The Summer Queen by Joan D. Vinge

letting the others
touch it with awed hands, breathe in its essence; watching their faces.
    Kedalion realized that the stranger was still standing
beside him, taking it all in, with something that was almost fascination in his
own eyes. “Join us—’?” Kedalion asked, not particularly wanting to. but feeling
that he could hardly do anything else, under the circumstances. The service
unit under the smooth onyx-colored table obliged him, spitting out an extra
cup.
    “Not my poison,” the stranger murmured. He shook his head,
unkempt fingers of brown hair brushing his shoulders. Kedalion started to
breathe again as the man began to turn away; but the man shrugged abruptly, and
turned back. He pulled out a seat and sat down. “I’m Reede,” he said.
    Kedalion made introductions, trying not to look like a man
sitting next to an armed bomb. He poured water of life for himself and the two
Ondineans, somehow managing not to spill a drop, even though his hands weren’t
steady.
    He stole another glance at Reede, wondering how the other
man had come by something like this bottle, and why he was willing to give it
up so casually. It was a rich man’s gesture, but Reede didn’t look like a rich
man. He wore nondescript black breeches and heavy dockhand’s boots, a
sleeveless jerkin dangling bits of jewelry and flash—souvenirs. Not an unusual
outfit for a young hireling of some drug king. Reede’s bare arms were covered
with tattoos, telling his life history in the Hegemony’s underworld to anyone
who wanted to look close enough. There was nothing unusual about that, either;
the only thing odd about the tattoos was that there were none on his hands.
    Probably he was another smuggler, looking for work, and this
bottle was a flamboyant way of advertising his services. Just what they needed;
competition. But Kedalion intended to enjoy Reede’s generosity anyway. Even
though Kedalion didn’t advertise, his reputation for reliability was usually
enough to get him all the work he could handle. “You a runner?” he asked Reede.
    Reede looked surprised. “Me? No.” He didn’t say what he did
do. Kedalion didn’t ask. “Why?” Reede asked, a little sharply, and then, “You
need one?”
    “I am one.” Kedalion shook his head.
    Reede nodded, easing off. “I knew your name was familiar.
Your ship is the Prajna. That’s a Samathan word for ‘God’—?” He raised his
eyebrows.
    “One of them,” Kedalion said. “It means ‘astral light,’
actually. It’s supposed to bring luck.” He shrugged, mildly annoyed at having
to explain himself.
    “It seems to work for you.” Reede’s mouth twitched. “You
have a good reputation. And you had your share of good fortune tonight.” He
spoke Trade, the universal second language of most people who did interstellar
business. Everyone here in the port spoke it; even the boy Ananke handled it
well enough. It was easy to learn a language with an enhancer; Kedalion spoke
several. It wasn’t easy to make a construct like Trade sound graceful. And from
what he had seen tonight, Reede was the last person he would have expected to
manage the feat. He glanced at Reede again, wondering where in hell somebody
like this came from anyway. Reede looked back at him, with an expression that
was close to thoughtful “So ‘honor among thieves’ is the code you live by?”
    Kedalion smiled, hoping the question was rhetorical. “I only
wondered how you came by this.” He raised his cup of the water of life in a
toast; its scent filled the air he breathed. The silver liquid lay in the cup
like molten metal, waiting.
    Reede shrugged. “I got it at the bar.”
    “FromRavien?” Kedalion asked, incredulous. “That bastard.”
He pointed at his own bottle. “He claimed this was the best he had; he’s been
serving me swill for years.”
    Reede grinned ferally. “He does that to everyone. You just
have to know how to ask ....”He fingered the expensive-looking jeweled ear cuff
that