Sparks looked away, searching the crowd, willing himself to see a shock of silver hair, a poignantly familiar smile; to hear Ariele’s laughter, even her voice raised in anger, denying him as he had denied her… . But he found only random motion and meaningless noise: the face of chaos, in a crowd of strangers… .
“The sooner the message is delivered, the better,” Kirard Set said quietly. “For everyone’s sake.” He rose from his seat and started away without any farewell, disappearing into the crowd.
Sparks sat for a long moment staring at the empty tabletop. And then, unable to help himself, he took the tape button out of his belt pouch and dropped it into the player at the edge of the table. A three-dimensional image flickered to life in the air before him. He began to watch … went on watching, paralyzed by disbelief. At last he forced his hand to move, unable to tear his eyes away from the agonizing images even as his fist came down on the viewer’s touchboard, cutting off the flow of obscene horror.
“Excuse me, Sparks Dawntreader—”
He looked up, dazed, into the non-face of Tor’s hired servo unit.
“We do not permit public use of such visuals in the club,” it said tonelessly. “Please take a private room for future viewing, out of consideration for the club’s other patrons.”
He nodded wordlessly, unable even to respond to the droning solicitude of its speech.
“May I bring you something to calm your nerves, sir. A pack of iestas, a bowl of pickled fish?” Its twin vision sensors studied him with inhuman forbearance, like insect eyes.
“Bring me a drink. A strong one. Bring me six,” he said. It looked at him. “I’m expecting friends,” he added irritably.
The servo bobbed politely and moved away. It returned with six drinks in less time than he expected. He drank them all, in less time than he would have thought possible. They had no discernible effect on what was happening inside his head. He sat with the empty glasses in a line before him, as the tape replayed over and over in his memory; sure that he would never be able to see anything’clearly again, without that overlying vision.
The servo returned to his table after a time. He felt it regard the line of empty glasses, the empty seats around him, and himself, with silent speculation. “Your guests were detained, Sparks Dawntreader?”
“Bring me six more,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” it responded, and went away. He went on studying the six empties, rearranging them with his hands into one futile geometric configuration after another. I have no children. She’s not my daughter. He had actually said that, aloud, in front of strangers … he had actually believed that he meant it. He had turned away from his children, in their confusion and grief; turned his back on them because, knowing the truth, he suddenly could not bear to look at them….
He swore softly, as the obscene hallucination filling his mind surrendered to memories of his children … his children laughing, clinging to his legs, building castles out of sand; with sunlight in their hair, and hands filled with shells and colored stones: precious treasures. … He remembered them playing at games through the halls of the palace, bringing life and joy to that cold tomb where his own youth had died. He remembered their delight, their tears, their tantrums; the music of flutes, the crash of a shattered bowl—the eyes looking up into his own with unquestioning love, asking only that he love them without reservation.
Their lives, their youth, their hearts had been his. Gundhalinu might have planted the seed, but Gundhalinu had not watched them grow. They were his….
Visions of hideous death suffocated his memories suddenly: but this time it was Ariele he saw, suffering, dying, her flesh dropping from her bones before his horrified eyes….
“Sparks—”
He looked up again, startled, knocking over glasses. Tor Starhiker stood beside his table, with the Pollux unit behind her, staring down at him. “Thanks, Polly.” She sent it away and settled, uninvited, onto the seat across from him. She counted the disarray of empty glasses, and grimaced. “Pollux told me you were drinking the sea tonight,” she said, “and that’s not like you.” She glanced down, away from his sudden frown. “You want to drink some more, or would you like to talk about it?”
He opened his mouth; shook his head, glancing at the tape viewer.
“This have anything to do with the tape you were watching? That isn’t like you, either.” He looked back at her, and she shrugged. “Pollux sees all, Tor knows all. …” She touched his hand lightly, with unexpected concern. “Someone you knew?” she murmured.
“No,” he said; his hand made a fist. He cleared the congestion out of his throat “Tor … have you seen Ariele, the last week or so? Or Reede Kullervo?”
Her own hand closed suddenly. “Wait here,” she said, getting up. “I’ll be right back. You wait—” She pointed at him, her face urgent.
He waited. She returned with two men … Kullervo’s men, he realized; he remembered the striking contrast between them. He felt hope and relief sing through him, until he saw their faces. They slid into the booth across from him, the short man lifting himself onto the bench with the agility of long practice. Tor sat down with Sparks, but her hand reached across the table unexpectedly, to meet the short man’s blunt fingers in a brief, sensual twining. Sparks noticed that his face was a twilight landscape of cuts and bruises.
The other brand, the Ondinean, removed some kind of animal from his clothes and set it on the table in front of him, stroking its back. Watching his expression, Sparks wondered which of them, the man or the animal, was more in need of the reassurance. The creature made a strange chuckling noise, like gentle laughter, as the Ondinean’s fingers ruffled its fur.
“Niburu and Ananke.” Tor introduced the two men as if they were a unit. “They—”
“—work for Kullervo. I know,” Sparks murmured.
“This is Sparks Dawntreader Summer,” she said, to them.
“We know,” the short man answered, looking wary. Sparks realized he was better known to them for his dealings with the Source than he was for his relationship to the Queen.
“You need to talk,” Tor said. She leaned back and folded her arms.
“Where’s Kullervo?” Sparks asked flatly.
The two brands glanced at each other, uncertain.
“By the Lady and all the gods, Kedalion,” Tor urged impatiently, “tell him what you know.”
“Reede’s on Ondinee,” Niburu said, glancing down at his palm. “At least, that’s what 1 heard.”
“Then what are you doing still here?” Sparks said, frowning.
Niburu looked up again, his eyes bleak. “I don’t know… . TerFauw just ordered us back there.”
“Why did Kullervo leave without you? I thought you were his crew?”
“We are.” Niburu nodded. “I don’t know. Something happened … we went to meet him one morning, and he was gone from his place. He wasn’t anywhere. TerFauw beat the crap out of me before I could convince him we weren’t in on it.” He touched his jaw, wincing. “Nobody’d tell us anything, after that. And then today, TerFauw calls us in and tells us the Source took Reede back to Ondinee. We’re to follow. That’s all. I didn’t expect it; he was still working on his mer research. I figured …” He shook his head. “From the kind of questions TerFauw asked me, I think maybe Reede tried to run, and they got him back. But I can’t figure what could be bad enough to drive him to that. The Source treats him like shit, but Reede knows there’s no way out.” He pressed his branded palm flat on the tabletop, like he was squashing a bug.
“Do you know anything about… my daughter?” Sparks felt Tor turn to stare at him.
Niburu looked blank for a moment, and then sudden comprehension showed on his face. “Reede’s been—” He glanced at Sparks. “Uh, they spend a lot of time together.” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her for … since Reede—” He broke off.