Chapter 5 #4
Good. We could stay on the walkway, which was a bit more shadowed and less trafficked, and maybe avoid a repeat.
We picked our way past the flashing rows of arcades and bars, sex shops and strip clubs, and I spared a thought for how much fun Glimmer Ward could have been if it had Radiant Ward's nonchalance.
Now that Araxis knew what to look for – namely, heads rapidly turning in our directions, little camera droids being flicked from wristbands to try and capture a fleeting shot – he effectively steered us away from a couple clusters of curious half-drunk revellers.
It was too loud to talk, the throbbing music spilling out from the establishments we walked past creating a soundscape that was almost like being blasted with a hose of music.
He still held my hand, grip firm, and the feeling of his cool skin against mine made something pulse inside of me, in time with the music roaring to one side.
His crest was braided beautifully, white and immaculate, and was painted in all the technicolour shades we passed beneath; he lit up in flashes like the oscillating colours of deep space travel.
Finally, he tipped his head toward a door set into a windowless facade, a dark sign above it.
I couldn't make out what it said. I raised my eyebrows as he stepped in close, reluctantly dropping my hand so that he might knock.
At my look, Araxis flushed beneath the wash of orange and pink lights pulsing from a pit fighting establishment next door.
"I reserved the time for us. We can call it unintended foresight. "
The door hissed open, and a tall rus'a ushered us inside, inclining her towering head as fronds drifting peacefully behind her. As soon as she shut the door, all the sounds from outside were cut off, leaving just the two of us – and our host – inside of the gallery beyond.
The rus'a welcomed us and told us, in her chime-like voice, that she would be in the office space in order to give us time to luxuriate in the collection.
Her fronds had then shimmered a very pretty peach which I knew, from Khrelen Tintissi's obsession with rus'a, meant there was a sensual overtone to the statement, so either she really did think you could get off in some capacity by looking at art or she figured we might get a little fresh with each other in the privacy of the gallery.
I spun to take in the space, which surely had to be one of the most understated places in Glimmer Ward, a welcome refuge from the lights and sounds and clamour of the ward outside.
The gallery was utilitarian with metal girders and austere walls, but the lighting was lovely and there was a stillness to the air that felt like a held breath.
On every wall, and resting on pedestals throughout the gallery, were tapestries and mixed media sculptures that looked simultaneously like the hangings in Araxis's room on the ship or some of the fine art that had been in the dignitary's suite on the Creche Athal ship, and also like a scrapyard.
My hands drifted to my hips as I took it in, and then I cast a quick look at Araxis who was hovering, a bit uncertain, near the entrance. "It's nicer in here," I said, hoping to put him at ease.
"Hm." Araxis slid past me, his shoulder brushing mine, to walk to the nearest display stand. "You didn't seem surprised to be – accosted."
I moved to his side, looking at the sculpture, a tangle of wires and gears and chips that had somehow been soldered together so delicately that it had the appearance of lace.
As I tilted my head, I could see that, from a certain angle, the shapes resolved into the outline of a bird of some sort.
"No," I said, walking around the pedestal to take the piece in from different angles – breathtaking.
And weird, and a bit unsettling, the way the shadows seemed to shift, alive, as I moved.
"You wouldn't know if you haven't left Verdant Ward – everyone's too rich and polite there to say anything – but it's bad in Central and Glimmer. I figured that out pretty quickly."
I turned to look at the next piece, a similar amalgam.
This one seemed to form the twisting coil of a massive snake, or the spiral of DNA, or just a mess of springs and wires.
Every time I moved, the sculpture took on a new surprising dimension.
Araxis followed after me, the only sounds around us our own footsteps, which echoed through the gallery.
"But you do not find it bad in Radiant Ward?" he asked, hands tucked behind his back as he, too, leaned to inspect the piece.
"No," I said. "No one cares who I am there. I mean, I've run into a few people who complain that I lost them money but –"
Then his question caught up with me, and I drew up short.
I turned and looked as Araxis moved to an interior wall that served no structural purpose, just providing more space for pieces to hang.
He was looking at a particularly complex tapestry that seemed to have an overlay of microprocessors which shimmered in the light.
I stared at him, my stomach tight as a fist. "How do you know about Radiant Ward?"
I watched the realization of what he'd said take hold.
Araxis blinked rapidly, turning to look at me as his eyes tightened with distress.
"Ah," he said, subvocal bright beneath the syllable.
"Yes, I should apologize. You will be unsurprised to learn that Vivith took it upon themself to… monitor your movements."
Something cold, like fear or shame, trickled down my spine, and while I tried to keep it from my face, I must have failed because Araxis shook his head, stepping toward me.
"They are not now," he insisted, firm. "We had a – massive may not be a sufficient descriptor.
A monumental argument about it when I learned what they had been doing.
It is done now." He said it like it was certain, as if I didn't have to worry now about what Vivith had seen or why they'd been spying on me.
I knew Val had been able to figure out where I was because she'd been keeping an eye out for my name in the station systems. Of course Vivith could do the same. Of course I hadn't thought to try and cover my footsteps.
Then again – why should I? I was allowed to rent an apartment.
I was allowed to hire a coach and a tutor and a physician, and I could buy as many dumplings as I wanted.
And with the layers and layers of encryption Valerie insisted I use before I sent Perseus any files or reports, it wasn't like anyone would figure out who I was talking to or what I was sending them.
As far as anyone was concerned, I was talking to my pen pal – my new friend? – Valerie Prior, who was helping me understand more about what it meant to be human in a way that didn't suck.
At least now that I knew, I could be extra careful. But –
"Were you planning on telling me?" I asked in a rush. Because Araxis had slipped up, and then filled me in, rather than bringing it to me directly. And how long, exactly, had this been going on?
Araxis stiffened visibly, his skin matte and pale. "I –" And then he stopped, ducking his head, saying in almost a mutter to himself, "Of course this is the sort of thing you would expect to be told. Of course."
What, that was a surprise? "Yeah," I said, flat.
"I definitely want to know if someone's spying on me, Araxis.
Is there a part of asking to be let in that doesn't make sense?
This –" It had to be cultural. There was something I was missing, something that made what seemed like a straightforward request fraught.
I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Why would you normally not tell someone? "
If I could understand that, maybe I could get to a place where each failure didn't feel so deliberately, painfully personal.
Araxis cleared his throat, subvocals tight when he spoke.
"There are – layers to privacy and access to information within a creche, within abayan society as a whole.
Over time, a creche-mate gains access to more about – a creche's structure, its history.
In this case, discipline. It's meant to be as trust is earned.
Although of course I trust you, Sashen, I do, and I have vowed to keep no secrets from you – and so I will do better.
I struggle, sometimes, to see the choices I am making from…
a different perspective. And it is compounded by not wishing to hurt you more than I have already done.
Though of course what hurts you is not knowing, yes? "
Maybe it was wise not to trust a newcomer right away.
After all, I was running all sorts of information directly to Perseus.
A twist of guilt tightened in my gut. I ignored it, exhaling.
"Yeah. So we've got a bit of a problem, then," I said.
"Your culture keeps a lot hidden away; everything is veiled, implied, out of sight.
And I need to know things to feel safe."
"I will tell you anything," Araxis said, earnest. His hands were still folded behind his back, his arms flexed with tension. I could tell even beneath the jacket.
He might tell me, if I thought to ask. "I want a cultural tutor," I said then.
At the flare of pain that flashed across his features – I guess he had just offered to answer my questions and I'd shrugged him off immediately – I added, "I know someone who already said she'd do it, but I had to – Fuck, it is kind of funny even if it's bleak. I guess I need your permission first."
"You don't need my permission for anything," Araxis said.
"But I do. Because you might think that, but you know other abaya don't." I shrugged then, as if it didn't matter. "I think it would be better if I worked with someone else."
"Yes, of course," Araxis murmured, stare drifting away. "You do not trust me to tell you what you need to know."