The Best of All Possible Worlds (21 page)

Still bemused, Qeturah reached for a glass from a tray offered by a small boy, but
her fingers failed to grip it safely and it smashed on the floor. “I’m so sorry—”
she began.

The butler of the Hall interrupted her with a terse command to the boy that sounded
to me like “see you do not fail again” or “we will ensure that you do not fail again.”
It might have been the latter, because the boy went wide-eyed with fear and fell to
his knees, trying to gather up the pieces of glass.

While I was watching this closely, I heard the Master say, “Take the boy out and bring
another glass of refreshment for the Commissioner.”

The boy, naturally, looked even more terrified and cut his hand on an edged fragment.

Nasiha erupted from her seat, stepping heedlessly over the broken bits and debris
with an intimidating crunching noise. She picked up the boy and held his fist firmly
to staunch the trickle of blood that was threatening to stain the marble tiles. “I
will take him out,” she informed the Master bluntly. “Have this cleaned up,” she told
the startled butler. “Delarua,” she continued, “our medkit. Hurry.”

The Master only smiled faintly. I think he was accustomed to something that I was
only just learning—pregnant Sadiri are not to be trifled with. I raced to Qeturah’s
rooms for the medkit and returned to the corridor outside the reception room, where
Nasiha was speaking soothingly to the boy. We got him cleaned and sealed up in a matter
of minutes. He stood gazing in awe at his hand as I packed away the medkit.

“Run along, now,” said Nasiha kindly.

He did so, giving us an uncertain smile.

“Nasiha, I don’t mean to be rude, but have you found yourself to be a bit … well …”
I couldn’t use the word
“emotional.”
“A bit more vehement than usual, perhaps.”

“Of course,” she snapped. “It is a natural consequence of the pregnancy. The maternal,
protective urge must increase.”

“Oh, well, as long as it’s
natural,”
I mumbled dubiously.

She looked at me impassively and handed me a small sample vial filled with red fluid.

“What’s this?” I said, thoroughly confused but taking it nonetheless.

“The boy’s blood. Likely some skin as well. I think you should test it.”

I frowned. “I’m not sure I should. There’s no real medical reason for it, and the
Master did bar us from genetic testing.”

Nasiha nodded. “I understand. But answer me this, Delarua. When I held the boy’s hand,
I detected that the concentration of telepathic receptors in his palm was far above
the average amount for Terrans. How does he come to be a servant in a household that
seems to have taSadiri nobility and a Terran servant class?”

I blinked at this new information. “That does make me curious,” I admitted. “But don’t
tell the Commissioner, okay? This is off the record.”

I went to her quarters early the next day. “Terran, yes, but also a bit of Sadiri
and quite a lot of Zhinuvian. How did you guess?”

Nasiha shrugged. “When the Master speaks, there is much that he keeps back. The nobles
of the Hall and the higher-ranking servants have taken similar lessons in evasion.
It has been my experience that a rich and well-run household is like an iceberg. You
see the tip, but you must ask about the invisible ninety percent that holds it up.”

Tarik, who had been quietly listening for some time, said something disconcerting.
“I have further information on that ninety percent. I rose before sunrise as usual
for my meditation and looked out through our window down at the Citadel. I saw street
sweepers and garbage collectors. I was unsure at the time, due to the distance from
which I was observing, but given this
new information, I believe I can say with certainty that they were Zhinuvian.”

“I think it is time we spoke to the Commissioner,” Nasiha decided.

“Please find a way to leave out my part in this,” I begged her. She gave me a look.

“Fine.” I sighed. “Why don’t I go get Dllenahkh and Joral for you?”

Joral was nearby in the quarters he shared with Dllenahkh, so I simply directed him
to report to Nasiha. I had to go outside to find Dllenahkh. Nasiha had made some concessions
to her delicate condition and as a result had declined an invitation from the Heir
to go horse riding. Tarik had opted to stay with her and be the good and supportive
husband, which left Dllenahkh to bond with the Heir. They were galloping around a
small racetrack girdling a paddock. It looked like a lot of fun. The Heir was winning,
but not by much, in deference to his guest.

“You’re a natural, Councillor!” I heard him cry merrily.

Dllenahkh carefully reined in his mount, which was still excitable after the brief
run. “We have similar beasts on the Sadiri homesteadings. I have ridden a time or
two before.” Then he looked around and saw me. “Delarua!”

I made a bow. “By your leave, Your Grace. Councillor, your presence is requested up
at the Hall.”

It was partly my fault, I know. As I bowed, I peeked up to look at the Heir. His hair
was tied back with a scarlet cord except for two long locks falling almost into his
eyes. When I straightened, I even took a glance at Dllenahkh, assessing his hair in
comparison. It was windswept from the gallop, pushed to one side of his forehead in
an untidy dark brown wave, but even with hair cut more like a servant than a noble,
he still managed to look
more regal than the Heir. The Heir, however, saw only the glance directed to him and
took my caution for flirtation and my curiosity for interest.

“You’re new,” he said, swinging himself down from the saddle with a grin.

He walked up to me and set the tip of his small whip under my chin. I barely had time
to go wide-eyed with shock and outrage before a shadow fell over us.

He looked at Dllenahkh with a sly smile. “Sorry, Councillor. One of yours?”

There was a moment of complete silence as Dllenahkh pointedly ignored the question.

“May I present First Officer Grace Delarua, member of this mission and second in civil
rank to the Commissioner,” Dllenahkh finally said, his bland tone a warning all unto
itself.

The Heir raised his eyebrows, blinked, and dismissed me, turning his attention back
to Dllenahkh. “We should race again before you go. Tomorrow, perhaps? See you at dinner.”

He strode off, striking his leg idly with his whip.

“What was that?” I said, stunned at such discourtesy.

“I suspect you are not noble enough to marry nor yet common enough to bed,” Dllenahkh
mused clinically, following the Heir’s departure with narrowed eyes. “I gathered from
his conversation that in his world women rarely serve any other purpose.”

“Creep,” I said succinctly. “Look, I’m here because Nasiha and the Commissioner want
to have a chat with you. Think you can tear yourself away from your new friend?”

“With pleasure,” Dllenahkh said, matching my flat tone. “It strikes me, Delarua, that
this society is far more about appearance than substance where being Sadiri is concerned.”

“Oh, you wise, wise man,” I replied, sighing.

I escorted Dllenahkh to Qeturah’s rooms, where Nasiha and Tarik were waiting. Fergus,
who was stationed at the door, seemed to be glowering a touch more than usual, but
he gave me a sideways glance and something in his eyes lightened briefly.

“Like to get your hands on some genetic samples?” he said in much the same tone that
a Tlaxce City hustler would use to describe rare and reasonably priced merchandise
that might or might not have fallen off the back of a freight car.

“You know I would,” I breathed just as quietly.

“Good,” he said, and turned to his colleague. “Lian, if the Commissioner needs anything,
cover for me. I’ll be back soon.”

Lian looked disapproving but merely went into position beside the door in reproachful
silence.

Fergus looked me up and down, assessing my appearance. “Take off the white robe. The
blacks will pass for ordinary wear.”

“What about Joral?” I asked, removing the garment and pressing it into Lian’s hands.
“Shouldn’t he come too? I might need help.”

“He can’t come. He looks too much like
them
,” Fergus muttered as he started off.

“Okay,” I said, following his long stride with some difficulty. “What’s going on exactly?”

“Lian and I discovered a few things yesterday that we thought should be brought to
your attention.” He ducked down a small staircase.

I was just about to ask him why he hadn’t simply spoken to Qeturah when he came to
a closed door, knocked, and said something unrecognizable.

“What language is that? I don’t know it,” I said.

He gave me a somber look. “I’d be very surprised if you did.”

The door opened, a few centimeters at first and then wider. Inside was a small group
of people seated around a table, a very
mixed company indeed. Fergus drew me in while I stared, reading the social language
of their attire. There were higher-ranked servants and lower-order domestics. There
were also menials I had not seen before, with rough plain garments, shaven heads,
and skin that gleamed in the dimly sunlit room.

Fergus broke the oppressive silence. “Tell her, and speak quickly. We don’t have much
time.”

A tall man with pale eyes and shining skin stood up. “I am Elion. These are some of
the people who have been told to disappear for the duration of your visit. Let me
show you why.” He indicated himself. “Zhinuvian, you’d think, by the look of me, but
my father was a noble. But with these eyes there’s neither status nor work for me
within the Master’s household.”

He moved on to a beautiful woman with dull olive skin, brown eyes, and long, shining
locs that fell over her face. Surprisingly, she was wearing the clothes of a higher-ranked
servant.

“My half sister. My mother had such hopes! She was the first of our family to rise
above the servant class. But none of her children have lived longer than a week. The
first had no eyes, the rest had deformed hands and feet, all of them had weak hearts.
Now they fear to allow her to bear more children, hence the demotion—and the warning.”

He drew aside her hair so I could see the brand that marred her face from temple to
jaw, a broad featureless scar that had neither letter nor symbol and served no other
purpose but to make her ugly. She kept her head lowered, blushing ruddy with shame.

The next woman at the table was a little darker of skin than Qeturah, but with hair
so brightly black that it glowed with an iridescent green, clearly unlike the glossy
browns and blue-black common to the Sadiri.

“Zhinuvian and Terran. You’ve met her son. You helped him
when he cut himself. No matter. He’s been punished since in a place where they don’t
mind if the blood flows.”

“What—” I began, then faltered at my rudeness in interrupting. “I mean, I think I
understand what you’re telling me, but what do you expect me to do about it? Our Sadiri
colleagues are already aware that they are not being shown all of Kir’tahsg. They’re
not easily fooled. And if you’re worried about how the boy is being treated, why not
simply go to the local authorities?”

A Zhinuvian-looking woman who had not yet been introduced spoke up, worriedly addressing
Fergus in that strange tongue. He replied in a reassuring tone.

“This is Karya,” said Elion. “She is a new arrival to the household. A Zhinuvian slave—bought,
not Citadel-born.”

“Slavery doesn’t exist on Cygnus Beta,” I said sharply, not keen on being played for
a softhearted fool. “Aren’t you paid wages? Every one of you must be registered on
the Revenue and Pensions system. There’s no way the Master could get around that.”

Elion’s mouth curved up in a cynical smile. “All you have to do is claim the credits
appropriately. The cost of our food, our shelter, our clothing—somehow it all balances
out perfectly.”

“Impossible. The government looks for that kind of dodge.”

“Oh, there is an excess of credits. But it doesn’t come to us. It’s paid in installments
to our former owners.”

“The Master has ties to a cartel on Zhinu,” Fergus said quietly. “They’ve been buying
from them for generations, and when there’s infertility, or birth defects, or rebellion,
some selling happens too.”

“You don’t have to believe us,” said Karya proudly, “but take our genetic data. Someone
might still be registered as missing. You’ll get the genetic profile you want, and
we’ll get the chance to be found.”

People always think genetic analysis can do miracles. There
was no global database yet. We were not connected to any galactic database. There
was no guarantee that we could find a missing person file with matching DNA. I shook
my head at the folly even as I heard myself saying, “Yes.”

The data that came to me was disturbingly thorough. They did not only provide samples
of their own DNA. The nobility of the Citadel was well represented as their maidservants,
valets, and cleaning staff ransacked their rooms and personal effects for genetic
traces. Lian gave me a slightly anxious frown as I accepted the first of the stolen
samples, but I replied with silence and Lian acknowledged with a slow, still-worried
nod. I could not leave Kir’tahsg without answers, ethics or no. I left Fergus and
Lian to see to the collection of the rest of the samples so I could get started in
the lab, but I was still forced to press Joral into service to get the analysis completed
within three days. The results were all too clear.

Joral was puzzled. “I do not understand. Have we not encountered three genetically
distinct groups on Kir’tahsg: taSadiri, Terran, and Zhinuvian?”

“Looks are deceiving, Joral,” Lian muttered dourly.

“Exactly,” I snapped. “You could choose a mirror-skinned, pale-eyed, dull-haired servant
and you’d have the same chance of getting Sadiri characteristics out of the brew as
with any of those shiny-haired elitists.”

“But we have seen this before. What has made you so angry?” Joral queried.