“That will be fine.” She looked at Prax with new interest and picked up her drink. “Your people seemed very healthy considering they live in such a primitive state.”
Rishi held a glass of wine out to Prax and smiled encouragement. Prax took the glass and realized she was prodding him to make conversation. “My people work hard. We believe work is good for you.”
“If not too excessive, manual labor is good for you,” the doctor said. “Modern life offers activity only in recreation.”
Hari made a comment about security work being an exception, and Rishi chimed in with a brief mention of machines that helped people exercise. Prax sipped the wine in his glass and listened with a sense that he was among beings as alien to him as Rurhahn had been. He felt rather like one of the wild birds of the plains his people sometimes trapped to sell in the cities, as if he had lost control of his destiny.
“The Elliniká men I treated did have a profusion of scar tissue,” Dr. Warchovsky said. “You yourself have some quite incredible scars. I assume you must have a competent doctor for you to have survived such injuries.”
“We’re lucky we have a healer,” Prax said. “Not every clan does. Her name is Angela.”
“Angela Mercouri?” Rishi asked.
Prax nodded. “Of course.”
Dr. Warchovsky looked interested. “Where did she get her training?”
Prax was confused. “Training?”
“In medicine—she does prescribe medication, does she not?”
“No. Angela is not a doctor, like you. She is a healer.”
“What’s the difference?” Hari asked.
Prax repressed a smile of satisfaction. Here at last was something he knew that they didn’t. “A healer does not need medicines. When she is well herself, Angela can heal a wound with her touch, or an illness by sitting with the sick person.”
All of them looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a third eye in his forehead.
“A psy talent,” Rishi said. “They have psy talents on Celadon?”
“It’s a sleeper world,” Hari said. “That’s the only place you find them.”
Prax was confused. “What are psy talents?”
“They’re things most people can’t do,” Hari said. “If you remember, I told you that our ship can fold space to make distance shorter. Centuries ago, before Terrans knew how to build ships that could do that, there were more primitive ships that left Terra to colonize new worlds. The people in them were in suspended animation, like a sort of frozen sleep. They stayed that way for many years—sometimes centuries—until they got to their new worlds. When they did, some of them discovered that their children could do things that they couldn’t—like sensing other people’s emotions or even their thoughts.”
“But I never heard of an ability to promote healing as a psy talent.” Dr. Warchovsky looked intrigued. “I wonder if anyone has done any research on this.”
“Do you know anyone besides Angela who has psy talent?” Rishi asked.
“My grandmother can tell what people near her are feeling,” Prax said. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. He made no mention of the gift he shared with his father.
A soft chirping noise sounded, almost like the call of a ground burrower.
“Dinner’s ready,” Rishi said. “Let’s eat.”
PRAX lay on his back and stared at what he could see of the ceiling. His first full day on the ship was ending. He would sleep not on his bed roll on the plains, or on Mistress Rishi Trahn’s wide bed, but on a narrow bunk in a long room that Hari had called a barracks. Hari had apologized that Prax would have to share living space until they got to their destination.
Prax hadn’t minded the idea. He wasn’t used to sleeping alone, anyway. He had always had at least one sibling sleeping near him, either in the wagon when he was young or outside when he was older.
Prax reviewed the occupants of the other bunks. He felt he knew Chio well, compared to the others. He seemed a pleasant enough person, not inclined to look down upon Prax like some of the staff.
Staff. Prax repeated the word in his mind. He was part of the staff. Mistress Rishi Trahn was very wealthy, and the people who worked for her were called her staff.
One of them was Beecher, the man with the discontented air who looked at Prax like he was something less than human. Another was Nakamura, the golden-haired woman who had carried Prax on the machine called a speeder. They all sounded slightly different in their accents, but they all wore the same gray uniform. Two of them were Milorans, like Rurhahn.
Across from Prax, a large man stirred on his own bunk. He was human, but bigger than Prax, and darker skinned than any Elliniká or even than Hari. He rolled over and his eyes met Prax’s gaze. He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Not the most comfortable beds in here. Not like in Mistress Trahn’s cabin.”
It was said with curiosity, but without malice. Prax had discovered that everyone knew where he had spent the night before. “No, not so comfortable.”
“Shut up, Tinibu,” a voice called from the other side of the room. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
The big man winked at Prax. “Good night, all!”
No one answered, and Tinibu closed his eyes.
Prax stretched and marveled that he felt no pain at all. He moved his hand under the sheet to feel the smoothness of the new skin where his burn had healed. A ridge of scar tissue was there, but not nearly so noticeable as the scar across his stomach where the bodi had gored him. Terrifying as it had been to lie motionless under the off-world machine, the thing truly amazed him. It had taken less time to heal his wound than it had taken the shuttle to carry him from Celadon to this ship.
Prax rolled onto his stomach. It was too bad Nikos and the other Elliniká couldn’t take advantage of such wonderful machines. He still didn’t understand the machinations of ThreeCon, the mysterious entity that made so many rules that affected the Elliniká.
Prax debated whether he would have agreed to go with Mistress Trahn so readily if he had known what it would be like. He still had nine days to spend inside this box of a ship, and then he had no idea what awaited him on Subidar. The one thing he felt he could predict was that his life would never be boring.
Chapter Six
Prax could feel his heart pounding in his chest. On either side of him, tall metal walls glowed with intricate designs. The short being on his left frowned.
“Your heart rate is accelerated, and your blood pressure is rising rapidly.” The Shuratanian wore a red uniform that Hari had explained to Prax was for the Subidaran Planetary Service. He glanced at something on his side of the metal wall. “But you don’t have any history of chronic illness.”
Having gone through the medical check already, Hari stood waiting for Prax to finish. He cleared his throat. “He’s probably just nervous. They don’t have much medical technology where he comes from.”
Both of the long pointed ears on the Shuratanian’s head twitched disapprovingly. “Step through,” he said to Prax.
Prax took a step forward. If being near a Miloran made him feel puny, being near a Shuratanian made him feel like a giant. Even the tallest of them came no higher than Prax’s chest. All of them had eyes like green or blue gemstones, without any white or iris.
This Shuratanian pressed a small silver tube against Prax’s arm. Prax wasn’t alarmed, having seen him do the same thing to Hari without ill effect.
After a few seconds, the Shuratanian nodded. “Very well. You may proceed.” He handed Prax the plastic rectangle that Hari had given him only an hour ago. Prax took the card and glanced again at the holograph of himself on one corner.
Hari looked relieved. “Thanks, ma’am.”
Prax was surprised into a stare. He hadn’t realized the Shuratanian was female.
He waited until Chio had stepped i
nto the medical check, and he and Hari were several steps away before he whispered to Hari, “How do you tell the women from the men?”
Hari grinned. “It takes some practice, but mostly it’s the neck. Shuratanian women tend to have much more slender necks than the men.”
Prax looked around the spaceport for a chance to test this new knowledge. He had never seen so many people in one place in his life. Hordes of them, all ages, sizes, and species navigated their way through a maze of lines and counters; they all seemed to know where they were going. A family of Shuratanians walked past. Prax wasn’t sure which was the mother and which the father, but the children were obvious.
The parents herded their brood of three together for what seemed to be some kind of instructions. The tallest child twitched his ears and whined something in a strange, lilting language. Both parents answered at once, the shorter one patting the child on the back.
Prax had just decided the tallest one must be the mother when Hari called his name.
“Prax!”
Jerked back to his own problems, Prax turned to find Hari looking annoyed.
“Stick close to me,” Hari said. “And remember what I told you.”
Prax nodded. “Answer any questions, but don’t volunteer information.”
“Right.” Hari looked ahead. “We’re coming up to Customs now.”
Customs appeared to be a counter with several people behind it. In front of it, Rishi was just leaving, with two guards in front of her, and Lidiya behind her towing a small line of floating luggage. The man behind the counter bowed low to Rishi and smiled as she walked away.
Hari stepped up and pushed his bags forward so they floated over a gray square in the floor near the counter. He handed over his own plastic rectangle. The human behind the counter—Prax still had trouble thinking of humans as Terrans—wore the same red uniform as the Shuratanian woman had worn. He slipped the card into a slot in the counter and directed Hari to place his palm on a gray square on the counter.
“Returning to Subidar?” he said, studying a screen next to the slot.
“Yes,” Hari said, keeping his palm flat until there was a beep and a flash of green light.
“Ah!” The man nodded. “You’re with Mistress Trahn’s group. She said there were several of you.”
“Seventeen, to be precise,” Hari said. “Most of us are in uniform.”
The man glanced from Hari’s gray tunic to the identical one Prax wore and nodded. “I see. I’ll expect more of you then.” He pressed some keys on a console below the counter. Images and words flashed past on the screen. Prax could see clothes, a pistol, and several unfamiliar objects. “Your weapons permit appears to be in order.”
“Naturally.”
The man nodded. “You’re cleared.”
Hari nudged his bags out of the way, stepped aside, and motioned Prax to take his place.
Prax put his saddle bags and bouzouki on the metal plate.
The man in red stared. “Identification, please.”
Prax handed him the plastic rectangle and watched while the man put it into the slot. At a nudge from Hari, Prax placed his palm on the gray square. It took several seconds before the green light flashed.
The uniformed man frowned at his display. “Immigrating to Subidar from Celadon?”
“Yes,” Prax said.
The frown deepened. “You work visa looks in order.”
Prax said nothing.
The man pressed keys, and the contents of Prax’s saddle bags flashed on his screen. He paused the display to study Prax’s dagger and the smaller boot knife. Hari had told Prax he would have to pack any knives before entering the spaceport, so he had.
“Hmm, curious,” the man said. But he popped the identification card from the slot and handed it to Prax. “You’re cleared.”
Chio and Tinibu approached as Prax and Hari walked away. Looking over his shoulder, Prax could see Nakamura waiting for Beecher at the medical check.
“This way,” Hari said, heading for a huge doorway in the far wall of the spaceport.
Prax followed him closely, afraid to be left behind in the press of people.
When they stepped through the doors, they were in a huge open space surrounded by a vast city. Prax took a deep breath. The sky was a strange grayish pink color, but at least the air felt fresh. Traffic surged around them, pedestrians as well as skimmers. In the air, countless vehicles seemed to fly in every direction at once. Prax wondered how they kept from crashing into each other.
“Prax,” Hari said. “You stick with Chio and the others. I’m going with Rishi.”
“Yes, chief,” Prax said, remembering to address Hari as the other staff did. He looked around and saw Chio coming out of the door behind him.
“Come on, Prax,” the guard said, veering left. “The transport’s over this way.”
Prax shouldered his bag and followed Chio to the waiting vehicle. They boarded and found seats. While they waited for the other security staff to trickle on board in ones and twos, Chio told Prax the names of the various vehicles and identified the few landmarks they could see from the ground.
Finally, the door closed behind the last staff member, and a hum sounded as the engine started up. The transport lifted from the ground, and Prax was treated to a spectacular view of Shembor. It was a huge city, more than a hundred times larger than Pireaus. There seemed to be kilometer after kilometer of streets and buildings, some of them enormous, and incredibly tall. Prax watched it all silently as Chio pointed out more landmarks.
After they had flown for several minutes, they started to descend. Their destination appeared to be a large, open meadow surrounded by a small forest. A large, sprawling building was placed more or less in the center of the meadow, with a much smaller structure a short distance from it.
“What’s that?” Prax asked Chio.
The guard looked out the window where Prax was pointing and smiled. “That’s Mistress Trahn’s house. That’s where we’re going.”
Prax looked again. The house was huge, much too big for one person. “The whole house is just for Mistress Trahn?”
Chio gave him a patient look. “Well, she doesn’t just live there, she works there. Also, she has a lot of staff who live in the house, too. Some of us live on the estate full time and some live out. I don’t have a family of my own, so I don’t bother keeping a place anywhere else.”
Chio pointed to the much smaller building a hundred meters back from the main house. “See that? That’s the chief’s house. He doesn’t like to be far away, but he wanted his own place because he’s got someone he comes home to on a regular basis. Mistress Trahn built that house for him when he asked her.”
Chio pointed out other features of the estate, including a series of boundary towers he said created a force field, a sort of invisible fence. When the transport set down on a wide landing pad, Chio led Prax down the ramp.
“We have our own wing of the house,” he explained as he walked behind a group of other guards. “All our bedrooms are in this wing, and the gym and the security common room are, too. We eat in the staff dining room with the rest of the staff, though.” He gave Prax a speculative grin. “Although, I heard you’re having lunch with Mistress Trahn again today.”
Prax made no reply. He wasn’t comfortable discussing Rishi with anyone but Hari.
“You’ll like Thulan,” Chio was saying, “once you get used to her. She’s the cook. Her name’s Thulan Mao, and she’s a local, like me—born and raised in Shembor. She’s one fine cook. She cooks for us as well as the other staff and Mistress Trahn. Mistress Trahn keeps her on, even though she refuses to live at the house. She comes in early and doesn’t leave until everything’s done, but she won’t sleep here.”
He stopped as they approached the doorway at the end of a long building. The others had gone in already, and th
e door had shut behind them.
“Here’s the deal,” Chio explained, putting his hand on an access panel. “The doors won’t open unless someone who’s authorized puts his hand on the ID panel. Our uniform belt buckles give off a signal, so the system can track everyone who’s going in and out, but if you’re not in uniform, you’re not supposed to use the door without putting your hand on the panel, even if someone else opened it already. Got it?”
Prax nodded. It seemed simple enough.
Chio walked through the open door, with Prax right behind him. “Welcome to the security wing,” Chio said.
They had come out in a long, wide hallway, with a dozen doors, at least, on either side. Ahead of them, he could see Nakamura and Tinibu each going into different rooms on opposite sides. Other staff kept walking toward the far end of the hallway.
“These are the on-call rooms,” Chio said, waving a hand at the closest doors. “Guys who live out use these rooms when they’re on call. They don’t get the same one every time, you understand. They take whichever one is free. Those of us who live on the estate full-time each have our own rooms, the larger ones farther up the hallway.”
Prax decided to wait to ask what ‘on call’ meant. He looked left and right as he walked, but all the doors were shut.
Chio stopped about halfway down the corridor. “This room’s available.” He opened a door on the left side. “Here you go, Prax. This is home.”
Prax stepped into the room and looked around. It was only medium-sized, but the ceiling was higher than on the ship. That and the pale yellow walls made it seem more spacious. And there were two large windows, which made Prax feel much better about staying there. The furniture consisted of a wide bed, two dressers, a set of shelves, a small sofa, a desk, and two chairs.
“Get settled in,” Chio said as Prax put his saddle bags on the nearest dresser. “The chief always gives us the rest of the day off when we get back from a trip. There’s staff here already, and they’ll be on duty. That gives us a chance to get accustomed to the time change. This trip wasn’t so bad—ship time says it’s mid-afternoon and local time says it’s morning. Sometimes we arrive in the middle of the night, ship time, only it’s bright daylight in Shembor.”
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