Kusanagi‑Jones snorted. “Unless she’s waiting to see who else we implicate. You suppose diplomatic immunity will keep Singapore’s people from shooting us as spies?”
“Depends,” Vincent said, “on how badly they want a war.”
Later, after a more in‑depth discussion of the details of alliance with Lesa, Vincent paced the bedroom while Angelo curled, catnapping, on the bed. Angelo was breathing in that low, gulping fashion that meant nightmares, but Vincent set his jaw and didn’t wake him. He needed the sleep too much, no matter how poor its quality.
And Vincent needed the time to think.
Axiomatically, there came a point in any secret action where the plan failed and the operative was left to improvise. And when that happened, the best option was a lotof options. He wasn’t about to close off any doors until he had to–with Lesa, or with Kyoto.
Or with Michelangelo.
Angelo’s second report on Kii had been more detailed, including not just the ultimatum, but some of Angelo’s conjectures as to what “Consent” might be. Enough to set Vincent’s fingers twitching. Angelo’s revelations about the city’s resident–Transcendent–Dragon were the most interesting development, especially when combined with the unforeseen complication of having taken refuge in Pretoria house.
While their temporary accommodation was restful, with the storm passed and the walls revealing a panoramic view of expanses of jungle canopy, seen from above, it was also inconveniently far from the gallery. And the interface room Michelangelo had discovered there.
And Angelo thought Vincent should talk to Kii.
Vincent was disinclined to argue. What an intoxicating idea: an alien–a realalien. A creature of mythic resonance.
Intoxicating, and terrifying. Vincent wasn’t remotely qualified to handle this. And there was the practical problem of how to get there without telling Lesa about the Dragon in her basement, since Angelo seemed to think she didn’t already know. He paced slowly, trying to make the space he had to walk in seem longer, and became aware that Angelo had awakened only when he spoke.
“Should ask to examine the crime scene in the morning.” He sat up as Vincent turned to him, leveling his breathing. He didn’t look any more rested.
“Dreams?” Vincent asked. Angelo dismissed the question with one of his sideways gestures, as if deflecting a blow, but Vincent leaned forward and gave him the eyebrow.
“ Skidbladnir,if you must know.” Angelo turned away, not bothering to hide the lie. “Can we be transferred back to our original rooms tonight? For convenience’ sake?”
“Once you’ve accepted Elder Singapore’s challenge.”
“Once Miss Pretoria has accepted it for me,” he replied, leaning back on his elbows. “How’s your back?”
“It hurts,” Vincent said. “But improving. I think the docs are getting some purchase on it.” He used their private channel to continue. “You don’t suppose your new friend is limited to appearing there,do you?”
“Pretty silly if he were.”
“So he probably knows what happened to the statue.”
Angelo was out of bed before Vincent realized he was standing. “He probably knows all sorts of things. The question is, if he’s ethical, will he sharethem?”
Volley and return. Sometimes surprising things came up that way. Vincent batted it back. “How do you suppose his ethics stack up to ours? Do you think they have anything in common?”
Angelo paused, scuffing one foot across the carpetplant. “He’ll avoid the unnecessary destruction of sentient organisms. Or, esthelich,his word. Get the feeling it’s not exactly what we’d call sentient.”
“Right. And he likes pets.”
The look Angelo gave Vincent could have fused his wardrobe. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Quite.”
“So what do we do?”
Vincent rocked on his heels, folding his arms. “We ask?”
“Here?”
“Why not? It’s not as if anyplace in this city is free of surveillance, and we have to assume Kii has some control of House, if he’s observing the citizens–”
“–denizens. Think he’s as concerned for the khir as he is for the Penthesileans.”
“Granted.” Vincent bit his lower lip and frowned at Angelo until Angelo licked his lips and looked down.
And then he dropped channel and said aloud, “House, Vincent and I would like to speak to Kii, please. Privately.”
For a moment nothing happened. Then the rippling leaves of the rain forest canopy fluttered faster, sliding together like chips of mica swirled in a flask, layering, interweaving, a teal‑colored stain creeping through the gathered mass until it smoothed, scaled, feathered, and blinked great yellow eyes at them. “This chamber is private,” the hologram said. “Greetings, Vincent Katherinessen. You speak to Kii.”
Angelo’s description hadn’t prepared Vincent for the reality of Kii. That serpentine shape emerging from camouflaging jungle triggered atavistic responses, an adrenaline spike for which his watch barely compensated. He took one unwilling step back anyway, shivering, and forced himself to pretend calm. “Kii,” he said, as soon as he could trust his voice. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
And then he bowed, formally, as he would have on Old Earth, rather than taking a stranger’s hand. Kii seemed to bow as well, its head dropping on its long neck as it took advantage of apparent depth of field to slither a meter or two “closer.”
“You oppose your government’s agenda for this population?”
Vincent swallowed. Angelo stood at his shoulder, silently encouraging, and it was all Vincent could do not to glance at him for support. But he didn’t care to take his eyes off Kii. The Dragon’s direct, forward gaze was intent as any predator’s, and meeting it made Vincent very aware that he was small and–mostly–quite soft‑fleshed.
“We wish to assist you in protecting New Amazonia from Coalition control. We wish to preserve that population as well.”
“But not its Consent.”
“No,” Vincent answered. “Not its Consent. Its…Consent is not the will of the governed.”
Kii hissed, just the breathy rush of air from its jaw, without any vocal vibration. It wasn’t actually talking,Vincent realized. He was hearing sounds, but they didn’t match any vocalizations the Dragon made. “You are very strange bipeds,” it said. “The Consent is that Kii shall not aid you.”
It was not, Vincent told himself, unexpected. He closed his eyes for a moment, though it was an effort breaking Kii’s regard. “So you deliver your ultimatum, and leave us to it?”
“It is the Consent,” Kii said, unperturbed. “It is Consented that Kii may observe and speak with you, and continue Kii’s attempts to help your local population adapt. And protect them and the khir, as necessary.”
Vincent sank down on his haunches, tilting his head back, up at the looming Dragon. It was comforting to make himself smaller. “Kii, can you use your…wormhole technology to connect points in the local universe?”
“Spatial travel? No. Only parallel branes,” Kii said. “The wormholes must lie along a geodesic, and they must transect, or be perpendicular, orthogonalto the originating, no, the initiating brane. It is not the Consent to provide technology.”
“So you didn’t just plunk one down beside your sun for power,” Angelo said, resting one hand on Vincent’s shoulder, his knees a few inches from Vincent’s tender back. Kii’s nictitating membranes slid closed and open once more.