The Summer Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  “What is it?” Sparks asked, leaning back in his seat.

  Wayaways slid into the booth across from him. “I have a message to deliver … and so do you.”

  Sparks raised his eyebrows, more than a little surprised. “Is this a Brotherhood matter?”

  “Of course.” Kirard Set rubbed his chin, glancing idly into the crowd. “The Source has been called away; business back on Ondinee. He expects to return to Tiamat soon—”

  “The heady joys of hyperlight transit,” Sparks muttered, feeling envy stir the sediment of his long-ago dreams.

  “We should drink a toast to progress,” Kirard Set said wryly, “but we have no drinks.” He gestured at the empty table surface, his face inviting explanation, or invitation.

  Sparks shrugged, without making either. “What’s the Source’s leaving got to do with me?”

  Kirard Set’s congeniality faded, replaced by an equally unsettling directness. “We are to continue our present activities with the processing laboratories, and diverting of supplies.… The Newhavener, TerFauw, is in charge at Persiponë’s until Jaakola returns.”

  “You said there was a message to deliver.”

  Kirard Set hesitated, in a way that only made Sparks’s unease intensify. “It’s a message for your wife. About Ariele, and the Source’s man Kullervo.”

  “What about them?” he said, too sharply.

  Kirard Set leaned back, as if he were getting out of range. “You already know they’ve been seeing each other.… What you may not know is that Kullervo is an addict—addicted to a drug he created himself, a kind of bastard form of the water of life. He calls it the ‘water of death.’ It’s fatal. And he’s given it to Ariele.”

  Sparks jerked upright, gripping the table edge with his hands. “What?” he whispered.

  Wayaways suddenly had trouble looking at him. “The Source wants something from the Queen, or Gundhalinu,” he muttered. “He wants them to understand that unless they provide it, he will cut off Ariele’s supply of the drug.” He reached into his overshirt. “Here. This is a tape of what happens to the … addict. I wouldn’t watch it if I were you.” He tossed the tape button onto the tabletop.

  Sparks picked it up, held it between nerveless fingers. He looked at Wayaways again. “Where are they?” he said. His hand fisted over the tape. “Where’s he got her? By all the gods—”

  “It’s not your problem, for gods’ sakes!” Kirard Set hissed. “You belong to the Brotherhood now! Your wife is cuckolding you with the father of her bastard children—Ariele isn’t even your child, you said it yourself. Get a grip on things, man. Everything’s that’s happening is to your gain—your gain, if you play your part in this well. All you have to do is give the Queen the message. Claim you were accosted by faceless strangers, act as distraught as you need to; but always remember that it’s got to be an act—”

  Remember. Sparks sat rigidly, forcing himself to remember the hard, useful lessons that time and the Brotherhood had taught him. He inhaled deeply, concentrating on control. “Only an act,” he repeated, without expression. He looked down at his hand, lying loose and open now on the table surface. He put the tape bead into his belt pouch, before he looked up again at Kirard Set. “What does the Source think they have, that no one else does? Besides each other, I mean?” His mouth twisted sardonically.

  A faint, relieved smile pulled at the corners of Kirard Set’s lips. “It’s something about the mers.”

  Sparks frowned. “They don’t know anything about the mers that I don’t know.”

  “Maybe Survey has given them new information.”

  He shook his head. “Jaakola has Survey connections all over the Hegemony. He could find out something like that without having to—” to kill my daughter—“resort to blackmail, for gods’ sakes.”

  “Then maybe they really do know something that no one else knows.” Kirard Set shrugged. “That’s not our problem. Be glad.”

  “What proof is there that he actually has Ariele? That there’s really such a drug?” Sparks said, not quite casually. “They’ll want more proof than this tape.”

  “Have you seen Ariele around the city lately? Or Kullervo?”

  “No,” he said, his mouth tightening.

  “No one has. Jaakola’s taken them with him back to Ondinee, to give the concerned parties here sufficient time to realize that they have no alternatives. That there’s no way to save her except to do what he wants. When the time is right, he’ll bring her back.”

  Sparks looked away, searching the crowd, willing himself to see a shock of silver hair, a poignantly familiar smile; to hear Ariele’s laughter, even her voice raised in anger, denying him as he had denied her.… But he found only random motion and meaningless noise: the face of chaos, in a crowd of strangers.…

  “The sooner the message is delivered, the better,” Kirard Set said quietly. “For everyone’s sake.” He rose from his seat and started away without any farewell, disappearing into the crowd.

  Sparks sat for a long moment staring at the empty tabletop. And then, unable to help himself, he took the tape button out of his belt pouch and dropped it into the player at the edge of the table. A three-dimensional image flickered to life in the air before him. He began to watch … went on watching, paralyzed by disbelief. At last, he forced his hand to move, unable to tear his eyes away from the agonizing images even as his fist came down on the viewer’s touchboard, cutting off the flow of obscene horror.

  “Excuse me, Sparks Dawntreader—”

  He looked up, dazed, into the non-face of Tor’s hired servo unit.

  “We do not permit public use of such visuals in the club,” it said tonelessly. “Please take a private room for future viewing, out of consideration for the club’s other patrons.”

  He nodded wordlessly, unable even to respond to the droning solicitude of its speech.

  “May I bring you something to calm your nerves, sir. A pack of iestas, a bowl of pickled fish?” Its twin vision sensors studied him with inhuman forbearance, like insect eyes.

  “Bring me a drink. A strong one. Bring me six,” he said. It looked at him. “I’m expecting friends,” he added irritably.

  The servo bobbed politely and moved away. It returned with six drinks in less time than he expected. He drank them all, in less time than he would have thought possible. They had no discernible effect on what was happening inside his head. He sat with the empty glasses in a line before him, as the tape replayed over and over in his memory; sure that he would never be able to see anything clearly again, without that overlying vision.

  The servo returned to his table after a time. He felt it regard the line of empty glasses, the empty seats around him, and himself, with silent speculation. “Your guests were detained, Sparks Dawntreader?”

  “Bring me six more,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” it responded, and went away. He went on studying the six empties, rearranging them with his hands into one futile geometric configuration after another. I have no children. She’s not my daughter. He had actually said that, aloud, in front of strangers … he had actually believed that he meant it. He had turned away from his children, in their confusion and grief; turned his back on them because, knowing the truth, he suddenly could not bear to look at them.…

  He swore softly, as the obscene hallucination filling his mind surrendered to memories of his children … his children laughing, clinging to his legs, building castles out of sand; with sunlight in their hair, and hands filled with shells and colored stones: precious treasures.… He remembered them playing at games through the halls of the palace, bringing life and joy to that cold tomb where his own youth had died. He remembered their delight, their tears, their tantrums; the music of flutes, the crash of a shattered bowl—the eyes looking up into his own with unquestioning love, asking only that he love them without reservation.

  Their lives, their youth, their hearts had been his. Gundhalinu might have planted the seed, but Gundhalinu had not watched
them grow. They were his.…

  Visions of hideous death suffocated his memories suddenly: but this time it was Ariele he saw, suffering, dying, her flesh dropping from her bones before his horrified eyes.…

  “Sparks—”

  He looked up again, startled, knocking over glasses. Tor Starhiker stood beside his table, with the Pollux unit behind her, staring down at him. “Thanks, Polly.” She sent it away and settled, uninvited, onto the seat across from him. She counted the disarray of empty glasses, and grimaced. “Pollux told me you were drinking the sea tonight,” she said, “and that’s not like you.” She glanced down, away from his sudden frown. “You want to drink some more, or would you like to talk about it?”

  He opened his mouth; shook his head, glancing at the tape viewer.

  “This have anything to do with the tape you were watching? That isn’t like you, either.” He looked back at her, and she shrugged. “Pollux sees all, Tor knows all.…” She touched his hand lightly, with unexpected concern. “Someone you knew?” she murmured.

  “No,” he said; his hand made a fist. He cleared the congestion out of his throat. “Tor … have you seen Ariele, the last week or so? Or Reede Kullervo?”

  Her own hand closed suddenly. “Wait here,” she said, getting up. “I’ll be right back. You wait—” She pointed at him, her face urgent.

  He waited. She returned with two men … Kullervo’s men, he realized; he remembered the striking contrast between them. He felt hope and relief sing through him, until he saw their faces. They slid into the booth across from him, the short man lifting himself onto the bench with the agility of long practice. Tor sat down with Sparks, but her hand reached across the table unexpectedly, to meet the short man’s blunt fingers in a brief, sensual twining. Sparks noticed that his face was a twilight landscape of cuts and bruises.

  The other brand, the Ondinean, removed some kind of animal from his clothes and set it on the table in front of him, stroking its back. Watching his expression, Sparks wondered which of them, the man or the animal, was more in need of the reassurance. The creature made a strange chuckling noise, like gentle laughter, as the Ondinean’s fingers ruffled its fur.

  “Niburu and Ananke.” Tor introduced the two men as if they were a unit. “They—”

  “—work for Kullervo. I know,” Sparks murmured.

  “This is Sparks Dawntreader Summer,” she said, to them.

  “We know,” the short man answered, looking wary. Sparks realized he was better known to them for his dealings with the Source than he was for his relationship to the Queen.

  “You need to talk,” Tor said. She leaned back and folded her arms.

  “Where’s Kullervo?” Sparks asked flatly.

  The two brands glanced at each other, uncertain.

  “By the Lady and all the gods, Kedalion,” Tor urged impatiently, “tell him what you know.”

  “Reede’s on Ondinee,” Niburu said, glancing down at his palm. “At least, that’s what I heard.”

  “Then what are you doing still here?” Sparks said, frowning.

  Niburu looked up again, his eyes bleak. “I don’t know.… TerFauw just ordered us back there.”

  “Why did Kullervo leave without you? I thought you were his crew?”

  “We are.” Niburu nodded. “I don’t know. Something happened … we went to meet him one morning, and he was gone from his place. He wasn’t anywhere. TerFauw beat the crap out of me before I could convince him we weren’t in on it.” He touched his jaw, wincing. “Nobody’d tell us anything, after that. And then today, TerFauw calls us in and tells us the Source took Reede back to Ondinee. We’re to follow. That’s all. I didn’t expect it; he was still working on his mer research. I figured…” He shook his head. “From the kind of questions TerFauw asked me, I think maybe Reede tried to run, and they got him back. But I can’t figure what could be bad enough to drive him to that. The Source treats him like shit, but Reede knows there’s no way out.” He pressed his branded palm flat on the tabletop, like he was squashing a bug.

  “Do you know anything about … my daughter?” Sparks felt Tor turn to stare at him.

  Niburu looked blank for a moment, and then sudden comprehension showed on his face. “Reede’s been—” He glanced at Sparks. “Uh, they spend a lot of time together.” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her for … since Reede—” He broke off.

  “I was told tonight…” Sparks took a deep breath, holding an empty glass in his hands, in fragile balance. “I was told to give a message to my wife, the Queen, from the Source. To say that … our daughter has been taken to Ondinee. That Reede Kullervo has addicted her to a drug he invented, something called the water of death. I was given a tape of what it does … what it will do to Ariele if my wife and the Chief Justice don’t give him something.…”

  “Give him what?” Ananke asked.

  “I don’t know!” he said, and the glass fell, clattering on the table. “Don’t you think I’d give it to him myself, if I knew?”

  Ananke grimaced; his pet disappeared under his arm. He glanced at Niburu, and Sparks saw something unspoken pass between them. “You think that’s what he’s on?” Ananke asked. Niburu nodded, frowning.

  “What is it—the ‘water of death’?” Tor asked. Her own face constricted as she waited for the answer, as if she were waiting for a blow.

  “Kirard Set told me it was a bastard form of the water of life,” Sparks said.

  She shook her head slightly. “What does it do to you?”

  He reached out and touched the tape player; the image materialized like a poisonous fog in the space between them. He watched, helplessly, hearing the others around him suck in their breath, hearing their curses of disbelief.

  “Shut if off,” Tor said. “Shut it off, damn you!”

  He reached out, extinguishing the image as she tried to reach past him and do it herself.

  She hit him in the shoulder with her clenched fist; hit him again. “Damn it! Damn it!” He said nothing, did nothing, as she pulled back again, going limp against the dark, mirroring wall of the booth. She struck the tabletop once, with her open hand. Niburu and Ananke sat like stunned bookends, staring at each other.

  Tor looked at him, finally, with apology in her eyes. “To Ariele—?” she whispered. “To Ariele?” Suddenly her eyes were empty.

  Sparks nodded, slumped in the corner. “Yes.”

  “And Reede…” Niburu muttered.

  “He gave it to her—” Tor said, her eyes coming alive again as she turned back to Niburu. “You bastard! You told me he was safe! You said he wouldn’t hurt her—”

  “He wouldn’t—” Niburu began.

  “Reede wouldn’t do something like that to her, he’s in love with her,” Ananke protested, running over the words.

  Niburu put a hand on his arm. “He wouldn’t, if he was getting his fixes on time. But we don’t how long he was missing. What would you do, to stop that—?” He gestured at the empty space between them, the air still haunted by what they had seen moments before.

  Ananke looked away, shaking his head.

  Niburu turned back to Sparks. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He rested his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Tor. Gods, I never imagined something like this would happen.…” He looked up again. “Shit—I don’t want to leave like this. I don’t want this to be why you remember me.…”

  Her faced eased as she let go of her useless anger. “I know,” she said, and sighed. “Sparks, did you say Kirard Set told you about the water of death? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He has … business dealings with the Source.” Sparks shifted glasses into a new pattern. “And so do I.”

  Tor stared at him, while her incredulity turned slowly to understanding, and then to resignation. She glanced at Niburu; back at him. “Kind of like a disease, isn’t it?… Gods, what are kind hearts like us doing in a cesspit like this?” She shook her head. “Is there anybody in the Motherloving galaxy who doesn’t work for t
he Source?”

  “Moon,” Sparks said bitterly. “And Gundhalinu.”

  “Not yet,” Niburu muttered.

  “I know something else about Kirard Set,” Ananke said, leaning forward as his pet wandered across the table, snuffling in glasses. “You remember that night: Ariele, and Elco Teel—?” Niburu and Tor nodded, with sudden frowns. Tor pulled the animal back from the edge of the table, and began to scratch it behind the ears.

  “What night?” Sparks said.

  “Elco Teel slipped Ariele some kind of sex drug and took her to a—a—” Ananke broke off, looking down.

  “A gang bang,” Niburu said bluntly, for him.

  “Reede rescued her—” Tor put her hand on Sparks’s arm, holding him back until the words registered. “Reede. He risked getting himself killed to get her out of there in time. She was all right,” Tor insisted gently. “She was orbiting so high up, I don’t think she even remembered what happened. But they’ve been lovers, ever since.”

  Sparks shook his head, feeling his images of Reede and his daughter and himself shift and flow like oil in water.

  “Reede was like a pashayan—a flaming sword,” Ananke said, his eyes shining suddenly. “There were a dozen men, but he faced them down and they ran like rats. And then he made that little dungeater Elco Teel sweat blood. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when Reede took a knife to him—”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen Reede like that,” Kedalion said, nodding. “A pashayan. That night in Ravien’s, when we met him…”

  Ananke smiled, weaving a thin braid between his dark fingers. A peculiar expression came over his face, half fond and half chagrined. It faded, as his thoughts slid back into the present.

  “What’s this got to do with Kirard Set?” Sparks said impatiently.

  They looked back at him, almost resentful, as if he had interrupted a private reminiscence between mourners. But Ananke said, “Kirard Set gave Elco the drug that he gave to Ariele. And the Source gave it to Kirard Set. Reede said…” He pressed his forehead, half frowning as he tried to remember the words. “He said for Elco Teel to tell his father that it was a closed game, between him and the Source. That if they didn’t stay out of it, he’d kill them both.” He looked up again.