Young Rissa

by F. M. Busby

  Rissa’s eyes narrowed. “Yes — at the last, he mentioned dueling.” She smiled. “But why should I wait for him to try to hire me dead? Do you think — is he person enough to face me himself, or would he apologize to satisfy the customs and skulk behind paid killers?”

  Liesel shook her head. “Dal Nardo never apologizes.”

  “Then would it disturb you if he dies?”

  “You’re crazy, girl! He’s expert with blade and gun — and without them he’d break your neck between two fingers.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I think not. Why not give me the chance?”

  “Because — all right, Erika taught you and she’s one of the best — I wouldn’t want to fight you and believe me, I’m very good, for my age. But — you’re so goddamned young. Why not wait — and hope to avoid trouble?”

  “Liesel — you have no real faith in that possibility?”

  For a moment the woman put her hands to her face. “No. No, I haven’t.” She reached for the wine bottle and poured them each a glass. “All right. When you — when we’re ready, I’ll arrange, if you still wish it, for you to challenge Stagon dal Nardo.”

  “Good.” Rissa lifted her glass. “Let us toast that meeting.”

  Each drank. A silent pause lengthened; then Liesel said, “You have to know how things work here. We can’t start to teach you any sooner.”

  “You mean, like your government? How does it work?”

  If Liesel intended a smile, she failed. “In a word, badly. Not for most of the people; it treats them well enough. But it — I suppose you’d call it a benevolent oligarchy — is hamstrung by power struggles. We waste more time fighting each other than working for the benefit of the planet — let alone the other Hidden Worlds or the Escaped Ships.”

  One word stuck in Rissa’s mind. “We, you said?”

  “Certainly; I’m one of them. Thirty-seven families own everything of importance on Number One — land, maritime rights, business interests, what-have-you. There were nearly twice as many to start with, but the infighting got rid of the rest — as competitors, and sometimes literally. The dal Nardos, for instance, got their start in the assassination business.”

  Rissa thought. “No different from Earth, then — not really.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right — we talk freedom and fight for power. I come by it honestly, by genetics and indoctrination both — I don’t know what excuses the others make to themselves.”

  “About the same, I would expect,” said Rissa. “But is there no cooperation among you?”

  “Surely — when interests coincide. I try to work that way, when I can. But then along comes — well, Fennerabilis, say, and — ”

  “Yes. I remember the name now.”

  “I’m not having the man killed, mind you — he’s doing a good job in his own sector, under tough circumstances. That’s the tricky part, actually — stopping his power grab and keeping him alive.”

  “It’s true,” said Rissa, “that some are more worthy than others, to be kept living.”

  The older woman laughed, a harsh sound. “I like the way you put that.” Then her expression sobered. “One thing I haven’t asked yet. Number One’s like a chessboard and most people are pawns, if that. I need to know your rank on the board.”

  Rissa nodded. “By wealth, you mean?”

  “Of course. While you can hold it.”

  Rissa told her — how much on Earth and how invested, how much with Osallin on Far Corner, and the sums she had brought with her. The other’s lips moved silently.

  Then Liesel said, “Twenty-seven years’ appreciation of Earth assets, fifteen at Far Corner. With what you brought — well, if you live, Rissa Kerguelen, Number One has another oligarch.”

  They finished the wine; Rissa declined another round of drugsticks. Despite her training, her feet were less than steady as they left the dining room.

  “I’ll show you upstairs,” Liesel said. “No point in rousing one of the help so late.” Companionably they walked up to Rissa’s room.

  At the door, Rissa turned and said, “They make a handsome couple, the Morays.”

  Liesel Hulzein stared at her, then laughed. “Couple? Sparline’s my daughter. And having seen Erika’s Frieda and the failures before her, I didn’t follow her example of letting the unassisted Hulzein genes go fuzzy around the edges. Hawkman Moray is Sparline’s father.”

  Before Rissa could find answer, Liesel closed the door.

  A youngish girl, perhaps fourteen, came to wake Rissa next morning. But daylight had roused her earlier — she lay, eyes open, thinking less of what she had learned than of what she had yet to learn. The girl said, “Pardon. Ms. Moray asks you to join her at breakfast.”

  “Thank you. Tell her I will be down shortly.” Throwing back the covers she swung her legs over, to stand in one fluid motion. The girl stared at her nudity, then turned and quickly left the room.

  Rissa washed, brushed her hair and dressed. A few minutes later she found the same girl outside her door, waiting to lead her downstairs. Rissa followed, to a cheerful room that faced morning sun. At a small table Sparline Moray sat alone; before her were a glass of pale liquid and a steaming cup. Her hair was down, lying in loose waves against her vermilion robe.

  She looked up. “I’m having some of our local fruit juice and Number One’s version of coffee. Would you like some, before food’s served?” She gestured toward two pitchers.

  “Yes, please.” She sat facing the other woman and filled the glass and cup at her place. “It is kind of you to invite me to join you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Sparline smiled. “More precisely, I still do.”

  “If it concerns last night,” Rissa said, “ — my rudeness — ”

  “Provoked by our own — to see how much string we could let out before you pulled it tight. No, no — nothing shaken.”

  “I am glad. Then what do you wish to talk about?”

  “Tell me of yourself.”

  As she thought, Rissa sipped — the pale juice was both sweet and tart, the coffee much like Earth’s. “What is it you would like to know?”

  “Whatever you choose to tell. Your choices will tell me a lot, also.”

  “Very well — from the beginning. If I bore you, say so — and I will shorten the story.” So — briefly, her birthplace, her parents and their deaths. A quick sketch — impersonal, as though she had been an observer — of life in Total Welfare. The lottery prize — Camilla Altworth, the year at Erika’s — Far Corner and Osallin. “. . . then he found me passage here, to Number One. The first thing I did here was to find trouble with an egomaniac named dal Nardo. The second was to come to this place.” Brows lifted, she waited.

  Sparline nodded. “A little skimpy in spots, but quick and to the point. Well, enough for now — our meal’s arriving.”

  Rissa sampled eggs, smaller than those she knew, a toasted bun and then another, and slices of grilled meats. She found she had good appetite. Neither spoke during the meal; then Sparline said, “More coffee?” Rissa nodded. “And I imagine you have some questions yourself. Ask away; if I’m not free to answer, I’ll say so.”

  “That is fair. Well — this is only personal curiosity, Ms. Moray, but — you were born on Earth?” “First names are correct between us, Rissa. To one of your status,

  I’m Sparline and my mother is Liesel.”

  Rissa laughted, not long. “I am not sure what my status is.”

  “Probational, of course, but tentatively one of us. If you don’t prove out, you’re free to make your own way — on Number One or elsewhere. In that case, I’d be Ms. Moray.”

  Rissa had no comment. Sparline said, “Now, your question — yes, I was born on Earth. Don’t imagine that Erika approved — or my grandmother Renalle — when Liesel departed from Hulzein doctrine. But after two bad tries at parthenogenesis, she consulted a geneticist. Erika and Renalle both rejected his findings, so my mother went to manage family holdings on another c
ontinent — and there she chose Hawkman Moray, my father.”

  “She fell in love with him?”

  “I don’t think so — not then. But he stood with her against Erika’s forces and helped bring her here — and now she values him above all other men.”

  Rissa thought. “And they had you. Why no others?”

  “Have some more coffee.” Sparline stared down at her cup, then said, “After me it wasn’t possible — complications. But a year before me they also had a son.”

  “And is he here also?”

  Sparline’s tone was bitter. “Do you think the Hulzeins — Renalle and Erika — would accept male inheritance even partially? Liesel and Hawkman had to hide him — hide his very existence — or he’d have been killed. But I knew him until he was thirteen. He was good to me — I wouldn’t begrudge him his half of what I have — or will have.” “But what happened? Do you know where he is?” “Sometimes — but he won’t have anything to do with us, in person. Just business sometimes, through others.” “I do not understand.”

  “It was a bad thing. To protect him, Liesel faked all his records; he was registered under his middle name, with fictitious parentage. Then when the showdown came with Erika, my parents had to move fast — they bought his way into UET’s space academy. It’s a nightmare, that place, but it was safe from Erika. Then we had to leave Earth — and there was no time or way to rescue him!”

  Rissa saw Sparline shudder. “Horrible life, that — for a young boy with no protective influence backing him. We didn’t know how bad by half until it was too late. It made him hard. His ship Escaped not long after he joined it — thank peace for that! But now he’s called pirate and outlaw and mutineer by people who don’t even know him!

  “Poor Tregare!”

  Rissa's mind began and rejected one sentence after another. Finally; “He — he did not mutiny against his own people. UET had retaken the ship. He told me.”

  Sparline’s mouth went slack, her face pale. For a moment her lips moved without sound. Then; “You were on Inconnu? It’s here? Liesel didn’t — “ Her cup struck the table; coffee slopped over. She rose, took two fast strides, then returned and sat again. “No. He’ll be here a week at least. It’s more important now — what you can tell me of him.” Her color returned. “Tell me, Rissa!”

  “I rode Inconnu here from Far Corner — I thought you knew.”

  “Did you see much of Tregare? Did you come to know him well?”

  Rissa did not allow the potential smile to move her mouth. “Over a journey of nine months, a little more? In some ways, quite well.”

  Sparline leaned forward. “What kind of man is he . . . now? Did you like him?”

  Rissa sipped coffee. “He is — hard, as you said — on the surface, at least. He is sometimes violent and ruthless — but not so much as he likes to think he is. He has little regard for the rights or feelings of anyone he does not value personally. He is very able — but capable of overlooking important factors if his attention is caught elsewhere.

  “Did I like him?” She shrugged. “At first I distrusted and almost feared him. Now I respect parts of his nature, and certainly his achievements. Between us there is both antagonism and a certain affection. Perhaps — “ She sighed. “Let us say that I will be disappointed if I do not see him ever again.”

  Sparline shook her head slowly. “You know more of him than I do — and in less than a year. I envy you.” “You need not. I shared his quarters, not by my own choice.” Now the other’s cheeks flushed; she gripped Rissa’s arm. “You say my brother raped or enslaved you?”

  Rissa spoke carefully. “No. He could not have done so — I was trained, remember, by Erika. To some extent he did coerce me. I accepted that coercion because the alternative was to kill him and fight my way off the ship. And I needed the ride.”

  “You? You couldn’t kill Tregare!”

  “I think I could have. No matter — I did not, and am glad of it.”

  Sparline scowled at her, then the scowl relaxed. “Yes — you said — a certain affection. You came to love him, didn’t you?”

  Rissa shrugged. “Not by my definition, but call it what you like. It is true that the last time we bedded, I invited him. Because it may have been our final night together, I let myself be sentimental.”

  Finally Sparline released her numbing grasp; Rissa flexed the arm. “All right — so my brother isn’t the paragon I’d like to think him. But even though he first took you against your will — ”

  “Not against my will — against my inclination. There is a difference.”

  “Don’t pick nits. With all that, I say — still you came to like him, admire him. Didn’t you?”

  Rissa nodded. “In our personal dealings, yes — as I have said. But in some other matters, no.”

  “What matters?”

  “On Inconnu, I was told by one who should know, are women who are called ‘property.’ Can you like or admire the thought of human property?” Sparline waved a hand. “A joke — it has to be. My brother wouldn’t — ” Rissa stood. “Believe what you like. I was there; you were not. And I think it time I thanked you for your hospitality and excused myself.” Sparline stood also. “You’re right.” Her smile showed effort. “Rissa — I’m not angry. I’m sure you’re telling the truth as you know it. But now I’m going to the port to try to see my brother for the first time in — it must be fifteen years, biological time. Later we can talk more.”

  “Will you give Tregare a message for me?”

  “Sure, if I reach him. What is it?”

  “That Tari Obrigo — he knows me only by that name — sends her regards. And — and holds no grudges.”

  “I’ll be happy to tell him that — if you mean it.”

  “If I did not, I would not say so. Tregare and I — I feel — are even with each other. And both gained, perhaps.”

  “All right. If I can’t see him, I’ll try to leave word.” Sparline left the room, and Rissa thought, I wonder if he will bother to send answer.

  She found the way to her room, performed necessary functions, and lay on the bed for a time, considering what she and Sparline had said, and what might come of it. Her thoughts meandered into half-formed dreams, with little content except vague emotion. She dozed; a knock awakened her. “Come in!”

  Liesel entered. “Did I wake you? Well, so be it — the sun’s high, or was, until the clouds got here.” She pulled a chair alongside the bed and sat. “Sparline seldom shouts at me. She did, though, before she made off with the only aircar that wasn’t already in use. Do you know why?”

  Rissa pushed her hair back and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I thought she knew Inconnu was here, that I had come on it. She was disturbed that you had not told her her brother is aground.”

  Liesel shook her head slowly. “You know a lot very quickly, don’t you? That could be dangerous, and not only to yourself. What else do you know that I don’t?”

  “How should — I mean, how can I know?” Rissa stood; after a moment she put a hand, gently, to the older woman’s shoulder. “I am new here — inexperienced in your ways — I have no way of knowing what secrets one Hulzein keeps from another. Nothing I said to Sparline was from malice or self-seeking.”

  Liesel covered Rissa’s hand with her own. “Yes, child — I’m sure of that. But to the point — what did you tell her of Tregare? And she to you?”

  Rissa bowed her head and raised it again. “Our exact words escape me. I will tell you what I remember, and of my association with Tregare, when I did not know he was one of you.” The telling was not long; at the end, Liesel squeezed Rissa’s hand, then released it. She stood.

  “One thing I need to know. Could you be pregnant by my son?”

  Rissa thought, one secret I keep for a time yet. And I am not lying. She laughed. “A Welfare child? You must know better.”

  “In a way I regret that; otherwise you reassure me. No damage is done if Sparline keeps her head, and she will. I app
reciate your story of the mutiny; Tregare was always too proud to excuse his actions. How did you get it out of him?”

  After thought, Rissa said, “He may have felt he owed me something.”

  “Maybe.” Liesel had slouched; now she stood erect. “Well — I thank you for telling me. Now I’ve work to do. Would you like to walk outdoors, explore our grounds?” Rissa nodded assent. “Fine; I’ll send someone to escort you. You’d better dress a little more warmly.”

  The next knock was Hawkman Moray’s. He smiled and held up a basket. “Peace offering. Would you like luncheon with me — up our valley an hour’s walk?”

  “Yes, of course. I will fetch my outergarb.”

  They left by a back door and walked up a winding path, through fragrant underbrush. Clouds purpled the sky, but the gentle climb warmed Rissa.

  He was not really seven feet tall — but nearer seven than six. How old was he biologically? She would have taken him for Sparline’s brother rather than father. She did not ask.

  The climb grew steeper, wound between heavy thickets, then leveled abruptly; they entered a flowered clearing.

  “This is the place.” He moved to one side. “The view is best here,” and he unfolded a covering to spread on the ground. In the middle he placed the basket, and sat beside it. “Are you hungry, Rissa? I am.”

  “Yes. The walk gave me appetite.” She sat also, looking past him down the valley. Against the distant hills the great Lodge was a toy.

  “Some wine first,” he said, as he unpacked the basket. “And perhaps some talk?”

  She stiffened. “Questions; right? Ask away — you can all compare notes later.”

  Hawkman Moray laughed; in the clearing the sound rang. “I’d thought to let you ask most of the questions.”

  She looked at him, at his broad smile. “I do not understand.”

  He poured red wine and handed her a glass. “There are several of us and only one of you. You have more to learn than we have.”

  He touched his glass to hers; they both sipped. “What does that mean?”