by C. Gockel
Somehow Jerem found his voice. “You don’t look like Eryk Thorn.”
“How would you know what I look like if I always have my face covered?”
That sounded reasonable enough, and Jerem had to concede him the point. “So where’s your mask and hood?”
“I don’t need them here on Nova Angeles.”
Again, Jerem couldn’t argue with that. Nova Angeles had to be the safest, dullest place in the galaxy. No seedy spaceports or underworld hideouts around here, that was for sure. He frowned, gazing back at the man, trying to wrap his brain around the idea that somehow his mother—his respectable, elegant mother, the one who went to parents’ night and rode him about sticky fingerprints on the refrigeration unit—had known Eryk Thorn. And not only known him, but had been with him in that weird manner which resulted in children. They’d gone over basic biology in school, but his main response so far had been to think it was kind of squicky.
But still—Jerem’s head reeled. Eryk Thorn was his father. Not some long-dead, faceless pilot with the GDF, a fact which had elicited some sympathy for Jerem but had never seemed all that special, but Eryk Thorn, the mercenary.
“So how did you know my mother?” he demanded. He still couldn’t figure out how the two of them could have ever gotten together.
“We met on Iradia,” Thorn replied. “She rescued me after I barely survived a firefight with some of Mast the crime lord’s friends.”
“Whoah,” Jerem breathed. “And she saved you?”
“I was pretty banged up. She patched me together, and then she gave me half of Mast’s treasure to get her off Iradia.”
“Mast’s what?”
A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “His treasure. Mast died, and your mother hacked his computer system to get at the money he left behind.”
Jerem was beginning to feel the way he once did after he stepped off the high-velocity spinner wheel at the local fair. Head whirling, he said, “My mother. Mia Felaris.”
“Well, her real name is Miala, but yes.”
That tidbit required another few seconds for Jerem to digest. “I didn’t know she was that cool,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah.” The man—Eryk Thorn—got that little lift at the corner of his mouth again. “She’s a remarkable woman.”
Maybe he wouldn’t have put it that way, but Jerem thought that Thorn probably was right. Anyway, this information about Mast’s treasure sure did explain a lot. “So were there mob bosses and hitmen after you? Is that why you couldn’t come here to Nova Angeles?”
His father raised an eyebrow. “I think you must watch too many cop shows.”
But it wasn’t a straight-out denial, and Jerem sighed happily. Who knew so much excitement and adventure lurked in his mother’s past? He couldn’t even be angry at Eryk Thorn for never being around—his intrinsic coolness completely outweighed his lengthy absence...at least for now. “So are you going to stay here for awhile? On Nova Angeles, I mean.”
“For awhile.”
Jerem got to his feet. “Man, just wait until Mikhal and Alic hear about this! They’re going to blow a gasket!”
Eryk Thorn stood as well. “You should keep this quiet, Jerem.”
Uncomprehending, Jerem stared up at his father’s impassive face. Then understanding slowly sank in. “Oh, right. ’Cause you’re here incog—incog—”
“Incognito,” the mercenary finished. “Something like that.”
Of course. If Eryk Thorn’s enemies found him here on Nova Angeles, all heck could break loose—and of course his father wouldn’t want Jerem and Miala caught up in it. “Okay, I won’t tell,” Jerem said. It was a little disappointing, but still, at least he knew Eryk Thorn was his father, and no one could take that away from him.
“Want to go in?” his father asked, and jerked a thumb back toward the house. “I think your mother might want to see the two of us.”
Jerem liked the sound of that. The two of us, he thought. Me and my dad.
“Yeah, let’s go inside,” he replied. Then it would be the three of them, all together for the first time since he was born. He would actually have a real family, just like he’d seen on the vids. Except his would be even better, because Eryk Thorn was his father.
Grinning at the prospect, he raced toward the house, not looking to see if the mercenary was following him. Somehow Jerem knew that, from now on, he would be there.
18
Through an enormous effort of will, Miala stayed behind in the house, even though she longed to walk beside Eryk Thorn as he went off to meet their son. But she also knew that it was important for Jerem to meet his father without her hovering in the background, so instead she took refuge in the kitchen, where she tried to occupy herself with preparing food worthy of such a momentous occasion.
The house provided labor-saving devices that took all the drudgery out of such a task, and over the years Miala had come to enjoy the time she spent in the kitchen. Back on Iradia she had cooked for her father because they couldn’t afford to do otherwise, but once she realized she could expend her efforts on combining ingredients with care and imagination, preparing meals became an outlet for her creativity instead of a daily chore to be dreaded.
So she took stock of the components available in the refrigeration unit, steaks and the lovely delicate shellfish that were caught locally, and set to work, trying to keep her mind away from what Jerem and Thorn might be saying to one another. Miala was very proud of her son, recognizing in him much of the resourcefulness and careful wit she had seen in his father. But even in one who had a maturity beyond his years—the occasional prank notwithstanding—such news could very well be world-shattering.
Troubled, she was just reaching into the cupboards for her large tempered-glass salad bowl when the wall-mounted comm beeped. With a sigh, Miala turned and hit the switch. Risa’s familiar face immediately appeared on the flat video monitor.
Risa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Back already?”
“It’s a long story.” And I hope you never ask me for all the details, either, Miala thought, but she merely looked back at Risa and waited.
“Well, okay—you just surprised me. I thought I was going to get Jerem. And I’m sorry—I just completely forgot it was a short day at school, or I would have been there already. Then that damn decorator dropped in the office out of the blue with those new blinds you ordered—”
Miala held up a hand, stopping Risa’s headlong rush of words. If nothing else, the explanations and excuses brought her back to the normal round of her life. Even a few days away from Nova Angeles had made Miala forget that here she had so many little commonplaces to attend to—school schedules, meal planning, even that annoying decorator, the one who felt that keeping appointments was beneath him because he was so in demand. She wondered suddenly what in the world Risa would think of Eryk Thorn.
“It’s all right, Risa,” Miala said. “I’m home now, and Jerem hadn’t managed to get into any trouble, so it’s no problem you not being here.”
Risa bit her lip. “Well, about that whole ‘not getting into trouble’ thing—”
I should have known. But she said only, “What now?”
“I guess Jerem and his friends thought it would be funny to reprogram the holo-sign at the school—” And Risa launched into an entire recounting of Jerem’s latest exploit, along with the dressing-down he’d gotten from Dr. Chand.
Throughout the story Miala could only feel a sort of tired thankfulness that it hadn’t been anything worse. For a moment she had the thought that perhaps she should just let this one slide, in light of Eryk Thorn’s reappearance, but then she decided Jerem shouldn’t get away with the prank without facing some sort of consequences. Besides, it would probably do Thorn good to know exactly what he was getting into with his son.
After Risa had wound down, Miala said, “I’m sorry you had to deal with that while I was gone. I’ll definitely have a talk with Jerem.”
“No problem,”
Risa replied, and then she gave Miala a closer look. “Are you all right? You seem a little...distracted.”
Considering everything that’s going on right now, I think “a little distracted” is doing pretty well. She merely lifted her shoulders and said, “Probably just a little space-lagged. Nothing that a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.”
“Okay—see you in the office tomorrow?”
Oh, hell, she hadn’t even thought about that. Of course at some point Miala would have to get back to work—Murgan hadn’t been her only client, naturally, and while some matters had been put on hold while she was gone, they would start to clamor for her attention as soon as word got out that she was back on Nova Angeles. But she also knew there was no way she could make it back in so soon. “I think I’m going to take a long weekend, if the schedule permits.”
A long pause, during which Risa gave Miala a penetrating look. Obviously she wasn’t buying the whole “space-lagged” argument. But after a moment she shrugged and said, “Well, since we weren’t expecting you back until early next week anyway, I think I can hold it together—as long as that damn decorator stays out of my hair.”
“Tell him if he changes his mind one more time, he’s fired,” Miala suggested, and Risa grinned.
“With pleasure. I’ll keep you posted if anything else comes up.”
“Thanks for everything—I couldn’t do it without you,” Miala said, and she meant it. Without Risa watching her back, she couldn’t possibly attend to the current upheaval in her private life and hope to keep her business going.
“Just remember that the next time I ask for a raise,” returned her assistant, her blue eyes laughing. Then she switched off the comm, and the screen went black.
Smiling a little, Miala returned to her duties in the kitchen. Trust Risa to always know the right thing to say. Even the unwelcome knowledge that Jerem had managed to perpetrate yet another assault on the sensibilities of the locals couldn’t completely erase her smile. The exchange with her assistant had helped a bit to put things in perspective, and Miala made a mental note to arrange for a nice bonus for Risa on her next payday. Technically she wasn’t due for a raise for at least another six standard months, but Miala figured it was the least she could do, considering what Risa had had to put up with while watching Jerem.
She had just finished placing the steaks under the flash-broiler when the door to the kitchen banged open and Jerem bounded in, followed by Eryk Thorn, who moved at a slightly more sedate pace. Her son was all glowing dark eyes. Obviously the news that Thorn was his father had been met with enthusiasm, and she allowed herself a small inward sigh of relief.
Jerem skidded to a stop by the refrigeration unit and opened it. After he had pulled out a pouch of carbonated fruit juice and taken a long drink, he fixed Miala with a slightly accusing stare. “You should have told me my dad was this cool.”
“Would you have believed me?” she replied, thankful that her voice sounded light and casual.
Apparently thinking about it, Jerem finally gave a reluctant shrug. “Probably not.”
Thorn himself paused by the high counter that separated the kitchen from the informal dining area where Miala and Jerem usually ate. The house of course had a proper dining room, but it only saw use once or twice a year. He watched her and her son with that same careful dark gaze she remembered so well, and again she wondered what he was thinking. His next words were ordinary enough, however. “That smells good,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”
Feeling right at home already, aren’t you, Thorn? Miala thought, but she only replied, “Steaks and red-eye crab. I assume that’s all right—or did you become a vegetarian over the past few years?”
He almost smiled. “Hardly.”
And he stayed there, watching as she busied herself in the kitchen and had Jerem set the table for dinner. That was one of her son’s usual chores. Although she had a housekeeper mech to make sure the house stayed clean, Miala had never been comfortable with owning an array of domestic mechanoids the way some of their neighbors did. Possibly it was simply because she had been raised to do for herself. Jerem occasionally complained about his chores, few as they might be, but she thought it better that he learn how to do these things himself instead of simply asking a mech to take care of them for him. Somehow she believed that Thorn would have approved.
It was impossible to ignore that watchful figure across the room. Jerem continued to pepper his father with questions as the boy went about his task, but Thorn somehow managed to remain noncommittal without actually seeming rude. And Jerem apparently didn’t notice how little information the mercenary was revealing. He seemed happy enough just to be spending time in his father’s company.
Not until they were all seated, and the first platefuls of food had been served, did Miala finally turn to Jerem and say, “Risa called this afternoon.”
Her son paused mid-bite, staring back at her with wide brown eyes.
Miala tried to keep a smile from pulling at her mouth. Jerem of course knew what she was about to say—they had been through this countless times before—but his face was pleading with her not to reveal anything in front of Eryk Thorn. However, she had already decided that she would not keep this from the mercenary.
“She told me an interesting story about that prank you pulled, Jerem,” Miala went on. “You really topped yourself this time, didn’t you?”
Thorn looked from Miala to Jerem, a forkful of crab halfway to his mouth. “What prank?”
“Why don’t you tell him, Jerem?”
Her son’s eyes—Thorn’s eyes—narrowed. “It was no big deal,” Jerem muttered.
“That’s not what Risa—or Dr. Chand—thought,” said Miala, before she took a sip of her wine.
“Dr. Chand?” Thorn inquired.
“The principal at Jerem’s school.”
“Who has no sense of humor,” Jerem complained. But then he glanced over at Eryk Thorn, who kept watching his son steadily, no expression on his dark face. It was fairly obvious he wouldn’t get any support there. With a sigh, Jerem said, “We reprogrammed the holo-sign at school to say something different. No big.”
“What did you program it to say?” asked the mercenary. His tone was even, betraying no curiosity.
Jerem dug his fork into a piece of steak and smeared the morsel around on his plate, staring down as if the pattern of juices it left behind fascinated him. “Well...”
Thorn said nothing, apparently content to wait however long it took for Jerem to reply.
With a sigh, the boy muttered, “It said, ‘Free Nova Angeles.’”
Miala thought she saw the faintest quiver of the muscle in Thorn’s cheek, as if he had just repressed the urge to smile. But she doubted that Jerem would have noticed the twitch—she’d been looking for it, whereas her son had immediately cast his eyes back down toward his plate after he’d made his confession.
A short pause. Then Thorn asked simply, “Why?”
“‘Why’ what?” Jerem said.
“What was the point?”
The boy scowled and then met Thorn’s bland stare. “We just thought it would be funny,” he said, his voice taking on the sulky tone Miala recognized from countless other confrontations.
“Ah.” The mercenary lifted his own neglected glass of wine and took a sip, then set it back down. Then he said, “Your ancestors weren’t the original settlers here.”
“Well, duh.”
“Jerem,” said Miala, her tone a warning, and the boy seemed to deflate a little.
“They teach you about the Angel’s Flight expedition in school?” Thorn asked.
“Yeah,” Jerem said, his tone wary, as if he suspected a trap but wasn’t sure from which direction it would be sprung.
Eryk Thorn speared a piece of steak on the point of his knife. “So did they teach you about how the original colony here was set up to be independent of the Consortium, only to have Gaia decide Nova Angeles was too rich a prize to let go that easily?
They teach you about the property seizures and the internments?”
Jerem bit his lip. Suddenly he looked even younger than his eight standard years. “Ye—es,” he faltered.
The mercenary lifted the piece of steak to his mouth and chewed it deliberately before continuing. “So why would you think it was funny?”
Miala couldn’t help but feel for her son as he sat there, staring back at Eryk Thorn and looking suddenly stricken. It was quite obvious that Jerem hadn’t even paused to consider all the ramifications of his prank.
To his credit, though, he lifted his chin a little and met his father’s watchful gaze. “I don’t know,” Jerem said finally.
For a second father and son faced off, identical eyes staring back at one another in a face different only in the years it had lived. Then Miala saw just the slightest softening in Thorn’s features, even as he said, “Well, you’ll learn,” and stabbed at another piece of steak.
Jerem seemed to sag in his chair; it was no easy thing to be faced down by Eryk Thorn, even if he did happen to be your father. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, in a very small voice.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Eryk Thorn replied, and Jerem squirmed slightly in his seat. “Maybe the people whose ancestors were disenfranchised or downright murdered, or to your mother—or maybe this Risa, since she had to clean up your messes while Miala was off-planet.”
“Sorry,” Jerem said, and even though he uttered the word in barely above a whisper, he did sound as if he meant it.
“Accepted.” Miala spoke immediately before Thorn could say anything else. Jerem might be occasionally thoughtless, but he wasn’t cruel—she could tell that Eryk Thorn’s words had had an impact.
The years had taught her not to dwell on Jerem’s mistakes—once he realized what he had done wrong, he never repeated the offense. True, he usually came up with new and inventive ways to get into trouble, but as aggravated as she got at times, Miala always recognized his mishaps as being born from a soul that simply needed to test its limits. There had never been anything malicious in his actions.