away?”
“What do you do with me now?”
“It has to go through channels. You’ll be sent back like you were the last time. And I suppose the Sar will pay your fines.”
Lily said nothing.
“Rich kid,” said one of the guards to the other.
“My robot,” said Lily.
“If Ransome House has papers, the ’bot’ll go back with you. I don’t mind adding, Ransome, that Tech is plenty interested in that ’bot. And they have questions for your parents—ah—I should say, the Sar and Saress.”
“He’s mine,” said Lily, but her protest sounded feeble even to her own ears. She would lose everything. “And what about Paisley? She should go back with me.”
“Paisley?” The sergeant shook her head. “Who is Paisley?”
“The Ridani girl.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman replied, enlightened. “Your—ah—friend.” Her expression hardened. “Listen, Ransome, you seem to have a pretty cozy view of the Reft. An itinerant tattoo who is not only without a pass away from her legal system, but is found with a lethal firearm of unknown design under a code forty-two oh twelve, not to mention in a public disturbance, is not going to get a free trip back to whatever hole she sprang from. Do you understand?”
Now Lily stood. “I gave her that weapon,” she said, advancing to the bars. “The blame is mine.”
“Touching and noble. The tattoo will get the usual.” She turned away, signaling to her aide, and left.
Lily grabbed the bars. “I demand to know—” The guards laughed and returned to their computer. “I want—” Her words emptied into uncaring silence, and she stopped, knowing that no one would reply.
“Saressa.” The low, fluid voice of the sta startled her. “You claim a Ridani as a friend?”
“Is it a crime?” she asked bitterly, staring out the transparent wall into the precinct office beyond, where the sergeant spoke into a com-link.
“Unusual, certainly,” replied the sta, unoffended. “Admirable, in its way.”
“And damning, for Paisley. I don’t even know what the ‘usual’ is.” Her hands tightened on the bars.
“Indenture, I imagine.”
Lily let go of the bars. “No.” She looked at him. He stood almost next to her. Rust-colored did not quite describe his skin. Red-hued, perhaps. His mane hung lankly without the stiffness it should have had. “She’s just a child. Fifteen at the most.”
“Old enough. I believe it’s five years to the State for itinerancy, for a Ridani. More with the weapons conviction.”
“Esstavi, how do you know all this?”
That humanlike expression, so out of place on a sta’s face, and yet not so at all on his, settled there again. “Having been brought in on similar charges, and being entirely unable to pay the fines levied on me given such charges, I find myself well versed on the penalties. Of course, being of slightly more respectable origins”—here his tone took on heavy irony—“I have received only two years indenture to work off. I believe in this District they send us to Harsh.”
“But how can that be, esstavi? You have family—” At his expression, she paused. “But all sta have—everyone knows their clans never fail them.”
For an answer he raised both hands. At first Lily saw nothing to remark in them, for they were much like her own, only with a hint of scales.
“Saressa,” the sta said. “Perhaps your reticence does you credit.” He turned a thin-maned back to her and returned to his cot, shutting his eyes. Eyes too human for a sta.
One of the guards snickered and, when Lily caught his eye, made an obscene gesture with his hands and looked pointedly over at the unmoving sta.
“You make me sick,” said Lily. She went back to her cot and stared at the still-scrolling screen. His hands. Four fingers and a thumb. Human hands. She stifled an urge to look across for confirmation.
After a bit she slept. When she woke, she found a meal, which she dutifully ate. In the next cell the sta seemed not to
“What do you do with me now?”
“It has to go through channels. You’ll be sent back like you were the last time. And I suppose the Sar will pay your fines.”
Lily said nothing.
“Rich kid,” said one of the guards to the other.
“My robot,” said Lily.
“If Ransome House has papers, the ’bot’ll go back with you. I don’t mind adding, Ransome, that Tech is plenty interested in that ’bot. And they have questions for your parents—ah—I should say, the Sar and Saress.”
“He’s mine,” said Lily, but her protest sounded feeble even to her own ears. She would lose everything. “And what about Paisley? She should go back with me.”
“Paisley?” The sergeant shook her head. “Who is Paisley?”
“The Ridani girl.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman replied, enlightened. “Your—ah—friend.” Her expression hardened. “Listen, Ransome, you seem to have a pretty cozy view of the Reft. An itinerant tattoo who is not only without a pass away from her legal system, but is found with a lethal firearm of unknown design under a code forty-two oh twelve, not to mention in a public disturbance, is not going to get a free trip back to whatever hole she sprang from. Do you understand?”
Now Lily stood. “I gave her that weapon,” she said, advancing to the bars. “The blame is mine.”
“Touching and noble. The tattoo will get the usual.” She turned away, signaling to her aide, and left.
Lily grabbed the bars. “I demand to know—” The guards laughed and returned to their computer. “I want—” Her words emptied into uncaring silence, and she stopped, knowing that no one would reply.
“Saressa.” The low, fluid voice of the sta startled her. “You claim a Ridani as a friend?”
“Is it a crime?” she asked bitterly, staring out the transparent wall into the precinct office beyond, where the sergeant spoke into a com-link.
“Unusual, certainly,” replied the sta, unoffended. “Admirable, in its way.”
“And damning, for Paisley. I don’t even know what the ‘usual’ is.” Her hands tightened on the bars.
“Indenture, I imagine.”
Lily let go of the bars. “No.” She looked at him. He stood almost next to her. Rust-colored did not quite describe his skin. Red-hued, perhaps. His mane hung lankly without the stiffness it should have had. “She’s just a child. Fifteen at the most.”
“Old enough. I believe it’s five years to the State for itinerancy, for a Ridani. More with the weapons conviction.”
“Esstavi, how do you know all this?”
That humanlike expression, so out of place on a sta’s face, and yet not so at all on his, settled there again. “Having been brought in on similar charges, and being entirely unable to pay the fines levied on me given such charges, I find myself well versed on the penalties. Of course, being of slightly more respectable origins”—here his tone took on heavy irony—“I have received only two years indenture to work off. I believe in this District they send us to Harsh.”
“But how can that be, esstavi? You have family—” At his expression, she paused. “But all sta have—everyone knows their clans never fail them.”
For an answer he raised both hands. At first Lily saw nothing to remark in them, for they were much like her own, only with a hint of scales.
“Saressa,” the sta said. “Perhaps your reticence does you credit.” He turned a thin-maned back to her and returned to his cot, shutting his eyes. Eyes too human for a sta.
One of the guards snickered and, when Lily caught his eye, made an obscene gesture with his hands and looked pointedly over at the unmoving sta.
“You make me sick,” said Lily. She went back to her cot and stared at the still-scrolling screen. His hands. Four fingers and a thumb. Human hands. She stifled an urge to look across for confirmation.
After a bit she slept. When she woke, she found a meal, which she dutifully ate. In the next cell the sta seemed not to
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