City on Fire

disheartening, endless list of lost causes from the Barkazi Wars.

Aiah finds a smile tugging at her lips. “My granddad fought for the Holy League as well,” she says. “I don’t imagine there will be a problem unless you try to resurrect the Holy League here.”

Alfeg nods graciously, and playfully sketches the Sign of Karlo in the air. “I was rather hoping you would, actually,” he says.

A peculiar sensation hums along Aiah’s nerves. She looks at him sharply to see if he’s joking or not, but she can’t be certain.

“I’m here to build the New City,” she says, “not to bring back the Metropolis of Barkazi. Which in any case is thousands of radii away.”

“Of course.”

“If you still want the job, I can slot you into a plasm scan early tomorrow. Second shift, first quarterbreak.”

“Yes. I can manage that, though I’ll have to wire United Polymer and tell them I need another day off.”

“That’s up to you. You can make an appointment with my secretary.”

He seems a bit puzzled for a moment, as if he had been expecting something more, and then rises and takes Aiah’s hand.

“Thank you, Miss Aiah,” he says.

“Thank you for applying. I appreciate your coming all this distance.” Even, she thinks, if it was in the Rande aerocar your daddy bought you.

ADAVETH ELECTED HEAD OF ALTERED PEOPLE’S PARTY

TWISTED UNITE TO SEEK RIGHTS, ECONOMIC OPPORTUNITY

Buoyed perhaps by the meeting with Alfeg, perhaps by the thought of having Constantine to herself for at least a few hours, Aiah almost overdoes it. She arranges for someone to cover her shift, makes an appointment with one of the Palace hairdressers, gets a manicure while her ringlets are attended to, and then turns up at Constantine’s door promptly at 20:00, wearing heels and a very short dress of blazing scarlet that she’d bought during her first day’s shopping in Caraqui and never found an occasion to wear. She also wears the priceless ivory necklace, with its dangling Tri-gram, that Constantine had given her.

Judging from their smiles and glowing eyes, Constantine’s guards, at least, appreciate her efforts.

She is taken through the layers of security that surround Constantine’s apartment-for-a-day, and finds him lounging casually on the couch, hands clasped behind his head. He wears a soft gray chambray shirt with ruffles on the front and wide sleeves, and his long legs, propped up before him, are clad in pleated slacks of a darker gray.

Aiah is surprised to find Aldemar here. The petite actress sits at a desk, eyes closed, with a copper t-grip in her hand, a little frown on her perfect face.

Constantine bounds to his feet on Aiah’s entrance, smile spreading over his face. “Welcome!” he cries. Takes her hands, kisses her cheek. “You look lovely!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you buy the dress just for me?”

She gives him a sidelong look. “Perhaps,” she says, and then looks toward the actress.

“Aldemar has offered to give us a gift,” Constantine says. “I must say it is an inspired one.”

Aiah considers Aldemar’s intent concentration on her magework. “Shall I thank her now,” she says, “or is she busy?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Aiah wonders. Is Aldemar going to be with them for the rest of the shift?

But then Aldemar’s eyes flutter open and after a moment’s vague search focus on Aiah and Constantine. “I’ve established the sourceline,” she says. “Are the two of you ready?”

Constantine steps close to Aiah, puts an arm around her waist. “At your convenience,” he says.

Aldemar gives a knowing smile, then closes her eyes again. She reaches out, her free hand unfolding as if offering something on her palm, and Aiah’s skin warms to the touch of plasm, and she opens her mouth in surprise at the sheer power she feels surging toward her…

And blinks at the sight of another place, a room with plush furniture, a glass table set atop a silver metal spiral, place settings for two, a bottle of golden wine waiting in a silver bucket, candles glittering off the gold rims of fine porcelain and the mirror surfaces of silver chafing dishes…

Aiah gapes in astonishment. Constantine’s voice purrs in her ear.

“Aldemar has given us a little vacation. Another place, quite secure, far from Caraqui, far from duty and war.”

“Great Senko,” Aiah murmurs, and touches the Trigram at her throat.

Constantine steps to the sliding glass balcony door, with its bronze frame and Crosshatch of bronze wire, and closes it—that was the pathway, Aiah realizes, that Aldemar used to teleport them into the apartment.

Laughing plasm-warmth tingles in Aiah’s bones as her astonishment fades. She bounds forward to the buffet, lifts the lid of a chafing dish at random, sees cutlets of some sort in a brown sauce, with melted cheese; and then she replaces the silver lid and almost dances through the room, runs her fingertips along the plush cushion of a couch, feels the scalloped gilt edge of a mirror, plucks sprigs of jasmine from cloisonne vases to inhale the scent…

Far from duty and war… Her heart lifts. She had not been away from the Metropolis of Caraqui for a single hour since her arrival.

She feels drunk with freedom. She turns to look at Constantine, sees the candles glowing gold in his eyes.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Achanos.”

On the other side of the world, eight or ten thousand radii away. A stable, civilized metropolis, filled with prosperous bankers and healthy industries and glowing with economic health.

“No guards?” she asks. “No telephones?”

“There are guards, yes,” Constantine concedes, “but they do not know who it is they guard, nor will they disturb us. Aldemar arranged it so that we might seem to be a group of chromoplay producers meeting to arrange financing.”

“I’d wish we could stay a month.”

He looks at her, and the candlelight dances in his eyes. He takes the sprig of jasmine from her hand and places it behind her ear. “We will try to compress the best parts of that month into the few hours we have.”

They do their best, opening with wine, fruit, and little layered pastry curled around bits of spiced squab; then on to dinner, a choice of squab, a noodle dish, beef tenderloin, and the cutlet, all in their appropriate sauces, along with fresh vegetables, long crusty loaves of bread, and fruit.

“Have you heard from your family?” Constantine asks.

“I’m usually out when they call. My grandmother is the most insistent—she calls every so often to urge me to stock up on disaster supplies, and I’d like to be able to oblige her, but this is the first time I’ve been out of the Palace since I got back from Xurcal Station.”

Constantine tilts his head, curious. “Your grandmother survived the Barkazi Wars, yes?”

“Yes. My grandfather fought for the Holy League and ended up a prisoner of the Fastani, and Nana got her whole family out to a refugee center, then to Jaspeer. She raised all the children by herself. She’s tough.”

“I would like to hear her stories,” Constantine says. “I’ve spent years of my life at war, but I’ve always been a commander, relatively safe and comfortable. I try to visit the real victims, the refugees and the wounded, but it’s usually not safe to go out in public, unsafe not just for me but for the people I’m visiting, and now I share your situation—confined to the Palace—and move from one room to the next.”

Aiah remembers Constantine in her little apartment back in Jaspeer, the way he looked with such evident curiosity at the life of an ordinary person, and amusement tugs at her lips.