Free The Summer Queen by Joan D. Vinge Page A

himself and the two Ondineans; noticed
the boy’s stare as he handed a drink to Shalfaz. “You ever see that one before?”
Kedalion asked her, gesturing over his shoulder at the stranger.
    She nodded, still looking as unnerved as he felt. “He comes
in often to watch the shows. He never visits anyone’s room, male or female. He
is usually very quiet, and sits by himself.”
    Kedalion took a deep breath, shaking himself out, and looked
at the boy again. “So,” he said, somewhat inadequately. “Shalfaz says you’re
looking for a way to get offworld.” The boy nodded, self-consciousness
struggling with hope on his face. “I can’t imagine why.” Kedalion glanced
toward the door and back, his mouth twitching sardonically. “Why?”
    The boy also looked toward the spot where the locals had
made their forced exit. He made a disgusted face of his own in response.
    Kedalion studied him, as unobtrusively as possible. The boy
was small and slight compared to the men who’d just left, even though he still
towered over Kedalion. Maybe he was tired of being bullied. “What kind of work
are you looking for?”
    The boy hesitated, and then said, “Anything,” meeting Kedalion’s
stare. Kedalion half smiled, thinking that at least the kid didn’t ask for “honest
work.” He probably knew how much of that he’d find in a place like this.
    “What skills do you have’.’”
    The boy hesitated again, his face furrowing. “I’m flexible,”
he said.
    “Physically or mentally?”
    “Both.” A spark of pride showed in the boy’s changeable
eyes.
    Kedalion laughed out loud this time. “That’s unique,” he
said. “And probably an asset.” The boy was wearing the long, curved ritual
knife all the local men wore, although his was plain and cheap-looking, like
his clothes. He also carried a less common state-of-the-art stun weapon, partly
concealed by the folds of his jacket. “You ever kill anybody?” Kedalion asked,
wondering suddenly if that was why he was in a hurry to leave. But he remembered
how the boy had hesitated, confronting the men who had accosted Shalfaz—not a
coward, but not a hothead, either.
    The boy jerked slightly, as if he had been insulted. Most of
the young Ondinean males Kedalion had met fought knife duels as often as they
smoked a pot of water weed together. Those blades weren’t for show; they could
cut a man open like a redfruit. If it wasn’t for modern medical technology,
Ondinee would be depopulated inside of a couple of generations. “I don’t want
to kill people,” the boy said. “But I would kill someone if I had to.”
    There was none of the glazed bravado Kedalion expected in
the indigo eyes, but somehow he knew that the boy meant what he said.
    “Have you killed people?” the boy asked bluntly.
    “I don’t want to kill people either.” Kedalion shrugged. “I’m
just a runner.”
    The boy’s glance searched out Kedalion’s legs, hidden under
the table edge.
    “Not that kind of runner. As you can see, I’m not equipped
for the odds.” For a second a smile hovered on the boy’s lips. “Just say I’m a
trader. I transport goods from world to world. I travel a lot. I run an honest
business. But I can’t say the same for most of my customers. My mother, rest
her soul, would say I keep bad company. What’s your name?”
    “Ananke.” the boy said, looking down. It meant Necessity. He
glanced at Shalfaz, and back at Kedalion again. “I would like to work for you.”
     
    “Do you have any tech training?” Kedalion asked, skeptical.
The boy didn’t look old enough to have had much work experience.
    “Some.” Ananke nodded earnestly. “I’ve been studying with
the university whenever I can pay for an outlet.”
    He had ambition, at least. Kedalion sipped his drink, noncommittal.
“How do you support yourself?”
    “I’m a street performer,” the boy murmured. “A juggler and
an acrobat.”
    Kedalion reached into the maze of pockets inside his