The Sardonyx Net (12 page)

His dark eyes came alive.
 

“Just for a day. He's going to talk with Jo Leiakanawa, the Net second. We need someone with contacts in the Abanat drug market to—” She heard herself sharing Family Yago's business with a stranger, a slave, not even a secretary. Astounded, she stopped.
 

But Dana's head was cocked to one side. He was listening. Rhani started to speak. He held up a hand. She listened—and heard, over the sounds made by the house, a high-pitched whine. “What is it?” she asked, and then answered herself. “It's a bubble. But the mail bubble comes at dawn, and it isn't due for two days yet.”
 

They went out the kitchen door. Shading their eyes, they stared at the sky. Dana pointed west. Rhani gazed up. The drone continued. Light flashed: sunlight glinting off metal. She glanced back at the house; Zed had come out to the terrace. He was wearing sunshades on his eyes.
 

An hour before noon it was hot even under the shade trees. Timithos had turned the water off. By noon, taking a breath felt like you were filling your lungs with sand, and sweat evaporated from the skin at once. The most indefatigable tourists napped. Who would fly a bubble so close to noon, so near the estate? All the Abanat pilots knew how strongly the Four Families valued their solitude.
 

Now she could see the little craft clearly. At the last instant, it changed course. Making a wide swerve, it skirted the wall of the estate, and circled back toward Abanat.
 

Rhani said, “Maybe a pilot lost the way. It's dangerous, Zed says, to fly in the noon sun.”
 

“Maybe the pilot's new to Chabad,” Dana said.
 

“Or some tourist offered a pilot a bribe to fly as close to the Yago estate as she dared,” Rhani said. “It's happened before.”
 

He said, “I was wondering—” and stopped.
 

“Yes?” Rhani said.
 

“I was wondering about the mail bubble.”
 

“What about it?”
 

“On Pellin, and Nexus, too, mail goes through the computer network.”
 

Rhani smiled. “Custom on Chabad is different. Public mail, trivia, news: this goes through the computer. But Family matters, business dealings, private communications we write on paper, with ink.”
 

He said, “Some people might call that archaic.”
 

“It is archaic. Though we prefer the word ‘traditional' on Chabad. The Founders, the folk of the Four Families who turned Chabad from a prison planet to a successful mining colony, were very traditional people.”
 

“But what is the point to avoiding the com-net?”
 

“To keep private information inaccessible to unauthorized persons who might try to see it.”
 

He looked doubtful. “Paper and ink—aren't you afraid that someone might steal the letters? It's physically easier than cracking the computer network. Or"—he sounded serious—"if you have to make some data inaccessible, why not just file everything under a ‘Restricted' code?”
 

“I said we were traditional!” Rhani exclaimed. “Not paranoiac. Actually"—she rubbed her chin—"I think we write so many letters on Chabad because one of the few things the planet produces, besides precious metals and kerits, is paper.”
 

He sighed. “It's different,” he said.
 

“You'll get used to it,” she said, but gently, so that he would not feel that she was dwelling upon his state of servitude.
 

Cara and Immeld walked toward them, arm in arm. Rhani said, “Did you see the bubble, just now?”
 

Cara nodded. Immeld said, “It came very close. They never come that close.”
 

Cara said thoughtfully, “They're not supposed to do that.”
 

“No,” Rhani agreed. “I'll tell Binkie to call Main Landingport and remind them. Cara, Zed is going to Abanat tomorrow, just for one day. He'll be back in the evening.”
 

Suddenly, Dana began to laugh.
 

All three women turned to look at him. “What are you laughing at?” Rhani said.
 

Controlling the laughter, he hiccoughed. “Sorry, Rhani-ka. It occurred to me that the pilot of the bubble might be someone I know.”
 

“Who?” asked Immeld. Cara frowned at her, and pressed her arm.
 

“It doesn't matter,” Dana said, “because it can't be her. The timing's all off.”
 

“I thought you didn't know anyone on Chabad,” Rhani said. But she remembered as she said it that he had not exactly stated that.
 

“I don't.”
 

“Then who were you thinking of?” she pressed.
 

His face closed like a fist. “A Starcaptain,” he answered, “named Tori Lamonica.”
 

Zed Yago left the estate in the dark before sunrise.
 

Rhani walked with him to the bubble hangar. In the west, the stars made a frosty diadem on Chabad's horizon. “Good hunting in Abanat,” she said. “I'll miss you.”
 

“I won't be gone long. Jo drinks at The Green Dancer. I'll talk with her about Sherrix and I'll be back. I want to stop at the Main Landingport and talk to Tam Orion about that overflight.”
 

“I was going to have Bink write.”
 

“Let me complain. It was probably a newly hired pilot, but that's no excuse.”
 

Rhani said, “That's what Dana said. I thought some tourist offered a pilot a bribe.”
 

Zed palmed the bubble door. “They're paid on Nexus' scale. They don't need bribes.”
 

She caught his sleeve as he reached for the ceiling bar to swing inside the bubblecraft. “Zed-ka—where's Dana's ship? You told me you bought it from the Council.”
 

“
Zipper
?” He dropped back to earth lightly. “At Port, on the Field, with the Yago seal on it. He should know better than to bother you about it.”
 

“He didn't. But yesterday I found him listening to the air, to music in his mind.” Zed was nodding. “You know about his music, Zed-ka?”
 

“I know about it,” said Zed.
 

“He's adjusting well to the change in his life.”
 

“He'd better.”
 

“But I think he would be more content, less inclined to run, if he had his music. He thought the tapes were destroyed.”
 

Zed said, “They weren't. I gave orders that nothing in
Zipper
was to be touched. If you want, Rhani-ka, I'll call up to Port and have them send the tapes to Abanat on a shuttleship. If I call this morning I should have them by tonight.”
 

“I'd like that, Zed-ka.” She smiled, picturing Dana's surprise and joy.
 

Zed said, “Don't coddle him, Rhani-ka.”
 

“Happy slaves work better.”
 

He smiled at her. “We've had this discussion before.” He ran his fingers along the edge of her cheek. “I'll bring the tapes.”
 

“Thank you, Zed-ka. Don't stay all day at the Landingport, exchanging lies with the chief pilot.”
 

“I will not,” he said with dignity. He reached again for the ceiling bar. He disappeared into the bubble. Rhani stepped back as the two halves of the hangar roof began to slide apart. The bubble hummed. She clapped her hands over her ears. Zed transpared the skin, waved briefly, and then opaqued it over. The bubble shivered, and lifted straight up.
 

Dana, awake in his bed, heard the familiar drone.
 

It swelled, and then died, till all that he could hear of it was a dry arthropodal whine.
 

Zed was gone. In his head a chord sounded. He got out of bed smiling. He washed and then dressed. The straw sandals were already conforming to his feet. He went to the kitchen and helped himself to fruit. The house was quiet. The kitchen door was unlocked. Pushing it open, he strolled outside.
 

The shadowless light was pleasant. The cool air seemed softer. Dana picked his way to the rear of the house, where the bubble hangar sat. A slight figure rested on a hangar strut, arms folded. Dana hesitated. Rhani saw him. She leaned away from the hangar. Shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets, she came to join him. She looked thoughtful.
 

Delicately as a dragoncat, she lifted her chin, sniffing the air. “Smell the moisture?”
 

Dana said, “I thought it seemed less dry.”
 

“In the valleys at sunrise, sometimes you can feel dew on the grass. In winter it even rains: three storms a season. When it rains in Abanat the shops close. People leave houses and stores to walk in the rain.”
 

“Amri said there were no seasons here.”
 

“She wasn't born here.”
 

“She was remembering Belle.”
 

“She seems taken with you,” Rhani said.
 

“She reminds me of one of my little brothers.”
 

“You have more than one?”
 

Dana smiled. “I have seven.”
 

“Seven!” Rhani marveled. “All eight sons of one mother?”
 

“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “No. We go in for extended parenting on Pellin. There are actually nine sons, ten daughters, eight mothers, five fathers.”
 

“Do they all live together?” Rhani asked.
 

“No. But they get together all the time, to party, or to sing and dance, or to go on caravans. They get into three wagons and travel for months around the countryside.”
 

Rhani said, “So many people—I don't think I'd like it.”
 

“Not everyone on Pellin likes it,” he assured her. “People go what we call
bersk
. They get very grumpy and have to be alone for a time. I spent two years alone, off and on, in a cabin, gone
bersk
.”
 

They strolled slowly toward the garden. “I gather,” Dana said, “that family customs are different on Chabad.”
 

“Rather,” said Rhani dryly.
 

“You don't have children early.”
 

“Nor in such quantities.” She chuckled. “Ah, I lie. Imre and Aliza Kyneth have a brood of children, enough to fill a wagon. But they have been together thirty-five years, they are married, and their daughter, Margarite, the Kyneth heir, is only three years younger than I.”
 

He wondered who these people were. Friends? Relatives? It made him curious about her life. She seemed gentle, decent, no monster. They came to a bare patch of earth, and Rhani knelt to touch the dusty ground. On the top of her head, her hair was more red than brown. She said, “This spot just soaks up water, and nothing ever grows.” Standing, she brushed the grit from her fingers. Dana saw again how much she looked like her brother. Like Zed, she was fair. Fine blond hairs glinted on the backs of her hands and along her arms. Zed had bought him for her. Did she know? he wondered. Did she know what her brother was? He chanced a personal question. “Don't Yagos marry?”
 

“No. We never have. My mother, Isobel, is the only Yago to bear more than one child. I never knew my father, not even his name.” She smiled. “Does that shock you?”
 

“Yes,” he said.
 

“It's our custom. We bear late, too: my mother had me when she was fifty-five. Zed's my heir, until I have a child. If something were to happen to us both, the line reverts to cousins: the Diamos family. Lisa Yago had a brother. It's a parallel line. There are scores of them.
We
stay solitary: we give our strongest years to Chabad. Isobel was eighty when she died.” For a moment she seemed to have forgotten Dana. Then she said, “I know your age. How old am I?”
 

“Thirty-five?”
 

“Thirty-six.” Sunlight touched her; a cluster of small lines radiated from the outer corners of her eyes toward her hairline. “You guess well. Zed's two years younger.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you hear something?”
 

Dana listened. “It's a bubble,” he said, focusing on the sound. He shaded his eyes and found it. “There it is.”
 

“That's odd.” It winked across the western sky, a traveling point of light.
 

“Could it be the mail bubble?”
 

“I suppose. It isn't due till tomorrow.”
 

“It sounds like the one that overflew us yesterday.”
 

Rhani looked surprised. “Can you tell that just from the sound?” The bubble was hurrying closer. As it neared the estate, it slowed almost to landing speed. It crossed the wall. Rhani waved. The bubble seemed to hover. A door slid open. An arm poked out. Something small and dark fell from the arm toward them. It struck the grass-carpeted earth.
 

The bubble shot away at top speed.
 

“What—”
 

Dana reacted on reflex. He seized Rhani around the waist. Yanking her off her feet, he threw her toward a clump of nearby trees. He saw her face, frightened and enraged. “Stay down!” She landed, rolling. He dove after her, and fell on top of her. She squirmed beneath him, fighting to be free. Her hand whipped his cheek. “I'm not—” he started to say, but his voice was lost as the explosion slapped the earth. He clung to the grass, keeping Rhani beneath him. His ears blazed with noise. Something hit his head from behind. Rhani cried out. His head whirled, riotous with pain. He tried to warn her not to rise, to stay down, and then felt darkness wrap about him, incombatable as death.