The Summer Queen (92 page)

But they were doing something else, playing games within
games, playing the Great Game, in this private room within the walls of the Survey
Hall. He looked around the circle of faces, all but one of them Kharemoughis,
and familiar to him. The one offworlder was a businessman from Four; the only
woman was Kitaro, who was the only other sibyl besides himself. He looked down
at the tan board again, the glittering colored-crystal gaming pieces, the
almost hypnotic patterns of the wood. There were subtleties hidden within
subtleties among the interlocking geometries of the board; he had learned to
seek them out visually in all their permutations, as one of the disciplines he
had been forced to master to reach the Seventh and the Fourteenth levels within
Survey ... discovering, the second time, all that he had missed the first, and
wondering how he could have been so blind.

Tan was rumored to be nearly as old as the Great Game, if
not older. There was an entire twelfth-level adhani made up of meanings
ascribed to the crossings and combinations of the various forms, as if it were
a kind of mystical genetic code. Some of the numerical symbolism had a relation
to patterns occurring in the real world; some of them were completely obscure
to him, and yet seemed to be utterly consistent within themselves. Others
seemed to him to be nothing but accumulated superstitions ... so far. He had
yet to learn whether he would ever be required to study the game of tan again,
at some future stage of his ongoing initiation into some unknown heights of
perception, from which he could look down more clearly on the endless
complexity of the human condition, on the interfaces of Order and Chaos.

Kitaro gathered up the colored fire of the gaming pieces and
scattered them casually as she began the Recitation of Questions, taking on
herself the role of Questioner. He marked in his memory where the pieces came
to rest, randomly scattered across the board, but showing a heavy concentration
of single-figures. The businessman from Four gathered up the crystals, tossed
them out again, as he gave the first response. The sine wave of question and answer
moved on around the circle, touching Vhanu, touching the official who sat next
to him; the game pieces clattered against the edges of the game board and
regrouped.

Gundhalinu made himself remember the outcome of each throw,
searching for the greater pattern that would inexorably take shape out of the
random motion; forcing himself to comprehend it, whether he believed it had any
significance or not. The question-and-answer pattern of ritual response was the
same one they used in the larger meeting hall below, at the formal social gatherings
held there. But the questions asked here were not the same ones; nor, more
importantly, were the answers.

He had found the rituals of the Survey he had known in his
youth to be excruciatingly empty of meaning. But this ritual sang in his brain:
Order and Chaos, the random workings of fate precariously balanced by the laws
of universal motion. He found himself thinking of the Ondinean. His eyes
wandered away from the game board toward the wide window looking out on the
hall, as a pattern began to take form in the motion of falling stones, and fell
apart again.

“And who has called this fellowship into being, and given us
our duty, and shown us the power of knowledge?” Kitaro asked

“Mede,” Abbidoes answered, beside him.

Gundhalinu looked down at the game board again, and gathered
up the crystals. “Ilmarinen.” He spoke his ancestor’s name as he cast the
stones. He watched the pieces fall, stared at the sudden, subtle shift in the
pattern he held inside his head. “Vanamoinen—!” he murmured, echoing Kitaro’s voice
as she spoke the response in proper progression beside him.

Gundhalinu looked away at the window again, not even noticing
the sharp looks of annoyance several people directed at him; half expecting to
see a face staring in at them, at him, disguised by a fold of cloth, by skin
dyed black, eyes darkened to indigo—but still with a gaze as insistent as a
madman’s.

The window was empty. But he had seen Kullervo: Kullervo.
Kullervo was here. He bit his lip to keep himself from shouting out the name,
interrupting the pattern again, inexcusably. He forced his emotions back under
control, recognizing the significance of the pattern, the importance of not
breaking the surface tension of the group’s concentration .... Holding to his
own place in the ritual, while at the same time his mind scattered clues like
gaming pieces and read their pattern .... Kullervo had been here tonight; had
been here before, disguised. But Kullervo was in the Brotherhood ... Survey
corrupted by the power of knowledge, using its secrets and its influence to
destabilize and poison societies, feeding off the chaos they created, profiting
off of it. The ones who had turned the values and beliefs of the guild’s
original members inside out ... who had murdered his brothers, and tried to
keep him from returning to Tiamat.

Why had Kullervo come here tonight, and deliberately—he was
sure of it—tried to attract his attention? He remembered the vial on the mantel
suddenly. Even if Kullervo had not put it there, he had made Gundhalinu notice
it. Why? Kullervo worked for the Brotherhood; Kullervo was a bioengineering
genius, who knew more about technovirals than any living human being in the Hegemony
....

And suddenly he understood: It was about the water of life.
The Brotherhood was already at work here, insinuating itself into the fabric of
the new society, as if he had set up no safeguards at all to prevent it. They
wanted the water of life for themselves .... and Reede Kullervo was here to
give it to them.

But then, what had Kullervo been doing here tonight? Spying,
possibly; gathering data on the strength and organization of his enemies.
Except that he seemed to have been deliberately drawing attention to himself,
intentionally placing clues in the path of the one person who would understand
them ....

The gaming pieces rattled for the final response; Gundhalinu
stared at the element that completed the pattern, the forms which he had graven
on his mind.

“Are there any questions which must be asked to be answered?”
Kitaro murmured, glancing around the circle of pensive faces.

“Yes,” Gundhalinu said. “There was a man here tonight, passing
as one of us. I just realized who he is. He’s one of the Brotherhood—the man
who stole the stardrive from me at Fire Lake. His name is Reede Kulleva
Kullervo.”

Vhanu started, across the table from him. “The Smith?” he
murmured. “Ye gods—they say the Smith’s responsible for everything from the
illegal stardrive market to half the drug trade coming out of Ondinee. He’s
linked to Thanm Jaakola—”

Gundhalinu stiffened. “I hadn’t heard that. For how long?”

“Since the stardrive incident,” Vhanu said.

Gundhalinu grimaced, and frowned. “Vhanu, you have scanner
data on his bionomes .... I had him investigated through official channels
once; what I got didn’t satisfy me. I would like to put our resources to work
on revealing who and what he really is. I think it could be vital to us to know
exactly what he wants.”

“Let the Police pick him up, then, BZ,” Vhanu said with sudden
eagerness. “Deactivate him, put him through deep questioning. Gods, to capture
the Smith! It would be a phenomenal victory for us—for the Golden Mean.”

“No,” Gundhalinu said, filled with sudden repugnance. Vhanu
stared at him. “No, NR,” he said again, less abruptly, and shook his head. “I
think ... I think the consequences would be too unpredictable.” Because
Kullervo was too unpredictable. He tried to imagine the effect deep questioning
would have on Kullervo’s unstable personality. It could easily cause him to
have a complete breakdown. He wasn’t even sure exactly why that mattered te
him, after what Kullervo had done to him at Fire Lake. Only that he wanted that
mind intact ... and, perversely, the soul of the man it was attached to. “We’re
better off just watching him discreetly, now that we know he’s here; seeing
where he leads us. There’s time enough to short-circuit him, if that becomes
necessary. He isn’t going anywhere. I’m sure of that much.”

Vhanu nodded reluctantly.

“We’ll run a search on him, then,” Kitaro said. “As soon as
possible.” Gundhalinu nodded, barely listening as the next question was brought
up by Abbidoes ... as his mind sank into memories of Reede Kullervo, the
mystery, the contradictions of the man. Realizing suddenly how deep his need to
have the answers was ... how deep his need to see Kullervo again, and confront
him, really ran. The pattern between them was incomplete: they had unfinished
business ....

Sparks Dawntreader entered Tor Starhiker’s new gaming club,
feeling an unnerving flicker of deja vu. Nothing had changed. His memories told
him so, even though his eyes said that this club did not really resemble
anything he had seen in the old days, when he had roamed the Street with a
bottomless credit rating, playing the decadent jade as if his life depended on
it; secretly Starbuck, sniffing out information to help Arienrhod keep on top
of the offworlders.

But the feel was right; his inner eye knew this place. Tor
Starhiker had once run the best club on the Street, and she had the best club
now, even it was only by default. He saw her across the room—recognizable, at
least, not transformed completely as she had been in the old days. Then she had
been decorated like a puppet, to suit the bizarre fantasies of the offworlder
who had really owned the club, the living nightmare they had called the Source.

Tor lifted a hand, acknowledging him. He nodded, but stayed
where he was. He had not wanted to come here, had told himself he would not come
.... But still, like a man sliding helplessly down a muddy slope, he had found
himself stepping through the doorway ....

“Hello, Sparks.” A hand took hold of his arm, drawing him
around.

“Emerine,” he said, only half surprised. She smiled at him,
and he saw the age lines that bracketed her full-lipped mouth deepen. He hadn’t
looked at her closely in a long time—the changes in her face were startling;
unlike the changes in his own, which had crept up on him day by day over the
years. But she was still a beautiful woman, with her hair dark and long, her
eyes the color of the sea. “All alone—” she said, with gentle reprimand. “Join
us, and you won’t be.” She drew him after her.

He followed her willingly across the room to the secluded corner
where Kirard Set Wayaways and half a dozen of his other friends from the old
days were sitting He noticed without really thinking about it that Kirard Set’s
wife was not among them.

He sat down with them, feeling his sense of having slipped
outside of time deepen as he sank under the weight of their welcoming hands,
the spell of the hypnotically strobing lights and bizarre sound effects of the
games that were the backdrop to their spoken greetings.

“Have some of this.” Kirard Set pushed a bottle of tlaloc at
him, and a cup. “A survivor of the time before, just like we are. Hard to
believe, isn’t it?” He gestured, filling the air with a cloud of
cinnamon-scented smoke. “Seems just like old times ....” His smile turned
rueful, and genuine. “I feel young again—reborn. Gods, I never realized how
miserable I was, lost in the void, until now, when I have something to look
forward to again besides my own death.”

“Yes “ Sparks nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of empathy
as he echoed the murmured sentiments of the others around the table. He sipped
the tlaloc, its bittersweetness vaporizing as it touched his tongue, filling
his head, matching his mood. He sighed.

“Tor Starhiker has done all right for herself, for a common
deckhand, I must say.” Kirard Set raised his head again, looking away into the
room. “She’s made good use of the Queen’s favor, and a certain native
shrewdness.” He rested his chin on his palm.

“What about the restaurant?” Sparks asked, leaning back in
his seat.

“She’s still part-owner, but she leaves the running of it to
Shotwyn now Business is better than ever, I hear; but dealing with practical matters
is not Shotwyn’s strong suit. He’s fit to be tied.” Kirard Set chuckled.

“I suppose he’ll just have to find someone else to tie him
up, from now on ...” Cabber Lu Greenfield said, smirking.

Laughter spread like ripples over water around the table, until
Sparks found himself unexpectedly laughing.

“Good!” Kirard Set said, his eyes shining. He reached out,
squeezing Sparks’s arm. “That’s what I like to see. We’ve all missed your
company, you know.”

Sparks looked back at him, waiting for the usual venomous
coda; surprised when it didn’t come. There were only nodding heads, smiling
faces all around him. “I guess I’d forgotten how much I missed the old days
too,” he murmured. He looked away from the too-curious scrutiny of his former
friends, feeling suddenly as if he sat in a room with mirrored walls. He let
his eyes wander, taking in the random stimuli of light and noise.

“Look,” Emerine said, pointing. “Isn’t that your son? Tammis!”
she called.

Spark found Tammis’s face in the crowd as the boy turned, startled
at hearing his name. Tammis looked back at them, and his expression was stark
with guilt He turned away again and disappeared.

“Well, what was that all about?” Emerine murmured. “I
thought your son was a happily married man, Sparks. What’s he looking for here,
looking so guilty, and all alone ..

Sparks frowned, his hand tightening around his cup; hearing
implications inside the implications. “He’s not my son.” He took another sip of
tlaloc, tasting only the bitterness.

“Come now,” Kirard Set said gently. “That’s a little harsh,
isn’t it? Just because he’s out wandering the night with the rest of us lost
souls, troubled in his marriage and looking for something he can’t get at home
...”