“There you are, sir—” Vhanu brightened, and a certain amount of relief showed on his own face. “I was beginning to wonder if you were all right.”
Gundhahnu glanced at him, mildly annoyed, but could detect only eagerness and concern in the younger man’s expression. “Worry about me when I seem to be enjoying one of these affairs too much,” he said.
Vhanu looked at him, his incomprehension barely concealed. “But sir, I thought you wanted this party. The honor that is being paid to your family tonight— deservedly, of course … that is, this is probably the social and political event of the decade. I’ve never seen such a gathering anywhere but at a visit by the Assembly… . Have you met with the Assembly, sir?”
“Yes, I have,” Gundhalinu said, and didn’t say anything more. He had met with the Assembly, while he was serving on Tiamat. And they had all but spat in his face, calling him coward, failed suicide. Just as anyone in this room would have done, had they been there. He had believed, in that terrible moment, that his life was over. And yet here he was, a Hero of the Hegemony. If any of these people knew of his former disgrace, he doubted they would ever have the nerve to refer to it now. … He took a deep breath, as he realized that his chest ached.
He looked back at Vhanu, who was gazing out across the crowd again, probably tallying famous faces, with a look that was at once complacent, slightly dazzled, and completely unselfaware. … It reminded Gundhalinu of himself, ten years ago. Like himself, Vhanu had as honorable a family history as anyone in the room—he was the younger brother of JM Vhanu, an old school friend who was now a respected researcher at the Rislanne. And like himself, Vhanu had chosen a career in the Hegemonic Police—a common profession for a younger son forced out into the world by the rigid Kharemoughi inheritance laws, which gave family title and any wealth to the eldest child.
He had encountered Vhanu on his return—remembering him (although he had not admitted it) only as a small, shrill, rather obnoxious presence on the perimeter of numerous earnest discussions about datamodeling, conduit physics, and the Meaning of Life. But the Vhanu he had found on his return was a responsible career officer, already a Captain, capable, likable,’and politically aware, if somewhat conservative and status-conscious. But then, Gundhalinu had discovered to his regret that most Kharemoughis of his social rank now struck him as conservative and status conscious At least, with everything else, he had gained the perspective to realize that rt was he who had changed, and not his world. He had first met Vhanu in the relatively egalitarian setting of a Survey Meeting Hall, and they had hit it off. He had needed assistants he could rely on, and Vhanu had quickly made himself indispensable.
“Sir, there are the Pernattes. Let me introduce you to them first.”
He nodded, and let himself be guided with faultless grace through the murmuring curiosity of the crowd, on into the next room.
This room was even larger than the last, with the same severe, almost monolithic grace. The walls were of unadorned gnarlstone, polished to a glassy sheen. Gnarlstone was another legacy of the Old Empire; they had found its strange, fractal-patterned strata all over the planet. Gnarlstone was dead smartmatter sediment, lithified by the volcanic heat of its own catacylsmic failure. The most prized varieties contained lacy deposits of calcium, from human remains. The burl-like complexity of the matrix reminded him of the beach at Fire Lake. He looked away from it.
“Sir—” Vhanu touched his arm, catching his attention.
He turned, and saw the Pernattes progressing toward him, saw guests stepping aside discreetly to let them pass. He recognized them both easily: AT Pernatte had been prominent in Kharemoughi politics for as long as he could remember; he had seen the man’s long, slightly morose face on the threedy, and occasionally at parties before he had left Kharemough—though only from a distance. Pernatte had aged imperceptibly in the sixteen realtime years that Gundhalinu had been away from Kharemough—just as Pernatte had seemed never to age at all before, or his wife either. Their marriage had combined two of the wealthiest and most influential Technician lineages on the planet.
Gundhalinu had dealt more directly with Pernatte’s wife, though not in the flesh—CMP Jarsakh held the controlling interest in the shipyards which were endeavoring to build the new faster-than-light fleet. She was looking back at him now, showing the recognition her husband lacked. It was widely, if privately, held that she was the mind behind the ever-growing success of their already vast mutual holdings, that she put into Pernatte’s mouth the words that he spoke before the Council. Having dealt with her himself, Gundhalinu could see where there might be truth in it. His experience with his own brothers had made him painfully aware that being the firstborn child of a Technician family did not necessarily confer intelligence along with inheritance; but he would not make the mistake of underestimating either of the Pernattes.
He gathered himself to make the expected bow as the couple stopped before him and Vhanu began to formally present them. Vhanu was a relative of the Jarsakhs, not close, but not too distant to use the familiar form of address or to speak with them easily and comfortably.
Gundhalinu caught himself just in time, as the Pernattes bowed first to him, extending him the greater honor. He returned the bow, and touched each proffered palm.
“A great honor, Gundhalinueshkrad,” Pernatte murmured.
“The honor is mine, Pernattesadhu,” Gundhalinu answered, more sincerely than he had said anything in public in a long time. He was secretly pleased that of all the assorted titles he now bore, Pernatte had chosen the one which marked him as a scientist. He sometimes found himself groping among the complexities of honorary titles in Sandhi for the correct forms of address for his peers, after having spoken nothing but foreign languages for so long; just as he had almost forgotten the use of the personal thou, after so long among strangers. But then, he had not used thou with anyone since he had returned, either. Most of his old school friends were scattered among the stars; the few he might hope to see tonight he probably would not even recognize.
“You look splendid in your rightful uniform, Commander,” Jarsakh said, looking him up and down, her eyes assessing his assortment of honors, medals, and crests with an almost predatory interest. “It’s much more gratifying to see you in the flesh. …” She raised her eyebrows, and smiled.
“Thank you, Jarsakh-bhai.” He nodded in selfconscious acknowledgment, keeping a straight face and using her family name, as he had become accustomed to doing when he dealt with her as an industrialist. It was an unexpected side effect of his position that when he wore his full military uniform and honors—or sometimes just spoke his name—women he had never met or who had barely acknowledged his existence suddenly began undressing him with their eyes. He found it more embarrassing than flattering. “It’s an honor and a relief to hold a conversation in such magnificent surroundings.”
The Pernattes exchanged a look of mutual satisfaction that might even have been fond. They both wore the uniforms that were their right and duty as the heads of two important lineages; but no expense had been spared on subtlety of design, use of color and embellishment, to transform the spare lines of a robe and slacks into something unique and beautiful.
Gundhalinu found his own eyes glancing from one youthful, perfect face and fit, flawlessly dressed body to the other in helpless fascination as he went on making small talk. He deftly answered the kinds of questions about his career and discoveries that everyone seemed to ask, feeling vaguely surprised that even the Pernattes would ask the same things.