The Sardonyx Net (56 page)

Ten days, he told himself. You can stand ten more days of this. He wondered if Rhani could. It would pain her, he knew, when he left. But he had to go, he had to take the opportunity—what if she would not free him, as she had sworn she would? What if Zed and Darien did not leave for Nexus?
 

“File this under ‘R,'” she told him, passing him a report. Automatically he glanced at it to see what it was. Its contents were none of his business but she did not seem to notice or, if she noticed, she didn't care. It was the report from the Barracks, detailing the number of slaves sold at Auction that year, the number sold after the Auction to dealers, money spent on drugs, food, and staff expenses, money taken in, profits made.
 

The bedroom door, which was open a crack, slid open all the way. Dana jumped like a thief, and then froze. Zed stood there.
 

Rhani said quickly, “Dana, go to the terrace.” Dana laid the Barracks report aside. Rising, he stepped away from the chair, trying to go noiselessly. The terrace doors, swollen by heat, stuck. He jerked them open, back to the room, sweat coating his palms and rolling down his sides. As he stepped through them, he heard Rhani say, “Good morning, Zed-ka.”
 

He watched them through the curtained glass. Zed's hair fell loose to his shoulders. He seemed younger, softer, as if something—someone, Dana thought—had peeled away time. Behind him, in the hall, stood Darien.
 

Zed said, “I don't need to come in. I just want to tell you that we're leaving. We're going to Abanat first; from Abanat, we'll locate Jo Leiakanawa and go up to the Net. From the Net we'll go to the moon, and from there take passage to Nexus. There's a letter on my desk for you, the official notice that I'm resigning my command.”
 

Rhani's back was to the terrace, and Dana could not see her face. He heard her say, “How will you go?”
 

“We'll take the Yago shuttle.”
 

She nodded. A dragoncat loped in. Ignoring both Rhani and Zed, it stood on the rug, meowing plaintively. Rhani said, “Isis, go away, please.” The cat went out. Rhani put her hands on her hips. Dana felt tremendous pity for her. In a steady voice, she said, “I can see you've got it all planned.”
 

“There is one thing,” Zed said. He gestured toward the girl. “Darien must be freed.”
 

“Of course,” said Rhani. She went to the com-unit. Her fingers tapped the keys. In a few moments, a document emerged from the printer. She picked it up and held it toward her brother. “Do you want to see it?”
 

“No need,” he said. His sudden smile was brilliant. “Would you be willing to take care of two trivialities?”
 

Rhani sat in the com-unit chair. “If I can,” she said.
 

“I want to give my medical skeleton to Yianni Kyneth.”
 

She said. “I'll see that he gets it.”
 

“Thank you. And would you say farewell to Davi, the youngest Kyneth child, for me?”
 

“Yes,” she said. Dana could hear the exhaustion in her voice. He waited for Zed to walk to her, to hug her, to touch her face in that dreadful ambivalent gesture.
 

He lifted a hand to her from the doorway of the room. “Good-bye,” he said.
 

Head rigid, she watched him out the doorway. Then she put her hands over her ears and her head on her knees.
 

Dana wrenched the terrace doors apart and went to her. He pried her fingers from her ears. “Rhani,” he said. Her amber eyes were lightless with shock and grief. She looked blind. He lifted her from the chair like a child and laid her on the bed. “Rhani.” In the distance, he heard the flat drone of a bubble. Her gaze touched his face, and then went elsewhere, inward. He sat on the side of the bed, holding her hand, talking to her softly, telling her nonsense stories, tales about Pellin, lies about his adventures in the Hype, anything to make her hear him. Her chest rose and fell with her steady breathing. Her pulse beat swiftly. Her eyes stayed open, looking into nothing. She didn't weep.
 

She brought herself out of it. Dana went to the cooler for a drink of cold water, and when he returned to the bed, her eyes had focused. She reached for him across the rumpled sheet. She licked her lips. He went swiftly to the remains of breakfast and brought her a glass of juice. She swallowed avidly. “Dana,” she whispered.
 

He stroked her face. The terrible pallor of her cheeks had lessened. “Yes, Rhani-ka. I'm here.”
 

She struggled. “I want to sit.”
 

Putting his arms around her shoulders, he brought her gently upright. She leaned into his chest. “Zed's gone.”
 

He nodded.
 

“It wasn't just a dream.”
 

“No, Rhani-ka, I'm sorry.”
 

Her eyes blazed anger with unexpected force. “How can you say that? You hated him.”
 

Did she expect him to deny it? Dana wondered. “I do hate him,” he said. “I'm sorry for your pain.”
 

She bowed her head to her lap, and he wondered if she were finally crying. He hoped so. But she lifted her head, and he saw that her eyes were dry. “I want to get up,” she said. He helped her to the washroom. She called to him from it, “Tell Immeld I want some soup. And some wine.”
 

“Are you certain it's good for you?” he said.
 

She scowled at him. “Am I a child? Bring it.” He went down to the kitchen himself. Cara and Immeld were holding hands across the table.
 

“Rhani wants soup and some wine,” he said.
 

Immeld got up. “Soup,” she grumbled. “It's hot for soup. When will Zed and that woman come back?”
 

Never, I hope, Dana thought. “Ask Rhani,” he said. He brought the tray upstairs. Rhani drank half a glass of wine, and sighed.
 

“I'm all right,” she said.
 

He said, “Is there anything you want me to do?”
 

She gazed at him, and an odd smile flicked across her face. “Take me to bed,” she said.
 

“You're in bed,” he said.
 

“Fool.” She reached for him and drew him to her. “Love me. I want you to love me.” He shucked his clothes. It had been days since they'd been lovers. He slid beneath the covers with her. Her muscles were drumhead tight; he rubbed her back and shoulders until he felt the ridges melt. She sighed and fit herself to him, her body warm and pliant, and they paced each other into orgasm's dizzying surge.
 

A shrilling sound woke them. Dana was all the way out of bed before he realized where it came from. It was night. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the chronometer. It was an hour before midnight. Stars, we slept like the dead, he thought. The com-unit message light was blinking; he shambled to it, pressed the keys which would accept the call and silence the alarm. Brilliant green letters stabbed at his gaze. CALL FROM CHIEF PILOT ORION TO DOMNA RHANI YAGO.
 

From the bed, Rhani called, “What is it?”
 

Dry-mouthed, Dana watched the words glitter on the screen. He heard the rustle of the sheet as she scrambled from the bed. “It's for you, from Tam Orion.”
 

“The Chief Pilot? What's he doing? Sweet mother, it must be the middle of the night!” She walked to his side.
 

“It must be important,” he said.
 

“It better be.” She pushed the Accept key impatiently. The display didn't clear; instead, it flashed VERIFICATION. Scowling, Rhani splayed her thumb on the screen.
 

The words marched across the unit. TWENTY MINUTES AGO LANDINGPORT STATION REPORTED DISTRESS CALL FROM THE SARDONYX NET RECEIVED IN NAVIGATOR'S CODE CUT OFF MID-TRANSMISSION LANDINGPORT STATION UNABLE TO CONTACT NET REQUEST FOR ADVICE PASSED THROUGH ME. It was signed, TAMERLANE ORION, CHIEF PILOT, ABANAT MAIN LANDINGPORT.
 

Rhani said, “Turn the light on.”
 

Dana obeyed.
 

“Zed is on the Net,” she said.
 

Dana shrugged. “So? He's there, you're here. Nothing you can do.”
 

She gazed at him. “You don't care,” she said.
 

“Rhani, I just woke up!” He cycled the message through again. Even if there was trouble on the Net, what difference did it make? They had said good-bye. “Rhani, he's gone. Let him go.”
 

She ignored him. Striding to her closet, she began to put on clothes. “I'm going to Abanat,” she said.
 

Dana realized she was serious. He caught her arm. “What good will that do?”
 

“Something's wrong. I want to know what is it.”
 

He said, “It could be something wrong with the com-link. Call Tam Orion and tell him to call LandingPort Station to send up a repair crew. Any Hyper engineer can fix it.”
 

“It isn't that kind of wrong,” she said.
 

“How do you know?”
 

She jerked her arm from his grasp. “Dana, use your mind! The Net's a starship, it's got every means of communication there is, radio, laser beam, com-link, message capsule, flare signals. Whatever's wrong isn't the kind of thing a repair crew can fix.”
 

She was right. Dana stuck his knuckles in his eyes to rouse his dullard brain. Rhani wriggled into a shirt. Her head popped through the stretch-fiber neck. “Call Jo, the Skellian,” he suggested. “Get her to go look.”
 

“She's on the Net, with Zed.”
 

“Oh.” He watched her comb her hair with her hands. His unease grew. The distress call had been sent, he recalled, in navigator's code. Jo Leiakanawa was a navigator. It took a very distressing event indeed to bother a Skellian. He looked for his pants. Rhani put on her boots. “Rhani. Do you understand that this could be dangerous?”
 

Her mouth thinned with contempt. “Of course.”
 

He considered all the things that could go wrong with the Drive Core of a starship. “You'll just be in the way.”
 

She looked at him. He stepped back. The hairs on the nape of his neck lifted. Her face was stony; her eyes burned. She looked like Zed. “I have to know,” she said. Dana stayed very still. The dark glare died. She tilted her head; her gaze suddenly coldly speculative. “You could go.”
 

Dana nearly tripped on his own pair of pants. “What?”
 

“You can go to the Net. I'll give you the blueprints. You can get in. You're a Starcaptain: that means you're an engineer, too. You could help.” She assessed him, the way an engineer might assess a tool. She was Domna Rhani Yago, who had once said to him: “You forget,
I own you
.”
 

She was serious. She looked at him as if he had suddenly become a stranger. She would send him to the Net, to the assistance of a man he deeply feared and more deeply hated, to a place that reeked in memory of tears and humiliation. He wondered what she would do if he refused to go. Perhaps she would feed him dorazine....
 

She said, “You don't want to do it, do you.” He shook his head. “I won't order you to.” She walked to the com-unit. “I'll pay you to go.” She pressed keys. The screen blinked. She thumbed the colored plastic. A sheet of paper glided from the slot to the shelf; she brought it to him. “Will this be a fair price, Starcaptain?”
 

He turned the flimsy piece of paper in his hands. It was his slave contract. At bottom, over the box with the Yago seal, the computer had printed in neat red letters, MANUMITTED. Beside it was the month and date. She had handed him his freedom.
 

He keyed the computer for a STATUS TRANSACTION: REPLACEMENT OF CREDIT DISC AND I-DISC. It requested his name: he punched DANA IKORO, STARCAPTAIN. It requested his I.D. code. He had to copy it from the abrogated contract. PELLIN NWC26R7P21-7669. He pressed his thumb to the cool sheet. The unit hummed loudly and spat one red and one black disc at him. He ran his fingertips across their surfaces, feeling the bumps and indentations that identified him.
 

He tapped the forearm tattoo. “How do I get rid of this?”
 

“There's a gel which does it. You have to get it at the Clinic.”
 

“There isn't time for that.” His mouth was stale. He went down to the room in the slaves' hall to get his boots. Rhani had put the agreement into the computer. He found the boots beneath the bed. It said (she had had to translate the legal language) that for services to be rendered in the form of assistance to the Yago Net, he, Dana Ikoro, pilot/slave of Family Yago, was free. He could not quite believe it. He laced the boots with stiff fingers. He could fly the bubble to Abanat, ride a shuttle to the Net—no, he couldn't. His tattoo would set off every alarm in the place, and as fast as he could drive the bubble, it would still take over an hour to get there. There had to be a solution. He couldn't think, and yet he felt that he was moving at top speed: the characteristic illusion of an interrupted sleep. He gazed out the window of the room. Moonlight made the lawn shimmer as brightly as a Flight Field under its bristle of lights. He struck himself lightly on the head. “Fool.” Of course he didn't want a bubble or shuttle. What he needed was a starship.
 

He thought of
Zipper
. He yearned for
Zipper
, but
Zipper
was on the moon, and it would take as long to get there as to get to the Net. But he didn't need
Zipper
. He knew where he could get a ship. He went up the stairs swiftly. Rhani was pacing, shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets. He went to the com-unit.