Primary Inversion

by Catherine Asaro

  Rebeka spoke quietly. “No, we weren’t rich before. But we had the right to be ourselves.”

  Hilt was watching me closely. “Why is it so hard for you to comprehend that people want responsibility for their own lives?”

  “The Allieds have a luxury we don’t share.” Even I could hear how bitter I sounded. “As long as we and the Traders claw at each other’s throats, Earth is free to do as she pleases. So fine. Good for Earth. If we ever adopted her practices, it would kill us.”

  “You’re certainly cynical,” Mika said.

  Hilt snorted. “I’m not sure I believe the Traders are such a big threat. What better evil than the Aristos could the Rhon conjure up to divert attention from their own flaws?”

  My face went hot. “If you think the Traders are no threat, you’re a fool.”

  “Right,” Hilt said. “Now you’re going to spout off the List of Aristo Evils. Come on, Soz. I mean, have you ever actually seen a provider?”

  I froze as the memories jumping into my mind: Tarque, kneeling over me on his bed while I screamed and screamed and screamed—

  “Leave her alone!”

  Everyone spun around. It was Jarith who had spoken, the youth from the music school.

  The others stared at the usually soft-spoken musician. He reddened but he didn’t back down. “Stop it,” he said.

  “Why?” Hilt demanded.

  Rebeka spoke to Hilt in a low voice. “He’s an empath.”

  Hilt blinked at Jarith. Then he turned back to me. “What did I say?”

  I swallowed. “You asked me if I had ever seen a provider. The answer is yes.”

  Everyone went silent then. I had no intention of elaborating and no one asked me to. The look on Jarith’s face had been enough to tell them the details were better left unsaid.

  Rebeka motioned toward the far side of the hill, where the rest of the group had started to walk. “They’re leaving.”

  So we followed. Conversation began again, fitfully at first and with more ease as it drifted to less volatile subjects. I stayed out of it. I hadn’t felt much like talking before and now I just wanted to get out of here. The worst of it was that they were right. People needed freedom to thrive. But they were wrong about the Rhon. We had no more freedom than they. We were locked in a war that left us no choices.

  Was I truly fool enough to believe Jaibriol could make a difference? He was the one who would change. He would do what he had to do to survive. He would become Highton. And I would watch, hating myself for wanting to believe otherwise, hating myself for loving him.

  I can’t bear this, I thought. My mind is going to implode.

  Jarith came up alongside me. “I’m sorry about eavesdropping.”

  “Eavesdropping?”

  “Your image—of the Aristo.” He paled. “It was so vivid.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I practically shouted it at you.”

  He didn’t probe, but I felt what he wanted to ask. Was it you on that bed? I shook my head, not wanting to pursue the subject, and let him interpret that however he wanted.

  “I hope you’re not angry with the others,” he said. “They’re just not used to hearing such a conservative line.”

  “You think I’m conservative?”

  He laughed. “Ultra.” A grimace chased across his face like a cloud scudding over the sun. “Don’t worry about Hilt. He gives me a labor too.”

  Translate last sentence from Jarith, I thought.

  It’s slang, my node answered. To give a labor: to behave in a confrontational manner.

  I couldn’t fathom why anyone would give Jarith a hard time about anything. “What for?”

  “He says I’m apathetic. He thinks I should fight for what I believe in.” Jarith shrugged. “I guess I’m just not political. I’d rather sing.”

  I sighed. Here was this gentle youth with the face of an angel and no political opinions. Pako couldn’t have found me a better companion if I had programmed it to search the planet.

  Right, I thought. What’s the problem, Soz? You can’t deal with anyone who challenges you?

  I gritted my teeth. I dealt with people who challenged me all the time. All day long, every day, every year, every decade. I deserved a rest.

  You’re not resting, my inner voice answered. You’re hiding.

  Shut up, I told it.

  “Some of us are going to a holomovie,” Jarith said. “Would you like to come?”

  Good gods. He was asking me for a date. At least, I thought that was what he was doing. It had been so long since I had socialized that way, I wasn’t sure if I remembered what qualified as a date. Maybe when people went in a group it had some other name. Gang date? No, that sounded too weird.

  Who cared what it was called? What was wrong with me, having conversations in my head?

  “Yes,” I said. “I’d like to go.” I had almost nothing in common with these people, but going to a movie with anyone right now was better than returning to my empty apartment.

  After we washed up at the café, we strolled through the park outside. Jarith came, also Hilt and Rebeka and a handful of others, everyone wearing chiming shoes now instead of hiking boots. As the sun set behind the hills, the horizon lit up with a spectacular red fire and the sky turned dark bronze. The shining rings arched across it, pale amber at their apex and a rich crimson at the western horizon. In the east, the shadow of Foreshires fell across the arch, and it looked like a mythical dragon had taken a bite of it, leaving the edges red and the center black.

  As the sun disappeared, the evening grew chill. Hilt lent me his sweater. Mercifully, conversation stayed light, just a lazy discussion about what holomovie to see. I had no opinion. I had absolutely no idea what was out. We solved the problem by walking into the first theater we found, which was playing something called “Brain Warp.” The holos outside showed a Jagernaut, feet planted wide, blasting away with his Jumbler. Half the shows nowadays had soldiers as heroes.

  We sat on a plush rug in a circular theater with about two hundred other people. Jarith and I reclined on cushions, talking about his classes at the university. Rebeka and Hilt were eating, and Pulli bought another glass of that godawful rootberry juice.

  After a few moments the lights went out. Music swelled, the urgent beat of a drum overlaid with a melody on horns and strings. Suddenly we were in a field near JMI. A Jagernaut stood nearby, a handsome man with dark hair, sculpted muscles, and a Jumbler snug in a holster on his hip. He took off jogging and we “jogged” with him, following at whatever distance the director had thought would give us the optimum view of the action.

  Within minutes I knew I shouldn’t have come. I saw how the movie was going to end almost as soon as it began. The Jagernaut went on a mission to rescue a beautiful and remarkably buxom woman who supposedly had been abducted by the Traders but was actually a Highton spy. The Traders caught the Jagernaut, planted a trigger in his brain, and let him go. We were supposed to wonder what horrible fate would befall our unsuspecting hero when the villains set off the trigger.

  The movie made no attempt at accuracy. When the Jagernaut went to see a heartbender, the doctor’s office was in a hospital. You never found a heartbender in a hospital. It was hard enough already to convince one of us to go for help. Faced with the prospect of walking into the hospital, a blatant admission of “Yes, I’m screwed up,” most of us would head in the opposite direction. A true heartbender had an office somewhere innocuous, a place with no associations to mental health, usually a government building.

  Even more grating, the “hero” spent most of his time breaking the code of honor we lived by. He cheated, lied, treated his lovers like dirt, and showed no hint of remorse when he went into combat. It was absurd. He was supposed to be an empath, for flaming sake.

  The worst part was that the actor looked like Rex, who would never stoop to the behavior this guy inflicted on the galaxy. Yes, Rex had women everywhere. And yes, they were attracted to him because he was glamoro
us, handsome, and charming. But they fell in love with him because he was a good, decent human being who treated people well. This insipid holomovie was an insult to him.

  When the movie reached its climax, big surprise—the Jagernaut went berserk. The Traders activated his trigger, and he lost his wits in a crowded plaza, shouting and mowing down buildings with his Jumbler. I was so mad by then that I got up and stalked out of the theater, right through the crazy Jagernaut, to the accompaniment of loud protests from the rest of the audience.

  I was in the lobby outside when Jarith emerged from the theater and strode after me. “Soz, wait.”

  I stopped at the exit and waited for him, breathing too hard. As he reached me, Hilt and Rebeka came out of the theater. They milled around a bit until they saw us, then headed in our direction.

  Jarith spoke softly. “What is it? What’s tearing you up inside?”

  “Nothing is tearing me up.” I was so angry I could hardly speak. “I just don’t enjoy trash.”

  Hilt and Rebeka reached us in time to hear my last comment. Hilt scowled at me. “You know, this attitude of yours is getting tiresome.”

  I wanted to hit him in the face. I hadn’t been this angry in I didn’t know how long. But why? So it was a stupid movie. So what? “Go to hell,” I said.

  Rebeka lay her hand on my arm. “It’s only a holomovie.”

  I pulled away from her. “It’s an offense to the people who go out there and risk their lives everyday so kids like you can live safe and healthy and free to watch banal movies.”

  I expected Hilt to tell me I was being an idiot. Instead he just shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about it. No one ever meant for ‘Brain Warp’ to be a political statement or a work of art.”

  “Listen,” Rebeka said. “Maybe we all got off to the wrong start. How about if we try again? Why don’t we forget this movie and go for drinks somewhere?”

  I knew the last thing I could handle was drinks with them. I made myself speak in an apologetic voice. “I’m pretty tired. I guess I’m on a short fuse. I should go home and sleep.” The words were a cover. I wouldn’t sleep. But I had to say something.

  Neither Rebeka nor Hilt looked disappointed that I wouldn’t join them. Jarith kept watching me. He stood silently while I said good-bye to the others, but after they headed back to the theater he said, “May I walk you home?”

  Huh. No one had done that in decades. My shoulders relaxed. “That would be nice.”

  As we strolled across the park, I tried to think of something to say. No clever lines came. For that matter, no stupid lines came either.

  When we stopped outside my apartment building, Jarith gaped up at it. “You live here?”

  “When I’m on Forshires,” I said.

  He smiled at me. “You travel a lot?”

  “Some.” I wanted him to come upstairs and keep me company, real company, the way a man could help a woman hold the night at bay. I wanted him to make love to me again and again until his warm masculinity banished the ghosts that haunted my mind.

  Jarith whistled. “I’ve never known anyone who could afford a place like this.”

  Okay, I told myself. There’s your opening. Ask him up.

  What if he said no?

  “Are you going back to the movie?” I asked.

  “Just to get my coat.” He grimaced. “I promised to meet some people to study later. We have an art exam tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” An exam. What was wrong with me, lusting after an artist, someone with all of the aesthetic qualities I lacked. It could never work.

  Jarith hesitated. “Would you like to get together again?”

  I couldn’t. Shouldn’t. So of course, I said, “Yes, sure.”

  “Some of us are going to the beach on Tillsmorn. Why don’t you come? We’ll meet you here at noon.”

  I smiled. “All right.”

  “Well. Good.” He grinned at me. “See you.” Then he took off back toward the theater.

  I went upstairs. My place seemed dark even after I turned on every light. I had lamps all over, graceful flowers of glass tinted to diffuse their light into a pleasant glow. The walls were paneled in giltwood. Windows arched everywhere, letting in copious ringlight from the sky. The carpet was white, the silky cushions on the sofa were white, the sculpted moldings on the doors were white. The place was gorgeous. But tonight it looked dark and cold and empty.

  I was at the bar pouring a glass of whiskey when Pako said, “You have a visitor.”

  I looked up, eager despite myself. Had Jarith returned to help me chase away the loneliness? “Who is it?”

  Pako’s screen cleared to show the steps outside the apartment. Hilt stood out there, shivering in the chill air.

  “Damn,” I muttered. I went to the console and flicked on the comm. “Yes?”

  His voice came over the speaker. “You forgot to give back my sweater.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I had forgotten I still had it on. “Pako, let him up.”

  A few moments later a knock sounded at my door. When I opened it, Hilt stood there. “Hey, Green Eyes, you’ve got some place here.”

  “How did you know where I lived?” I asked.

  “Jarith told me.”

  I gave him his sweater. “Thanks for letting me wear it.” Then I started to close the door.

  Hilt pushed open the door and walked into the apartment. “You make a lot more sense now.”

  I regarded him from the doorway. “I don’t recall inviting you in.”

  “No wonder you come down on such a traditionalist line. You’re Money.” He turned to me. “I’ll bet it’s Old Money too.”

  “Good-night, Hilt.”

  He came back over to me. “The Ice Princess. Of course you support Rhon politics.” He slid his finger along the strap of my dress, following it down my front until his hand came to rest between my breasts. “You have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.”

  I pushed away his hand. “Get out.”

  He pressed me against the wall, his face so close to mine, he was almost kissing me. “Someone ought to crack open that Ice Bitch crust of yours.”

  I snapped. I shouldn’t have, but I did. My combat reflexes weren’t supposed to kick in unless I was threatened with direct violence. And Hilt wasn’t. He was abrasive and obnoxious and I didn’t like him, but he was no rapist. A simple “stop it” would have been enough.

  But I didn’t tell him to stop it. I tried to kill him.

  By the time my reflexes registered on my mind, I had already shattered my whiskey tumbler against the wall behind me and was stabbing a dagger of glass at Hilt’s chest. Blood poured from my hand where the glass shredded my skin. When the signal from my brain finally stopped my thrust, the shard was less than a centimeter from his body. It happened so fast that even after I stopped, Hilt just stood there, staring at the dagger. Finally he drew in a breath. Then he took the glass out of my hand. I looked at the blood running all over my skin, my arm, my dress.

  “You’d better get a doctor,” Hilt said.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll clean it up.”

  I expected him to call the police then. Instead he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

  He was out of line? I had almost just killed him. What was wrong with me?

  “I’ll call the hospital,” he said.

  I had to struggle to keep my voice calm. “No. Just go.”

  He looked at the blood gushing out of my hand. “That looks— “

  “Go.”

  “All right.” Hilt opened the door. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  “It isn’t necessary.” I closed the door after him and locked it.

  Pako spoke. “I can have medical help here within one minute.”

  I went to the bar, turned on the waterfount, and stuck my hand into the arching spouts of water. “No. I’m fine.” The water running into the sink turned red.

  After I cleaned and bandaged my hand, I poure
d another drink. If I got drunk enough, I wouldn’t be able to think. And right now I didn’t want to think.

  “I have pending business for you,” Pako said. “Your meshmail has been waiting for six hours.”

  “I’ll check it tomorrow.”

  “One of the messages requires attention.”

  I scowled at the console. “All right. Play it.”

  The voice of Char Iaki, the Commandant at JMI, floated into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, Primary Valdoria. We’ve had to postpone tomorrow’s training session with the flyers because of an engine failure. Can you do your lecture instead?”

  He must have meant the lecture I was supposed to give about mesh-human interfaces. “Pako, tell him tomorrow is fine.”

  IX

  A Time To Weep

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” the cadet asked. She leaned forward at her console in the classroom. “The fiberoptics and biomech are foreign bodies. Doesn’t your body reject them?”

  The huge number of questions from the cadets had caught me by surprise. I was at the front of the hall, half sitting on the front edge of a desk while I answered the questions. Iaki had offered me a podium, but I felt more comfortable this way. And I did feel comfortable. I was enjoying the lecture.

  “Most of the system is grown from my own genetic material,” I said. “It’s similar to having, say, a regenerated organ. So in that sense, it isn’t really dangerous. Still, it’s much more extensive. Not everyone’s body will accept it.”

  A cadet farther back in the packed hall signaled. When I nodded, he said, “What if the fiberoptics malfunction?”

  “The threads carry messages,” I said. “Like nerves. If something goes wrong, they just don’t carry any more messages.”

  “Can’t your brain misinterpret their signals?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” I said. “But it could misinterpret signals from any part of my nervous system.”

  A woman next to him spoke. “What if something goes wrong with the person who has all these enhancements? Most times, if you surprise people—well, they just jump. But if we wire people to kill, don’t we run the risk that if their mind malfunctions, their systems will too? An insane Jagernaut could do a lot amount of damage.”