Part 18 (1/2)
”Thank you,” Zed said. He touched the man's hands briefly. He had a great deal of respect for Imre Kyneth. He was the oldest of the Family heads now that Domna Sam had died; seventy-seven, very active, small and spare, head of the Chabad Council, a brisk, effective man. He had a brood of sons and daughters: no lack of heirs. Family Kyneth controlled Chabad's most precious resource: water.
The long pipelines that kept Abanat green were theirs, manufactured in their plants from steel made by Family Dur. They owned and ran the water purification plant. The s.h.i.+ps that moved icebergs from the poles to the city were theirs.
They were a close-knit but outgoing crew; the ant.i.thesis, Zed thought, of the individualistic, solitary Yagos.
Imre craned his neck to look behind Zed's broad shoulders. ”Where's Rhani?”
”She sends regards and regrets. She isn't feeling well tonight. She knew you'd understand.”
”Of course. Is it serious?”
”No,” said Zed, ”a mild indisposition, nothing to worry about.”
Aliza Kyneth sailed up to them. She was a ma.s.sive woman, tall and nearly as broad as a Skellian. She had a strong-featured face; huge, black eyes; and hair that snapped, it was so red. She dwarfed her older husband. The white tent that fell over her in soft folds only emphasized her size. ”Zed, welcome back from the Net. Imre, why do you keep him standing in the foyer? Zed, Rhani isn't with you?”
”She's indisposed.”
”That's too bad. We'll hope to see her at the Dur party. Ferris will be disappointed. He had hoped she'd be coming.”
”He's here, then.”
”Of course. See him there?” Aliza pointed at one of the backs. ”Give Rhani our best and tell her we want to see her. Come in, mingle. Imre, someone else has come through the doors.” She looked pointedly at her husband, who chuckled and went to greet the woman standing in the doorway. ”Quick, Zed, if you don't want to be cornered. That's Charity Diamos.”
”Aliza, I love you,” said Zed.
”Drinks to the right.”
Zed walked right.
The drinks table stood against a mirror-covered wall, so that people moving along it were reflected back to themselves. It made the large room look even larger. The Kyneth children were studded in strategic places. Slaves circulated, carrying huge trays br.i.m.m.i.n.g with food: fish in batter, sweets, cakes, pressed seaweed, Ley cheese, fruits. Zed picked an egg tart off a pa.s.sing tray. The slave handed him a blue gla.s.s plate. Zed smiled, prepared to be social. It was what he'd come for. Theo Levos, head of the Fourth Family of Chabad, was holding court in the center of the room. He was a big, boisterous man, accustomed to s.p.a.ce. Zed waited patiently for him to take a breath.
”Good evening, Theo.”
”Zed Yago, you silent man! How long have you been standing there, saying nothing? Why didn't you say something?” ”I didn't want to interrupt your speech.”
”Interrupt me. You Yagos are always silent.”
”Rhani asked me to send you her regards.”
”She isn't here?” Theo put his hands on his hips. Zed explained. ”Sick?
How can she get sick with a medic for a brother? I'm sorry she's sick, tell her that.”
”I'll tell her.”
”Say h.e.l.lo to Jen, she's somewhere about.” He pointed to a small alcove lined with booktapes. Jen T'ao, his companion, mother of two of his three children, was standing talking with Clare Brion. Zed nodded stiffly towards the two women. Jen nodded back. There was a beautiful gold-and-black cavorting dragon embroidered on her red jacket.
”Zed Yago!” said a voice. Zed turned, inwardly cursing. ”How lovely to see you! I said to myself as soon as I walked in behind you, how elegant he looks, oh, my, yes. But Imre tells me that Rhani is not well! Of _course_ it can't be anything serious or you would not have left her side, all Abanat knows how devoted you two are to one another, oh, my, yes. We are all looking forward to the Auction. I'm looking for a new cook; my old cook's contract just expired, so inconvenient. I don't imagine I'll find anybody half as good. And then, there are so many tourists in residence this season that I'm worried one of them will outbid me. Of course, the Yagos _never_ have to worry about that. Such a handsome young slave dear Rhani had with her the other day, crossing the park. A secretary?” She looked up at him, eyes brilliant with curiosity and malice.
”Her new pilot,” said Zed.
”Oh, yes,” said Charity Diamos.
”Excuse me,” said Zed.
Escaping as swiftly as he could, Zed worked his way to the isolated, relative safety of the stairs. A well-dressed child sat on the lowest step. As Zed approached, he scrambled to his feet. ”C-C-Commander,” he stammered.
”h.e.l.lo,” said Zed. Like most of the Kyneth children, he had Imre's build, but Aliza's features and her thick red hair. ”Which one are you?”
”Davi, Commander.”
”You don't have to call me that,” said Zed, amused by the look of wors.h.i.+p in the boy's green eyes. He probably talked back to his father without a qualm.
”My name is Zed. How old are you?”
”Ten. I'm the youngest.”
”You Kyneths are hard to keep track of. Ten. When I was ten, I never got to stay awake for the parties.”
”Did you want to?”
Zed grinned. ”No.” He tried to recall just how many Kyneth children there were. He didn't know all their names. Most of them worked with and for their father, on Chabad, but one, he knew, was studying engineering, and another was working toward being a medic. It was mostly the older ones and the very young ones, now, who could be found at home.
”I don't either.” Davi tugged at the white ruffled collar of his s.h.i.+rt.
”I hate parties.”
”Why are you here, then?”
”All our slaves are busy. Mother told _me_ to guard the stairs. I have to stay here until she sends me to bed. And _talk to people_.”
”Zed,” said a woman's voice, not Charity Diamos. It was Margarite Kyneth, Imre's heir. She was a tall woman; she overtopped him by half a head. ”What are you doing, hiding in the shadows talking to the Brat?”
Davi scowled at his older sister. Zed said, truthfully, ”Getting away from Charity Diamos.”
”Oh. Poor man. Davi-ka, Mother wants you by the wine table.” She reached a hand to pluck at Davi's lopsided collar as he slid by. He was still scowling.
”What did you talk about?” ”Charity and I?”
”No, of course not. Who can talk to her? You and the Brat.”
”He seems a smart child.”
”He's more intelligent than I am,” said Margarite. ”Did he tell you he wants to be a Hyper?”
”No. But so did I, when I was ten.”
”Me, too,” said Margarite. ”But I got over it. So will Davi.”
”You sound certain of that.”