Master of None

by N Lee Wood

  Rashir barely acknowledged him with a hint of a nod, while Ruuspoelk glared at him acidly.

  Two of the Nga’esha household guards waited for him on the other side of the soundproof doors, dark eyes impassive. He bowed slightly and said, “I believe the pratha h’máy is anxious to see me.”

  It was one of the rare times he had seen one of the dour, muscular Dhikar smile.

  XL

  THEY ESCORTED HIM DIRECTLY TO YRONAE’S PRIVATE APARTMENTS. THE low bed had been recently occupied, to judge by the bedclothes in disarray, and Yronae wore an oversized tasmai tied at the waist, her hair unbraided but tied back loosely from her face. But he saw no sign of drowsiness in her eyes or in the compressed set of her mouth.

  The dalhitri b’ahu of Dravyam, Mahdupi, sat sipping brandy from a heavy blown glass while a nameless medical taemora waited at a polite distance. With the Dhikar on either side of him, he bowed, doing his best to hide his dread.

  He was both surprised and grateful when Yronae dismissed the Dhikar. “We won’t need them, Nathan.” She indicated he should kneel on the thick floor cushion rather than the floor. “We may be here for some time, and I want your mind on your task, not your shins.” Her tone was curt, but not cruel.

  He knelt, settling himself comfortably as the taemora pushed up the sleeve of his mati and pressed a medgun against his upper arm. It hissed, and seconds later he felt the rush clearing his head, his thoughts suddenly coalescing into concise patterns. The taemora gave him two steel oblong spheres to hold one in each hand. Yronae would hold the third, his emotions amplified through the skin of her palm, reading his heartbeat, breathing, muscular electrical activity, hormonal activity in his blood, brainwave patterns. It was similar to the process Vasant Subah had employed to extract information from him. Minus the soul-crushing pain.

  “Ready?”

  “Hae’m, pratha h’máy,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

  He replayed the discussion, word for word, as accurately as he could remember, which, he knew, was accurate enough. For her part, Yronae allowed him to go at his own pace, uninterrupted. Nathan could feel his own fatigue under the drugs, like shadows hidden by the light reflecting from the surface of a pool.

  “The ambassador then said that they hadn’t neutralized the room to prevent you from knowing what we’d discussed.”

  “Meaning?”

  He stopped, inhaled a deep, slow breath, and opened his eyes. The taemora was still beside him, her attention on the medical monitor in her lap. She began fitting up another dose in the medgun.

  “Meaning they don’t trust our security,” Mahdupi interjected before he could think of a more judicious way to phrase it.

  Yronae sucked air through the space between her front teeth, making a common sound Nathan had always disliked in the Vanar. Then her brow wrinkled momentarily, glancing at him, and he realized that although he had not reacted visibly, she could feel that dislike through the sphere in her palm, if not the reason. He wondered if she could also feel the involuntary thrill of alarm, his body ingrained to expect Dhikar retaliation.

  “Typical Hengeli paranoia.” She shifted the sphere from one hand to the other and rubbed the empty palm on her tasmai as if it itched, then frowned, irritated. “Run an inspection anyway, just to be thorough,” she said to Mahdupi.

  The older woman nodded. Yronae turned back to Nathan: “Go on.”

  “I requested her permission to leave. I did so at that point. The Dhikar were waiting outside to escort me immediately to you.”

  “And that was all?”

  He hesitated, then said firmly, “That was all.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. The sphere in her hand told her he was lying, but he kept his eyes on the locus over her shoulder and his breathing even. His parting retort to the Hengeli was a private matter. After a moment, she grunted and relented.

  “Who’s in charge of security on Sukrah Station?” Yronae asked Mahdupi. Dunton was the Hengeli name for the Station, one Yronae would never stoop to using.

  Mahdupi gestured to him. “You may go.”

  He had bowed and started to rise when Yronae whirled on him. “No, sit.” Surprised, he sank back, the spheres still clutched in his hands. She glared at Mahdupi’s questioning look. “He stays.”

  Mahdupi frowned, and began to speak in the incomprehensible language of women before Yronae cut her off impatiently.

  “He stays,” she insisted. “Up until now, he’s been nothing but an annoying nuisance. At least I’ve finally found some use for my mother’s worthless toy.”

  Mahdupi scowled her disapproval, shaking her head. “Rohnae dva Navamam Nga’esha,” she said. “Head of Sukrah security for the past eleven years.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “She’s from the Nga’esha Estate in Praetah, where she was born and raised. Her traeyah second cousin once removed is the household h’máy. She has no direct familial connection with the Changriti that I’m aware of.”

  “Check. Now.”

  With a sigh, the older woman fished in the belt of her kirtiya for a monocular lens, settled it over one eye, hooking it into the soundpearl in her ear, and slipped into a near-trance state as she began tapping into the Nga’esha security system. Green and red lights reflected from the surface of her eye, the data impressing itself directly into her retina and processed by long training by her brain. He glanced at the carved window screen, trying to judge by the light between the latticed wood how late the hour it might be. Or early, he thought glumly.

  “She has no Changriti ancestry for five generations. Two kharvah at present, both from respectable Middle Families. She has one daughter and one son. Both kharvah are registered as the fathers sharing parentage for both children.” Mahdupi’ s voice was atonal, focused on the data. She paused, switching into a different network. “The son would have been conceived during the first year she was on Sukrah.” Pause. “Ah.” Mahdupi’s eyes focused past the flickering lights. “There is a notation in the medical files that neither kharvah is the genetic donor to her son, a fact apparently unknown by either of them.”

  Yronae sucked air through her teeth again. If she noted his involuntary reflex, she ignored it. “Changriti?”

  Mahdupi was silent, her attention again back to the data oscillating through her retina. Despite the cushions underneath him, his legs ached, exhaustion shivering over him. Yronae paused from her restless pacing, the sphere still in her hand, and nodded curtly at the taemora. The drugs hissed into his arm before he realized, the pain abating.

  “Not Changriti,” Mahdupi said finally, then added, “not Vanar.” Yronae snorted her disgust, with an acrid glower at him.

  “So who is the genetic father?”

  Mahdupi shrugged. “If you like, I’ll run a match, but it will take time, Yronae. Especially if the child’s father isn’t Vanar. We might get lucky, and find it’s a Sukrah employee. Or it could be one of any number of transient passengers. There are fifty-two individual Hengeli systems connecting through Sukrah.”

  “Search them all,” Yronae insisted. “Find him. I want every detail of Rohnae Nga’esha’s movements, any contact, any connection she has ever had with the Changriti no matter how trivial. If she has been passing on Nga’esha secrets to the yepoqioh, I want to know what and who. And how.” She looked grim. “I don’t care why.”

  “Yronae, he should not remain here any longer,” Mahdupi pressed. “This is not anything to concern him. He’s tired; let him go.”

  Yronae waved the suggestion away irritably.

  “Neither Ambassador Rashir or Heloise Ruuspoelk gave you any idea of what this information might entail, other than vague threats?” She pronounced the foreign names as badly as she did ‘Nathan Crewe.’ ”

  “No, jah’nari pratha.”

  “And they said nothing else about the Sukrah Station dispute between the Nga’esha and the Changriti, nothing at all?”

  Normally, his personal evaluation would not be welcome
d. He faltered, uncertain of how to couch his reply. Yronae snapped her fingers at him brusquely. “Come on, come on, now is not the time to prove how outstandingly Vanar you’ve become.”

  Nettled, he retorted sharply, “As I don’t know a damned thing about what the Nga’esha and Changriti are involved in concerning Sukrah Station, all I can do is repeat as precisely as I can what was said,” he said sharply. Yronae rocked back on her heels as Mahdupi hid a smile. “Jah’nari pratha,” he added more prudently.

  “Have you considered the possibility this could be nothing more than a trick, the Hengeli infecting you with their paranoia to persuade us into a concession?” Mahdupi suggested. “Rohnae dva Navamam Nga’esha may be guilty of nothing more than bad taste in men.”

  “For which she should lose her authority and be immediately recalled in disgrace,” Yronae snapped.

  “She’s hardly the first woman to have an affair with an Hengeli man on Station. Or off,” Mahdupi said lightly. “Even your esteemed mother Pratha Yaenida seemed fond of them in her immature youth, particularly large furry ones who liked to drink and talk too much.”

  Yronae glanced away, but not quick enough to hide her anger. “My esteemed mother, Mahdupi, never betrayed Nga’esha secrets in exchange for sex.”

  Mahdupi must have known how treacherous was the ground she walked on, but shrugged, unruffled, and retrieved her brandy glass. “No, but it wouldn’t have been beneath her to attain secrets in return for sex. It served her well the first five decades of her rule. We think we know them, because we come and go as we please, while Vanar remains closed to them. But bear in mind, my child, we have only one of theirs.” She nodded in Nathan’s direction. “They have many, many more of us out there. And it’s so very tempting, out among those enchanting peoples.”

  Yronae scowled. “What could our women possibly find so tempting about such a dangerous primitive culture?”

  “Freedom,” Nathan whispered.

  “Khee?”

  He felt the sweat on his palms against the spheres, the drugs still scintillating through his bloodstream making him reckless. He looked up, straight into Yronae’s eyes. “Freedom, pratha h’máy. The freedom to go anywhere you want, any world and any Station, to say what you feel, to be with who you want, to love who you want, to do whatever you please. To escape all the traditional restrictions and have all the pressure of Family obligations a billion billion miles away.”

  Mahdupi watched him gravely, her head tilted as she listened. Whatever the sphere still in Yronae’s hand was indicating, it was unpleasant enough for her to wince. Yronae passed her other hand across her forehead, shielding her eyes for a moment. When she looked back at him, he had lowered his gaze, once again the epitome of a properly deferential Vanar man.

  “Paranoia or not, bluff or not,” Yronae said, “even the allegation Nga’esha security on Station has been compromised can hurt us. The Changriti will use any charges of corruption for their own gain, whether they can prove it or not.”

  “It may not be a flaw in Nga’esha security,” Mahdupi said calmly.

  “No?”

  Again, Mahdupi glanced at him, averse to discussing Nga’esha Family business in front of him. “They made every pretense his presence was an act of luck they hoped to turn to their advantage. And it is true the ambassador and her aide spent several hours in contact with their ship, accessing their own data records, before they asked to meet him.”

  “But?”

  “If they have equipment sophisticated enough to evade the surveillance in our guest quarters, surely they can conceal their real communiqués behind a technological smokescreen.”

  Yronae snorted in contempt. “Now who is infected with Hengeli paranoia?”

  Madhupi shrugged a shoulder, unconcerned. “Your mother and I have been playing these games since before you were born, Pratha. I may see patterns you do not.” When Yronae looked thoughtful, she continued, “So how did the Hengeli know Aenanda Changriti is only five years old?”

  Startled, they both looked at Mahdupi. She smiled and sipped her brandy.

  “The Changriti would never—”

  “Perhaps not knowingly.”

  Yronae was silent for several tense moments. “There is still too much we don’t know.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But whatever the Hengeli have sealed in their barrel, we cannot afford not to buy it. If it is a subterfuge to buy them passage through to Novapolita, we’ll deal with the consequences later.” To Mahdupi: “Keep a close eye on Sukrah. Declare a complete lockdown if you must.” To Nathan: “And you will meet with the Hengeli again when they return. It shouldn’t arouse suspicion to say we are simply reassuring them one of their own is being well-treated.”

  Nathan nodded silently.

  “If they give you something to pass on to us, go through Mahdupi. Mahdupi has always had the right of private access to the pratha h’máy—that will go unnoticed.”

  “Hae’m, jah’nari l’amae.”

  She paused, observing him. The drugs and tension elevated his blood pressure, his heart thudding dully, making him slightly nauseous.

  “You have an unnaturally close rapport with your daughter. Children often know more than we give them credit for. She will trust you and will tell you anything you ask. We should arrange for you to see Aenanda as soon as possible. You will naturally be overcome by paternal love, beg Kallah’s forgiveness and to be allowed to return to your rightful duties as her kharvah—”

  “No.”

  Yronae stopped with her mouth open, stunned at being abruptly interrupted. For several seconds, she stared at him. “What did you say?” Her tone was very low, dangerous.

  “No, Pratha Yronae. I will not do that.”

  Mahdupi found something fascinating at the bottom of her brandy glass.

  “You will do as your pratha h’máy requires of you,” Yronae said softly, her face pale.

  He exhaled a deep breath before he spoke. “Forgive me, Sister, but you can’t have it both ways. Either I am Vanar or I am not. I will not exploit Aenanda as a pawn in your strategy. Use me in whatever manner you like, but not my daughter.”

  “I do what is in the interest of the Nga’esha Family. Your daughter is Changriti—”

  “She’s an innocent child!” He struggled to get his anger back under control.

  “You enjoy all the rank and privileges of a Nga’esha,” Yronae snapped. He bit back a laugh, and her scowl deepened. “With that privilege comes duty. If you are not prepared to fulfill your duty on behalf of your Family, perhaps you should not profit from the benefits of that Family.”

  Mahdupi glanced up at her, startled, before her gaze slid back to the now empty glass in her hand.

  Nathan stared at Yronae in disbelief.

  “Well?” Yronae finally snapped.

  Slowly, he shook his head, a completely Hengeli gesture. “I have always considered you difficult and demanding, sometimes even ruthless, but never dishonorable,” he said quietly. Yronae was silent now, sitting a shade too fixed. “You’ve treated me harshly at times, as is your right as my pratha h’máy. But if you would make me naekulam as punishment for protecting my daughter, then I welcome it. Yours would no longer be a Family I would be proud to be a member of.”

  Mahdupi’s mouth pursed thoughtfully as Yronae flushed, struggling with her own emotions. He hoped the sphere still clutched in her hand convinced her that he, at least, was not bluffing.

  “I will not tolerate this sort of debate from a bah’chae,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “It is not your place to judge me.” She flung the metal sphere back into the box with enough force to make him jump.

  The muscles in her jaw worked. “We will meet with the Hengeli tomorrow, and talk about the rest later.”

  Mahdupi’s subtle smile told him he had won.

  “Hae’m, pratha h’máy.” He swallowed hard and bowed deferentially.

  XLI

  HE NEVER GOT THE CHANCE TO MEET WITH EITHER
RASHIR OR RUUSPOELK again, however. In the early hours of the morning, he started awake at the sound of a woman’s voice. “Little brother.”

  He blinked awake to see a woman standing in the open doorway of his private room. Women very rarely ever came to this part of the men’s house, particularly this late at night. It was Bidaelah, Yronae’s youngest daughter, he was astonished to see, and was just as suddenly afraid.

  She stood flanked by two Dhikar, the blue borders around the ends of their white kirtiyas marking them as Nga’esha household security. They each carried heavy articulated rifles strapped onto their arms and shoulders, the first time Nathan had ever seen any of them carry weapons. He could hear the faint whispers of the soundpearls nestled inside their ears, connecting them to their Nga’esha overseers.

  “Come with us,” Bidaelah said grimly.

  “What have I done?” It was out before he had thought about it, and flinched as one of the guards deliberately flexed her hand, the subdermal implants squirming to life with a harsh hum. The Dhikar’s expression was totally blank, without malice.

  “Be quiet and do as you’re told,” Bidaelah said sharply. Wordlessly, he stood, still clutching his reader and the ancient book he had been transcribing when he’d dozed off. No one objected as he held them against his chest, bowing jerkily before he followed Bidaelah into the long hallway. He watched her thick braid swing with her stride, the beaded end brushing the curve of her rear. Behind him, he heard one of the guards murmur something indecipherable, speaking through the transmitter to someone at a distance. He saw no one in the men’s section, the halls and rooms surreally silent. The huge carved doors separating the women’s house from the men’s opened to admit them, then closed with an audible thunk of a lock dropping into place.

  He was marched quickly past the halls leading to the library, past those branching off to the gardens and the women’s private rooms, past the huge receiving hail, down long, twisting corridors into a part of the House he had never been in before. Two other heavily armed Nga’esha household Dhikar stood before a large door, the wood functionally solid rather than carved into lace, ignoring them stoically as they approached. He stopped behind Bidaelah as she placed her palm against a security scanner by the door.