Authors: Walter Jon Williams
“No.” A smile played about her sullen mouth. “Just an intuition that there's a wild card somewhere in this deck. A rover, perhaps.”
“You're growing cryptic, my dear.”
“Intuitions aren’t supposed to be orderly, Kotani.”
Marquess Kotani raised an eyebrow.
“Mine
are. And mine are betting on Pearl Woman.”
*
Roberta’s face was expressionless beneath the rim of her helmet, but there was something very intense about her eyes. Maijstral was reassured. Perhaps he had guessed correctly. Roberta hadn’t even spared Pearl Woman a glance as they waited in the chute; but Maijstral believed her concentration was such that she was perfectly aware of Pearl Woman's posture, the precise degree of tension in her legs, her back. . . . Maijstral suspected Roberta knew to the fraction of an inch where Pearl Woman was placed.
The third tone sounded. Roberta and Pearl Woman sprang from the chute to the sound of groaning Priests.
“There seems to be something in front of your face. Like a heat shimmer.”
“Yes. My jacket. I built a magnifying field into it. Does it annoy you?”
“Not at all.” Pause. “So you can watch the race close up.”
“So I can see clearly at a distance, yes.”
“Very handy.”
“It seemed a sensible thing to have. I never realized how people would make a fuss.”
“You sound as if you haven’t enjoyed the attention you’ve been getting.”
“Not exactly.” Zoot's diaphragm throbbed in resignation. “It’s just that—I don’t know quite how to say this— the
quality
of it leaves something to be desired.”
“Pearl’s got ahead of her!” Excitedly.
“She's good on the long straights. Her grace is known to excel in the tight corners.”
“She's ahead! She's ahead!”
Maijstral noticed that Advert's hands had become fists. Her nails were probably doing more damage to her palms.
He glanced about, saw his female Khosali shadow talking to Zoot, then saw, above them and almost in the last row, Mr. Paavo Kuusinen. Mr Kuusinen, he realized, was in a position from which he could watch the entire company. At this precise moment, however, Kuusinen was watching Maijstral.
Maijstral nodded, raised his drink in salute.
Kuusinen did likewise.
Maijstral turned back to the race and scowled. Something was wrong about that man.
*
There were barking noises from the Priests.
“A penalty. Who's in green?”
“Charusiri.”
“She used her upper arms. The slut.”
“It
is
an amateur event, Vanessa.”
“A two-second penalty. They should disqualify her entirely.”
Smiling. “Perhaps they should just dismember her and have it over.”
“Maybe they should, Geoff.” Vanessa’s eyes blazed. “I
hate
that sort of thing.”
*
The lead racer flung herself down a short straight, tucked, tumbled in air, touched on her lower back, and bounced to cut a corner on a forty-five-degree angle. Her body straightened as she kicked out, feet driving into the wall as she hurled herself on a new trajectory.
Just behind, Allekh caught his elbow on another's knee. The two tangled and thrashed, bouncing off walls. Penalty lights flashed.
“Are you expecting a crime at this event, ma’am?”
“Sir!” Khamiss looked at Zoot in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“I first saw you in uniform at the entry port. Now I see you in civilian clothes with a pistol under your arm. I assume
that since you're so conspicuously armed, you are therefore working. Am I not correct, ma’am?”
“Oh.” Khamiss licked her nose disconsolately. “I’m supposed to be watching Drake Maijstral. And Kingston over there is following Geoff Fu George.”
“Isn’t that a little . . . unsubtle?” A less tactful person would have said
obvious.
Khamiss appreciated the courtesy.
“I daresay. But Baroness Silverside's collection has been stolen, and the Baron's a bit upset.”
“I understand. Still, were I Maijstral, I'd complain. And if the complaints weren’t listened to, I imagine Maijstral and Fu George between them could greatly reduce Silverside Station's popularity. Were I a prominent member of society, I would not want to attend a resort where guests were followed by armed employees.”
“My superiors doubtless feel that exceptions can be made in the case of known thieves. Besides,” grinning, “you are one, aren’t you?”
Zoot was startled. “Are what, ma’am?”
“A prominent member of society.”
“Oh. I suppose I am.”
“And an observant one. We didn’t exchange a single word at the entry port, and you still remembered my face.”
“I’ve trained myself to remember things.”
“I envy you the talent. In my line of work, it would be very handy.”
“I’ve got a system for recalling faces. I’ll teach it to you, if you like.”
“Would you? That's very kind.”
“Not at all. My pleasure.”
*
The racecourse was only slightly wider than two of the racers travelling shoulder-to-shoulder. It was possible to physically block someone trying to pass, and the rules allowed it, but blocking only invited a collision that could wreck both racers' times and might end in penalty assessment. Pearl Woman, maintaining her half-second lead over Roberta, had approached the racer immediately ahead of her, a Tanquer dressed in violet. Pearl Woman hung back through a series of short straights, then gathered her powerful legs beneath her and launched herself on a diverging pass. She squeezed between the Tanquer and the wall, touched the wall lightly, a graze on her stomach, and then rebounded gently into the other racer's path. The violet racer flailed in an attempt to avoid fouling her, but Pearl Woman had already tucked into a ball and was ready for the next comer.
The Pearl cast a glance over her shoulder. The flailing racer was squarely in Roberta’s path.
Well,
she thought.
That should hold her for a while.
*
“Well done, Pearl Woman!” Vanessa tapped her foot in a congratulatory rhythm.
“Yes. Quite.” Fu George’s drink was covered in frost. He removed his numbed fingers and frowned. “Drexler and Chalice are mapping the route from the ballroom to the Duchess's suite.”
“Good. You'll do the pick-off after the ball, then?”
“Yes. I don’t want to give Maijstral too much time. He's already too friendly with her grace.”
“What if her guards are with her?”
“We'll use dazzlers and smoke. Once we're inside, they won’t be able to shoot without risking her grace. And we'll have the advantage of surprise.” He chipped frost from his drink with his fingernail. “Once we have the Shard, we'll hide it in her grace's suite. Then remove it after the time has passed.”
“The plan seems a little ...”
“Over-direct? Violent?”
“Yes.”
“I know.” Frowning. “No points for style. Maijstral hasn’t given me any time.”
“This may sound a little odd, Fu George,” hesitantly, “but have you considered simply approaching the Duchess?”
Pause. “I ...
assumed . . .
she wouldn’t make an arrangement about something as notorious as the Shard.”
“Think about it, Fu George.”
Fu George said nothing. He was already thinking very hard indeed.
*
Roberta passed the violet Tanquer on the next long straight. Concluding her first lap, Pearl Woman increased her lead over Roberta during the long, straight outer passages; but once she got into the twisting, shorter, inner passage, she lost time. Her massive upper body lacked flexibility: forbidden by the rules from using the power of her arms and shoulders, caught in a part of the course that demanded quick reverses and compact athleticism, Pearl Woman's rebounds were slow and slightly off-course. Roberta, who was surprisingly limber for a woman her height, began to shorten Pearl Woman's lead. By the time they reached the next long straight, she was only a fraction of a second behind.
Maijstral leaned forward. Now, he thought, he'd see it. The fix or whatever it was.
*
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been on my own since I was twelve.”
“In this current line of business?”
“Or something like it. I mean, they won’t give you a burglar's ticket till you're sixteen, right?”
“Right.”
“So I got interested in the technical end of the business. That way it wasn’t me the police came looking for.” There had been a few arrests to help him decide on that course but Gregor saw no point in mentioning them.
“Hey.” Kyoko’s voice broke with excitement. “Hey. Did you see
that
?”
*
“Damnation!”
Smiling. “I told you, dear.”
*
“Oh,
no!”
Biting a knuckle. “How did it
happen
?”
“Take comfort.” Admiration rose in Maijstral’s mind, “You’ve won your bet.”
Pearl Woman's coup, Maijstral thought, had been perfectly timed and beautifully executed. Entering the first of the long back straights, her kickoff had seemed to go wrong. The pulled muscle had, to all appearances, taken its revenge. Pearl Woman had been propelled on a slightly wrong angle, drifting toward one of the walls. She tucked and prepared to carom off.
Roberta saw her chance and leaped for it. Her kickoff was flawless, her trajectory down the middle of the course perfectly timed to pass Pearl Woman just as the Pearl grazed the wall.
Roberta, in her tuck, had to reverse herself, touch the far wall with her feet, kick out and alter trajectory to fly down the next straight. She came out of her tuck, her legs cocked and ready.
Pearl Woman grazed on her helmet, came out of her tuck, prepared for her own change of course. She looked above her, left, and right, trying to find Roberta. She searched everywhere but where Roberta actually was, behind and below her. Pearl Woman was trying, Maijstral thought, to establish in the minds of the audience and Priests that she didn’t know where Roberta was, and show that a foul was the last thing on her mind.
Roberta touched and kicked. Pearl Woman came down on top of her, her own legs lashing out.
Maijstral deduced that Pearl Woman intended to kick the Duchess on her thigh or knee as Roberta passed below her, crippling her for the rest of the race. But somehow Pearl Woman's driving feet passed through Roberta’s legs without connecting—Roberta had twisted slightly in her trajectory change, and Pearl Woman flailed, bouncing into the corridor wall and missing her course alteration.
The proof of Pearl Woman's intent, Maijstral later concluded, was that loss of control. Had Pearl Woman
intended
to kick the wall, her course change should have gone off without a hitch. But since she
intended
to connect with Roberta, her timing was thrown off by her miss and she bounced hopelessly into the corner.
Maijstral settled back into his chair and smiled.
“What bad luck!” Advert cried.
“Yes,” Maijstral said. “One might call it that.”
*
Roberta passed the other racers to come in first, not simply in time-corrected listings but actually ahead of the others, even those who had started before her. She left the course to the enthusiastic, foot-tapping applause of the spectators, and the Priests of the Game, pouring incense, set up a hymn. Pearl Woman finished fifth.
“I think,” Maijstral said, rising, “you should avoid mentioning your bets to the Pearl.”
Advert nodded. “Yes. I'd already thought that.”
“Please give her my condolences. It was a brave attempt.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mr. Maijstral.”
“Your servant, ma’am.”
*
Khamiss sighed as she saw Maijstral rise from his place. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”
Zoot rose with her. The nebulous magnification field in front of his face vanished. “Please contact me when you're free. I’ll tell you about my identification method.”
“I’m working double shifts. But by midnight the Baroness's art collection will either be recovered or belong to the burglar forever, so perhaps I’ll have more freedom tomorrow.”
“Madam. Your very obedient.”
“And yours.”
*
“I'd never have got this far on my own. I’m learning a lot from him.”
“Such as?” |
“Ton and things. How to behave around people who are rich enough to have stuff I want to steal.”
Kyoko laughed. “Ton and things,” she repeated.
“I’ve got a bit to learn yet.” With wounded dignity. “The point is, High Custom folk behave in different ways from the people I grew up with. I’ve got to learn how to use that, see?”
Kyoko looked at him. “Learning how to make use of the way people behave is different from turning yourself into an imitation aristocrat.”
Gregor’s ears flicked dismissal. “I didn’t make the rules. It’s their game. I’ve got to play it the way they want, or I don’t play it at all.”
“That isn’t my point. My point is that you should make use of who you
are.”
“Of
course
I—”
Kyoko held up a hand. “How long have you been with; Maijstral?”
“Four years.”
“Yes. Four years to integrate yourself with High Custom. While everyone else here has been working at it their entire lives.”
Gregor scowled. “I’m bright. I can learn.”
Kyoko tipped her head to one side. “I’m sure you can, and have. My point is that you can’t succeed
entirely.
The people on Silverside Station have had the same education, the same training, and moved in the same circles for years. They can spot a phony by his dress, his manners, his language—or just by the set of his ears.”
Gregor threw up his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just resign myself to living as a servant for the rest of
my life?”
“Of course not.” Kyoko looked at him coolly. “I’m here, aren’t I? Moving in the highest circles and behaving just the way I like. And I was brought up on the frontier, more than fifty light-years from the nearest noble house.”
“You're a performer. That's different.”
“Tell me how.”
“You—you need to present a personality for your viewers. It doesn’t matter as much what sort of personality that is.”
“It’s
access
that matters, Gregor,” Kyoko said. “Once you're accepted in this crowd, you can do anything you want. Ask embarrassing questions, expose secrets, or steal. The trick is that first acceptance.”