Read A Working of Stars Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
A Working of Stars (23 page)
“It’s all right,” Kief said. “Let’s go downstairs.”
He led the way down to the lower reaches of the building, and the chambers where Natelth’s sister did her work. One of Isayana’s many custom-tooled
aiketen
met them at the foot of the stairs.
aiketen
met them at the foot of the stairs.
“If I may escort you to the robing-room?” it asked.
“Please do,” he said. The sus-Peledaen
aiketen
came closer to true sapience than most of their kind, and he was willing to give them the benefit of courtesy on that account. If a device of Isayana’s manufacturing should choose to hold a grudge on account of bad treatment—which was something Kief did not consider wholly impossible—he had no intention of being the object of its ill will.
aiketen
came closer to true sapience than most of their kind, and he was willing to give them the benefit of courtesy on that account. If a device of Isayana’s manufacturing should choose to hold a grudge on account of bad treatment—which was something Kief did not consider wholly impossible—he had no intention of being the object of its ill will.
Once in the robing-room, he put on his working garments as rapidly as possible, then said to the others, “I’m going to talk with our patron. Join me when you’re ready; the
aiketh
will show you the way.”
aiketh
will show you the way.”
The setup in the main workroom had changed since his last visit, at least partly in accordance with his specifications. Nothing remained of the laboratory tables, or the specialized equipment, or the shelves laden with supplies. Only the gel-vat with the finished replicant body—
not faceless,
Kief thought,
not any longer
—waited in the center of a large circle chalked on the floor. All the overhead worklights were turned off except for the one directly above the vat.
not faceless,
Kief thought,
not any longer
—waited in the center of a large circle chalked on the floor. All the overhead worklights were turned off except for the one directly above the vat.
Isayana sus-Khalgath was waiting for him next to the gel-vat, along with a thin, nervous-looking man whom Kief didn’t recognize. She introduced the man as the specialist physician who had been working with her on the replication process.
“If all goes well, syn-Velgeth will be assisting us with the final stages of the vivification.”
Kief nodded to the man politely, then glanced into the gel-vat at the body lying there: Lean and muscular, with a pronounced Antipodean cast to the facial features, it resembled nobody Kief knew.
“Do you have a name for him yet?” he asked.
“No. But Natelth’s people are working on it.”
“You gave them the image?”
She nodded. “It isn’t a perfect match, of course. The process gives us an ideal body, and life … life isn’t ideal. Scars, starvation, self-indulgence, they could all have left marks on him that we don’t know about.”
“A positive ID from the image and the genetic data should supply your brother with that information,” Kief said. He regarded the body thoughtfully. “If you had all the necessary information in advance, how close a match could you get with this process?”
“Theoretically?” said Isayana. “An exact one. Though the process at that level would be as much art as science.”
“Do you plan to tell your brother about the possibility of getting a true double?”
“No. Natelth doesn’t know about the replication process; he thinks all that I derived from the blood was an image.”
“I see.”
He wondered who she would tell, if not the sus-Peledaen. Not another of the star-lords, surely; she was angry at her brother, not the whole family. But there was definitely somebody out there who distrusted Lord Natelth enough to back his sister in research as potentially world-changing as his own efforts with the Circles.
He already knew that—if it worked—she wasn’t going to tell Natelth about filling the replicant, either.
The second bar that Zeri entered was as dim and noisy as the first, and the air was thick with smoke and sweat and the pheromones of lust. She looked around for fleet-livery, and thought for a second that she was in luck when she spotted sus-Oadlan buff and scarlet at the far end of the crowded bar. Then she got a better glimpse of the wearer—broad-shouldered, male, and taller than herself by more than a head—and her hopes faded. She scanned the room a second time, with no better result, and resigned herself to trying yet another establishment.
She was fading back through the crush toward the doorway when a recently familiar voice at her elbow said, “You’re either a great deal bolder than I took you for, or a great deal stupider. Possibly both. And the mutual friend who’s waiting for us outside listens to you a great deal more than he ought to, regardless.”
Zeri turned, and saw a woman in a tight black bodysuit, a faux-fashionable half-mask, and a great deal of blue glitter, especially in her hair. “It occurs to me,” Zeri said, “that this isn’t a good place for me to call you by name.”
“You’re right; it isn’t,” said Iulan Vai.
“I have to admit that I like the outfit. But aren’t you missing an accessory?” Zeri had always been under the impression that a Mage’s staff never got very far from the hand of the Mage who owned it—if a staff was in fact owned, in the normal sense, which was something she’d never been clear on.
“No,” Vai said. “I’m not. Now let’s get you out of here before somebody on your bridegroom’s payroll spots your face and makes a comm call.”
“Do you really think anyone here—”
“I think at least three people here, and I’ve recognized one of them already. We need to continue this conversation out on the street.” Vai grasped Zeri’s elbow and urged her toward the front entrance. “At the moment, we’re doing this the easy way. But things are moving fast, and the hard way might turn up real soon now.”
Zeri and Vai made it through the crowd and out into the neon and incandescent night, where a hawker with a tray of pamphlets and text wafers was calling, “One hundred best pickup lines! Only one
ahle!
Get ’em here!”
ahle!
Get ’em here!”
“Now,” said Zeri. “What did you do with Len?”
“He’s lurking in the alley, holding my work clothes and my jacket and waiting for us to show up.”
Zeri didn’t think she liked Vai’s faint undertone of amusement. “Show up and do what?”
“Go to his ship,” Vai said. “Then leave the planet.”
“The port’s closed. Len said that closing it would be the first thing Lord Natelth did, and he was right.”
“Nevertheless,” said Vai. “We’re going to his ship.” They’d reached the mouth of the alley; she raised her voice slightly and said, “Len, come out and come on. The two of you have wasted quite enough time. We’re off.”
“Off for where?” Len said, pushing himself from the wall where he’d been leaning.
“To the sus-Dariv yards, and hope that the resources there are stretched thin.”
“And will they be?” he asked.
“Walk slowly,” Vai advised him. “We have every right to be here and we’re about our lawful business. As for your question—nothing is ever certain, but we should have luck tonight.”
She lifted her right hand slightly, and Zeri wasn’t surprised to see that it held a Mage’s staff. Zeri was somewhat more surprised to see that the staff was glowing a faint but vivid green—a phenomenon she had heard of, but had never expected to encounter.
Several minutes more of deliberately casual strolling took them from the entertainment strip to the starport proper, a complex of large buildings with high glass windows set about with the seals of all the fleet-families of Eraasi. They walked through the main archway, past the desk where the toteboard read CANCELED beside every lift, past the lounge where the duty-status pilots waited, out through the inner fence, and onto the field itself.
Once clear of the fence they picked up a slidewalk toward the sus-Dariv docks. Harsh yellow security lights reflected off the high clouds overhead, making the stars fade and go pale. Nobody had stopped them so far, and Zeri was actually starting to relax a little when Vai spoke up again.
“One thing that’s going for us,” the Mage said, “is that as far as most people are concerned, sus-Dariv is already sus-Peledaen. So we can honestly say that we’ve come here to check some family assets. And then we’re going suborbital to another yard for repairs. We can demonstrate that we don’t have the fuel on board to get to orbit. That’s in the logs and it’s been checked and confirmed.”
“What’s going to show in the logs is that I fueled up as soon as I came in,” Len said. “I always do, just in case.”
“A wise precaution,” said Vai. “But this once, I’m afraid, you’re in error. The records will show that this morning you sold what you bought.”
When they reached the sus-Dariv gate, Len pushed his ID card into the slot. “With two,” he said to the
aiketh
on watch, and the
aiketh
responded, “Lenyat Irao, sus-Dariv by current contract, with two.”
aiketh
on watch, and the
aiketh
responded, “Lenyat Irao, sus-Dariv by current contract, with two.”
Len’s ship, when they reached it, turned out to be somewhat larger than Zeri had expected—the three of them had to take a hydraulic lift up to the main external hatch. She felt exposed and vulnerable during the ride up, suspended on a platform between earth and air with no place to go; but nobody on the field below came running to stop them. She was grateful when the lift stopped and Len entered the combination on the keypad to open the ship. The hatch groaned open, and they stepped through.
“Welcome to
Fire-on-the-Hilltops,”
Len said. “She may not be pretty, but she gets the job done.”
Fire-on-the-Hilltops,”
Len said. “She may not be pretty, but she gets the job done.”
“Where’s Herin?” Zeri said.
“In the Antipodes,” said Vai. “Doing business for me there.” The Mage turned to Len. “Can you get local clearance to do a surface-to-surface hop?”
“If they don’t give permission,” Zeri said, “take it anyway. I want to find my cousin.”
Kief waited while Isayana and her
aiketen
and the attending physician made final preparations. The members of Kief’s Circle came in, masked and robed now, and stood together at one side of the workroom making preparations of their own—some stretching, moving in patterned exercises or in slow dancelike staff routines; others turned inward, already partway into trance. Kief had told them what would be needed, and they knew that ultimately one of them would fill the replicant. The working would show which one of them was best suited for the purpose.
aiketen
and the attending physician made final preparations. The members of Kief’s Circle came in, masked and robed now, and stood together at one side of the workroom making preparations of their own—some stretching, moving in patterned exercises or in slow dancelike staff routines; others turned inward, already partway into trance. Kief had told them what would be needed, and they knew that ultimately one of them would fill the replicant. The working would show which one of them was best suited for the purpose.
He could see from their manner and movement that all of them were willing, and even eager. This was a new thing they were doing, and theirs was not a common fleet-Circle. The purpose of this Circle was to do extraordinary things.
A readout on the side of the gel-vat gave him the time. It was almost the hour; across town, the Institute Circle would already have begun their working. The lesser Circle’s aim was to summon up power, to bind the cords of it together into a strong cable, and feed that cable into the pattern of the greater Circle’s working.
Kief turned to the physician. “Is the body ready? Physically.”
syn-Velgeth said, “Yes. It breathes; the heart beats.”
“How long do we have?”
“Five hours, maybe six. If your people can’t animate—”
“Fill.”
“—can’t fill it by then, we’ll have to flush the bath with acid and let the gel revert.”
“Five hours should be enough,” Kief told him. To Isayana, he said, “We’re ready. You’ve done your part; the rest is up to the Circle.”
“What should we do?” she asked.
“Keep out of the way—and don’t interfere, no matter what you see happening. Even if this turns out to need a great working.”
He could tell from her expression that the idea of not doing anything wasn’t pleasing to her, but she and the physician moved to the side without argument, standing together in obscurity outside the bright illumination thrown by the single worklight. Kief gestured to his Mages, and they came forward to kneel around the perimeter of the chalked circle with the gel-vat in its center. He waited until all the others were settled, then took the First’s position, knelt, and slipped on his hardmask.
The
eiran
were everywhere.
eiran
were everywhere.
He saw the pattern of Garrod’s working, as he always saw it wherever he went and whatever he did. And another pattern, overlying it, incomplete … the threads that would make up this working, Kief’s own working. Its lines and tracings glowed silver in the shadowed corners of the room, paler but still visible toward the center. Behind and outside the patterns lay the sturdy glowing cable of the Institute Circle’s combined will, a bright loop waiting to be grasped.
Kief sank deeper into meditation, into the inner world of metaphor and imagery that shaped and directed a Mage’s will. In that place, he stood on barren ground, under a hot sun in a hazy-pale sky. All around him were tangled thornbushes. He stood on a path overgrown with them, and there was something up ahead that he couldn’t see, in the midst of the thorns. He was pushing his way through, pushing; the thorns caught at his flesh and tore it until it bled.
Where were his robes, his mask? Here in his inner world, he didn’t have them, only the light summer clothing he used to wear as a student in Hanilat. His staff … he still had his staff. He was still a Mage.
A Mage, and he had to reach the thing he knew was somewhere ahead of him. It was waiting for him, it needed to be found, but the thorns were keeping him away.
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