“Guesh. So,” I said, and watched them all frown as they heard the words come out. I felt for the patch on my throat, found it under my chin, and peeled it off. “Drugged. Me.”
“Standard procedure with Hydran prisoners,” Borosage said, glaring at me, at Sand. “Without the drug blocking their psi, we couldn’t keep them in detention.”
Sand’s frown deepened, but he didn’t question it. “Get him the antidote,” was all he said.
“Wait a minute,” Borosage said, starting to get his nerve back. “This is my prisoner—”
“And is this how you treat your prisoners?” Sand snapped. “Drugging them and then beating a confession out of them?” He shot a look at Kissindre’s uncle and Protz this time, while some part of me wondered how often he’d done the same thing himself, or something too much like it.
Borosage’s face reddened. “No, sir,” he said sourly. “Just the freaks.” Resentment and incomprehension filled his face as he realized that Sand wasn’t here for the reason he’d expected; that he had no idea what the hell Sand really wanted from him. “This ‘breed was involved in the kidnapping of a human child by Hydran radicals—” Barely controlled anger stretched his voice to the breaking point. “We caught him red-handed! The Board ordered me to do whatever was necessary to get the child back. I was just following orders.”
Sand glanced at me again. Behind him I saw Kissindre and the others still gaping like virgins at the door of a whorehouse. “You have arrested the wrong man, Borosage,” Sand said, his voice as empty of emotion as his mirrored eyes. “And you were just about to put him in the hospital for no reason at all.”
“No, sir!” Borosage swelled up like he’d sucked poison. “We caught him holding the missing child’s ID, over in Freaktown. And he’s wearing a databand, which is stolen property, because, as you know, sir, mixed bloods are ineligible for full Tau citizen status.”
Sand glanced at me in sudden surprise; his eyes searched out my databand. He studied me a minute longer, running God only knew what kinds of analyses on my responses with the cyberware behind his eyes. But he only said, “Until about three hours ago, your prisoner and I were attending a formal reception with these people here.” He gestured. “The reception being held up at the Aerie for the xenoarchaeology team that your government has brought here to study the cloud-reefs. Your prisoner is a member of that team. He has been on-planet for less than a day. I’m sure he has some explanation for this.” He glanced at me again, back at the sullen knot of Corpses. “Give him the antidote.”
Borosage nodded, barely. Fahd came and stuck another patch on my neck.
I waited, silent, until enough time had passed for my speech to come around. I said, slowly and carefully, “I went for a walk. I wanted to see the Hydran town.…” I glanced away from their expressions. “A woman with a child ran into me. She said someone was chasing her. She seemed frightened. I thought I could help her.” I wondered again why she hadn’t just teleported herself and the child to somewhere safe. “I didn’t know it wasn’t her child. I didn’t know it was the Corps—Corporate Security—who wanted her, until it was too late.” I shrugged, keeping my face empty the way I’d learned to do in Oldcity interrogation rooms.
“You didn’t wonder about the databand?” Sand asked, his face as expressionless as mine.
“I didn’t have time to think about it,” I said. That was true enough. No time to wonder if I was being set up, or why. Just because I was a stranger? Or because she’d known what I was? I remembered her fingers touching my face, the look in her eyes.… A sourceless pain filled me that was more like loss than betrayal.
“You always come to the aid of complete strangers, in a—” Sand broke off, looking at but not into my eyes for a second too long, “when you know nothing about the situation?”
“Yes,” I said, looking back at him. “If it looks like they need my help.”
“I wouldn’t have thought Oldcity taught that kind of lesson.” He raised his eyebrows.
“It didn’t,” I said, still meeting his stare.
Sand made a motion that might have been a shrug, whatever that meant. “The situation here tonight was not what you thought it was,” he said.
I sat waiting, but no one said anything more. Slowly I pulled my shirt together and refastened it, pulled my jacket back onto my shoulders. My hands kept fumbling the job. I glanced up, meeting Kissindre Perrymeade’s pale, tense stare. I looked away again, wiped half-dried blood off my chin. As I got to my feet, every muscle in my body tightened against the blow that would knock me back down into the seat.
It didn’t come. “Am I free to go now?” I looked at Sand, ignoring Borosage. I took a step toward the door.
“Is his patron here?” Borosage said, looking straight at me but speaking as though I wasn’t in the room. “The prisoner is a mixed-blood. I can’t release him until I have his work permit on file, and get assurance from his human patron that he’ll be kept out of trouble in the future.”
I swore under my breath, saw Borosage’s goons go on alert as I swung around.
“He’s a citizen of a Federal District, Quarro—” Kissindre’s uncle said, too sharply. “He’s not subject to Tau’s resident alien laws.”
“I determine Tau policy in this sector.” Borosage’s jaw tightened, as if Perrymeade’s tone had pushed him one centimeter too far. “I’m responsible for enforcing the laws here, and until I’m told different by the Board, anybody who sets foot here is subject to my interpretation of those laws. All individuals of Hydran heritage,” he spat the words like phlegm, “are required to have a human patron who will assume responsibility for them. Otherwise they are not permitted free access to areas under Tau’s dominion.”
“I’m his patron,” Kissindre said, pushing forward. Her lips were a white line. “I’ll certify any data you want.”
“Open record,” Borosage muttered, to some dataport on him or somewhere in the room. An ugly smile pulled at his mouth. “And just what sort of use will you be making of this individual of mixed blood, Mez Perrymeade? Would that be professional, or recreational—?”
Kissindre blushed blood-red. Janos Perrymeade muttered a curse and stepped forward.
Sand caught Perrymeade’s arm in a hard grip, for as long as it took Perrymeade to control his temper. Sand’s expression didn’t change, but I saw Borosage mottle with anger and realized they must be communicating—arguing, probably—subvocally, wearing some kind of boneboxes. Humans had to rip open and rewire their bodies with artificial circuitry to give themselves even a pale copy of the psionic abilities a Hydran was born with. Even Borosage must need some kind of augmentation to let him do his job. I studied his alloy skullplate, wondering just how altered he was.
At last Sand looked at me again. “You’re free to go,” he said tonelessly. “This regrettable misunderstanding has been cleared up. Draco offers you its sincere apology for any discomfort or embarrassment this incident has caused you. I’m sure that since your interference in a Security action resulted in the escape of a kidnapper, you will have no complaints to file about your treatment here.” He stared at me, deadpan, with unblinking eyes. Finally he looked at Borosage again.
“Our regrets,” Borosage said, cold-eyed, flexing his hands, and I wondered what it was he was regretting.
I didn’t say anything, knowing enough to keep my mouth shut. I saw the anxiety that filled Kissindre’s face and her uncle’s as they watched me. I nodded finally, swallowing my anger like the taste of blood.
I moved across the room, not quite steady on my feet, until I was standing in the doorway, with the barrier of Sand’s body separating me from Borosage and the Corpses behind him. Kissindre’s uncle offered me a hand. I shook my head. I turned my back on the chair and the restraints and the prod, and the ones who’d used them on me, and left the station.
We were out in the street again—the perfectly clean, quiet, well-lit street. I looked back at the station entrance, its dark mouth open in a perpet
ual oh of surprise. It was no different from the entrances to half a dozen other buildings along the street. Somehow that was more frightening than if it had had prison written all over it. “Fucking bastards—” I said, and reaction squeezed my throat shut.
Kissindre touched my arm. I jerked away, startled. She pulled her hand back.
I lifted my hand, because I hadn’t meant it that way, hadn’t wanted her to stop touching me. Suddenly I wanted to feel her arms around me, her lips on my bruised mouth; not caring that it would hurt, not caring what anyone thought. Just wanting to feel her against me, wanting her—
I took a deep breath, pulling myself together, and wiped my mouth again with the back of my hand. I realized finally that Ezra hadn’t come with the rest of them. And I realized that I was almost as glad not to see him here as I was glad to be free. Realizing it pissed me off, but that didn’t make it a lie. “No wonder the FTA is investigating Tau for rights violations,” I muttered, looking hard at Kissindre’s uncle.
He looked away, grimacing, but Sand said, “There was nothing illegal about what happened to you here.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Under the Internal Security Act, anyone suspected of behavior which threatens the corporate state can be detained, without any charges being brought against them, for indefinite two-year periods.”
I almost asked if he was serious; didn’t. It didn’t take a mind reader to see that he didn’t have that kind of sense of humor.
“It’s been a part of virtually every combine charter,” Perrymeade said, as if he had to explain it, or excuse it, “since colonial days, on worlds with … an indigenous population.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I said. I glanced at Kissindre.
She tried to meet my eyes; ended up looking away like her uncle had. She didn’t say anything. Nobody said anything.
“I think I’ll go back to the hotel now,” I said as they stood there, staring at me like they’d been put on hold. “You coming?” I asked Kissindre, finally.
“I—Uncle Janos invited me to stay with his family tonight.” She glanced at him, back at me. “Why don’t you come home with us?”
“Yes, why don’t you? You’d be very welcome,” Perrymeade said. He looked directly at me for the first time since we’d come out of the station, as if he’d finally thought of a way to save face.
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head. I didn’t have the stomach for spending what was left of the night discussing race relations with people who’d be fined a hundred fifty credits for failing to recycle. I wondered what the fine was for failing to keep your guests out of trouble … or failing to treat them like human beings. “Thanks anyway,” I mumbled, realizing that what had come out of my swollen mouth said more than I’d meant it to.
“I really feel we need to discuss the … situation here, the circumstances—” Perrymeade broke off, gestured toward the mod that had come drifting down at some silent command of his. Tau’s logo showed on its sleek, curving side.
I shook my head. “Nothing to say.” I wasn’t sure whether I meant them or me. The words sounded numb, the way my entire body felt now, except for the inside of my mouth. I probed a torn cheek with my bitten tongue, hurting myself.
“I’ll see you back to the hotel, then—” Protz said, coming alive for the first time since I’d seen him in the doorway of the interrogation room. He put his hand on me like he expected me to disappear again.
I broke his hold, too roughly; saw Sand give me a look.
“I probably don’t need to tell you,” Sand said to me, “that we did not make any friends in there tonight.” He nodded at the Corporate Security station behind us. I was surprised to find myself included in his we. “It was regrettable. But I would be … conservative, if I were you, about your future activities while you remain in Riverton.”
I nodded, frowning.
“Then let me get you a taxi—” Protz insisted, treading water.
“I don’t need your help,” I said. I input the cab call on my data-band, forcing them all to acknowledge that I had one, and the right to use it.
“It’s after curfew,” Protz said. “Be certain you go directly to the hotel—”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, and he stiffened.
“Tomorrow we go out to the reefs.” Kissindre moved in between us, forcing me to look at her. I wasn’t sure if that was a promise, or just a reminder because she thought I wasn’t tracking.
I nodded again, looked up into the night, searching the light-washed darkness for my transportation. They all waited around me until the taxi arrived. I got in, not able to stop Protz from giving it instructions before the door sealed. I slumped down in the seat and put my feet up as the mod lifted, finally able to drop my guard, finally leaving it all behind.
I looked out and down as the taxi carried me over the silent city. I thought about the good citizens of Riverton, all in their beds and sleeping because they’d been told to be, or pretending they were. I thought about Oldcity, where I’d spent most of my life … how it only really came alive at night. How I’d lived for the night, lived off it, survived because of it. Night was when the tourists and the rich marks from upside in Quarro came slumming, looking for things they couldn’t get in a place like Tau Riverton. Oldcity existed because Quarro was a Federal Trade District, neutral ground. No single combine ran anything, or everything. You’d always find an Oldcity somewhere inside a place like Quarro.
There was no Oldcity here; no room for deviance in a combine ‘clave. Everything was safe and sane; clean, polite, healthy, and prosperous. Under control. There was no unpunished crime down there in those streets, no illegal drugs. No thieves or whores or refugees, no orphans raped in alleys, no one coughing their guts up in public from a disease most people had forgotten the name of. No freaks.
The cab told me to get my feet off the upholstery. I put my feet down, feeling the memory of Oldcity like the pain of a festered wound. They wanted everyone to believe that life in this place was better than in a place like Quarro. That people were. But the rot was just better concealed. I rubbed my raw, weeping face with my blistered hand, looking out at the bright darkness of the night.
The mod let me off at the hotel entrance and reminded me not to forget anything. “Not a chance,” I said. I went in through the vaulted lobby filled with trees and flowering shrubs that looked a lot healthier than I did, let the lift carry me up inside the tower, walked the last few meters to my own door, all without having to look a single overly solicitous member of the human staff in the face.
The door read my databand and let me in. It closed again behind me, sealing me in, so that I was safe at last in a room that looked exactly like every other room in this hotel. I wondered whether the rest of the team had gotten back from the reception. It didn’t really matter, because I barely knew any of them except Ezra, and I didn’t like Ezra.
I collapsed on the bed, asked the housekeeping system for ice and a first-aid kit. A flow-mural was seeping across the far wall: hypnotic forms in oozing black, the kind of art that could make you wake up in the morning wanting to slash your wrists without knowing why. I called on the threedy, blotting it out.
I asked for the Independent News. They didn’t carry it here. I watched the replay of the Tau Late News flicker on instead, half listened through a rogue’s gallery of people who’d been caught smuggling porn, littering, or leaving a public toilet without washing their hands.
There should have been something about the kidnapping. There wasn’t. There was a short, empty piece on the arrival of the research team, though, with scenes of the party at the Aerie. It closed with a view of the cloud-reefs and a long shot of the cloud-whales themselves.
I reached for a headset and requested every visual the system had on file of the reefs and the cloud-whales. The room disappeared around me as the mask fitted itself against my face. I canceled the sound, because I already knew anything a Tau voicefeed would have told me. For a f
ew minutes at least I could be somewhere I wanted to be: feeling the touch of the wind, looking out across view after view as each one carried me deeper into the mystery my senses called beauty.…
Until at last the feed of images—the reef formations laid out on the green earth like offerings for the eye of God, the cloud-whales blown like sunlit smoke across an azure sky—bled away into neural static. I lay still until the final phantom image had burned itself out of my nerve endings.
When the visions were gone, the memories of tonight were still waiting.
I told myself fiercely to remember why I was here; remember that Kissindre Perrymeade had wanted me on her crew because I could do this kind of interpretive work better than anyone else. I hadn’t come to Refuge to get myself arrested over in Freaktown, to humiliate myself or her, to make Tau regret they had asked us here to perform a task that for once wouldn’t be strictly for their profit.…
I blew through the menu of other programming, trying to find something that would keep me from thinking, something that would stop the fist of my anger from bruising the walls of my chest—anger that I couldn’t forget and couldn’t share and couldn’t make go away. Something to relieve my tension so that I could sleep, so that I could face all those human faces tomorrow—all those eyes with their round, perfectly normal pupils—and not tell them to go to hell.
There was nothing on the vid menu now but public service programming, production documentaries, and a random selection of the mindrot interactives I could have spent hours lost in, and been perfectly happy, not so long ago.… Except that here the interactives began with a red censor logo, telling me they’d had the good parts cut out of them.
I jerked off the headset and threw it on the floor. The headset retracted into its slot at the bedside, drawn up by some invisible hand. It clicked into place in the smooth line of the console, as if it was making some kind of point about my personal habits. I ordered the wallscreen to blank and called on the music menu. It was just as stale. I lay back again on the bed that was exactly warm and exactly comfortable enough, sucked on ice as I stared at the white, featureless ceiling.