Reality's Plaything 4: Savants Ascendant Page 27
Bannor raised his hand. “Maybe I should handle this? Bronawyn doesn’t know me, so I think I might have a little success persuading her to let Mercedes help Wysteri.”
The King folded his arms. “I think that’s an excellent suggestion. We know the effect you have on the ladies—married and not.”
“Father,” Sarai growled.
“Don’t ‘father’ me,” the King said. “This mess is entirely your fault. You acted on impulse and didn’t think the consequences through. Now, you and your unborn are at risk. I expect better thinking from one of my daughters.”
“Dom’Ista,” Bannor said. “I will take Wysteri back upstairs and see if I can get this arranged. We should probably do it as quickly as possible before the Baronians send something new at us.”
“Go,” the King said.
He turned to Sarai and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She hugged him.
“I won’t be long,” he told her.
“We’ll be up shortly.”
Bannor turned to Wysteri and offered his hand.
The physician smiled and put her fingers in his. As they stepped toward the archway, Luthice brushed back her dark hair and leaned toward them. “Take me with you, I have some pull with the Felspars.”
“Pull is good,” Bannor said. “Let’s go.”
The three of them retraced their steps, heading back up the stairwell to the corridor. Luthice drifted along with them, hands behind her back, swaying with willowy grace. While she shared a great deal in common with Senalloy in terms of appearance, Bannor felt something different from the dark-haired Baronian woman. What was it exactly? Was she more confident? As if that were even possible.
“So, Lady Luthice, how is it you know the Felspars?”
“Cassandra helped get me off Karanganoi Homeworld,” the woman answered with smile. “I work with she and Dorian in the court of Isis. I’ve been training Desiray. My most recent project has been a musical collaboration with Arabella, Sindra, and Drucilla.”
“Music?” Bannor glanced at her. “Arabella I understand, but Aarlen’s daughters? That doesn’t seem like something they’d do.”
Luthice chuckled. “Bannor, when you get old enough you’ll do anything to keep from being bored. As it happens, they are quite talented musicians and have excellent voices.”
He sighed. “Why wouldn’t they? They don’t have a natural bone in their bodies—it doesn’t make sense not to have made everything perfect.”
“The best bodies money can buy,” Luthice said with a nod. “The results remain impressive.”
“I suppose,” he said. “Not that I can throw stones at the moment.”
“I was about to say,” Wysteri remarked, looking up at him. “You wear a rather synthetic body yourself.”
“There was need,” he said, feeling a trace of self-consciousness. “Without it, I would get beaten to a pulp…”
“You don’t need to sound apologetic,” Luthice said. “You don’t think we Baronians got this way by accident do you?” She ran a lacquered fingernail down her front. “The masters designed and bred us. There are eons of research and testing behind our instincts, social tendencies, and heredity.” She shrugged. “I was designed to be a weapon. It’s what I am.”
“I have heard of singing swords, Milady,” he said eying her. “But I suspect you have considerably more to offer than that.”
Luthice smiled. “I see why Sen likes you.”
By the time they returned to the northern audience chamber, the destruction of the battle had been cleaned up, even the divots in the stone had been repaired. The restoration efforts had moved to the passages and adjoining chambers.
A least a dozen of the Karanganoi mecha, those small enough to move easily in the halls, worked alongside the Shael Dal, Felspars, Kriar, and valkyries. Though the chore of cleanup was nothing short of grisly, the different groups seemed to work smoothly together. The members chatted amiably amongst each other. Millicent, Kylie, and Megan were in a deep discussion concerning service to the pantheon lords as they searched and examined the hallways. A few of the Baronian lady specialists had come up from the second level and were among those laboring. Luthice touched hands and nodded to the ones they passed.
“The camaraderie is quite refreshing,” Wysteri said looking around with a smile. “Even amongst themselves, the Baronians tend to be rather taciturn and dour…”
“There’s Bronawyn,” Luthice pointed, indicating the dark-haired dusky-skinned Silissian princess. She was with her husband, directing the labor, and obviously trying hard not to get her hands dirty. Another couple worked with them, the other man looked enough like Caldorian to be his brother.
The three of them walked up behind them.
“Lady Bronawyn,” Bannor said. “Might I have a moment of your time?”
She swung around a growl starting in her throat. “What do you—” Her dark eyes widened, and the rasp in her voice vanished. She stared up at him and swallowed. “What can I do for you?”
Her husband finished dumping some debris in a sack and swung around. The man smiled, smacked the dust off his hands on his breeches. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his palms. “Well met, Lord Starfist,” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
Bannor shook with him.
“Seb, Jol,” Caldorian said. “Come meet this fellow.”
The man addressed as Seb dusted himself off and turned. The two men didn’t just look alike, they were identical twins. The other tall Felspar came forward and shook hands. “Well met,” he said with a nod. He gestured to the tall woman with him. “This is my wife Jolandrin.” He nodded in acknowledgement of Luthice. “Lady Luthice.” He turned his head, stepped forward, took Wysteri’s hand and kissed it. “And perhaps you would introduce this vivacious lady?”
Bronawyn frowned at her brother in law.
The purple-haired mecha colored but smiled at the attention.
“This is Wysteri,” Bannor said. “In fact, she is why I’ve come seeking your assistance.”
“She’s not sick is she?” Bronawyn said with a frown.
“No,” Bannor said. “Lady Bronawyn, I do however come requesting a favor.”
The Silissian princess folded her arms. “A favor is it? Didn’t I already do one of those for you?”
He bowed. “Indeed you did. You have my appreciation and thanks for that. It was quite helpful.”
“I would have preferred money,” the woman said with a dour expression.
Caldorian gripped her arm, she winced and flinched away. “Apologies,” he said with a dip of his head. “The battle was very stressful for my wife.”
Bannor wondered what it would be like if he had to constantly apologize for Sarai. That certainly appeared to be Caldorian’s full time occupation.
“No apologies are necessary,” he said keeping his voice level. “I acknowledge the favor.” He leaned forward. “Perhaps there is something I can do to balance matters?” He rubbed his hands together. “I may be in position to offer something of value.”
Bronawyn blinked at him, dark eyes appraising. “How intriguing. So, assuming we reach an accord, what is this other thing you wish of me?”
“Wysteri is physician much like your Mercedes. She wishes to consult with her.”
Wysteri bowed.
“Consult?” Bronawyn’s eyes narrowed. “Bannor, you do not know these cybers do you?”
“Cybers?” He shrugged. “I didn’t realize they were called that, but, no, I admit my experience with them is quite limited.”
Bronawyn leaned back and put hands on hips. “Cybers like those,” she nodded to a couple of the mechas helping two valkyries carry some large broken stones. “They’re quite simple—very direct—honest.” She tilted her head. “Now mecha physicians,” she leaned forward and fixed Wysteri with a level gaze. “They’re different. They have goals and ambitions and they’re smart—really smart. They are quite manipulative actually—and they have this irritating habit of
helping one another.”
Bannor found Bronawyn’s mention of irritating rather ironic. “Milady, I find their chief goal to be helping others, especially the sick and injured.”
Bronawyn waved her finger. “No. You are mistaken. Mecha physicians fix things. They have this compulsive need to make things perfect. It bugs the spit out of them when something isn’t just so.” She blew out her cheeks. “The more sophisticated they are, the more driven they are to improve every bleeding little thing…” She tilted her head. “Anyways, I’d wager what little Wysteri probably wants is a free upgrade. You see, only an elite class physician can do upgrades. It’s the only reason she’d be here. What, did she tell you she didn’t have the equipment she needed to do a procedure?”
Bannor frowned. He glanced at Wysteri, who by coincidence, was looking the other way. He pressed his lips to a line. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”
“Another thing about these physicians—they love attention. Cedes always wants me to spend money on gadgets she’ll use once an eon. She’s already the best healer Homeworld ever made, what does she need more junk for?” The woman rolled her eyes. “Attention. Wysteri can build anything she needs as long as she has access to a matter converter. I saw some builder mecha in that group—so it’s a certainty she can get some moon-eyed field engineer to fabricate everything she needs. If you didn’t notice, the other mecha worship the ground the physicians walk on. They’d take themselves apart if she asked with a smile.”
“I noticed that.”
Wysteri folded her arms and pushed out her lip.
“Did I mess up your plan, Honey?” Bronawyn said with fists on hips. “So, sorry. I’m done being kiss-arse for you and all your prima donna physician friends.”
Bronawyn might be coarse and annoying, but she definitely seemed to be experienced with the mecha and the healers in particular. She spoke with the voice of authority and in this particular instance without any attempt to deceive.
Bronawyn rubbed her chin. “So, what are you? A class one?”
Wysteri put hands on hips and scowled. “Class two.”
The Silissian woman smirked. “Whoring an upgrade. I love it when I’m right.”
“Darling, it’s not polite to gloat,” Caldorian said.
Bronawyn rubbed her hands together. “All right, I tell you what. This probably has to do with Sarai’s pregnancy, right? I heard Mercedes mumbling something about that.”
He nodded.
“Wysteri will do a better job for you if she gets what she wants first. So, here’s the deal. I’ll let Mercedes and little miss purple hair scheme to their hearts content. I’ll even call the other favor repaid. All I want is one thing.”
He felt a chill go down his back. What would this dark-haired nasty woman want? “What?”
She licked her lips. “A position for myself and my husband in the front row at the wedding.”
A little knot twisted in his stomach. It was such a simple-sounding innocuous request. Knowing this woman, it was anything but.
He knew next to nothing about the politics of the wedding seating, best to just forward the request to the Queen.
He remembered how Sindra had called to Senalloy. He made the space in his mind, envisioned Kalindinai’s pattern in that space, and projected his words onto it.
There was burst of confusion and shock, then realization.
Bannor felt Kalindinai’s instant unease.
He felt the Queen’s face heat up.
He blinked and focused on Bronawyn. “Queen Kalindinai says it’s a deal but you must guarantee the work and your behavior.”
Bronawyn looked up at her husband and bit her lip. “Bannor, I will be a perfect saint…”
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
A Favor Abhorred
« ^ »
I find this whole idea of being independent of one’s physical shape to be quite intriguing. The casualness with which the Kriar physician spoke brought home to me how truly different the society and mores of our gold-skinned guests really are. To even have a name for it—joy-forming…fascinating indeed.
—Jhaan T’Evagduran,
King of Malan
The promise was made and the deal was done. All that remained was to get the players to do their parts. He frowned and looked around the stone corridor, and at Luthice. Hands behind her back, a bandage wrapped around her head, the dark-haired Baronian, dressed in red leather had a speculative expression on her face. The negotiation went better than he hoped, it simply didn’t go quite in the direction he had expected. Bronawyn, the dusky-skinned Silissian princess looked extremely pleased with herself. He knew that didn’t bode well. No doubt, just her sitting in the front at the wedding would nettle Sarai. Bronawyn’s husband Caldorian was eying his wife with an uncomfortable expression, apparently not quite sure what to make of the situation. Seb, the man’s twin brother, had his lips pressed together and his brow furrowed. Seb’s wife, tall willowy Jolandrin with the muscles and build of warrior, brushed at her armor and looked on with a lost expression. Wysteri, the purple-haired mecha didn’t seem to know how to feel. She had plotted to take advantage of a situation, promptly lost control, then ended up getting what she wanted anyway.
Bannor guessed he better just move this thing along. “So, what’s next?”
Bronawyn smiled. “Why we toddle off to Mercedes so she and Wysteri can have their little chat.” She focused on Wysteri. “Why don’t you get your host? I see you don’t have it with you.”
Wysteri’s brow furrowed. She was obviously not used to someone as assertive as the Silissian princess. The mecha looked up at Bannor. “I will be back in moment.” She walked back down the corridor toward the chamber where the mecha first entered the citadel.
Bannor looked after the physician for a moment then glanced back to Bronawyn. “Her host?”
The princess shook her head. “You didn’t think that was her real body did you?”
“Well, yes…”
“That’s not anymore her real body, than a sock puppet would be your real body,” Bronawyn told him. “Think about it, did you see a purple haired elf when they first entered the council area?”
“No, I just assumed I missed her because of all the bigger machines in the front.”
Bronawyn sighed. “The first clue is that when she appears… she looked like an elf. Her host is probably in a stealthed case that’s being carried by one of the other mecha. After it looked like the negotiations were going well, she determined the best form to take, and imaged herself.”
Bannor glanced back at Luthice.
The dark-haired Baronian nodded. “She’s telling you straight. It really isn’t that much different than the other mecha. Physicians simply project themselves into a flesh and blood body instead of a metal frame.”
“I remember that being explained on Homeworld,” Bannor said. “It’s just not an easy idea to adjust to.”
“No,” Caldorian agreed. “It took us a while to come to grips with it. They actually can have several bodies at once—like avatars. They just generally prefer to keep it to one.”
“Mercedes is creepy,” Jolandrin said looking at the others. “But she’s nice.”
Wysteri appeared in the corridor again, this time carryin
g a slim black case about a pace long, and about half that high. Different colored jewels blinked along its surface. He looked at the device’s threads and discovered that there was indeed something alive about it. Strange.
The purple haired mecha stopped next to him, she clutched the box’s handle with both hands. Shoulders rounded down, she studied the floor looking uncomfortable and embarrassed.
Bronawyn looked down at Wysteri. “My but what a little brain you have.”
The mecha looked up with a scowl. She didn’t say anything but obviously wanted to.
The princess seemed to derive considerable pleasure from Wysteri’s discomfort. Bannor guessed that, for the mecha, it was like being forced to walk naked in front of strangers.
“Well, we might as well go,” Bronawyn said. She turned and took a few steps, pointed her finger and drew a door-sized rectangle in the air. As she moved her hand, a glowing white trace remained hovering in the corridor. When the end of the line met the beginning, crackling rasp echoed in the passage. Air gusted over the princess, ruffling her dark hair. Revealed in the space was a silvery portal similar to the ones he had seen Luthice make. Reflected in the gap was what appeared to be a carpeted sitting area.
Bronawyn stepped through and gestured to them from the other side. Her husband, brother and sister in-laws stepped into the portal without hesitation. Bannor gestured Wysteri ahead of him.
The mecha drew a breath and stepped in.
He glanced at Luthice who hadn’t moved.
“I’ll stay here,” the Baronian told him. “You have things in hand. It doesn’t appear my pull was needed. I’ll make sure everyone knows what’s going on.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” He turned and stepped into the portal. There was brief twisting sensation, and the compression of threads like he experienced on Homeworld. He rubbed at his arms feeling a chilly sensation from the actual transition. He noticed the others rubbing their arms in similar fashion apparently experiencing the same brief chill.
Bannor glanced around as the portal sighed closed behind him. The chamber was fairly non-descript and plain, two doors were situated on opposite sides at the end of the room. Long divans sat along smooth white-washed walls with nature paintings centered above each. The air had a caustic over-clean smell that made him wrinkle his nose.