The Summer Queen

TIAMAT: Carbuncle

“Well, this time they didn’t get there first, by all the gods!” the lieutenant named Ershad grinned in satisfaction as he strode into the meeting chamber, and saluted. He still wore his thermal drysuit—for effect, Gundhalinu supposed sourly—and he carried a heavy container in one gloved hand. He set it on the conference table with an audible thud, as the members of the Hegemonic government rapped the table surface in applause. Gundhalinu kept his own hands motionless. There were brownish-red stains on Ershad’s drysuit, and on the container. Dried blood. Mer blood. “There’s more where this came from,” Ershad said, folding his arms. “We sent it straight to the processing plant. And we arrested those goddamned Summer dissidents and confiscated their equipment again. This time they didn’t get there in time to interfere with our business, at least.”

“Good work, Ershad,” Vhanu said finally, when Gundhalinu’s silence had begun to grow awkward. Ershad nodded and smiled again.

“What did you do with the Summers?” Jerusha PalaThion asked, with her eyes on the bucket and an edge in her voice.

“They’re in the lockup, ma’am,” he said. “And a couple of them are in the hospital. They resisted arrest.” His mouth quirked.

PalaThion kept her expression neutral, but Gundhalinu felt his own mouth tighten at the subtle signs of pleasure he saw spreading over the other faces in the room. Jerusha got up from her seat, glancing at Vhanu. “I’ll make arrangements to have them turned over to the local authorities,” she said. She rose from her seat and started toward the door before he had time to object; before anyone could see the hard lines of pain that Gundhalinu knew were already forming on her face.

Ershad watched her go out too, his expression darkening.

“Justice …” Vhanu turned in his seat to face Gundhalinu. “These people interfere with every hunt we attempt, using sophisticated equipment to disrupt our activities. But the local police let them go again immediately. Isn’t there some way we can control this adequately?” He made it a question, but Gundhalinu heard the unspoken demand.

“We can’t prosecute them under our law unless they actually make a physical assault on one of our people,” he answered, still frowning. “And there’s no law that restricts them from using our technology on their fishing boats.”

“Maybe we should just drop a few of them overboard and let them swim home next time, sir,” Ershad said. “That ought to discourage them.”

“Then you would be breaking Tiamatan law, Ershad,” Gundhalinu remarked dryly. “And our own too. Take that container out of here and see that it’s disposed of appropriately.”

“Yes, sir.” Ershad saluted again, and was gone.

“Maybe we should consider making some new laws,” Vhanu said impatiently. “We need one that equates interfering with the mer hunts to interfering with a Police action—” There were mutterings of assent all along the table.

“This world has one thing that makes it worth the Hegemony’s while, and we’re still having trouble producing it,” Tilhonne said. “The Coordinators are getting impatient with us again, and we all know what that means. We have to produce, or we’ll be—”

“I know.” Gundhalinu cut him off sharply, knowing that what he said was true. Knowing at the same time that every container of spilled blood that was transformed into the water of life not only brought the extinction of the mers closer, but also the extinction of the sibyl network itself… . And he could not tell them. He could not. He could not. “I know the matter is vital. I will give it my full attention. And now, sadhanu, I am adjourning this meeting. It’s been another very long day.” He pushed to his feet almost peremptorily, preventing any objections or further attempts at discussion.

Vhanu walked with him out through the crowded hallways of the government complex, through the endless sea of blue uniforms and off world faces. Neither of them spoke until they had passed through the building’s entrance and stood in the neutral ground of the alleyway.

“I hope thou will give this matter more thought, BZ,” Vhanu said at last, his eyes searching Gundhalinu’s face.

Gundhalinu looked away, studying the changing flow pattern of the bodies within his sight. “I will, NR.” As if I can think about anything else now, night or day. “But I can’t promise thee anything. There are no easy answers to this.”

Vhanu sighed. “I know thou will do what is best,” he said; clearly not certain of it at all.

“Yes.” Gundhalinu nodded, for once completely certain in his own response. “That I will do.”

“Will thou come down to the Survey Hall with us this evening?” Vhanu nodded at Tilhonne and Sandrine, who were just emerging from the building behind them. “There is a general meeting, and some new recreational interactives have just arrived, I understand—” He put a hand on Gundhalinu’s shoulder in a placating gesture, trying to bridge the gap of their strained relations.

Gundhalinu hesitated; shook his head, glancing down. “Not tonight, NR. I’m going directly home. I have reports to catch up on, and I intend to go to bed early.”

“What, again? ‘Early to bed’ is becoming a habit with thee. And it seems to me that on the mornings after thou appear quite exhausted… .” He smiled suddenly, knowingly. “Are thou still seeing that woman thou met on Mask Night?”

Gundhalinu felt himself flush, and knew that it was betraying him. “Well,” he murmured, “thou’ve found me out, I’m afraid, NR.” He smiled too, keeping his gaze averted, pushing his hands deeply into his pockets, which were empty.

Vhanu chuckled. “Father of all my grandfathers!” he said. “She must be a spellbinder, to make a Chief Justice blush like a schoolboy.”

Gundhalinu glanced away in relief as Inspector Kitaro came up beside them, carrying her helmet under her arm. “Sir. Justice Gundhalinu.” She saluted them, smiling. Her eyes stayed on Gundhalinu slightly longer than they needed to; he looked back at her, mildly surprised.

“Coming to the Hall tonight, Kitaro?” Vhanu asked, as Tilhonne and Sandrine came up beside him.

She glanced at him, and shook her head. “Not tonight, Commander. It’s been a long day. Thought maybe I’d get to bed early, sir.”

Vhanu shrugged. “By all means, get some sleep, then.”

She laughed, an oddly girlish sound. “Well, I didn’t say anything about sleeping.…” She tossed her head, her dark curls shining in the artificial light. She glanced at Gundhalinu again, and away, still smiling.

Vhanu raised an eyebrow, made mildly uncomfortable by her Nontechnician frankness. He glanced between them, and an amused smile appeared on his face. “Have a good night then, both of you. Come, sadhanu, let’s not keep them from their evening’s plans.” He nodded to Sandrine and Tilhonne, and they started off down the alley in search of transportation.

Gundhalinu murmured his own selfconscious good-night to Kitaro, vaguely nonplussed, and started away toward the alley’s entrance. She fell into step beside him, with seeming casualness. “See you to your door, sir?”

He looked at her, his curiosity and surprise deepening, along with his annoyance. “No, thank you. It’s not much of a walk, and out of your way besides, I think. I don’t want to make you late—”

“It’s not out of my way, sir, ” she said, with mild insistence. “I have to stop at the market.” They passed Vhanu, Tilhonne, and Sandrine standing at the corner, waiting for the tram. Gundhalinu turned uphill, following the Street, and she went with him; he felt the eyes of the others follow them speculatively. “The Chief Inspector said she wanted to be certain there’s always someone covering your ass, sir,” Kitaro said, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she walked, with the pretense of looking into a shop window. “And people do like to talk.”

“I see,” he murmured, finally beginning to understand. He studied storefronts and doorways on his own side of the Street. “I appreciate it, then. The gods forbid , that the Chief Justice ever got caught bare-assed like a normal human being.” He , looked back at her, with weary amusement.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

They went on up the Street together, making forgettable small talk about government business. If she had heard about the successful mer hunt, she did not bring it up. He did not ask her opinion. After all this time he knew almost nothing about her, except that she was a sibyl, and she was someone KR Aspundh had trusted. She was Nontechnician, and outside of the Survey Hall she did not mingle with the people he saw the most. He had no idea what she did off-duty, or what her interests were.

He was not even certain at what level she actually functioned within Survey, although it was obviously a far higher one than most of his companions suspected. She had brought him the data on Reede Kullervo; and she had helped him solve other, less crucial problems, so unobtrusively that he only realized now how often she seemed to be there when he needed a favor. But all that guaranteed nothing about her feelings on the mer question. He did not have the strength, tonight at least, to put her opinions to the test.

Instead, he asked, “Any luck yet in arranging a meeting with our elusive friend, the Smith?” Thinking of Reede Kullervo, as he had not had time to do these past few weeks, he suddenly realized something else: Kullervo was Vanamoinen. And Vanomoinen had created the sibyl net … the net that was failing. It could not be a coincidence. It had to mean something. But only Kullervo could tell him what.

Kitaro shook her head. “We’ve come this close—” she lifted her hand, “but the timing has never been right. It isn’t that he’s hard to find; it’s that he belongs to the Source. Jaakola’s got eyes sewn into Reede Kullervo’s pockets. Getting him out from under the Brotherhood’s surveillance long enough for you to talk meaningfully to him is almost impossible.”

“Almost—?” he asked.

She looked up at him, and smiled. “The difficult we do immediately. The impossible just takes a little longer.”

He smiled too; his smile faded. “This meeting has to happen, Kitaro. It could be vital to us all.”

“I understand,” she said.

Wishing that was true, he walked on in silence.

“Good night, Kitaro,” he said at last, as they reached his townhouse door. He hesitated uncomfortably, wondering whether she expected to be invited inside. The sky was dark beyond the alley’s end; he hadn’t realized it was so late.

But she only pressed her fist to her chest in a salute, with a fleeting smile. “Have a good night yourself, Justice,” she said, and started back down the quiet alley.

He watched her out of sight, before he stepped forward into the shadows and set his fingers to the identification key on his front door. The door opened silently, letting him into the sanctuary of his home. It closed again, as silently, behind him. He pulled open the seal on his uniform jacket, sighing.

“BZ—?” She stepped out of the glow of a lamplit side room, into the darkened hall. He saw her limned with light, her hair silver, her face half in shadow, half visible.

“Moon.” He felt the tightness that was half anticipation and half fear of disappointment release inside his chest. He started toward her. “I’m sorry I was late … the meeting ran over—”

“There was a successful Hunt,” she said, still standing motionless.

He stopped moving, because she made no move toward him. “Yes,” he said, his throat closing on the word. “They must have changed the scheduling code, I—”

She turned away from him, shutting her eyes, pressing her forehead against the doorjamb, murmuring something that he could not hear. “… offworlder butchers—!” She raised her head again, glaring at him.

“Damn it all!” he said, the explosion of anger inside him not directed at her—directed at nothing, everything, himself; because he was the Chief Justice, and he was as helpless, as powerless to stop what was happening as she was … and she was the Queen. “It’s impossible—it’s insane!”

She reached out to him, this time crossing the space between them, and he saw the anguish and the helpless desire in her eyes as she opened her arms.

He took her into his own arms, holding her close, feeling the rough homespun and wool of her clothing, the yielding warmth of her body, the softness of her skin. He kissed her hungry, demanding mouth, letting all the raging energy inside him transform into need. He had never imagined that he could feel anything with such intensity—that such feeling existed. He let his desire burn, purifying him of duty, guilt, memory, until the entirety of spacetime telescoped down to this moment, this fragile refuge, this hiding place from destiny. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, “I want you right now—”

Her body gave him his answer, with her warm soft mouth silencing his own as she urged him wordlessly toward the stairs that led up to his bedroom.