Part 9 (2/2)

The bubble's path smoothed, and became a circle. Tam relaxed.

”Needs some work on that,” Zed said. Tam nodded, tapping his fingers in brisk march time. The beat reminded Zed of the promise he'd given Rhani about Dana Ikoro's music.

”Tam,” he said, ”may I use your com-line link?”

Tam swept a hand toward the com-unit keyboard. Zed edged in front of it and sent instructions up to LandingPort Station to have Dana Ikoro's musictapes placed aboard the next Abanat-bound shuttle. ”Thanks,” he said. Tam grinned, bouncing lightly on his toes. Zed sidled away from the com-unit and gave the chief back his seat.

In the elevator, he wondered if his sister knew about Tam's talent. He could not remember telling her. All the Hypers knew, of course. The elevator halted at the foot of the spire. He crossed the Port. At the Gate, a crowd of tourists had made a knot around a tired-looking guard.

”But we have to have someone to carry our bags!” said one of them, waving at a pile of luggage.

”Carry them yourselves,” the guard said.

The tourists all stared at him. ”I thought this planet had people who did that for you,” someone said.

”Carry bags? I think that's ridiculous.”

”Sorry,” said the guard, not sounding sorry at all. ”That's the rule.

Slaves are not admitted to any portion of the Abanat Landingport.”

”But what are we to do?” said a plaintive woman.

The guard gazed at her, infinitely bored. ”You can hire porters.” He indicated the line of porters resting against a wall. The tourists moved away, grumbling and talking among themselves. Zed brushed pa.s.sed them. Outside the Landingport, he walked a few blocks, then stepped onto a movalong which would carry him to the Hyper district.

As the slideway traveled south and east, he tried to ignore the tourists.

But it was difficult not to notice them; they were everywhere around him. They jammed the movalongs, chattering about Chabad, about the Auction, about the Four Families, of which they knew very little, and about each other. Some of them were naked; most, coming as they did from worlds with G-type suns, wore the skimpiest clothes they owned. Many of them would end up in the Abanat clinics, where the medics would treat them for sunstroke, sunburn, acute dehydration, and melanomas.

Zed reached the Hyper district with relief. Here there were no tourists; Hypers were notoriously intolerant of being gawked at. Quietly, he threaded his way through winding streets to The Green Dancer. At the door, he paused. The bar buzzed softly with talk. A few faces slanted to look at him, and the rhythm of the talk dipped and steadied. He recognized some of them: they were from the Net. He wondered if they had been talking about him.

Jo Leiakanawa rose out of a clump of people. He walked to her. She nodded at him. ”Zed-ka.”

”Jo.” He jerked his thumb toward an empty table. ”Sit with me.” She followed him and sat. ”Are you surprised to see me?”

”I am,” she said, imperturbably. ”I thought you were going home.” Her smooth, heavy face showed no surprise.

Amber MacLean, the bartender and part-owner of the bar, strolled over.

”Whaddya want?”

”Dry wine,” Zed said. He did not bother to reach for his credit disc: by custom, the first drink of the day in The Dancer was free. The sunlit room was restful. Over the bar hung a badly painted portrait of a Verdian dancing; the dance was supposed to be a ritual in their religion. It was called, Zed remembered, the _K'm'ta_. Amber brought his drink and he ordered one for Jo.

Amber brought it, took his credit disc, and sauntered back behind the bar.

Zed said, ”I came to ask for your help, Jo.”

Jo sipped her wine; her great hand dwarfed the gla.s.s. ”How may I help you, Zed-ka?”

”You may not be able to. The situation is rather delicate. I don't know if you are acquainted with Sherrix Esbah.”

”I've heard the name.”

”She seems to have dropped out of sight, or at least, out of reach of Family Yago.” He explained briefly. ”My sister, I think, fears that Sherrix has been arrested by the Hype cops. I think it more likely that she decided to take an indefinite vacation. She may even have left Chabad. I'd like to know.”

Jo folded her hands around her gla.s.s. ”I can inquire,” she said. ”When I need to, how may I reach you?”

Zed smiled. He had expected her to say yes, but still ... ”Write a letter. We'll be in Abanat, at the house on Founders' Green, in about eight days.”

Jo nodded. ”Clear, Zed-ka.”

Amber came to the table. ”You want to eat,” she said. It was not a question.

Zed nodded. ”Put it on my credit disc.” Amber went behind the bar. A meal in The Green Dancer consisted of broiled fish and seaweed, nothing else. She brought the navigator triple portions.

The bar grew more crowded toward noon. The rhythm of conversation grew more complex. Two Verdians came in, arms around each other. Zed wondered idly what s.e.x they were. Some porters arrived from Port, half-drunk and looking for a fight; Amber drove them out vituperatively before one could start.

Just after noon Zed returned to the Landingport. Automatically, he checked the displays; the shuttles.h.i.+p traffic was moving normally. Suddenly, he caught sight of his own name on the pilots' message board. ”_ZED YAGO_,” said the blinking lights, ”_CONTACT COMMUNICATIONS, INFO URGENT SOONEST_.”

He went quickly to Communications. The back of his neck felt chilled. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the babble. ”You have a message for me?”

The new operator handed him a piece of paper. It said, ”_ESTATE BOMBED, R. Y.

UNHURT, ONE SLAVE HURT, A.P. CALLED_.” The signature at the foot of the paper was that of Tam Orion.

Zed swallowed. His fingers closed hard on the paper. When he looked up, he realized that the operators were staring at him. The new one, who hadn't known him, was backing away, and Zed wondered what his face looked like. He took a deep breath and brought himself around. ”I'm taking the bubble out,” he said.

”Clear the flight.” The operator jumped. Zed whirled and pushed to the door, not even waiting for them to answer. As he ran toward his bubble, someone moved to intercept him, calling his name. Ignoring it, he palmed the door open, swung into his seat, and punched the craft to life. Someone hammered on the bubble's skin. Realizing that it might be a further message from the estate, he opened the door. A woman stood there, wearing the uniform of a shuttles.h.i.+p crew member. She held out a box.

”Commander, you asked for this,” she said. ”We brought it.”

Zed took it and tossed it on the seat beside him. ”Thanks,” he said. The door slammed shut; the woman barely had time to yank back her hand. She skipped out of the way as Zed sent the bubblecraft hurtling up.

As he brought the bubble in, low over the estate, Zed saw a dark rift cutting through the green, like a wound in the earth. Rage rose in his chest; a hand seemed to squeeze his heart. He forced it back, telling it, _Later, later_, and, with steady hands, dropped the bubble through the hangar's open roof to its place.

Leaping from it, he hurried to the house. Rhani met him at the kitchen door. There were gel bandages on both her arms. He put his hands lightly on her shoulders, afraid to touch her. ”I'm all right,” she said. She laid her lips against his. ”I told Binkie to put it in the message. I'm all right.”

Indeed, she looked fine, except for the bandages. He touched them.

”What's this?”

”Grazes,” she said cheerfully. ”No worse than the times I fell out of trees as a child.”

”What happened?”

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