Without a Front

  “I can understand why you would think that,” Tal said carefully. “But think about this as well: It’s not just the need for workers that will be reduced. The workers’ need for income will also be reduced. If they can acquire the same goods and services without spending six or eight hanticks in the field every day, is that not an improvement for them? Is it not an improvement for you to work less hard, produce the same output, sell it for less so that more can benefit from it, and have more time to enjoy your life? Because the same lower prices for goods and services will apply to you, too. Or, if you wish, you could reinvest that income into growing more varieties and improving the holding. You have so many options! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our meetings. Yes, the matter printer technology will reduce your profitability. But it will also reduce your expenses, and that’s the key.”

  “Do you really believe that will happen?”

  “Yes! I would never release that technology otherwise.”

  She held her breath as Salomen considered it. This was what they had fought over so furiously during their last few delegate meetings, and the fact that they were now speaking in normal tones of voice was already a big step forward.

  “I want to believe your vision,” Salomen said at last. “It sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid it’s just fanciful economics, and we’ll pay the price for it.”

  “Do you honestly think I would risk the very fabric of our culture on fanciful economics? Remember what I told Jaros: Alsea is my holding. I’m responsible for the lives of all Alseans. I’m not making choices based on what’s best for certain castes; I’m making them based on what’s best for all of us.”

  She was close to a breakthrough. It was right at the surface of Salomen’s emotions.

  “Don’t take my word for it,” she said. “Feel for yourself.”

  That earned her a wide-eyed stare, and the rest of the evening was spent on a lesson in controlling emotional skimming. Once again, Salomen was an excellent student. Not only that, but by the end of the evening Tal thought she might even have converted Salomen to her policies.

  Of course, the infuriating woman wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of saying so.

  As the days passed, Tal became comfortable at Hol-Opah. She was working her legs off, but her body had adapted and she enjoyed the physicality of it. More than that, she relished the peace. Sometimes she stopped what she was doing and simply looked around, soaking up the beauty of her surroundings, the delicious scents of sun-heated soil and growing things, and the absence of city noise. It felt like sanctuary—a refuge not just from Blacksun, but from what Alsea had become. Nowhere in her field of view could she see any sign of the Voloth invasion or the changes it had wrought. Conversation here centered on the holding, its products, the harvest, and the people, just as it had for generations. This was the Alsea of old, and she loved it.

  Strangely enough, she had even become comfortable with Salomen. Though their lessons continued to be a form of genteel combat, something had shifted between them. It was less edgy. Of course, that didn’t prevent her from occasionally baiting her student. She couldn’t help herself; it was too much fun.

  One night, half a moon into their challenge, she asked Salomen to tell her an amusing story.

  “A story about what?” Salomen asked in dismay.

  “Anything you find amusing.”

  “But…I can’t think up something on demand. It has to be more spontaneous.”

  “All right, I’ll make it simpler. Tell me about a time when you were so embarrassed you wanted to crawl under a rock. I’m sure that will be amusing.”

  The sizzling glare made her laugh.

  After a pause, Salomen began to speak, but her story was not what Tal had expected. She told of an evening when she was a young woman of nineteen cycles, just before her Rite of Ascension. A local boy had invited her to join him at a dance, and since it was the first time anyone had asked her, she had been full of excitement—until she arrived at the tavern where the party was to take place and learned that there was no dance after all. It was just another night at the tavern, and she stood out like a Council member at a fanten farm in her fine clothes. A shout of laughter drew her attention to a table near the fire, where the boy who had invited her held out his hand. “Pay up!” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I told you I could do it!”

  To her complete mortification, half the people in the room shuffled over to slap coins on the table. Amid a general roar of laughter, she turned and left, her cheeks burning with rage and humiliation.

  Tal’s cheeks were warm as well. Had she been there, that little fantenshekken wouldn’t have laughed at Salomen for long.

  “That was not amusing at all,” she said stiffly. “Does he still live around here?”

  “You’ve met him. It was Norsen.”

  Norsen. The producer who had said nothing of value in their delegate meetings and asked Salomen to not only take his place, but also to lie for him.

  “Norsen was a waste of space,” she growled. “You’re worth ten of him.”

  After a startled pause, Salomen said, “It was a long time ago. But thank you.”

  It wasn’t long ago to Tal, who wanted to find Norsen right now and teach him a lesson. But Salomen was puzzled by her anger, and with some effort she reined it in. “Why did he do it? What made you the target?”

  “I think it was because I didn’t take part in the school social life. I had too many responsibilities on the holding. By then I was doing our accounting and worrying about whether this cycle’s harvest would pay last cycle’s debt and still leave us enough to repair the west fence line and the oldest outbuilding. But the others in my class were worrying about wearing last cycle’s fashions or buying the fastest skimmer. Their concerns seemed so trivial, and I don’t think I hid my impressions very well.”

  “So you snubbed them and they made you pay?”

  “They must have thought I was snubbing them. But I wasn’t. I liked most of them; I just couldn’t understand why they attached so much importance to such minor issues.”

  “Ah. You grew up before they did.”

  Salomen shrugged. “I suppose that’s what happened. And they could not forgive me for it.”

  A half-moon of practice had vastly improved her ability to front, but her expressive face often reflected the emotions she was working so hard to conceal. Watching her, Tal couldn’t help feeling sympathetic for that young pre-Rite girl who had taken on so many responsibilities and paid such a high price.

  And was still doing it, she realized. Salomen had antagonized her from day one, but it had always been in defense of her caste—and by extension, her field workers, her family, and her holding, which Tal now knew was the driving force behind everything Salomen did. She would risk anything for them, including the personal enmity of the Lancer.

  She looked at Salomen with new eyes, understanding then that she had chosen her story to make a point. For two ninedays, their lessons had been more than just instruction. They had also been a subtle war of words and power. Salomen would not fully accept the subordinate role of student, and Tal could not prevent herself from repeatedly asserting her authority. In truth, it had never been a healthy student-teacher relationship.

  “You’ve changed the rules of our engagement, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do. We’ve sparred since the day we met. But you just dropped your sword, and I think you did it intentionally.”

  “You asked for an embarrassing story. To amuse you.”

  Now it was Tal who was embarrassed. Hearing her own request repeated back to her made it seem so…callous.

  “I’m not like you,” Salomen added. “I don’t always have the stomach for sparring. But sometimes it seems as if it’s all we ever do, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”


  Tal’s shoulders hit the window as she slumped back. Salomen was so good at their verbal battles that it had never occurred to her they weren’t equally enjoying it. She had been battling an unwilling opponent? But that was impossible; she would have sensed it if—oh, no.

  She hadn’t sensed it because Salomen had fronted it, with the same selectively impervious front she used against the testers all those cycles ago. Her skills may have been patchy, but the one thing she had always known how to do was protect herself. And Tal had forced her into the position of protecting herself here, where she should have been safe.

  A wave of hot shame washed over her as she thought of all the instances where she had used her position to needle, poke, and bait her student—and been pleased with herself, as if she was winning some sort of shekking competition. And she called Salomen the arrogant one?

  “You just made it stop,” she said. “Salomen, I—Goddess above, I swear I didn’t realize— Why didn’t you…?” She shook her head. No. No excuses. Clearing her throat, she spoke more formally. “I apologize. I’ve abused my position and shamed myself.”

  Salomen stared in open astonishment.

  “You’re right, there’s no reason you should be forced to spar with me in this room.” Tal waved her hand toward the window. “Out there, or in the State House, we’ve been in a civilized form of battle from the moment I walked into that delegate meeting and heard you questioning my competence. You made no secret of your disdain for my policies or for me personally, and I enjoyed having someone of your caliber to spar with. But we shouldn’t be sparring here. Not while I’m teaching you. I carried that in from outside and didn’t even recognize it until now, and for that I am truly sorry. It was—inappropriate.”

  Still Salomen said nothing, and Tal found herself speaking into the silence.

  “I gave you very few options when we began. You deserved more than that. If you’d prefer a different instructor, I can find someone who will train you here on Hol-Opah. You wouldn’t have to leave. It’s the least I can do to make up for my behavior.”

  Of course Salomen would leap at the opportunity to learn from someone else. She had never trusted Tal in the first place—and for good reason, as it turned out. Tal closed down her senses, not wanting to feel Salomen’s relief at being released. Nor did she wish to examine her own inexplicable regret at having to relinquish her role as instructor. Hadn’t this been a thorn in her side since the first day? Why wouldn’t she want someone else to take over? Fahla knew she could use the extra time.

  At last Salomen rose from her chair, stepped to the window seat, and held out a hand.

  It was the last thing Tal had expected. Cautiously, she reached out, and Salomen took her hand in a firm hold.

  “On our first night, I said that accepting you as my instructor was not a free choice. But that was because you were more an opponent than anything else. Judging from your words and from what I’m feeling—” she gripped Tal’s hand more tightly—“I think you are not my opponent now.”

  “No,” Tal said ruefully. “You just knocked me flat in the dirt, without even a sword in your hand. I believe I’ve lost the desire to spar—I’m completely overmatched.”

  Salomen chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think that’s likely. And I’m not interested in another instructor. You’ve taught me so much in the last half moon, and I don’t want to start over with someone else. You are my choice.”

  Rarely had Tal been so humbled. “Thank you,” she managed. “I’m honored to teach you.”

  Salomen stepped back and sat down, settling herself comfortably in her chair. “In that case, what is tonight’s lesson?”

  “You must be joking. Tonight’s lesson has already been taught. I’m still recovering from it.”

  The full smile that earned her made all the rest worthwhile.

  CHAPTER 38

  Tal’s turn

  If Salomen changed the rules of engagement that night, on the next night she changed the battlefield completely. She arrived at the usual time, sat in her chair, and spoke before Tal could say a word.

  “How did you feel when you killed the ones who murdered your parents?”

  “What? No. I know what you’re doing, and it’s not appropriate.”

  “Why not? Are you the only one who can ask questions? You said that you needed to know my past and present to teach me. I think I need to know your past and present to learn.”

  “Salomen…” Tal rubbed her forehead. “That is not part of a student-teacher relationship.”

  “Do we have a normal student-teacher relationship?”

  “I think that very little about us could be considered normal.”

  “I agree. Then you’ll answer my question?”

  Two days ago Tal would have met that with a stinging parry, but after last night’s lesson she found herself unable to refuse.

  “Yes, I will, but you should take care in your choice of questions. You may not enjoy the answers.”

  “It’s not about enjoyment. It’s about learning.”

  Tal heard the message beneath the words. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to revisit a room she had not opened in some time.

  “The first one was the worst,” she said at last. “I tracked him down and waited until he was alone in his home, except for the private guard that he was never without. The guard was good. I was better.” She paused, remembering that fight. It had been silent, quick, and vicious. Both combatants had their honor at stake, and it made them brutal. She had not wanted—

  “Did you kill him?” Salomen’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The guard, I mean.”

  “I knew what you meant. And no, I didn’t. I just made sure she couldn’t stop me.” By ending her fighting days forever, it turned out. That had been the worst part of the whole thing, because she had no quarrel with the guard. The woman was just doing her duty, and Tal had been too young and inexperienced to know how to defeat her without causing permanent damage. She would do it so differently now.

  “The guard was right outside the study. I had to take her out silently and block her emotions as well, because I couldn’t give Norshank any warning. If he’d heard or felt anything, he would have been gone before I could get into the room. But I surprised him.”

  You know why I’m here, she had said.

  Yes, he answered, facing her with an insufferable lack of fear. Because I made the mistake of not killing you as well.

  Now is your chance to rectify that error, she said, and he tried.

  “He had a disruptor in his desk drawer, and when I opened the door, he already had his hand in the drawer. Either he heard something, or he simply lived in that much paranoia. But it didn’t matter; I was ready for him. When he lifted his arm, I put a knife through his shoulder.”

  “You stabbed him?”

  “No.” Tal’s eyes were still closed; she was watching the scene play out in her memory. “I threw it from across the room.”

  “Fahla,” Salomen whispered.

  “He dropped the disruptor, and I walked up to him with a dagger in my hand. I wanted to savor his death. That’s why I didn’t shoot him; it would have been too quick. I’d planned this for a long time, and I had so much hatred. Nothing but a slow death could satisfy me. I needed him to die slowly enough to know he was dying, and to know that he had no control and that I was watching every moment of it. Because he had taken both of my parents from me.”

  There was no sound from Salomen, but Tal could feel her horror. She opened her eyes. “You wanted to know.”

  “Yes.” Salomen met her gaze steadily. “I still do.”

  Tal nodded, but she no longer saw Salomen in front of her. It was Norshank’s face, full of fear. Finally.

  “He tried to run. I hadn’t expected that kind of cowardice. I thought he would die like a warrior, but
he was a warrior in name only. But I would not have it said that I stabbed a man in the back, so I brought him down and smashed his face into the floor until he stopped struggling. Then I turned him over so that he could look into the face of his death.”

  Her eyes refocused; Salomen’s expression had not changed. “And that was when I lost the taste for a slow kill.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the damage I had already done. He was broken and bleeding, and his lips were a pulp, and I thought it would make me feel…right. Because I had honor and justice on my side. But it didn’t feel right; it just felt unnecessary. I had the right to kill him. But I didn’t have the right to make him suffer.

  “I planned to stab him through the heart. A cleanly punctured heart won’t bleed out right away—the muscle still works and the blood pressure will often keep the puncture sealed. But that only lasts until something disturbs the equilibrium. I’d thought about this so often, fantasized the whole scene. I was going to stab him and he’d know that he was a dead man, that it was just a matter of time. And then I would tell him all of the things I’d wanted to, for so long. I had the whole conversation planned out. And when I was done, I’d stand up, bring my boot heel down on his chest as hard as I could, and watch him die like the blindworm he was.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Tal shook her head. “When it came to it, I didn’t have a thing to say to him. I just stabbed him and moved the blade in his heart. Up and down, back and forth. It was probably a more painful death, but it was also far quicker.” And messier. She should have just slit his throat from behind, keeping his body between her and all that blood.

  “How did you feel when it was done?” Salomen asked gently.

  “Tired. And filthy. Fahla, it was such a mess. And…disappointed. I had been living for that moment—it was supposed to free me. But it didn’t. And I still had two more to go.”

  “Were they any easier?”

  “Yes. Because I no longer expected the kill to make me feel better.”