Read Online Conventions of War by Walter Jon Williams - Free Book Online Page B

the resources of the Records Office—that was intended to be used only for meetings—but to a one-room place she’d acquired for herself.
    Life on the street was fading quickly in the dim, rationed light. The last food-seller waited only to sell his last few ears of roasted maize before packing up his grill and leaving, and Sula helped him by buying an ear, enjoying its sweetness along with the smoky taste of the charcoal and the coarse sprinkling of salt.
    With only a few streetlights burning, it was dark enough so that she was totally surprised by the figure that rose from the shadows next to the stairs. As her heart leaped, she stepped automatically into a strong stance, the corncob held in her fist like a knife…
    â€œIs that you, beauteous lady?”
    Sula recognized the voice and relaxed out of her stance. She spoke over the hammering of her heart. “One-Step? What are you doing here this late?”
    One-Step replied with dignity. “You never know when someone will want to see me here in my office.”
    One-Step’s office was the patch of pavement next to the apartment steps, and whatever business he conducted there remained obscure. Sula forgave him this and other flaws for the sake of his extraordinary black eyes, which were brilliant and liquid and beautiful, and on this night unfortunately invisible in the darkness.
    One-Step’s voice turned reproachful. “You haven’t been home, beauteous lady. I’ve been desolated.”
    â€œA friend got me a bit of work in another part of town.”
    â€œWork?” His voice brightened. “What kind?”
    â€œInventory. But it was temporary, and now it’s over.”
    The voice turned accusing. “You’ve been off spending the money, haven’t you? Spending it without One-Step.”
    â€œI went to see a derivoo,” Sula said.
    â€œDerivoo!” One-Step scorned. “That’s all so depressing! You should let One-Step show you a good time. I’ll treat you like you deserve, like the highest Peer of the High City. Like a queen. You’ll never regret a night with One-Step.”
    â€œMaybe some other time. I want to get some sleep tonight.”
    â€œSleep is a treacherous object. Here’s something that may keep you awake for a while.”
    He handed her a plastic flimsy, and she squinted at it as she held it to the dim yellow light of her apartment vestibule.
    Resistance, she read.
    One-Step had been trying to charm his way into her arms ever since they first met, but even so, he was probably surprised at the joyous hug and kiss.
    â€œBeauteous lady,” he said, “you’ll never regret—”
    â€œI don’t,” she said, backing away. “But you be careful who you give these to, all right?”
    He was reproachful again. “One-Step is always careful.”
    Sula’s heart was light as she entered the building, went up two flights, and checked her door for signs of intrusion. She entered, switched on the light, and looked at the copy of Resistance, properly printed on perfectly decent plastic. There was no indication where or how it had been printed, and no watermark. “A loyal friend has suggested that we send this to you…” Ah, lovely.
    Thank you, One-Step, loyal friend.
    The apartment smelled of heat and disuse. She went to the little alcove by the window and put the issue of Resistance on the broad ledge, pinning it with the pot that waited there. She opened the window to clear out the heat of the day, checked to make certain her guns and grenades were in the hidden compartments where she’d put them, then sat cross-legged on her sleeping pallet and admired the pot and news sheet together, the way the pale plastic was reflected in the blue-green crackle of the age-old pot.
    The pot was ju yao ware of Earth’s ancient Song Dynasty, an object so valuable that if her neighbors knew of it, they would have bludgeoned each