Consequences

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Doctor Lahiri looked at her husband. He didn’t meet her gaze.

  Flint kept his own gaze on Carolyn. She seemed impassive, as if the tense woman he had known from a few moments ago had never existed.

  “So much has gone wrong,” Dr. Lahiri said. “So much that we can put right, I think, if we just try—”

  “I’m not Calbert,” Carolyn snapped. She was referring to her dead brother. “I left when I was eighteen. You had almost no effect on me. Maybe you’re responsible for his suicide, but you’re not responsible for my life. There’s not much that you can put right.”

  “I beg to differ.” The judge finally entered the discussion. “You would never have gone to Etae if it weren’t for us.”

  “Believe what you want, Daddy,” Carolyn said. “But no matter how much influence you have, you can’t change the past.”

  Her words hung in the room. Flint felt the tension in his own back, as if she had transferred all of her fears to him.

  The Lahiris stared at each other, the conversation apparently over almost before it had begun.

  Flint let out a small sigh. He was going to have to intervene after all, but not in the way he had planned. He would have to get Carolyn a room, offer to help her start again, since clearly she wanted nothing to do with her family.

  The judge must have heard Flint’s sigh, for the older man turned. His gaze was flinty, and not at all defeated.

  “You can go now,” Judge Lahiri said. “Send us your final bill, and we’ll settle, as we always have. But we no longer need your services.”

  “I stay until this meeting ends,” Flint said.

  “It’s private.” Dr. Lahiri looked over her husband’s shoulder. “Please, Mr. Flint. You’ve been good to us so far, and now Carolyn’s here, and we’re grateful. But we’d like to have this conversation alone.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Flint said.

  “So,” Judge Lahiri said, “you’re dismissed.”

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the contract you agreed to.” Flint always had his clients sign an agreement after he did the preliminary research and decided to take the case. “I stay through the first meeting. Nothing changes that.”

  “Miles,” Carolyn said, “it’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  Flint shrugged. “If you want to continue in private, go somewhere else. I can’t leave you alone in this room.”

  Even if he could, he wouldn’t. His equipment was here, and Carolyn knew about some of it.

  She nodded. The judge’s eyes narrowed, as if Flint were a petitioner who didn’t realize that his case had ended. The doctor looked down.

  “Carolyn,” Judge Lahiri said. “Will you come home with us and finish the discussion there? We’ll put you up; we’ll help you back into Armstrong’s life. Even if you decide you no longer want anything to do with us, we’ll make sure you’re settled.”

  “I could bring my own funds with me.” Carolyn’s tone was flat. “I was pardoned, remember? I don’t have to continue hiding.”

  “Fine,” the judge said. “I was just—”

  “Please,” Dr. Lahiri said, but Flint wasn’t sure if she was speaking to her daughter or her husband. “This isn’t something we’ll settle here or even in the next fifteen minutes. There’s a lifetime of things we have to discuss, and I think we should. We should at least give it a try.”

  Carolyn looked at her mother for the longest time, as if assessing her. Then Carolyn looked at her father. He met her gaze, but he still hunched, as if she had more power over him than he had over himself.

  “All right,” Carolyn said after a long moment. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You sound so reluctant.” Dr. Lahiri seemed disappointed. Flint wondered if she had fantasized in just the way that he had warned her not to, pretending that everything would go fine and they would have a perfect family yet again.

  The judge jutted his chin forward and crossed his arms, apparently regaining his internal strength. “Why did you come home?”

  Carolyn gave him a slow, cold smile. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  Five

  Amazing how sunlight varied from continent to continent, planet to planet, solar system to solar system. Honoria sat at a table in the very center of Binh’s best-known outdoor café. The sunlight that fell on her arm had a reddish cast, almost like the reflection of a dying fire. It gave her skin a burnished quality, as if she had been made of copper instead of flesh.

  She had dressed carefully for this day. She had piled her golden hair—also looking reddish in the odd sunlight—on the top of her head, allowing only a few strands to fall about her face. Her dress, expensive, purchased outside of the Vekke system, had originally been white, but the light changed everything.

  Only her black bag, which matched by virtue of her black and white shoes, remained unchanged.

  She nursed a califf tea, the liquid untouched by sugar or milk. Califf tea was one of Vekke’s exports, but here, on the planet itself, the tea had an exceptional flavor. Something about the water, or the atmosphere, or the air.

  Something about the afternoon.

  Despite all her plans to the contrary, she was nervous. She had planned to be calm—after all, this was the most important day of her life, and she had to do everything properly.

  But perhaps that awareness of the day’s importance added to her own nerves.

  She hoped they didn’t show.

  Around her, conversations flowed in dozens of languages. Binh was a cosmopolitan city. Because of Binh’s location in the galaxy—and because of its port, which was one of the best in this solar system—groups met all over the city to discuss business and interstellar relations. Unlike the rest of Vekke, unlike even the country that housed it, Binh tolerated all kinds of aliens and worked to make them comfortable.

  At this single café, Disty sat on the tabletops, long feet pressed against each other in a sign of relaxation. Two Peyti had a conversation in their own language, their faces only partially visible behind the masks they had to wear to cope with Vekke’s atmosphere.

  An Ebe paced near the door, all five legs hitting the ground at the same time—a sign of concern. The Ebe was probably worried about the Umnifant that someone had left corralled across the street. The creature, half the size of one of the buildings, had a dog-like intelligence and was kept all over this galaxy as a pet.

  Honoria resisted the urge to tap her fingers against the tabletop. It was just like Femi to be late. Inconsiderate, difficult, the woman had many attributes that no one else seemed to notice.

  Femi had made herself one of the best-known jewelers in Binh, specializing in all sorts of rare gems, settings, and designers. Humans came from all over to buy from her—she refused to sell on any kind of network, only in person—and she also did work for the Peyti, the Ilidio, the aausme, and others.

  Honoria had had this appointment set for nearly nine months. She had prepared for it carefully, actually going to gemologists to get some unusual pieces to offer Femi, spending a small fortune simply to convince Femi that Honoria was on the up-and-up.

  The committee hadn’t believed Honoria had this kind of wherewithal. They had wanted to use one of their own people, the soulless ones they had used countless times before.

  But this moment was about passion, not rationality. And perhaps, if she thought about it this way, Honoria’s nervousness made sense. It was a sign of her passion, a sign that she was doing everything she had been trained for, everything she believed in.

  A human woman entered the outdoor section of the café from the indoors. She was tall and thin, but not very elegant. She wore spacer’s pants and a shirt that had several holes across the top.

  Honoria dismissed her even before she sat with the group of human students at the large table beneath the flaring dew plants. The dew plants absorbed the sound of their conversation, but not their laughter. The students seemed to be on holiday, spending nearly an hour drinking and having animated conversations.


  Honoria wished they would leave.

  Finally, a silver-haired man wearing the gray sunglasses common to humans in Binh entered from the interior of the restaurant. He examined the outdoor tables, his gaze stopping at the three tables with humans—the students, a male couple having a heated discussion about their relationship, and Honoria.

  When he saw her, he inclined his head toward her. She inclined her head back, feeling it proper to acknowledge him, whoever he was.

  Then he disappeared into the darkness of the interior. A robotic waiter floated past and extended its mechanical arm, picking up Honoria’s califf tea and replacing it with a fresh one. Her table lit up, asking her in twenty different human languages if she wanted anything else to eat.

  “I’m waiting for a friend,” she replied. “We’ll order when she gets here.”

  The robotic waiter did not respond. Instead, it floated off, and the language lights on the table’s surface disappeared.

  At that moment, two more silver-haired men entered the café. They sat at a table next to Honoria. Another silver-haired man—the first one? Honoria couldn’t tell—accompanied a heavyset woman wearing a dress made of flowing scarves.

  As the woman drew closer, Honoria realized that the point of each scarf was adorned with a waterbead, a rare silver-blue shell-like sustance found only in the rainwater mollusks of CeeDwarDo. Honoria wouldn’t have known what a waterbead was without all the study she had done for this meeting.

  She was glad she had done the work now, because Femi looked nothing like Honoria expected. Honoria had only seen old holos, and few of those could be made life-size. As a young woman, Femi had been tall and slender, like the spacer who had entered a few moments before.

  Femi made her way to the table, engulfing Honoria in a perfume that smelled faintly of mint. Femi’s dress rattled softly, the waterbeads touching each other as she sat at the table.

  “You’re Lyli D’lap?” Femi asked.

  “Yes,” Honoria said, pleased that she could answer to the false name without her voice shaking. “I’m so glad you met with me.”

  Femi turned to the silver-haired man who had accompanied her. “Get me some califf tea and two slices of nutbread along with a salad—whatever their specialty is today.”

  The silver-haired man bowed, an oddly formal response that seemed appropriate somehow. He retreated to a nearby table. Instead of going inside, he used the tabletop menu to place Femi’s order.

  Bodyguards. Somehow Honoria had expected more.

  But they weren’t really guarding Femi’s person so much as the jewels she wore on it, and the jewels she might carry back to her office with her if this meeting went well.

  “You realize that I only deal in the rare and unusual,” Femi said to Honoria.

  “Yes.” Honoria swallowed. Femi had always dealt in the rare and unusual. And with the same sensitivity she was now showing Honoria.

  Femi leaned back in her chair. Her waterbeads clicked even more. “I am not pleased when anyone wastes my time. So, if you’re uncertain, call it off now.”

  Honoria smiled faintly. “I will not waste your time.”

  The robotic waiter floated over and set Femi’s tea down. A light flared on the table, probably telling her about her food, but Honoria couldn’t read what the words said. Apparently the restaurant was familiar with Femi, and didn’t have to use all available human languages to communicate with her.

  As Femi dropped bits of imported apple into her tea, Honoria leaned over and removed the jewel display case from her bag. She set the case on the table, opened the lid, and took off the velvet top.

  The gems she’d purchased with all that remained of her own money glittered on the surface. Femi leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

  “Prices?” she asked.

  “Which are you interested in?” Honoria’s mouth was so dry that she could barely speak. She had to avoid looking at the hunk of uncut turquoise in the center. Instead, she watched Femi’s fingers.

  If they didn’t touch the turquoise, then Honoria would have to, and oddly, she didn’t want to.

  “Well, I need to look at the pieces. Do you mind if I pick them up?” Femi had already taken out her jeweler’s loupe. She was reaching for a ten-carat ruby before Honoria could even answer her.

  “Please do,” Honoria said.

  Femi sorted through the gems, picking up some, setting them down without looking at them through the loupe, and then picking up others. She avoided the turquoise.

  “The oldest piece I have is the turquoise,” Honoria finally said, unable to stand the suspense.

  “Turquoise is low-end.” Femi’s voice held a sneer.

  “Not in the Earth Alliance,” Honoria said, trying to keep the panic that was swelling in her out of her face.

  Femi shrugged. “We’re not in the Earth Alliance.”

  She reached for the glitterstone next to the turquoise, and as she did, one of her waterbeads clicked against the turquoise’s shell.

  Honoria stiffened.

  “Interesting sound,” Femi said, her fingers moving away from the glitterstone. “Are you sure it’s turquoise? Each precious gem has a tone, you know, and that just doesn’t seem like the one I’d expect.”

  “It’s turquoise,” Honoria said.

  “I don’t think so.” Femi’s thumb and forefinger clamped onto the rough edges.

  Honoria’s breath caught. She thought of her mother and her father and her little brother, barely a year old when he died, and even with their images in her head, she realized she was terrified.

  She did not want to die terrified.

  She bowed her head, willing herself to remain calm, as the bomb went off.

  Six

  Arek Soseki stood in the center of the Armstrong Cultural Center, his hands on his hips. The great hall was cold, as if someone had turned the environmental controls to frigid.

  Above him, the ceiling blended into the dome. The designers of the center had decided to replace the official dome with material of their own. Even though Armstrong’s dome changed color throughout a twenty-four-hour day, mimicking the light on Earth, the dome in the Cultural Center followed the Moon’s day, and soon the two weeks of sunlight would begin.

  Soseki would have preferred the two weeks of night. The great hall, which had been designed to bring out different features in the extremes of light and dark, looked better under the blackness of a Moon night.

  But he had no choice in the timing of these meetings. In one week, diplomats from Earth Alliance would hold their own meetings in this building.

  Soseki had to make certain the place was secure.

  He hated the fact that the diplomats had chosen his city for their meeting. It meant extra police presence, more work for the Port Authority, more work for the dome patrol. He had to monitor for troubles coming in on the bullet trains as well as any possible crazies with political motivations.

  And not just crazies from one culture but crazies from dozens of cultures. Humans who might hate the Alliance, Distys who might not want the Peyti evaluating the scenario, Rev who seemed to believe that the Alliance wasn’t strong enough, and hundreds of others, all of whom had their own agenda.

  He hadn’t planned for any of this when he had run for Mayor of Armstrong. Naïve him, he had thought the job would entail running the city, not dealing in intergalactic politics.

  Of course, if anything did go wrong, he would get the blame. Just like he would get the blame for the high price tag on all the security, the extra money these handful of diplomats were costing his city. A few extra press would show up, but only for a few days. This was being billed as a routine negotiation, nothing the citizenry of the Alliance needed to pay attention to.

  Of course, if this meeting went well, then more diplomats would come, the meetings would continue, and no one else would be able to use the Cultural Center for more than a month.

  Soseki paced the room, gazing at the walls. All of the great Moon artists had work here.
The fragile pieces came out during the night phase, replaced by works specifically designed to hold up against the powerful sunshine coming in the dome. The art was part of his problem with the timing—he didn’t care for most of the day pieces.

  He passed a sculpture made from discarded permaplastic tiles. The sculptor had taken the tiles, cut them, and used them like bent straws. Soseki passed the work quickly, moving on to an oil depicting one of the first astronauts staring at the Earth. The oil had been placed so that when the Earth was visible through the dome above, the viewer mimicked the position of the astronaut on the regolith. A person looking at a painting of a person looking at the Earth, with the real Earth in the background.

  He let himself into one of the side rooms. It smelled stale and musty. Normally, he would set this room up for press, but he had been assured no press would cover this meeting. The door at the back of the room led to a cafeteria. He pulled that door open, and stopped.

  Half a dozen people stood inside, many of them lifting wire shelves.

  “What’s going on?” Soseki asked. He had thought he would have the building to himself this afternoon, except, of course, for the people who always staffed the place.

  A tiny woman approached him. She was wearing all white, which accented her golden skin and her dark brown eyes. Her black hair was tucked under a nearly invisible net.

  She stuck out her hand. “Nitara Nicolae. You hired me to provide lunches for the upcoming Earth Alliance conference.”

  He took her hand. Her skin was dry and smooth, and unusually warm.

  “Arek Soseki,” he said, even though she clearly knew who he was. “And I think ‘provide lunches’ is an understatement. I wanted you to show them the best of Armstrong cuisine.”

  She smiled, which added laugh lines to her small face. He wondered how old she was, knowing it was impossible to really figure out her age. With enhancements and genetic upgrades, people could look nearly a century younger than they were.