Chapter Chapter Thirty Five

Beware of technology and its makers.

They are the instruments of devil spirits.

INBORN MANIFESTO Meeting with a Stranger So. A simple tryst, then. I’m almost disappointed.” Claudia Honin-Zay sat in a high-back wicker chair on her balcony overlooking the estate gardens. She stared into the distance, the fullness of the twin moons competing with the artificial brightness of Frenati City.

A few small candles, in their own ambient turn, illuminated the balcony and cast flickering shadows across her sleek body, now covered in a long, flowing, hoodless robe, her head wrapped in a sequined turban.

From the similarly darkened interior of the house, music softly crooned. Old Terra jazz it sounded like to Weller. He wasn’t surprised at her musical choice, but he did wonder at her reaction to her husband’s acts. Was she sincere or just a good actor? Did she know about Kazrah or was she as much a pawn in whatever game being played here as he was?

Not yet, Weller thought. Not just yet.

“At least he’s not Turned,” he said awkwardly, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. There were some things worse than mere moral indiscretions to the Senittes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons for high-born fems’ relative acceptance of their lot.

But, from the first, Claudia Honin-Zay had never seemed very accepting. She had hired him for a reason but, now, what was that reason? And how, whatever it was, was it connected to everything else that had happened?

“Yes, thank Vanera,” Honin-Zay said softly. “At least he’s not Turned.” She glanced at Weller, who sat in an opposite chair, nursing a glass of mineral water. The stim had made him thirsty, one of its irritating side-effects, but he had had enough alcohol to drink tonight. The offered freza water had been tempting but he couldn’t afford to lose his edge right now.

Keep it calm. Everything seems okay.

It was enough Weller could do to keep his mind on business in any case. Like his and Claudia Honin-Zay’s first meeting, Weller couldn’t take his eyes off Honin-Zay but, this time, for different reasons. In the checkered darkness, Honin-Zay’s skin seemed paler somehow, her features not as angular. Overall, she seemed less exotic and more appealing to him. A trick of the light? He blinked as he realized he was staring at her.

“Hideous, repulsive custom. Don’t you think?” she said with a mocking smile.

Weller averted his eyes, uncomfortably conscious of, among other things, the cultural differences between Honin-Zay and himself. “Turning? Maybe. I guess it depends on your point-of-view. I mean, the reason most Senittes do it is rather admirable in some ways. It’s just the means of it.”

Honin-Zay raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she said. “Might there be a philosopher or an Inborn lurking behind that jaded exterior, Mr. Weller? I wonder...”

Weller shrugged. He didn’t want to tip Honin-Zay off or make her nervous. A little conversation might warm her up. To tell her a fabled bau-bau might be on the premises would require some faith on the part of the listener. She might just consider such a telling the ravings of a madman. If Kazrah or any of the guards were close by, the possibility of them escorting him off the premises if he told her about Selina too soon seemed pretty high.

Play it safe for a little longer, he thought, trying to remember how the ‘shamuses’ in the Terran detective vids he had watched plied their craft. Win her trust and then go for it.

“Old Terra went through several periods of people wanting to ‘get back to their roots,’” he said slowly. “Returning to the ‘old ways,’ ‘going native or green,’ motivated by its own Inborn type of doctrine. That mode of thinking has honorable but, perhaps, misguided beginnings.”

“Turning is much more extreme than that!” Honin-Zay snapped, suddenly standing and walking to the edge of the balcony (So much for winning her trust, Weller thought). Her shoulders sagged as if she had suddenly become very, very tired. “My race’s genetic makeup is unique, Mr. Weller, in combining ritual forms some would call magic with a racial memory or consciousness.” Her words seemed distant as if floating on the wind. “This combination allows us, under the right circumstances, to undergo a metamorphosis, both physically and mentally; to, in effect, reemerge in another life. An Terran analogy, though not a completely accurate one, is your caterpillar and butterfly. Many religious movements in our past have encompassed Turning as part of their dogma.”

Weller had heard this all before yet, he listened, despite the urgency tugging at his soul. “But, Turning is something we Senittes have now suppressed for centuries,” Honin-Zay continued. “Since our own Age of Enlightenment, until recently; most recently until Contact. Some call it an abomination, saying one who participates in such has their mind and soul ripped from them. They become... something else, never to return to their former selves, their spirits lost forever.”

Weller looked away, fidgeting just a little. Why was she telling him all this? “Yes, Mistress, I know,” he said. “But...”

“Still, I can understand reasons existing for such a... transformation.” Honin-Zay’s voice dropped even lower as she looked out towards the city. “Some people may have no choice.”

“No choice?” Weller wondered what Honin-Zay was getting at. Was she speaking for or against Turning?

“Yes. Any society can keep a segment of its populace down and complacent in a variety of covert ways. Institutions, societal beliefs, forms of ritual behavior as we Senittes are so practiced at. Understand?” Honin-Zay spoke so softly now Weller had to listen carefully. “But there are methods of obtaining release or power from these restrictions--covert as well. Turning may be one of them. At least this is what I perceive. In my position, Mr. Weller, I have plenty of time to think about such things.”

Weller shook his head. “I don’t follow, Mistress. What kind of release or power can one obtain by reverting to a more primitive, barbaric lifestyle? Especially if most participants supposedly don’t even remember their first life after they’ve Turned? That is, if one assumes the concept of Turning is real. As I understand it, most of those who attempt the ritual do so to escape the law, their creditors, their spouses, to fulfill some religious or antisocial purpose or, in these times, simply to experience what is considered to be the ultimate high.”

Or, he thought with a shudder. Like Selina, to fulfill some romantic fantasy.

He cleared his throat, his right leg bouncing nervously. “It’s... it’s all illegal anyway as well you know. Drugs are used instead of the ancient herbals and the brothels still exist, if you can find them at all, only in the Yharria and other fringe districts. But the thing is... they’re all shams! All fakes! I doubt there’s been an authentic Turning ritual in years. I’ve studied a little bit of this part of your culture. I... I had a... a friend who...”

Honin-Zay whirled to face Weller, her face searching his. Just for a moment, Weller blinked in surprise. A flicker of windblown candle light lit up Honin-Zay’s features, fooling Weller into perceiving her eyes as blue. Just for a moment. “Have you ever been to a Turning Brothel, Mr. Weller?” she asked. “Do you know of all the services such places provide?”

Weller shifted in his seat. “No,” he lied, backing off what he had been about to say. “Never. Mistress Honin-Zay, I...”

“Yes. Of course.” She reached out a long, slender arm to Weller. Her hand held a credit disc. “Forgive me. I tend to go on sometimes. It’s a subject of interest to me as well. Here’s your second installment. I thank you. I’ll handle this affair from this point on and your final payment will be forthcoming. I assume you still live at the same address?”

The Terran nodded, rose and took the chip. Despite everything, business was business, after all, and, with this much credit, he would help Selina. He would help...

He paused a heartbeat as he mused on his original intentions in sticking with this situation in the first place. Selina had been comatose, a poor mess of a fem who couldn’t help herself, someone he had once cared about. Now... what or who was she? What kind of help could he possibly give her? And how much could he possibly care anymore? Things were so different now.

Nothing like being in over your head.

He jerked, startled, as Honin-Zay’s fingers abruptly brushed his hand and then went up to the side of his face. Weller flinched. Her touch was smooth and velvety. “Such an interesting man,” she breathed. “So intelligent and well-spoken. What were you thinking just now, I wonder? And who or what were you before you came to Alpha-Seni? A scholar perhaps? No, no, a doctor surely.”

Weller stiffened. She was guessing, playing some game. Again, he noticed her paleness, the eyes not quite the right color, the smoothness of her facial bones. She stood uncomfortably close, her perfume distinctly Terran with another heavier scent lingering behind it. “You know, Mr. Weller, in my society, a woman of my caste standing here alone with a man other than my husband, especially one who is an off-worlder, is a crime. Did you know that?”

Weller lowered his eyes. Yes, he knew that. Yet here he was. Honin-Zay laughed then, shaking her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken all precautions. I too can be discreet and Kazrah has my complete confidence in this manner. He is absolutely devoted.” She closed her eyes, a slight smile on her face as if remembering some joke. “Yes, I believe devoted is the word. And, after all, this is just a business arrangement, is it not?”

Weller nodded, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Yes, but a very strange business. And speaking of which, where was Kazrah?

Conspicuously absent, the hulking attendant wasn’t ‘attending’ tonight, it seemed. Nareed had let Weller onto the grounds as he had done before. It looked as though Weller and the merchant’s wife were very much alone.

“And now, despite that,” Honin-Zay continued with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Allow me to extend an invitation. Would you like to stay for dinner? My cook is off tonight but she has left some rather sumptuous leftovers and I’m not above playing the second now and then.”

Weller chewed his lip. This was unexpected.

“I am curious, Mr. Weller,” Honin-Zay continued. “I would like to know more about you. For instance, why did you come here to Alpha-Seni? What happened to your hand that it must be so concealed at all times? Can you not afford a regen treatment?”

Weller absently glanced at his gloved left hand. Why was he lingering? Now was as good time as any to do what he came here for. Why didn’t he just confront her and be done with it? As Brother Ortega had said, time was of the essence.

She’s trying to tell me something.

“And I wonder,” Honin-Zay said. “If given the chance, would you change your life again? If made the right offer? Or if you had no choice?” Again, her hand came up to touch his face, another daring move for a high-born Senitte fem.

What? What is she talking about?

Weller realized with a start Honin-Zay acted more like one of her Terran contemporaries--a woman of strength and freedom who knew what she wanted and was going to get it, cultural restrictions be damned. Even her manner of speaking wasn’t quite as formal.

She’s using contractions, for Christ’s sake!

Her voice whispered now, its edginess sending a chill up his spine, “The teachings of Vanera state two may walk the same road, no matter how they have journeyed to reach that point, no matter who or what they are or appear to be. Stay. I may have something of interest to propose to you.”

She moved closer, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed. Before Weller could react, Claudia Honin-Zay wound both of her arms around his neck and kissed him, hungrily, frantically, insistently. Her mouth tasted sweet and wet. Her body rubbed against his like a... like a...

A sudden revulsion swept through Weller. The water glass fell from his fingers. He disengaged himself from Honin-Zay’s embrace as gently as he could and backed up a step. His trembling hand put the credit disc into his pocket. For a moment, he fought the urge to wipe his mouth with his sleeve.

This is crazy. This is not why I came here.

“No... no thank you, Mistress. I best be going. I’m... I’m sorry.”

Honin-Zay shrugged, her mood instantly changing as if nothing had happened. “As you wish.” She smiled then, a wide, almost feral grin. There was no mistaking what Weller saw then. Despite the muted light, Honin-Zay’s teeth gleamed white. Terran white.

She saw his surprise and, once more, turned from him. “A fashion statement,” she said. “A special facial makeover. You know how we Senittes like all things new.” A shrug. “Who knows how long this will last? Pleasant Repose, Mr. Weller. Our business here is finished.” Weller strained to hear what Honin-Zay said next. Was that soft laughter? “Perhaps,” she continued more clearly. “We will meet again.”

Weller didn’t move. If only he could. But the situation had taken a turn far from what he had expected and one thing was certain--their business wasn’t finished. “Before I do go, Mistress Honin-Zay, I... I have something to ask you. About Kazrah.” He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. “The first day I followed your husband, I swear I glimpsed someone following me. I thought later it could have been Kazrah. Would you know anything about that?”

Honin-Zay didn’t miss a breath. She turned slowly, her long, level gaze never wavering. “Nonsense,” she said, her chin held high. “You must be mistaken. If that were the case, why would I hire you? Would I not just use my own staff for this type of thing? As I said before, you are discreet and will not bring any undue attention to our house and, perhaps most importantly, if you will kindly remember, you are being paid very well.”

Weller looked away, his face warm. He felt ridiculous, like a child being chastised for some unruly transgression. “I understand, Mistress Honin-Zay, and I apologize. But why did you hire me? Didn’t you already know what your husband was up to? I think you did.”

“Does it matter? What do you care? As I said...”

At that moment a voice sounded out of the air. “Mistress Honin-Zay? This is Nareed.”

Honin-Zay threw a surprised look at Weller and then moved quickly to a corner of the room. “Yes, Nareed,” she spoke into an inset wall com-unit.

“Forgive me, mistress,” Nareed said. “But, per your standing instructions, you did ask me to inform you if your husband returned earlier than expected.”

Weller watched Honin-Zay stiffen. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes. Where is he?”

“His private car drove around to the rear entrance. And Mistress...”

“Yes?”

A pause as if Nareed didn’t know what to say next. “He had someone with him. A woman. He said he didn’t want to be disturbed, that he would be in his den.”

“Thank you, Nareed. I won’t require you anymore this moon.” She looked at Weller, a strange expression on her face. “So. He brings his slag here now. That’s how much he cares. It’s fallen this far.”

“So, you did know.”

She nodded, never taking her eyes off him.

“But why then? What’s going on? What’s all this about? Why all this deception?”

“Why, why, why! That is the question, isn’t it?” Honin-Zay leaned against the wall, her head nodding. “I...” she began, her voice breaking. “I had a plan.”

“A plan? Does this involve Kazrah? Mistress Honin-Zay? I have to tell you, I believe Kazrah may be a member of the Ahnka. Did you know that as well?”

“Kazrah? No, no, he’s...”

Honin-Zay suddenly put her hands to her head, burying her face in them. Weller took a step towards her. “All right!” he said. “Forget about Kazrah. Forget about your husband. But listen to me! Your life may be in danger. There is a woman, someone I once knew, who may try to break into your estate grounds. May, in fact, already be here. She may be dangerous and, I don’t know how to say this, but she might... not look like a woman. She’s...”

“A bau-bau,” Honin-Zay muttered between her fingers.

Third God. “Look, Mistress Honin-Zay, I don’t know what’s going on here but I suggest we contact your house guards.”

“The... the guards have been given the moon off.” Honin-Zay suddenly lurched forward, clutching her stomach. A small cry escaped her lips as she fell to her knees. Weller ran to her side, catching her before she completely hit the floor. “Are you all right? What...?”

Honin-Zay’s eyes bulged; she gasped for breath. “Help... help me.”

A noise from the far end of the living room startled Weller. He looked up and saw a shadow move. It was a figure, hidden in darkness as it moved quickly from behind a curtained alcove. It stopped at the doorway, its eyes flashing in the candlelight as it looked back straight at Weller.

“Selina?” The hair on the back of Weller’s neck tingled. “Is it you? Selina!” There was a sound, like a sob, then the figure turned and ran into the hallway. Weller saw it racing up the spiral staircase to the second floor, parts of its ragged clothes trailing behind it like the wings of some scabrous insect.

Claudia Honin-Zay screamed, her hands tearing at Weller’s jacket. Her body thrashed as if caught in the grip of a pain beyond describing. Weller held her, torn between helping this secretive woman and going after the thing that had once been Selina. “Listen!” Honin-Zay rasped, spittle flying from her lips. “It is not working. I can see clearly now. The treatment...”

“What? Mistress Honin-Zay, what...?” Her face, her eyes, her skin. Weller stopped in mid-sentence as he could now see clearly Claudia Honin-Zay had more than some cosmetic enhancement, some facial makeover. She had changed. Physically changed. Her skin was white, her eyes blue, her bone structure not as pronounced. Claudia Honin-Zay hadn’t merely made herself up to look Terran.

She had become Terran.

“By the Third God,” Weller pulled back from her touch. “What have you done?”

“I... I made a mistake.” Honin-Zay’s breath came in rapid gasps. “You must know. That creature! It is going to kill my husband. You... you must stop it! Upstairs...”

Weller gently laid her down, got up and rushed to the com-unit. He pressed the code Behoola had given him. “Ortega! Behoola! Can you hear me?”

“Yes!” Behoola replied. “Master Weller. What is it?”

“Behoola, your mistress is ill, hurt, something! Come to the living room as fast as you can and see if you can contact Nareed. Selina’s here. I’m going after her!”

Weller knelt again at Honin-Zay’s side. She shivered as if lying on a block of ice. “You must know,” she said between quaking lips. “I... I never meant for it to go this far. I never did. I never wanted to hurt anybody.”

“Help is on the way,” he murmured, not understanding a thing. He pulled his buzz-pistol and rose to his feet. He stood there a moment and then walked out of the living room.

He climbed the spiral staircase, feeling as if he were living one of his nightmares. How had it come to this? Last week, he had been going through the tired motions of his life. Now that life had been turned upside-down. Here hunted the woman he once thought he loved, the woman who was now a monster out of legend while another lay below, changed beyond his comprehension.

He paused at the top of the darkened stairs. The only light shone through a window. The Magus Star at its zenith, casting a ghostly luminance throughout the hallway. Weller shivered and stepped off the staircase.

A bulky shadow leapt out at him from the surrounding darkness. It crashed into Weller, grunting as its thick arms tried to encircle him, knocking the buzz-pistol from his hand.

Both fell to the floor as Weller scrambled and pushed himself away. Selina could change her form--that he had seen. But somehow, he knew this attacker wasn’t her.

He stood and aimed a kick at the figure’s silhouette of a head. But his attacker knocked Weller’s foot away and, leaping to his feet, shoved both hands against Weller’s chest, knocking him back against the wall.

Weller felt sick as a hand grasped his throat while a knee pressed up against his groin. He glimpsed dark, animal eyes inset in a blue-skinned face boring into his, the black-red tracings of caste tattoos and a smell of sweat and blood.

“So sorry, gentle sir,” a whispering voice, like that of disembodied spirit, floated through the air. “Pardon my clumsiness.”

Kazrah.

The bodyguard wore only loose breeches, the rest of his naked body painted with numerous tattoos, some of which seemed to be... moving?

Weller struggled but Kazrah held him in an iron grip. Kazrah smiled a death’s head grin as he glanced towards the end of the hall. A closed door, light streaming from beneath it. Marcus’ Honin-Zay’s den? “You will stay here for the moment,” Kazrah hissed. “Our surprising, unexpected friend is going to do my work for me, I think.”

Selina? Was he talking about Selina?

Effortlessly, Kazrah lifted Weller off his feet and hurled him to the floor. Weller cried out as he slid up against the wall, his head cracking against the hard molding. He tried to get up, dazed, holding his arm out in front of him.

He struggled to his knees, fighting off an encroaching blackness. He felt dizzy, weak. Kazrah walked toward him, a triumphant grin on his face. And something else. Madness?

No, Weller thought. It can’t end like this.

Another figure flew off the stairwell, silent as an animal.

A blurring of dark fur, claws unsheathed like swords, cat eyes aglow in the starlight.

Weller watched in dumb amazement as the Puman he had seen in Ifko’s Atomic Bar and Grill launched himself at Kazrah, the two grappling and crashing up against the wall.

Weller bent forward, darkness overwhelming him.