Jenna Starborn

by Sharon Shinn

  I was deposited at Thorrastone Park barely an hour before sundown—a time after which any reasonable person did not want to be out of doors. For the planet seemed to make one quick, violent rotation away from its distant sun, plunging the world into sudden and instant blackness; even the presence of artificial lighting strategically placed all over the grounds did not entirely counteract the total bleakness of the Fieldstar night. The airlock lay a little more than a mile from the doorway, a distance I could usually cover in less than half an hour, so I did not worry about being safely inside before total darkness descended. The airlock door closed behind me as I hefted my packages one more time and set off toward the house.

  I had not taken five steps when there was a wild disturbance behind me, and a large shape careened through the outer door of the airlock. An awful sound of rending metal echoed through the small enclosure, a counterpoint to the whoosh and choke of air exploding outward, then being swiftly contained. I dropped my packages and whirled around in time to see a small aeromobile bounce against one nearly invisible wall, knock backward against another, then come shuddering to a halt on the stony floor of the lock. It did not move again.

  For a moment I was motionless with stupefaction, but I soon realized there was probably at least one individual inside the downed car, very possibly seriously hurt. I ran back to the inner door, checked the gauge to make sure the atmosphere was breathable, then hurried into the airlock to see what assistance I could offer.

  Even as I approached the craft, the bubble lid was being raised from within, and in seconds, a head and shoulders emerged. I had very little time to assess any particulars of the new arrival except that he was male, dark-complected, and sporting a trickle of blood across his forehead.

  “Sir!” I exclaimed, reaching up to catch the weight of the lid with my own hand until I felt it click into place in its upright position. “You’re hurt! Can you speak? Can you move? Shall I fetch help from the manor?”

  I found myself fixed in the glare of a pair of dark eyes set in a very irate face. “Who the devil are you?” the newcomer growled. “And why would you be out prowling around at such an hour?”

  I thought him extremely rude, though perhaps the accident had impaired his natural civility, but I was relieved to note that he at least appeared to have retained his senses. “I suppose anyone may walk around at any hour she pleases, assuming she has a right to be on the property in the first place,” I answered. “But tell me—how badly are you injured? There is some blood on your face. Have you sustained any hurt to your head?”

  “I have sustained a great deal of hurt,” he replied, again in that impatient, rumbling voice. I presumed he meant his tone to sound forbidding, but to me he sounded cross and fretful, like one of my students at Lora Tech who had been balked in his plans because of some homework assignment I had distributed. “My head throbs with a remarkable sharpness, and my ribs feel as if they have each individually cracked and reknitted in a manner not conducive to easy breathing, and I am sure I have twisted my ankle. However, I am most injured in my pride, for only the stupidest, most inexperienced boy would so misjudge his landing speed and angle as to crash headlong into the forcefield. My only excuse is that I caught a glimpse of you heading across the lawn, and I was so amazed that I stared in the wrong direction.”

  “And that’s a poor excuse by any standard,” I said cheerfully, “for I have never before caused any vehicle to stutter from the sky nor any pilot to forget where he is going. I am afraid your car may have been damaged, but your rational conversation reassures me that you at least are not hurt beyond repair.”

  He gave a short bark of laughter—not an infectious sound, but one that made me want to smile nonetheless. “Ha! If you consider this rational talk, I’m guessing you’ve had very little of it recently.”

  “Not at all,” I answered serenely. “My own conversation is always supremely rational. Now, tell me: What can I do to help you? Shall I go to the manor? Or can you walk that far on your own? It will be dark very soon, and I don’t think you want to be out here past sundown, tinkering with a disabled vehicle.”

  “As to that, I don’t think it is as disabled as it appears,” he said, ducking his head back inside. “There are no frantic lights flickering on my instrument boards. I think it is operational.”

  “Your right wing is crumpled beyond use,” I pointed out. “You cannot fly.”

  His head emerged again; he was grinning. The expression illuminated his rather grim face, for, now that I had a chance to study him without fearing for his life and sanity, I could form some opinion of his looks. He had bold, strong features, and extremely black hair; in this insufficient light, his eyes appeared to be nearly black as well. He was not a handsome man, but a compelling one. I felt the force of his personality even through the strangeness of our circumstances.

  “Why,” I asked, “is it amusing to you to learn that you have broken your wing?”

  “Because it does not matter,” he replied. “It’s a convertible hover/land rover, and I can, by pulling a few levers, make it drivable, at least for a short trip to the manor house. There is only one slight problem.”

  “What is that?”

  “The lever requires some strength to engage, and I do not believe my ribs can withstand the effort. Could I ask you to add to your goodness—I was going to say, your officiousness, but since I need a favor, I don’t want to offend you—and request you to pull the lever? I am afraid it is a task I cannot manage on my own.”

  I thought it strange that he expressed a wish not to offend me when it seemed he had expended every effort to accomplish just such an end, but I did not say so. Indeed, I found his brisk, irritated, outspoken masculinity a rather refreshing change from all the considerate femininity I encountered on a daily basis.

  “Certainly, sir,” I said, stepping forward again. “Show me what I must do.”

  Groaning a bit, he shifted his position to allow me access to the gears and instruments inside the cockpit. I allowed myself to be distracted for a moment by the array of dials and gauges.

  “Ah, a Vandeventer V convertible,” I said, for I had not recognized the make by its exterior markings. “A superior vehicle by all the reviews. It has not been available for commercial distribution very long.”

  “No, I believe I have the first model on Fieldstar,” the injured man said, and I caught a note of amusement in his gruff voice. “But how do you come by an interest in short-range planetary vehicles? When it comes to that, how do you come to be at Thorrastone Park at all?”

  To myself I thought, I might well ask you the same question, but it was not generally encouraged for half-cits to interrogate full citizens—which this man, with his arrogance and his expensive tastes, most assuredly was.

  “I have a somewhat scientific turn of mind,” I said demurely. “I am employed at Thorrastone Park as a generator technician, but I do know a little about mechanics and machinery.”

  He reared back as far as the confines of the seat would allow him. “The technician!” he exclaimed. “Of course! I knew there was one expected, but I would never have marked you for the role.”

  “I do not believe I was hired for my appearance, sir,” I said blandly. “Now, may I get to that lever?”

  Still watching me with some interest, he shifted cautiously in his seat to allow me the necessary access. He was right; it took a fair amount of strength to move the lever, and I could both feel and hear the wheels engage when I finally locked it in place. A series of dials turned from green to amber on his instrument panel.

  “There you are, sir,” I said. “I believe you’re all set now.”

  “Thank you,” he said, adding, in an abrupt way, “Get in.”

  “Sir?”

  He was resettling himself on the driver’s side of the vehicle. “I’ll drop you off at the doorway. It’s close to dark now, and you can’t be looking forward to the hike across the lawn.”

  In fact, he was right, but my concern f
or a fellow creature had made me overcome my dislike of roaming the grounds at night. I hesitated, however, for I knew nothing of this man except that he was careless with an aeromobile. How did I know I could trust him to take me where he promised?

  He must have read my mind, for he was grinning again. “Come now, technician, you can’t suppose I have any evil designs on your person. I scarcely have the strength to steer, let alone attempt assault. I think you’re quite safe to travel a mile at my side.”

  I felt a blush rise, for this was plainer speaking than I was used to, but he spoke nothing but the truth. “I do not want to take you out of your way,” I demurred, for I had come to the conclusion that he was headed toward the mining compound. He was an inspector of some sort, perhaps, or a consultant come to discuss efficiency with the engineering techs.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Hop in.”

  So I circled the convertible and clambered with less grace than I would have liked into the passenger’s side. Detouring only to recover my dropped parcels, we made the brief trip in silence, for he made no effort to talk and I did not feel it was my place to initiate a conversation. He pulled up before the doors with no other mishaps.

  “Here you are, technician,” he said. “Despite what you may think, I do appreciate your help. I still blame you,” he added, though that note of amusement was back in his voice, “but I thank you nonetheless.”

  I climbed out of the car and retrieved my packages. “Then you are very welcome. I hope you manage to avoid similar accidents in the future.”

  He laughed. “So do I! Good evening, my friend.” And so saying, he drove away.

  I stood for a moment or two, watching the Vandeventer speed off in the direction of the mines. My friend. An odd thing to call a chance-met stranger on the strength of twenty minutes’ acquaintance. Odder still was the little warm glow it gave me, to be so named by such a man.

  I shook my head twice, to shake away such thoughts, and went quickly into the house.

  It was nearly dinnertime, and I was not sure I was in a presentable state. I had not combed my hair during the long day, nor checked my face for smudges, nor thought to straighten my tunic over my trousers, and the bus had been none too clean, and there was no telling what smears of grease—or blood!—I might have acquired from my adventure in the airlock. So I hurried to my room, grateful that I managed to arrive there unseen by any other residents of the house, and there freshened myself up.

  What a day! What a day, indeed.

  By dinnertime I was both clean and composed, and I made my way with my usual soberness down to the dining room. But no one there matched my own state of calm. The table was set, but no one was yet sitting in her place. Mrs. Farraday was speaking with a great deal of animation to the cook, Miss Ayerson was examining her reflection in a mirror and attempting to smooth some style into her flat locks, and Ameletta was jumping up and down on one foot as she attempted to circle the table.

  Mrs. Farraday broke off when she saw me. “Oh, Jenna! We were getting worried about you. Miss Ayerson saw the bus go by nearly an hour ago, and we were afraid you had somehow missed it. No one saw you come in.”

  “I’m sorry. I was covered with dirt and wanted a chance to clean myself up, so I went straight to my room. But what is going on here? Everyone seems excited.”

  “Excited! Yes, I should say so! I learned this afternoon that Mr. Ravenbeck would be coming in tonight, and I am on the verge of being unprepared. Fortunately, he is not expecting any guests—at least, not immediately—so it is just a matter of making sure his rooms are aired and a fit dinner is prepared.”

  The owner of Thorrastone Park? Arriving here tonight?

  “That is wonderful news,” I said slowly. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Oh—no—just excuse me from dinner, I fear. I have too much to do to think of eating.”

  So saying, she disappeared through the door, following the cook. I glanced at Miss Ayerson, who had gone to Ameletta’s side to convince her to show her enthusiasm in a more acceptable fashion. She looked up with the cool half-smile that was her warmest expression.

  “Well,” she said, “we may as well eat.”

  So the three of us sat down to dinner, but though I ate heartily enough, I did not pay much attention to the food. “Mr. Ravenbeck,” I said finally. “What does he look like? I think I may have seen him arriving as I was crossing the lawn.”

  “He is a dark man, solidly built,” she replied.

  “Youngish?”

  “In his forties, perhaps,” she said. “I would not call that young.”

  “To own such an extensive property,” I amended.

  “I believe he inherited most of it from his father and his brother,” she replied. She spooned more vegetables onto Ameletta’s plate and told her to eat. “Who are dead,” she added.

  “I beg your pardon? Who is dead?”

  “His father and brother. All of his family, as far as I’m aware.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  She gave me that cool smile again. “As you and I both know.”

  “When did he come into his property?”

  “Five or six years ago, I believe. I don’t know that much about him, actually. He has seldom been to Thorrastone during my tenure.”

  “So this visit is a rare occurrence.”

  “Rare and no doubt brief. He will want to meet you,” she said, in what seemed to me a sudden change of subject.

  “He will? Does he meet all the new staff members?”

  She nodded. “He prides himself on knowing the name of everyone in his employ, from servants to miners. I think that is a fairly admirable trait.”

  “Indeed, yes,” I said, thinking, I believe I have already met him. Would he want to repeat the introduction under more regular circumstances? I was glad now I had taken the time to restyle my hair and put on a clean overshirt. I did not like to appear so vain as to insist upon changing my clothing now, just when I learned I was about to be called into the owner’s presence. On the other hand—ah, much more likely!—he might decide to put off the meeting for a day or two, till he had recovered from his accident and rested from his travels. I need not have taken any care with my appearance after all.

  Ameletta chose this moment to join in the conversation. “He will have brought me presents,” she said. “A pretty doll, and a new computer game, and—”

  “Ameletta,” Miss Ayerson admonished. “You must not ask Mr. Ravenbeck to shower you with gifts.”

  “I do not need to ask him!” the girl replied, wide-eyed with innocence. “He chooses to do so! And, yes, I am very, very grateful!”

  I could not help smiling at this, but Miss Ayerson did not seem amused. I left her to the instruction of her pupil in social civilities, and bent my attention to finishing my meal.

  We had just finished our dessert when Mrs. Farraday bustled back in, looking just as flustered as before, though quite happy in her commotion. This was what she lived for, after all, the chance to show off her housekeeping skills to her employer.

  “Ameletta! Miss Ayerson! Mr. Ravenbeck would like you to join him in his study in half an hour. I believe he has some treats for you, hmm, Ameletta? But you must first prove to him that you have been doing your lessons, for I don’t believe girls who do not know their math problems will be entitled to any presents.”

  I smiled at the storm of protest this evoked (“But I do! I know every single multiplication table, and all of the addition!”) and turned toward the door. Mrs. Farraday called me back.

  “And, Jenna! Mr. Ravenbeck asked if you would be willing to meet with him ninety minutes from now. Also in his study.”

  I turned back to face her, my eyebrows lifted. “Willing? He is my employer. How could I refuse?”

  “He thought the hour might be too late for you.” In ninety minutes it would be eight o’clock, as time was kept on Fieldstar.

  “No, indeed, I will be up for another three or four hours. I wi
ll be happy to join him when he wishes.”

  I said this with my usual calm demeanor, but I must confess my heart was beating just a shade faster than usual. Silly woman! I reprimanded myself. You cannot be so pleased at the thought of seeing such an uncouth man so soon again! But that was indeed the source of my pleasure. I wandered to the library, to pass the intervening time browsing through the news reports of the day, but I have to confess, very little information registered in my brain. The ninety minutes passed as slowly as ninety days, but at last it was time for me to go and formally meet the master of Thorrastone Park.

  The second-story study was a small, pleasant room, too dark with heavy drapery and wood paneling to suit my tastes, but just now brightly lit with an array of high-watt lights that gave the room a rather cheery aspect. Miss Ayerson and her pupil were off in a corner, trying out the new computer game that Ameletta had evidently received, and Mrs. Farraday hovered at the doorway, awaiting my arrival. I walked in exactly on the stroke of eight.

  “Punctuality!” a male voice announced from the depths of an armchair turned away from me; I could not see the speaker’s face. “I like that in an employee—indeed, in anyone.”

  Mrs. Farraday smiled at me, but she was still fluttering. “Jenna! Come over here and meet Mr. Ravenbeck. He cannot rise to take your hand,” she said in an undervoice that everyone else must have been able to hear, “because he twisted his ankle this afternoon in a dreadful aircar accident.”

  “I would hardly call it dreadful,” that voice said again. “Stupid is more like it. But it has left me, for the moment anyway, a bit unsteady on my feet.”

  By this time we had strolled forward so that we were standing directly in front of the speaker. It was, as I had guessed from his voice, the man I had aided in the downed aircar only a few hours ago. In the bright room light, I confirmed the impressions I had formed by dusk: Mr. Ravenbeck had full, strong features, masses of dark hair, and snapping black eyes that just now seemed to be shaded with a hint of malice. He was smiling at me, but it was not precisely a welcoming smile—more like a challenging one. I repressed my natural instinct to smile in return, and merely nodded at him.