Read Online Carnival-SA by Elizabeth Bear - Free Book Online Page A

partner’s ear, “Suppose they often feel like specimens on a slide?”
    “I suppose you adapt,” Vincent answered. He selected a curved flake of something greenish and crispy, and held it up to inspect it. Light radiated from the walls—a flattering, ambient glow that did not distract from the view overhead.
    “Are you admiring our starscape, Miss Kusanagi-Jones?”
    He glanced at the prime minister, hiding his blink of guilt, but it wasn’t Singapore who had spoken. Rather, her wife, Maiju Montevideo.
    “Spectacular. Do I understand correctly that Penthesilea is entirely remnant architecture?”
    Montevideo was a Rubenesque woman of medium stature. Regardless of his earlier comment regarding Hindu brides, Kusanagi-Jones was minded to compare her to the goddess Shakti grown grandmotherly. Her eyes narrowed with her smile as she gestured to the domed, three-lobed chamber. “All this,” she said. She led with her wrist; Kusanagi-Jones wondered if New Amazonia had the sort of expensive girls’
    schools where they trained apparently helpless young women to draw blood with their deportment. These women would probably consider that beneath them, but they certainly had mastered the skills. Her eyes widened; he tried to decide if it was calculated or not. From the shift of Vincent’s weight, he thought so. “Miss Pretoria hasn’t taken you to see the frieze yet?”
    “There hasn’t been time.” Miss Pretoria slid between them, a warning in the furrow between her eyes. Interesting .
    “No,” Vincent said. Vincent didn’t look up, apparently distracted by the vegetables, but he wouldn’t have missed anything Kusanagi-Jones caught. His nimble fingers turned and discarded one or two more slices before he abandoned the plate untasted on a side table.
    Elder Montevideo showed her teeth. Kusanagi-Jones couldn’t fault New Amazonian dentistry. Or perhaps it was the apparent lack of sweets in the local diet.
    “After dinner?” she asked, a little too gently.
    Kusanagi-Jones could still feel it happen. Vincent’s chin came up and his spine elongated. It wasn’t enough motion to have served as a tell to a poker player, but Kusanagi-Jones noticed. His own tension eased.
    Vincent had just clicked . He was on the job and he’d found his angle. Everything was going to be just fine.
    Vincent tasted his lips. “Perhaps instead of dinner?” he said lightly, a quip, beautiful hands balled in his pockets.
    “The food isn’t to your liking, Miss Katherinessen?”
    Vincent’s shrug answered her, and also fielded Kusanagi-Jones’s sideways glance without ever breaking contact with Singapore. “We don’t eat animals,” he said negligently. “We consider murder barbaric, whether it’s for food or not.”
    Perfect. Calm, disgusted, a little bored. A teacher’s disapproval, as if what he said should be evident to a backward child. He might as well have said, We don’t play in shit . Michelangelo’s chest was so tight he thought his control might crack and leave him gasping for breath.
    “Strange,” Montevideo said. The prime minister—Singapore—towered over her, but Elder Montevideo dominated their corner. “I hear some on Coalition worlds will pay handsomely for meat.”
    “Are you suggesting you support illegal trade with Coalition worlds?” Vincent’s smile was a thing of legend. Hackles up, Montevideo took a half-step forward, and he was only using a quarter of his usual wattage. “There’s a child sex trade, too. I don’t suppose you condone that.”
    Montevideo’s mouth was half open to answer before she realized she’d been slapped. “That’s the opinion of somebody whose government encourages fetal murder and contract slavery?”
    “It is,” Vincent said. He pulled his hand from his pocket and studied the nails. Montevideo didn’t drop her gaze.
    Kusanagi-Jones steadied his own breathing and stretched each sense. Every half-alert ear in the room was pricked, every courtier, lobbyist, and spy