Of course, "losing" four almost-new Gladiator-class ships to a single customer would have been something of a new record, even for TIY. But given the whispers that Mesa and Yildun enjoyed a much closer relationship than either was prepared to admit officially, TIY seemed far and away the most likely source of the vessels.
Wherever they'd come from, there'd been very few survivors from the four pirate cruisers. Enough of their personnel had been captured on the surface of the planet Refuge, in the Tiberian System, however, for interrogation. And said interrogations had, apparently, provided evidence which suggested Ringstorff had been in overall charge of the affair. Unfortunately, the evidence hadn't been enough to bring any charges. And since Ringstorff enjoyed the official seal of Mesan approval and protection, he had to be handled with kid gloves, even on Erewhon.
Thandi suppressed a harsh laugh. Kid gloves! In point of fact, she noticed, the man who was standing at the very center of the tableau-Victor Cachat, not to her surprise-was putting on a pair of gloves at that very moment. But they weren't kid gloves. Whatever substance they were made of, they were dead black in color; and the slow, careful way Cachat was fitting them on his hands was somehow incredibly menacing. Traditionally, she remembered reading somewhere, executioners always wore gloves to carry out their trade.
The fourth man shackled to a chair was George Lithgow, Ringstorff's chief lieutenant. Also someone suspected of the foulest crimes. And also someone who enjoyed Mesa's approval and protection.
Berry's thoughts must have been running tandem to Thandi's own. The girl whispered again:
"I think Mesa's line of credit just ran out. Who's that guy standing in the middle?"
"Victor Cachat," Thandi whispered back. "He's-well, he's from Haven, although he's supposedly just here on a private visit."
Berry Zilwicki's jaw sagged. "But… I met him. This guy doesn't look… oh. I guess he is the same guy. But he sure doesn't look the same as he did at the funeral."
The girl studied Cachat for a moment longer. Then: "He looks maybe fifteen centimeters taller, fifteen centimeters wider-I don't remember his shoulders being that broad-a lot older, and… oh, Jesus." The next words came in a whisper so low they could barely be heard: "I really feel sorry for those guys."
"I don't," hissed Thandi.
Their whispers must have been louder than Thandi thought, because Cachat turned his head to look at them. There was no expression on his face. In fact, Thandi could barely recognize him herself. The pale features under the spotlights were the same, true, but the eyes now seemed like black stones, and the face itself no longer seemed square so much as a block of marble.
Cachat's eyes met hers. Still, there was no expression on his face, no sign of any recognition, or sentiment, or… anything. There was nothing. It was like staring into the darkened eyes of a statue-or a golem.
Cachat's head swiveled away, bringing the eyes back to bear on the men shackled to the chairs. Despite their immobilization, the four of them tried to lean away from his gaze. Even the religious fanatic Flairty seemed to shrink like a slowly deflating balloon. Thandi could only imagine how menacing those black eyes must seem at close range, when you were their actual target.
"He's really a pretty scary guy, isn't he?" whispered Berry. "I remember Daddy telling me that once, even though… well. He did save Helen's life. Mine too, maybe. It's hard to understand."
For a moment, Thandi felt a vast gulf opening between her and the girl beside her. And, boiling out of that gulf, the magma of raw fury. She understood Victor Cachat in a way that Berry Zilwicki never would-no pampered rich bitch ever would-and-
She drove down the rage and sealed the gulf. Forcefully, and feeling profoundly guilty as she did so. For all that Berry was now dressed like a princess and consorted with one, Thandi reminded herself that the girl had not been born into privilege. Watanapongse had sketched the girl's biography for her. In most ways, in fact, Berry's life had been even harder than Thandi's own. Or Victor's. Berry had just managed, somehow, to come out of that life with apparently none of the hatred and anger which had played such a role in shaping people like Thandi Palane and Victor Cachat. How'd she'd done so was a mystery to Thandi, but she realized in that moment-it came to her with a genuine sense of shock-just how unusual a person the girl truly was. Like a human diamond, untouched-unscratched, even-by a universe full of cruelty and indifference. As if, where other people specialized in skills and talents, she'd simply specialized in sanity.
She felt Berry's hand sliding into her own, and gave it a little squeeze.
"I'm pretty sure this is going to get ugly, Berry," she whispered. "Do you want us to leave?"
"No," came the soft reply. "There's no point in running from things." The girl's face was creased with a little smile. "Besides, you make one hell of a terrific big sister."
Thandi felt a glow inside. The feeling relaxed her, and she resumed her study of the rest of the scene. Victor Cachat was… Victor Cachat. She would deal with that, or she wouldn't, but whatever happened it could be put off for some future time.
Other than Victor and the prisoners, there were eight men and three women at the center of the hall. Those were standing back a bit, facing the prisoners but leaving a space for Cachat. They were a peculiar mix.
The three women, she knew: Inge and Lara, whom she'd left behind to follow Flairty; and Ginny Usher.
Inge had no expression on her face, but Lara seemed very pleased with the whole situation. Thandi couldn't figure out why, until she saw the look which Lara bestowed upon a man standing not far from her. The look combined a sort of hard affection, none-too-veiled lust, and amusement. It bordered on being downright predatory.
The man himself seemed a bit nervous-more than a bit, after he spotted Lara looking at him-and Thandi once again had to stifle a laugh. Her Amazons, she knew, had their own notions of proper courtship ritual-which usually came as a severe shock to the males at the receiving end. Thandi didn't really approve, but… it was hard not to find a certain poetic justice in the thing. Thandi had run across some ancient mythology in her studies. She was quite sure that the fellow was feeling like Europa would have felt if she'd been a man named Europe instead, and the great beast whose lustful eyes were upon him was a giant cow named Zeusa.
She was a bit puzzled, at first, by the object of Lara's intentions. Whoever the man was, Thandi was sure he was a member of the Audubon Ballroom. Traditionally, the Ballroom and Scrags were the bitterest of enemies. But…
In its own way, she realized, it made sense. Lara's subculture, of which the woman had shed some but not all the attitudes, had always prized a capacity for violence. And however much the Scrags had hated the Ballroom, they'd also feared them. They might sneer at other "sub-humans," but those who were the lowest of the low had demonstrated often enough that they were the equal of any Scrag when it came to sheer mayhem. So it was perhaps not really so strange, that once Lara realized she'd have to find a man from somewhere other than the ranks of the Scrags, she'd find a hard-core Ballroom member… quite attractive. Thandi wouldn't be surprised if a number of her Amazons started making similar attachments.
Ginny Usher, on the other hand, seemed unhappy. Ginny's face, so expressive when Thandi had met her before, was now still and cold. Thandi wasn't sure why, at first, since the former Manpower slave would hardly be upset at seeing the four men shackled to chairs come to a bad end. They weren't simply the "representatives" of genetic slavery-they were the direct instruments of the evil itself.
But then, seeing the way Ginny was gazing at Victor, she understood. Ginny Usher didn't give a damn about Mesan goons-had even, if not perhaps to the same extent as Berry, managed to put her past life behind her. But she did care, and deeply, about the young man standing in their midst. And was probably wondering-as Thandi had sometimes wondered, about herself-how often a human being could assume a role before the role itself became the reality. Before a man, or a woman, became the golem of their own creation.