The Caryatids

Lionel offered his brother a canteen. "John's been ru

Montalban sat down on a patterned carpet; his burst of oratory had drained him. The nomad tent had suddenly grown crowded. While John had passionately ranted, busy tribesmen had carried the pots and kettles from the place and cleared a small arena. A crowd had gathered, sitting cross-legged, chattering and munching snacks. Fried meat of some kind. It smelled like fried rats.

"Hey wow! Entertainment!" said Lionel. At the prospect, he brightened so much that he almost seemed to glow.

An overpowering melody came from nowhere, a sourceless wave of powerful, thudding music. A woman strode into the tent, carrying the soundtrack with her.

She wore a spangled golden headdress, a veil, a sequined bra, a spangled vest, and two thin skirts of overlapping chiffon. Bells chimed around her ankles and golden bangles jingled on both her arms. Her eyes were caked in kohl and her palms were stained red with he

She glided into the center of the tent, barefoot on the carpets, bathing in the crowd's eager, yelping applause.

Her music faded to a steamy, rhythmic clicking. She stamped her slippered feet in time so that her silver anklets jingled, and banged her red palms so that the bracelets clashed.

Then she gazed seductively around her crowd, and saw Sonja. She stopped at once.

"Now we're in for it," Lionel groaned.

"I thought I told you to keep Biserka under wraps," said Montalban. "Where did she get that crazy costume?"

"Downtown Hollywood maybe? She's so tricky!"

Shivering with rage, the veiled dancer stalked over to confront John Montalban. "You have just completely ruined my best scene."

"We didn't know you were having a scene," said Lionel.

"I especially didn't know you were stealing Mila Montalban's best theme music," said John.

Biserka yanked the veil from her painted lips. "How did she get in here?" Biserka demanded. "You said she'd been killed by airplanes and robots and something."

"Last night that seemed pretty likely," John said, "but Sonja's a trooper."

Biserka turned to glare at Sonja. She spoke Chinese. "Well: Look around you. I win."

"Are you speaking to me?"

"What are you, bitch, five years old? I'm telling you that I win ! You know that I win. You tried to chase me out of China: well, these are my people here. These are my very special people, the people who love me, the people who are all my good friends."

"Where did this ragtag find the money to hire you?"

"I did it for love, " Biserka shrieked. " You're the one that's the mercenary! You whore, just look at them, look at their faces, see how much they love me! I taught them everything! I taught them what the real world is really like! Before me, they were like lost children."

Lionel intervened. "What's the name of your big victory dance, Biserka? Tell me about your cool new routine."

Biserka shot him a grateful look. "It's all about victory! And what happened in outer space! And my mother's death! And it's my interpretative dance performance about the world's bravest, noblest people- my people! They are going to overthrow all the systems, and cover the Earth in free blackspots, and break the walls of surveillance and haul the oppressors out of there…and pile their heads up in pyramids!"

Hands on her hips, Biserka drew a breath. "I choreographed it all by myself! I call it 'The Seven-Veiled Dance of Shiva, the Goddess of Destruction. "

"Shiva is a male god," said Lionel.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Shiva is a male dancer, like I am."

"Never mind that, Lionel," said Montalban calmly. "Let Biserka dance. She has an eager public waiting here."

Biserka pouted. "You've gone and spoiled it all. How could you let her come in here? I was really, really happy today, for the first time in my whole life! I was happy for maybe one hour! I can dance! You know I can dance. I learned some hot new moves in Los Angeles, and you were going to love those! Now my timing's all messed up and it's all ruined."

"No problem," said Lionel, beaming supportively. "Just get ready to run your theme again. When I throw out my hand like this"-he gestured-"that's your cue."

Without warning, music blasted from Lionel's flesh: brassy, insistent, heart-thudding. Lionel strode confidently into the empty performance space, drew himself up with a wi

The stu

Biserka came to with a sudden start. She began to dance.

It was not that Biserka danced shamelessly. It was much worse than that. Biserka knew what shame was, and she was using their shame as a weapon to titillate them. Biserka danced corruptively. One wanted to hide the eyes of children from the spectacle. Though the children were quite enjoying it.

Sonja knew that it was her duty to put a swift end to this. She would kill Biserka. Killing Biserka would be the crown of her lifetime.

Sonja was stopped short by a hand on her elbow. It was the Badaulet.

Lucky put his lips next to her ear, so that she could hear him over the howls and the sticky, slinky music. "Our hosts have been telling me about the Chinese state," he said.

"They're lying to you."

"Well, you are my wife, and I want you to tell me the truth."

Sonja wrenched her arm free from his grip. "I always tell the truth to my men." No matter how much it hurt them.

"Are these young men really the Chinese state? They're the former leaders of the Chinese state, only living in the wilderness?"

"Yes. That is true."

"But they are bold men like me, and brave like me, and they ride and fight like me. And they do not hide behind Chinese walls because they aim to conquer the world."

"They won't succeed." She pointed. " He is going to conquer the world. He's already conquering the world. He's doing it right now while he's watching that slut dancing for him."

The expression on Montalban's face could have been ca

Biserka sensed this and was playing to him. Biserka knew that she had him. She had found some aching hole in him, found a stained chink in the white knight's armor. It wasn't, after all, that hard to find. That part of him that belonged to her. She was reeling him in.

The Badaulet watched Biserka's flurried writhing with unfeigned disgust. "Your lord and master there is a decadent weakling."

"I'm sure he would tell you that he is 'healthily in touch with his darker side. "

"I could kill him. He's not so much of a man. His younger brother, the one who dances like a woman, he's strong, but he has long hair. They are only two men, they're not two gods. In the eyes of the one God, I'm as good as them. Only, I have pride and cleanliness, and decency, and aspirations to please my Creator. If I put my body next to his body, I can put my knife through him."

"Don't do that. To kill a guest is dishonorable. Also, he's so rich that he might not stay dead."

"You love him," he told her. "That's why you urge me not to kill him. I want you to tell me, as my wife, that you love me better than him. That you will leave him and his life, and live my life."

"I know that you deserve that from me," she told him, "but I already swore once by everything I held sacred that I'd never see him, or hear him, or touch him again, and, here he is." Sonja began to cry. "I swear I can't help it."

"Any woman among these noble people would be a better wife to me than you are," he said. "They all admire me very much, they need my warrior skills. If I join them, I will be high in rank, they will give me twenty women like you. Better women than you."