Worlds Apart (ThreeCon)

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  “Going in for charity?” Hari asked as they started back for the downtown section of Pireaus.

  Rishi made a face. “So I felt sorry for her. Besides, it’s a beautiful bowl.”

  His lips curved in a cynical smile. “And an antique besides.”

  She frowned her annoyance, but Hari didn’t look in the least chastened. “Well, it might be,” she said. “And since Celadon has no planetary government, there’s no one to inspect it and say I can’t take it off world.”

  He reached into her shopping bag. “What about this?”

  She looked at the tiny blue figure he held in his hand. “It’s called an alogos. I thought Thulan might like it.” She took it from him and turned the thing so the sunlight struck deep in its core. The blue was so rich it gleamed like sapphire. “Cerulean is beautiful, isn’t it? It’s difficult to believe its fossilized dung.”

  He lifted his brows. “Are you regretting turning down that offer from Tiran Benli?”

  She snorted as she put the figurine back in her bag. “Not likely. The man wanted to sell me raw cerulean for the same price per kilo that this artist got for his carving. I wasn’t born a Trahn for nothing.”

  “And yet you paid more than that bowl is worth for it?”

  She handed him her shopping bag. “The bowl was personal. The cerulean deal was business.”

  He grinned but didn’t comment. Rishi glanced at her security escort. Three people in gray tunics trailed her; one woman and two men. “And speaking of business, why do I need three guards today, besides you?”

  Hari’s expression grew bland. “Partly because I found out yesterday that this world is a lot more dangerous than I thought.”

  “And?”

  “And partly because all three of them need a little reminder of what happens when they screw up.”

  Rishi lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “How did they screw up?”

  Hari answered at full volume. “Nakamura missed her workouts twice in one week, and Beecher couldn’t hit the target at all on the firing range.”

  Rishi darted a quick glance over her shoulder. Nakamura maintained an impassive expression, but Beecher, the shorter of the two men, looked sullen. Tinibu, the tallest guard, smiled back at Rishi. He looked almost pleased with himself.

  “What about Tinibu?” Rishi asked, turning back to Hari. “I thought he was always conscientious.”

  Hari snorted. “Tinibu’s a goof-off. Tinibu thinks it’s funny to leave a bucket of water right where someone else was bound to step in it.”

  Rishi hid a laugh and darted another glance at Tinibu. The guard was grinning openly now. “I see,” she said. “And how is following me around Celadon punishment for these transgressions?”

  “The gravity is twenty percent over Terran normal and none of them is used to it, especially not in full kit.”

  “You’re a hard man, Hari.”

  He looked pleased with himself. “Don’t you forget it, girl. Someone has to look out for you.”

  She laughed, feeling a warm sense of connection. He really was like a father to her in many ways. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”

  They ate at a small cafe near her agent’s rented office. Hari made the escort forego lunch entirely instead of just eating in shifts, as usual. When Rishi had finished, Hari led the way through the streets of Pireaus.

  “It’s not that big a city, is it?” Rishi asked him as they walked. The buildings were mostly five and six stories, separated by wide boulevards with pedestrian walkways on either side.

  He shook his head. “This isn’t a big colony. It’s too spread out to have huge cities, and there’s nothing special here to attract tourists—no spectacular feats of nature or unique species or cultures.”

  “The Elliniká seemed pretty interesting to me.”

  Hari shot her a look. “I looked them up in Fodor’s. They’re very insular—no marriage with outsiders, very little contact with city folks except to trade for what they can’t make themselves. And they’re very prudish about sex. Young people are encouraged to marry early.”

  “Praxiteles isn’t all that young.”

  Hari stopped in front of their destination and held the door open for her. “Somehow I knew we’d end up back at Praxiteles. Did you ever think he might not be interested in women?”

  Before Rishi could answer, her local agent came forward to greet her effusively. Frank Gutmahn, a thin, mousy-looking man with nervous habits that set Rishi’s teeth on edge, rubbed his hands back and forth in an apprehensive gesture. “Mistress Trahn! You’re here!”

  Rishi lifted one eyebrow. She had inherited the talent from her mother and practiced it in the mirror until she could do it without effort. “I said I was coming today, Gutmahn.”

  “Yes, yes, but this arrived for you!” He waved a hand at a small packing crate that stood square in the middle of the office floor.

  It looked familiar. Rishi stared at the tattered labels on the side. “Isn’t that the crate of cerulean that Tiran Benli was trying to overcharge me for yesterday?”

  “It certainly looks like it.” Hari nodded to Nakamura, who moved to one window while Tinibu covered the other. “Where did it come from, Gutmahn?”

  The agent licked his lips. “It was delivered about an hour ago. Citizen Benli sent it as a gift, with his compliments.”

  “What?” Rishi was astounded. She had bargained personally with the local trader, just to keep her hand in, and had not been able to budge him from a ridiculously high price.

  “It seems you’ve become a local hero, Mistress.” Gutmahn’s smile was almost a smirk.

  Really, if the man weren’t good at his job, he wouldn’t last another hour in her employ. “Well,” Rishi said, “this is a surprise. What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You planned to ship it to Subidar so it could be carved, didn’t you?” Hari said. “What’s the problem?”

  Rishi wrinkled her forehead. “It doesn’t seem right to take advantage of Benli’s gratitude like that.”

  Gutmahn shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Mistress. Gemal and his gang used to prey upon travelers, especially merchants. No doubt Citizen Benli thinks your actions will save him money in the long run.”

  “And,” Hari added, “you can use the proceeds from selling the cerulean to help pay the massive fine ThreeCon is sure to charge you when they hear about your defiance of the Non-Interference Accord.”

  “I filed a full account with the consulate this morning,” Rishi said. “They said they’d get back to me.” She looked at the crate again. “I guess I’ll just take it with me, then. Have it delivered to the spaceport as soon as possible, Gutmahn, and send Tiran Benli my thanks. What else have you got for me?”

  He rubbed his hands again and directed her attention to his terminal, where a number of much larger deals were awaiting her attention. He covered half a dozen worlds for her, and it was only coincidence that Celadon happened to be the planet on which he was doing business when her tour brought her into his sector.

  Rishi read through the details of several projects before she stopped to ask a question.

  “Why do you spend so much time on Celadon, Gutmahn? There’s not that much here to trade, is there?”

  “Not yet, Mistress.” His hands twisted frantically at the question. “But there is also no government regulation. And if I spend more than half the year here, ThreeCon allows me to trade as a local merchant, and that gives us much more favorable tax rates. A few other Houses have discovered this loophole. Celadon doesn’t get many passenger ships, but it’s becoming a hub for cargo routes.”

  Well, that much perspicacity made up for a lot of annoying habits. And besides, ordinarily he would report through his sector boss instead of directly to her. Rishi finished her review and closed out of the program. “Good job. I’ll ch
eck again once I’m back on Subidar, but I think we’re good until then.”

  Gutmahn let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “Now,” Rishi said. “Let’s get back to the Golden Hawk, Hari. I need to get dressed for my party.”

  THE dress was as spectacular as Rishi remembered. Black velven fabric absorbed light as if the fabric were much denser. The fitted bodice showed just a hint of cleavage, while the floor-length skirt, slit up one side, swirled as Rishi walked. Hundreds of diamonds woven into the dress made it look as if she wore a galaxy of stars.

  “It’s a great dress,” Lidiya said as she fastened the back of the bodice. “You look fabulous.”

  “You can borrow it if you like,” Rishi said, studying her image in the mirrors of her dressing room. “I’m sure you could adjust the hem temporarily.”

  Lidiya laughed as she bent down to pick up the packing material that had swaddled the gown. “Thanks, but no thanks. If I wore it, I’d have every fortune hunter on Subidar after me. Think of their disappointment when they found out the truth.”

  Rishi fought a blush, embarrassed to have made an offer that was so unwelcome. “Borrow anything you like, then.”

  Lidiya smiled as she straightened up. “I might someday. But I’ll wait until I find someone who likes me for me before I raise expectations.”

  Did she have someone in mind? Rishi was afraid to ask for fear of appearing nosy. Lidiya had worked for her for over two years, and only recently had she and Rishi had the kind of conversations that friends had.

  “I’m ready,” Rishi said, smoothing the skirt. The velven felt sleek under her fingers, almost like a fine pelt. “Where is Hari?”

  “Waiting for you by the docking port.”

  Rishi took one last look at her image and smiled. “Well, at least I look like a guest of honor.”

  WHEN the shuttle set them down at the same location on the plains, it was hard to believe the Elliniká caravan was the same one that had been attacked. Order had been restored. Lanterns and torches lit the scene, making pools of light in the vast darkness of night on the plains. All the wagons had been moved into two neat, curving lines, and the alogos grazed nearby on tethered ropes. A mass of dark shapes shifted in the distance, and a low rumbling sounded from that direction.

  “What’s that noise?” Rishi asked. It sounded very ominous.

  “That’s the Mercouri’s herd of bodi,” Hari said. “Every clan follows a single herd of animals as they migrate across the plains. That’s why they live in wagons.”

  “Why didn’t we see them yesterday?”

  “They stampeded at the start of the attack. By the time the Elliniká got them all under control, you were asleep in the shuttle.”

  Rishi squinted into the darkness. “What do they look like?”

  Hari bent over and tugged her skirt loose from a low bush. “Sort of like bison, if you crossed one with a moose. They’re big and slow until they get mad or scared.”

  Rishi wondered what a bison and a moose looked like. Hari was a native Terran, and often described animals in terms she didn’t understand. Before she could ask, a group of several Elliniká approached, carrying lanterns.

  Praxiteles walked in the second row, behind a middle-aged woman and a slightly older man. The translator stared at Rishi as he came nearer; his eyes widened as his glance swept from her head to her feet. Rishi congratulated herself on making an entrance.

  The middle-aged woman spoke a few words, and Praxiteles translated.

  “Our greetings, lady. We are happy that you could come to our feast.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Rishi said, smiling at the woman. “I’m sorry Dr. Warchovsky couldn’t stay for dinner. She sends her regrets.”

  Praxiteles bowed. “The doctor came earlier. We appreciate her help.” He waved one arm at the man and the middle-aged woman in a deferential gesture. “This is Eugenie the Mercouri, the head of our clan, and Achilles Kazanti, the head of the men’s council.”

  Rishi offered her hand but lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you were all named Mercouri?”

  For some reason, Praxiteles flushed. Had she committed a breach of manners by asking the question?

  “Not the married men, lady,” he said. “All the women here are Mercouri, and all the children, but when a man marries, he leaves his own clan and goes to live with his wife’s.”

  “But he keeps his own name?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t intrusive to ask. It seemed to her that, by implication, he must not be married himself.

  “Of course, lady. He is still in the same clan.”

  Both Eugenie Mercouri and Achilles Kazanti shook Rishi’s hand and offered fulsome thanks for her actions the day before, which Praxiteles translated. Rishi prayed the evening wouldn’t consist entirely of speeches.

  It seemed unlikely. She could hear stringed instruments tuning up.

  “Come, please, lady,” Praxiteles said, holding out his hands in a welcoming gesture, “and all your clan.”

  Rishi debated trying to explain the concept of staff, but opted instead to smile and follow his lead.

  When they arrived in the middle of the Elliniká encampment, she saw that a series of tables had been set up to form a huge square. A large bonfire had been lit in the center of the square. The combination of firelight and assorted lanterns hanging from poles illuminated the scene well, but the light flickered a good deal. Everything had multiple shadows.

  The Mercouri had assembled, but waited by their stools and benches. Rishi decided there had to be at least a hundred people ready to sit down to dinner with her, maybe more. The tables were already loaded with food. It was, indeed, a feast.

  Rishi wasn’t certain because she had been busy helping the day before, but she thought everyone looked more formally dressed. Most of the women wore long dresses, although some of them wore trousers underneath shorter gowns. The men wore vests or short jackets over their shirts, and it looked as if every one of them had polished his boots. Almost all their clothes were in shades of white, brown, or gray, but occasionally, a kerchief or a blouse matched the pink or orange of the wildflowers Rishi had seen on the plains. It occurred to her that they must not only sew their clothes but weave the fabrics from which they were made.

  Achilles walked her to a seat. They put Hari next to her on one side, with Praxiteles on her other side to translate. Achilles sat across from Hari, and Eugenie sat across from Rishi. Everyone else gathered around and found their places, including several of the Golden Hawk’s crew who had helped the day before. There were a few minor altercations over who sat where, but eventually everyone had a seat. Even some older children were included in the event.

  Young women brought around platters of grilled meat, and everyone helped themselves. There were bowls of fruits and vegetables on the tables, none of them familiar to Rishi. Praxiteles took a tiny loaf of crusty bread and tore it in half before taking a bite. Rishi did the same. It was good, although it tasted nothing like any bread she had ever had.

  A smiling young woman filled Rishi’s cup with a deep red liquid. Rishi took a sip. It had to be wine, a slightly dry wine, with an almost bitter aftertaste. It was quite nice once she got used to it.

  The food was good, and Rishi was soon full. She didn’t want to give offense, but she had to turn away more and more platters as they were offered. At Achilles’ urging, as translated by Praxiteles, she tried a hard, chewy cake that managed to be both sweet and salty and made Rishi very thirsty. She drank more of the red wine.

  A young woman stood up holding a stringed instrument with a curved bottom and a long straight neck. She played while she sang what sounded like a very sad song. Rishi leaned her head towards Praxiteles and noted the faint aroma of wood smoke. She whispered for him to translate for her. He bent his head even nearer and told her that the song was about a woman whose mother put her on an island in a rive
r, to keep her apart from her sweetheart. The young man drowned trying to swim to her.

  “How tragic.” Rishi felt very strange, not light-headed exactly. It wasn’t that she felt bad. On the contrary, she felt wonderful—happy and lighthearted. She smiled at Praxiteles as she sipped her wine. The firelight gleamed on his hair and made it look like burnished gold. His blue eyes smiled back at her, and Rishi studied him covertly.

  After the young woman finished singing, everyone applauded, and she started to play again, a more cheerful song this time. Several men got up and danced to the music. They started slowly, arms linked together, legs lifted in unison, stepping carefully around the bonfire. As the rhythm got faster, their dancing got faster and unrestrained, and the audience’s enthusiasm kept pace. By the time the dancers finished, there was wild cheering. Rishi applauded along with the Elliniká. She felt more than wonderful. She felt that she could do anything she wanted.

  Achilles got up and stood so he was facing Rishi. “Noble lady,” he said, in loud but terribly accented Standard. “We wish to offer to you our most heartfelt thanks for our deliverances.” From the stilted way he spoke, Rishi decided he must have memorized the words with no real idea of what he was saying. He paused, and Praxiteles translated his words into Elliniká. “We want you to know that every man, and woman, and child among us gives thanks to you.” Praxiteles translated again, and there was a murmur among the audience as if they were agreeing with their leader.

  “We offer to you our hospitality without condition,” Achilles went on. “If there is anything ever we can do for you, most noble lady, we beg that you will ask us to do it.” Praxiteles translated, and Achilles bowed low to Rishi before resuming his seat.

  Rishi decided she should respond. She stood up and bowed back, and then straightened up and surveyed the many faces that all looked at her so respectfully. “I thank you all,” she said, still feeling that wonderful sense of exhilaration, “for making me so welcome. I’m sorry my ship has to leave this evening, or I should be pleased to visit again. You don’t need to thank me.” She waved one hand in an expansive gesture. After all, she could do anything. What were a few lightning bolts to someone like her? “There’s no reason for you to feel indebted to me. It was nothing.”