The Sardonyx Net (23 page)

“Domna Rhani,” he said, bowing slightly. “It's good to have you back in Abanat.”
 

“Thank you,” she said. She gestured to the com-unit, knowing he preferred to sit at it. “Please be seated.” He sat. He was wearing Yago blue, and the only bright touch about him was the red frame of his sunshades. “I must confess that I have not had the time to read over all this year's earnings reports with the care they deserve.” She brought the stool to sit beside him at the com-unit.
 

“I know you're a busy woman,” he said. “That's why you employ me.”
 

She smiled. “Yes. However, if you will bring the last quarter's report on the screen—” he tapped out brisk instructions, and the display winked to life—"yes, thank you. I have a few questions....”
 

His response to her questions, and the ensuing discussion, took two hours. The bank was making money, certainly; however, in certain divisions investments had drastically lost money, and Rhani wanted to know why. At the conversation's close, she requested Rafael to have the Bank's Investment Committee send her a policy statement, with examples of its application from the four prior reports. And—wondering a little at herself—she asked Rafael almost diffidently what he could tell her about Family Dur's current investments.
 

Cautiously, he said, “You probably have access to more of that information than I, Domna.”
 

“Tell me what you know.”
 

“They invest mostly through the First Bank of Chabad, of course. Aside from what they have tied up in mining and refining equipment, they've invested heavily in underwater mining gear, in the diamond market on Belle, in some of the newer Abanat housing projects and hotels, and in pharmaceutical supplies.”
 

“These are stable investments? Nothing chancy?”
 

“I doubt that the Investment Committee at the First Bank of Chabad would authorize anything less.”
 

She grinned at him. “I hope not.” She rose from her stool. “Thank you for taking this trouble and time.”
 

He rose and bowed. “As always, it is a pleasure to see you, Domna.”
 

She called Amri to escort him downstairs. In leaving, he said, rather shyly, “You know, Domna, I recently learned that I'm not the only person in my family to have worked for yours.”
 

“Oh?”
 

“I can trace my line back five generations on Chabad, and in each generation one member of my family was employed by yours. My great-great-grandmother was an accountant for Lisa Yago.”
 

Alone at last, Rhani kicked off her sandals and sank onto her bed. The house was hot; the aircooling system was old, and needed to be repaired, or replaced. She let herself fall backward to the bed's cool, silky surface. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her tense muscles: images paraded through her head, Sovka then, Sovka now, the kerit cages, Erith Allogonga's scars, white on her dark arms, Dana Ikoro, her Starcaptain....
 

It had been a long day. Uncharitably, she blamed Ferris Dur for that. If he had not made his offer, she would not have fought with Zed, nor found herself flying to Sovka in the middle of Abanat's heat. She touched the flat surface of her belly and tried to imagine herself pregnant. It would be simple enough to arrange; all she would have to do would be to stop taking the pills she had taken since she was thirteen, one each Standard week. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if she would like being pregnant. Some women did. The aircooling system clunked, interrupting her thought, and she made a mental note to ask Binkie to call someone to fix it.
 

Binkie ... slaves ... dorazine. Scowling, she opened her eyes. Damn Michel A-Rae! He was her foremost problem. If he had his way there would be no merger of two fortunes, for neither she nor Ferris Dur would have one. She remembered a book that Isobel had made her read, Nakamura's
History of Chabad
. Nakamura, a vigorous anti-slaver, had predicted that moral indignation and rising costs would force Chabad to end the slave system and replace it by hired labor. Michel A-Rae seemed to be providing the moral indignation, she thought. Maybe this was the beginning of the decline, and Nakamura had been right.
 

Slavery was not the most efficient system, she well knew. But the Chabadese adaptation of it worked, and Family Yago needed it. Yago money maintained the Net, ran the Auction, and profited from both. If slavery ended, Sovka would survive. But the Net would not. And what, Rhani thought, would Zed Yago do if the Net did not survive?
 

She sat up abruptly on the bed. She did not want to think about her brother, not now. Padding barefoot to the bedroom door, she slid it shut. Then, stepping from her jumpsuit, she curled naked on the bed and poured herself a glass of wine. A drop of sweat formed between her breasts and glided to her navel, making her shudder. On Chabad, even sweating was a luxury. She gazed at her own body, wondering where Dana was now: in his room, perhaps, talking to Amri, or listening to the music of—what was that name?—Vittorio Stratta. Her nerves jittered with sexual tension.
 

The rapport between them had sprung out of nowhere. It was always that way for her. She remembered back two months, to the brief affair she had had with the young acrobat, and before that, to the love-time she had spent with Clare Brion. That had been lighthearted loving, swift, tender and fun.
 

She had never loved a slave. Wine glass in hand, she paced. She didn't even know if he wanted her. She traced, with her own hand, the path of his hand on her face. Surely, he did. She could call him, make him sit and talk with her; she could command him into bed, even. Her mouth twitched with laughter. Much good that would do. She wondered how she looked to him. Too short, too tall, too skinny?
 

She wondered if he was good in bed.
 

She heard his voice in her mind. “Yes, Rhani-ka. No, Rhani-ka.” Slave manners, incongruous coming from a Starcaptain. It surprised her how swiftly he had learned them, until she recalled who had taught him. Zed had hated Clare; hated the nights when she had not come home, hated it even more when she brought Clare to share her bed. He hadn't met the acrobat. If she took Dana as bedmate, Zed would say nothing to her; he would take his anger out on Dana. That would be insufferable. Rhani scowled. This was insufferable, or soon would be. She could free him. Then Zed would not touch him.
 

But if she freed him, he would be gone off Chabad as fast as he could go, out of Sector Sardonyx, out of her life.
 

She didn't want that either.
 

She shrugged into a robe, yanking the sash tight, as if by constricting her breathing she could shut off her thoughts. She palmed the door open. “Binkie!” He entered. “I want this letter to go out to all Family Yago associates immediately.”
 

“
To Whomever, from Domna Rhani Yago: Family Yago would appreciate knowing whatever can be known about an Enchantean family surnamed U
-
Ellen. Thank you, very sincerely, Domna Rhani Yago
.” He tapped it out. She watched the message flit across the screen. “Thank you, Bink. Send that out, and when that is done, please set up a file for me with all the material we have received to date on Michel A-Rae.”
 

Zed ate dinner in the kitchen.
 

Dana wandered in, saw him there, and left at once, with a swift, “Excuse me.” Zed watched him walk. His body was beginning to regain some of its confidence; it had resumed that Hyper glide. Zed smiled to himself. It might be amusing, he thought, to spend some time taking it away.
 

“Is there more wine?” he asked. Corrios poured it for him. No, he would not do that. He had promised Rhani to leave Dana alone, and anyway he had other things to do, and not a lot of time. He pushed back from the chair. Climbing to his room, he showered and dressed. He tied his hair back with a silver clip, and reached into his closet for his cloak. It was dark blue apton on the outside and kerit fur on the inside, and it was trimmed in silver braid.
 

He went to say good night to Rhani. She was in bed, tray of food beside her. She had not put her hair back in its braid. It rippled over the pillows, shining like water. Bending over her, he brushed the soft strands with his lips. Rhani tugged at the ruffles on his shirt to straighten them. “Zed-ka, you look fine,” she said.
 

“Thank you. Why did I let you talk me into this? I'll be back early.”
 

She said, “Don't leave so early that Imre will think you rude.”
 

“I won't.”
 

“Give him and the others my regards and regrets.”
 

He gazed at her levelly. “No special message for Ferris?”
 

“No,” she said. “Anything I have to say to him, I can say myself.”
 

At the front door, Zed reminded Corrios to keep the door double-locked and the alarms on. He crossed the street to the park. Looking back, he saw the house looming like a castle through the trees, light shining through the slits in the curtains. There was no one in the park tonight; no lovers coupling in the wet stems, no children playing in the early darkness. It seemed ominous.
 

He zigged and zagged, taking a diagonal path through the small streets, till he reached the Kyneth mansion on the Promenade. It was a bigger house than the Yago house: the Kyneths liked large families. The door fronting on the Promenade was wide open. Two slaves flanked it. They bowed as Zed walked between them into the foyer of the house. Another slave took his cloak. Through the doors into the main hall he saw the massed backs of the guests. Voices shrieked. Just like the tourists, he thought. Zed squared his shoulders.
 

The crowd splintered. Imre Kyneth walked out of the crush, hands outstretched in welcome. “Zed, good evening! So pleased you could be here.”
 

“Thank you,” Zed said. He touched the man's hands briefly. He had a great deal of respect for Imre Kyneth. He was the oldest of the Family heads now that Domna Sam had died; seventy-seven, very active, small and spare, head of the Chabad Council, a brisk, effective man. He had a brood of sons and daughters: no lack of heirs. Family Kyneth controlled Chabad's most precious resource: water. The long pipelines that kept Abanat green were theirs, manufactured in their plants from steel made by Family Dur. They owned and ran the water purification plant. The ships that moved icebergs from the poles to the city were theirs. They were a close-knit but outgoing crew; the antithesis, Zed thought, of the individualistic, solitary Yagos.
 

Imre craned his neck to look behind Zed's broad shoulders. “Where's Rhani?”
 

“She sends regards and regrets. She isn't feeling well tonight. She knew you'd understand.”
 

“Of course. Is it serious?”
 

“No,” said Zed, “a mild indisposition, nothing to worry about.”
 

Aliza Kyneth sailed up to them. She was a massive woman, tall and nearly as broad as a Skellian. She had a strong-featured face; huge, black eyes; and hair that snapped, it was so red. She dwarfed her older husband. The white tent that fell over her in soft folds only emphasized her size. “Zed, welcome back from the Net. Imre, why do you keep him standing in the foyer? Zed, Rhani isn't with you?”
 

“She's indisposed.”
 

“That's too bad. We'll hope to see her at the Dur party. Ferris will be disappointed. He had hoped she'd be coming.”
 

“He's here, then.”
 

“Of course. See him there?” Aliza pointed at one of the backs. “Give Rhani our best and tell her we want to see her. Come in, mingle. Imre, someone else has come through the doors.” She looked pointedly at her husband, who chuckled and went to greet the woman standing in the doorway. “Quick, Zed, if you don't want to be cornered. That's Charity Diamos.”
 

“Aliza, I love you,” said Zed.
 

“Drinks to the right.”
 

Zed walked right.
 

The drinks table stood against a mirror-covered wall, so that people moving along it were reflected back to themselves. It made the large room look even larger. The Kyneth children were studded in strategic places. Slaves circulated, carrying huge trays brimming with food: fish in batter, sweets, cakes, pressed seaweed, Ley cheese, fruits. Zed picked an egg tart off a passing tray. The slave handed him a blue glass plate. Zed smiled, prepared to be social. It was what he'd come for. Theo Levos, head of the Fourth Family of Chabad, was holding court in the center of the room. He was a big, boisterous man, accustomed to space. Zed waited patiently for him to take a breath.
 

“Good evening, Theo.”
 

“Zed Yago, you silent man! How long have you been standing there, saying nothing? Why didn't you say something?”
 

“I didn't want to interrupt your speech.”
 

“Interrupt me. You Yagos are always silent.”
 

“Rhani asked me to send you her regards.”
 

“She isn't here?” Theo put his hands on his hips. Zed explained. “Sick? How can she get sick with a medic for a brother? I'm sorry she's sick, tell her that.”
 

“I'll tell her.”
 

“Say hello to Jen, she's somewhere about.” He pointed to a small alcove lined with booktapes. Jen T'ao, his companion, mother of two of his three children, was standing talking with Clare Brion. Zed nodded stiffly towards the two women. Jen nodded back. There was a beautiful gold-and-black cavorting dragon embroidered on her red jacket.