Primary Inversion Read Online Free Page A

I get a different view.”
           I nodded. “Go.”
           Across the room, the musicians finished their song. They looked at the Traders and us, then at one another. The drummer spoke to a horn player, and a sudden urge to get out of here made the muscles in my legs contract as if I were preparing to run. I had to force myself to sit still. Then again, maybe sitting wasn’t the best choice. The stage had a better view of the Trader group.
           “I can keep this side of the room covered,” Taas said.
           “Good.” I smiled slightly. “I think I’ll go for some music appreciation.”
           As I crossed the room, I felt the Aristo watching me. When I reached the stage I spoke to the singer, a man with dark hair. “Can you a song play?”
           “What would you like?” he asked.
           “You pick.”
           He nodded, but I had a feeling that what he really wanted was for us to leave, both my squad and the Traders. I didn’t blame him.
           The band started a slower piece with a sweet melody, and the man sang in a well trained baritone. Had the situation been different, I would have enjoyed it. I watched the Trader group in my side vision. So I saw when the Aristo stood up and came toward me. As he neared, I turned to him.
           He stopped at my side and spoke in Skolian. “It’s pleasant, isn’t it?” His accent was pure Aristo from the elite Highton caste, the aristocracy of the aristocracy, overlords in the Trader hierarchy.
           It was all I could do to keep from pulling the knife hidden in my boot. “What do you want?”
           “To meet you.”
           “Why?”
           He hesitated. “I meant no offense.”
           That didn’t fit. I had met many Aristos, usually over long range communication but also in person during the sporadic and consistently failed attempts at peace we and the Traders had made. They always spoke to us with arrogance, often outright scorn. This one seemed to have missed his training in how to act superior.
           His guards, however, missed nothing. They stood at the bar with their guns drawn, looking ready to detonate. The Aristo must have ordered them to stay put; otherwise they would have never let a Jagernaut talk to him alone.
           Block, I thought. Their tension receded, but the psicon kept flashing in my mind, warning that my systems couldn’t keep out the full onslaught of their emotions. It would require my brain to release so much of its neural blocker, it would interfere with my ability to think.
           Jack’s other patrons had either left the place or moved across the bar. Rex had returned, holding a massive knife he must have taken from the kitchen. Taas and Helda had drawn their knives, smaller ones like the blade in my boot. The four of us were facing five Traders armed with lasers, but we had a big advantage; the Aristo was within my reach. His perfect self would make a perfect hostage.
           “Why do you want to meet me?” I asked him.
           “It’s your hair.” He expression brightened. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
           I stiffened. Tarque had told me the same thing. My hair was black and curly, a little more than shoulder length. About two thirds of the way down it shaded into a dark wine color and at the ends it turned gold. It had fascinated Tarque. Was this Aristo looking for providers? He was young, not much more than twenty, but that was more than enough. Aristos usually took their first providers when they reached puberty.
           Except…something about him didn’t fit. I couldn’t figure what. The chiseled features of his face looked pure Highton. His accent fit, his stance fit, his voice fit. But something was wrong.
           “What do you want with my hair?” I asked.
           “It’s pretty.” He shook his head. “You’re so beautiful. Why do