CHAPTER 31
I am toured out.
Hon has shown me around, although I haven’t seen his suite, and I thought that would be our first stop. Maybe I just overestimated his interest? Mary knows, it’s not like I’m irresistible, but the juxtaposition bothers me. He’s gone from amorous, aspiring lover to gracious guide in three hours, and that’s just…not right.
Anyway, the back portions of the first two decks are allotted to housing, but I have no idea what an apartment here looks like. So I’ve duly admired the hydroponics garden, his extensive library, which he’s had Canton Farr cataloging for the last two turns, and of course, the oddly intriguing bazaar, where permanent residents trade among themselves. Raiders have to do something when they’re not raiding.
I particularly like the artists’ section of the promenade. It’s a touch of elegance I hadn’t expected in such a place, but I suppose it’s human nature to want to adorn one’s living space, and when you’re isolated, your best recourse is to tap your own creativity. So I commend the bold paintings and metal sculptures and various oddments.
There’s even a dark-skinned woman, shaven completely bald, demonstrating the ancient art of the glass-dancer. Her movements flow smooth as the delicate treasures she creates from base chemicals, a sensual symbiosis of form and function. As I watch her, I think this ritual surely harks back to our Lady of Anabolic Grace, whose very name symbolizes the sanctity of change.
“Who is she?” I ask, admiring her.
“A priestess,” Hon tells me, and leads me on.
Somehow I’m not surprised, and I cast a look over my shoulder. The artist dances, oblivious to onlookers, and I know I have never passed closer to Mary’s grace than this moment. Of course there are more mundane vendors, selling refurbished droids, PAs, used clothing, footwear, hacking codes, weapons, oh, yeah, lots of those. There’s a whole aisle of stalls devoted to them: shocksticks, blades, sappers, you name it, you can find it here, but the trick is finding something the seller wants in exchange because in Hon-Durren’s Kingdom, they don’t deal in creds. If this lay beneath an open sky, it would remind me of the starport market at Gehenna.
We stop last at the food stalls, just a couple really, people offering fresh fruit and vegetables, bread and wine. I don’t know what they want in exchange, but when Hon stops by, they offer food and libation freely. Well, he is the king, after all.
I take a sip, more Parnassian red. Good stuff, but I don’t let it go to my head this time. He still smells wonderful, but now that I know it’s a chemical effect, I find him easier to resist. Plus, I’ve gotten laid recently, which doesn’t hurt.
“So what happened between you and March anyway?” Dina said he’ll answer me. Maybe he will.
He shrugs. “A woman, years ago, she chose him over me.”
“Why in Mary’s name would she do that?” I blurt the question before I stop to think about it, but fortunately he’s flattered, giving me the wide, white smile that shines with gold. I mean, comparing the two, there’s no contest, because Hon is gorgeous.
“Don’t know, don’t care. That was a long time ago.” Now why doesn’t that ring true? Dina’s right, men like Hon don’t forgive and forget. “Let me show you this, Sirantha Jax…”
I follow him, still thinking about why. And then I know. Makes me grin, imagining him using his gifts that way: My great passions? Why, Somalan ale, antique beaded tapestries, and white-maned Old Terran ponies. Yours, too? How astonishing! It’s like we’re soul mates…
March, you’re such a bastard.
But I’m smiling as I continue Hon’s infinite tour.
They’ve actually created a stable society, although they’re short on women. If they got an influx from a failing colony somewhere, they’d soon start filling up all the empty places on station. I wonder what kind of future Hon sees for his people, and yes, although we mock him quietly for his ego, he’s carved out a small place in the universe that’s unquestionably his own, not an easy undertaking. And it doesn’t lessen the achievement that his fief is rusted, badly in need of repair, and smells of hydraulic fluid.
“What you think?”
And I’m able to say truthfully, “It’s a remarkable accomplishment.” But to test my theory regarding his strange shift, I add, “Well, I appreciate your time, but I’d better get back to the ship.”
He nods, his dark eyes inscrutable, and that’s when I’m sure something’s wrong. Because he hasn’t asked me what emergency demanded my attention earlier. I feel the weight of his gaze as I make my way to the lift, trying not to break into a dead run while he watches me. I’ve never been very good at cat and mouse.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I sprint, and by the time I reach the docking bay, I have to press my hand against my side to try to soothe the stitch. I don’t need to locate the remote, though. The boarding ramp descends as I approach the Folly.
Great, someone’s been watching for me.
I’d lay odds as to whom, but I don’t have the creds to back up my guess, so I simply dash up the loading ramp, make a hard right, and continue into the hub, where I startle the shit out of everyone but March. His dark eyes look like I’ve stolen something from him by creeping out as if he’s my dirty little secret, but I can’t worry about that now.
“Dina, did you get the supplies yet?”
She shakes her head. “Still assembling stuff to trade for the base organic to power the kitchen-mate. It’s hard knowing what they’re going to want. They don’t seem to lack for anything, which is interesting, given their isolation.”
“Hon said they make trade runs to other outposts in the Outskirts, in addition to hijacking Corp freighters.” How that information helps us, I don’t know.
“We have enough nutri-paste to make it to Gehenna,” Loras offers. “We can restock there if we must.”
Yeah, that’s a bright side.
At least Loras isn’t mad at me anymore. We’re back to the lukewarm efficiency he offers me and everyone else. I wish I had a clue what makes him tick, but there’s no time for that, either.
“Wherever we go, we need to get out of here. Like ten minutes ago.”
March finally speaks. “What’s wrong, Jax?”
I’m going to sound like I’m crazy.
“I…don’t know,” I mutter finally. “Something.”
“What makes you think that?” There’s no hint of the lover who held my hips and kissed me like he’d never tasted anything better in his life. I’m grateful for his discretion; I truly am. He must’ve written it off, as I have, as an interlude that should never be repeated. So I guess the awkwardness I feared will never emerge since we’re pretending it didn’t happen.
“Well. Hon’s being too cooperative…it’s like he’s stalling us.”
March raises a brow. “Anything else?”
“Well. He doesn’t want to sleep with me anymore.”
Dina can’t be expected to pass up an opening like that, and of course, she doesn’t. “I’d think you would be used to that by now, Jax.”
They think I don’t notice when March and Saul trade looks. I know what they’re thinking—this is more manifestation of my paranoia. I’m flipping out here, just like I did when I thought March intended to kill me on Marakeq. And it’s hard to believe they’re entirely wrong. Maybe I have no intuition anymore; maybe I am just crazy.
Maybe I belong in that cell where they had me on Perlas.
Once, that would’ve drawn a look from March, maybe a whisper in my head, but there’s only silence now, and that’s exactly what I want. Right?
“That’s pretty thin evidence,” Doc says gently. “Perhaps you need some rest. Regardless, we can’t leave right this minute. We need some supplies, and we still need to figure out what kind of gift we’re going to offer Hon. He’s shown remarkable forbearance in permitting us to consult freely with Canton.”
That’s just it, exactly. Why would he do that? He hates March; I deduced that much before I knew why. If he’s being kind to us, then he’s fattening us for the kill. But they don’t seem to see it, except possibly Dina, who’s lost so much that she probably feels a certain amount of fatal acceptance about such things.
I don’t need rest. Mary forefend, it took us three weeks to get here. All I did was rest. But I realize there’s no way I’m going to convince them, maybe not until it’s too late. Anyhow, I may have screwed us all—Farr emerges from medical, crooning to baby-Z in low croaks. Shit, I didn’t know he was still on board.
It feels like every muscle in my body locks with tension, waiting for him to announce his intention to rush to Hon and confide my suspicions. Then again, he’s not a stupid man, and if he says that, we won’t let him leave. My own thoughts make me dizzy, the way they loop, and I almost decide Doc’s right. I’m incapable of thinking in a straightforward fashion anymore. There are too many monsters in my head.
Into the silence, Farr says, “You’re right, and you’ve got to take me with you. I’ve been trapped for two turns, and I had all but resigned myself to the fact that I would die here. I didn’t think anyone would come looking for me.”
“You want to go with us?” March asks, sounding cautious.
“Please. Hon will extend docking privileges to anyone who isn’t Corp, but leaving…that’s the thing. I’m surprised he hasn’t filled your ear with talk of eugenesis.” Farr shakes his head and strokes baby-Z through the sling he’s designed for carrying him. “Give him time. He’s especially pleased that you brought a couple of new women.”
Dina arches a brow. “Why does that matter, apart from the obvious?”
“New breeding stock,” Farr says softly. “They’re doing something dreadful up on third deck. I’ve only been there once, Hon doesn’t know I know. I stole the access codes…” The scholar shudders. “You’d have to see it, and I’m sure it’s worse now.”
Our chances of getting off this station without a fight just decreased exponentially.
CHAPTER 32
“No. Absolutely not.” I shake my head for emphasis. We need to leave now, not go sneaking around the third floor. “I’m not going.”
March shrugs. “Then I’ll go alone.”
For this “reconnaissance” mission—although the chances he’ll do no more than fact-find are slim—the choices are an alien who can’t fight, a geneticist who won’t fight, a scholar who would piss his pants in a fight, and Dina, who’s in charge of acquiring supplies. I’m not sure whether she’s planning to trade or steal them now, and I figure that’s up to her. If she can swing it, though, I’d prefer she rips Hon off.
And me. The others have decided to pretend he never came up with this mad notion, but I just can’t. I follow him to the ramp leading down to the docking bay.
