VOICEOVER
1541 4D
“Andrew, how can we keep this up?” They sat at a small table in the grotto, out of sight of the understreet. The grotto lights created blazing golden-tinted shafts, sheets and bars that carved the shadows. The illumination showed only Leil‘s left eye and cheek, and the curved dimple at the corner of her mouth; a few wisps of hair gleamed and shook light-threads into Andrew‘s eyes.
“How can we stop? This is what should be,” he answered. Andros served the tables here, the only place in Poly Town they were allowed to come. A tall, haughty-looking andro male in a dead-black coversuit drifted over to them.
“Chems? Drinks? Special services?” he intoned in a clear and cultured voice. His skin glowed pale mauve in the harsh spots of grotto light. They both glanced up, then back at each other; he would stand patiently at their table as long as they didn’t send him away.
“Not right now,” Leil said. The server gave a stiff nod, then stared off over their heads to the falling water. Leil‘s hand came to rest on Andrew‘s, on the damp tabletop. “The Astran swear they’ll kill any man who tries to crack open our clans. That’s you, right now.”
“Your parents are both Astran Terxil?” He’d always thought the colls married out. At least the Hejj did, but then…
“Of course. My mother is Shua Clan, my father is Nuzima.” She withdrew her hand. “Astran and the Arcus won’t mix with the others.”
“I thought it was just your father who didn’t like me.”
Leil looked around. “No. This place isn’t safe. My cousins have been following me when I go out — they think something’s going on. I can still lose them in the crowds before I get down here, but not for much longer. Andrew, I wish we could just move out of the City and get away from all this.”
“Look, Leil, I’ll talk to them. I’m not afraid of them.”
“They’ll kill you. You’re Hejji. That’s enough for them, and my father too.”
“My brothers would take that badly.” Raul and Norwell already had long names in the Sobi understreets.
Their andro server broke in. “From ancient grudge break not to mutiny.”
“What?” They both looked up at his shadowed pale face.
“You brought to mind an old Archive piece about two feuding families. The lovers died, the families went on. A poor example to follow.”
“What do you know about love?” Andrew asked, irritated.
The server stiffened, and his pale skin darkened slightly. “Nothing, apparently. The Archive examples resonate with your situation. I offer the words in support, no more.”
“Wall it off.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Andrew, they found us.” Leil whispered, pointed behind a shielding hand.
“Who?” He squinted into the gloom. Two shadowy figures slid along the grotto wall and stopped, scanning the light-webbed space, about ten strides away.
“It’s Mentrius and Lusin, my aunt’s sons. They’re hotheads. They were following me. I thought I’d lost them.”
The two men approached Andrew and Leil, dressed in Astran brown and blue. One was as tall as the server, who backed away, fast; the other was chunky, heavily muscled. Both had skins that shone golden-brown in the patches of grotto light.
The tall one, the lines of his broad, angular face sharp and hard, stood by Leil. “Come with us, cousin. Your father wants to talk to you.”
“Mentrius, tell my father I’ll come myself. I don’t need you to—“
“He said to bring you.” Mentrius tilted his head toward Andrew. “And he doesn’t want Andro along. Understand that, little spook?”
“Hejji garbage,” the man called Lusin muttered, moving closer to Andrew‘s right side.
Andrew sat perfectly still; his mind raced and raged.
“Did you hear me, rodent?” Mentrius spat the word at Andrew. “If you show your rat face around her again, we’ll cook you in a slow beam. Got that?”
Lusin crowded Andrew with his hip. “Too bad we’ve got to come down to P-Town to do this. We’ll need a plague bath.”
Andrew took immense joy in ramming his fist into Lusin‘s crotch. The man’s protective cod broke in two, and he screamed in pain as he doubled on the floor. Andrew leaped from his chair.
His joy vanished when Mentrius‘s stickbat hit his cheek; his facial nerves exploded. He clutched his face with both hands and staggered back, blind. Leil shouted at her cousin. A wave of voices and crashes rose and broke.
The server’s voice came clear through the melee. “Will they not hear? What ho!”
Norwell‘s voice: “Astran meat!” A heavy thud.
The server again: “You men, you beasts--“
A crash.
“--that quench the fire of your pernicious rage—“
Another crash, and a fierce light bloomed in Andrew‘s finger-covered eyes. A beamer. He lowered his hands. His young brothers Raul and Norwell stood knives in hand, back to back with four Astrans around them; bits of cooked ceiling paint fell as ash on their shoulders. The grotto owner brandished the gun, but all the others had blades and stickweapons out. They stayed still, glaring fiercely.
“Come on, Andrew, let’s leave.” Leil was by him.
He found his blade by his thigh, and drew it. His face throbbed with pain and surging anger. “Come on, nococks, here’s your rat.”
“Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,” from the server again. He stood safely out of reach.
“Shut it, whiteface,” Andrew muttered as he slipped toward the others.
“No!” Leil shoved past to keep him from the circle of men. Her voice rose, commanding, harsh, formal in coll cadences; Andrew had never heard her this way. “All of you, stop this! Mentrius, take the others back up to Fortovo. Tell my father what you saw, if you must do anything. I will face him myself. You are not my keeper.”
Mentrius lowered his blade. “I’m your blood cousin, and my forearm oath is to protect you.” He stripped back his left sleeve to flash the carefully-drawn scar script running from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. “I keep my oaths.”
“I’m not in danger, except from you,” she answered. “I’ll face my own oaths. Now take our kin and leave me with him.” She returned to Andrew‘s side.
Andrew sheathed his long knife. Where had Raul and Norwell come from? He was grateful, and afraid for them; they were so young. Mentrius turned to him, scowling. “I won’t forget you and your streetrag brothers,” he said. “We’ll find another time.”
“We’re here,” Andrew said, hand still on the haft. It was all automatic. He’d think about it later.
The circle eased open; the Astran men backed, glaring fiercely, until they moved out of the grotto. Raul and Norwell came to Andrew and Leil.
“We’ve trailed you long enough,” said Norwell, his gray-suited bulk looming over them. At seventeen and sixteen, he and Raul were their father’s size already, but they were all muscle. “Introduce us?”
As they shared names and thanks, the server’s voice muttered behind Andrew, “If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.” The andro stared out the entrance at the departing Astran cocks.
Curious, Andrew asked him, “Why do you chatter like this?”
The andro said, looking reflective, “Violence makes me anxious. To regain calm, I recite.”
“What are you doing in Poly Town, then? You people aren’t safe here at all.”
“The pay is good — human servers don’t like to work for Yurinez. The women who come here enjoy my services.” A smile raised one corner of his thin-lipped mouth. “And life is short, anyway. I have two years left on my clock.”
“Andrew,” Leil called, “Raul wants to take us to Aswar Tyrae for a snack and some music.”
He grinned. “Probably that syntrell player he’s been chasing.” He pressed a coin in the andro‘s hand. “What is your name?”
“Sruddin, they call me. Thank you, sir.”
“What was that about?” Leil asked Andrew.
“He’s got guts,” Andrew said, “I’ve never seen an andro who could stay around here. Raul, I need a ten-piece.”
“That’s our thanks for digging you out?” Raul grumbled.
“You owed me twenty. The ten settles it.”
“Done.”
The understreet outside the grotto was clear. As they walked off in the dimmed lights of evening stage, Sruddin‘s voice followed them in a loud whisper: “But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, tempering extremities with extreme sweet.”
