Taas stared at me. “You’ve been a Trader server?”
“No.” I spoke with a calmness I didn’t feel. “A provider.”
Taas blanched, and Helda’s muscles bunched up along her shoulders. Provider. It was one of the ugliest Aristo euphemisms.
Helda rolled her shoulders like a fighter easing out knotted muscles. “How you escape?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t talk about it. Across the Arcade, the Traders were talking among themselves, probably discussing the outrage our being allowed to walk on the same boardwalk as them.
Taas spoke awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Primary Valdoria. About Tams.”
I tried to smile. “Call me Soz, all right?” I had told him that so many times I had lost count.
He reddened. “Yes, ma’am.”
Helda’s thought brushed my mind, far weaker than I had felt from Rex: I also am sorry. Then, more lightly: Give Taas time. You scare the bejeebs out of him.
Hey! Taas thought. I caught that. He glared at her. I have no bejeebs. Whatever they are.
Rex sent them a mental grin. That’s because Soz scared them all off.
I tried to smile, knowing they meant to diffuse the tension. And I should be pleased; it was the first time Taas had succeeded in joining our link without help from our ships. But I couldn’t stop staring at the Traders. They had started to walk, keeping watch on us as they receded into the crowds.
“Looks like we bore them,” Helda said.
Taas shifted his feet back and forth like a ball player waiting for his opponent to make a move. “We can’t let them walk away.”
“What justification would you give for anything else?” I asked.
“They’re Traders,” Taas said. “Isn’t that enough?”
I tilted my head toward the Allied police officers who had gathered in the area, their blue and silver uniforms easy to spot among the crowds. “I doubt they would agree.”
Taas scowled. “If it wasn’t for us, the Traders would have long ago taken over their Allied Worlds. They should be grateful we’re here.”
I smiled slightly. “If it wasn’t for the Traders keeping us occupied, we might have long ago taken over their Allied Worlds.”
Taas’s forehead creased. “Don’t you hate the Traders?” He hesitated. “Especially after—”
“Brawling in the street won’t serve any purpose,” I said. “It also happens to be illegal here.”
Helda shrugged at Taas. “We have better ways to occupy our time, Hoiya. I would like a drink, myself.”
I had never quite figured out what Hoiya meant in Helda’s language, but I thought it was something like “sweet young one.” Taas had yet to realize it was more than a nonsense word she threw into her sentences. It was going to be entertaining to see her explain herself when he realized she was calling him a sweet boy.
Rex smirked. “Heya, Helda, Hoiya, you want to get drunk?”
“Hoiya yourself,” Helda grumbled. Then she grinned. “Maybe a few drinks, heh?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” I said. A strong drink, the kind that obliterated memories.
#
Night had been pressing down on the sunset for over an hour, darkening the reddish-purple streak of sky along the horizon. A full day here lasted sixty-two hours, and the sunset clung to the sky as if it resisted giving up the light. Clouds streaked the horizon, their lower edges rimmed with a brilliant pink that deepened as the sunset withdrew behind the Arcade roofs. The heavens overhead had turned a deep violet. The Delos sun emitted more purple light than most human habitable planets, and the thin atmosphere scattered it less, giving the sky a purple tinge even here at sea level.
The Arcade was even more crowded now, as people took advantage of the respite from the heat. With thirty hours of sunlight, the temperature heated up a great deal during the day. It was more comfortable for humans in the evening, as the day cooled down.
We walked along a line of bars. Their holosigns lit up the dusk: a shocking pink flower glowing over a door, gilded insects flying in ellipses, a cluster of blue-green planets orbiting a blue giant star that could never really support such a solar system. Hologram screens sided most of the bars, spawning holos everywhere: poles of light rotated between buildings, swirling with gaudy purple and red stripes; luminous arches spanned the roofs; scampering animals sparked and popped like firecrackers as they ran up walls or morphed into different species.
Music jangled, raucous tunes mixing with seductive melodies. Sounds jumped out as we approached their sources and receded into the general buzz after we passed. Hawkers called out from doorways in a slew of languages. The ones I understood were trying to entice customers with promises of liquor and smoke-sticks, and seeds of the oilweed plant that set you to dreaming or to making love for hours. The smell of cooking meat and spices saturated the air.
I couldn’t read most of the holosigns. Finally I pulled down a translation menu in my mind and overlaid it on an elegant sign that said “Constantinides.”
Translate, I thought.
Greek, my node answered. Translation: Constantinides.
“Well, that helps a lot,” I said.
“Where you want to go?” Helda asked.
I pointed to a rusty building. One pole topped its roof, with a few desultory circles that clanked in the wind. The holosign above the door was in English, the only language I had seen so far that I could even marginally read without a translator.
“Jack’s Place,” I said.
Rex peered at the bar. “It sounds vintage Earth.”
Helda snorted. “It look vintage wreck.”
“Come on, Helda.” Rex laughed. “Be brave.”
“Why you want to go to this place?” she demanded.
“Because,” Rex said. “It looks like it has authentic old Earth atmosphere.”
“This is good thing to have?” Helda asked.
I smiled, in a better mood than earlier. “Let’s give it a try and see.”
So we went inside, pushing open the door under the sign. Tables covered by red and white checked cloths filled the room. A counter stretched along one wall, its black top pitted with age. Stools lined the counter, each upholstered in a red material that shone from use. A man with stains on the white apron tied across his big stomach stood behind the counter, polishing a glass. A band was playing on a small stage in one corner. The instruments were unfamiliar: hourglass shaped boxes with strings pulled tight, gold horns with handles that moved in and out, and fat drums. The music had a compelling rhythm, a sensual blend of sound that made me want to dance with the young man who was singing. Garish cartoon holos flickered in front of panels that lined the stage.
A woman in a short skirt was waiting on the tables. Taas watched her with a boyish grin. “I like this place.”
Rex smiled his agreement. “Let’s sit at a table.”
Helda glanced at Taas and tilted her head at the waitress. “Nice, hmm? But we better not fight. Save that for Traders. I’m too much bigger than you anyway.”
Taas blinked at her. “What?”
“She doesn’t want to fight you for the waitress,” I said.
“Why would Helda and I fight over the waitress?”
“Beats me.” I was no judge of beauty in women. Now in men, that was different. But to me the waitress just looked like a too young girl in a too tight skirt. It had to be cutting off her circulation.
Rex laughed. “Maybe the three of us should offer ourselves and let her pick.”
“Hah,” I said. “What makes you think she’d pick any of you?”
“The three of us?” Taas asked.
Helda leaned toward him. “Me, you, Rex.”
Taas turned bright red. “You like women? Not men?”
“Of course,” Helda said.
“Oh.” Taas scratched his chin. “Well, you may be bigger than me, but I have more style.”
The waitress came over and spoke shyly to Rex in English. “Would you like a table?”
He answered in Skolian, giving her his sexiest grin. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but it sounds beautiful.”
“She wants to know if we like tables,” I said. I pulled down my translation menu. It hung over the waitress, who was looking from me to Taas to Helda. I knew I probably had the same glazed expression I saw on their faces.
Waiting, my node prompted.
Rex smiled at the waitress. “They’re meditating,” he said in Skolian.
She reddened, then looked around for someone who could help her.
Translate ‘We would like drinks and food,’ into English, I thought.
The waitress gave up looking for help and tried speaking to Rex again. “What can I do for you?” The Skolian translation of her words came into my thoughts, interfering with my attempt to translate what I wanted to say into English.
“Pah,” I muttered. My node was optimized for combat, not translation. Maybe I should have added that diplomacy mod after all. It would augment my social skills and upgrade my language capability. But I had loaded the node to capacity with combat mods and libraries, and I had no intention of removing even one. My life might someday depend on it. I didn’t want to enlarge the node again, either. My biomech system had reached the limit of what was considered safe even with state-of-the-art technology.
Besides, it wouldn’t hurt me to practice English without a node whispering in my ear. Translation program end, I thought. As the menu vanished, I spoke to the waitress in the best English I could muster. “Is okay there we sit?” I motioned at a booth by the far wall.
“Certainly.” The red color receded from her face, and my own cheeks cooled. She glanced at Helda and Taas, who both looked normal again, and her shoulders lowered. My own relaxed, too.
After taking some big cards from a nearby table, the waitress headed for the booth. As we walked behind her, she looked back at Rex and blushed. Following her glance, I noticed how tightly his pants fit. They clung to his well muscled legs like supple black leather, menacing and sexy at the same time. And those big hands. How did they feel when they—
“Why are you staring at me?” Rex asked.
“What?” I flushed. “I wasn’t.” Block, I thought. As the psicon flashed in my mind, the waitress’s reaction to Rex receded in my thoughts. His pants looked normal again. Almost normal. She was right; it was sexy the way they fit him. I had never noticed it before, at least not consciously.
“Always,” Helda muttered as we walked to the booth. “Always they want him.”
“You mean Rex?” Taas asked.
“Ya.” She tilted her head at me. “The boys always want her.”
I laughed. “I seem to remember a few of them wanted Rex too.”
At the sound of my laugh, the waitress jumped like a skitter-colt. She stopped at the booth and fumbled with the cards, dropping them onto the scratched table top. Then she turned to us. So we all stood and watched her, waiting to see what she would do. After a moment she turned pink.
“She wants us to sit down,” Taas decided.
“So let’s sit.” Rex squeezed past her, putting his hand on her tiny waist in the process. Her face went from pink to bright red. Then the rest of us sat down.
The waitress spoke to Rex. “Would you like a drink?”
He answered in Skolian, his deep voice rumbling. “That lovely voice of yours could fill my dreams at night.”
“If you get bored with him,” Helda added, “you can have us.” She motioned at Taas, who sat across the table. “Me and him. He’s got style, I’ve got muscles.”
“Excuse me?” the waitress asked in English.
“Leave her alone,” I said. I picked up one of the cards she had put on the table. At the top, clear tubes filled with fluorescent yellow gas announced JACK’S PLACE. Projection holos floated above speckled patches, each displaying a dish of food. When I turned the card, the holos showed different views of their offerings.
My translation program gave “synthetic meat sandwich” as the meaning of Hamburger. I tried Hot dog and got “synthetic meat sandwich.” When Beef Bliss came up as “synthetic meat sandwich,” I gave up and looked at the others. “What do you want?”
“Ale is fine,” Rex said. Helda and Taas nodded agreement.
I spoke to the waitress in English. “You ale do?”
She peered at me. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Ale,” I repeated. “Got any?”
“You mean beer?”
I squinted at her. “I think.”
“Dark or light?”
What did that mean? “Any kind. You prick.” No that wasn’t right. She was turning red again. I made another try. “You pick.” I waved my hand at the others. “Four beers.”
“All right.” And off she went, but not before she gave Rex another one of her shy smiles.
Across the room, the door opened. A group came into the bar—and this time when my shoulders went rigid it was my own reaction, not anyone else’s.
Traders. Six of them had showed up this time, the five we had seen earlier plus a man they were guarding. A man with shimmering black hair and red eyes.
Aristo.
As soon as they saw us, the Traders stopped. We all stared at one another. The bartender quit polishing his glass and set it under the counter.
Don’t you hate them? Taas had asked. Hate was too mild. I saw the Aristo and my brain felt hot with memories of Tarque, the Aristo governor on Tams. Three weeks of torture. This Aristo stared at me with his carnelian-red eyes, his black hair shimmering, and I wanted to break every perfect bone in his perfect face.
Steady, I told myself. Steady.
One of his bodyguards leaned toward him and spoke. I didn’t need telepathy to know he suggested they find a bar with a higher class of clientele. But the Aristo shook his head. Then he settled on a stool at the counter.
“I can’t just sit here while they drink.” Taas was crumpling his menu in his hands. “I can’t.”
Rex nodded. “Let’s go.”
Helda stood up.
“Sit down,” I said.
They all stared at me. Then Helda sat, her body stiff.
Rex nudged my mind, but I kept the door closed. My thoughts about Traders were private even from Rex. To say I had no desire to stay at the bar now was a profound understatement. It was also irrelevant. “Aristos don’t come to Delos for vacations,” I said. “He must be here for a reason. Our job is to find it out.”
A muscle in Rex’s cheek jerked. He’d had that twitch ever since he had seen what Tarque did to me, seen me so rigid with shock, fear, and pain, I couldn’t speak.
Helda fingered her belt where her holster normally hung. None of us were armed with anything more than hidden knives. Even without a diplomacy mod, I knew how threatening it would have looked for us to stroll along the Delos boardwalk with the mammoth Jumbler guns on our hips. We had come here to rest, not to provoke the local authorities. The Traders hadn’t been armed when we had seen them before, either, but now they all carried burn-lasers, complete with power packs clipped to their belts. It suggested the man they were protecting was high in status even for an Aristo.
“Watch them,” I said. “See if you can pick up anything.”
The waitress reappeared and set a glass in front of me filled with amber liquid. I didn’t know much about Earth distillation processes, but I knew liquor. That wasn’t ale, it was rum. My English must have been even worse than I realized.
I shook my head at her. “We beer have.” I motioned at the others. “Beer. For all.”
She swallowed. “It’s a—” Her voice squeaked. “The man—he ordered it for you.”
“What man?”
She nodded toward the Aristo. “Him.”
I stared at her. Then I handed her the rum. I had to make a conscious effort not to shove it back in her hands so fast that it spilled.
Rex stood up and slipped his hand under her elbow. He drew her to the back of the room and out a door that probably l
ed to the kitchen. I understood why he wanted her out of sight; if she was having the same effect on the Aristo that she had made on our group, she could be in trouble. But the Aristo hadn’t even glanced at her. I was the one he was watching. I felt like bugs crawled on my skin.
Taas twisted his menu, distorting the holos into weird mish-mashes of color. “What do you want us to do?”
“Note everything you can about them,” I said. “What they’re wearing, how they sit, move, and speak. Store it in your memory. We’ll feed it into the mesh later and see what we come up with.”
Helda motioned toward some hologames in a corner. “From there I get a different view.”
I nodded. “Go.”
Across the room, the musicians finished their song. They looked at the Traders and us, then at one another. The drummer spoke to a horn player, and a sudden urge to get out of here made the muscles in my legs contract as if I were preparing to run. I had to force myself to sit still. Then again, maybe sitting wasn’t the best choice. The stage had a better view of the Trader group.
“I can keep this side of the room covered,” Taas said.
“Good.” I smiled slightly. “I think I’ll go for some music appreciation.”
As I crossed the room, I felt the Aristo watching me. When I reached the stage I spoke to the singer, a man with dark hair. “Can you a song play?”
“What would you like?” he asked.
“You pick.”
He nodded, but I had a feeling that what he really wanted was for us to leave, both my squad and the Traders. I didn’t blame him.
The band started a slower piece with a sweet melody, and the man sang in a well trained baritone. Had the situation been different, I would have enjoyed it. I watched the Trader group in my side vision. So I saw when the Aristo stood up and came toward me. As he neared, I turned to him.
He stopped at my side and spoke in Skolian. “It’s pleasant, isn’t it?” His accent was pure Aristo from the elite Highton caste, the aristocracy of the aristocracy, overlords in the Trader hierarchy.