and her early memories of the RPR involved long walks outside, meditation exercises, and eating really strange foods. Keith, her oldest brother, had gone for the RPR in a big way, even going so far as to change his name to Utang, which he claimed was an old Aboriginal word for "strength." Evan, her other brother, had hated every aspect of the RPR, but he had especially loathed the trips to the Outback when they all went on walkabout.

A few years later, the government had announced that it was sponsoring a giant colony s.h.i.+p to relieve Australia's population burden. The journey would take hundreds of years, but the colonists would spend the entire journey in cryo-sleep. The Real People Reconstructionists had pet.i.tioned to be included so they could at last rediscover the ways of the Real People on a new world, and the government had agreed. Keith--Utang--had been wildly excited. Evan had been furious. Martina, barely ten years old then, remembered being uncertain about going but feeling rea.s.sured that her parents and brothers would be there every step of the way.

Now she had no idea if any of them were still alive, or even what their names might be. Martina had gone through three owners, and each one of them had changed her name. Through it all, she had held onto that one piece of herself. No matter what her owners had named her, she still thought of herself as Martina Weaver. Had her family managed the same thing? She had no way of knowing, and had long ago accepted the fact that she would never find out.

Martina paged through the electronic library again, more for something to do than anything else, and discovered she had overlooked a non-fiction book--A True History of the Dream by Dr. Edsard Roon. The t.i.tle attracted Martina's eye. There were many versions of Irfan Qasad's story, and very few of them agreed on all points. Martina thought it interesting the way different versions conflicted. Her first owner had been a history professor who had bought her as a household servant, and he had allowed Martina to read from his library when she wasn't working. She had read a fair amount, trying to learn what had happened in the centuries her family had been sleeping. Later, when her Silence had surfaced, he had sold her for a tidy profit, but by then she had already acquired a decent background in galactic history. by Dr. Edsard Roon. The t.i.tle attracted Martina's eye. There were many versions of Irfan Qasad's story, and very few of them agreed on all points. Martina thought it interesting the way different versions conflicted. Her first owner had been a history professor who had bought her as a household servant, and he had allowed Martina to read from his library when she wasn't working. She had read a fair amount, trying to learn what had happened in the centuries her family had been sleeping. Later, when her Silence had surfaced, he had sold her for a tidy profit, but by then she had already acquired a decent background in galactic history.

Martina called up the book, and holographic pages appeared in front of her. The beginning was familiar stuff. Irfan Qasad, captain of a colony s.h.i.+p, arrived at a planet named Bellerophon and become the first human being to meet the alien Ched-Balaar, who had arrived there first. Initially Irfan and her people had been worried that the Ched-Balaar would be hostile, or they'd tell the humans to turn around and go back to Earth, but the aliens had been happy to share their new world, provided the humans fulfill one condition.

Martina blinked. She knew this part. The Ched-Balaar had asked their new neighbors to take part in a religious ceremony. There had been drumming in the forests and a gathering of peoples around a great fire. All the humans had drunk a special wine concocted by the Ched-Balaar, a wine that had sent most of them into a stupor. A handful of people had found themselves in the Dream. Irfan Qasad had been one of them, as had her eventual husband Daniel Vik. Here, however, Dr. Roon's version diverged from what she knew.

The Atas.h.i.+ Records indicate very clearly that the Ched-Balaar, other-worldly beings of great power, selected only certain humans to take the holy nectar while the unworthy received nothing but thin beer. The special humans, chosen by the Ched-Balaar, would undergo a transformation. They would become blessed with Silence, and they would come to rule Bellerophon.

But the Atas.h.i.+ Record also reveals that one human, Daniel Vik, used guile and trickery to learn what the Ched-Balaar were planning for their Chosen, and he also learned that he was not to be among them. This made Vik jealous, and he used more guile to ensure that he would receive a portion of the holy nectar.

When the night of the ceremony came, the Ched-Balaar came in procession through the talltree forests of Bellerophon to the central fire where the humans awaited them, the Chosen on the right and the unworthy on the left. Daniel Vik had been seated with the unworthy, but he approached the mighty Irfan Qasad. In her weakness for his fair face and his silver tongue, she allowed him to sit next to her. Irfan took the bowl of holy nectar from the first Ched-Balaar, drank, and pa.s.sed the sacred bowl to Vik, who drank and pa.s.sed it to the other Chosen while the Ched-Balaar chanted and beat their otherwordly rhythms.

Irfan, Vik, and the Chosen fell into a stupor brought on by the holy nectar and the mysterious rhythms. They underwent the transfiguration and ascended to Silence in the Dream. But unknown to them, the DNA in Daniel Vik's saliva had tainted the nectar, leaving it corrupt. Although the Atas.h.i.+ Record is very clear on this, further proof is seen in the fact that Daniel Vik was weak in the Dream; he was never intended to go there in the first place. And none of the other Chosen were as powerful in the Dream as Irfan Qasad, who drank untainted nectar.

Martina paused. This was certainly different from everything else she had read--so different as to be laughable. That Daniel Vik had been a filthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d who betrayed his own wife and kidnapped one of his children away from her was widely accepted, but the idea that he had sabotaged the Awakening Ceremony was so radical it crossed the line into ridiculous. This Dr. Roon guy must have been laughed out of every academic hall in existence. And what was the "Atas.h.i.+ Record"? She had never heard of it. Shaking her head, Martina continued reading.

Later, when Irfan's wisdom uncovered Vik's deceit and she attempted to correct his taint with the use of genetic engineering techniques, he opposed her at every side, his silver tongue turning her friends and even some of the mighty Ched-Balaar to his side. This corrupted even Irfan herself, who hid her experiments and produced three Silent children of Vik's issue. All were strong in their Silence, and this angered Vik so much that he became insane. He kidnapped their eldest son and fled her presence.

Still angered beyond reason, Vik next raised an army to try to crush Irfan and the other Chosen. But Irfan entered the Dream and held him at bay until Vik was cut down by one of his own followers.

Irfan and the other Chosen thought they were rid of Vik's taint at last, but such was not to be. His DNA had tainted the Ched-Balaar's holy gift of Silence. Only Irfan herself was pure; all others tainted. And when people learned to make s.h.i.+ps that could travel quickly between the stars, they desired the Silent for use as communication. Pirates in search of Silent and their DNA invaded Bellerophon, kidnapping and plundering and making the Chosen into slaves. Irfan fled into the Dream to seek a solution and remained there for many years. When she returned, she told the Chosen that although their birthright was within their grasp, they would never be free of their shackles until they became as pure as she, and she laid down the Laws of the Atash: 1. The Chosen must separate themselves from impure human society.

2. The Chosen must dedicate themselves to purity of thought and deed.

3. The Chosen must confess their impurities to the Enlightened in order to begin cleansing themselves.

4. The Chosen must give themselves over to obedience of the Enlightened that they may follow them into Light.

Martina shut the book off. Bored or not, there was only so much she could take. Was that thing meant to be a scholarly study or a religious text? For a history, it certainly glossed over or ignored an awful lot. A surviving journal from the time of Irfan Qasad had, Martina remembered, described Daniel Vik as going "insane with fury" when he found out that Irfan had genegineered their children for Silence, but there was plenty of hot debate about whether the reference was literal or metaphorical. It also completely ignored the fact that Silence itself had inadvertently led to the enslavement of so many Silent. If Irfan hadn't done her d.a.m.ndest to spread Silence throughout the galaxy as a method of intergalactic communication, founding her so-called Silent Empire, then two scientists separated by light years of s.p.a.ce would never have collaborated, never have discovered slips.p.a.ce, never have learned how to travel faster than light.

And Martina would never have been enslaved.

With the discovery of slips.p.a.ce, humans and other intelligent life spread quickly through the galaxy, and the pokey colony s.h.i.+ps vanished from living memory. They coasted slowly onward, their slumbering inhabitants confidently waiting to wake on a new, unspoiled world.

Then the slavers discovered them.

After almost a thousand years, all records of Martina, her family, and the other colonists had been lost or simply wiped. There was no proof that they weren't slaves, no one alive who even remembered they had existed. Dazed by the abrupt exit from cryo-sleep, the colonists had been unable to resist being shackled and herded aboard the slaver's s.h.i.+p. Later, they were hauled onto a s.p.a.ce station and auctioned off. Martina had watched Utang being taken away by a slaver, though the slaver hadn't said why or where he was taking him. Then Martina had watched Evan and her mother being taken away by a woman in green. Martina had started to cry. Evan had said something to her, something about staying brave because he would find her one day, but she had barely heard him because she was crying so hard. Then he was gone.

Martina shook her head. It was all in the past--three owners ago, in fact. None of it mattered, and as long as she kept busy, either in the Dream or with her sketching, she didn't have to dwell on it.

Trouble was, she didn't have her sketchbook for drawing or her drugs for entering the Dream. There were the games and books on the computer, but Martina wasn't in the mood to read, and holographic games had never interested her. She rummaged around the computer terminal until she found the stylus, then searched the directory until she came across an art program. It activated at her command. Martina waved the stylus through the air, and it left a bright green trail in three dimensions. She nodded to herself. Three-dee art wasn't as fun as drawing, but it had its compensations.

Martina erased the trail and started sketching, just letting her hand go where it would. After a while, she realized she was creating pair a pair of rough portraits--a twelve-year-old boy with dark skin and eyes and a fifteen-year-old boy with equally dark skin but startlingly blue eyes. Evan and Utang. Annoyed with herself, Martina wiped the air clean and drew a series of animals. A falcon. A kangaroo. A koala bear. And all three reminded her of Evan. The koala had his eyes. The kanga mimicked his posture. The falcon shared his fierce expression. Angrily Martina wiped the holograms again and shut down the program. Then she sat down on the bed and drummed her fingers restlessly against her thighs.

All life, why was she here?

CHAPTER FIVE.

"Prost.i.tution is the only job where the least experienced workers earn the most money."

--Inspector Lewa Tan, Guardians of Irfan

Gretchen slid through the crowd, avoiding elbows and insteps. Ken Jeung, head of the Collection's medical department, walked purposefully ahead of her. Jeung always walked purposefully, and somehow people always got out of his way. This made it h.e.l.l to shadow him through the crowds on SA Station, and Gretchen's nerves were already wracked with the effort of doing so without attraction attention -- his or Security's. The fact that he was short and dark-haired didn't make trailing him any easier, since he tended to blend in with other humans.

The s.h.i.+mmering lights of FunSec jumped and capered all around Gretchen. Laughter bubbled out of casinos along with the jingling of metal chits. The only illumination was provided by the thousands of moving, glittering lights that flashed the names of the establishments or projected giant holograms toward the faraway ceiling, providing street entertainment and, incidentally, slowing traffic as people stopped to watch. Gretchen suspected the latter effect was a way of making sure people didn't breeze past the casinos, theaters, and restaurants without looking at them. Currently, a three-story tall human salsa dancer in a red dress was doing a highly suggestive routine with a tall green alien, and both were getting a lot of attention from just about everyone except Jeung.

Gretchen stepped around a waist-high creature with long fur and stubby legs, dodged between two humans, and sidestepped something that reminded her of a walking tree. Humans were a majority on SA Station, but only barely, and Gretchen couldn't identify many of the non-humans. Most of the different species had their own enclaves, but a great deal of mixing went on in FunSec.

The travel corridor was so tall and wide Gretchen found herself thinking of it as a street, complete with sidewalks, doors, windows, and vehicle traffic. Restaurants scented the air with smells of fried food, baked sweets, and other aromas Gretchen couldn't identify. Humans and non-humans chattered among themselves and with each other while dry computer voices provided translations. Music boomed overhead to accompany the holographic dancers. Vehicles zipped up and down the street, hovering just above the metal flooring. Crowded walkways made zigzags and lattices far above ground level. The only greenery came from the occasional potted tree. The erratic lighting, designed to make FunSec always feel like a night-time fun spot, left large chunks of shadow, and Gretchen used them to her advantage while following Jeung.

Jeung turned a corner and Gretchen hurried to catch up. By now she was fairly sure of her quarry's destination, but she didn't want to take a chance on being wrong. Her suspicions were confirmed when she reached the next street and saw Jeung mount a short flight of red-carpeted steps that led to a set of gold-rimmed obsidian doors. A uniformed door attendant touched her hat and held the door for him. Gretchen ducked into an alleyway and tapped her earpiece.

"He's at it again," she said.

"Third time this week," came Kendi's voice in her ear. "And it's only Wednesday. The man defines the term 'habitual.' You think you can get in there and get some more info on our friend now that we know he's a regular?"

"Can't hurt to try. Gimme a few to let him get settled in with his thing of the evening and we'll see."

Gretchen settled back to wait. The door attendant let in three more humans--one man, two women--and let out two more--both men. A huge centipede pittered up the steps and was granted admission. It re-emerged again a few minutes later. Finally Gretchen judged enough time had pa.s.sed. She put on a nonchalant air, crossed the street, and sauntered up the steps. The attendant touched her cap and opened the door.

Inside, Gretchen found everything looking like a brothel should. Plush red carpet, scarlet and gold wallpaper, big marble staircase, trays of drinks hovering obsequiously about, and various beings for rent chatting up potential customers. Lighting and music were soft, conversation muted. The furniture setup made nooks and crannies for private conversation, and there was even a small dance floor. Humans and non-humans mixed freely, most with some sort of beverage at hand.

Some of the non-humans were humanoid, with exotic pelts, antennae, ears, or skin tone. Many, however, weren't even bipedal. Creatures scuttled, slithered, glided, and even oozed around the common room. One looked like a giant turtle with a couch cus.h.i.+on on its back. A human man reclined on the creature, drink in hand. Another non-human seemed to be a three-headed snake with amazingly muscular arms. Its tail was twined sensuously around the waist of another human male. Gretchen couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or barf. And Jeung was nowhere in sight.

"What are you drinking?" said a smooth voice at her elbow.

Gretchen turned. A human woman was looking up at her. Short, boyishly slim figure, curling black hair long enough to sit on. Gretchen couldn't even hazard a guess as to her age.

"Uh, nothing for me, thanks," Gretchen replied.

"Your first time here?" asked the woman.

"Yes."

"I'm Lady Kellyn. This is my place." Kellyn gestured with a bony hand. "If any of the non-humans catches your fancy, please don't hesitate to ask. If you're looking for human companions.h.i.+p, there's a lovely place three doors down, just past the Security station."

"I'm not sure what I'm looking for," Gretchen replied truthfully.

"Then look around until you see something that intrigues. My souls are all trained in what pleasures humans, but we do have a few rules."

"Such as?" Gretchen asked, curious despite herself.

"We are fully licensed and bonded with SA Station, so all the usual Station laws apply here. In addition, we don't do pain, either giving or receiving, and we don't allow heavy drug use, including alcohol. All of my souls are the genuine article--no genegineering here--but if you get something you didn't expect, we can't issue a refund. None of my souls are slaves, so please don't treat them as such. If you want to try more than one soul at the same time, you must ask me or one of my a.s.sistants and not the souls in question, since there are occasional cultural difficulties. We are not responsible for damage to clothing. If you want to be swallowed and regurgitated, we need at least twenty-four hours' notice and you must provide your own breathing apparatus. We take payment in advance but can't accept SA chits. Hard cash is preferable, but cashcards are fine as well."

Gretchen nodded. "Understood. How long have you been in business?"

"Two hundred and thirty-six years," Kellyn said with a touch of pride. "We're the second-oldest pleasure house on SA Station, in fact."

"Impressive." Gretchen hooked a gla.s.s of sparkling something from a wandering tray and took a sip. Champagne. Fine quality, too. "This place is amazing. I'm glad I got a recommendation to visit you."

"Who recommended us?" Kellyn asked, rising to the bait. "I'll send a note."

Here Gretchen colored slightly. "Actually it wasn't as much a recommendation as a piece of accidental eavesdropping. I overheard Ken Jeung raving about your place to a friend at work."

"Ah! You work with Dr. Jeung. He's here tonight, you know."

"He is?" Gretchen darted a frightened glance about the room. The guy on the turtle had been joined by a tiger-striped woman, complete with tail. "Where?"

"He went upstairs with one of my souls a few minutes ago. Is something wrong?"

Gretchen ran her finger around the rim of her champagne gla.s.s. "It's kind of embarra.s.sing. I sort of work more for for him than him than with with him and it would be . . . awkward running into my boss. I didn't think he'd come here two nights in a row. Please don't mention you saw me, would you?" him and it would be . . . awkward running into my boss. I didn't think he'd come here two nights in a row. Please don't mention you saw me, would you?"

"Of course not," Kellyn soothed. "Though you wouldn't need to be embarra.s.sed."

"Does he come here a lot?"

Kellyn gave a smile full of dazzlingly white teeth. "I'm afraid I can't gossip about the individual habits of my customers."

Gretchen nodded, though she already knew quite a bit about Jeung's habits. Ben, Lucia, and Gretchen had spent a great deal of time reading old news stories, striking up casual conversations with patrons, and once even interviewing a soul who had quit working for Kellyn to open a flower shop. The latter had been extremely talkative, especially about Dr. Ken Jeung.

"Well I I can gossip," Gretchen said, still hoping to winkle a bit more information out of Lady Kellyn. "Like I said, I've overheard him talk about this place. He said you're always hiring new people--souls--and he likes to get first crack at them." She sniffed. "I had a boyfriend like that once. Never wanted to do the same thing twice." can gossip," Gretchen said, still hoping to winkle a bit more information out of Lady Kellyn. "Like I said, I've overheard him talk about this place. He said you're always hiring new people--souls--and he likes to get first crack at them." She sniffed. "I had a boyfriend like that once. Never wanted to do the same thing twice."

"Perhaps you should have brought him here," Kellyn said with a smile of her own.

"Is it true that Dr. Jeung's always first in line for someone new?"

"That would be telling," Kellyn replied. "Do you see anyone you find enticing, my dear?"

A pointed change of subject. Gretchen gave an inward sigh. She had been hoping for confirmation of the information she had already gathered, but it was clear Kellyn wasn't going to give any. "Let me look," Gretchen hedged. "I'm new to all this."

"Of course, no pressure," Kellyn said. "And if you see no one who appeals, we have two new souls who will be starting soon. However, I do have to tell you that drinks and the buffet are included in the price of an hour's pleasure time. If you elect not to share pleasure time with one of my souls, I'm afraid we have to charge you for what you imbibe."

Gretchen nodded acknowledgment. Kellyn pressed her arm briefly and moved away to speak to someone else. After a decent interval, Gretchen wandered up the marble staircase. A tall woman accompanied by a hairy, bear-like creature pa.s.sed Gretchen on their way down. At the top of the stairs she could go either left or right into a corridor lined with doors. She went left until she was standing directly under the small security camera positioned on the ceiling and she stayed there until the tiny camera mounted on her lapel pin had taken several holos of the empty hallway. Then she did the same thing with the other corridor and headed down the stairs again.

In the main mingling area, Gretchen hung around long enough to make it seem as if she were waffling between a soft creature that reminded her of a baby seal and a thing with a beak and wicked-looking talons, then headed for the front door, where a pudgy human in an honest-to-G.o.d tuxedo stood behind a small podium. Some sort of maitre d', Gretchen a.s.sumed, responsible for collecting money.

"You saw nothing to your liking tonight?" he asked solicitously as he presented Gretchen a bill for the champagne.

Gretchen settled the check, trying to look as if she paid half a day's stipend for a single drink all the time. "Nothing grabbed me. Lady Kellyn says you're getting two new souls soon?"

"Yes, madam. They will have finished their training by the day after tomorrow. I'll be sending out a notice to everyone on our Honor Roll once they're available."

"Really?" Gretchen put her hand on the pudgy man's podium. When she removed it, a hundred-freemark coin glittered in the soft light beside a small address chip. "I hope I'm on that Roll."

The pudgy maitre d' swept the chip and the coin into his pocket. "Of course, madam. You will be among the first to hear."

"I'd like to be the very very first, even if it's only by a few minutes." first, even if it's only by a few minutes."

"That can certainly be arranged, madam."

Gretchen thanked the man and swept out into the false night.