This Alien Shore (60 page)

T
HE CASINO ROYALE was busy tonight.

Wealthy humans of all Variations gathered around gaming tables, dressed in their most elegant finery. Precious jewelry glittered about throats, on arms, on tentacles. Waiters moved effortlessly through the crowds, offering drinks and drugs to the patrons. Red velvet curtains framed windows that looked out into the majesty of space, and two false moons hung perennially in view, replete with their own illumination.

In this setting even a presence like that of Sonondra Ra might go unnoticed for a time. If not for the delicate kaja painted on her face she might even be mistaken for a Terran, for her minimal formalwear showed far more of her body than most Guerans ever revealed. But that was a first impression only. Closer examination would discover the network of jeweled receivers embedded in her copper skin, with lines connecting them so fine that they were sensed rather than seen. And, of course, the eyes. Once her jeweled eyes turned in your direction, there was no mistaking who she was, or what. No one ever forgot those eyes.

She made a quiet entrance through the grand front doors of the casino and nodded to the servants there with regal grace. A few of the nearer gamblers saw her enter, and paused to favor her with a nod or a bow or some Variant-specific gesture that acknowledged her presence. A smile was all she offered in return, but that was enough. Dice rattled in their metal cages. Plastic cards riffled at one table, then another. Holographic homunculi evolved through a series of random mutations, while gamblers bet on the results.

She crossed the main foyer quickly, her diamond-and-black silk formal gown fluttering as she walked. Three quarters of the way across she paused at a shimini table, where gyroscopic gaming pieces danced across the board in seemingly random display. There was a man, of Terran stock, and he was just putting his thumb seal on his recent winnings when a gentle touch on his shoulder informed him that she was there. Just that. She waited until he glanced back to see who it was, then went on her way as if nothing had occurred. Past a Yin who was playing the machines, while guards watched to make sure he stayed away from any game involving human thought. Past a Saurin whose gleaming scales had been studded with precious stones, a most extravagant display. Past a sextet of Belial twins, who for some unfathomable reason were playing poker against each other.

Up the stairs at the end of the foyer she went, and into a lush room situated beyond. A one-way mirror in the shadowed chamber would let her watch the games below if she so desired. She didn't, and turned it off.

A moment later the Terran followed. In a gesture as old as time itself—or the civilized portions of time, which were the only centuries that really mattered—he took her hand in his and raised it gently to his lips, brushing the receptors on the back of her fingers with a kiss that hinted at intimacy yet to come. She squeezed his hand gently in return and murmured, “You're winning, I take it?”

“My casino. My option.”

Her smile betrayed pearl white teeth, surfaced with the shimmer of abalone dust. “You are evil, Sergey.”

“And you, Madame Ra, are the mistress of evil incarnate.” He stepped back from her with a smile and folded his arms across his chest. “And how may I serve you this evening? Or have you merely brought your beauty here to humble us all, a reminder that Earth no longer possesses all that is precious in the universe?”

“Your tongue is golden, as always.”

“It is my business. As always.”

“I daresay you could talk your way out of a federated prison with skill like that.”

“And in fact I have done so. As you know.” He bowed, a faintly mocking smile adding spice to his refined features. “How fortunate that I found a patroness willing to let such a soiled creature set up business on her station.”

“How fortunate that your business is clean.” Then she smiled. “Mostly.”

He laughed, a clear and clearly practiced sound. “So how may I serve you, Guildmistress of my heart? Besides with my own personal attentions, which are better called worship than service?”

“I think perhaps you overstate your skills,” she mused.

“I think not.” He smiled. “Maybe you undervalue them.”

She laughed softly. “Today I need something sweeter than love, my dear. And harder to find.”

“And that is?”

“Information.”

“Ah. I see. About what?”

“Let us say... Terran matters?”

He shook his head sadly. “My queen, you would blind us with your beauty until we would even betray our race for you. How cruel.”

“Nonsense. I give you choice commercial sites, keep the pol from reminding you of legal appointments you have... forgotten... and shower you with political favors.” She flicked his chin with a long dark finger, capped with a sterling nail. “That's worth more than beauty, I think.”

“A hard choice,” he mused.

“And besides, you're not Terran. Not as Earth uses the word. Born in the outworlds and raised in the outworlds, with nary a desire to tread the sacred soil of the motherworld.”

“I do hear the air there is very unclean.”

“And I hear you do commerce with those who breathe it.”

“If I did, I would certainly keep that a secret.”

“Ah, Sergey, but secrets are so ... boring.” She blinked; thick lashes swept downward over the faceted surfaces, leaving them clean to glitter in the room's dim light. “Don't you think?”

“Nothing bores me that interests you, my goddess.” He took a step closer. Her receptors translated the colors of his clothing into a caress along her skin, and the warmth of his body into color within her brain. “What is it you want? You know I can deny you nothing.”

She held up a hand, keeping him at arm's length. For the moment. “Corporations,” she said softly. “They're here, and they're invading my security. I'm plucking their annoying little programs out of my cam system right and left, and Customs has a ship full of bits and pieces of things that look like they might become weapons, if properly assembled. And strangely enough, they all seem to come from Earth.” The jeweled eyes fixed on him. “I thought you might know why.”

The change in his expression was almost imperceptible; a scaling down of the warmth of his smile by one degree, or maybe as much as two. He did not step back, but he did stop pressing forward.

“That's quite an answer,” she assessed. “Elaborate.”

“I don't know much.”

“I'm not quite sure I believe that yet... but do go on.”

“The company behind it's called Tridac. It's an Earth corporation, and one of the more competitive ones.”

“A shark among sharks, as they say.”

He nodded.

“Did you know that sharks kill other sharks even while they're still in the womb?” Her jeweled eyes glittered. “I always wondered if we shouldn't use that as a symbol for the Guild, rather than the
natsiq.
But perhaps it applies to Earth politics even better than it does to us.” She nodded. “Please go on.”

“Rumor has it now they were after something Shido Corporation had. Shido is now dead and gone, and I do mean that in the literal sense; Earth Corporate law isn't a gentle thing. And that
something
they had is now free in the outworlds.”

“Indeed? That
something
would not have happened to wander aboard my station, would it?”

“So Tridac seems to think.”

“Perhaps in the form of a young Terran woman? I ask only because there are a few identity sniffers roaming about looking for such a person. In fact, more than a few.”

“I wouldn't know, Madame Ra.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Your sources are much better than mine.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” She smiled. “But they are ... different. For instance, my sources indicate that the Guild lost track of such a person several weeks back in Reijik Node. That's an interesting coincidence, isn't it? One young girl, with all these important people chasing after her. You wouldn't have any idea what that was about, would you?”

“Alas, I fear you overestimate the quality of my contacts. Would they have access to Guild secrets? I think not.”

“But do tell me what the Terran grapevine is chattering about, won't you? I do know they don't say a word that you don't hear. And record. And use for profit.”

He spread his hands in mock humility. “You flatter me.”

“Nonsense. I am merely...” She tapped a slender finger to the side of one diamondine eye. “... observant.”

“Of course.” He bowed his head, acknowledging the point. “It's said that Shido was experimenting with something that would give them access to the ainniq. True access. Something that would permit the Terrans to have outpilots of their own, and break Guera's monopoly.”

She hissed softly between glittering teeth. “Ah, that would be... bad.”

“Depending on where your investments lie, Madame. I hear stock in Tridac is doing quite well, right now. I picked up a few shares on Monday.”

“There are things more important than money, Sergey.”

“No, my queen, there you are wrong. There is nothing more valuable than money... because everything can be bought. The only question is price.”

“And what is your price?” she said softly. “What coinage buys your loyalty?”

He took a step forward then and took her in his arms. His fingers brushed over the hard nubs of receptors as he ran his hands along her bare back, drawing her to him.

The kiss was long and deep and not at all innocent, and when it was done, he held her close to him, his hands resting on her waist through the cut-out sections of her gown.

“My price was met,” he told her. “I'm no longer for sale.”

“How fortunate,” she purred. “For me.” She ran a hand up through his hair, long dark hair, fine and silky; her receptors translated the sensations of it into nameless flavors within her brain. “I want more information, Sergey. You have the contacts. You be my ears. I want to know who she is, and what she is, and who is coming after her, and with what, and why.”

“I can't answer for the Guild,” he warned.

“Leave the Guild to me. Petty little Guildmasters, seeking to play chess with the fates on my station! I'll make them sorry they ever turned their eyes in my direction. You just tell me what the Terrans are doing, and leave the rest to me.” She kissed him softly. “Yes?” And then again, more deeply—much more deeply—a kiss warm and wet with hints of pleasure to come. “Yes?”

He answered her. But not in words.

Sometimes silence is a far more binding promise.

T
HE LAST person Phoenix ever expected to get a real vid call from was Nuke. He'd have sworn the guy didn't even know where his vid software was, much less how to use it. But there it was, a pretty clear holo with reasonable sound, just the kind of image you might send home to mom. If you ever talked to mom.