The Summer Queen (100 page)

They entered a darkened hallway at the back of the club; the
garish noise of the club’s mghtlife faded as if they had passed through some
kind of field, which maybe they had, although he had sensed nothing beyond the
sudden chill of anticipation he always felt when he reached this point.

They took the lift at the end of the hall—a box so amorphous
that it could have been an empty closet, and probably passed for one. There was
a sense of motion after the door/wall sealed; upward, he thought, though he
could never be sure, even of whether it was the same motion, or for the same
length of time, from one visit to the next. It could all have been random—which
suited.

The featureless wall/door in front of him opened, revealing
a meeting room. It was not the one he had always seen before, large enough to
contain a gathering of two dozen or more members of the Brotherhood. This room
was smaller, although it was otherwise almost identical, with walls whose
colors shifted in a slow, almost hallucinogenic way. He looked away from them
uneasily, focusing on the lone man who sat waiting at the table.

“Good day to you, Reede Kullervo,” Kirard Set said.

Kullervo laughed once, as if Kirard Set had said something incredibly
stupid, He looked away from them in disgust, his knuckles drumming on the
tabletop with a hard, insistent rhythm. “You’re late,” he muttered, to the
wall.

Sparks wondered whether he was speaking to them. They were
not late; although this was not the Brotherhood meeting he had been expecting.
His resentment of Kullervo’s attitude tightened another notch. He had disliked
Reede Kullervo from their first meeting; Kullervo was by turns sullen and
hostile, and always arrogantly superior. And more than that, Sparks had the
uneasy feeling that he was not simply moody, but actually crazy. Kullervo appeared
to be nothing more than one of the Source’s brands; he was the last person
Sparks would have thought to find included in this unexpected intimacy. “What
happened to everyone else?” he asked.

“There was a change in plans,” a voice said, seeming to come
at him out of the walls. The Source. The sound of that voice made his flesh
crawl, even without the physical manifestation of it, which was beginning now
across the room. He watched darkness begin to gather at the head of the table,
impossibly, out of nothing. The shadow deepened until there was a formless but
undeniable presence among them. Sparks told himself that it was only a projection,
a hologram. But he knew the reality behind it existed, here somewhere .... He
forced himself to sit down with Kirard Set and Reede at the table.

“There was a situation,” the Source’s corroded voice went
on, expressionlessly. “The meeting was postponed. But the Brotherhood wished to
hear about your progress in your various activities, and so I am here to
receive your comments. Sparks Dawntreader—”

Sparks pulled his attention away from Kullervo, from
watching the sudden, feral hatred in the other man’s gaze as he watched the
darkness take form. A trickle of sweat ran down Kullervo’s cheek; his mouth
quirked as the drop passed it.

Sparks nodded, trying not to focus as he faced the darkness.

“How is your exquisite wife, the Queen? And have you had any
success in your attempts to convince her that she would stand to profit from
extending her protection to certain of our interests, and opening this port to
a ...” the voice smiled, “wider spectrum of trade, as her mother did?”

Sparks shook his head. “Not much,” he said.

The Source made a disgusted noise. “So your wife is still besotted
by her ex-lover, the new Chief Justice—?”

Sparks felt his mouth thin; feeling Kirard Set’s eyes on
him, and Kullervo’s “The Queen, my wife,” he said, “is getting everything she
needs from the Hegemony.” He twisted the tight line of his lips into a smile. “So,
unlike Arienrhod, she really doesn’t need either one of us.” He shrugged.
Kullervo snorted with amusement; Kirard Set’s mouth inched upward in grudging
respect.

“How unfortunate.” The darkness at the end of the table
seemed to transform in a way he could not define. “Well, in the real world
there are always several answers to any given question .... Kirard Set Wayaways—how
is your charming family?”

Sparks shifted in his seat as the Source’s indefinable
attention moved away from him.

“My son is lusting after Ariele Dawntreader, as usual. My
wife is lusting after anything that can make her feel younger. This week it’s a
cosmetic surgeon, I believe.”

“And what progress has been made in spreading the idea of
the return of Winter to power at the Assembly’s visit?”

“Good progress,” Kirard Set murmured, with a faintly
superior smile. “Most Winters are for it. Even the Summers are so infected with
an itch for progress that they might accept a transfer of power, if the Queen
keeps the balance of trade skewed by refusing to allow exploitation of the
water of life ... as long as the Change is brought about in the traditional
way. Which suits our purpose admirably—”

“What do you mean, ‘the traditional way’?” Sparks demanded,
leaning forward.

“By drowning the Queen, of course,” Kirard Set said.

Sparks froze, staring in disbelief, one part of his brain perversely
aware of how absurd the expression on his face must be. “You motherlorn
bastard. You sit here and tell me to my face you’ve been plotting to sacrifice
my wife at the Festival, like it’s a matter of changing your tailor? Do your
plans include drowning me too, like Arienrhod’s did—?” He pushed halfway out of
his seat.

“Ye gods,” Kirard Set said, wincing and putting up his
hands. “As hotheaded as ever, after all these years. Sit down, Sparks, and let
me explain.”

“There is no real danger of the Queen being sacrificed ...
or, more pragmatically, yourself, Dawntreader,” the Source said coldly. “That
is not the point of this exercise. You must learn to stop taking everything at
face value, if you are ever to rise within our circles. You will never see the
opportunities here, any more than you see them in your own life, if you assume
everything is exactly what it appears to be.”

Sparks settled back into his seat, managing somehow to keep
the betraying rush of blood from reddening his face. “Forgive me,” he murmured.
“Enlighten me.”

“This is about the Queen, yes; but it is more about your
rival, BZ Gundhalinu. He is in love with your wife—and only he has the power to
override her wishes in the matter of releasing the water of life. We want him
in the position of being forced to choose which is more important—protecting
her, or protecting the mers. Either choice will cause him considerable
difficulty and grief .... If he is caught in the bind between sacrificing the
Queen, and violating her obsessive protection of the mers, which do you think
he will choose?”

Sparks was silent for a long moment. “I think he’ll choose
to let the mers die .... But that’s exactly what the Golden Mean wants him to
do anyway. Then they’ll control the water of life, not the Brotherhood. What do
we get out of that?”

“In the short term, until we achieve our own independent supply,
it gives us simple availability. As long as the drug is actually being made, we
have ways of getting our share. In the long run, the benefits of forcing this
choice on the Chief Justice and the Queen are many, and not all of them are
necessarily obvious to someone like yourself. For your own part, as a loyal
Brother, be satisfied with the knowledge that this will cause no pain to you,
and considerable pain to the man who is trying to steal your wife.”

“And even your children,” Kirard Set murmured, raising an
eyebrow. “How are Ariele and Tammis bearing up under all this?”

Sparks looked at him, cold-eyed. “I told you before, I don’t
have any children,” he said. “So you’d know that better than I would.”

Kirard Set grimaced, in what Sparks supposed was meant as
apology. “Well, I suppose Kullervo knows more about Ancle’s intimate emotions
than any of us, these days. How would you describe her, Kullervo?”

Sparks turned to look at Kullervo, feeling disbelief hit him
in the chest as he imagined his daughter—not his daughter, but—his daughter in
the arms of that walking deathwish.

Kullervo froze, caught by their mutual stare in the act of
biting his knuckle. He lowered his hands to the tabletop, knotting his fingers
together. Sparks saw the livid marks his teeth had left on his own flesh. “Did
you ever have intestinal parasites, Wayaways?” he said, looking at his hands.

“No,” Kirard Set answered, nonplussed.

“Too bad,” Kullervo said.

“Yes ...” the Source murmured, “do tell us about your
relationship with Ariele, Reede. You’ve been with her almost every night, for
some time now. This is a first, since Mundilfoere ....” His voice trailed, and
Sparks saw Kullervo stop breathing. “Does she remind you of your lost love—?”
The words were dark with insinuation, and threat. “Is she perhaps responsible
for your failure to produce the blood sample you require for your research?”

“No.” Kullervo’s face went gray, as if he were suddenly in
such terrible pain that he could not even cry out. He took a deep breath. “I
told you what happened,” he said thickly. “I fell. I lost my weapon .... Ariele
Dawntreader knows a lot about the mere. She spends a lot of time with them. I’ve
been stringing her along because I want what she knows. She’s not my type.” He
looked up again suddenly, almost defiantly, at the waiting darkness. “I’ve
never even touched her.” He glanced briefly at Sparks, and away again.

“So you’ve only been collecting her data, that’s all?” the
Source repeated, with heavy amusement.

“Yes,” Kullervo said.

“Yes—?” the Source chided gently.

Kullervo’s mouth tightened. “Master.” He looked down again.
Somehow on his lips the Source’s chosen form of address sounded more like a
curse than a lackey’s obeisance.

“Dawntreader—” the Source said suddenly; Sparks looked toward
the darkness. “I understand that you have produced something else which my man
Kullervo would find interesting.”

Sparks felt his own mouth tighten. “What do you mean?”

“You also have a large accumulation of data about the mers,
having studied them for years since your retirement, I understand.”

“My retirement?” Sparks repeated slowly.

“From being Starbuck for Arienrhod. From killing them,” the
Source said. “Is that true?”

Sparks felt anger corrode him like acid, wondering why he
had been brought to this meeting, unless it was to see how much abuse he could
take. His paranoia began to spread, cancerous; until suddenly he remembered
what the Source had said to him: that he would never succeed, here, until he
learned to see beyond the obvious. Maybe they were testing him: his loyalty,
his ability to restrain his mercurial temper, his potential. He gazed at the
hypnotic flow of color on the wall across the room until he was under control
again. “It’s true,” he said steadily. “I suppose you could call it a love-hate
relationship.” He looked at Kullervo. “What’s your interest in the mers, Kullervo?”
he asked, keeping his voice neutral, forcing himself to take nothing for granted,
even the unlikely possibility that Kullervo had a brain.

Kullervo’s restless hands had begun to tremble visibly, even
though he held them prisoner on the tabletop. The heavy ring set with soliis
that he wore on his thumb rattled suddenly, loudly on the hard surface, and he
pulled his hands into his lap, hiding them from view. “It’s a love-hate
relationship,” he muttered.

“You’re too modest, Reede,” the Source said. “My man
Kullervo is a bioengineering genius ... he is the one you have heard called the
Smith. He knows more about smartmatter than anyone living ... including
himself.” He chuckled sourly. “He is applying his—unique mind to the problem of
synthesizing the water of life, just as he did with the stardrive plasma.
Without his help, BZ Gundhalinu would never have succeeded in reprogramming it.”

Sparks stared at Kullervo; Kirard Set stared with equal disbelief,
beside him. He almost laughed, sure that it must all be a bizarre joke, and
unable to imagine what the point of it was.

“Isn’t that right, Reede?” the Source urged gently.

Reede straightened up in his seat, raising his head in what
could have been pride, or defiance, as he faced down their stares. His
trembling hand rose to his ear, making the crystals of the elaborate jewelry he
wore ring sweetly, incongrously, in the sudden silence of the room. “Yes,” he
whispered.

For a moment Sparks had the unnerving feeling that a total
stranger looked out at him through Kullervo’s eyes. In that moment Sparks felt
his incredulity turn to belief, and a dark, bottomless terror filled him, the
way the Source filled his vision, seeming all at once to inhabit the entire
room. “I’ll get the data together for you as soon as possible,” he said, to the
prisoner inside Kullervo’s eyes. “I don’t know how much use it will be, but it’s
yours.”

Kullervo nodded, abruptly; he looked down and away, with a
muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Don’t belittle your own achievements, Dawntreader,” the
Source murmured. “You have quite a remarkable mind. You’ve been wasting your
life here, among these illiterates on this backwater world. But finally you are
among people who appreciate your gifts. Your years of work and study will be
put to profitable use at last .... Why don’t you go now, and see that it
happens.”

Sparks looked back at the darkness in surprise. “Then the
meeting is over?” he asked, trying to make the Source’s unexpected praise and
his equally unexpected dismissal form a coherent whole.

“It is,” the Source said, in a tone of voice that made him
sorry he had asked, “as far as you are concerned.” Sparks looked down. “There
are certain Brotherhood matters which do not concern you, which require the
attention of Way away s and my man Reede. You have fulfilled your part in the
process, Dawntreader. Rest assured.”