Braden (12 page)

Vistara women, on the other hand, considered themselves the
most morally upright on Bor Narga. Nothing soiled them. Vistara women were the
most heavily robed and closely veiled, and only their family and dearest
friends saw what was under all the covers.

Just as well, Braden thought as he and Justin emerged from
the train. Those veils probably concealed faces so bitter and sunk in
themselves that shriveled prunes would be more attractive.

While the ministries were run by highborn women, Vistara
women filled the lower ranks. They were determined to make Bor Narga the most
pristine city in the universe.

If only those pesky millions in the slums of Pas City
weren’t there to drag them down.

Patrollers eyed the two men sharply as they left the train
station, but Braden and Justin pulled folds of their robes around their heads,
a signal that they weren’t looking for female company. Even so, one patroller
broke from her pack and followed them as they strolled leisurely down a public
street.

“You came back for a woman from the Vistara?” Braden asked
as they walked. “I swear to the gods, I’m starting you on those meds.”

“Patience. Think we can ditch the patroller?”

“Are we Shareem?”

The main shopping boulevards were already filling, though
the sun had been up only a few hours. People in the Vistara were early risers.

Street vendors existed up here as they did in Pas City,
though here they were more likely to sell fine fabrics, expensive fruit and the
most up-to-date gadgets that nobody needed. Awnings overhead kept the area cool
and many of the vendors had heat-shielding around their booths.

Braden and Justin strolled along, looking at the goods, the
patroller trying to be inconspicuous behind them.

As the street became more crowded, Braden and Justin drifted
apart, forcing the patroller to choose which of them to follow. Braden wove
around booths, back and forth across the street, and then plunged down an alley
to take a roundabout route back to the shopping boulevard.

By the time he emerged into the vendor-lined boulevard
again, a host of people, mostly women, were between him and the patroller. The
patroller scanned the crowd in irritation, obviously having lost sight of both
Braden and Justin.

Braden stepped into the shadows between two booths, sucking
on a flavored ice-stick he’d bought while he roamed. At this distance, he might
pass for a pampered Vistara husband idling away his time while his wife was at
the office.

The patroller looked up and down for a while longer then
gave up and walked back toward the train station, her stride angry.

Braden spied Justin bending over a vendor’s cart a little
way up the street. He finished his ice and pushed the stick into a recycling
bin as he headed for Justin.

Justin looked up from a display of handheld devices Shareem
weren’t allowed to buy as Braden approached. Justin gave the woman behind the
booth a warm smile, and she blushed and actually smiled back. She must not have
been from around there.

“Not her, is it?” Braden asked as they walked away together.

“Who?” Justin glanced back. “No, not the vendor. I just like
to smile at women. It’s instinct.”

Braden had the same instinct. “So where is she?”

“Calm down. Almost there.”

Braden strolled along, trying not to feel stifled by the
perfect buildings and perfect houses and immaculately clean streets of the
Vistara. He decided he liked sand-scoured alleys and tattered awnings and
brusque fruit sellers who actually let Shareem buy things. Real life.

Justin grabbed Braden’s wrist and jerked him into a
too-clean alley between buildings. Justin was gazing intently at a café across
the street, one with seating on the walkway in front of it. Not many sat at
those tables, but a large window showed that the interior of the café was
filled with morning caffeine-seekers.

“Second table from the left,” Justin said. “Rose-colored
robes.”

The robes in question shimmered as the wearer moved. Because
she was inside, the lady had removed her concealing face veil, her head still
framed with translucent silk fabric the color of pink roses.

The woman was much younger than Braden had expected, early
twenties. Maybe just finished with university, maybe still there. A few curls
of light brown hair trickled around her veil as she leaned forward to
delicately sip her coffee.

She was pretty in an unselfconscious way, talking and
laughing with her friends because she liked to. If Braden hadn’t already found
Elisa, he’d be tempted to beguile this one into bed. Pretty Vistara ladies
needed pleasure too.

“Very nice,” Braden said with admiration.

Justin nodded, not saying a word.

Braden glanced back at the woman again, the mystery not
solved. Sure, she was pretty and animated and looked as though she might be fun
in the sack, but was she wonderful enough to merit a return to Bor Narga?

Justin had lived a normal life in a place that had
acknowledged him as human. Here on Bor Narga, he risked arrest for the
slightest offense, real or imagined, and termination, every single day.

Something didn’t track.

Justin’s gaze was still riveted to the café. Whoever the
young woman was, she’d knocked Justin on his ass.

“So, my friend,” Braden said. “Why are you letting me see
her? To show her off? Or did you want a threesome and couldn’t think of a
better Shareem to have it with?”

Braden had been joking, but the last word was barely out of
his mouth before Braden found himself against the wall, Justin’s hand hard
against his throat.

“Don’t you even
think
about touching her.
Ever
.”

“Whoa.” Braden lifted his hands. “I get it. The lady’s
yours—” His breath cut off as Justin squeezed harder.

“She’s not…”

Abruptly Justin released him, as though the oomph had gone
out of him.

Braden fingered his throat, watching Justin in surprise.
“Where the hell did you meet this lady? On Sirius?”

Justin shook his head, eyes filled with pain. “She’s never
been off Bor Narga.”

“Then when? At that age, she wouldn’t have been born before
you got shipped out. Just before you left at most.”

Justin looked at Braden again, and what was in his eyes made
Braden’s mouth go dry.

“What are you saying?” Braden asked. “That’s not possible.
You know it’s not possible.”

“It
is
possible, my friend.” Justin lowered his voice
to a whisper, mindful that the Vistara had more surveillance per square foot
than did any other part of the city. “Her name is Sybellie, and she’s my
daughter.”

Chapter Ten

Braden looked in shock at the girl sitting so happily with
her friends in the café. She laughed and talked like any carefree young woman
who had enough money to shop the boulevards of the Vistara and then stop for
coffee with friends.

Questions poured into Braden’s head—
How the hell? Are you
sure? How is that possible?
—but he kept his mouth closed.

Talking about it here would be a bad idea. No telling when a
patroller would pop up or how well this alley was monitored. Even Shareem
staring at a woman for too long would land in the cells.

Justin looked at Sybellie with a kind of hungry longing, a
mixture of sorrow and happiness. He clearly didn’t want to leave but when
Braden nudged him, he nodded, knowing they couldn’t stay.

With one last look, Justin led Braden out to the main street
again.

They didn’t speak all the way back to the train station.
Braden didn’t even have the heart to wave at the patroller they’d ditched, who
glared at them as they stepped onto the shielded platform.

Braden and Justin didn’t talk during the half-hour train
ride back down to Pas City. There, they walked out of the station and headed
directly to Judith’s bar. Once inside, Braden claimed his usual corner table,
ordered two glasses of Judith’s best ale and paid for them himself.

This early, he and Justin were the only Shareem here—Shareem
liked to sleep in. Mitch was there, and Judith’s attention was all for him.

“Explanation time,” Braden said in a low voice. He paused to
take a drink of fortifying ale. “When you say ‘daughter’, what exactly do you
mean? That DNAmo took a sample from you and mixed it with human DNA to produce
a child for a rich couple?”

“No.”

The blunt syllable explained more than whole paragraphs.
“But we’re sterile,” Braden said. “That’s what’s been pounded into my head my
whole life. Created sterile, pumped with drugs to make sure we stay that way.”

“I guess it didn’t work with me.”

Justin’s quiet conviction made Braden’s world spin. He took
another sip of ale. “Who’s her mother?”

“One of the guinea pigs.”

“Guinea pigs” were what Shareem had called the women who
took jobs with DNAmo for sex experiments with Shareem. These women signed all
kinds of forms saying they gave full consent to be used for this purpose and
were paid a handsome fee in return. Working-class women were most likely to
answer DNAmo’s ads, welcoming the extra money, while middle class and highborn
shunned it. But it wasn’t prostitution, the DNAmo administrators insisted. It
was science.

The women were mostly used to keep Shareem calm, because
Shareem needed daily sexual activity in order not to go insane or die. They
also participated in experiments to see what kinds of things the scientists
could program Shareem to do.

No emotional connection had been allowed between Shareem and
the guinea pigs. The women were rotated frequently, and the moment the
researchers suspected a guinea pig was growing too fond of her Shareem, she was
removed from his section or let go altogether.

Both Shareem and the women had learned to keep any emotional
ties secret. When DNAmo shut down and the Shareem escaped, a few met up with
whatever guinea pig they’d formed a bond with and were able to get off planet
with them before the order was given to round up the Shareem.

Justin had been shipped off to Sirius III two years before
DNAmo had shut down.

“Which guinea pig?” Braden asked.

“Lillian.”

Braden thought but couldn’t place her. “I don’t think I knew
her.”

“She wasn’t in your section. She wouldn’t agree to go past
level two. When she told me that she was pregnant, I told her to quit and get
out. If they’d found out…” Justin trailed off.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

If the DNAmo scientists had found out that Lillian carried a
Shareem baby, they’d have either rid her of the child or done experiments on it
and her—probably both. Even if the child had survived, once DNAmo shut down,
the government would have hunted her down the same as they had Shareem. She
wouldn’t have had a chance.

“What happened to Lillian?” Braden asked.

Justin studied his ale glass. “She had the child, obviously.
She carried Sybellie herself instead of using an artificial incubator, not
unusual for a working-class woman. That kept too many doctors and techs away
from the baby. When Sybellie was born, Lillian managed to get a message to me
on Sirius—told me she’d had a daughter and that she’d given her up for
adoption. A rich family on the Vistara had taken her. Lillian didn’t explain
why she hadn’t kept her, but I can imagine. Lillian had no money, and questions
would come up about who the father was—you know how the ministries are. I don’t
know who Lillian told people he was. She must have made up something, maybe
said he was an off-worlder.”

“You could find Lillian and ask her.”

Justin ran his fingers along his chilled glass. “Lillian’s
gone. I’ve looked for her, but there’s no record. She’s either dead or off
planet.”

“How can there be no record of her? This is Bor Narga, home
to the most record-happy people in the universe.”

Justin shrugged. “She could have smuggled herself out.
Changed her name. I don’t know. She dropped out of sight. Maybe she thought it
would be safer for her daughter if she left, and she was probably right.
Lillian, she was a sweet person. The self-sacrificing type, always concerned
with the welfare of others before herself.”

“Then how did you find your daughter?”

“Records.” Justin gave Braden a faint smile. “Kept by the
record-happy Bor Nargans. I looked up adoptions on the Vistara in the database
of Ministry of Children and Families.”

“Because, hey, they let Shareem search that all the time.”

Justin’s smile grew stronger. “I wouldn’t say they
let
me. Let’s just say I got access. There aren’t many adoptions done on the
Vistara—they’re snobbier than the highborns about bloodlines. But I found the
adoption record dated about the time Lillian got the message to me. And when I
saw Sybellie in the flesh, I knew she was the one. She’s the spitting image of
Lillian.” His look turned fond.

“Not to be a pain in the ass,” Braden said slowly, “but are
you sure you’re the father?”

Justin didn’t look offended. “Lillian could have lied to me,
you mean? I thought of that. But what would it benefit her to tell me I’d
gotten her pregnant? She had to quit her job, and lost income because of
it—they paid the guinea pigs pretty well. If the father was another Shareem,
what would Lillian gain by telling me Sybellie was mine? I couldn’t do any more
for her than any other Shareem could—I couldn’t help her at all. Neither of us
had any idea at the time that I’d be sent to Sirius III, and when I was, I was
cut off from all communications with dear old Bor Narga. Lillian had no obligation
to tell me anything, no obligation to get word to me when Sybellie was born.
She told me to be fair to me, because she knew I’d want to know.”

“She could have been mistaken.”

Justin shook his head. “The Ministry database had record of
the exact minute of Sybellie’s birth. I counted backward. Gestation periods,
even when the woman carries the baby herself, are exact. The science Bor Narga
is so fond of has made sure of that. Nine months, the kids come out whether
they want to or not. The week Sybellie was conceived, Lillian had been with me
twenty-four seven.” He smiled in remembrance. “It was one hell of a week.”