In the center of the room, an octagonal table stood low to the ground, with gold place settings, gold utensils, and diamond goblets. Four Aristos sat around it, reclining on gilter-velvet loungers flush with the floor. The three women wore clothes tailored from glittering black cloth. The man had on an ESComm uniform similar to Taratus’s, except the crimson braid indicated he was a general rather than an admiral. Four taskmakers were serving the meal.
“The bidders,” Taratus explained.
Kelric found it hard to believe one of those people would soon own him. Taratus seemed in no hurry. He described each bidder, taking his time. They came from four different Highton lines: Mirella Kayzar, a trade expert and one of the wealthiest Traders alive; Heeza Taratus, a niece of Admiral Taratus; Tarquine Iquar, the Highton Minister of Finance; and Marix Haquail, an ESComm general whose reputation had been notorious even in Kelric’s time.
Given the size Taratus had implied he expected for the bids, Kelric knew the Aristos in that room had to be wealthy even for Hightons, which meant they were probably advanced in years. He couldn’t judge their ages. Mirella and Heeza looked in their thirties, Tarquine and Marix in their forties. He doubted any were that young. Tarquine in particular had a maturity to her face that only many decades of life could bring, even if the skin and muscle remained fresh with false youth.
Taratus was watching him. “What do you think?”
Kelric wondered what the admiral expected him to say. “I’ve never seen so many Aristos up close before.”
“No, I imagine not.” Taratus smiled. “Do you have a preference?”
“A preference?”
“For who you would like to own you.”
I don’t believe I’m having this conversation, Kelric thought. “I don’t want anyone to own me.”
Taratus tilted his head. “Can’t you Skolians see the price you pay for this ‘freedom’ you so loudly praise?”
“No.”
“Perhaps that’s the problem.” Taratus rubbed his chin. “You see your own small circle of life and miss the bigger picture.”
Don’t ask, Kelric told himself. But his curiosity got the better of him. “What bigger picture?”
“The Allieds have a saying, I believe. Something like ‘Adversity builds character.’”
Kelric knew what was coming. He didn’t want to react, but anger snapped in his voice. “And now you’re going to tell me that by suffering, providers attain a state of exaltation, right? That when you ‘benevolent’ Aristos torture us, it’s for our own good. You’re doing us a favor. And let’s not forget the honor you bestow by letting us provide you with your glorious transcendence. Which of course you deserve, you being so superior to the rest of us.”
Taratus had stopped smiling. “No matter how much sarcasm you apply, it won’t change reality. You Skolians have a sick society. It’s unstable and you know that. Look at your rulers. An Assembly of dithering civilians. All these efforts of theirs for ‘peace’ exploded in your faces with the Radiance War. If they can’t even control the Ruby Dynasty, how can they expect to build a viable civilization?”
The blood drained from Kelric’s face. “Leave the Ruby Dynasty out of it.”
“I’ve never understood why you all worship such a defective group of people.” Taratus waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh they’re pretty, I’ll grant you that. But that hardly qualifies them to lead themselves, let alone an entire civilization.” He regarded Kelric steadily. “And make no mistake, your Ruby Dynasty wields far more power than your Assembly admits.”
The admiral’s insight into the machinations of Skolian politics disquieted Kelric. “The Ruby Dynasty once governed all our people, your ancestors and mine. They’re as fit to rule today as they were five thousand years ago.”
“Interesting.” Taratus considered him. “Most Skolians would claim the Assembly holds the power rather than the Ruby Dynasty.”
Damn. He had to be more careful. “It varies.”
“A dynasty of providers.” Taratus shook his head. “You’ve elevated the weakest among you. And look at the inbreeding.” When Kelric tensed, Taratus raised his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m no fool to lap up the venom our propaganda wizards write. I’m well aware your Assembly forced the inbreeding and your Ruby Dynasty deals with it as ‘nobly’ as possible. That doesn’t change the outcome. The Ruby Dynasty is flawed. For decades Kurj Skolia, a military dictator, tyrannized your people. Then his power-hungry sister tore apart two empires. This is desirable behavior?”
Power-hungry? Never Soz. Kelric thought of her smile gentling with affection for her little brother. Then he thought of Kurj. It was true his half brother had been a powerful war leader. Whether or not he had been a dictator was a question Kelric doubted anyone could answer.
“You condemn the Radiance War because your people didn’t win it,” Kelric said. “Had undisputed triumph gone to Eube, you would be extolling the courageous forces led by your valiant warlords.”
To his surprise, Taratus gave a dry smile. “You’ve heard too many bad Aristo speeches.”
Kelric grimaced. “They’re hard to avoid.”
Taratus considered him. “Yes, had we won the war, my outlook would be different. But no matter what justifications you use to excuse the weakness of your Imperialate, it won’t change the truth. It is only a matter of time before Skolia falls to Eube. Now, with a member of the Rhon at our disposal, we will bring the rest of humanity under our protection and guidance.”
At our disposal. He remembered his brother in the broadcast, his haggard face, bound wrists, bruised shoulder. Protection and guidance? How could Taratus say those words with such conviction?
“Ah, well.” Taratus was watching his face. “I suppose this was not the best time for intellectual discussion.”
Kelric rubbed his hands along his arms as if he were cold. “I don’t think so.” His reprieve was over, unless he escaped, which seemed about as likely as the universe turning inside out.
“I suppose I’ve been delaying,” Taratus said.
“Why?” Kelric wasn’t sure he cared, but it was such a strange conversation he couldn’t stop.
“I’ve always wanted to ask a Skolian such questions. But the few I’ve known have been too traumatized.” He paused. “They didn’t like providing.”
“Would you?” Kelric’s voice cracked. “Gods, man, would you want to live that way? How can you go through with this, believing I’m human? Is the wealth really that important to you?”
“In part.” Taratus didn’t even blink at the admission. “But don’t mistake my meaning. Human or not, you were meant to provide. It is in your genes, your mind, your body. My geneticists tell me you may even rate higher than ten. They’ve never seen DNA like yours. It is a crime for you to go unowned and uncontrolled.”
Kelric didn’t try to answer. Taratus’s view of reality differed so much from his that they had almost no common ground. In the past he had assumed all humans shared certain concepts of right and wrong, and that Aristos chose to violate those concepts because they lacked morality. Now he realized that they considered the social, cultural, political, and even moral underpinnings of their lives consistent and complete. Their basic ideas of decency differed from those of his own people at a level so basic, they might as well have been different species.
He wasn’t sure what good his insights did him, but he encoded them in Quis patterns anyway. Bolt was automatically filing his patterns now, assigning tags according to mnemonics it took from his thoughts. It let him know a tag by flashing the psicon in his mind.
Taratus motioned toward another wall. “Shall we?”
So this was it. Kelric thought of what waited for him in the next room and he couldn’t move. He just looked at the admiral.
Taratus glanced at the guards. When they drew their neural blockers, Kelric shook his head. Then he made himself walk with Taratus to the other wall.
But when the admiral reached toward a control panel, Kelric sai
d, “Wait.”
Taratus glanced at him. “Yes?”
“Captain Maccar and his people—what happened to them?”
Taratus paused, watching Kelric. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He spoke quietly. “Jafe Maccar was sentenced to prison. His crew was fined and deported back to Skolia. ESComm impounded his ship. The frigates and dreadnought returned to Skolian space on their own.”
On their own. In other words, Maccar’s ship was the only one they had caught. It made sense. ESComm would have looked harder for the Corona. Things could have been a lot worse. But the news still dismayed Kelric. Maccar had done nothing wrong. His imprisonment was purely political, a result of Kelric’s actions. Knowing they would have all ended up dead or in prison if he hadn’t acted made Kelric feel no better.
“How long will he be in prison?” Kelric asked.
“Ten years.”
He struggled to mask his dismay. Ten years? In a Eubian prison? Maccar never deserved such a fate.
Taratus watched him, waiting. As Kelric’s agitation eased, he realized the Aristo was giving him a chance to compose himself before they entered the auction chamber. Disconcerted by that unexpected courtesy, he looked away, across the foyer.
When his turmoil receded, he turned back to Taratus and nodded. The admiral tilted his head in acknowledgment, then turned to the wall and touched a panel. A curved archway shimmered into existence, opening into the chamber.
Taratus went first, and the guards followed with Kelric. At the table, the Aristos stopped talking and turned to watch. General Marix was sitting across from Mirella. Heeza sat to Mirella’s left and Tarquine to Mirella’s right. Kelric felt the chasms of their minds, but his empathic reception was muted by the drugs Taratus had given him.
The admiral nodded to the other Hightons and they nodded back, reclining in their loungers. The slaves stood or knelt wherever they had been when Taratus entered, their eyes downcast.
Turning to Kelric, Taratus motioned to the bed. “You can sit over there.”
Kelric didn’t really want to, but there was nowhere else to sit except the floor. Aware of the Aristos watching him, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, facing the table. The holos flickering above the mattress flowed around him, leaving traces of glimmering light in the air.
Taratus stood talking to his guests, who remained seated. That subtle distinction marked their roles, Taratus as the seller and the others as buyers. To Kelric’s relief, they had stopped looking at him.
After a few moments, Taratus took his leave. Unexpectedly, he glanced at Kelric as he left and raised his hand in farewell.
The Aristos continued to dine. Watching them, he felt his mouth water. Because of his time with the copper girl, he hadn’t eaten. He was glad for his interlude with her, though. He wondered if she would miss him. Like most empaths, he tended to blend his physical and emotional responses. He liked her. He couldn’t help but miss her, especially after the way their minds had melded.
He glanced around at the eight guards in the room. Each wore a neural blocker in a holster at his hip. Kelric had no doubt this chamber was also packed with systems that monitored his every move, down to the flicker of an eyelash. He wondered where Taratus was now. Watching from some remote monitor, no doubt.
On the far side of the table, Mirella sat back in her lounger and stretched her legs out under the table. Then she glanced at Kelric. “Come over here.”
He wanted to refuse. But the sooner they got this auction over with, the better. He went to the table and stood with his arms crossed, towering over the noblewoman. He supposed he could have made himself look more amenable. But he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t care if it lowered his going price.
“Goodness,” Mirella murmured. “So big.” She set her hand on the carpet. “Sit with me.”
Feeling awkward, he settled cross-legged next to her lounger, bringing his eyes level with hers. The taskmakers serving the meal blended into the background, so discreet he almost forgot they were there. The Aristos were all watching him. Each had a palmtop, a small console that fit in the palm of the hand. Mirella had set hers on the table, but the others were holding theirs. He tried to ignore their stares. He had never liked being looked at, not when ISC paraded him around for the Skolian populace and not when it was only four Aristos.
Mirella slid her hand into his curls and stroked his hair. She spoke in Highton. “It’s a nice color. The highlights glint. Like gold.” She rolled a curl around her thumb. “Is it real?”
Kelric answered in Skolian. “What did you say?”
“Can you understand me?” she asked in Highton. When he just looked at her, she frowned. “Our dear Admiral Taratus neglected to mention he was uneducated.”
Heeza smiled as if Mirella had made a joke. Then she made an entry on her palmtop.
General Marix reclined in his lounger, holding a goblet of gold wine. “Why would you want an educated provider?”
“So he could understand me.” Still stroking Kelric’s hair, Mirella studied his face. “But you don’t need to think, hmmm?”
Kelric wished they would make their bids and be done with it. Even with his mental defenses and the muting effect of the drugs, he felt the looming sense of their minds. Without the drugs, he didn’t think he could have endured being so close to four Highton Aristos.
It made no sense that Taratus helped him muffle his empathic response. Why? If anything, the bidders would want his Kyle senses at their most responsive. All the drugs achieved was to make the auction more bearable for Kelric. Had Taratus shown compassion? The idea boggled. An Aristo capable of cruelty one moment and kindness the next. It puzzled him.
Mirella cupped her hand under his chin. “When I saw the holos of you, I thought Taratus doctored them. But you really do look this way.” Turning his head to the side, she studied his profile. “Magnificent.” She rubbed her thumb over the laugh lines around his eyes. “It’s authentic, too. If you had been bodysculpted, these would be gone.”
Heeza snorted. “So we have to have him bodysculpted too?”
“I like him this way,” Mirella said. “The character adds sensuality.”
Marix spoke dryly. “‘Character’ is a euphemism for imperfection.”
Up until now, Tarquine had been silent. Now she glanced at Marix. “Tell me something. If you wanted a gem of great quality, what would you do? Choose a synthetic stone that had been designed to perfection? Or a real one that had formed in the earth over the eons?”
“The real one, of course,” Marix said. “The flaws add value. But a provider isn’t a gem.”
“Isn’t he?” Tarquine murmured. “When you can have perfection any time you want, which is more valuable? Authentic beauty or false perfection?”
For crying out loud, Kelric thought. He glanced around the table. Heeza was leaning forward, her round face entranced. Marix looked bored. Mirella picked up her palmtop and flipped it open.
“However,” Tarquine added, “some of it is fake.”
Mirella’s finger hovered above the palmtop. “Fake?”
Tarquine motioned to Kelric. “His coloring. The rest of his appearance is authentic, but his hair, skin, and eye color are some tattoo job.”
He almost swore. How had she known? Were Hightons that used to scrutinizing modified humans?
“Tattoo?” Heeza looked intrigued. “I had no idea. I wonder what it hides.” Her lips parted. “Usually the highlights are the natural color. And his are gold.” She beckoned to Kelric. “Come over here.”
Gritting his teeth, Kelric stood up and went over to Heeza. As he sat next to her lounger, she leaned back and studied him.
“Gold?” Mirella smiled. “Taratus will like that.” She indicated the gilded room around them. “His entire yacht is like this.” Then she entered a bid on her console.
Marix shrugged. “So why didn’t Taratus reverse the tattoo job?” He gestured at Kelric. “Besides, he limps.”
Tough, Kelric tho
ught.
“If he limps,” Heeza said, “he will just have to spend more time lying down, hmmm?”
This isn’t happening, he thought. He wished.
Heeza spoke to him in Skolian Flag. “Are you really a Jagernaut?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why don’t you know Highton? Don’t you Jagernauts study it as part of your training?”
“We learn some words and phrases.”
“Have you understood anything we’ve said?” she asked.
“Not really.”
Heeza leaned forward, her lips parted, and stroked a curl off his forehead. For all her bodysculpted beauty, she was cold, like an ice sculpture. Her mind pressed against his, suffocating. His mental barriers flowed and dissolved, too damaged to stay intact. Pain sparked in his temples and radiated outward in his head.
“Ahh …” The satisfied murmur came from someone at the table, Kelric wasn’t sure who. It made him ill, that his pain gave them pleasure.
He couldn’t stop staring at Heeza. Her eyes mesmerized. Clear and well shaped, with glittering black lashes, they were undeniably beautiful—and undeniably red. He had always thought that if he saw an Aristo up close, he would find their eyes were brown with a red tinge. But no doubt existed. They were pure red.
“You look like a wild animal caught in a trap,” Heeza said with affection. She sat back, breaking the provider-Aristo link she had been building with him. Then she made an entry on her palmtop.
Kelric swallowed, struggling not to lose his last meal. Given how long it had been since he ate, he would have the dry heaves anyway.
Marix spoke. “I don’t think he likes you, Heeza.”
She shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much.”
“Why would you want him to talk?” Mirella asked. “I often have their tongues removed.”
By the time Kelric’s mind caught up with his reflexes, he had already turned to Mirella in disbelief.
Dryly Heeza said, “She wasn’t serious.” Then she added, “At least, I don’t think she was serious.”
“So he does react,” Mirella murmured. “I had begun to wonder.” She entered another bid on her palmtop.