"Thank you," Zed said. He touched the man's hands briefly. He had a great deal of respect for Imre Kyneth. He was the oldest of the Family heads now that Domna Sam had died; seventy-seven, very active, small and spare, head of the Chabad Council, a brisk, effective man. He had a brood of sons and daughters: no lack of heirs. Family Kyneth controlled Chabad's most precious resource: water.

The long pipelines that kept Abanat green were theirs, manufactured in their plants from steel made by Family Dur. They owned and ran the water purification plant. The ships that moved icebergs from the poles to the city were theirs.

They were a close-knit but outgoing crew; the ant.i.thesis, Zed thought, of the individualistic, solitary Yagos.

Imre craned his neck to look behind Zed's broad shoulders. "Where's Rhani?"

"She sends regards and regrets. She isn't feeling well tonight. She knew you'd understand."

"Of course. Is it serious?"

"No," said Zed, "a mild indisposition, nothing to worry about."

Aliza Kyneth sailed up to them. She was a ma.s.sive woman, tall and nearly as broad as a Skellian. She had a strong-featured face; huge, black eyes; and hair that snapped, it was so red. She dwarfed her older husband. The white tent that fell over her in soft folds only emphasized her size. "Zed, welcome back from the Net. Imre, why do you keep him standing in the foyer? Zed, Rhani isn't with you?"

"She's indisposed."

"That's too bad. We'll hope to see her at the Dur party. Ferris will be disappointed. He had hoped she'd be coming."

"He's here, then."

"Of course. See him there?" Aliza pointed at one of the backs. "Give Rhani our best and tell her we want to see her. Come in, mingle. Imre, someone else has come through the doors." She looked pointedly at her husband, who chuckled and went to greet the woman standing in the doorway. "Quick, Zed, if you don't want to be cornered. That's Charity Diamos."

"Aliza, I love you," said Zed.

"Drinks to the right."

Zed walked right.

The drinks table stood against a mirror-covered wall, so that people moving along it were reflected back to themselves. It made the large room look even larger. The Kyneth children were studded in strategic places. Slaves circulated, carrying huge trays br.i.m.m.i.n.g with food: fish in batter, sweets, cakes, pressed seaweed, Ley cheese, fruits. Zed picked an egg tart off a pa.s.sing tray. The slave handed him a blue gla.s.s plate. Zed smiled, prepared to be social. It was what he'd come for. Theo Levos, head of the Fourth Family of Chabad, was holding court in the center of the room. He was a big, boisterous man, accustomed to s.p.a.ce. Zed waited patiently for him to take a breath.

"Good evening, Theo."

"Zed Yago, you silent man! How long have you been standing there, saying nothing? Why didn't you say something?" "I didn't want to interrupt your speech."

"Interrupt me. You Yagos are always silent."

"Rhani asked me to send you her regards."

"She isn't here?" Theo put his hands on his hips. Zed explained. "Sick?

How can she get sick with a medic for a brother? I'm sorry she's sick, tell her that."

"I'll tell her."

"Say h.e.l.lo to Jen, she's somewhere about." He pointed to a small alcove lined with booktapes. Jen T'ao, his companion, mother of two of his three children, was standing talking with Clare Brion. Zed nodded stiffly towards the two women. Jen nodded back. There was a beautiful gold-and-black cavorting dragon embroidered on her red jacket.

"Zed Yago!" said a voice. Zed turned, inwardly cursing. "How lovely to see you! I said to myself as soon as I walked in behind you, how elegant he looks, oh, my, yes. But Imre tells me that Rhani is not well! Of _course_ it can't be anything serious or you would not have left her side, all Abanat knows how devoted you two are to one another, oh, my, yes. We are all looking forward to the Auction. I'm looking for a new cook; my old cook's contract just expired, so inconvenient. I don't imagine I'll find anybody half as good. And then, there are so many tourists in residence this season that I'm worried one of them will outbid me. Of course, the Yagos _never_ have to worry about that. Such a handsome young slave dear Rhani had with her the other day, crossing the park. A secretary?" She looked up at him, eyes brilliant with curiosity and malice.

"Her new pilot," said Zed.

"Oh, yes," said Charity Diamos.

"Excuse me," said Zed.

Escaping as swiftly as he could, Zed worked his way to the isolated, relative safety of the stairs. A well-dressed child sat on the lowest step. As Zed approached, he scrambled to his feet. "C-C-Commander," he stammered.

"h.e.l.lo," said Zed. Like most of the Kyneth children, he had Imre's build, but Aliza's features and her thick red hair. "Which one are you?"

"Davi, Commander."

"You don't have to call me that," said Zed, amused by the look of worship in the boy's green eyes. He probably talked back to his father without a qualm.

"My name is Zed. How old are you?"

"Ten. I'm the youngest."

"You Kyneths are hard to keep track of. Ten. When I was ten, I never got to stay awake for the parties."

"Did you want to?"

Zed grinned. "No." He tried to recall just how many Kyneth children there were. He didn't know all their names. Most of them worked with and for their father, on Chabad, but one, he knew, was studying engineering, and another was working toward being a medic. It was mostly the older ones and the very young ones, now, who could be found at home.

"I don't either." Davi tugged at the white ruffled collar of his shirt.

"I hate parties."

"Why are you here, then?"

"All our slaves are busy. Mother told _me_ to guard the stairs. I have to stay here until she sends me to bed. And _talk to people_."

"Zed," said a woman's voice, not Charity Diamos. It was Margarite Kyneth, Imre's heir. She was a tall woman; she overtopped him by half a head. "What are you doing, hiding in the shadows talking to the Brat?"

Davi scowled at his older sister. Zed said, truthfully, "Getting away from Charity Diamos."

"Oh. Poor man. Davi-ka, Mother wants you by the wine table." She reached a hand to pluck at Davi's lopsided collar as he slid by. He was still scowling.

"What did you talk about?" "Charity and I?"

"No, of course not. Who can talk to her? You and the Brat."

"He seems a smart child."

"He's more intelligent than I am," said Margarite. "Did he tell you he wants to be a Hyper?"

"No. But so did I, when I was ten."

"Me, too," said Margarite. "But I got over it. So will Davi."

"You sound certain of that."

"I am. The Family needs him. And, dreams aside -- he's a Kyneth. That's what matters on Chabad. Excuse me." She walked toward the booktape alcove. Zed watched her regal pacing. She was practicing, he thought, for when Imre died, and she was the Family's head. Conversations faded in and out around him.

_Auction, money, slaves, money, parties, tourists, heat, money, oh, my, yes_.

Margarite was right. For the Families' children, there was no escaping Chabad. A woman pranced by, wearing a red brocade tent embroidered with blue feathers. Zed wondered if Rhani were sleeping, or if she were still awake, reading or working or perhaps standing by the window, looking at the stars. It was not as easy to see the stars in Abanat as it was to see them at the estate. The city lights paled them.

In the next room over music started up. Feet thudded. People danced.

There were too many people in the place, too much noise, it was stuffy, and hot, and very bright, and he longed suddenly for the cool silences and white curving walls of the Net.

In a sudden lull he heard a voice like a fingernail sc.r.a.ping gla.s.s." ...

Such a _handsome_ young slave, oh, my, yes."

Davi wriggled by, holding a br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s of wine. He brought it to his father. Seeing Zed watching him, he flashed a sunny smile, and ducked around the circ.u.mference of the crowd to arrive at Zed's elbow. "Do you want some wine?" he asked. The heat had wilted the crisp, red curls on the back of his neck.

For an instant, Zed's mind rocked with fantasy: Davi drugged, helpless, bound to a bed under his hands. He caught his breath. Pa.s.sing his plate to a nearby slave, he ruffled the boy's curls, a careful gesture, like a magician casting a counterspell. "No, thank you. See you later." Davi gazed at him worshipfully. Zed strode toward the knot of laughing, talking strangers like a man plunging headfirst into an icy pool.

He was listening to two men discuss three-dimensional chess -- a game in which he had no interest -- when Imre Kyneth appeared at his side. "Zed Yago,"

said the older man. "Have you a minute?"

"Certainly," said Zed. "Here?"

"No. Come with me." Imre led him out the back of the room through a high, arching doorway, to a small round door set in a paneled wall. "In here." He opened the door. The lintel was only a few centimeters taller than Imre. Zed had to duck. Inside the room, he could stand upright. Imre touched a switch. Lights came on. Zed turned. The room's walls were shelves from floor to ceiling, and the shelves were filled with old-style, bound-paper books.

"This is my den," Imre said. He smiled. "Every adult should have one."

"I'm impressed," Zed said. There was a desk to his left. Something about it was odd. He frowned. What -- ah. It was out of proportion -- at least, for him. He glanced back at the books. "Have you read them all?"

"Most of them. But not these, not literally. These I don't handle very much. They're originals. Most of them were manufactured on Old Terra. Some are actually of animal skin: vellum, it was called. I've got a few that are six hundred years old, made of cloth and leather and glue, and they still hold together. The temperature in this room is controlled, of course." He touched the light switch again, and a lamp nearby came on. Underfoot, its color matching the wood of the shelves, a carpet gleamed copper. "I'm glad you like it, Zed." "It's very handsome." Zed touched the satiny finish of the desk chair. It was just a little smaller than the other chairs in the house. "What may I do for you, Domni?"

Imre scowled at him. "Imre to you, if you please. Are we strangers that we need to use t.i.tles to each other, or enemies?"

Zed grinned at the smaller man. "Imre, never that."

Imre sat. "I asked you in here to talk to you about Michel A-Rae. I had thought to speak with Rhani -- "

"I will tell her what you say," Zed said.

"I am grateful. I invited him to this party, you know."

Zed was surprised. "A policeman? Why?" He did not think such an invitation had ever been made to A-Rae's predecessors.

"I wanted to see what he would say," Imre said. He steepled his hands against his chin. "I didn't expect him to accept, and he did not. He did, however, reply. We spoke over the com-unit screen. He called."

Zed nodded. "Yes. He did the same with me, when I was on the Net."

Imre looked relieved. "You've spoken with him? Then you know what he's like."

"As much as one can tell from a five-minute conversation," Zed said, "yes."

"He's dangerous," Imre said flatly. "A fanatic. His name's Enchantean, and I wonder if there might be something accessible and explanatory in his past.... He hates you, you know."

"I got that impression," Zed said. "It doesn't trouble me, Imre."

"It should. He hates your sister, too."

Zed's shoulders tensed. "How do you know this?"

"From what he said." Imre looked at his hands. "He called her several indelicate names, and made comments about -- about the two of you -- "

Zed said harshly, "You needn't elaborate. I've heard them." Needing suddenly to move, he walked a slow circle around the desk. "Is there more to this, Imre?"

Imre nodded crisply. "Yes. I want to know what Rhani plans to do about the dorazine shortage."

Zed stopped pacing. "Has it begun to affect you?" he said.

"Yes," said Imre. "Our stores are particularly short over at the purification plant. Without dorazine, we cannot trust slaves to do the work there, which means that if there is no dorazine, we shall have to hire outside labor instead of purchasing slaves. And we are not the only ones. If we rely on an outside labor force instead of slaves, then the Auction will not go well, which means there will be an excess of slaves in holding cells -- "

"You needn't continue," Zed said again, gently this time. "I know what will happen next." With no dorazine, the slaves could not be kept in the holding cells without security precautions, guards, even weapons.... This year might see the beginning of a reaction which could blow Sector Sardonyx apart.

Metaphorically speaking, Zed thought. "I'm rather sorry Michel A-Rae did not attend this party," he said. And again he thought, I know him. Or knew him. He scowled, hunting through memory for the source of that elusive sense of familiarity.

He did not find it.

Imre Kyneth laughed shortly. "I'm not."

The two men looked at each other. Finally Zed said, "Imre, I must go.

Rhani will be concerned; I said I would not linger."

"You wouldn't anyway," Imre said.

"I will tell Rhani what you have told me. How short of dorazine are you?"

"We have enough to last another three months."

"Stars!' Zed said. "That's short."

"Family Yago's stores are better, I gather," Imre said. "I believe so," Zed said cautiously.

Imre stood. "You'll need it," he said. "Tell Rhani I look forward to hearing from her soon."

"I will," Zed said. "I'll find my own way out, Imre, don't move." He walked to the entrance. At the door, he glanced back. Imre stood beside a tall pole lamp, holding between his palms an old, skinbound book.

Part way to the front door, a voice said Zed's name and a hand groped his shoulder. Muscles bunching, Zed turned. A pasty-faced stranger held his upper arm. He wore gold and red, the Dur colors, and Zed realized that he was looking at Ferris Dur.