The Salarian Desert Game Read online

  “You know we do not alter the choices people freely make. And the Salarians never, under any conditions, sell back indentured servants. They must work off their debts. The lady’s family has only asked that we ascertain she is being treated according to inter-planetary humanitarian laws.”

  “But, if you can do it for her…”

  Agatha touches my arm. “What is it, Kia? What’s wrong?”

  “If we do it for the Coralese lady,” the Adept says smoothly over Agatha’s question, “the Salarians will know we are concerned about all of their indentured servants. We do not need to call attention to each one of them.”

  “Kia, is someone you know in trouble?” Agatha persists, despite the clear redirection of her superior.

  I shake my head. Do not call attention, the Adept said. If I want his help, he has laid out the rules. “It’s just that… I was at the Salarian Nightgames last night… interpreting.” I add quickly, before Agatha can imagine any other reason. “I saw them all, the ones who lost.”

  Agatha nods, as if she believes a sudden fit of compassion is in my nature. It makes me feel worse than I am, that she so easily believes me to be better than I am.

  “Why now?” I ask the Adept. “Why weren’t you concerned with their living conditions before?”

  “We might ask you the same thing.”

  I blush again. I knew, everyone knew, what happens to those who lose at Salarian Die. I remember the people around the game table, cheering for those who chose to play, booing those who backed away. As if someone else’s life was merely a game. I didn’t do that, but I didn’t object, either. I didn’t even sign that interplanetary petition to ban the use of Salarian crystals mined by slaves, last year. My brother Etin did. He converted the Homestar to a more expensive drive system to avoid using their navigation crystals. That’s probably why he and Oghogho are in debt. But I was busy studying languages, I didn’t really care. I’m only concerned now because now it’s my sister who lost at Salarian Die.

  “We have always been concerned about those in need on every planet,” the Adept says. “But we do not enforce our faith on others. That has been done in the past, and always failed, as you know if you have studied history. You have been raised in the Order, you know our ways. We encourage, and when the time is right, we weigh in. Gently. On Salaria, the time has become right for us to weigh in, and because the time is right, an opportunity has presented itself through Lady Celeste of planet Coralee.”

  “You want to increase the pressure on them to free their slaves?” I ask.

  “Indentured servants. Human slavery is illegal across the human universe.”

  “What do you call it when it’s a lifetime sentence?”

  “A very bad choice.”

  “I will be honored to accept this mission,” Agatha interrupts before I can say anything else. Her eyes are troubled, an expression I’ve never seen on her face. The Adept glances at her and the expression is gone. Distance and objectivity, benevolence to all, I can almost hear her reminding herself. Distance? Objectivity? Agatha would gladly walk into hell for someone in need. So what’s troubling her?

  It isn’t that dealing with the Salarians requires someone with keen and subtle negotiation skills. At the very least, someone who knows the Salarian language. That little detail wouldn’t give Agatha a moment’s pause.

  “I am honored to be of service,” Agatha repeats the words of obedience calmly, as calmly as my sister recited her vow to honor the roll of the Salarian die.

  “What about the Select who are already there?” I stammer, gripped by a sudden fear. “Why can’t they do whatever this mission is?”

  Agatha looks at me. She was concerned they wouldn’t give her another assignment after what happened on Malem, and now a vision!

  A vision. An O.U.B. vision only occurs at times of great need, when something terrible is about to happen. This isn’t about the slaves at all. That’s just… how did he put it? Their “opportunity to weigh in.”

  I look at the Adept, feeling my eyes narrow and not caring that he can see it.

  “You are a perceptive young woman,” he says. “I assume that is why the vision included you.” Ignoring what I know, what he knows I know, he adds formally: “We would like you to travel to Salaria with the Select, and interpret for her when necessary.”

  When necessary? They expect something significant to come of this, something an e-translator can’t handle. Only a human interpreter can get the nuances right, the colloquialisms and cultural connotations conveyed by word choice, gesture, and expression, all of which can change the meaning of a phrase completely. Detecting irony, appreciating humor, are crucial and no machine can do it.

  “During the trip,” he adds, “you will help her to improve her Central Ang.”

  Central Ang is the one language every human being knows. It’s based on an Old Earth language, but it’s been stripped of all complexity in order to make it accessible to everyone. There are no irregular verbs, no declensions, no masculine and feminine endings. It has clear, simple rules for plurals, possessives, and verb tense. There are no synonyms to choose between, no extra letters or alternate pronunciations. Its vocabulary is limited to the essentials, and that’s all it’s good for: a safety net tying the human worlds together at the most basic level of understanding. And it will be completely useless in negotiating with the proud and subtle Salarians for better treatment of their slaves.

  “I already eat much Central Ang,” Agatha says, in Central Ang.

  I look at the Adept. “Your services are needed,” he says.

  It would get me to Salaria.

  With Agatha, who will not survive there, let alone be able to help the slaves. Most likely she’ll get us both killed. I start to shake my head. But what choice do I have? I have to get to Salaria. Especially if something terrible is about to happen. I have to get my sister out.

  “Come to Salaria with me, Kia,” Agatha says softly. “It will be all right. We can trust the vision.”

  Chapter Two

  I barely notice the walk back down Prophet’s Avenue. A few passengers glance at me curiously as I step up onto the transit strip; there’s always a story when someone has come from Prophet’s Avenue. I ignore them and move to the center of the strip as it picks up speed again. Usually I stand at the edge, my arm wrapped around one of the poles, where I can feel the wind and stare out at my city, pink and copper brick buildings racing by on either side. In the early evening like this, the sun shines brightly on the red clay tiles of the roofs, curved to deflect its heat, and turns the windows into rubies as we flash by. Today I barely notice.

  Instead I’m remembering my sister’s face as they led her away from the gaming table to two years of slavery in payment for her gambling debt. “Salarian Die.” I whisper the name of the fatal game under my breath with the venom of a curse. It is a curse. How could Oghogho have been stupid enough to play Salarian Die? Why didn’t she come to me? Or my brother Etin, why didn’t he come when they thought they were going to lose our family tradeship, the Homestar?

  Because they think I’m just a kid. What help can a sixteen-year-old offer? Oghogho most likely thought there was no point, and Etin would think he was sparing me. They’ll never see me as anything but their little sister. “Bratty little sister,” Oghogho would add. They know the O.U.B. is paying my university fees, but they probably think I spend whatever else they give me on myself. I slump into a transit seat. They’re not far wrong. I learned to live cheap last year when I was on my own, and I still do, but even so there isn’t much left over after I pay for my residence and food. Not anywhere near enough credits to pay off the Homestar’s debt.

  If I go to Salaria like the Adept wants me to, I’ll make sure the O.U.B. takes care of that debt. But that won’t help Oghogho. Two years of slavery in the mines on Salaria will kill her, no matter how ‘humanely’ she’s being treated. Mining the Salarian crystals means exposing yourself to their slow poison, in the stifling heat of the m
ines. Maybe a year of it, if you can avoid an accident, a tear in your suit, maybe in time you could heal from a year of hard labor in the mines. But two years?

  So. The question isn’t whether I’m going, but whether I’m going on the Adept’s terms. A little convenient for him, my needing to go just when he wants me to. I don’t know how that relates, or if it really is just coincidence, but there it is. The Adept knew about my sister, I saw that when he mentioned finding Lady Celeste. More likely than not, my sister Oghogho went to the same mine as Lady Celeste, since they lost at the same gaming table and travelled to Salaria together. The Adept knew I would make that connection when he mentioned Lady Celeste. He was telling me I’ll find my sister if I go along with their vision.

  But he was also hiding something from me. Two things. Something about the mission, which is way bigger than reporting on the ‘indentured servants’ on Salaria, and something about Agatha. I picture the expression I saw on Agatha’s face only for an instant, but I still can’t make anything of it. She stayed behind to talk to the Adept after I was dismissed, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. And all the Adept would say was, “The current task is to examine and report on the living conditions of Lady Celeste. You will know more if it becomes appropriate.”

  I mean to go to Salaria to find my sister, but I don’t know what I’ll be walking into if I go with Agatha. She might not know what she’s walking into, either. What if I refuse, and go to Salaria on my own, and it turns out the Adept is right, that Agatha really does need me?

  No, the Adept won’t send her there without an interpreter. He might not send her at all without me, if that was their vision. And whatever’s troubling Agatha — something she’s afraid of? — won’t happen. She’ll stay here and be safe. From whatever they’re each hiding.

  The University of Translators and Interpreters slides past. I rush to the edge of the transit strip, balancing myself hand-over-hand on the poles. The tug of the wind increases. Ignoring the cord that will signal the strip to slow down, I lean against the cool curve of a pole and grab the looped strap hanging above my head. The strap is attached to a rotating disc at the top of the edge pole. Pushing off, I swing myself over the edge of the transit strip, dangle a half instant, then let go. I drop with my knees slightly bent onto the sidewalk. The entire manoeuvre takes only a second. It’s so automatic I barely notice what I’m doing, because I’m busy berating myself for missing my street. Now I have to walk back two blocks as well as hike across campus. I glare at the transit strip and start walking.

  I don’t know how to make this decision: try to save Oghogho and put Agatha at risk, or try to keep Agatha safe, and possibly let my sister die?

  One by one my family is being taken from me. I can’t let Oghogho die. I can’t do it, not even to save Agatha.

  Agatha is my friend. No one but my brother Etin has ever cared about me as much as she does. I can’t let her risk her life on Salaria, not even to save Oghogho.

  Who do I think I am? How could I save either of them? I tried to help my parents, and they’re both dead.

  “What makes you think I can do anything for this vision of yours?” I asked the Adept.

  At first he didn’t answer. Adepts do not repeat themselves. Then he said, “The Select needs an interpreter.” The half-second pause before he continued told me he knew what a huge understatement this is, and that it wasn’t the real reason they want me to go. Who was he trying to fool — me or Agatha?

  “There are better Salarian interpreters than me,” I said. He still hadn’t told me why Agatha is needed, with all the people they must already have there. “What about the Select on Salaria?”

  Every planet has its own Prophet’s Avenue, where the offices and homes of the O.U.B. who serve there are situated. Salaria is a large, well-populated planet, there will be plenty of Select on it. What would one more matter?

  “The Salarians do not share our faith, although Salaria is in the Alliance,” he said. Not repeating himself, but something almost as wasteful; he’s telling me something he knows I already know. Which means I should be able to figure out the rest. Then he said, “We do not have many Select on Salaria.”

  “They’re not very busy, then. They can interpret for her,” I said. Insult and counter insult. Rude, I labeled myself. But then he’s keeping secrets from me, important ones that will affect me if I do as he asks. So maybe not rude, but equal.

  I remember the pause after I said that, the Adept looking at me without expression, Agatha stiff beside me. It’s pretty hard to earn Agatha’s disapproval, but I think I did it then.

  “There has been a vision placing you in Salaria,” the Adept finally said, actually repeating himself for the second time. The O.U.B. must really want me to do this, I thought. Which made me even more suspicious, because they’re not particularly crazy about Agatha. She’s one of theirs, but she embarrasses them a lot of the time. No, even worse: she surprises them. The O.U.B. hate to be surprised, they consider it a personal insult. Everything they do is geared toward seeing what’s coming and steering it toward the best possible outcome. Agatha gets them an outcome they didn’t anticipate but can’t object to, using totally unexpected methods. I think they’d rather she failed.

  So what outcome are they hoping for by putting Agatha and me on Salaria? They could check the living conditions of the slaves — excuse me, the indentured servants — and deliver their report without us. What is the problem this Adept didn’t tell me about? Did he tell Agatha after I left? Does it have to do with that look on her face when he asked her to go to Salaria?

  “What am I supposed to do there?” I asked, repeating myself, because you never know.

  The Adept didn’t fall for it, though. He won’t influence my actions by telling me what they saw. If they saw anything. The whole thing could be made up. He probably read that thought on my face, too. Not that I was trying all that hard to hide it, there’s only so long you can recite verb tenses when lives might be at stake — including mine.

  He didn’t say anything, just watched the cynical cast of my face until I broke down and asked, “Was I successful?” Because what if my being there could make a difference? What if, say, I am going to be able to change someone’s mind, like I did on Malem, and it could be the particular someone who made all the difference? And what if I could only do that by going there with Agatha, the way the O.U.B. want me to? And I was too stubborn and proud to agree? Not that there’s anything wrong with stubborn and proud, it serves its purpose at times. But this might not be one of those times. It hurt me, it really did, to break down and ask the Adept to tell me what he had in mind.

  When he told me, I got up and walked out.

  I’ve reached my residence by now. The door recognizes my retina and slides open. It’s quiet, it’s simple, it’s efficient; but right now I’d really like to have one of those heavy, swinging doors they have on Malem, that you could really slam — BAM! — as hard as you wanted. I’d like to rattle the whole building right now!

  I will not do what he wants!

  I’m still fuming when I get to my dorm room, but I’ve made up my mind: I’ll go to Salaria my way, and after I find my sister, I’ll look up Agatha, if they send her there, too. Agatha’s pretty resourceful, she’ll be okay till I show up. And if I’m right, and they won’t send her without me, I’ll find her and apologize when Oghogho and I get home.

  I enter my room and go straight to my comp and wave it on. I may not have enough creds to get the Homestar back, but at least I have enough to buy passage to Salaria.

  Broken glass. My comp screen lights up to display the image of broken glass. Or maybe it’s supposed to be broken ice, because the comp is definitely still frozen.

  I can’t access my creds.

  I don’t have any doubt who’s doing this, the image makes that clear enough, so there’s no use calling in a tech, or trying to access my creds any other way.

  Should I call my brother, Etin, and tell him the whole story? Ho
w Oghogho played Salarian Die, and lost, and now she’s on Salaria working off a two-year debt, and I just stood there and watched, and could he come home from his trade mission piloting the Montrealm III so we can go to Salaria together and rescue her? And by the way, we’ll have to make a slight detour afterward to pick up this Select I know. The Montcliff family won’t mind him scuttling the trade deals they spend over a year setting up, will they?

  Like that’s going to happen. Oh, Etin would come. He’d come racing across the universe, dumber than me about it. Maybe we’d even get Oghogho and Agatha safely home — I’ll be on Salaria just like the vision wants, after all. And when we get home I can watch Etin and Oghogho starve to death because no one will ever hire them to captain a tradeship again after the Montcliff family, who own the largest trading chain on Seraffa, lets everyone know what he did to them. They could get his trading license revoked so he couldn’t even trade on the Homestar after that.

  It’s all I can do not to hurl my comp across the room.

  So I’m back to a choice between Oghogho and Agatha.

  Let’s be honest. Even if I go, I probably won’t be able to save either of them.

  But if I don’t go…

  If I don’t go, they’ll probably both die anyway, but I’ll never know if I could have prevented it. I’ll never really know if I stayed here just so I could save myself.

  I have to go: I know it in my gut. And I have to do it the way the O.U.B. wants. It makes me so angry I want to scream.

  At least I’ll make them pay for it.

  I check my databud, my pocketcomp, my messager, and just as I thought, every one of my connects is frozen. I rip a piece of paper from the sketch pad my roommate, who makes a hobby of antiquated art forms, draws in and hunt around for a pencil. I know I brought one back from Malem — a pencil! I wouldn’t even know how to hold it if I hadn’t been to backward Malem — and I start writing:

  —— ——

  Pay off all debt on the Homestar.