by F. M. Busby
“Without asking you won’t find out, will you?” His mouth twitched upward; she could not withhold an answering grin.
“Very well, Hawkman — Sparline tells me first names are in order between us — I will ask. First, why does Sparline bear your name and not Liesel’s? And did Tregare?”
Sitting tall before her, he shrugged. “These customs vary. You carry your mother’s name, do you?”
“And my brother, my father’s. Your customs were different?”
“A moment.” From the basket he was filling two plates; he set one before her. “Let’s eat while we talk. More wine?” He poured it. “In the ordinary case, our daughter would be a Hulzein.”
“And your son?”
“Liesel told me of you and Tregare. He inherits my own early lack of self-discipline — perhaps I owe you an apology on his behalf.”
She laughed. “Apologies are useless waste; the thing is over. But tell me of his naming.”
“Our family also names sons for their fathers. He was Bran Tregare Moray until we had to hide him — then merely Bran Tregare.”
“I knew him as Tregare, only. How — how old is he?”
“Biologically? I can’t know — I don’t know how much he’s traveled. Chronologically, perhaps fifty-seven.”
“Then he has traveled greatly. But what of Sparline’s name?”
He was chewing; after he swallowed he said, “Hulzein heirs outside the main Establishment were prime targets. We felt she was safer under the inconspicuous name of Moray. We never changed it.”
“I see. Hawkman — I do not know what this green paste is but I want more of it, if any is left, to put on my bread.”
“Of course. A moment — I’ll spread some for you.”
“Thank you. Hawkman, how old are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That puzzles you? All right — I’m biologically forty-four, sixteen years younger than Liesel. Don’t bother to count back — I fathered Tregare at fifteen. Liesel chose for genetic reasons, without regard to age. Later she decided I was worth keeping.” The tall man looked almost apologetic; then he smiled. “Even among Hulzeins I think I’ve earned my keep.”
“I am sure you have.”
Now both brows rose. “Flattery? Or innuendo?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Simply the fact that you are here.”
The brows returned to normal. “Pardon me; I do persist in underestimating you.”
“It is all right. Better that than to expect too much.”
“Well. And what else would you like to know?”
She thought. “A personal problem. The man dal Nardo — in his job, he must have a superior. Do you know who it is?”
“If you’re thinking of having him told to leave you alone, it won’t work.”
“Of course not. I merely wish to know whether killing him would arouse his department against me also.”
“I wouldn’t think so. His family’s, more likely — but without Stagon I doubt they’d meddle with any Hulzein connection. He’s the only bold dal Nardo left; the rest are a ragtag lot.
“Stagon’s boss, though — that’s Arni Gustafson. I know her mostly by reputation — stubborn but fair-minded. Well, it could do no harm to talk with her.”
“Good — I will, then. Now — when I challenge, what weapon is dal Nardo likely to choose? I may as well be practicing.”
“But it’s your choice, Rissa!”
“How can it be, when I am the one making the challenge?”
“On Number One the less formidable antagonist, as judged by their seconds and the officials, has the choice. If the two appear evenly matched, the referee flips a coin to decide.”
“Then I will need no specialized practice.”
“So? What weapons will you choose?”
“None — except for my body, mind, and training.”
“That’s insane! Use a gun — anything to keep out of his reach.”
“If I am within his reach, he is also within mine. And I think I am faster.”
“No, Rissa — he’ll kill you.”
“Five million Weltmarks say he will not.”
“But that’s — “ He laughed. “I see. If you lose — ”
“I have no one to leave it to; it would escheat to your government. I would prefer that you had some of it instead.”
“And if you win it’s a nice profit. Well — I could free that sum easily enough. But I won’t do it — I don’t want to have a stake riding on your death.”
For a moment, tears welled; she blinked them back. “In that case, I may make a will and bequeath you the amount. But if I do so, I shall not tell you.”
The cloud mass moved on, ceasing to block the sun’s heat. Rissa and Hawkman talked of other things — the climate and geography of Number One — its fauna and flora. Rissa asked of local customs; few were greatly different from those of Earth or Far Corner. A memory came. “Hawkman, do you have here a nudity taboo?”
“Not except in the towns, in public. Why?”
“The girl who came to wake me. When I rose from bed bare, she left the room immediately.”
“Oh, that — it’s not a taboo, it’s status. Yours is the higher; it was improper for her to stay, clothed, when you weren’t. She could leave or strip. You were both going downstairs in a few minutes, so she saved herself a little effort — that’s all.”
“Good. Because the sun is hot, and I have not felt sunlight on all my skin since I left Earth. Or — is it improper for me to be undressed in your presence?”
“No — or vice versa. But — is this leading up to anything?” She stiffened; in a moment he gestured as if to erase his words.
She said, slowly, “Hawkman, although I am new here, I realize it could be discourteous to my hostess to try to seduce my host.”
“Rissa, I didn’t mean — ”
“But of course you did, and the assumption was quite natural. You do not know me yet.”
“You mean there’s something in particular, that I don’t know?”
“No vows of celibacy or sexual sisterhood — nothing of that sort. Merely that you do not know my ways or customs, and that with many the invitation to nudity in private does imply sex. But from me it does not.”
Now she laughed. “But do not be crestfallen. I mean no slur on your attractiveness or on my feelings toward you — which are quite . . . warm.”
“You embarrass me,” he said, not looking at all embarrassed. “Well, then — let’s get some sun on us, shall we?”
They lay until the sun left the clearing, then repacked the basket and began the downward walk. Where the path was wide enough they walked side by side, hand in hand, swinging the joined arms. At the turn that brought the lodge to sight, they dressed themselves.
“That was pleasant, Hawkman.”
“Yes. The family sunbathes occasionally, out of sight of the Lodge, so as not to inconvenience the help. You must join us.”
“Thank you.” They resumed their walk. He did not take her hand so she took his, firmly. He looked at her but said nothing.
“Hawkman? The duel — could I specify that we fight unclothed?”
“Hmm — I suppose so. What advantage would that give you?”
“Not what you are probably thinking. I would not rely on pain to stop dal Nardo — even made a eunuch, he could still go on and kill me. But the risk would make him cautious.”
He nodded. “True enough — but you’ll need a fighting-hood. If he gets you by the hair, one snap and you’re dead. Or will you cut it short?”
“No. I will grease it. If he grasps it, he will make his hands slippery and his grip unsure.”
“Have you dueled in this fashion before?”
“No. I thought of the idea while the sun warmed me in the clearing.”
He laughed. “You know? I’ve half a mind to get that five million together after all — and find someone who’s fool enough to bet on dal Nardo!”
But she knew that what he sai
d was at least part hyperbole.
Inside the Lodge, they parted. Back in her room Rissa mentally reviewed the combat techniques best suited for dealing with vastly larger opponents; shadow-fighting, she practiced those the limited space would allow. She finished with a few calisthenics, then bathed and dressed.
At dinner, Liesel was absent; neither Hawkman nor Sparline offered any explanation. During the meal they spoke little; over coffee, Sparline reported that Tregare had refused to see or speak with her.
“Through his spokesman he sent regards to the family, nothing more. Oh — Rissa, I almost forgot — he sent you this note.”
Explaining to Hawkman what her message had been, she opened the note and read it aloud. “And the same to you, shipmate.”
“Uncommunicative as usual,” Hawkman said. “Well, he gets his stubbornness from both sides.” His sigh was half a groan. “If only there’d been a way on Earth to get him free and bring him with us. But any attempt would have been his death.”
Sparline reached for his hand. “I know that, Hawkman; I knew it then, young as I was. And so does Bran Tregare, by now. It’s only that he was embittered for so long — he’s struck this pose and held it until it’s part of him. Someday, when it wears off — and meanwhile, stop torturing yourself.”
“I know. It’s only that he’s here, and won’t see us.”
“I — “ but Rissa thought better of what she would have said — that Tregare might see her, and she could plead his family’s cause. For she had no right to offer such presumptuous hope.
Hawkman turned to her. “Yes, Rissa?”
“No — it is inconsiderate to intrude my concerns at this time.”
“Go ahead,” said Sparline. “We could use a new topic.”
“The matter of dal Nardo preoccupies me, I am sorry to admit. I think I have made plans as best I can. I started to ask — how soon can I go to the town and begin to implement them?”
Sparline answered. “That’s Liesel’s decision. I’m sure she’ll give you permission when she returns.”
“When will that be?”
“We’re not sure. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a week. Not long.”
Rissa paused. “I do not wish to be ungracious, but why do I need permission? My life — not hers — is at stake.”
Sparline looked to Hawkman. He said, “You’re here under Liesel’s protection. You can leave without her sanction, of course — but if you do, you forfeit that protection and further contact with all of us.” He made a deprecating gesture. “To you, that may seem foolish — but it is our way. So you must choose.”
“Since it is a serious choice, may I think on it for a time?”
“Of course. And I hope you won’t be impetuous. I wouldn’t like you to be excommunicated from us.”
“Nor I, “said Sparline.
Rissa said, “I certainly would not! Very well; I will try to keep patience.” But not so long that Tregare leaves before I can try to see him . . .
Sparline brought out drugsticks, but Rissa said, “Not for me, until after the duel. They calm me too much.” Sparline looked at Hawkman; he said nothing. She shrugged and put the sticks away.
Servants cleared the table. Hawkman poured liqueurs and said, “Some gaming to relax? Rissa, do you know the game called poker?”
“After a year at Erika’s? Of course.”
He laughed, opened a thin drawer and brought out cards and chips. “You’ll be rusty, I expect, so we’ll play for low stakes.”
Low, perhaps, thought Rissa, for Hulzein/Morays — most circles would have considered them astronomical. At one point she was down nearly 200,000 Weltmarks, but finished 100,000 ahead. At the end Hawkman told her, “With a little more practice you’ll manage well enough.”
“I hope so.” She yawned. “I have enjoyed this. But if I do not go upstairs soon I shall have to sleep on the table.”
The others agreed; companionably they walked up the stairs, then went to their separate rooms. Rissa spent little time preparing for bed, and even less lying awake before sleep.
For Rissa the next days were near to vacuum. Liesel did not return. She saw little of Hawkman or Sparline; young servitors — Castel, Ernol, and others — escorted her as she explored the terrain around the Lodge. She exercised, practiced shadow-fighting and refined her combat plan, ate, read and slept. And one morning she knew she had to decide — the next day, by report, Tregare was leaving.
First things first — she washed and dressed. She sorted her belongings into two groups: the essentials went into her two smaller pieces of luggage; she did not pack the rest.
Slowly and carefully she wrote a brief letter, pausing often to consider the exact meaning of her words. Then she reread it:
Liesel:
I regret leaving without your permission, but I must. I will tell you why; perhaps you can make an exception and forgive me.
Tregare leaves tomorrow; I must see him first — not for myself but because he is too stubborn to meet with any of you. If he will see me I can tell him what he refuses to hear from you. Then perhaps he will agree to see you, also.
It may not be my place to interfere, but I intend to try. Out of gratitude to you — and to Erika, who has been your enemy but never mine. My love to you, and to Hawkman and Sparline. If I survive dal Nardo I hope you will receive me again.
Rissa Kerguelen
She hesitated, then nodded emphatically and sealed the note. Carefully she donned the identity — eyes, nose, fingertips, teeth, the hair in loose, dyed curls — of Tari Obrigo. Leaving the room, she met the girl who had come to wake her.
At breakfast she found Hawkman and Sparline. “Liesel has not returned?”
Sparline shook her head. Hawkman said, “I’m afraid not. Uh — what’s your name in the guise you’re wearing? And if I may ask, why are you using it?”
“Tari Obrigo. This is how dal Nardo knows me.”
“So — you’re leaving, after all?”
“Yes, Hawkman.” She placed her sealed note on the table. “When Liesel comes back, please give her this. And urge her to read it.”
“You’ve written down your excuses, have you?”
“Reasons, Hawkman. Do you recognize no difference?”
“Sometimes. Ah — our meal arrives. Food first, talk later.”
“If at all!” Rissa snapped the words out, then regretted them.
Dining was largely silent. Over coffee Rissa said, “May I have the use of an aircar and driver to take me to the city?”
Sparline answered. “Of course, if you’re determined to go.”
“I am.”
“No hesitation?” said Hawkman.
“None.”
“Have you thought what this decision means?” said Sparline.
“Of course I have.”
“You’ve waited five days. In two more, Liesel will be back.”
“That would be too late.”
“For a matter of two days,” Hawkman said, “you throw away your connection here and go out to grub it on your own?”
Rissa felt baited. “If — “ She caught herself. “Yes.”
“Then it’s a good thing,” said Hawkman, “that Liesel called last night — and granted the permission you would have flouted.”
Shaking with rage, she stood. “Why did you not tell me?”
“It’s well to test a blade,” said Sparline, “before trusting it fully.”
Suppressing her anger, Rissa sat again. “You are right, of course.” Hawkman would have spoken; she waved him to silence. “Now I realize my mistake.”
“And what is that?” he said.
“I hoped to spare your damned Hulzein pride. Well, the hell with it — read that note!”
When they had done so, Sparline looked at her and said, “Hawkman kept saying we were underestimating you. He was right.”
As much as Rissa wanted to accept the quasi-apology, she could not. “Be that as it may — trust works both ways or neither. Mine is yours for the a
sking, if you be truthful with me and dispense with games and tests. My distrust, also, is easy enough to manage. Is that last statement clear?”
Hawkman’s smile was tentative. “Like crystal. And for my part, I accept your terms. No more games.” And Sparline nodded.
Suddenly, her spirits rising, Rissa wanted to seal friendship. “Hawkman — Sparline — perhaps I overreacted. My own tensions are no excuse. Now — you have my loyalty. Do I have yours?”
“On a personal basis, yes,” said Hawkman. “You realize, only Liesel speaks for Hulzein Lodge.”
But each reached to clasp one of Rissa’s hands.
She brought the two suitcases; even though not estranged from the Lodge she expected to stay in the town — city? — for a time. Hawkman met her outside, at the aircar.
“Where is the pilot?”
“I’m right here,” he said.
“You?”
“To emphasize that you’re truly a Hulzein connection. In this way, dal Nardo will see he can’t make do with a hired duelist. And such scum won’t bother you in my presence.”
He took the aircar up at a steep slant, to a calm level of air. She said, “Are you here as male protecting female? I cannot accept that.”
He laughed. “Not at all. In fact, Sparline would have brought you, but Liesel’s call last night gave her tasks that keep her busy today.” Rissa looked at him. Well, if she were to trust him in large matters, she could not question him in smaller ones.
He steered between banks of cloud as though drawn to sunlight. Watching the looming hills and the streams that meandered between them, her thought was that Number One was indeed a world of beauty. Time passed more quickly than she realized; soon, ahead, she saw the spaceport — and beyond it, the settlement.
“Do you recognize Inconnu, Hawkman? From outside, I cannot tell the two ships apart. The other was not here when we landed.”
“I recognize it. Notice the turret guns, the projectors, topside? Now, that’s strange — see the clear space around it? I expected he’d still be loading cargo.” On his control panel he turned switches. “I don’t like this — I’m tuning in on the ship-groundside bands.”