“She’s involved,” Tand said.
Moth failed to be excited. Tand finally took the point and stood back, folded his hands behind him, silent as Morn.
“You are trying to urge me to something,” Moth said.
“We had thought in your good interests, in those of the Family—there was some urgency.”
“You are called here simply to inform me, Tand Hald. Your advice is occasionally of great value. I do listen.”
Tand bowed his head, courtesy.
Bastard, she thought. Eager for advancement however It comes fastest and safest. You hate my guts. And, Morn—yours too.
“Other observations?” she asked.
“We’re waiting;” Mom said, “for instructions in the case.”
Moth shrugged. “Simply observe. That’s all I want.”
“Why so much patience with this one?”
Moth shrugged a second time. “She’s the last of a House; the daughter of an old, old friend. Maybe it’s sentiment.”
Mom took that for the irony it was and stopped asking questions.
“Simply watch,” she said. “And, Tand—don’t provoke anything. Don’t create a situation.”
Tand took his leave, quietly. Mom followed.
Moth settled in her chair, hands folded, dreaming into the coloured lights that flowed in the table surface.
BOOK THREE
i
There was, in the salon of the Andra’s Jewel, an unaccustomed silence. Normally the first main-evening of a voyage would have seen the salon crowded with wealthy beta passengers, each smartly turned out in expensive innerworld fashions, tongues soon loosened with drink and the nervousness with which these folk, the wealthy of several worlds, greeted their departure from Kalind station. There were corporation executives and higher supervisors, and a scattering of professionals of various fields dressed to mingle with the rich and idle, estate-holders, of whom there were several.
This night there were drinks poured: azi servants passed busily from table to table, the only movement made. The fashionable people sat fixed in their places, venturing furtive glances across the salon.
They were the elite, the powers and movers of beta society, these folk. But they found themselves suddenly in the regard of another aristocracy altogether.
She was Kontrin. The aquiline face was the type of all the inbred line, male or female, in one of its infinite variations. Her grey cloak and bodysuit and boots were for the street, not the society of the salon, elegant as they were. It was possible that they masked armour . . . more than possible that they concealed weapons. The chitinous implants which covered the back of her right hand were identification beyond any doubt, and the pattern held unlimited credit in intercomp, in any system of the Reach . . . unlimited credit: the money for which wealthy betas strove was only a shadow of such entitlement.
She smiled at them across the room, a cold and cynical gesture, and the elite of the salon of Andra’s Jewel tried to look elsewhere, tried to pursue their important conversations in low voices and to ignore the reality which sat in that corner of empty tables. Suddenly they were uncomfortable even with the azi servants who passed among them bearing drinks . . . cloned men, decorative creations of their own labs, as they themselves had been spawned wholesale out of the Kontrin’s, seven hundred years past. Proximity to the azi became suddenly . . . comparison.
The party died early. Couples and groups drifted out, which movement became a general and hasty flow toward the doors.
Kont’ Raen a Sul watched them go, and in cynical humour, turned and met the eyes of the azi servant who stood nearest. Slowly all movement of the azi in the salon ceased. The servant stood, held in that gaze.
“Do you play Sej?” she asked.
The azi nodded fearfully. Sej was an amusement common throughout the Reach, in lower and rougher places. It was a dicing game, half chance and some part skill.
“Find the pieces.”
The azi, pale of face, went among his companions and found one who had the set. He activated the gaming function of the table for score-keeping, and laid the three wands and the pair of dice on the table.
“Sit down,” said Font’ Raen.
He did so, sweating. He was young, several years advanced into the service for which he existed. He had been engineered for pleasing appearance and for intelligence, to serve the passengers. He had no education beyond that duty, save what rumour fed him and what he observed of the betas who passed through the salon. The smooth courtesy which he had deepstudied in his training gave him now the means to function. Other azi stood about, stricken by his misfortune, morbidly curious.