Primary Inversion (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Paperback (2 page)

Are you all right? he asked.

I took a breath, struggling to keep my pulse steady.
Yes.

“Where you know this Tarque?” Helda asked me.

“I went undercover on Tams Station ten years ago.”

“Tams?” Taas asked. “You mean the Trader planet?”

I nodded. “I got—caught.”

“They broke your cover?” he asked.

“No. I don’t mean caught that way.” It was a moment before I
could continue. “Ten years ago the Traders installed an Aristo governor on
Tams, a man called Kryx Tarque. His people were making sweeps through the
cities, selecting servers for his estates.”

“Server” was the generic term the Aristos used for lower
castes, which as far as they were concerned included everyone in the universe
who wasn’t an Aristo. “I got caught in a sweep.”

Taas stared at me. “You’ve been a Trader
servant!”

 “No.” I spoke with a calmness I didn’t feel. “A provider.”

Taas blanched, and Helda’s muscles bunched up along her
shoulders, making her jacket shift position. “Provider” was one of the Aristos’
euphemisms, one I never wanted to think about again.

Helda rolled her shoulders like a fighter trying to ease out
knotted muscles. “How you escape?”

I just shook my head. I couldn’t talk about it. Across the Arcade,
the Traders were talking among themselves, still watching us.

Taas spoke awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Primary Valdoria. About
Tams.”

I tried to make my voice light. “Taas, 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:
1 also am sorry.
Then, more lightly:
Give Taas time. You
scare the bejeebs out of him.

Taas blinked.
Bejeebs?

Rex sent them a mental grin.
Is that living or inanimate?

I tried to smile. I knew Rex was trying to defuse the
tension. And I should have been pleased; it was the first time Taas had succeeded
in linking with us without help from the hardware in our ships. But I couldn’t
stop staring at the Traders. They started to walk again, keeping watch on us as
they moved away 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 just let them walk away.”

“What justification would you give for doing 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
taken over their Allied Worlds a long time ago. They should be grateful we’re
here.”

“If it wasn’t for the Traders keeping us occupied,” I said, “we
might have taken over their Allied Worlds a long time ago.”

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 interesting to see her try to explain herself
when he realized she was calling him a sweet boy.

Rex grinned. “Heya, Helda, hoiya, you want to get drunk?”

“Hoiya yourself,” Helda grumbled. But then she smiled. “Maybe
a few drinks, heh?”

“I wouldn’t mind a drink,” I said. A strong one, 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 day here lasted
sixty-two hours, making the sunset go on and on as if it resisted giving up the
light. The Arcade was even more crowded now, people taking advantage of the
respite from the heat. With thirty hours of sunlight a day, it was usually only
cool enough outside for humans to be comfortable during the evening, night and
dawn hours.

Overhead the sky was a deep violet. The Delos sun emitted
more purple light than average for human habitable planets and the thin
atmosphere scattered it less. It gave a purple tinge to the sky as if we were
high in the mountains instead of at sea level. Clouds streaked the horizon,
their lower edges rimmed with a brilliant pink that deepened as the sunset
withdrew behind the Arcade roofs.

We walked through the twilight along a line of bars.
Holosigns lit up the dusk: a shocking pink flower suspended over a door, gilded
insects flying in ellipses, a cluster of blue-green planets orbiting close to a
blue giant star that in reality could never have supported such a solar system.
Hologram screens also sided most of the bars, spawning holos everywhere, so
that poles of light rotated between buildings, swirling with gaudy purple and
red stripes, and arches of light spanned the roofs. Scampering animals sparked
and popped like firecrackers as they ran up and down the sides of buildings, or
morphed into different species.

Music jangled at us, raucous tunes mixing with seductive
melodies. Sounds jumped out as we approached and receded into the general buzz
after we had passed. Hawkers called out from doorways, using 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 could set you
to dreaming, or to making love for hours. The smell of cooking meat and spices
filled the air.

I couldn’t read most of the holosigns. Pulling down a translation
menu in my mind, I overlaid it on an elegant sign that said CONSTANTINIDES.

Translate, I thought.

Greek, the node answered. Translation: Constantinides.

“That helps a lot,” I muttered.

“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, which was the only language I had seen among the bars so far that I
could 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. “Let’s give it a try and see.”

So we went in, pushing open the door under the sign. Inside,
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. Tables
covered by red and white cloths filled the room. A man stood behind the counter
polishing a glass, stains showing on his
cloth and on
the white apron tied across his big stomach.

A band was playing on a raised stage in one corner. The instruments
were unfamiliar: gourd-shaped boxes with strings pulled tight across the box,
gold horns with handles that moved in and out, fat drums. The music had a compelling
rhythm, mixing in 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 the
panels that lined the stage.

A woman in a short skirt was waiting on the tables. Taas
watched her with a smile. “I like this place,” he said.

Rex grinned his agreement. “Let’s sit at a table.”

Helda smiled 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?”

I shrugged. “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. The thing had
to
be cutting off her
circulation.

Rex laughed. “Maybe the three of us should offer ourselves
and let her pick.”

I smiled. “What makes you think she’d pick any of you?”

“The three of us?” Taas asked.

Helda leaned toward him. “Me, you, Rex. Got it?”

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?”

Rex answered in Skolian, giving her his wicked grin. “I have
no idea what you’re saying, but it sounds beautiful.”

“She wants to know if we like tables,” I said. Whatever that
meant. I pulled down my translation menu. It hung superimposed 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 spinal node prompted.

Rex smiled at the waitress. “They’re meditating,” he said in
Skolian.

She blinked at him, then looked around for someone who could
help her.

Translate ‘We would like to have drinks and food,’ I
thought.

The waitress spoke to Rex. “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. Meanwhile the waitress was turning
redder and redder.

 “Pah,” I muttered. My spinal node was optimized for combat,
not translation. Maybe I should have that diplomacy mod added after all. It
would augment my social skills and upgrade my language capability. But my
spinal node was loaded 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 bioengineering
technology.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt me to practice my English without
a computer “whispering” in my ear.
Program end,
I thought. As the menu
vanished, I spoke to the waitress in the best English I could muster without
help. “Is okay there we sit?” I motioned at a booth next to 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 slightly. The muscles in my shoulders relaxed as well.

She took some big cards from a nearby table and headed for
the booth. When we followed her, she looked back at Rex and blushed again.

Following her glance to Rex, I noticed how tightly the pants
of his uniform 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 Block psicon flashed in my mind, the waitress’s reaction to Rex receded in
my thoughts. His pants looked normal again. Well, 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. Always.” 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 skittercolt.
She stopped at the booth and fumbled with the cards she had brought, dropping
them onto the scratched tabletop. Then she stood blinking at us. So we all
stopped and watched her, waiting to see what she would do next. After a moment
she turned pink again.

“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 crimson. Then
the rest of us sat down.

The waitress spoke to Rex. “Would you like a drink?”

He answered in Skolian. “That voice of yours makes me want
to hold you all 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. The heading on it was made from clear tubes filled with a
fluorescent yellow gas.
jack’s place,
it
announced. Projection holos floated above speckled patches on the card, each 3D
image 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. Didn’t Jack serve anything else? I 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.”