The Best of All Possible Worlds (22 page)

“Besides the borderline slavery, you mean?” said Fergus, his tone caustic.

“Easy, man. He didn’t see what we saw,” Lian said, trying to pacify him.

“We only have Elion’s word for the wages setup,” I cautioned. “Let’s not fling accusations
without a proper inquiry.”

Fergus gave me a stare. “Not you too,” he snarled.

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

“The Commissioner. She told me that we’re not to interfere, that it’s not our job.”

“Well, like it or not, she’s right!” I exclaimed. “You planning to be a one-man army?
You think you can bring down the local government?”

His face set in a determined mask. “The army’s already there. All they need is a little
leadership and some key bits of intelligence.”

“Oh, no.” I laughed hollowly. “That’s not going to happen, Sergeant.”

“Not feasible,” murmured Lian, though a touch regretfully.

He grinned fiercely at Lian, part gallows humor, part warning. “That field promotion
you got is just for decoration. I still outrank you, so if I say we go—”

“You’ll say nothing of the sort,” I shouted. “If it comes to that,
I
outrank
you
, and we’re not doing anything so stupid just because your head’s all tied up by a
pretty Zhinuvian!”

Fergus turned on me, and for a moment I honestly thought he was going to hit me. “I
was enslaved by the Zhinuvians,” he said.

“What?” I said, my fury erased in an instant by utter shock.

“They’ve got the best merchant fleet in the galaxy. Do you really think all their
cargoes are legal? This kind of setup? Too familiar. I know Elion spoke the truth.
That’s how they work. Ironic, isn’t it? Terra gets more protection from the Zhinuvian
cartels than the rest of us. Makes you wonder if there’s any point to the Caretakers
dragging us here.” His voice vibrated deep and low with pure hatred.

I suppose up to that point I had wanted to disbelieve. The idea that trafficking could
take place right under the nose of the Cygnian
government, that we were no more immune from oppression than any other planet—it shook
me. I had been holding on to the possibility that Elion had exaggerated, misunderstood,
hallucinated, lied, but now I had to consider it as truth. I saw Lian’s calmly sympathetic
face and realized that this was not news—at least not the bit about Fergus’s past.
I looked at Joral, and he was visibly appalled, considering not only who was selling
the slaves but who was buying.

“Continue to follow your orders,” I mumbled. “I have to speak to the Commissioner.”

Fergus’s anger radiated from his glare and from the tension of his stance, scalding
me even at a distance. I stumbled, set my shields stronger, and left the shuttle in
a daze.

“Wait!” Joral called.

I slowed my pace so he could catch up, but I did not stop and I did not look at him.

“What do I say to the Councillor?” he panted.

“You tell him everything. Everything.” I stopped for a moment, hung my head, and admitted,
“I’m sorry we didn’t do our research more thoroughly before coming here. We’ve been
wasting your time.”

“Delarua!”

It was the first time without chemical influence that he had ever addressed me by
name and without title, so I paid attention and looked into his eyes.

“You cannot blame yourself for this. We want to search out any and every aspect of
our culture that has survived. We have learned much, both optimal strategies and pitfalls,
concerning the future preservation and development of our society. We are grateful.
Truly.”

Joral was so endearingly earnest that, not for the first time, I had the urge to hug
him. I restrained myself and settled for a half
smile and a pat on the arm. Then we hastened on our way to brief our superiors.

I suspect his conversation might have been a lot more straightforward than mine, though
difficult in its own way. Qeturah listened to what I had to say, and then she got
that expression on her face, the same one I had given Fergus: the one that was weighing
the pros and cons of action and trying to work out not simply what was right but what
was possible. She went to the window, looked out for a moment, and then began to pace
the room slowly.

“You know,” she said sternly, throwing me a frown over her shoulder, “unauthorized
acquisition and testing of genetic material is a chargeable offense.”

I knew it. I had known it when I did it. I said nothing.

“And besides one man’s word, you have no actual proof.”

“The results of the analysis—” I began, my hands open and pleading.

“—only prove that they have an ugly class system based on phenotype,” she cut in,
stopping for a moment to face me before resuming her slow, troubled pacing. “Some
Cygnian societies do. It may not make them desirable, but it doesn’t make them criminal.”

“Qeturah,” I tried, coaxing slightly, “I think this one crosses the line.”

“Unless we can prove human trafficking, the most we can do is submit a report and
let Central Government determine in due course whether an inquiry is needed,” she
said sensibly, correctly, and disappointingly.

“Qeturah—”

“Grace!
Look
at this place. They don’t call it invincible for nothing.” She sank back into a chair
as if exhausted in both mind and body, all considered paths leading to a dead end.

My heart sank. I had been holding back one last card, something that could destroy
the ruling class of Kir’tahsg. Now I had no choice but to play it.

“I have proof of something that
is
criminal,” I said softly.

She stiffened. “Why didn’t you say—? Oh. It’s based on the material you obtained illegally.
Well, that’ll be a lot of help.”

“Such proof is admissible once the crime is sufficiently severe and the officer who
obtained the proof is suitably reprimanded. After all, you weren’t planning on letting
my lapse in procedure slide, were you?”

Qeturah sat up. I think the look on my face was beginning to worry her. It certainly
worried me, because my facial muscles had no memory of that particular expression.
It was anger, contempt, and grim resignation of the kind that proclaims “Those who
are about to die salute thee.”

“Analysis proves that the Master of Kir’tahsg is the genitor of over ten percent of
the domestics of his household,” I said coldly. “The Heir, who is yet young, has only
managed to contribute two offspring to the general roll of servants. I cannot give
you precise numbers. Some of the kinship lines were … complicated.”

Qeturah blinked and turned her face away. “You would have had to run analyses on individual
identified data to get that information,” she said quietly. “As civil servants and
scientists we are only allowed to give aggregated results on genetic data unless there
is a specific medical cause. This is a direct violation not only of our mission protocols
but of the General Code
and
the Science Code.”

Again I chose to say nothing. I was too angry and miserable to speak.

“Of course, any genitor who refuses to acknowledge and provide for offspring at the
appropriate social and economic level is
guilty of an indictable offense. And if sexual coercion is also a factor …” She trailed
off, rubbing her temples.

“I
have
noticed that the Child Protection Division tends to move with greater speed and efficiency
than the Department of Internal Affairs,” I said derisively. “Since we can’t make
the accusation of slavery stick, do you think
this
charge might do?”

She regarded me sadly, overlooking my misdirected bitterness. “It must. You’re ending
your career for it.”

“Well,” I said. “I can live with that.” I almost hiccuped over the lie.

She continued to gaze at me steadily. I looked back without wavering. After a few
seconds of this, she gave up and tossed me a handheld. “I’ll be needing a full report
and confession.”

I caught it, sat down, pulled out a stylus, and began.

Our courteous but cold
farewells on the morrow gave no indication of what was to come. In fact, it wasn’t
until our mission debriefing in a quayside inn back at the mainland port that some
members of the team realized the full scope of what had occurred and what was going
to be done about it. Even Fergus looked a bit startled when Qeturah said that I was
relieved of my appointed post forthwith. Lian, who knew everything, looked angry.
Joral seemed confused and started to whisper something to Dllenahkh, who merely nodded
and spoke a few words that appeared to satisfy him. The two Science Council officers
looked grave, but Nasiha caught my eye and gave me a small nod. I kept my shields
up and my expression blank. I must have looked more Sadiri than the Sadiri.

Of course, the moment Qeturah dismissed us, I immediately left the inn’s meeting room
and walked out into a dim twilight of
sea mist. I was too angry to cry, so I started to run, my boots pounding the flagstones
of the quayside. I ran past the end of the harbor, reaching a small bay with moored
pleasure craft dimly visible offshore. Flinging stones from the pebbled beach into
the water helped relieve my feelings, but then I accidentally struck a boat in the
growing darkness and a startled shout made me realize that this was no time to act
like a delinquent adolescent. I slunk back to our lodgings at the inn, feeling more
surly than ever and hoping to slip in quietly, but that was impossible. Dllenahkh
was seated outside in the inclement, unwelcoming murk, a cup and a steaming pot of
tea on the table beside him, a similarly steaming cup in his hand, and the light from
a lantern above making the scene all golden and dreamy, like a Turner painting.

I stared. He glanced at me, then set down his cup to pour tea into the other cup.
I sat down before it, picked it up, and sipped in silence for a while. He offered
no conversation, merely sat peacefully in the lantern light and let the steam from
his tea wreathe around his face as he drank leisurely.

“Ever wonder if you’ve done the right thing?” I asked him finally.

“Frequently,” he replied. “Legalities notwithstanding, to
not
wonder indicates a dangerous lack of awareness of the nearly infinite array of choices
presented by life. More tea?”

I held out my cup in mute assent. His fingertips brushed mine as he took it from me,
and I felt a wave of … something. Approval? Affection, perhaps? I looked at him, startled,
and he held my gaze for a second before focusing on pouring.

I spoke simply to have something to say. “I’ve just torpedoed my career, and all you
can do is offer me more tea?”

“Yes,” he replied, handing me back my cup. “It appears to be having a calming effect.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Thank you, Dllenahkh, but y’know, I think that’s you,
not the tea.”

A faint smile curved his lips as he looked at me. For a moment, I saw … I don’t know
how to explain it, but I saw just a man—not an offworlder, not a foreigner, nor even
a colleague and a friend but just a man, relaxed, smiling, glad to be in my company.
I felt an odd, fragmenting sensation of suddenly perceiving something differently
and having the whole world change as a result. My smile faltered, my breath caught,
and I lowered my eyes briefly before glancing back up again, unsure of what I had
seen.

He was still gazing at me, his face now inscrutable, but his eyes were not distant.
They were curious, as if he too were questioning something he had just glimpsed.

“Drink,” he said softly. “Do not let your tea get cold.”

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

“
E
nter,” I said
dully.

Nasiha came into my room. “You are late for your meditation practice.”

I was sitting on my bed in my underwear, surrounded by clothes—Civil Service formal
blacks, Forestry greens, various bits and pieces that were no longer relevant to my
life.

“I can’t find anything to wear,” I said.

She looked at the heap, then met my eyes. “I may have something that will fit you.
I too am having difficulties with my wardrobe. Today we will go shopping.”

I came down to
breakfast dressed in my own trousers and undershirt and a Sadiri tunic borrowed from
Nasiha. I assembled a plate of food and poured a mug of hot chocolate, but before
I had to brace myself to face the table where Qeturah, Fergus, and Lian were seated,
Dllenahkh murmured at my shoulder, “It is a warm, bright morning. We should sit outside.”

I followed him, ducking my face into my mug for a sip as we passed my former colleagues.
Outside was glorious, already starting to be scorching hot but with a fresh wind off
the sea that
eased the humidity. We took a table next to Nasiha and Tarik and were soon joined
by Joral. I ate and drank, absently aware of the conversation in Sadiri but not really
paying attention to what was being said.

“Are you Sadiri?
Really
Sadiri?” The slightly hushed query came from a little boy about seven years old standing
on the pavement in front of us. He had straight dark-brown hair that spiked up messily,
and the tips gleamed in the morning sun. “I’ve seen you on the holos.”