The Concourse sloped upward, an almost indiscernible slant, but enough that when it ended more than a kilometer distant, it lay just below the surface of the desert. I continued on, passing more stalls. The mist cleared and the alley became a street. Higher quality stalls appeared, with brighter canvas sides and pretty streamers that rustled in air currents produced by vents in the ceiling far overhead. I stopped at an empty stall between a café and a carpet stand, a moderately respectable location, nothing fancy, but a good place. If we could conquer the hurdle of Weaver’s non-existent birth certificate, this stall would be his. I was fed up with the licensing office, but I didn’t intend to ask the Majdas for help. I wanted my people to see we could do this for ourselves.
I continued up the Concourse. The street widened into an avenue with boutiques nestled between bistros and tourist-trap restaurants. On my right, a wide path paved with cobblestone led to a bridge, a gorgeous stone arch that spanned the only canal up here. Blue tiles paved the bridge, their ancient mosaics restored by the city. No one in Cries realized those designs evoked the art created by Down-deepers. Street lamps stood every few meters, their surfaces aged so gracefully that the antique effect looked genuine. The top of each curled in a scrolled loop, and a lamp hung by a chain from that bronzed curve. I was walking now among glitzy evening crowds who came here to dine. They stared as I strode by with my gun and my glare. I might as well have been another tourist attraction. Look! A real one! An undercity thug. Do you think we’re safe? They would find it all so thrillingly dangerous. Yah, right. True gangers rarely came here in the open, and if they did, the police would recognize them as the real thing and make them leave. I had lived too long in the outside world, until I changed beyond anything I could have imagined in my youth. Yet here I was, with people gaping at me.
Eventually I reached the Rec Center, a light blue building near the top of the Concourse, the place where the boulevard reached its widest extent. The Rec Center needed that space. The Dawn Corps had built and staffed the place to serve the Undercity, but of course none of my people came here. Our youth might have visited a smaller center at the end of the Concourse, where the kids could go without being arrested or chased away. They only came up this far in secret.
The Center doors swung inward at my touch. I entered a large hall with game tables scattered to my right. On the left, counters stretched out cafeteria style, one with fresh fruit and vegetables, another with steaks steaming on a block, filling the air with mouth-watering smells. Water bottles stood on another. No wonder Ruzik and Hack snuck in here. Large, young, and constantly active; they probably craved food like this. They didn’t have to steal it, given that the “Rec Center” was actually a soup kitchen, but they did anyway, so they weren’t taking charity. Blast our Undercity pride. This place needed to find a bargain my people would accept as a trade for the meals. We also had to convince the police to let them come here. Having a nice, sparkly Rec Center did exactly squat when the cops turned back anyone who dared step out of the aqueducts. I was surprised no one had tried to stop me today. Then again, in a city so heavily influenced by the army, my military bearing worked in my favor.
A handsome man in slacks and a pullover was cleaning one of the counters. He wore the patch of a Dawn Corps volunteer on his shoulder, but this was no kid doing community service. Grey dusted his hair. Even just wiping down a counter, he had the confidence of someone comfortable with his years and his life. He looked up as I entered, then paused, taking in my appearance, gun and all. I met his gaze and stood watching him, waiting for his frown, his coldness, his suspicion.
He set down his cloth and came over. “My greetings.” He spoke in a pleasant baritone. “Can I help you?”
No hostility. How refreshing. I motioned around the center, with its gleaming counters and blue walls. “Looks good. Got sparks.” As soon as I spoke, I winced. Stupid comment. I’d answered him in dialect, too. I could blend in just fine when I needed to, but today I looked and sounded Undercity.
The man smiled. “Thank you. What brings you by?”
Interesting. He understood my speech, even the “sparks” idiom, an Undercity compliment. Our dialect wasn’t that different from the way people spoke in Cries, but our accent sounded thick to them, even indecipherable to some. This man seemed different. His eyes had a look of kindness, his face too, as if over the years, his nature had contoured his expression into gentle lines. I liked that. Given the designer cut of his clothes, I suspected he ranked among the top tier of Cries. Yet here he was, helping clean up this place as a volunteer. That told me a lot about his character, all of it good.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I switched into Cries speech. “I was wondering, did a doctor visit here this morning?”
“Yes, she did.” His smile faded. “She stayed for several hours, but no one came to see her.”
Damn. That meant Weaver never showed up to get his birth certificate. I couldn’t take this step for him; he needed to come of his own free will. If he did get a license, he would become a trailblazer for the Undercity. He had to be willing to accept that role or it wouldn’t work.
“Are you a director here?” I asked.
“No, just an aide.” He gave me a slight bow and added, “Ken Roy, at your service.”
Holy shit. “You mean Professor Roy? The geologist from the university?”
He grinned. “Glad to meet you.”
“Good gods.” I had no idea what to make of this. “Why is someone as famous as you cleaning counters in a soup kitchen?”
He reddened. “Not that famous, I assure you. Just average. I thought I might be able to help. I wanted to go into the aqueducts, but the dean at the university advised against it.”
Average, my ass. He was known throughout the Imperialate. His work on the failed terraforming of Raylicon had helped our planetary engineers slow the collapse enough to keep this region habitable. This man was a major reason humans could still live on this world.
“Riz on a raz,” I said. “I can’t believe it.”
He laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “Thank you, I think.”
My face heated. “Sorry. I meant, I’m honored to meet you.”
He regarded me with undisguised curiosity. “Are you from the Undercity or Cries?”
“Both, I suppose.” I shrugged. “Born down below.”
“Ah!” He snapped his fingers. “I remember where I saw you. The news broadcasts last year. You led all those people to the Rec Center. You’re an army major, right? Bhazan? No, Bhaajan.”
Although it wasn’t the first time someone from Cries had recognized me, they usually looked far less happy about it. Many feared I would incite my people to rise up and do something or other, I wasn’t sure what. We couldn’t care less about Cries, but her citizens seemed convinced we wanted to run amok in their elegant city. This terraformer, however, actually seemed pleased to encounter the infamous Major Bhaajan.
“Retired major. That was me.” I considered him. “Why do you want to visit the aqueducts?”
“To meet your people,” he said. “It’s an aspect of the terraforming no one has investigated.”
That made no sense. “Terraforming people?”
He gave that wonderful laugh again. “Not the people. Your population is the closest on this planet to the original settlers. If I could understand you better, it might give me insights into the choices made by whoever terraformed this world for humans.”
He was considering the human equation of the Undercity. I liked that. His dean was right, though. “You can’t go down there. It’s not safe.”
“So I’ve heard. The police say if I bring any of them for protection, it will alienate the people I wished to meet.”
No, kidding. “You need a gang.” The Dust Knights, if I could convince them.
“A gang?”
“That’s right. They’d be your bodyguards.”
“I’d have no idea how to approach them.”
“You
don’t approach them. They’d beat you the hell up.”
He squinted at me. “That’s what you call protection?”
I wanted to laugh, but we were in the middle of a negotiation, even if he didn’t realize it, so I stayed serious. “You need a bargain. If you want to talk to people, you have to give them something.”
“Credits, you mean.”
“Not money.” I thought for a moment. “Information. Tell the kids about what you do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Be a teacher. You know geology, history, terraforming, all of it. Teach them.”
“A classroom.” He seemed dubious at the suggestion, which was a good sign, because it would never work. “That seems—optimistic.”
Smart man. “Teach by doing. Let them tag along with you, watch, listen, ask.” We had no formal schools. Our young learned by a method I had discovered was called unschooling, though none of us would have used that word. “Let them ask you whatever they want about your work, and in return they’ll answer your questions.” I motioned around at the Center. “And help us set up a tykado tournament here.”
He blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”
He had no idea of the value in what he could offer. I insisted the Dust Knights get an education as part of the Code, but we had no schools, and no Cries teachers would venture into the drug-ridden slums beneath their shining city. Yet this unexpected person actually wanted to come. It might just work if the Knights agreed to guard him, a huge if, but what the hell. I’d give it a go.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Is the bargain acceptable?”
Roy smiled, crinkling the lines around his eyes. “Yes, completely.”
I nodded, sealing the agreement. “No guarantees. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.” He nodded back, copying my gesture.
I left the Center in a better mood and continued my walk up the Concourse. It ended in an area with rest facilities and racks where visitors parked their air scooters, which were forbidden on the boulevard. I climbed the wide staircase at the end, so tired I could hardly think. At the top, I walked under the archway—and out on into the desert beneath the spectacular Raylicon sunset.
The sun burned in a gold rim on the horizon, sending its aged light across the Vanished Sea, an endless plain. On my right, a plaza spread out in pale blue terraces. A fountain there spumed into the air, its water undrinkable since it came from an underground spring, but sparkling gold in the dying rays of the sun. In the distance, beyond the plaza, the gleaming towers of Cries rose into the sky.
“So pretty,” I murmured.
Max answered, his voice coming out of my gauntlet. “Me, right?”
I grinned. “Always, Max.” I headed toward the terraces. “No wonder the city weeps, all this stark beauty on a dying world, alongside so much grief and pain.”
“You sound tired.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Shall I call you a flycar?”
“No. I’ll walk.” I needed to get back to my apartment in Cries and sleep, or at least rest enough so that I could think with a clear mind.
I still had a murderer to find.
IX
The City of Whispers
My visits to the Majda palace were never boring. Today they wanted my hide.
“Are you out of your mind?” Vaj Majda looked ready to banish me to the lowest level of the forty-two hells our ancestors had believed existed.
“How could you?” Corejida demanded. “It is beyond my ability to imagine.”
“Let her explain before you condemn her to perdition.” Lavinda Majda turned to me. “You do have an explanation, right?”
What I had was all three sisters: General Vaj Majda, the Matriarch; Corejida Majda, the genius who ran their financial empire and until five minutes ago had liked me because I’d brought her son home alive; and Colonel Lavinda Majda, my main contact among the three of them. Vaj and Lavinda were in uniform, and Corejida wore a designer suit, light blue. We were in the Azure Alcove, a circular room with silver and blue mosaics on the floor and walls. A diamond chandelier hanging from the domed ceiling spread its glow over us. Arched windows stretched from floor to ceiling and showed the mountains outside, their desolate peaks jagged against a night sky strewn with stars. The room had no chairs, only a small table against one wall. General Majda was leaning against the wall by one of the windows, her arms crossed. Lavinda and I stood in the center of the room, and Corejida paced back and forth, apparently too agitated by my latest outrage to stay still.
“The pharaoh seemed fine with it,” I said.
Corejida stopped in front of me. “The pharaoh,” she said with distinct, curt syllables, “is above seeming otherwise. Her grace does not excuse your words.”
Vaj spoke in a voice that could have cut metal. “To suggest that Dyhianna Selei descends from the Undercity is an insult beyond imagining. There is no coming back from this, Major.”
Lavinda spoke before I had a chance to tell the general exactly what I thought of that comment. “For flaming sake, Vaj, with that attitude, it’s no wonder we can’t convince anyone there to work with us. How about we treat them as if they are worthy of respect?”
Good gods. Had she actually spoken that way to the General of the Pharaoh’s Army? I hoped Lavinda wasn’t in her sister’s line of command, because otherwise she had just dissed her CO. Come to think of it, though, everyone in the army was in Vaj Majda’s line of command.
Vaj frowned at her, but said nothing. Corejida went back to pacing.
“What did Pharaoh Dyhianna tell you?” I no longer feared she would throw me into jail for suggesting she might have Undercity heritage. She hadn’t seemed to care at all. Corejida might be right, that the pharaoh just didn’t show her offense, but my gut said otherwise. If she told the Majdas what I said about her DNA, however, she might have also told them about the Down-deepers.
“She didn’t need to tell us anything,” Lavinda said. “We asked when we received her order for the DNA analysis.”
“That’s it?” This was what upset them so much?
“‘That’s it?’” Vaj demanded. “That is all you have to say for yourself?”
“What do the DNA tests show?” I asked.
“The DNA tests are none of your goddamned business,” Vaj said.
Corejida stopped in front of me and scowled. “The geneticists aren’t done yet. That doesn’t matter. The results will show no relation between Ruby Dynasty and the Undercity.”
I wondered what they would do if they turned out to be wrong. “Let me know.”
“You must be joking,” Corejida said.
“Letting you know is the pharaoh’s prerogative.” Vaj’s voice could have chilled ice. “Do not presume to ask her. And do not ever again send the Uzan to do your bidding.”
Fine, great, if I couldn’t ask the Majdas or the Uzan, how would I contact the pharaoh? “I still need access to her. I’m not done with the investigation.”
Before Vaj could tell me in no uncertain terms what she thought of my need for access, Lavinda intervened. “Major, you claim Calaj is in the Undercity. Why can’t we find her?”
“We can’t find anyone,” Corejida told me. “Where do you go when you’re down there? It’s like you step into some place that disappears.”
How could I answer that? They couldn’t find anyone because the gangs smuggled in tech-mech that the riders tore apart and put back together into gods only knew what. They built their own shrouds from salvage, stolen parts, and whatever else they had lying around, engineering haphazard machines that bore little resemblance to standard tech but that worked as well as any military shroud.
I spoke carefully. “My people cobble together machines from discarded parts they find in salvage dumps. They sometimes manage to jam sensors. Calaj is also shrouding herself, which would hide anyone near her. And my people withdraw when intruders come to the aqueducts or send in bots.”
�
��Maybe.” Vaj fixed me with her indomitable gaze. “And maybe we should send in police to tear apart the place until they find her.”
“General, with all due respect, if you do that, Calaj will retreat, and she might kill more people. You’ll have even less chance of finding her then, and it will pulverize relations with my people. They might even help Calaj.” Not that any of them had found her, either, even knowing she was there.
Vaj looked ready to tell me we could go where the sun didn’t shine, but she held back. The value of Kyle psions worked wonders on the willingness of the Majdas to accommodate my people. Nor were they familiar enough with the Undercity to know where to look, probably another reason their bee bots hadn’t found evidence of my fight with Calaj.
“You have two days to do it your way, Major,” Vaj said. “Then we send in troops.”
“Troops or not, I still don’t see the point of genetic tests,” Lavinda said. “What does the pharaoh’s DNA have to do with Calaj?”
“I’m trying to understand Calaj,” I said. “If her neural structures differ from those of most psions, and she shares those differences with Pharaoh Dyhianna, it could shed light on how she reached the pharaoh in a way no one else can. Maybe it will shed light on why she shot Tavan Ganz.”
They all regarded me, impassive. Finally Vaj said, “We will see.” With that, she strode from the room.
Corejida glanced after her sister, then at me. After a pause, she nodded. “Be well, Major.”
Apparently my bringing back her son trumped even insulting the Ruby Pharaoh. I returned her nod. “And you, Your Highness.”
After Corejida left, I stood with Lavinda. Starlight flowed over us, adding to the glow from chandelier. The colonel said, “You may have gone too far this time.”
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