Prime- The Summons

  There was another beep. Xai looked up, forward over the head of her fusset, and saw the boomerang hurtling back toward her, a large red globe attached to it. All of the riders began scrambling along the back of their fusset toward the front. The boy with whips on the fusset next to hers lost his handhold and fell to the ground with a frightened shout. Joaana had her bando in her teeth and was pulling herself arm over arm up the semi-circles on the back of her fusset. Xai felt a sharp tug on her knee and looked down to see Joaquim hanging from one arm there, unfurling his bando.

  The Andraxian leapt from his fusset to hers, his hand wrapping around one of the handles on her chest strap, his boot striking a glancing blow at Joaquim’s arm. A bando whip snaked through the air, making a popping sound perhaps a millimeter from Xai’s nose. The Andraxian reached out with an agile grip and caught his boomerang. He then swung himself up and leapt back to his own fusset, his boot slamming into Xai face, still sore from the blow during the fight.

  Xai felt a sharp rush of tears into her eyes and a flood of blood into her mouth. “What sort of a game is this?” she cried angrily. The Andraxian grinned at Xai, clipping the red orb to the leather belt at his waist.

  Joaquim pulled himself back into the crook of the fusset’s tail. “Use your mitts next time!” Joaquim shouted. “Are you all right?”

  “No!” Xai retorted angrily.

  Joaquim laughed. The Andraxian threw his boomerang out once more. Joaquim shot his bando out. The whip end wrapped around the boomerang, stopping it in mid flight. The Andraxian roared something, and leapt for Joaquim.

  Joaquim leaned back. The Andraxian hurtled past him, his reaching fingers going for the riderless fusset on the other side of Xai’s and missing. Joaquim snaked his bando out. Xai watched, amazed, as it wrapped around the red orb and pulled it from of the Andraxian’s belt. The man fell, oddly silent, to the floor.

  “Is that allowed?” Xai asked.

  Joaquim laughed. “It’s fussa!” he cried. “Everything is allowed!”

  There was another beep. Joaana Kumar stood victoriously in the curve of her fusset, slipping a red orb into her belt. She laughed at her father when she saw his face and moved up the curve of her fusset.

  Joaquim’s eyes narrowed with the challenge. The two crouched like mirrors of each other in the curve of their fusset, waiting for the third and final orb. There were only four pairs left, by then, two T’lasians, a T’lasian and an Edoxian, Joaana, and Joaquim. Xai felt her heart pounding excitedly in her chest, in the rhythm of the frenzied beat of the fusset’s feet.

  At the last moment, when they were almost upon the orb, Joaana looked away from the race and up at Xai. Their eyes met across the space between them. Xai was struck again by Joaana’s similarity to Joaquim, a similarity that not only in her actual features but also in her simple, relaxed confidence. Xai heard the snap of several bando. Joaquim gave an exultant cry. Joaana smiled slightly and turned away.

  “Look out, Xai!” Joaquim cried.

  Xai looked down and saw the two remaining T’lasian riders leaping from the backs of their fusset toward them.

  The last minutes of the race were sheer madness. One of the T’lasians managed to wrap his bando around Joaquim’s leg and pull him half off Beao. The other leapt to hang off Xai’s belt strap. Xai quashed all of her uncertainties and slapped him when he was in midair. The man lost his hold on her belt with a startled cry. However, as he fell to the ground the T’lasian snaked his bando up and Xai felt it wrap, snapping, around her neck. Suddenly the man’s entire weight hung off the vice hanging around her throat. Xai couldn’t get her hands out of the gloves. She couldn’t breathe. The whip was a brand, choking her. Xai started to see black. She waved her hands furiously before her, to no effect. She looked down at the face of the man who was killing her. He seemed as distraught as she.

  There was a further beep. All the fusset abruptly stopped. Everything dragged forward, pulled on by momentum. The bando around her neck tightened. The T’lasian swung out in a great arc, his dark eyes bound with hers. Then, at the far end of the arc, he let go of his bando and fell, careening toward the startled crowd. There was an audible snap when his right leg connected with the ground. After that Joaquim was upon her, his hands pulling the bando away from her neck.

  Xai shut her eyes and took several deep breaths, relishing the rough scrape of air in her throat.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  XAI woke up slowly the next morning, wandering out of twelve hours of deep sleep to the new day. She yawned luxuriously; she stretched. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, her face, and the mesmerizing texture of her shortly cropped hair. She lay on her back, staring at the blue ceiling above the bed, her eyes tracing the slight curving variations of the ceiling. For the first time in months, she felt relaxed. It was wonderful.

  Fussa. The memory came back abruptly. Her fingers touched her neck and face, finding healing patches. She pulled herself up out of bed and went to the bathroom. The mirror showed her wounds were almost healed, the knitting scars tender, raised weals, the bruises fading.

  She took a long shower. She had her suit cleaned. She trimmed her hair. She brushed her teeth. She grinned at herself in the mirror, coming to know this new person—small, with a short cap of dark hair and a face more gaunt than the one she remembered. The young woman grinned back, gleeful. She’d won a race. She’d made some money—forty thousand credits in all, on a lens she now wore. She could buy herself… something. Anything she wanted. Forty thousand credits was a lot of money. Xai sauntered out into the sitting room, feeling good for the first time in months.

  Joaquim sat at the table beside a great basket of oddly shaped fruit, scrolling through a data pad. He glanced up briefly when she came in. “You look better,” he murmured, looking back down at the pad.

  Xai threw herself in the chair next to his and examined the fruit in the basket. “Is anything here edible?”

  Joaquim stopped what he was doing and examined her rested expression, his green eyes filled with amusement. “Well,” he said, looking at the fruit, his expression thoughtful, “I particularly like this one.” Reaching into the basket he pulled out a star shaped fruit covered with small, sharp spines. He put it on the table before Xai—holding it, she noticed, quite carefully.

  Xai looked at him suspiciously.

  Joaquim grinned and carefully tore the skin off one arm of the star, exposing a white, pulpy flesh. “Go ahead,” he told her.

  Xai glared at him for a moment.

  Joaquim nodded encouragingly.

  Xai took a small amount of the flesh of the fruit and put it into her mouth. It was sweet, surprisingly warm, and filled with a hundred different undertones.

  “Good, no?” Joaquim asked.

  Xai nodded and settled into the business of eating. “Did you see Ricardo and Joaana last night?” she asked. They had passed the two on their way out of the racing area, but Joaquim had seemed too preoccupied to notice. After they had won the race he had left Xai with Saras and gone off with Prama to get their winnings. He’d been in a terrible temper when they had returned, as had Prama, but by then Xai had been too tired to care.

  Joaquim looked at her, his eyes sharp. “Yes,” he said calmly. “We passed them on our way back with the winnings. He was accusing her of losing the race on purpose.”

  Xai flushed and looked away.

  “Did she?” Joaquim said, reading Xai’s expression correctly. He made an interested noise and looked down at the data scroll for a moment or two. Then, abruptly, he tossed the tablet onto the table, put his hands behind his head, and looked out into the courtyard. “I’ve been to see Ricardo,” he said calmly.

  Xai choked on a piece of fruit and began to cough. “What?” she cried, red in the face.

  Joaquim pushed a glass of water toward her. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly, “he didn’t see me.”

  Xai drank half the glass of water, put it down, and looked at him. “Why?” she asked, appalled.
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br />   Joaquim opened his hands in an oddly helpless gesture. “He is my brother. I thought I…” He stopped for a moment. “I’m not certain what I thought,” he said finally. “Perhaps I thought if I looked into his eyes, I might be able to believe what he had done to me, and finally understand why. Perhaps I only wanted to see the house I grew up in.” His countenance darkened. “What I saw were two Ruus.”

  “What do you mean?” Xai asked, battling down a sudden surge of fear.

  Joaquim looked out into the courtyard, his expression neutral. “I was waiting. For what, I am not certain. Perhaps I was merely trying to gather my courage. And I saw two Ruus go in. They were welcomed as if they had been there before.”

  “What does that mean?” Xai asked anxiously. Her appetite seemed suddenly to have left her.

  Joaquim shrugged. “I am not certain,” he said finally. “Nothing, perhaps. But somehow someone knows we are here.”

  “What does that mean?” Xai repeated.

  “It might mean that Vlad decided to increase the stakes by letting Ricardo know I have returned. Doubtless, that data would be quite valuable to him. On the other hand, Ricardo knew that Vlad was my friend. Perhaps he bought moles in the Ruus, to keep an eye on him.”

  Xai fell back in her chair, anxious and uncertain. “Would he really harm you?”

  “Vlad or Ricardo?” He shrugged after a moment, his expression bleak. “Vlad I no longer understand. As a boy he was… he wanted so badly, and had so little. Now he has everything he has ever wanted, and I think perhaps he has lost himself. Still, at heart I do not think he is a bad man. He is merely a complex man, desperately wishing for a simple world. As for Ricardo…” Joaquim’s face hardened. “Ricardo always loved power. I would not have thought him capable of such things, but he knew of Mika and did nothing.” He shook his head and looked at Xai, his expression intent, his green eyes sharp and angry. “He let my only daughter, a daughter of Prama’s true line, grow up without the protection of that name. I no longer know what a man like that is capable of.”

  Xai blinked unhappily. “Perhaps then,” she said slowly, “we should prepare for the worst.”

  Joaquim nodded, his mouth tense, his features hardened, as if for battle.

  The Second Ring was a small, ancient ring, obviously old, with the seams between the panels evident. There was only one walkway, perhaps three people wide, along the outer line of the Ring. The houses were small, one story high, with flat, simple entrance-ways and narrow doors. All of the doors were air locks, and the Ring itself was clearly divided into sections that could be closed off from each other in case of a hull breach. There were handholds on the walls and floor. It was obvious that the Ring had been made in a time in which space itself was an enemy, a force to be reckoned with.

  “This was the Second Ring constructed,” Joaquim told Xai, noting her attention. “It was very famous in its time, given the amount of clear panels used. The First Ring is almost entirely portholes.”

  “Who lives here?” Xai asked. There were no people on the street. The Ring seemed deserted.

  “I do not know,” Joaquim replied thoughtfully. “When I was a boy, you could tell who the strongest Clans were by how many of their families lived here, but Ricardo is still on the Fourth Circle, as we were when we grew up.” He walked along the street for a moment or two, his expression pensive.

  “The Syng aren’t the most powerful Clan?” Xai asked. Joaquim laughed, honestly amused by the question.

  “Ancestors, no. You see,” he explained, “the Syngs never had enough children. Why, there have only been one or two Syngs in each generation. Not like the Henriques. The first daughter of the Henriques had five sons, and that was considered a small family.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Joaquim grinned. “The source of a Clan’s power is trade. One needs traders for trade—the more potential traders one has, the more possibility for gain. Not that merely throwing bodies at a problem is necessarily the solution. Far from it. However, having people to send places does help.”

  “Is Ricardo a good trader?”

  Joaquim’s expression fell to seriousness. “Ricardo could trade to his advantage while in his sleep. He was so good at it,” he added, his expression becoming thoughtful, “that he found it dull. It accounts, perhaps, for the attraction he felt for politics.”

  The came to a stop before a small, long, low slung building painted a dark ochre. There were no windows on it, merely one, small airlock in the middle of the long red wall. “The Hall of Records,” Joaquim said. He turned to look at Xai, his expression solemn. “Now whatever you do, don’t seduce one of the attendants.”

  Xai—who had been expecting just about anything but a comment of that nature—flushed a bright red. Joaquim laughed and keyed the door open. They stepped through the airlock and into the main chamber.

  It was a small, bright room, painted yellow, with red trim. A man sat behind a small desk in the antechamber. He was quite young, rather plump, and with a somewhat befuddled air, wearing a white robe over a space suit. He also wore white projection spectacles, and was looking up at the ceiling with a preoccupied expression. Joaquim came to a stop before his table, winked at Xai, and schooled his expression to stillness.

  Eventually the young man looked away from the ceiling. “How may I help you?” he inquired politely.

  “I am Joaquim Salazar Syng,” Joaquim replied, his voice sounding very loud for the small room, “son of Isa, daughter of Rahul. I claim access to Records by the right of my birth, as one of the Chosen.”

  The young man was not paying very much attention. “She’s not T’lasian,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “She,” Joaquim said smugly, “Is a fussa winner, and thereby an honorary T’lasian.”

  The young man looked up, surprised. “Her?”

  “Check your data,” Joaquim said.

  The young man looked blankly between them, obviously accessing the data through his spectacles. He blinked.

  “Congratulations,” he told Xai.

  Xai nodded, trying very hard not to remember the race.

  The young man had clearly come across something that made him nervous—he flushed and began darting uncertain glances at both Xai and Joaquim. “Inspector Kumar,” he said anxiously into an intercom, “please come to the front desk.”

  Joaquim paled suddenly.

  “What is it?” Xai asked. She knew that expression, and it never boded well.

  “Nothing,” Joaquim replied under his breath. “It couldn’t be,” he added, almost to himself.

  A large, bluff, heavy man in his late sixties walked through the door. “What is it, Tomas?” he began. Then he saw Joaquim.

  There was a long moment of silence, as all of the color faded out of the man’s face and then returned—a dark, mottled flush of pure, unadulterated rage. “You,” he hissed.

  “Marco,” Joaquim began. He sounded unexpectedly nervous.

  The man darted across the intervening space, his huge body a blur. Xai was barely able to get between him and Joaquim, blocking his hands, pushing them down and away so that he stumbled to the side, almost falling, ending in a half crouch, his eyes still locked with Joaquim’s, looking past Xai’s defensive pose as if she did not exist.

  Tomas had risen to his feet. “Inspector Kumar,” he said, his voice shrill with fear.

  “I was in stasis,” Joaquim said quickly. “For thirty-five years. This girl found me less than two weeks ago. Marco, I swear it.”

  “You left her,” Marco snarled. Rage made his voice tremble.

  Joaquim moved around Xai and crouched before the other man, his voice intent, his eyes pleading. “I told Ricardo before I left,” he said as if his life depended on it, “I told Indira. I swear it—on the head of my mother and all my ancestors. On Antonia herself, Marco. I came today to claim them as my own. I came today to undo what was done.”

  Marco looked at Joaquim, his face falling out of fury into uncertainty.
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, Marco trying to gauge the truth, Joaquim trying to demonstrate it with his intensity and openness. “You told Ricardo?” Marco said finally.

  Joaquim nodded seriously. “I came here today to put my testimony and that of Xai into the records.”

  They looked at each other for a moment longer, two men who had known each other in another time and place. Suddenly Marco’s mouth twisted and he looked away, letting out a long breath. Slowly he began pulling himself to his feet. Tomas rushed around the table to help him. Joaquim took his other arm.

  Upright, Marco brushed carefully his knees and the front of his jacket, as if he was brushing away not only dust but also his sudden burst of emotion. When he looked at Joaquim again his eyes were calm, carrying only a vestige of his earlier fury.

  “Chosen,” he asked, “what is it that you seek?” The words were obviously part of a ritual.

  “Truth and recollection,” Joaquim said earnestly.

  “Welcome, then, to the place of remembrance,” Marco replied.

  “Here,” Joaquim said, “we shall never forget.”

  Marco turned and, with a small nod, led them into the interior of the building.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  JOAQUIM stopped Marco before they were ten paces down the narrow hallway with a hand on his arm. “Marco,” he said, “how is she?”

  Marco stopped in his tracks, turned, and looked at the taller, younger man. Surprise filled his features. “You still love her,” he murmured, amazed.

  Joaquim threw his head back and laughed. Marco’s amazement seemed to strike him as silly. “More than you can imagine.”

  Marco shook his head, astonished. “Yes,” he said slowly. “With you here, now, it is obvious. And yet we spent so many years so certain you did not.”