The Summer Queen (96 page)

“All right,” he mumbled, feeling a strange fatalism creep
over him. He let her arm circle his waist, to lend him support as she guided
him on up the beach toward the boat waiting with furled sails in the distance. “Yes,”
he said, and he knew somehow that his voice was not his own. “I need to talk ...
about the mers.”

“... And get another keg of the kelp beer while you’re back
there, and hook that up too, all right, Pollux?” Tor Starhiker paused, turning
away from the bar to look expectantly at the shining, semi-human body, the
faceless face of her newly leased servo.

It nodded, the twin red lights of its visual sensors meeting
her eyes with an unreadable stare. “Yes, Tor,” it said.

She sighed, indefinably disappointed. “You do know how to do
that?”

“I do.”

“Then go do it.” She waved her hand and it started away, emotionless
and inevitable. She watched it disappear through the doors into the storage
area. “Shit,” she said, and sighed again.

“What’s the matter?” a voice asked behind her. She turned
back to the bar, only mildly surprised to discover who it was that had spoken
to her. He’d been a sometime regular since the beginning, and in here almost
nightly for the past couple of weeks. He was from offworld; he had some
foreign-sounding name she kept forgetting, although lately he had sat at the
bar and talked to her every night. Niburu, that was it. Kedalion Niburu. “Call
me Kedalion,” he’d said.

She shrugged, and pulled an elusive strap back onto her bare
shoulder. “It’s not the same,” she said, glancing toward the doorway the servo
had disappeared through. “I had one of those before the Departure. But this one’s
not the same. It looks the same. It even has the same name. I thought it might
be the same one. I thought ... this probably sounds stupid, but I thought maybe
it would remember me. We got ... we got real attached to each other. It had a
lot of personality, for a machine.”

Niburu laughed, but it wasn’t unkind laughter. “How can you
tell that it doesn’t remember you?”

She leaned on the bar, watching his blue eyes crinkle at the
corner with his smile. He had a nice smile, and when he was sitting at the bar
it was easy to forget how short he was. She wasn’t tall herself, but he didn’t
clear her shoulder. The first time she’d seen him in the club, she’d thought he
was a child, and almost had him thrown out. “The usual?” she asked.

He nodded. “And one for my friend—” He gestured over his
shoulder; she saw the young Ondinean who usually came in with him standing at
one of the gaming tables

She poured out drinks, and pushed them toward him. The servo
came back from the rear of the club, carrying an assortment of full kegs and
containers as easily as if they were empty. She watched it begin to hook them
up to the dispensers. “I know it’s not the one because it doesn’t get the joke.”

“What joke?” Niburu asked.

“The one I used to work with could do anything ... gods, he—it,
I mean, it was incredible. I used to let it pick out my clothes. But all it
ever said, for years, no matter what I did to it, was ‘Whatever you say, Tor.’
It was making a joke; it was our little personal joke .... I only knew that for
sure when it was leaving, and it finally admitted it.”

“I’ve heard they get like that.” Niburu sipped his drink. “I’ve
never spent time around one, but I hear their programming’s so interactive they
begin to evolve personalities of their own. That’s why they get overhauled and
reprogrammed at the end of every contract, and have to start all over from
zero.”

She felt her face pinch. “I know. He ... it didn’t want to
go. It didn’t want to forget. 1 think it was afraid, of disappearing .... But
that’s impossible, isn’t it? That it could feel anything like that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I would think so. It’s only a machine, after
all. The Kharemoughis like things that don’t talk back.”

“Well anyway, when I saw they had this model available, I
thought ... well, maybe what if it did remember? If it wanted to come back.”
Her mouth pressed together.

He studied her fora long moment, with what looked like genuine
understanding. He looked down again, at his drink. “It’s probably not even the
same one, you know. The Pollux units make up a whole line of heavy-work servos,
with several specialty modes “

“I know that,” she said, a little shortly. “I used to work
on the docks. But it was the same one ... the same model, anyway. Only it doesn’t
remember anything. I sure as hell wouldn’t let it dress me. It’s just a
machine.” The servo came up to her, stood motionless, waiting for further
orders. “Mix drinks,” she said, gesturing at the patrons who had begun to line
up along the bar while she had been talking. It did what she told it to,
without comment.

“You just got it?” Niburu asked, watching.

She nodded. “Picked it up yesterday.”

“Well,” he smiled, “give yourself some time to get
acquainted. Give it some time, too. You only just met.”—

She looked at him, and felt her own mouth curve upward in a
reluctant grin. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I will.”

The Ondinean, whose name seemed to be Ananke, came up to the
bar beside Niburu, and picked up the other drink.

“Here,” Tor said, pushing a bowl of toasted seeds across at
him. “For the quoll “

“Thanks.” He nodded at her, with a shy grin. He rarely said
more than two or three words to her, but he seemed like an all right sort, and
she liked his pet. He lifted the quoll out of its sling and set it on the bar.
It buried its nose in the seed dish, making chortling noises as it began to
eat. The Ondinean helped himself to a handful of seeds, chewing contentedly.

Tor stroked the quoll’s back, and it purred more loudly. She’d
had a few complaints from customers who didn’t like sharing a drink with
something hairy; but this was her place, and she didn’t care. There were other
gaming hells on the Street now, and always plenty of other customers. “Where’s
the Mystery Man tonight?” Usually Niburu and Ananke came in with another
offworlder named Kullervo. She knew they worked for him; and she knew who he
worked for. She’d seen the brand they all wore on their palms often enough,
seen it all the time, back before the Departure, when she had run Persipone’s
Hell for the Source. The sight of the brand had almost made her sick, the first
time she’d seen it on somebody again, here in her new place. But she’d realized
that just because they’d come into her club, it didn’t mean the Source had any
interest in her anymore—didn’t even mean he was actually here at all, in the
flesh. Things were different now, the Source couldn’t use a Tiamatan to shield
his business from the law; because the law had changed with everything else.

She didn’t know what Kullervo did for the Source here on
Tiamat; she didn’t care, as long as he didn’t do it to her. Just because any of
them worked for a criminal didn’t mean she had anything against them
personally. She’d almost married a man once who worked for the Source.

All she’d ever seen Kullervo do was win at her tables—and
win and win, at almost anything he chose to play, when he bothered to play. She
would have minded that, except that he didn’t play much, and he gave all his
table credit to his two men, who invariably lost it all again. And it gave her
other customers a thrill.

“He said he’d meet us here.” Niburu shrugged, and smiled a
little. “Why? You miss him?”

Tor laughed. “Not me. Ariele Dawntreader’s been asking.”

“There he is now.” Ananke poked a thumb over his shoulder.

Tor followed his motion, and saw Kullervo making his way in
their direction through the surreal patterns of light and darkness. Tor’s eyes
stayed on him a moment longer than she wanted them to, as they always did—partly
because she liked to look at his face, and partly because he always unnerved
her. There was something about his eyes that wasn’t entirely sane. Seeing him
always sent an irrational frisson of terror and pity through her, even though
he had never so much as raised his voice to her. His strangeness, more than
anything he’d actually ever done, was why she thought of him as the Mystery
Man.

She glanced away toward the table where Ariele Dawntreader
was sitting with some of her friends, to see if the girl had noticed him coming
in. She’d noticed, all right. She was on her feet already, about to intersect
Kullervo’s course. Tor saw Elco Teel Graymount get to his feet beside her,
catching her arm, saying something into her ear that she didn’t seem to like
much. She shrugged him off, frowning, and came on across the crowded, noisy
room. She caught up with Kullervo just before he reached the bar, and spoke his
name.

Tor saw the look on her face as he stopped and turned toward
her—the brightness of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks; saw the breathless
anticipation singing through every millimeter of her body. Tor had never seen
Ariele look that alive, not since she was a child. She knew what that look
meant: Ariele was in love. She wondered if it was the mystery Ariele was
infatuated with ... that wildness, the danger she had sensed in the man. Tor
sighed. She hoped not. Maybe it was just his face. Thirty years ago, a face
like that would have been enough to turn her own senses inside out. She
wondered whether the Queen knew about this.

She couldn’t see Kullervo’s expression as he and Ariele
talked together; his back was turned. But she knew that lately he had been in
here almost every night, and so had Ariele ... and that almost every night they
had ended up in one of her private rooms. Kullervo nodded once, and they
started away together. But Tor noticed, surprised, that he didn’t touch the
girl, and Ariele didn’t touch him, even once, before she lost sight of them.

She looked at Niburu and Ananke again, as they turned back
from watching the same scene. She saw Niburu meet Ananke’s stare and shrug,
shaking his head. “Go figure,” he muttered.

Tor leaned on the bar. “Listen,” she said, “is she safe with
him?”

“Safe?” Niburu repeated blankly.

“She’s the Queen’s daughter. And more than that, I’ve known
her since she was a baby. She matters a lot to me. I don’t know anything about
your boss, except I’ve seen his tattoos ....” And I’ve seen his eyes.

Niburu nodded. “The tattoos aren’t what you think.” He hesitated.
“And neither is Reede. She’s safe with him. He’s not like that ... like what
you mean. In fact—” he turned to Ananke, “you know, he’s been in kind of a good
mood lately.”

“Yeah,” Ananke said ruefully. “He hasn’t called me a dumb
shit in days.” He slurped his drink, and reached for another handful of seeds.
The quoll nipped at him, muttering irritably. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“I’ve never seen Ariele look at anybody like that, before.
The gods only know what the Queen’s going to think if she finds out her
daughter’s getting personal with one of the Source’s brands.”

Niburu started visibly as she spoke the name. But he said, “Reede’s
not just some thug,” sounding defensive.

“Oh? What is he then?”

Niburu frowned, but she could have sworn there was uncertainty
in his eyes. “He’s a biochemist. He’s Jaakola’s Head of Research.”

She put her hands on her hips. “And I’m the Summer Queen.
Come on, shorty, I know what that eye burned into his palm means. The Source
doesn’t brand his chiefs.”

Niburu opened his mouth to answer her, but Ananke put a hand
on his arm, with an urgent grimace. Niburu let his breath out in a sigh, and
muttered, “Have it your way, Tor.” He shrugged and finished his drink in one
swallow, wiping his mouth. A branded hireling of some underworld cartel wasn’t
much better than a slave. She supposed her comments about Kullervo had hurt
Niburu’s pride by association; he probably wanted her to think his boss was
something better because that made him something better too. “The Queen doesn’t
have to lose sleep over Reede, anyway. Because he’s not sleeping with her daughter.”

Tor stared at him. “Then what the hell are they doing in one
of my private rooms almost every night?”

Niburu shrugged. “He says they talk.”

Tor made a rude noise.

“He says they talk about the mers. They share an interest.
That’s all.”

“You believe that,” she said. Not a question.

He nodded. “She isn’t his type. His wife was Ondinean.”

“Wife?” she asked. “Was?” Thinking that Reede Kullervo
hardly looked old I enough for that much history.

“She died ... in an accident.” He looked down. “Since then I’ve
only seen him with Ondinean women. Even here. And never with the same one
twice.”

Tor felt herself frown again; with concern this time,
because the longing look she had seen in Ariele’s eyes had nothing to do with a
need for stimulating discussion. “Well,” she said at last, “I don’t know if
that’s good news, or bad news .... But all I can say is, much as I care about
that girl, I never thought of her as a spellbinding conversationalist.”

“It is kind of unusual, Kedalion,” Ananke said, glancing
away into the room. “We’ve been in here practically every night for a couple of
weeks straight, now. He’s never done anything like that before.”

“That’s true ....” Niburu nodded thoughtfully.

Ananke picked up the quoll, which had surfeited itself on
seeds and begun to wander beyond reach. He tucked it back into the sling at his
side. “You want to play the tables?”

“In a while.” Niburu waved a hand at the action. “You go
ahead; I want to finish my drink.”

Tor glanced at his glass, which was empty. She saw Ananke
glance at it too; a smile twitched the corners of his mouth as he looked up at
her. He shrugged and started away, losing himself in the crowd.

Tor looked back at Niburu, and caught him looking down her
cleavage. She straightened up, with a wry smile pulling at her own mouth, and
casually ran her hands down the silken curves of her gown. Niburu raised his eyebrows,
and she supposed she should be glad the light was dim, and that at her age she
still had anything somebody wanted to look at. “Refill?” She gestured pointedly
at Niburu’s empty glass.