She opened her eyes, sighed again, her need for them as strong as it was on the first days in the dome. More than three years of duty left before she could hold them and be held. She drew her knees up, draped her arms over them, rested her head on her arms. Two days. I will see them and hear them. Can’t touch them, but at least I’ll hear their voices, see their faces. Two days. How can I wait? Two days. She closed her eyes and let the longing take her and pass away, sitting on the silky rug until she was empty and calm again. Then she got to her feet and went into the small kitchen to fix her evening meal.

  The Island Chain Suling Laller

  Vrithian

  WITNESS [2]

  THE BLINDNESS OF TRUTH IN SULING LALLER

  My name is Binaram Kay. Please, it is the only thing my own. I am a reader of truth, rather what someone thinks is truth, this is the curse born in me, yes, curse. You are skeptical, that is easily read, you think this is a great power, to know when others are truly saying what they feel or lying to you, I tell you there are as many reasons for lies as there are lies, no I am wrong, at least twice as many reasons, and many of them are kind, many of them come from a need to defend oneself from someone more powerful, someone who can hurt mind or body. I am old, this is a thing I have come to understand after many trials, many mistakes that hurt more than me. Blind? Yes. Not born blind. I was just discovering the pleasures of babbling about anything and everything, just able to run without tripping over my own feet, able to climb on things without help, but not old enough to understand discretion, that lying by silence. My mother was beginning to suspect my curse and tried to teach me to keep quiet in the presence of my elders. Ah yes, I have to admit she had little success in this, Juntar was a small village in the mountain spine of Rabikka and every third person was an uncle, aunt or cousin. But you know the truth of this, some cousins are closer than others. I made the mistake of telling a cousin he lied when he denied sleeping with another cousin and getting her pregnant, then proving it with the truth that lay behind his face. Therissa’s men came for me that night and took me to Obbatar. They tested me for days. After the first few days I began to enjoy all the attention. I knew they were truly interested in me, I was petted and cosseted and let show off

  in ways I found very pleasing, I was much too young to understand what lay behind that interest. Ah well, I cried myself to sleep often enough from missing my mother and my goat and my brothers and sisters, my uncles and aunts and cousins, and everything I’d known in my short life, but that too happened more and more rarely as I settled in to life at the Center. After three months of testing they put me to sleep and gently blinded me to be sure I wasn’t merely a muscle reader. Therissa was not interested in those. Oh it was done quite painlessly and humanely, if that word can be used about such a procedure, I was anesthetized and the optic nerve surgically severed, I was kept half unconscious till the wounds healed. I can remember no pain, but you must see I am very far from that child. Therissa? No, I’ve never met her. Of course I have not, think about it, my friend. Are you truly comfortable this close to me? Yes, I mean you to ask yourself that question knowing I don’t need the answer. You see the value of a lie? If I had kept silent, you wouldn’t feel this uneasiness. So you understand why she doesn’t come near her pets, only watches us. Yes, yes, I am blind, but there are things I don’t need eyes to know. Pets? Yes. What else are we? Kept in luxury. Look about you. Is not this a pleasant world for an ancient blind man? How delicately they decorate for us, such marvelous textures, such intricate but undemanding sounds, the falling water, the wind chimes, the rock hollows that sing in storms and are silent when the wind is gone. Close your eyes and use your ears, your fingers, and find how pleasantly we are housed. Kept in luxury and bred at our keeper’s command. As soon as I reached puberty they started bringing women to me. It’s quite laughable how gullible I was then. I was far from the first truth-reader Therissa put in her zoo; she knew better than to send the women unprepared. They loved me passionately, all of them, I read the truth of that and responded, how could I not? Each time one of them became pregnant, she was taken away and replaced by another equally in love with me. How many children? I have no idea. After the first dozen or so were removed, the wrench of parting became too painful, so I stopped trying to see them with my fingers, stopped trying to keep the voices straight, stopped learning their names, they were shadows, vessels of my pleasure, they came and went like shadows. And after a while even that became too painful, my body rebelled and would no longer perform the act. Ah well, that too was a long time ago. My duties? Simple enough. A good watchdog sniffing out weaknesses in my owner’s defenses, bringing her profit from renting me out. Do two merchants conclude their deals, I am there to assure both that both intend to live up to the bargain. Is there a question of theft or wrongful death, then I am there to read the truth behind the faces. Is there trouble on any of the sablas, I am led through the streets, my nose twitching, to point out the plotters. No more. These old legs have too little spring in them. But there are many to take my place, my own sons and daughters among them. How many? Look about you. This place grows every year. Why? I have thought about that often these past years. A whim. Nothing more than that. Something to pass the endless years. And when she is finally bored with us, no more velvet mosses and wind chimes, no more fine wines and fine food, no more shelter from the malice of those whose lies we’ve ripped apart. A whim. A playtoy to pass the time. That’s what we are, my friend. And all I can hope is that I die before Therissa’s interest does.

  Vrithian

  opening moves in the primary attack

  Shareem clicked her fingernail against the glass of the screen. “That’s Loppen, that crab-shaped island there. The Mesochthon is on the south coast, by the bay that’s rather like an old-time keyhole. Middleground. Only spot on Vrithian where Vrya can meet without worrying that one will try to kill the other.”

  Aleytys glanced at the screen, but she was more interested in watching Shareem. Her mother was babbling, throwing out snippets of information as if they were chunks of meat churning to the surface of the stew in her head. During the fifteen days out from Wolff, she’d been calm and sure of herself, showing off her ship, reminiscing about the happier times in her past, but as soon as she saw the gas cloud around Vrithian, she started getting jittery about their reception. Aleytys listened to her with a sudden intense surge of affection. Shareem clearly preferred not to look ahead more than she absolutely had to, yet against her nature she had worked long and hard to set up the arrangements that were giving her fits right now, forcing her to confront anxieties she’d refused to think about before.

  The lander circled down through the thin scumble of clouds toward a force dome like a dewdrop shimmering on the chalk cliffs above the water. Aleytys watched the ground come surging closer and was herself uneasy about what waited down there. She’d tried schooling herself to expect very little. Ibex had taught her about the grubbiness and trivia that could lie beneath the golden glow of myth; Shareem’s jitters were wiping out any lingering hopes she might find a home here.

  Home. She thought of her house on Wolff, then of Grey. What am I doing here, not … no, I won’t think about that. She tightened her lips in a brief unhappy smile. Shareem’s daughter. Oh yes.

  The dome flickered. The lander passed smoothly through, settling on a white ceramic target that looked absurdly like a giant porcelain dinner plate laid carelessly on the grass.

  A gleaming white tube snaked from the gleaming white cube whose polished faces (two hundred meters on a side) were opaline with pale images of everything around them, even the clouds flowing raggedly by overhead. From the exterior sensors, a soft sucking sound, the tube mouth fastening over the lock.

  Shareem straightened her back. For a moment she looked bleak. Then she stood, shook herself, pasted a smile on her face, willed a gleam into her eyes and in a breath or two was the feckless ebullient creature she showed to Head and Shadith, though never to Aleytys. “Come on, Lee,” she said, laughing. “Time to meet your loving kin.”

  A cavernous room. All white and black. All shape and springing form, arch on arch, falls of frozen white laces, twists of thready black lace, breaking the interior cube into irregular space. Spare white chairs scattered on an asymmetric spiral of black and white tiles. Elegant backdrop for what Aleytys saw at first as a horde of identical faces and forms, the same shade of red hair, the same translucent pallor, the same green stares. A fantasy fugue of peacock colors in their robes and tunics and trousers, this single difference emphasizing how alike they were, male and female, sibling and non.

  All those pale faces turned toward her. Some scowling and hostile, others blank, waiting. No sign of welcome, no acceptance there.

  As Aleytys followed Shareem into that intimidating silence, the sense of clotted numbers dissipated. Maybe fifty Vrya, no more than sixty. Her kind, all right, though her skin was shades darker, her eyes bluer. She lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-smile, mocking the dreams and hopes that had lingered after all in spite of her deliberate lowering of expectation, stared back at them with those bluer eyes, throwing a silent challenge into their silences.

  The Vrya turned away as she moved passed them, took up the conversations interrupted by her arrival. She caught snatches as she walked behind Shareem.

  “… local shamans had a witch-smelling last week. Nallis and I got together and played a joke on them, dumped a load of phosphors on the head boneshaker, he was getting uppity anyway, you should have seen it, how they turned on him and …”

  “… Dromms crowned a new king. Went, of course, can’t let them think they can do that sort of thing without one of us. Tedious, you don’t know …”

  “… there was this idiot preaching against us all up and down The Sheng, and believe it or not he was starting to get a following; turned him into a torch, that stopped …”

  “… the Fospori they’ve developed this marvelous batik process, it takes an age to make a meter square of it, I’ve set a couple thousand working on …”

  “… Poyeska, Zeia and I, we came out of the clouds over a shevorate herd, startled them, should have seen those idiot beasts run, went for stadia without stopping, trampled a plavine camp, turned it into mush …”

  “… boring, Lally, you wouldn’t believe how boring my Vrithli are, lumps that grunt at you, I tried to get them working on something simple as woodcarving but they …” Shareem stopped at the elbow of a man who looked appreciably older than the rest of the Vrya. He was a head taller than most, with heavy shoulders, powerful arms and legs, a lined, ravaged face, expressionless now except for a hint of impatience as he listened to a woman with a fanatical intensity to face, eyes, voice.

  “… you must admit, Har, my breeding programs are more effective than your neglect. What have you produced in your orpetzh but a vague sort of foreseeing that takes statistical analysis of large samples to produce anything reliable? Now I’ve got six lines of truth-readers and ten of dowsers and three PK specials, though I have to admit I’ve got inbreeding problems with the PK bunch, but I’ve had the last cadre of infants collected, put my best surgeons to work on them. Thing is, gensurgery is such a chancy thing and the talent is so elusive and androids are so limited. Har, I wonder if you …”

  “No.” He turned so abruptly he brushed into Shareem, shoving her into a stagger backward. He caught her arm, held her up until she had her balance again, then looked beyond her at Aleytys, his eyes intent, momentarily bright with interest. The brightness dulled again in a breath or two. “Chasing dreams,” he said, dismissal in his hoarse voice. “You’re a fool to come here, girl. Give me your hand so I can play my fool’s part in this.”

  He took her hand, bowed over it, straightened, spoke loudly. “Welcome to Vrithian, granddaughter. So that you have a seat here, Synkatta’s dome and domain is yours, my gift. The transfer is logged, Synkatta’s androids and Vrithli await your arrival.” He dropped her hand, muttered, “Much good it’ll do you, but I’ve kept watch there, purged the place for you. Kell and his herd can’t get past my security. Call me when you’re ready to move in. My advice, if you want it, is to get out and don’t come back. It’s a trap, girl, and the bait’s not worth a handful of shit.” He stalked away before she could get a word out, leaving her with her mouth hanging open, feeling foolish.

  “Well, that went better than I expected.” Shareem sounded almost complacent.

  “Better!”

  Shareem fluttered a hand. “Listen, Lee, he never bothered to acknowledge me as his daughter even after he took me in, but look what he’s doing for an offworld brat.”

  “Reem …”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. He was fond of me before he got so strange, he helped me when I needed help … never mind, we shouldn’t talk about such things here. Come, let’s get the rest of this over with.”

  They wound through silent staring Vrya toward another corner of the room, moving in a cold and hostile atmosphere meant to be intimidating; it only made Aleytys angry enough to burn away any trepidation she’d been feeling. She no longer cared whether these people accepted her or not; she’d get her birthright confirmed, deal with Kell, then do what she wanted, Aschla take the lot of them. Well, not Shareem. She smiled at her mother’s back.

  Filiannis waited near the wall, seated in one of the freeform chairs, a pair of identical Vrya silent at her shoulders. The twins watched her quietly, their faces impassive, lowering their eyes as she came closer. Don’t they realize they reek hostility and jealousy? Aleytys wondered suddenly whether any of the fifty or so swirling around her ever connected in any way less superficial than casual sex. The predators she’d come across in the roundabout course that brought her here—deadly little Joran; wonder what made me think of him?—the scavs on Nowhere, assorted company reps, whatever, all of them had about as much feeling for others as a pack of hungry silvercoats, yet even they knew more about reading nonverbal clues than this bunch. She examined the twins thoughtfully. Her mother’s hand dropped onto her arm. “Don’t say anything about them,” Shareem whispered. “Don’t talk to them, don’t even seem to see them. They’re clones. Not very successful ones, short-lives, limited minds, she just does them over when they fade.” Aleytys nodded; I’ve seen worse, she told herself. Shareem smiled. “We’ll talk later.”

  Filiannis the poet, or so Shareem said. Hadn’t written anything new for centuries. But I could have missed something, she admitted, seeing her as I did only every hundred years or so. And I’ve never been much interested in poetry anyway.

  Filiannis leaned forward with considerable eagerness as Shareem and Aleytys stopped in front of her. She didn’t wait for Shareem to speak, but stood and held out her hand. When Aleytys clasped it, Filiannis said (speaking so fast she was almost jabbering): “Welcome to Vrithian, Vryhh daughter, Vryhh born to the Vrya.” Her hand was dry and smooth; the skin felt like fine paper. She dropped back onto the chair, the twins retreating to stand once more at her shoulders. Aleytys found herself thinking of them as children in spite of their developed forms; they had an unfinished feel to them as if they weren’t whole persons. Unsuccessful clones and aware of it, forced to stand before her, the whole-person Vryhh-daughter they could never be. She fought back a sharp stab of anger; it was unnecessarily cruel to create these half-persons, even crueler to bring them here.

  Shareem glanced at her, stepped quickly forward. “Hello, Filiannis. Fia and Lia are looking especially well today. The blue suits them.” Aleytys was startled and annoyed to find Shareem doing what she’d forbidden Aleytys to do. I’m still an outsider until this business is over, she thought.

  Filiannis smiled, but the energy with which she’d greeted Aleytys was draining out of her. “They are well. We are well. Your absence this time was short, Reem.”

  “I had a good reason for returning.” She put her hand on Aleytys’s shoulder.

  Filiannis looked vague, then alert again. “Ah yes.” She turned to Aleytys. “Yes. Karos and Agriotis were here a year or two ago. They told us some exciting tales about your adventures, Vryhh-daughter.”

  “Rumor, anassa. Don’t believe all you hear.” Aleytys lifted a hand, let it fall. “Most of the time I was hungry, filthy, confused, bored and frightened half to death. It wasn’t anything like exciting.”

  “No. No.” Filiannis closed a hand about Aleytys’s arm, closed it so tightly her nails cut into Aleytys’s skin, a naked greed in her face and voice that astonished and repelled Aleytys. As if the Vryhh woman was a leech getting ready to suck her dry. She stood without moving, waiting for the woman to collect herself. “No.” Filiannis straightened out her fingers, letting go of the arm, and with the falling hand seemed to lose most of her energy. She stared past Aleytys at something, perhaps only a fragment of some ancient memory, or a brush of suddenly recalled emotion. Her crumpled lips stretched slightly; she turned her head, seemed startled to see Aleytys and Shareem still near her. “You come and visit me, Vryhh-daughter, you be sure and do that.”

  “Yes of course, thank you, anassa.”

  Filiannis got to her feet. “My dome’s in Beyinne. Shareem can tell you how to find it.” She walked off with Fia and Lia trailing silently behind.

  A cold knot in her stomach, Aleytys watched her walk off. Filiannis looked almost as young as Shareem, time had left her shell intact, but the inside was rotted out. When Shareem had told her of the suicides that thinned Vrya numbers, Aleytys hadn’t understood, in a sense hadn’t quite believed her, but she began to understand them now. If chance or nature didn’t kill her first, she promised herself as she watched Filiannis vanish among the other Vrya, if she ever came to such emptiness, she’d dive her ship into the nearest sun. She turned to Shareem, started to say something. “Not here,” Shareem said. Aleytys looked around, sighed.