Master of None

by N Lee Wood

Her brown eyes squinted through smoke, drooping eyelids red rimmed. The shriveled skin was tight against the bones of her face, deep wrinkles cutting folds along her cheeks. She wore a plain sati, but rather than the sheer linen he wore, hers was woven of the finest imported birdsilk, gold thread intricately shot through the costly blue material, opaque and faintly iridescent. Several heavy gold bracelets weighted her emaciated arms, and although the pin holding the edge of her sati at her shoulder was elegantly simple, the large black diamond in its center was worth far more than Nathan would ever have hoped to earn in twenty lifetimes.

  It hadn’t quite sunk in until that moment how close he had come to execution. He put his palms together, fingertips to his chin, and bowed deeply. “Most certainly, jah’nari pratha h’máy,” he said submissively in Vanar. When he straightened, her mouth had turned down in a frown.

  He slid into the narrow chair and studiously opened his own flatscreen reader, avoiding her eyes. “I’m ready, Pratha Yaenida.”

  She held the tip of the water pipe to her mouth with one hand, her nails thick and yellowed, while her other hand rested over the edge of the chair, gold bracelets tinkling as she moved her wrist absently. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

  He inhaled to steady his nerves. “This naeqili is very sorry for the trouble my anger has caused—”

  “Don’t, Nathan,” she cut him off, her voice pained. When he looked at her, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t apologize to me. You had reason to be angry.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. “If their decision had been different,” he was surprised to hear himself say, “would you have had me killed?”

  “Possibly,” she admitted. “But not without a fight. Especially now. I doubt not even Eraelin would choose to oppose me that badly, and she got much of what she wanted, anyway. That, and for some reason I’ve become rather fond of you. I value your delightfully male insolence. I never meant to break you of it. Just curb it a little, for your own sake.”

  It was as close to an apology as she would give. He didn’t know what to say, and sat with his hands folded in front of his reader like a docile child.

  She sighed, suddenly appearing haggard. “Yes, Nathan, it’s true that I paid to bring you here. But I didn’t ‘buy’ you like a piece of meat. I paid for a service, privately and quietly. I thought I could trust Lyris to recruit someone who would have understood completely what he was getting into and be willing to remain on Vanar for the rest of his life, in return for a most generous compensation to his family. He had to have excellent credentials in history, comparative xenosociology, and applied psychology, as well as being sufficiently bilingual.” She smiled grimly. “I also had hoped for someone with a similar racial appearance to the Vanar, which might have made his integration less... conspicuous.”

  “That’s not me,” he said cautiously.

  She sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it out in a fine stream, watching as it curled toward the carved beams in the ceiling. “No, it’s not. You certainly were not what I had ordered. I had thought her competent enough to find what I wanted since she’s spent most of her life off Vanar and knows the systems very well. I must admit I was vastly disappointed in her when she delivered a botanist. An excellent botanist, I’m sure, but you’re lousy with languages and you aren’t trained in any field that would have been of value to me.”

  “And after you discovered I wasn’t the goods you’d ordered, you let me rot in prison. You know what they did to me there. For six months, Pratha Yaenida.” He felt his repressed anger begin to simmer, and fought to keep it down.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I also taught you what you needed to know to get out and stay out.”

  He had to force back the bitter laugh. “Then you packed me off to a charity shelter and abandoned me, which wasn’t that much better.”

  “A shortsighted error on my part,” she admitted calmly. “I didn’t think you would be of much use, and I know when to cut my losses. I was not interested in social experimentation. As a result, you’ve learned Vanar haphazardly and have a lot of bad habits that have been difficult to rectify.”

  In spite of himself, he did laugh, a hoarse, humorless cough. “So why didn’t you just toss me back in the pond and fish out another Hengeli if I wasn’t up to your standards?”

  “I tried,” she admitted unashamedly. “Unfortunately, the deal I made with Lyris was barely legal, and only because I am pratha h’máy of the Nga’esha Family. Once the Changriti were aware you were here, I knew I couldn’t keep my more peculiar contracts quite so private. It was unlikely I would have another chance to repeat such a transaction. You’re the first permanent non-Vanar resident male in our entire history, Nathan, and it looks like you’ll be the last.”

  “It’s me or nothing,” he said, bewildered by his own wounded pride. “But why can’t you let me go now? What good am I to you?”

  She smiled, her hands busy as she tapped out the ashes and placed another pinch of resin into the bowl of her pipe. “Flexibility is the key to survival, in business or botany. You may not be what I ordered, but I invested quite heavily in you. I hate to waste money. And you’ve presented enough new challenges to keep things interesting. It’s been entertaining simply to observe how you’ve adapted. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to see the end of the experiment, Nathan. I am running out of time.”

  That shook him. “Yaenida—”

  She cut him off. “I am the matriarch of the Nga’esha, the most powerful and wealthy of all the Families on Vanar. The Nine Families own every Worm in existence; we have controlled the monopoly on trade between inhabited star systems for over seven centuries.” Her words came clipped and indifferent. “Only the Nga’esha hold the Worm connecting us with the entire Hengeli dominion, the richest system of settled worlds. No one, no one can defy us. Not even the Changriti.”

  He studied the knuckles of his folded hands. “I know all this, Pratha Yaenida,” he said softly. He knew it very well.

  “There are more people on Vanar who speak Hengeli than you might realize, Nathan. But there are very few native Hengeli speakers who know Vanar.”

  “So you’re trying to turn me into a translator anyway. Why?”

  She idly watched tendrils of smoke spiraling on the faint breeze through the wood lace screens. “Vanar is an isolated world ruling behind a screen of mystery. We are the unseen dragon. We move, and all that is heard is the sound of scales rasping. We breathe, and only the fire in our nostrils can be seen. They know we’re here, impregnable in our lair.” Her voice was flat, devoid of pride. “No one needs to measure the dragon to know it’s not wise to annoy her.”

  She took a long inhalation on her water pipe, her intent gaze on him. He found himself studiously avoiding her eyes. When she exhaled, the smoke curled lazily. Like dragon’s breath, he thought.

  “The Changriti are blinkered and unreasonable. But I am not the only pratha h’máy too old and frail to be popping up to this Station or that when I need to negotiate with the yepoqioh. And I have never found negotiation by remote control as effective as face-to-face contact. It is useful to have outsiders see how we live, the Nga’esha House far more impressive and intimidating than a Station conference room. Profits are the sole reason the Changriti haven’t been able to shut out all foreigners completely. I want more than just profits. Ours is a unique and rich culture we should be proud to share with the outside, not cut ourselves off even further.”

  He thought about how much of it he would definitely not like to see shared, but kept his mouth shut.

  “If I had chosen a woman to import into Vanar, that would have aroused too much suspicion in minds already welded shut. But a man?” She shrugged. “It might raise a few eyebrows, but no one would seriously consider a toy for an eccentric old woman as a threat. Until you. What a troublesome toy you turned out to be.”

  Feeling his face grow hot, he struggled to remain expressionless. She puffed smoke from around the stem of her pipe without looking at h
im. She smiled, more at herself

  “Ah, Nathan,” she said, “and it is also true, I confess, I have a weakness for Hengeli men. I love their spirit and humor, even at the worst of times. Especially at the worst of times.”

  That disturbed him and he looked away, out at the passing shadows of clouds against the window glass. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said distantly.

  “I know,” she said gently. “I also understand why Lyris has fled Vanar, and it isn’t out of fear of me. Vanar is beautiful but stifling, life outside is just too damned much fun. If I wanted Lyris back, it would be easy enough to apprehend her. How long do you think she could really hide on some colony outworld?”

  “Why don’t you then?”

  “Because she’s much like myself, as I was at her age.” Her old eyes glittered with bitter amusement. “I paid her in full, despite her failure. Her own Family would never have given her enough money to leave, and I suppose I wanted her to escape from Vanar, as I once had, for much the same reasons.” She shook her head. “But not all. You see, Lyris is Vanar through her mother, but her father was a flight control officer on Beacon Station. He’s Hengeli, like you.”

  He sat back in surprise, but said nothing.

  “I’m not the only Vanar who’s found you brash young Hengeli men irresistible. Her father didn’t even know he had a daughter. Lyris’s mother was recalled to Vanar before the child was born.” She grinned at the look on his face. “We don’t care about half-breed children, Nathan. Only the mother’s line is important. Her mother was a prominent Arjusana, a proud, powerful High Family. Legally, Lyris has all the rights and privileges to her Family motherline. In the extremely unlikely event that she had been the daughter of a Vanar man and a foreign woman, she would have had no birthrights whatsoever. She might have been happier that way.

  “Only our most trustworthy and dedicated are allowed off-world. It is discouraged, but not forbidden to fraternize with yepoqioh. But you off-world men are so appealing to Vanar women, so innocent and arrogant and carnal. Passion sometimes interferes with common sense. Vanar women are entirely capable of controlling their own reproduction. That she fell in love with a Hengeli was appalling enough, but permissible. To allow herself to become pregnant by him was quite unacceptable.

  “So, instead of being the daughter of an eminent Arjusana, Lyris grew up on Vanar trying to make reparations for her mother’s weakness. She grew up dreaming of her Hengeli father, but when she finally found him, he wanted nothing to do with her. Terrified, in fact, that if his Vanar superiors found he had even spoken to her, he’d lose what was left of his career on-Station. Then she met you. Her mother’s fatal attraction to yepoqioh men apparently runs true in the daughter as well. In the end, Lyris Arjusana became a very bitter, unhappy young woman who has had a very bitter, unhappy life. I wish her luck wherever she is.”

  It made sense, the fierce animosity between Lyris and her Vanar shipmates, her fury with him when he, her Hengeli lover, had betrayed her.

  “Unlike me, she doesn’t have to come back. Her disappearance makes little impact on the overall infrastructure of the Arjusana Family.” Yaenida smiled fleetingly at him. “Frankly, I think they’re all secretly relieved to see her gone.”

  She leaned back, staring dreamily toward the ceiling through the haze of smoke, and smiled at the memories hidden there. “But I never had the luxury of such a choice. Although my mother was pratha h’máy, it was my sister who had been groomed since birth as heir. I was a bored troublemaker, a rebellious little shit too smart for my own good. I refused to marry any of the men my Family had chosen. I didn’t want to settle down to a life I thought would smother me alive. My mother hoped time off Vanar might satisfy my wandering nature, get the restlessness out of my system, and bring me back with enough worldly experience to make me a valuable advisor to my sister.

  “But crewing on a Nga’esha Cartel liner was almost as dreary as Vanar itself. I ran off when we reached Rhodus, got a hitch with a hairy old freighter navigator more interested in filling up his time with drink and talk than with sex. He took me as far as Novapolita, where I completely humiliated my illustrious Family by enlisting as a lowly foot soldier in the Hengeli civil dispute.”

  “You fought on Hengeli?” He was startled. “For which side?” “It’s all the same, who cares? I picked one at random.”

  His jaw tightened. “People died in that war. A lot of people.” Including his father, he didn’t add. She knew it already.

  “I suppose so.” She shrugged. “But that sort of violence is all so remote, so dull. Push this button, pull that trigger, fire and smoke and destruction, certainly a lot of dead bodies. I probably killed a few people myself, who knows? But after the initial thrill wore off, I found war tiresome and stupid, and such a waste of my valuable time. So I deserted.”

  She laughed. “Of course, once the Hengeli found out who I was, they diplomatically altered it to a ‘voluntary discharge.’ I may have been a deserter, but I was still Nga’esha. We do as we damned well please. Everyone else can rewrite history however it suits them.

  “But while I was off scandalizing half of Vanar, my sister, Q’sola, had botched several important business ventures. My mother conceded the favorite she wanted wasn’t the heir she needed. I was dragged back to Vanar.” She chuckled. “Quite literally, in fact, kicking and screaming the entire way. But my experience with the outside worlds my poor sister detested came in handy before too long.

  “Q’sola considered the Stations simply utilitarian depots for ships on their way from one system to another. We hold the monopoly, the Stations are a necessity, who cared how uncomfortable or basic they were? She couldn’t understand why I pushed so hard to spend precious Nga’esha resources to expand Richter and Cooper, to develop casinos and theaters and restaurants and taverns and brothels—all the sort of recreational amenities that don’t appeal much to the Vanar but do to quite a lot to the Hengeli systems. It required negotiating with non-Vanar companies to run and police the Stations. Which meant establishing permanent non-Vanar communities on-Station, with schools and hospitals and shops, more money out of Nga’esha coffers going straight into yepoqioh pockets. You wouldn’t believe the protests I had to continually appease. All I did for years was beg, borrow, threaten, blackmail, bribe, scheme, and conspire before we ever saw the first return on such an extensive investment. When we finally did, I plowed it all straight back into building a new Station: Sukrah, the largest ever built. The profits on Sukrah alone made us the biggest fortune in Vanar history. The Nga’esha became the most powerful of the Nine Families, and I’d sealed my reputation. Q’sola was discarded and I was named heir, the next Nga’esha pratha h’máy.”

  She paused, puffing on her water pipe thoughtfully. Why she was confiding the details of her past life to him, he didn’t know, and didn’t dare ask.

  “But success and pride went to my head. I became arrogant, insolent, convinced I was always right. When my mother died, Q’sola tried to have me assassinated.” Her gaze hardened as she glanced at him. “Did you ever believe women were any less bloody-minded or greedy than men, Nathan?” she asked with dangerous softness. “Did you ever suppose I did?”

  “No, l’amae,” he said carefully. She smiled without warmth. “Fortunately, she was as incompetent at murder as she was at business. I survived, and the experience made me wiser. Q’sola’s firstborn was about twelve then: bright girl, sharp. Yronae. I did two things very quickly. First, I adopted Yronae as my daughter and designated heir; then I married two kharvah, the first a youngest son in the Daharanan Motherline, a somewhat minor but respectable High Family, and the second the son of the Ushahayam pratha h’máy, a powerful Family I needed at my back. I chose them both very carefully, and my senior kharvah balanced out his junior partner quite nicely.”

  “What happened to Q’sola?” Nathan asked, caught up in her narration enough to momentarily forget his own worries.

  “Oh, I forgave her, naturally. The matter n
ever became public, as it was a private Family concern. You see, when a man is rejected by his Family, he becomes naekulam. There is no such thing as a female naekulam. The shame is too great. If Q’sola had been exposed, she would either have been exiled or gone into permanent retreat in the Temple.

  “Q’sola already had an established network of cronies as well, while I’d been off on my grand adventures. I returned experienced in everything but what I needed to survive on Vanar. So I forgave her and showered her with honors and gifts. She was my right hand at every Council, my most trusted advisor. We were inseparable, true sisters once more. Willingly or not, she taught me everything I needed to know about Vanar Family intrigues and politics.”

  She blew smoke at the ceiling then lowered her head, bright eyes fixed on his. “Then a few years later, she conveniently died.” She raised an eyebrow at the suspicion in his face.

  “Q’sola was a surly, unforgiving bitch whose incessant bungling was becoming an embarrassment the Family couldn’t afford. She drank too much, so I provided her with vast quantities of the very best with a few untraceable additives to speed her along the way.” She exhaled another gust of smoke, squinting at him. “Which is how murder is done properly in High Families, Nathan,” she said mildly.

  “Does Yronae know?”

  “Of course. How else would she have learned as well as she has? She has her mother’s rigidness, but none of her obstinate stupidity. Q’sola threatened the stability of the entire Family, not just me. Had she succeeded in murdering me and taking my place, sooner or later Yronae would have had to find a suitable way of killing her mother herself. For the good of the Family.”

  He felt the skin on his cheeks prickle, a sharp ache in the pit of his stomach. “As you would have me killed if I became a threat to the Family?”

  “Exactly,” she said without hesitation. “Even as fond of you as I am. And it’s far easier to get rid of troublesome men than troublesome sisters.”

  He sat wordlessly as she returned his gaze steadily, smoke wreathing a halo around her head. Finally she smiled, not unkindly. “As a man, however, you’re an insignificant liability. There’s not much you could do short of a serious act of violence that would warrant disposing of you.”