CHAPTER 31
I am toured out.
Hon has shown me around, although I haven’t seen his suite, and I thought that would be our first stop. Maybe I just overestimated his interest? Mary knows, it’s not like I’m irresistible, but the juxtaposition bothers me. He’s gone from amorous, aspiring lover to gracious guide in three hours, and that’s just…not right.
Anyway, the back portions of the first two decks are allotted to housing, but I have no idea what an apartment here looks like. So I’ve duly admired the hydroponics garden, his extensive library, which he’s had Canton Farr cataloging for the last two turns, and of course, the oddly intriguing bazaar, where permanent residents trade among themselves. Raiders have to do something when they’re not raiding.
I particularly like the artists’ section of the promenade. It’s a touch of elegance I hadn’t expected in such a place, but I suppose it’s human nature to want to adorn one’s living space, and when you’re isolated, your best recourse is to tap your own creativity. So I commend the bold paintings and metal sculptures and various oddments.
There’s even a dark-skinned woman, shaven completely bald, demonstrating the ancient art of the glass-dancer. Her movements flow smooth as the delicate treasures she creates from base chemicals, a sensual symbiosis of form and function. As I watch her, I think this ritual surely harks back to our Lady of Anabolic Grace, whose very name symbolizes the sanctity of change.
“Who is she?” I ask, admiring her.
“A priestess,” Hon tells me, and leads me on.
Somehow I’m not surprised, and I cast a look over my shoulder. The artist dances, oblivious to onlookers, and I know I have never passed closer to Mary’s grace than this moment. Of course there are more mundane vendors, selling refurbished droids, PAs, used clothing, footwear, hacking codes, weapons, oh, yeah, lots of those. There’s a whole aisle of stalls devoted to them: shocksticks, blades, sappers, you name it, you can find it here, but the trick is finding something the seller wants in exchange because in Hon-Durren’s Kingdom, they don’t deal in creds. If this lay beneath an open sky, it would remind me of the starport market at Gehenna.
We stop last at the food stalls, just a couple really, people offering fresh fruit and vegetables, bread and wine. I don’t know what they want in exchange, but when Hon stops by, they offer food and libation freely. Well, he is the king, after all.
I take a sip, more Parnassian red. Good stuff, but I don’t let it go to my head this time. He still smells wonderful, but now that I know it’s a chemical effect, I find him easier to resist. Plus, I’ve gotten laid recently, which doesn’t hurt.
“So what happened between you and March anyway?” Dina said he’ll answer me. Maybe he will.
He shrugs. “A woman, years ago, she chose him over me.”
“Why in Mary’s name would she do that?” I blurt the question before I stop to think about it, but fortunately he’s flattered, giving me the wide, white smile that shines with gold. I mean, comparing the two, there’s no contest, because Hon is gorgeous.
“Don’t know, don’t care. That was a long time ago.” Now why doesn’t that ring true? Dina’s right, men like Hon don’t forgive and forget. “Let me show you this, Sirantha Jax…”
I follow him, still thinking about why. And then I know. Makes me grin, imagining him using his gifts that way: My great passions? Why, Somalan ale, antique beaded tapestries, and white-maned Old Terran ponies. Yours, too? How astonishing! It’s like we’re soul mates…
March, you’re such a bastard.
But I’m smiling as I continue Hon’s infinite tour.
They’ve actually created a stable society, although they’re short on women. If they got an influx from a failing colony somewhere, they’d soon start filling up all the empty places on station. I wonder what kind of future Hon sees for his people, and yes, although we mock him quietly for his ego, he’s carved out a small place in the universe that’s unquestionably his own, not an easy undertaking. And it doesn’t lessen the achievement that his fief is rusted, badly in need of repair, and smells of hydraulic fluid.
“What you think?”
And I’m able to say truthfully, “It’s a remarkable accomplishment.” But to test my theory regarding his strange shift, I add, “Well, I appreciate your time, but I’d better get back to the ship.”
He nods, his dark eyes inscrutable, and that’s when I’m sure something’s wrong. Because he hasn’t asked me what emergency demanded my attention earlier. I feel the weight of his gaze as I make my way to the lift, trying not to break into a dead run while he watches me. I’ve never been very good at cat and mouse.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I sprint, and by the time I reach the docking bay, I have to press my hand against my side to try to soothe the stitch. I don’t need to locate the remote, though. The boarding ramp descends as I approach the Folly.
Great, someone’s been watching for me.
I’d lay odds as to whom, but I don’t have the creds to back up my guess, so I simply dash up the loading ramp, make a hard right, and continue into the hub, where I startle the shit out of everyone but March. His dark eyes look like I’ve stolen something from him by creeping out as if he’s my dirty little secret, but I can’t worry about that now.
“Dina, did you get the supplies yet?”
She shakes her head. “Still assembling stuff to trade for the base organic to power the kitchen-mate. It’s hard knowing what they’re going to want. They don’t seem to lack for anything, which is interesting, given their isolation.”