Free The Sardonyx Net by Elizabeth A. Lynn Page A

copies of PIN.”  
    Charity Diamos was related to the Yagos: she was a vicious, malicious harridan and the worst gossip in Abanat. Zed choked.  
    Rhani laughed. “You talk to me,” she said. “Tell me about the trip. You've not yet given me the Net report.”  
    â€œIt's on the computer, you can read it there.”  
    â€œNo. I'd rather hear it from you.”  
    She sat with her head cocked slightly to one side, fingers clasped together loosely in her lap: it was her listening look. Zed picked up a piece of fruit. “All right,” he said. “The trip was uneventful until the end....”  
    Downstairs, in the quarters set apart for slaves, Dana Ikoro dreamed the sound of footsteps in a hall.  
    He came awake, sweating and cold. The room was very bright; the dappled brilliance of sunlight, not the desolate glare of artificial lighting. Someone was knocking on his door. A woman called his name; her voice soft through the heavy wood. He sat up. He was sticky. “Come in,” he called. A small blond girl came in.  
    â€œHello,” she said. “I'm Amri.” She wore a soft light shift of red-and-yellow; she reminded Dana of a butterfly. She carried a pair of straw sandals in one hand, and a gray jumpsuit over her arm. “These are for you. Binkie says they should fit.”  
    Dana sat on the edge of the bed. “What time of day is it?” he asked.  
    â€œTwo hours after dawn.” She had pale fine hair that fell to her waist and equally pale, near-translucent skin, an infant's skin. The shift was sleeveless; Dana saw the tattooed “Y” on her left arm. That meant she was a slave. He blinked, shocked. She looked barely fourteen; he couldn't imagine what possible criminal act she had committed. But she was here.  
    He took the clothing from her. “After you're dressed,” she said, “come have breakfast. The kitchen's at the other end of this hall.”  
    â€œYes, I remember. Thank you,” he said.  
    Walking down the hall to the kitchen Dana experienced that unmistakable twinge in the head that says: You have seen, done, smelled, tasted, been here before . He puzzled out the déjà vu . He was sixteen, walking from the sleeping space to the eating hall in the Pilot's Academy on Nexus, wearing a uniform, a hundred unfamiliar terms and customs crowding his mind, his hair brushing the tops of his shoulders, shorter than it had ever been on Pellin. He hadn't wanted them to cut it. He liked his hair long. He closed his eyes abruptly, remembering Zipper , Russell O'Neill, Monk, Tori Lamonica, Nexus, the forest-crested hills of Pellin, the faces of his family—freedom, he thought. He wondered where his musictapes were now. He pictured some Net crew member riffling through them, listening to one, frowning in boredom, tossing them aside. “ Nothing of value, Commander .” Inside his head he heard, like birdsong, a few swift, improbable notes of Vittorio Stratta's “Fugue No. 2 in C.” The gay ancient music drew tears.  
    He rubbed them out with the heel of his hand and went inside the kitchen. The walls were red wood; the floor was squares of brown tile. Binkie, Amri, and two women he hadn't met sat at a counter on high metal stools, eating.  
    Their faces did not change as they turned to look him over. Binkie said, “This is Dana. This is Cara Morro, steward of the Yago estate, and Immeld, the cook.” Cara was angular and brown, with silver hair that trickled down her back in asymmetrical ringlets. She had a pale scar on her left upper arm. Immeld was younger, jaunty, and talkative.  
    â€œI saw you come in last night,” she said. She pushed a platter towards him. “Have some food. There's a stool over there.” Dana turned, to find Amri bringing it to him. His feet dangled to the bottom rung. He picked fruit and cheese from the plate. “Are they