The Serrano Succession

by Elizabeth Moon

  She scrolled through the list of ships in port, hoping inspiration would strike. The only name that looked remotely familiar was Terakian. That girl, Hazel, who'd been captured with Brun, had a name something like that. Terakian? Takeris? Even if she was wrong, they might know. She could ask, anyway.

  Chapter Four

  The man who answered the call had the rakish good looks of a storycube pirate. "Terakian Fortune, Basil Terakian-Junos here."

  "I'm trying to locate the young woman named Hazel, who was rescued with Brun Meager from the NewTex Militia—I thought her last name was Terakian . . . ?"

  His expression changed slightly. "Hazel—how do you know Hazel?"

  "I'm—I was—in the task force."

  "And you are?"

  "L—" she bit off the rank she no longer held. "Esmay Suiza."

  "You're Lieutenant Suiza?" Now he looked alert, and pleased. "Sorry I didn't recognize you, Lieutenant. How can we help you?"

  Best get it out of the way. "I'm not a Fleet officer now."

  "But I thought—well, then, sera, what can we do for you?"

  "I'm trying to find transportation off this station, in the general direction of Castle Rock. I know there's a passenger ship going that way in three weeks, but I need to leave sooner, if I can."

  "I hear a story in that. You're in a secure booth, right?"

  "Yes."

  "B Concourse?"

  "Yes."

  "Why don't you come along to the dockside, sera? It sounds as if we need to talk." And he didn't trust a secure combooth, that was clear. "Concourse D, level 2, number 38. We have a dockside office there; I'll meet you."

  "I'll come now," Esmay said. She called up a station schematic on the combooth display and then the transportation layout.

  B Concourse had a transgrav tram across to D; Esmay glanced at the schedule display and hurried out of the booth. Down there—yes—she stepped into the car marked D just as the door alarm sounded. Someone who had come up rapidly behind her tried to push past the safety barrier, but a tram guard stopped him. Esmay pulled the safety bars down around her seat and settled in. D car was half full; she could see through the windows in the end of the car that C was packed.

  The tram made two more stops in B; then, after a warning whoop from the gravity alarms, slid through the G-lock barriers. Esmay's stomach insisted she was falling, but outside she could see the great bays of the heavy cargo handling section. The tram stopped, and a couple of uniformed cargo workers bounded up and into D car. At the next grav barrier, weight returned, and at the next junction, several cars turned off to other sections. D car continued through another low-grav compartment, and Esmay emerged at the second D stop.

  She was on level 2. On her right, a row of shops and services for merchant crews, from bars to message services to beds-by-the-hour, with or without partners. On her left, at intervals, were the dockside facilities for ships in station. Each had space for a temporary office, decorated in as lavish a style as the ships' owners found desirable. Boros Consortium seemed to have made their occupancy permanent in 32, 33, and 34, with a continuous office: customer, service, and crew entrances, with uniformed but unarmed Boros guards watching passersby. Number 35 was bare-bones, an obvious prefab folding "office" in the middle of the bare alloted space, and a small sign that declared it was for the Mercedes R., owner/captain Caleb Montoya. Number 36 was another independent, but one with more resources: Ganeshi Shipping Company had a status board displayed, which informed passersby that the office was now open.

  Number 37 looked to be about the same level, simple but moderately prosperous. Clan Orange had put orange stripes on the doorframe and windows of the office, and hung out a fabric banner as well as showing a status board that included the percent of the ship still available to shippers. Passengers 0, she noticed.

  Number 38 carried self-expression to an art form; Esmay didn't know whether to laugh or gasp in admiration when she came to the multicolored carpet in exuberant floral designs, the drapes hung from pipe frames, the potted palm in a vast basket. A sign declared "Terakian & Sons, Ltd., General and Express Shipping" and a very dramatic painted hand pointed to the office. Unlike the others, it was not a simple box in shape, but constructed with peaks and swooping curves, and painted in a pattern that made the carpet seem tame.

  Esmay stepped under the pointed arch of the entrance, and found herself in a surprisingly quiet space before the little office. Was it just the draped fabric, or had the Terakians installed some sound shielding? She shrugged mentally and went up to the office. The door slid aside before she touched it. Inside was what looked like a luxury sitting room: another floral design on the carpet, only slightly subdued, with large, plump leather seats grouped around it. Along one wall was a counter, and behind it a bright-eyed young man.

  "Sera Suiza?" he said. Esmay nodded. "I'll just tell Basil—" the young man said, and murmured into a throatmic.

  At once a door opened, and two men came through. One she had seen on the screen in the combooth—he was as dramatic in person as on vid. The other was older, far less vivid to look at, but clearly in authority.

  "I'm Goonar Terakian," the older man said, extending his hand. Esmay shook it. "Captain of Terakian Fortune, and junior partner in Terakian and Sons, Ltd. Basil here is my cousin, second in command on my ship, and the cargomaster. You're Esmay Suiza, formerly of Fleet, is that right?"

  "Yes. Until this morning—" A lump rose in her throat. She hadn't let herself feel the loss yet, and she wasn't going to now. She swallowed hard.

  "Sera, Basil told me that you wanted transport off this station with some urgency?"

  "I wouldn't say urgency," Esmay said. "I just don't want to wait for the next direct passenger transport to Castle Rock."

  "Sera, I have to tell you up front, and despite our gratitude for your part in rescuing Hazel Takeris, if you're a fugitive from Fleet, we can't help you."

  "I'm not," Esmay said. She could feel the wave of heat rising up her face. "I—they discharged me this morning, and I still don't completely understand why. But they want me off this station—threatened to space me, in fact—and I want to get somewhere that I can figure out what's going on and fight it."

  "Um. Yet we know you're being followed."

  "I am?" Esmay thought of the man back at the tram station. "But—maybe the admiral just wants to know that I'm leaving."

  "Or maybe he wants to know who you meet, and it'll put us under suspicion." That from the young man at the counter. Goonar shot him a sharp look.

  "Flaci, were you asked?"

  "No, I only—"

  "Go make some coffee," Goonar ordered. The young man withdrew through the door behind the counter. Basil pulled out a cylinder that looked just like the ones used in Fleet to foil scans of a conversational area, twisted it, and laid it on the table.

  "Have a seat, sera," Goonar offered. Esmay sank into the cushions and wondered if she would be able to climb out again. The little status light on the security cylinder glowed: they were supposedly screened from scan. Goonar took the seat to her right; Basil was across from her.

  "Kids," Basil said, with a wave at the counter. "They never know when to keep quiet."

  "And you do?" Goonar asked, but with a grin that took most of the sting out of it. He turned to Esmay. "Sera, do you have any idea at all why Fleet tossed you out, when there's a mutiny on and I'd think they'd want every loyal officer?"

  "Well . . . sort of." Esmay felt her blush going hotter. "Admiral Serrano—Vida Serrano that is—is angry with my family, and . . . and . . . her grandson and I just got married."

  "You what?" asked Basil. Goonar made a sort of choked noise, which Esmay recognized as suppressed laughter.

  "I married her grandson—or he married me—anyway we're married. He—we—we'd been trying to talk to our families for a long time, and finally he and I had figured out a time we could meet with his parents. Only all the Serranos were there, it seemed like, and his grandmother—Admiral
Vida—came out with a story about my family's history . . . and she was wrong." Esmay caught her breath; she was suddenly on the edge of tears. "That wasn't what happened; it can't have been. But she believed it. And she said we could never marry, and then the mutiny came, and we all had to go back to duty, and . . . and . . ."

  "You and he sneaked off to get married," Basil said.

  "We didn't sneak," Esmay said. "But we didn't—we couldn't, there wasn't time—tell anyone beforehand."

  "Such as your family and his," Goonar said. He had most of his face under control, but a twitch in the corner of his mouth said he was still finding this funny.

  Basil wasn't; he was scowling now. "They ditched you for marrying the Serrano kid? When you're a hero?"

  "I'm also a Landbride back on Altiplano—"

  "You have two husbands?" Basil looked at Goonar. "I guess that would do it. A boy in every port?"

  "No, it's not like that." Esmay glared at him. "I'm not that sort of person. Landbride is a . . . a sort of family thing, and religious. It's the woman in the family who is responsible for the land—for seeing that it's cared for."

  "Oh. And this bothered them? Were you going to go back there and take him with you?"

  "No . . . I was going to resign as Landbride—give it to my cousin Luci—and stay in Fleet. But then things happened—"

  "They always do." That was Goonar, the quiet one, not as handsome as Basil but steadier. He had sad eyes, Esmay thought.

  "So—after the news of the mutiny—we were traveling together back to our assignments, and . . . we just got married. We'd waited so long, and so much was going on—"

  "Without the right paperwork, I'm guessing," Goonar said. "And without family permission?"

  Esmay felt herself reddening. "Definitely without."

  "That would annoy them," Basil said. He leaned back and one eyebrow rose. Theatrical.

  "Stop it, Bas," said Goonar. "You're learning bad habits from our passengers."

  "I need to find a way home," Esmay said. "I thought maybe, if I could talk to Hazel—I thought maybe she was on this ship—she'd help me."

  "Why not contact the Thornbuckle girl? She's rich enough to buy you a ship of your own."

  "I don't want to bring trouble to her," Esmay said. "She doesn't deserve it."

  "And you do?" Goonar's brows rose, both of them. "What we've heard of you is good, from the newsvids and Hazel both. The hero of Xavier. The hero who saved the Kos. And then the Speaker's daughter."

  "Not by myself," Esmay said. "Any of it. And where did you hear about the Kos?"

  "Not much we don't hear, independent merchanters," Basil said.

  "Quit it, Bas. You sound like a third-rate actor in a spy thriller. Seriously, Lieutenant—sera—we do pick up a lot of dockside talk, mostly wrong. Now, I figure the family owes you, for your part in getting Hazel out. But we aren't a passenger line; we're mixed cargo."

  "But you said you had passengers . . ." At the sudden change of expression, Esmay stopped.

  "Well, that's done it," Basil said, this time with no expression on his face at all. "And you the cautious one."

  "What?"

  "Sometimes we carry passengers. Not usually. We've . . . er . . . had some recently."

  "Then could I—I mean, for a fare, of course. I don't know much about it—"

  "We owe you, as I said, but we really do not have passenger quarters fit for you."

  "I'm not used to luxury," Esmay said.

  "I suppose not." He chewed his lip. "Well . . . if you can share a small space, and sleep in rotation, we can take you. But where do you want to go?"

  "Castle Rock," Esmay said. She was fairly, reasonably, almost sure that Brun would be there. She could see Brun privately, without involving Fleet. And perhaps Brun would be able to find out what, if anything, she could do to get back into Fleet even in spite of the powerful Admiral Serrano.

  "Not Altiplano?"

  "Not yet," Esmay said. Not ever, she hoped. Goonar nodded.

  "Well, then—you're probably not aware of civilian regulations, but we need to list you as a passenger on the manifest. Do you have civilian ID?"

  "Of sorts," Esmay said. "If discharge chips are sufficient."

  "Let me see." Goonar reached out and Esmay handed over the flat cardlike discharge certification she'd been handed. Goonar reached under the low table and pulled up an ID scanner. He ran it over the card. "Yes . . . it has everything required—name, retinal and finger scan patterns, planet of origin, employment record. You left home young, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Esmay said. "I was space-struck early."

  "Our kids start early too—actually earlier than that, but of course their families are in space." He handed the chip back. "There. You want to travel under your own name, don't you?"

  "Yes—my unmarried name; there hasn't been time to get it changed."

  "Fine. I've entered you in our log. Now—about luggage—"

  "I don't have much," Esmay said. "They said the rest of my things would be sent to me . . . they're somewhere between the ship I left before going on leave and the one I was supposed to be assigned to."

  "Do you have what you need? We can send someone for anything missing . . ."

  "I'll be all right," Esmay said. She had only a few civilian outfits, but she didn't want to go shopping here—or have someone doing it for her.

  "Good. Then you can go aboard now, since you don't want to be seen on station. We're not ready to strike our tents yet; we're in the queue for two days from now and I prefer—" he paused, and looked not at Esmay but at Basil, "—not to make sudden departures from ports unless it's absolutely necessary."

  "It was," muttered Basil. Esmay sensed an old quarrel.

  "Will that be satisfactory, sera?"

  "I'm very grateful," Esmay said. "Now about the fare—"

  Goonar waved his hand. "Forget the fare. I'm telling the Stationmaster that we're not a passenger ship, but we're not about to leave the hero of Xavier in the lurch—or charge for it, either. That clears our honor, both ways."

  Esmay couldn't follow all of that, but the master and second in command of Terakian Fortune seemed almost smug about something. Basil, as cargomaster, took her through to another room, this one filled with electronics gear, and then through the docking tube of the ship.

  A civilian merchant ship, she found, had its own ceremonies, however unlike these were to the austere formalities of the Regular Space Service. A trim youngster in a green tunic led her to the tiny compartment that she would occupy during her sleep shift, and pointed out the small cubby where she could stow a few toiletries. Her clothes would have to go across the passage, in a locker already stuffed with carryons. The boy seemed far too young to be working aboard ship, and Esmay wondered briefly about child piracy, until she remembered that Hazel, too, had been very young. Apparently civilian merchants took their children with them.

  "Are you the captain's son?" she asked.

  He gave her a startled look. "Me, sera? Captain Goonar's—? No, sera. Goonar, he's not got any children; they all died. I'm Kosta Terakian-Cibo, Ser Basil's aunt's son on his mother's side. It's my first trip as full crew, sera. So even though I still have classes, I'm getting paid full wage." He grinned proudly. Esmay congratulated him, and he nodded. "Only problem is, the Fathers insist that we juniors can't have all our money to spend. It's going to take me the whole voyage to save up for the new cube player I want. . . ."

  "And a good thing, too." Basil emerged from a cross-corridor, and glared at the boy. "We'd just have to confiscate it to keep you from deafening everyone on the ship. Go on, now, Kosta, and let the lady alone. Have you done the rotational analysis yet?"

  "Yes, Ser Basil." The boy whipped out a pocket display and flicked it on. "The sera's luggage here, and the moment here, and—"

  "Good. And did you give her the ship's books?"

  "No . . . I wasn't sure—"

  "Yes, of course she needs them." Basil looked at Esmay. "Why do
n't you come along to the bursar's, and we'll get you started. Unfortunately, we don't mount cube readers in all the compartments, so you'll have to read the hardcopy—"

  "Fine," said Esmay. She followed him down one corridor, then another, mapping automatically. The bursar's was a medium-sized compartment, full of desks and files, with office machines around the edges.

  Basil turned to a stack of shelving and pulled out two well-thumbed manuals, one of which described the ship's layout, and the other the emergency procedures.

  Terakian Fortune, she recognized, was roughly equivalent to a smallish cruiser in tonnage, but organized very differently. Unlike the big spherical container ships, Fortune's cargo holds were crew-accessible—everything loaded and unloaded through the shuttle bay, though this was big enough to take the standard orbit-to-surface containers as well as the cargo shuttles themselves. The space taken up on a cruiser by weapons and ammunition storage could be stuffed with cargo here—as could the crew space required for the much larger military crews. Only twenty personnel per watch—Esmay could hardly believe anyone could run a ship with so few, and yet—as she read through the manuals—the essentials were covered, with adequate redundancy.