He stared at her with what seemed to be incomprehension, for a moment. She held him pinned against the table with the subtle, suggestive pressure of her body.
“Boss—?” the short man said, behind her.
The player gestured sharply with his hand, and the short man fell silent. The offworlder shook his head slightly, but it was not a refusal; a smile that was nothing but amused pulled up the corners of his mouth. His eyes remained expressionless. “Sure,” he said. His own hands rose, circled her, slid down her back to her metal-jangling hips. He turned her where she stood until she was facing the gaming table in front of him. She felt his body move up against hers now, not so subtly; felt the pressure of his sudden erection against her spine.
He held her hands inside his, slipping filigreed mesh over them, lifting them as if he were about to play music on an instrument. The swarming fireflies began to fill her eyes. She was only vaguely aware that her friends had gathered around her, watching her with varying degrees of amusement and envy as the game began.
He began to force her hands to move to his rhythms, murmuring explanations and encouragement in her ear as she struggled to match his artless grace. “Let go,” he said softly. “Winning means nothing. Only the act, only the flow, let it carry you like a river—”
She let go, and felt herself swept away by the flow of motion, the overflow of her senses. The light, the music, the warm pressure of his body fed the hunger inside her; the proof of his desire was a dizzying torment against the small of her back. She dissolved into the sensual heat and flow until she became one with them: her movements were his movements, she saw with his eyes, and as the gold rained down on them, she felt herself winning, and winning, the crowd’s awed cries, their applause and laughter, the shining faces of her friends, the shining gold.…
And then the faultless motion of her hands began to fail; she missed the capture of one golden trajectory, and then another and another. The spell that had held her was broken, and all at once she became aware that the hands which held hers, guiding them through the arcane ritual of control, were gone as well. Startled, wondering, she watched the light fade; the crowd began to murmur and drift apart. She peeled the golden filaments from her nerveless fingers. There were no fantastically decorated arms caging her, no warm insistent pressure against her back.
Turning, she found that the offworlder was gone; that she had no idea even of how long he had been gone. He had slipped away and left her without a word.
Her friends surrounded her, their mindless, taunting envy and praise raining down on her, as insubstantial as the rain of gold. Elco Teel was beside her with a smile of knowing mockery as he saw the look on her face. “He’s too slick for you, my little Motherlover.” It was a term of insult the offworlders used for Tiamatans, and she frowned. “Caught you in your own trap, didn’t he?” he murmured, with smug satisfaction. She brought her knee up sharply, hitting him in the groin—not hard enough to double him over, but hard enough to make him swear.
“You bitch,” he muttered. But he smiled.
“And don’t you just love it?” She kissed him, then, letting him into her mouth, closing her eyes so that she could imagine the offworlder kissing her instead.
They wandered on through the crowd in a group, finding strength in numbers among the growing press of offworlders; playing at games, watching and learning, groping after a sophistication that suddenly made their own behavior seem like childish, provincial pretense. At last, when Tor refused to let them have anything beyond three drinks, they drifted out of the club and on down the Street in search of simpler, more familiar pleasures.
As they passed the entrance to Olivine Alley, Ariele stopped, peering down its throat. For most of her life its strangely baroque hive of buildings had been the home to the Sibyl College her mother had founded. But now it was called “Blue Alley” again; it had become what it had been before—the official home of the offworlders: their government offices, their ground, not to be casually wandered into, as she had done all her life since she was a small child. There were still people moving along it, even though the hour was getting late; most of them wore the uniform of the offworlder Police. This ground had been hers to walk on, to play on, by right. But now if she entered it she knew she would be stopped, questioned, driven off—politely, because she was the Queen’s daughter, but peremptorily, as if she were a nuisance or a threat.
“Come on, Ari,” Brein said, impatiently, tugging at her arm when she still did not move.
“Wait.” She shrugged off the hold, watching the three figures coming toward the alley’s entrance. They were deep in conversation; not a pleasant one, from the look on their faces. The one in the middle was BZ Gundhalinu, the Chief Justice; on his right was the Commander of Police. At his left was Jerusha PalaThion, wearing the same dusty-blue uniform, with the insignia of a Chief Inspector.
She still had not gotten used to the sight of it, or to the sight of Jerusha among those strangers with their alien faces … making her see with painful clarity the alienness of Jerusha’s own face, a thing she had never recognized through all the years before. The three of them reached the corner and started downhill. Only Vhanu, the Police Commander, glanced her way; he frowned and looked ahead again.
“Hello, Aunt Jerusha.” Ariele called out, hearing the mocking echo of her voice come back at her from the building walls.
Jerusha stopped; she turned back, the others turning with her. She searched the faces of the cluster of gaudily dressed Tiamatan youths in wary surprise. Ariele moved forward slightly, waiting through the endless moment until Jerusha picked her out of the crowd.
“Ariele—?” Jerusha came toward them, her expression half curious and half incredulous. Ariele leaned close to Elco Teel, murmuring instructions in his ear. He nodded, and grinned.
“Ariele,” Jerusha said again; Ariele read dismay in the older woman’s stare. “What have you done to your hair?”
The Chief Justice followed Jerusha toward them, as Ariele had hoped he would; only the Police Commander remained where he was. She saw Gundhalinu’s belated, barely concealed start as he recognized her. She had not seen him close up in months. She heard Elco murmur something behind her, and snickers of laughter: He was the one. The Blue who had slept with her mother, before she was born. The one who had made the father she loved suddenly look at her as if she were a stranger, and turn away from her without a word. The one who had come back to Tiamat to tear her family apart.…
She thought she caught, again, the look she had seen in Gundhalinu’s eyes before—the strange mix of uncertainty and longing. It was not sexual, but an emotion that ran equally deep and strong … the kind of look a man might give to his long-lost child. The thought made something twist in her stomach. “Hello, Ariele,” he said, in Tiamatan; his voice was soft and faintly accented.
She looked away from him deliberately. “I wanted it to look offworld—” She touched her hair, answering Jerusha’s question instead; ignore Gundhalinu entirely now. “We love everything offworld.” She put her hands on her hips, flaunting her glittering clothes, the flamboyant circle of friends all around her.
“Except the offworlders,” Elco Teel said, with perfect venom, just as she had told him to.
“Yes,” she murmured, leaning her head languorously against his shoulder, smiling with satisfaction. “Too bad they can’t just all stay home where they belong.” She let her gaze meet Gundhalinu’s again, raking him with spite.
He looked down. “Good night, Jerusha,” he murmured, to his Chief Inspector. He glanced back at Ariele, and she thought he was going to say something more to her. But he only gazed at her a moment longer, as if he were taking her picture with his mind. And then he turned away, back to the other Kharemoughi, who was still pointedly keeping his distance, his dark face closed and suspicious. They went on down the Street.
Jerusha watched them go, before she looked back at the small cluster of Tiamatans. Ariele read disapproval and annoyance in her glance.
Jerusha opened her mouth—changed her mind, as Gundhalinu had, before the words could form. Instead, she said, “You look like a hooker.”
“What’s a hooker?” Ariele said.
“A whore,” Jerusha said flatly. “You look like a whore in that outfit.”
Ariele frowned, feeling her face redden. She had never heard the term before the offworlders had come back. “So do you,” she said sullenly. She jerked her head, the abrupt motion signaling her friends to follow her. She felt their hands stroking her, their voices in her ear congratulating her, giggling and muttering like the empty cries of sea birds as she started on down the Street, leaving behind the woman who had once been her mother’s loyal defender—and perhaps her own.
* * *
Gundhalinu sighed heavily, rubbing his face, as Vhanu fell into step beside him and they continued on their way. Vhanu glanced at his expression, and away at the crowd of Tiamatan youths who were already passing them by, accompanied by rude remarks and catcalls. Vhanu made an audible noise of disgust. “Delinquents,” he murmured, in Sandhi.
Gundhalinu did not respond, watching the crowd of teenagers, his eyes following a white-blond crest of hair bobbing in their midst; watching to see whether Ariele Dawntreader looked back at him. “Sorry, NR—what was that?” His mind snapped back into focus as he realized that Vhanu was still speaking.
“I said that—” Vhanu pointed at the Tiamatan youths disappearing into the crowd ahead of them, “is exactly the kind of thing I mean. They laughed at us! That pack of miserable—”
“In Tiamatan; please, NR—” Gundhalinu said abruptly, in Tiamatan. “Speak Tiamatan, not Sandhi. We all need the practice.”
Vhanu glanced at him, and controlled his sudden, obvious irritation. “Very well. Those miserable little—” He broke off, at a loss for a satisfactory term in a foreign tongue. “They put on our clothes and cut off their hair, but that doesn’t make them our equals. They still behave like … like … dashtanu.” He fell back into Sandhi in exasperation. Barbarians. “Damn it, PalaThion keeps putting all of us through these indoctrination sessions along with the new recruits— By all the gods, even you and I have been fed the tapes half a dozen times ourselves. I can recite the information word for word—”
“It makes a good impression when the force sees us studying the material as well,” Gundhalinu said, keeping his voice neutral; wondering to himself a little wearily when the information would actually begin to have any effect on Vhanu’s attitude.
“But the real point—which PalaThion seems incapable of understanding—is not that we need to learn the way the Tiamatans live and speak and think. They need to learn our way of doing things. Until they do, they’ll go on being dashtanu in fancy clothing, unqualified to be citizens of the Hegemony, and undeserving of its full privileges. Look at that little yiskat”— slut—“we just saw. The Queen’s daughter, and she has the manners of a mekru. She ought to be publicly thrashed; that would make the point more effectively than—”
“Vhanu!” Gundhalinu bit down on his sudden anger, as Vhanu looked at him in surprise. “The real point, NR,” he murmured, not looking at his old friend now, “is that both sides need to understand the other’s point of view. Jerusha PalaThion not only knows that, she’s done it. That’s why I wanted her to work with you in training the force. If we want more cooperation and less catcalls from the locals, we have to do it too. You do see the point of it—?”
Vhanu nodded once, stiffly. “But by all my ancestors—” he said, his voice taking on an edge, “you heard what she told them tonight, after the meeting: She was sure everyone there could see now why all intelligent beings deserved equal respect and equal treatment … but just in case someone couldn’t, she wanted them to know that anybody who so much as called a native a Motherlover could pick up their pay and turn in their uniform. She can’t enforce that.”
“Why not?” Gundhalinu said. “Her new policy has the backing of my office—and, I hope, yours.”
Vhanu looked at him again, searchingly. He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes.”
Gundhalinu glanced away at the passing crowd. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, NR, it’s that enlightened self-interest is a more effective motivator toward good than mere understanding of the situation.”
“I suppose so,” Vhanu said, somewhat glumly. He glanced away again, as someone shouted drunkenly; a fishhead flung from somewhere down an alley struck the invisible field of his bodyshield, and dropped at his feet. “Perhaps she should be encouraged to try the same methods on the natives she knows so well.”
Gundhalinu stepped over the offal. “How difficult have you found your interactions with the local constabulary to be?”
“Surprisingly easy, all things considered,” Vhanu admitted. “They seem glad enough to have our help in dealing with the increased population in the city. They’re competent and efficient, but they know their limits.”
“PalaThion trained them,” Gundhalinu said. “Give her a chance to prove what she can do for us. The rules are different than they used to be, for us, for the natives. If they don’t understand that we exist as a buffer, to protect them from our own people, then the hostility won’t stop with catcalls and fishheads; it will keep on escalating.”
“You said that PalaThion was in charge here during the Snow Queen’s reign, as Commander of the Police.” Vhanu gestured at the city around him. “Are you telling me it’s worse with the Summer Queen running things?”
“Different,” Gundhalinu said, shaking his head. They stepped aside to avoid the sudden, almost silent approach of a passenger tram. “Most of the force were Newhavenese, hard-nosed and pig-headed. They never did understand. And the Snow Queen had her own reasons for giving us hell. She did it very well. She actively protected the underworld elements on-planet, because she knew the legitimate government was exploiting her people. We have a chance to prove to the new Queen that it isn’t like that anymore—that both sides have something to gain from the new relationship.”
“Frankly, BZ, what does Tiamat have of any real value to offer us, besides the water of life? I haven’t seen anything—”
“A good point, Commander Vhanu,” a Tiamatan voice said behind them.
Gundhalinu looked back, surprised that anyone, let alone a local, would intrude on their conversation so casually. He recognized Kirard Set Wayaways, from the City Council—remembered him from the old days, vaguely, as one of the Snow Queen’s Winter favorites. He recalled an impression of mocking superiority whenever Wayaways had looked at him, or at anyone who did not share Arienrhod’s favor. Wayaways had appeared to be barely older than his own twenty standards, at their first encounter; although the wardroom gossip had it that he was closer to sixty. But without the water of life, the years since the Departure had left their mark on Wayaways. Gundhalinu observed the signs of aging in the other man’s face with silent satisfaction.
“Are you walking, when you could be using our new public transportation?” Wayaways gestured at the tram, which was moving past them again.
“We haven’t far to go,” Gundhalinu said, glancing on down the Street. “After a long day of sitting in meetings and interfacing a dataport, I prefer to walk.”
“Good idea. They say exercise is one way to keep young,” Wayaways remarked, showing a trace of the sardonic smile that Gundhalinu still remembered with distaste.
“It’s the one I prefer.” Gundhalinu began to turn away, eager to put an end to the conversation.
“Is that why you suddenly chose to get off the tram and join us?” Vhanu asked Wayaways, with a sharp curiosity that was more professional than personal. For once Gundhalinu regretted his friend’s unshakable attention to duty.
“No, actually.” Wayaways took the question as an excuse to continue with them as they began to walk again; Gundhalinu frowned. “I was just curious to see two of the top officials of our new Hegemonic government walking in the Street like anyone else. I was pleasantly surprised to see that y
ou weren’t in a hovercraft.”
“Then I hope we’ve satisfied your curiosity,” Gundhalinu said shortly. “Now if you’ll forgive us, Elder Wayaways, we were having a private conversation—”
“About the water of life.” Wayaways nodded. “Commander Vhanu was remarking that he didn’t feel our poorly endowed planet had much to offer the Hegemony, in return for all the benefits you bring to us—except for the water of life. I think that’s absolutely true. Which is why I felt compelled to behave so rudely, and intrude on your privacy.”
Vhanu glanced at Wayaways, his initial look of distrust fading. “Who did you say you were?”
“I didn’t, actually. I believe we’ve met before, but we’ve never really spoken. I’m Kirard Set Wayaways Winter. I’m one of the Queen’s advisors.” He held out his hand, palm up; Vhanu touched it briefly with his own palm. Wayaways looked back at Gundhalinu. “I was very surprised to hear that you had declared a moratorium on the hunting of mers, under the circumstances, Justice Gundhalinu. I’d think you’d be eager to start demonstrating to the Hegemony, as soon as possible, that its return to Tiamat is economically profitable as well as technologically feasible.”
Gundhalinu looked at him. “I don’t know why you find it surprising, Wayaways, since I’m doing it at the Queen’s request. A full study is being made on the question of whether the mers are actually an intelligent race, before the hunting begins again. As a member of the City Council, I’d think you would know that.”
Wayaways shrugged. “Certainly we all know about the Queen’s recent … obsession, for want of a better word, with the mers. Being a Summer, she is rather more conservative in her beliefs than her predecessor. But we don’t necessarily all agree about the wisdom of this move … just as I’m sure your people don’t all agree about it.” He raised his eyebrows.