Kujen didn’t impute impatience to the call indicator’s steady blinking, once per second in accordance with the local calendar he had devised. But there was no ambiguity about Shandal Yeng’s expression when Mahar activated the line. She wasn’t smiling, for one. She was much less exasperating when she wasn’t smiling.
“I didn’t realize those high collars were in fashion again,” Mahar said, “or I’d have scared up a tailor.”
Most people slipped and thought of Mahar as Kujen himself, an illusion both of them worked hard to maintain. Kujen could step in and use Mahar as a puppet, but it took a great deal of concentration. In most cases Mahar did just fine on his own. (This was another black cradle modification Jedao had not been permitted during his missions for Kel Command. Naturally, Kujen had bent the rules on certain private occasions. He wasn’t worried about his ability to outmaneuver a mere Shuos.) Suitable long-term anchor candidates were rare, and required extensive psych surgery and training. Kujen made sure to keep a supply on hand at all times.
The Andan hexarch was looking at Mahar with shadowed eyes. “You’ve done a good job hiding,” she said, “and I’m glad your self-imposed exile hasn’t killed your interest in making sartorial statements. But I have no heart for discussing your fashion choices right now.” That had to be a first. The Andan prided themselves on using appearances against people. “I hear you have your own immortality device. Not the black cradle, a completely new one.”
To Mahar, Kujen said irritably, “We need to check for leaks again, don’t we.” To Shandal Yeng, through Mahar: “Before you go any further with that thought, what happened to Faian? I left a perfectly good researcher in charge. I’m positive she’s smart enough to follow the instructions on the technology I left for the rest of you.”
Curious: she was shaking her head. “Everyone I paid to make an assessment says she’s doing fine. You chose well. But I felt it was better to approach the one who trained her.”
“Wonderful, a business proposal,” Mahar said subvocally, so only Kujen could hear him.
“I don’t know,” Kujen said. “Desperation is a refreshing look on her.”
Shandal Yeng straightened. “I believe you’ve met my child Andan Nezhe.”
Kujen finally knew where this was going. “The one I slept with?” Nezhe’s relationship with their mother had always been tempestuous. Shandal Yeng had not approved of her second-born fucking a rival hexarch, which was why Nezhe had done it. Nor had she approved of Nezhe’s insistence on training in special operations instead of settling in for a lifetime of sycophancy.
“I want to share immortality with her. It may be my last chance to win her back.”
Ah. Nezhe must be a woman these days. Mahar gave Shandal Yeng a long look. “Let me guess,” he said. “Faian turned you flat down.”
Unsurprising. Faian had always had a subterranean legalistic streak. “Listen,” Kujen said, “last time I checked you had six living”—acknowledged—“children.”
“I should think you would appreciate my restraint,” Shandal Yeng said archly. “Whatever it costs—”
“I don’t care about the six million ways that people wreck their lives,” Kujen said, “but I happen to appreciate that eternity is a very long time. I’m going to do you the favor of giving you sound counsel, and you’re going to listen. First of all, you can’t bribe love out of people.” He was pretty sure that what Nezhe wanted, if anything, was her mother’s affection, not the latest luxury. Even a luxury as good as immortality. “Second, take immortality for yourself and forget about your children, as per the original plan—yes, I listen in when I get bored—or else offer immortality to all of them. If you’re determined to be surrounded by your spawn, Mikodez will say yes because he’s got a soft spot for kids, even grown-up kids, plus he’ll get front seats to the ensuing chaos, and Tsoro’s always been old-fashioned about family. As for the rest, you’re an Andan. You can be persuasive.
“If you do it the way you propose—just the one child—she’ll grow to hate you. If her siblings were expendable, she’ll always wonder if you’ll discard her next. Eventually she’ll try to assassinate you, or if you’re lucky, she’ll simply leave.”
Shandal Yeng narrowed her eyes. “What a droll analysis from someone who’s never had to sit through a dinner with all his children squabbling over pittances of power.”
Kujen had sired a couple children centuries ago, during his first life, but had no idea whether any of them had survived, let alone their descendants. He didn’t particularly miss the experience. “You know,” he said, “the Andan aren’t the only ones who study human nature.”
“That may be so,” she said, “but Nezhe is the one I want. I need her, Kujen. For all the trouble she’s caused me, she’s the most brilliant of my children. I shouldn’t have to explain to you what it’s like to face a future with no family.”
The number of people who had tried arguments like this on him over the years was astonishing, even if no one at this end of time knew that he was responsible for the deaths of his mother and sister. “Don’t appeal to my better nature,” he said. “I’ve spent the last several centuries brainwashing people to pass the time. I have nothing to offer on that front.”
“How interesting,” Shandal Yeng said, “when you just offered me family advice. For a mathematician, your grasp of logic is terrible.”
“Never ascribe to irrational benevolence what selfishness will explain,” Kujen said cheerfully. “Remember that you’re asking me to contemplate eternity with you and your guest list. It’s in my interest to have you in a good mood so I don’t have to listen to the backbiting. Trust me on this. Whatever the hell your children hate about you or each other, find a way to make things right. If you want to bring them all with you into a drearily long future, you can surely win the other hexarchs’ support.” Good luck with Faian, stubborn Faian—but that wasn’t his problem.
“And if I insist that I only want Nezhe?”
“Then I don’t see that I owe you any help.”
“All right, Kujen,” she said. “I realize you’re beyond the need for petty things like companionship—”
“I don’t know, it’s always nice to have an audience,” Kujen said to Mahar.
“Hush,” Mahar said subvocally. “I want to see if she offers us anything good.”
“—but I meant what I said about payment. Don’t you tire of being dependent on the goodwill of the Kel? It looks like certain of your assets are still tied up with theirs.”
It looked like Shandal Yeng’s analysts weren’t as good at following money trails as they needed to be. Happy news.
“If I cared to find out, I’m sure I could look up how much you’re worth,” Mahar said. “Maybe you could offer me some museums full of paintings while you’re at it?” Mahar cared a lot more about fine art than Kujen did, which was why he got to deal with interior decoration.
“If you’ve developed new tastes in that area,” Shandal Yeng said, “I should only be happy to guide you toward pieces worthy of your interest.”
“Too bad,” Kujen said, playing toward her misimpression that he was still allied with the Kel, who would have given a lot to know where he was. “I’m more interested in big guns. I don’t know if it’s escaped your attention, but when it comes to putting holes in things, you can’t go wrong with the Kel.”
“Money is a much better defense than violence.”
“When money’s gone,” Kujen said softly, “only violence will do.” He had never been good at it himself, which was where people like Jedao came in handy.
“You don’t want me for an enemy, Kujen,” she said.
Kujen had known it would come to threats. “If you can take me down without stabbing yourself in the back,” he said, “please, go ahead. Don’t bother Faian again. She’s strong-willed, one of the things I like about her. I’ll send you some textbooks if you want to work out the equations for yourself. And don’t call again. You won’t find me here or anywhere. In the meantime, I have some appallingly unethical pastimes to attend to.”