Carnival

“If you know your history.” Vincent smiled right back. “It keeps us on our toes.”

Elder Singapore covered her partner’s hand with her own. “If it wasn’t for Diaspora, New Amazonia wouldn’t be here. And we would be robbed of the pleasure of each other’s company. Which would be a great pity indeed.”

Vincent asked, “Was yours one of the private ships?”

“The Colony craft? Yes. Ur was also, wasn’t it?”

He turned his fork over as if fascinated by the gleams of light on the tines. “My great-grandmother was disgustingly rich. It was an experimental society, too. The colonists were all pregnant women. No men. And there was a religious element.”

Elder Montevideo leaned forward, although she wasn’t quite overcome enough to rest her elbows on the table. “What was the purpose of the experiment?”

“To prove a point of philosophy. To establish an egalitarian matriarchy based on Gnostic Christian principles.” He glanced up, twinkling. “My mother is the only woman on the Colonial Coalition Cabinet. We’re not so different.”

She sat back, picked up her silver knife, and gave minute attention to buttering a roll. “Our founding mothers believed that it was possible to live in balance with nature,” she said. “And by balance, they did not mean stasis. They meant an evolving dynamic whereby both the planet’s Gaian principle and her population would benefit. Not exploitation, as it was practiced on Old Earth: women do not exploit. We take care when we practice forestry, for example, to leave renewal niches, and we practice sustainable agriculture and humane animal husbandry.” The knife went down with a clink. “Of course, the impact of our activities is attenuated because we didn’t need to bootstrap through a fossil-fuel economy. We’ve been fortunate.”

At least they know it,Kusanagi-Jones thought. He sipped his wine and watched her eat.

“I’m curious,” Vincent said. “Something you said earlier hinted to me that you find eugenics distasteful.”

Miss Pretoria laughed out loud and glanced at the prime minister for permission to continue. Kusanagi-Jones saw the elder Pretoria lean forward, but she still held her tongue. A watcher.Dangerous, if the mind was as sharp as the eyes. “If Old Earth gave women reproductive autonomy, I don’t believe you’d have a population problem. Wedon’t—”

“ Youhave an undamaged ecosystem,” Kusanagi-Jones said. Vincent might have been the one to guess that a bold-faced refusal to temporize was one way to earn their respect, but Kusanagi-Jones wasn’t too shy to capitalize on it. Vincent didn’t quite smile, but the approval was there between them, warm and alive. “For now, at least, until you overrun it.”

Kusanagi-Jones, who had been about to continue, closed his mouth tightly as Elder Montevideo spoke. “One of the reasons our foremothers chose to emigrate was because of Earth’s eugenics practices. They did not feel that a child’s genetic health or sexual orientation determined its value. Do you,Miss Kusanagi-Jones? Miss Katherinessen? Because I assure you, the mothers at this table would disagree.”

Vincent’s eyes were on Montevideo, but Kusanagi-Jones could tell that his attention was focused on Miss Pretoria. And even Kusanagi-Jones could feel her discomfort; she was buzzingwith it. “I think,” Vincent said, carefully, “the health of a system outweighs the needs of a component. I think prioritizing resources is more important than individual well-being.”

“Even your own?” Miss Pretoria asked, laying down her fork.

Vincent glanced at her, but Kusanagi-Jones answered.

“Oh, yes,” he said, directing a smile at his partner.

He was a Liar; neither his voice nor his expression betrayed the venom he’d have liked to inject into them. He projected pride, praise, admiration. It didn’t matter. Vincent would know the truth. It might even sting. “Especially his own.”

Lesa shouldn’t have been taking so much pleasure in watching Katherinessen bait Maiju and Claude, but her self-control was weak. And a small gloat never hurt anyone,she thought. Besides, even if the enemy of Lesa’s enemy wasn’t necessarily Lesa’s ally, the prime minister richly deserved to be provoked—and in front of Elena. Lesa saw what Katherinessen was playing at. He lured them to underestimate and patronize, while picking out tidbits of personal and cultural information, assembling a pattern he could read as well as Lesa could have.

He was also staking out space, while getting them to treat him like a headstrong male. Clever, though confrontational. Lesa often used the same tactic to manipulate people into self-incrimination.

Just when she thought she had their system plotted, though, Kusanagi-Jones turned and sank his teeth into Katherinessen, hard. And Lesa blinked, reassessing. A quick glance around the table confirmed that only she had caught the subtext. And that was even more interesting—a hint of tension, a chink in their unity. The kind of place where you could get a lever in, and pry.