The Summer Queen (114 page)

His sister turned where she stood, alone, dropping her mask
as she looked up at him standing beside Merovy. Her face was quizzical for a
moment, and then, as suddenly as sunlight, she smiled at them. Tammis smiled
back, uncertainly. Ariele looked away again without speaking, looking toward
their father’s place in the stands.

Tammis followed her glance, and to his surprise saw that his
father’s space was empty. He looked down at the pier, where his mother stood.
His father was not there, either. His mother stood facing away from her own
people, gazing up into the rapt face of the Kharemoughi Chief Justice, while
the mindless ululation of the crowd went on and on

“Well, this time they didn’t get there first, by all the
gods!” the lieutenant named Ershad grinned in satisfaction as he strode into
the meeting chamber, and saluted. He still wore his thermal drysuit—for effect,
Gundhalinu supposed sourly—and he carried a heavy container in one gloved hand.
He set it on the conference table with an audible thud, as the members of the
Hegemonic government rapped the table surface in applause. Gundhalinu kept his
own hands motionless. There were brownish-red stains on Ershad’s drysuit, and
on the container. Dried blood. Mer blood. “There’s more where this came from,”
Ershad said, folding his arms. “We sent it straight to the processing plant.
And we arrested those goddamned Summer dissidents and confiscated their equipment
again. This time they didn’t get there in time to interfere with our business,
at least.”

“Good work, Ershad,” Vhanu said finally, when Gundhalinu’s
silence had begun to grow awkward. Ershad nodded and smiled again.

“What did you do with the Summers?” Jerusha PalaThion asked,
with her eyes on the bucket and an edge in her voice.

“They’re in the lockup, ma’am,” he said. “And a couple of
them are in the hospital. They resisted arrest.” His mouth quirked.

PalaThion kept her expression neutral, but Gundhalinu felt
his own mouth tighten at the subtle signs of pleasure he saw spreading over the
other faces in the room. Jerusha got up from her seat, glancing at Vhanu. “I’ll
make arrangements to have them turned over to the local authorities,” she said.
She rose from her seat and started toward the door before he had time to
object; before anyone could see the hard lines of pain that Gundhalinu knew
were already forming on her face.

Ershad watched her go out too, his expression darkening.

“Justice ...” Vhanu turned in his seat to face Gundhalinu. “These
people interfere with every hunt we attempt, using sophisticated equipment to
disrupt our activities. But the local police let them go again immediately. Isn’t
there some way we can control this adequately?” He made it a question, but
Gundhalinu heard the unspoken demand.

“We can’t prosecute them under our law unless they actually
make a physical assault on one of our people,” he answered, still frowning. “And
there’s no law that restricts them from using our technology on their fishing
boats.”

“Maybe we should just drop a few of them overboard and let
them swim home next time, sir,” Ershad said. “That ought to discourage them.”

“Then you would be breaking Tiamatan law, Ershad,” Gundhalinu
remarked dryly. “And our own too. Take that container out of here and see that
it’s disposed of appropriately.”

“Yes, sir.” Ershad saluted again, and was gone.

“Maybe we should consider making some new laws,” Vhanu said
impatiently. “We need one that equates interfering with the mer hunts to
interfering with a Police action—” There were mutterings of assent all along
the table.

“This world has one thing that makes it worth the Hegemony’s
while, and we’re still having trouble producing it,” Tilhonne said. “The
Coordinators are getting impatient with us again, and we all know what that
means. We have to produce, or we’ll be—”

“I know.” Gundhalinu cut him off sharply, knowing that what
he said was true. Knowing at the same time that every container of spilled
blood that was transformed into the water of life not only brought the
extinction of the mers closer, but also the extinction of the sibyl network
itself .... And he could not tell them. He could not. He could not. “I know the
matter is vital. I will give it my full attention. And now, sadhanu, I am
adjourning this meeting. It’s been another very long day.” He pushed to his
feet almost peremptorily, preventing any objections or further attempts at
discussion.

Vhanu walked with him out through the crowded hallways of
the government complex, through the endless sea of blue uniforms and off world
faces. Neither of them spoke until they had passed through the building’s
entrance and stood in the neutral ground of the alleyway.

“I hope thou will give this matter more thought, BZ,” Vhanu
said at last, his eyes searching Gundhalinu’s face.

Gundhalinu looked away, studying the changing flow pattern
of the bodies within his sight. “I will, NR.” As if I can think about anything
else now, night or day. “But I can’t promise thee anything. There are no easy
answers to this.”

Vhanu sighed. “I know thou will do what is best,” he said;
clearly not certain of it at all.

“Yes.” Gundhalinu nodded, for once completely certain in his
own response. “That I will do.”

“Will thou come down to the Survey Hall with us this evening?”
Vhanu nodded at Tilhonne and Sandrine, who were just emerging from the building
behind them. “There is a general meeting, and some new recreational interactives
have just arrived, I understand—” He put a hand on Gundhalinu’s shoulder in a
placating gesture, trying to bridge the gap of their strained relations.

Gundhalinu hesitated; shook his head, glancing down. “Not tonight,
NR. I’m going directly home. I have reports to catch up on, and I intend to go
to bed early.”

“What, again? ‘Early to bed’ is becoming a habit with thee.
And it seems to me that on the mornings after thou appear quite exhausted ....”
He smiled suddenly, knowingly. “Are thou still seeing that woman thou met on
Mask Night?”

Gundhalinu felt himself flush, and knew that it was
betraying him. “Well,” he murmured, “thou’ve found me out, I’m afraid, NR.” He
smiled too, keeping his gaze averted, pushing his hands deeply into his
pockets, which were empty.

Vhanu chuckled. “Father of all my grandfathers!” he said. “She
must be a spellbinder, to make a Chief Justice blush like a schoolboy.”

Gundhalinu glanced away in relief as Inspector Kitaro came
up beside them, carrying her helmet under her arm. “Sir. Justice Gundhalinu.”
She saluted them, smiling. Her eyes stayed on Gundhalinu slightly longer than
they needed to; he looked back at her, mildly surprised.

“Coming to the Hall tonight, Kitaro?” Vhanu asked, as Tilhonne
and Sandrine came up beside him.

She glanced at him, and shook her head. “Not tonight, Commander.
It’s been a long day. Thought maybe I’d get to bed early, sir.”

Vhanu shrugged. “By all means, get some sleep, then.”

She laughed, an oddly girlish sound. “Well, I didn’t say anything
about sleeping ....” She tossed her head, her dark curls shining in the
artificial light. She glanced at Gundhalinu again, and away, still smiling.

Vhanu raised an eyebrow, made mildly uncomfortable by her
Nontechnician frankness. He glanced between them, and an amused smile appeared
on his face. “Have a good night then, both of you. Come, sadhanu, let’s not
keep them from their evening’s plans.” He nodded to Sandrine and Tilhonne, and
they started off down the alley in search of transportation.

Gundhalinu murmured his own self-conscious good-night to
Kitaro, vaguely nonplussed, and started away toward the alley’s entrance. She
fell into step beside him, with seeming casualness. “See you to your door, sir?”

He looked at her, his curiosity and surprise deepening,
along with his annoyance. “No, thank you. It’s not much of a walk, and out of
your way besides, I think. I don’t want to make you late—”

“It’s not out of my way, sir, “ she said, with mild
insistence. “I have to stop at the market.” They passed Vhanu, Tilhonne, and
Sandrine standing at the corner, waiting for the tram. Gundhalinu turned
uphill, following the Street, and she went with him; he felt the eyes of the
others follow them speculatively. “The Chief Inspector said she wanted to be
certain there’s always someone covering your ass, sir,” Kitaro said, throwing a
glance over her shoulder as she walked, with the pretense of looking into a
shop window. “And people do like to talk.”

“I see,” he murmured, finally beginning to understand. He
studied storefronts and doorways on his own side of the Street. “I appreciate
it, then. The gods forbid , that the Chief Justice ever got caught bare-assed
like a normal human being.” He , looked back at her, with weary amusement.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

They went on up the Street together, making forgettable
small talk about government business. If she had heard about the successful mer
hunt, she did not bring it up. He did not ask her opinion. After all this time
he knew almost nothing about her, except that she was a sibyl, and she was
someone KR Aspundh had trusted. She was Nontechnician, and outside of the
Survey Hall she did not mingle with the people he saw the most. He had no idea
what she did off-duty, or what her interests were.

He was not even certain at what level she actually
functioned within Survey, although it was obviously a far higher one than most
of his companions suspected. She had brought him the data on Reede Kullervo;
and she had helped him solve other, less crucial problems, so unobtrusively
that he only realized now how often she seemed to be there when he needed a
favor. But all that guaranteed nothing about her feelings on the mer question.
He did not have the strength, tonight at least, to put her opinions to the
test.

Instead, he asked, “Any luck yet in arranging a meeting with
our elusive friend, the Smith?” Thinking of Reede Kullervo, as he had not had
time to do these past few weeks, he suddenly realized something else: Kullervo
was Vanamoinen. And Vanomoinen had created the sibyl net ... the net that was
failing. It could not be a coincidence. It had to mean something. But only
Kullervo could tell him what.

Kitaro shook her head. “We’ve come this close—” she lifted
her hand, “but the timing has never been right. It isn’t that he’s hard to
find; it’s that he belongs to the Source. Jaakola’s got eyes sewn into Reede
Kullervo’s pockets. Getting him out from under the Brotherhood’s surveillance
long enough for you to talk meaningfully to him is almost impossible.”

“Almost—?” he asked.

She looked up at him, and smiled. “The difficult we do immediately.
The impossible just takes a little longer.”

He smiled too; his smile faded. “This meeting has to happen,
Kitaro. It could be vital to us all.”

“I understand,” she said.

Wishing that was true, he walked on in silence.

“Good night, Kitaro,” he said at last, as they reached his
townhouse door. He hesitated uncomfortably, wondering whether she expected to
be invited inside. The sky was dark beyond the alley’s end; he hadn’t realized
it was so late.

But she only pressed her fist to her chest in a salute, with
a fleeting smile. “Have a good night yourself, Justice,” she said, and started
back down the quiet alley.

He watched her out of sight, before he stepped forward into
the shadows and set his fingers to the identification key on his front door.
The door opened silently, letting him into the sanctuary of his home. It closed
again, as silently, behind him. He pulled open the seal on his uniform jacket,
sighing.

“BZ—?” She stepped out of the glow of a lamplit side room,
into the darkened hall. He saw her limned with light, her hair silver, her face
half in shadow, half visible.

“Moon.” He felt the tightness that was half anticipation and
half fear of disappointment release inside his chest. He started toward her. “I’m
sorry I was late ... the meeting ran over—”

“There was a successful Hunt,” she said, still standing motionless.

He stopped moving, because she made no move toward him. “Yes,”
he said, his throat closing on the word. “They must have changed the scheduling
code, I—”

She turned away from him, shutting her eyes, pressing her
forehead against the doorjamb, murmuring something that he could not hear. “...
offworlder butchers—!” She raised her head again, glaring at him.

“Damn it all!” he said, the explosion of anger inside him
not directed at her—directed at nothing, everything, himself; because he was
the Chief Justice, and he was as helpless, as powerless to stop what was
happening as she was ... and she was the Queen. “It’s impossible—it’s insane!”

She reached out to him, this time crossing the space between
them, and he saw the anguish and the helpless desire in her eyes as she opened
her arms.

He took her into his own arms, holding her close, feeling
the rough homespun and wool of her clothing, the yielding warmth of her body,
the softness of her skin. He kissed her hungry, demanding mouth, letting all
the raging energy inside him transform into need. He had never imagined that he
could feel anything with such intensity—that such feeling existed. He let his
desire burn, purifying him of duty, guilt, memory, until the entirety of
spacetime telescoped down to this moment, this fragile refuge, this hiding
place from destiny. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, “I want you right now—”

Her body gave him his answer, with her warm soft mouth silencing
his own as she urged him wordlessly toward the stairs that led up to his
bedroom.

“Look at them all!” Ariele raised her hands, shielding her
eyes against the mirroring glare of the wet sand. The beach ran for nearly a
mile along the coast, between two points where the foothills waded out into the
sea. It was a rare, perfect strip of fine sand, as soft beneath her bare feet
as velvet cloth. And it was covered with a shifting mass of mers—not a single
colony, but several at once, sharing the same territory, the same resting place
on a sudden, incomprehensible journey. “What are they doing here like this?
Where are they going?”