Magus Star Rising

Change is everything.

THE SCROLLS OF VANERA

An Unexpected Proposition

“I want you to find out what my husband is doing. I want to know if there is someone else.” Backlit by orange sunlight, Claudia Honin-Zay’s profile seemed more like one of the Senitte ‘spirits’ than that of a higher developed sentient. Fragile, ethereal, seemingly untouchable.

Beneath the floor-length white gown worn by most Senitte fems of her rank and position, her body appeared as flitting points of light and shadow. Her eyes, framed by lush, black hair tumbling over the hood of her garment, stared inward. “Or, Vanera forbid,” she said softly, “if he has Turned.”

Those eyes refocused and Simon Weller found he had to force himself to meet that liquid stare. “He has mentioned the Yharria once or twice in passing,” she continued.

The Yharria? No. Weller stiffened. He would refuse now. No question. “Well, I’m sorry, Mistress Honin-Zay,” he said. “But I, ah, haven’t visited the Yharria proper in more than two years. Parts of it are very transient. Things change there constantly. It would be difficult...” He stopped, suddenly short of breath, memories of the Yharria intruding.

Weller tore his gaze away from Honin-Zay and then quickly glanced around the milk-colored room enclosing him and his hostess. Lavish tapestries, exotic plants, holo-wall paintings, and rich off-world black-and-white furnishings had been placed strategically. A pleasant cross-breeze swirled throughout the octagon-shaped chamber, wafting a slight aromatica of sandalwood and something unfamiliar through the air. Open balcony doors overlooked Honin-Zay’s elaborate flower gardens while, in the distance, the spires and domed minarets of Frenati City gleamed in orange sunlight.

The architecture and decor of the Honin-Zay estate were post-Contact Senitte, very comfortable, natural and appealing. Non-native influences such as Frank Lloyd Wright and Da!Xon shared space with shades of what had once been known on Old Terra as design-noire, creating an amalgam of retro alien styles. The Senittes were notoriously eager in adapting and merging various design techniques to create their very own eclectic one.

But Weller wasn’t eager to take this job. Curiosity more than anything had brought him to the Honin-Zay estate. A graceful and apologetic exit would be in order. “Mistress Honin-Zay,” he began again. “As I was saying, I’m not sure why you’ve asked me here. I’m not in the business of, uh, tailing presumed wayward husbands. You might do better to contact someone at the Investigatory Guild.”

Claudia Honin-Zay smiled. Her face projected a blue-skinned mask of wide, black-eyed exotica as she stood straight and tall, looking every inch the rich wife of a successful Senitte merchant. “I know you are not an... investigator as such, Master Weller,” she said with a slight wave of her long-fingered hand. Her Terran English was almost flawless with only a trace of an accent, her voice soft and purring. “That is why I chose you, someone not associated with a guild. I know you will be discreet, as before, when you worked for my husband.”

She crossed the room, raising her hand to gently brush a lock of hair from her forehead. The gossamer gown clung to her every movement, accenting the curve of her back and the slight swell of her small breasts. The wide sleeve fell to mid-arm as she ran her hand through her hair down the back of her head, revealing a delicate forearm adorned with several bracelets and caste tattoos.

Weller had observed most high-born Senittes seemed to float rather than move in any conventional way. Honin-Zay was especially graceful. She reminded him of one of the extinct felines called panthers he had seen in Terran history vids.

Again, Weller had to forcibly avert his eyes from the woman in front of him. For a Senitte fem of any caste designation, she possessed a powerful presence.

Where are the camera-eyes? he wondered, trying to take his mind off his sudden nervousness. The round, fist-sized drone-cams used by many of the rich Senittes as part of their security systems were noticeably absent. How odd. You’d think she’d want them here, being with an offworlder. But then, that’s the point, I guess. She doesn’t want her husband to know.

Honin-Zay’s unblinking eyes probed into his, a slight questioning look on her face. “I am sorry. Would you care for a drink?” she asked softly. Weller looked down, a little off-balance by Honin-Zay’s boldness. Such direct one-on-one contact with a non-Senitte by a high-born fem was rare. Strict cultural mandates forbade most interactions such as this.

And though he had lived on Alpha-Seni for six of its eleven-month years, there were times when the indigenes still made Weller uncomfortable, in any case. Beautiful by Senitte norms, Honin-Zay, with vaguely Afra-Terran features, long, thin bone structure and dark blue skin, nevertheless, was a little too exotic for Weller’s taste.

Though, true to his expatriate’s code, Weller, as a transplanted Terran, had tried to become more... integrated. Once.

That hadn’t worked out.

Weller licked his lips. “Uh, yes, thank you.”

“Freza water?”

“Please.”

Honin-Zay nodded and, materializing as if from nowhere, the male servant who had initially contacted Weller and allowed him access onto the estate grounds glided into the room. Average native height, muscular, dressed in the long-sleeved smock and vest, balloon trousers and knee-boots of the traditional attendant/bodyguard, he cut a normal enough figure at first glance.

The attitude he projected, however, set him apart from most members of the serving class Weller had encountered. Eerily quiet, mysterious. Weller had yet to hear him speak. The attendant had simply hand-delivered a data-tube for Weller containing an official invitation, sealed in wax with the clan symbol of the Honin-Zays.

But one’s attention didn’t stray for too long from Claudia Honin-Zay. It was hard not to notice her. She exuded power and intelligence, culture and breeding. That much was readily evident. Though not as prominent in the public eye, the high-born Senitte fems possessed more resources and influence than their lower-class sisters. And Weller had seen Claudia Honin-Zay in action before. As she had stated, this wasn’t the first time he had worked for this particular merchant family although the majority of his pervious dealings had been with the husband, Marcus, and that had been some time ago.

Still, he had engaged in one or two short conversations with Claudia Honin-Zay then, and had been impressed with her degree of autonomy within the Honin-Zay household. Her partnership with her husband seemed more equal than most and on at least one occasion Weller had seen Marcus actually defer to her.

The attendant/bodyguard approached Weller. His meaty hands carried a tray holding two glasses. One contained a sparkling, silver liquid, and the other was filled with an amber-colored spirit.

“Thank you, Kazrah,” Honin-Zay said as Weller took the silver freza water. “That will be all.” Kazrah bowed slightly to his mistress and Weller, sending a sharp glance in the Terran’s direction. Kazrah had the look of a thug--blank and menacing, his eyes cold with a large Z-shaped scar inlaid on his right temple. Weller didn’t remember him from his earlier visits; he would never have forgotten that face. As the ancient Terrans used to say, he’d hate to run into him in a dark alley. Maybe the camera-eyes were redundant with him around.

Kazrah set the tray down and exited the room, again moving like an animal, guarded and silent, his feet whispering over the tiled floor. Absently, Weller tried to remember his Senitte history and biology. Humans had descended from Old Terran creatures called apes, Senittes from an indigenous hominid of their own, whose name escaped him.

“I only wish to know what my husband has been doing these past two moons,” Honin-Zay said abruptly. “Once you have discovered this and I am satisfied your information is correct then your services will no longer be required. This would seem to be a simple enough task for you and I can pay you whatever you want.”

Weller cradled the glass in his gloved, left hand. It was only shaking a little. Then he took a long sip, a little too eagerly perhaps. It had been a while since he had tasted freza water. The Senitte liquor had a stronger, mood-elevating effect on Terrans. Soon after Contact, the Rim World Conglomerate had initially outlawed any such alien stimulants. But, like most unpopular mandates, that decree had gone quickly by the wayside.

Almost immediately, Weller relaxed. He glanced briefly at the floor-to-ceiling length mirror to his right where his reflection--thin, fortyish, with short-cropped graying hair set above a chiseled, starkly-lined face--stared back at him. His white linen suit needed pressing, he noticed in passing. So much for his own retro fashion taste although that thought just reinforced the nagging concern that he could use the extra money. And working for the Honin-Zays before had indeed been lucrative. Until, as usual, he had squandered all his earnings. “I understand, Mistress, but, again, this is a little out of my line of work.”

Honin-Zay smiled, briefly revealing rows of fine, blush-colored teeth. “Yes, I remember. You hawk information and technology. Software, bio-chips, program implants. Those new toys the high-born men of our clans lust after. My husband remarked you had dealt honorably with him. An exceptional arrangement, he said.”

Weller shrugged. He had been lucky to get the work with the Honin-Zays. Their clan, along with a few other forward-thinking native groups, had helped pave the way for Contact. As a result, those groups had reaped the inevitable financial rewards and prestige that accompanied such world-altering moves.

“It was a routine hardware and software deal, Mistress,” he said. “A commercial package to augment your husband’s business ventures. As I explained to Master Honin-Zay, the black market would have been much more expensive and difficult without me as a middleman. It helped prevent any...”

“Complications,” Honin-Zay finished. “Yes. The Honin-Zay clan avoided any undue embarrassment and notoriety, thanks to you. Dealings with the black market seem to become common knowledge in no time at all, if one is not careful.” She paused as if holding her breath. “Well! It is information I seek and you know the city, especially the fringe districts, very well as I recall. I suspect you should be quite able to negotiate these areas with ease. I know that is where Marcus has been going.”

“Ah, yes, Mistress. Again, about the Yharria...”

“Fascinating place, is it not?” The Senitte’s face suddenly took on a far-away look, her features rapt as she stared into a middle-distance. “I have read much about it and the available vids are very informative. It is quite an attraction.” She laughed softly. “My grandmother took me there once as a child. My mother was duly appalled. Vanera knows, women of my station do not go to places like the Yharria, you understand, at any age. That is one advantage the low-born have over us, to go wherever they want, virtually unrestricted. And the off-worlders, especially you Terrans, you have such freedom!”

“Well I don’t know about that, Mistress.” Weller was startled. Such a confession would rarely be made to an individual not affiliated with the confessor’s clan, let alone to one who was an offworlder, or klau, and outside such affiliations. Claudia Honin-Zay wasn’t the typical high-born Senitte fem. “But... but, as far as the Yharria is concerned, I’m not sure it would be wise...”

“Money is no object. Say, double your previous fee?”

Weller stopped cold. The tech business he had learned and started up out of necessity and desperation had become more competitive of late. But, knew Honin-Zay would pay him what she offered, a written contract or not. Honesty and reliability were traits of an unwritten high-born ‘protocol’ one could count on, for the most part. And with that much money he could make some headway in getting out of debt.

Still...

“I see you hesitate.” Honin-Zay closed her eyes as if exasperated. “Very well. I am in no mood to negotiate. I will pay you three times your normal asking price. That would seem to be more than fair. Hmmmm?”

By the Third God. Weller had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. This was a different story. Surely, a small but extremely profitable surveillance job would be worth facing down his personal demons for a few days. He could get back on his feet, pay off his creditors, maybe even move into a better part of the city. And, this time, he reasoned, he would be a little more sensible. No more booze, no more trips to the sex warrens.

Burn it, he thought. Why stroking not! “What... whatever you say, Mistress,” he heard himself saying despite the alarms going off in his mind. “Ah, yes, that would be very acceptable, thank you.”

“Excellent. A third now, a third when you have completed your work, and the final third when I am sure your findings have been satisfactorily concluded. Agreed?”

“Yes. Agreed.” As Weller forced a calm outward appearance, his curiosity mounted in proportion to his slowly heightening freza water-induced mood. In the male-dominated Senitte society, women, no matter how powerful within their household, usually turned a blind eye to their husbands’ philandering (though the recent influx of offworld philosophies had changed many modes of traditional thinking). And there was one other point.

“You, ah, said something about your husband Turning?” he asked cautiously.

Honin-Zay picked up the amber-colored drink and took a sip. Old Terran brandy? Weller wondered. She walked to the picture window, her back once again to Weller. A gray silhouette against the light, arms folded in front of her, she looked like any woman from this angle--tall, poised, attractive and desirable. Weller blinked and averted his eyes. Not with a Senitte, he thought with a shudder. I’ll not take that road again.

“Turning?” Honin-Zay’s voice intruded on his musings. “Yes. It is a distinct possibility.”

Interesting, Weller noted as his mind jumped back to the present. No wonder she doesn’t want the Karda in on this. He gulped the last of his drink, put it down and fished a zip-pad and stylus out of his pocket. It’s just a surveillance job. No big deal. “I’ll need some more information, Mistress, some details. And there is the matter of the contract.”

“Of course.” Honin-Zay turned to face him. A wisp of a smile played over her painted lips. “That is settled then. Please have a seat and I will tell you as much as I know. Would you like another drink?”