Heris Serrano

by Elizabeth Moon

  "To aunts," Heris said, raising her glass. "Including mine."

  Hubert de Vries Michaelson reappeared, this time in a formal black dinner jacket, with one arm in a black silk sling, just as the waiter brought their desserts. Graciously, they invited him to join them, and he eased himself into a chair, careful of his arm.

  As Heris expected, he was glad to explain his role. He had tried to warn management of the danger of manufacturing Rejuvenant drugs with Finnvardian workers, he said—and he had argued against the cost-cutting synthesis that sometimes degraded the product—but he'd been forcibly retired, with not enough money in his account to go offplanet. So he had worked alone, gathering evidence as he could.

  "It's a wonder they didn't just kill you," Heris said. She thought the black silk sling was a bit overdone. He couldn't be badly hurt—if he was hurt at all—and he didn't need that kind of fancy dress anymore.

  "They would have," Hubert admitted, "if I hadn't made such a ridiculous figure. That's why I dressed so formally all the time." His shoulders shifted, emphasizing the well-cut dinner jacket. Heris had to admit it suited him. He twinkled at them, and went on. "They couldn't believe anyone with creases and rosebuds and spats and so on would be a menace. They let me alone, mostly, though I couldn't get access to open communication." His smile widened to a cheerful grin. "I was very glad to see you ladies . . . I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I was afraid my evidence would be lost when I died."

  "And of course they wouldn't let you have rejuvenation." Venezia looked angry, her plump cheeks flushed again.

  He shook his head. "Of course not. Although with what I knew about the production shortcuts here, I'm not sure I'd have wanted it. Now the field generator—I just wish I'd been faster. The Chief Engineer didn't want to believe me, and I couldn't get him to go look—"

  "But the field didn't collapse." Heris was not sure how far to pursue this. She still did not know—and wanted to know—if the charge had been improperly calculated, or if Michaelson really had saved them all. Did he even know?

  "No." Hubert paused to sip from his glass. "We were lucky, I suspect. Anyway, after the Chief Engineer threw me out of his office, I hung around the control room—I know a lot of the workers there—and was ready to throw the switch diverting all power to the field generator when the explosion came."

  "And your arm?" Heris asked. Someone had to.

  "I tripped," Hubert said cheerfully. "I'm not as spry as I was, you know. Someone tried to pull me away from the controls; I fell over a chair, couldn't catch myself—and there it was. A simple fracture. A couple of hours in the regen tank, and all that's left is the soreness. They wanted to keep me overnight in the clinic, but I wanted to find you ladies—" Again that roguish twinkle.

  "That's very gallant of you." Cecelia, Heris noticed, had a speculative look in her eyes. So did Marta and Venezia. They needed no help, she realized, in seeing Hubert for what he was: a minor player who wished very much to have a starring role on the strength of one decisive action.

  "I was hoping we could celebrate together," he said, giving each of them a bright-blue-eyed smile.

  "I think the company owes you a rejuvenation, Mr. Michaelson," Venezia said earnestly. "And I will have someone review your retirement folder; a senior scientist should certainly have had enough in his account to travel offplanet. Of course we are all grateful that you were able to do something about the field generator and prevent worse trouble. Unfortunately, while we certainly have cause for celebration, and I personally appreciate your help, we've all been traveling a long time, and would really rather go to bed."

  "Oh." To his credit, his cheerful face did not lose its bright expression. "Well, in that case, I thank you for your interest, madam, and hope you have a very restful night." He bowed slightly and walked off, jaunty as ever. Heris found herself unexpectedly sympathetic, now that she was sure her gaggle of aunts was safe. He had been helpful, courteous, brave . . . she hoped he would find someone to celebrate with. With that twinkle, he probably would.

  Morning brought more changes. A message had arrived from the police station that all charges against the young people had been dropped. Heris noticed pale bare patches on the wall where the ugliest pottery decorations had hung, and passed one hotel employee hastily tacking up a framed picture of flowers over another. The young people, with the resilience of youth, were attacking a huge breakfast in the hotel dining room when Heris got there; they waved her over.

  "Wait till you hear," George said. "Ronnie and Raffa are going to elope."

  "Not exactly elope," Raffa said. "But we are going to marry." Ronnie swallowed an entire muffin in one mouthful, and grinned at Heris.

  "Aunt Cecelia has decided to drop her suit against my parents." He reached for another muffin. "She says if you are going back in Fleet, and can put up with your aunt the admiral, she can put up with Mother."

  "And we're leaving this godforsaken hole," George said. He alone looked gloomy. "I suppose I have to go home—"

  Cecelia chose that moment to arrive at the table. "We're all going home," she said. "Heris, we have to straighten out the yacht's title—"

  "It's yours," Heris said. "It always was, and it still is—"

  "Because I'm thinking of selling it." That stopped conversation for a moment as everyone stared at her.

  Heris finally said, "Sell it? Why?"

  "Because I don't really like living on it. Yes, it's nice to be able to travel when and where I want, but most of the time I want to be on a planet. With horses." She stared at the wall a moment, and turned to Heris. "And to tell you the truth, Heris Serrano, I don't want to travel on that yacht with any other captain but you—and I don't want you anyplace but where you belong. In Fleet." Heris could think of nothing to say. The moment lengthened uncomfortably, until George knocked over the sugar.

  They were days from Patchcock, well on their way to Rockhouse Major, when Heris thought of an adequate answer. She looked across Cecelia's study and saw her employer frowning over a hardcopy of equine genetics studies.

  "There's another way to travel freely, you know," she said.

  "Hmm? Oh—don't worry about it."

  "Seriously. You could use a smaller, faster hull than this. It wouldn't be as luxurious, but it would be too small to allow for many—even any—guests."

  "I couldn't get stuck with Ronnie," Cecelia said, the beginnings of a grin quirking her mouth. "Although I have to admit that had good consequences as well as bad . . . and I realize I made some of Venezia's mistakes, letting myself be alienated from my family." So it was more than dropping the lawsuit. Cecelia was going home with more than her body healed, this time.

  "Yes, but rescuing one nephew is enough," Heris said. She ticked off the other advantages on her fingers. "Faster—less time in transit—so you wouldn't miss the amenities. If you learned to pilot it yourself—"

  "What!" Shock in the tone, but Cecelia's eyes sparkled.

  "Would you rather ride or be driven?" Heris asked. "You're more than bright; you've gained enough time in your rejuvenation—as we now understand it—that the time taken to qualify for a civilian license would hardly dent what's left. I think you'd enjoy it; your psychological profile certainly fits." She watched as Cecelia's face ran its gamut from surprise to anticipation. "Your own ship under your own control—of course you'd need crew, a few, because it's not safe to solo at the distances you travel. But a small crew, and you yourself in charge—" That would be the real lure; Cecelia's lack of political ambition sprang from no contempt for power itself.

  "How long would it take?" Cecelia asked. Ah. She would talk herself into it. Heris relaxed.

  "Depends if you go full-time or part," Heris said. "Brun has all the current standards—she's planning to qualify too. As you Rejuvenants are discovering, there are no limits to learning new skills."

  Cecelia had a faint flush on her cheeks, more excitement than anything else, Heris thought.

  "I can't seem to get used to i
t—the idea that we could keep living for centuries . . . forever—"

  "Maybe you can't. Maybe there are limits. But you will certainly have time to learn to pilot your own craft, if you want."

  "I'd like that," Cecelia said. "I really would. And you?"

  "Me? I go back in Fleet, of course—and, while you've been very courteous in not asking, that includes my former crew. Petris as well. We have . . . an understanding."

  "Good," Cecelia said. "I'd hate to have you lose what you gained, there. And your family?"

  That brought a knot to her stomach. "My family . . . well. My aunt the admiral said we'd talk. I'll do what I have to."

  "It will be better than that," Cecelia said. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but Heris was in no mood to listen to auntly platitudes from someone who had taken her own family to court. Perhaps Cecelia recognized that; instead of going on, she asked about Sirkin's plans.

  "There's someone you should talk to," Lord Thornbuckle said. He opened the door, and Heris managed by the slightest margin to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. She had not expected to meet her aunt here. Lord Thornbuckle nodded at Admiral Serrano, and went out, closing the door behind him.

  "Good to see you again, Heris."

  "Sir." Formality always worked; Heris fled into it as into a thicket.

  "We're off duty, both of us. You can call me Aunt Vida, or Aunt Admiral . . . but not sir."

  "Yes, sir—Aunt. Vida."

  "Better." Vida took one of the big leather chairs and leaned back comfortably. "You did a remarkable job in Xavier, as you well know."

  "Thank you." Heris eyed her aunt, wondering what was coming.

  "And on Patchcock."

  "That wasn't really my doing, sir—Aunt. Lady Cecelia and the others—"

  "Nonetheless. I'm very pleased with your performance. You have more than justified my confidence."

  "Thank you." Heris decided there was no use not asking the question that had burned in her mind for all the time since Xavier. "You did put that keyhole into the database—"

  "Of course." Vida grinned. "If you were smart enough to figure it out, you were smart enough to need it."

  That didn't compute, in Heris's mind, but she had no time to think it over.

  "I want to talk to you about the family." Vida wasn't smiling now. Heris shifted uneasily in her chair. The old anger and confusion rose like a foul tide.

  "I don't," she said shortly. "If they wanted to contact me, they could have easily enough. They haven't."

  Vida shook her head. "Heris, your parents made a mistake. They didn't come to your assistance instantly. I do not know their reasons; I have not asked. The only person who really needs to know is you."

  "I don't—"

  "Perhaps not. If you can accept that they made the wrong decision, without rancor, then you don't need to know. But if not you, then no one. You are still angry; you are still hurt. You should ask them."

  "It doesn't matter," Heris said. She had no intention of asking them. She didn't care what their reasons had been. The lump in her throat grew to choking size. She tried not to look at Vida's face, or anything else.

  Her aunt sighed. "If you're going to be terminally angry with anyone, be angry with me."

  "Why? You're the only one who ever contacted me, who ever bothered—"

  "On my orders." A flat statement, no possibility of error. Heris stared at her, seeing nothing in that face she could understand.

  "What?"

  "On my orders, once you had resigned." Vida paused, and gave Heris another long stare from those remarkable eyes. "You know, that surprised us all. Your resignation, coming so fast."

  "Surely Admiral Sorkangh told you—"

  "Afterwards, yes. Not at the time of the Board. I would not have expected that—I would have expected you to fight back—"

  Rage exploded in her head like ships in combat, vast flowering shapes of colored light. "By myself? With no one from the family coming to my aid? With Sorkangh against me? You weren't there—no one was there for me—" The fury came out of her mouth, the debris of her hopes, her career. When she ran down, shaking with rage and sorrow, her aunt sat as quietly as before.

  "Heris, you're still suffering, but you aren't yet seeing clearly . . . you did not ask any of us. Most of us didn't know until afterwards—I didn't—and you did not ask anyone directly for help. Did you?"

  She had not. She had not thought she had to. She had expected them to come to her side without being asked.

  "No . . . I didn't." Had that been wrong? She had never wanted to depend on the family connection, overuse it.

  "No. And of course we taught you that, early on. That was our fault, perhaps. We wanted all you youngsters to be competent in your own right, not to lean on the family name. All: not just you, Heris."

  "But—"

  "But you still think someone should have come. I think so, myself. Your parents could have reacted faster. As I said, I don't know why they didn't."

  "If I had asked, would they have come?" Heris asked.

  "I don't know that, either. Until this mess, I had no reason to suspect them of being any less committed to you than you to them. Had you?"

  "No . . . we hadn't seen much of each other for some years, what with assignments, but I thought everything was fine." Heris struggled for calm, getting her voice back under control.

  "You're aware that Lord Thornbuckle has some antagonism to our family?"

  "Yes—he mentioned it on Sirialis, and I never did find out more."

  "Did you ask?" This was becoming monotonous.

  "No," Heris said.

  "Ah. You know, Heris, someone who wants senior command should cultivate a lively curiosity. Technical competence, even tactical competence, isn't enough. Strategy depends on intelligence, and that depends on asking the right questions."

  Heris grimaced. "I felt—uneasy. I didn't want to seem—" Her voice trailed away; she couldn't define now how she'd felt that far back.

  "Disloyal?" Her aunt did not smile. "You were angry, bitter, hurt, and yet you didn't want an outsider to think you were disloyal to the family?"

  "I suppose."

  "You always were an idealist . . . it's one of the things I liked about you. Well, it's time you knew where all that came from." Vida took a long swallow from the drink at her side. "This gets complicated. Every family has its black sheep, or at least its less competent members. Serranos are no exception. One entire branch left the military—flunked out of the Academy, one after another—and went into business. I suppose the best way to put it is that they conducted their business affairs with the same flair as the rest of us conduct wars."

  "I never knew that."

  "No—like most families, we don't advertise our black sheep. Sometimes we can't even agree on who they are. But I suspect it's this branch which taught Lord Thornbuckle to distrust the name. At any rate, back to your parents—"

  "It's still not right."

  Now the famous tilt of the head. "Are you telling me you never made mistakes?"

  "No—of course I did, but—"

  "No personal mistakes, nothing that would look bad if everyone knew—" Sarcasm, when she least deserved it.

  Heris glared at her aunt, hoping to shock her. "I have a lover—he was enlisted, one of my crew that was hunted by Lepescu—and when we found each other again, we—"

  "Good for you," Vida said. "The burden of perfection ruins more people than you'd think. He's with the yacht?"

  "Yes. Of course we haven't—"

  "Of course." Vida grimaced. "Heris, I'd hoped you'd learned how to be human—how to forgive yourself for being human. Do you love him?"

  "Yes . . . I do . . . but not . . ." It was going to sound crass, but she found herself unwilling to lie to this aunt, so much like Cecelia in some ways, so much like herself in others. "But not more than Fleet," she finished.

  "Ah. Yes. A Serrano problem, not unique to you. When you talk to your parents again, perhaps you'll no
tice how little time they've had together in the past fifty years. One solution, it seems to me, is to encourage your friend to take a commission."

  "A commission?" She had said that to Petris, but she hadn't thought it would really be possible.

  "Yes, you idiot. Did it not occur to you that there's a lot of good cess to spread around after your defense of Xavier? Commissioning a civilian—even a civilian who used to be enlisted—will cause no difficulty." Vida grinned. "And I for one want to meet this paragon who overcame your resistance."