Science Fiction: The Year's Best (2006 Edition). Аластер Рейнольдс

chest and its rear legs trailing behind it. Startled waterbirds surrounded the cat with an explosion of flapping wings.

      “Possessor Avaming isn’t going to respond to a bribe,” Sabor said. “He takes great pride in his aristocratic indifference to material gain.”

      “Shall I consider that a rigid limitation?”

      “It would probably be wise.”

      “I can see three possibilities. Possessor Avaming’s payments to architects and landscapers during the last ten years equal sixty-two percent of his total debt. They started declining about four years ago and he started buying musical instruments and hiring musicians. In the last year, he’s started spending money on water hunting.”

      “He’s obviously a prime example of a serial enthusiast. I suspect you’ll find water hunting will present the most promising opportunities at this moment.”

      Purvali cut the connection and Sabor turned part of his attention to the input from a camera that watched his rear. The steady fallout from the trees had degraded the transparency of Purvali’s carrier, in spite of the unbroken efforts of the cleaning moles, but he could still watch her work. He had never understood why men like Kenzan Khan preferred women with limited abilities. Purvali was a delight in every situation he normally shared with her but she could seem achingly—hauntingly—beautiful when her face was shaped by the total concentration she focused on her work. Many people sank into slack-faced stupors when they stared at the displays their implants transmitted to their optic nerves. Purvali looked as taut as a hunting animal.

      Choy was his usual loose-jointed self. Judging by the way his hands were moving, he was probably participating in a simulated unarmed combat spree while he monitored the security system. He had started chopping and blocking when they had finished the last feeding stop. He was still pummeling the air when they lumbered into the last kilometer that lay between them and the point the information system had chosen for their next stop.

      “Twelve years ago,” Purvali said, “Possessor Avaming was loading the databanks with descriptions of his buildings and re-modelings. Six years ago he had thirty musicians on his payroll and he was bombarding his friends with invitations to concerts. Now he’s started spending whole tendays racing up and down the lake pursuing the larger members of the yellow-feathered swordbeak population.”

      This time Purvali had assembled a concise formal report. Option One revolved around a new prey animal—a faster, sleeker version of the yellow-feathered swordbeak. The hunting fanatics had placed a few samples of the upgrade in the lake and they wanted to triple the number. Most of the other people with an interest in the lake had registered their opposition—on the very solid grounds that the increase would tip the competitive balance in favor of the enhanced swordbeaks, with the usual unpredictable consequences for the aquatic ecosystem. Avaming had joined the campaign to overcome the opposition but he was still a novice. If Sabor could help him arrange a victory, his status would take a substantial leap.

      Sabor shook his head. He could offer Avaming a financial subsidy that would overwhelm the opposition. It wouldn’t be the first time he had financed a little opinion engineering. But it would plunge him into a political situation that was just as unpredictable as the ecological effects.

      Option Two was another play on Avaming’s appetite for social status. Killing was only a part of the sport. To win the full admiration of your colleagues, you had to ride and slaughter with impeccable style. Avaming had bought the most expensive performance implants on the market, but the programs he had planted in his nervous system could only take him so far. To reach the highest levels of the sport, he needed a coach—someone who could teach him all the accepted nuances of true deportment.

      “He’s demonstrated he has an above average drive for social status every time he’s surrendered to a new enthusiasm,” Purvali argued. “His music mania included a series of private concerts that became some of the most sought-after invitations on the planet. Now he’s applied to the hunting coach everybody wants. And she’s treated him just like any other novice and put him on the bottom of her waiting list.”

      Sabor scanned Purvali’s profile of the coach. He tipped back his head and stared at the light at the top of the forest.

      “I believe it’s time we committed to a higher risk level,” Sabor said. “There are certain kinds of communication that simply can’t be compressed into blips.”

      “It will take Colonel Jina’s technicians about seventeen minutes to locate us,” Purvali said. “We’re now about three hours by airship from Colonel Jina’s hangars. I can’t find any indication they’ve positioned an airship in a closer location.”

      The coach’s welcomer had been costumed in the kind of understated, scrupulously draped shirts Sabor’s mother had favored. It had been shaped by one of the best known designers on the planet—a hard working stylist with several hundred thousand high earning yuris on deposit in Sabor’s databanks. The coach would return Honored Sabor’s call in approximately twenty minutes, the image informed him. The coach was Working with a Student.

      The coach didn’t list her fees in the databanks but Purvali had researched her life style and produced a reasonable estimate of her income. Sabor had decided a hundred thousand yuris would probably win him a fast acceptance. He raised his estimate by fifty thousand when he saw the designer’s logo floating in the lower left of the display—and reduced it by twenty-five when the coach returned his call fifteen seconds after his system reminded him the twenty minutes had come to an end.

      “I’d like to offer one of my better customers an impressive gift,” Sabor said. “I’m prepared to pay a substantial fee.”

      He switched his display to a forty-five second recording of Avaming on seal back. “I’m no connoisseur of these things, but it seems to me Possessor Avaming may have some natural talent, in addition to his obvious enthusiasm.”

      The coach nodded and looked suitably thoughtful. “It’s hard to make a proper evaluation from recordings, of course. I always evaluate my prospective students in person.”

      “I understand. I can offer you a hundred thousand yuris for your trouble. I’ll be happy to transfer the whole amount in advance of your evaluation.”

      A familiar look flicked across the coach’s face. She restored her air of cool indifference with a speed that made Sabor feel grateful he hadn’t tried to offer her a few thousand less. “I should advise you Possessor Avaming has acquired several of the less obvious bad habits,” the coach said. “He will have to demonstrate he is willing to relearn the basics.”

      An oversize text message from Purvali preempted the space next to the coach’s head. Your transmission is being examined. I can’t defend it without interfering with your conversation.

      “I’m confident Possessor Avaming will welcome the opportunity to be evaluated by someone of your stature,” Sabor said.

      “Then you have my permission to tell him I can schedule an evaluation within the next three or four days.”

      Purvali replaced the coach the moment he terminated the call. “Colonel Jina seems to be making an all out effort,” Purvali said. “I think we should assume he has us located.”

      “I wrapped that up in thirteen minutes!”

      “They identified the call faster than I thought they would. They may have gotten lucky. But I’d feel better if we acted on the assumption they’re making an extra effort.”

      “Do you have any information on Avaming’s whereabouts? Is there any danger I’ll be calling him while he’s indulging in a sybaritic lunch?”

      “Possessor Avaming is currently riding with the Benjori Hunt. He’s been riding with them every fourthday since he first started hunting. The hunt left the dock about half an hour ago. I’m looking at the Recording Secretary’s log. The hound seals are tracking a swordbeak that just went below for the first time.”

      Sabor added the secretary’s log to his display. He was looking at the same view