over a century and a half ago, now lumped into one large administrative sector for Imperial purposes. Lish meant that she was from that greater Sa'adani Empire, a place that remained largely alien in culture and attitude from what predominated on the CAS "frontier."
"I couldn't tell to look at you," Reva commented. Almost all Sa'adani wore a caste mark of some sort, either visible on their skin or formalized in their clothing. To be without that mark was a crime, for then how would high-caste tell low-caste apart? It seemed impossible for a Sa'adani to have social interaction without consciousness of caste and therefore relative rank.
Yet here sat Lish, with nary a mark upon her. She blushed slightly under Reva's scrutiny, let her thumb stray to the left side of her jaw. She stroked the skin there. "I had it removed," she said, apologetically.
Reva looked closer and saw a faint blemish there the length of a finger. She hadn't noticed it earlier, and certainly wouldn't have taken it for a caste mark if she had. She rehearsed in her mind the list of identifying marks that young children were made to memorize in school. Stylized battleslash, laser-scribed in skin of left jaw...
"Rus'karfa." She identified what caste Lish must be. The
Holdout nodded almost shyly. "Warrior-in-service," it meant, one of the higher-ranking Sa'adani classes. From it were drawn officials, military officers, persons with authority who were expected to oversee operations under the direction of high-caste nobility.
Reva coiled more tightly where she sat. "Isn't it a crime to be without your caste mark?" she asked, unable to resist the jab.
Lish blushed again. "That's not well enforced in the CAS Sector. You know how people are about caste here."
Reva knew: not accepting of Sa'adani efforts to force a caste system down their throats. Yet the smuggler had gone to some considerable trouble to have her mark of aristocracy removed, and Reva was curious about that. "Laser-scribe marks are permanent," she observed. "It must've been expensive to lose that."
"They do interesting things with nanobugs on Tion," Lish replied awkwardly.
Nanotechnology was one of the few areas where the CAS Sector held its own—in fact, exported products and know-how to the greater Empire. Reva hardly thought twice about it; everyone she knew took bodysculpting and other nano spin-off for granted.
"I suppose any unhappy Sa'adani can come here, lose their caste mark like you did, and start a new life," she mused. "There must be a lot more Imperial refugees in this Sector than we realize."
Lish's back stiffened and she put down her wineglass. "I'm no refugee, and this uncouth Sector is hardly a haven. I can go back if I want to. I just... don't want to."
The silence between them was strained. After a minute Reva asked, "So who are the Shiran Traders?"
That subject was not much more neutral, and Lish abruptly changed it. "Never mind. It was a mistake, bringing it all up." She eyed the food on the sideboard. "Want something to eat?" She jumped to her feet without waiting for agreement, loaded two plates with pepper-roast, breadleaf, and radish root, then returned to the fireside.
Reva took a plate, refilled their glasses, and returned stubbornly to their prior topic. Her curiosity was piqued, and consideration for the amenities of polite conversation had fallen by the wayside.
"I said watch out for Security, and you said you're safe from them. What do Shiran Traders have to do with that?"
Lish set her mouth, disapproval evident on her features. That was no surprise to Reva: probably her sense of caste interaction was offended. Yet whatever reaction the Holdout felt she soon quashed, and Reva gave her a point for self-discipline. A smuggler couldn't afford to put too much stock in rigid observance of caste and rank; street savvy and common sense were a lot more important, and Lish seemed to have that. She took an audible breath, found her equanimity, and answered Reva's
"I couldn't tell to look at you," Reva commented. Almost all Sa'adani wore a caste mark of some sort, either visible on their skin or formalized in their clothing. To be without that mark was a crime, for then how would high-caste tell low-caste apart? It seemed impossible for a Sa'adani to have social interaction without consciousness of caste and therefore relative rank.
Yet here sat Lish, with nary a mark upon her. She blushed slightly under Reva's scrutiny, let her thumb stray to the left side of her jaw. She stroked the skin there. "I had it removed," she said, apologetically.
Reva looked closer and saw a faint blemish there the length of a finger. She hadn't noticed it earlier, and certainly wouldn't have taken it for a caste mark if she had. She rehearsed in her mind the list of identifying marks that young children were made to memorize in school. Stylized battleslash, laser-scribed in skin of left jaw...
"Rus'karfa." She identified what caste Lish must be. The
Holdout nodded almost shyly. "Warrior-in-service," it meant, one of the higher-ranking Sa'adani classes. From it were drawn officials, military officers, persons with authority who were expected to oversee operations under the direction of high-caste nobility.
Reva coiled more tightly where she sat. "Isn't it a crime to be without your caste mark?" she asked, unable to resist the jab.
Lish blushed again. "That's not well enforced in the CAS Sector. You know how people are about caste here."
Reva knew: not accepting of Sa'adani efforts to force a caste system down their throats. Yet the smuggler had gone to some considerable trouble to have her mark of aristocracy removed, and Reva was curious about that. "Laser-scribe marks are permanent," she observed. "It must've been expensive to lose that."
"They do interesting things with nanobugs on Tion," Lish replied awkwardly.
Nanotechnology was one of the few areas where the CAS Sector held its own—in fact, exported products and know-how to the greater Empire. Reva hardly thought twice about it; everyone she knew took bodysculpting and other nano spin-off for granted.
"I suppose any unhappy Sa'adani can come here, lose their caste mark like you did, and start a new life," she mused. "There must be a lot more Imperial refugees in this Sector than we realize."
Lish's back stiffened and she put down her wineglass. "I'm no refugee, and this uncouth Sector is hardly a haven. I can go back if I want to. I just... don't want to."
The silence between them was strained. After a minute Reva asked, "So who are the Shiran Traders?"
That subject was not much more neutral, and Lish abruptly changed it. "Never mind. It was a mistake, bringing it all up." She eyed the food on the sideboard. "Want something to eat?" She jumped to her feet without waiting for agreement, loaded two plates with pepper-roast, breadleaf, and radish root, then returned to the fireside.
Reva took a plate, refilled their glasses, and returned stubbornly to their prior topic. Her curiosity was piqued, and consideration for the amenities of polite conversation had fallen by the wayside.
"I said watch out for Security, and you said you're safe from them. What do Shiran Traders have to do with that?"
Lish set her mouth, disapproval evident on her features. That was no surprise to Reva: probably her sense of caste interaction was offended. Yet whatever reaction the Holdout felt she soon quashed, and Reva gave her a point for self-discipline. A smuggler couldn't afford to put too much stock in rigid observance of caste and rank; street savvy and common sense were a lot more important, and Lish seemed to have that. She took an audible breath, found her equanimity, and answered Reva's
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