Outward Bound

by Juanita Coulson

  The reporter finally had enough footage and let them go. The junior pilots were visibly disappointed. They had been enjoying the spotlight. Then they saw some of the famous people on the terrace and willingly gave up being hams for the moment.

  No robots to wait on the guests here. Instead, there were a great many human servants, eager to fetch and carry and deliver drinks or sandwiches. Saunderhome had a staff of dozens—more, if the Saunder Enterprises security police posted here were counted. Todd or Dian occasionally made scathing remarks about not being able to move at Saunderhome without tripping over maids and butlers and general help. Carissa insisted she needed an enormous staff simply to take care of the establishment—and besides, she was doing her bit to alleviate North American Union's constant unemployment problem. Carissa always seemed to have an answer like that, one to underline her altruism and concern for the public welfare, especially where that concern also worked to Carissa Duryea Saunder's benefit.

  The hostess was holding court near the edge of the terrace. Brenna saw Quol-Bez towering above the small group of celebrities, and T.W.C. diplomatic guards standing nearby, trying to look like ordinary servants. The guest list appeared to consist equally of vid entertainers, Earth's most flamboyant politicians, and a selection of "special people" Carissa deemed worthy of invitation to her reception. She held receptions at the slightest excuse. This time she had a good one—honoring Ambassador Quol-Bez and her brother-in-law.

  Todd saw Brenna coming up the grassy slope and made his escape from the cluster of society types. He trotted down a row of wide flagstone steps and embraced Brenna, then shook hands with the pilots. "You made good time. When I spoke to Norm Ames, he said you'd left this morning. But I wasn't sure you could get clearance straight on through..."

  Brenna studied him warily. Her father didn't mention the franchise renewal. It was possible he hadn't asked General Ames about that. And Ames, knowing his old friend's attitude about FTL and Brenna's involvement in Breakthrough Unlimited, apparently hadn't brought the subject up, either. Nor, it seemed, had he let Todd Saunder know someone had sabotaged his daughter's flier and nearly killed her. Brenna began to breathe a little easier. Perhaps Ames was trustworthy.

  "I saw your landing," Todd said, waving toward the airstrip, now hidden by trees and twilight. "Nice job."

  "Yuri had the controls. He was showing off his Space Fleet training." Nicholaiev grimaced. The halo-lights heightened his color. He was actually blushing as they praised and teased him.

  The ComLink reporter and his assistant were setting up a broadcast booth on the beach nearby. Voice-over chatter butted into conversations. "Good evening, Listeners. This is Karl Laszlo, speaking to you from beautiful Saunderhome, NAU. Tonight the lovely and gracious President Emeritus of Protectors of Earth, Carissa Duryea Saunder, is holding a grand celebration in honor of Ambassador Quol-Bez of the Vahnaj planets and ComLink President Todd Saunder. In a few minutes, we'll be bringing you some spot interviews with several celebrities attending this lively affair. Later on, we'll enjoy a spectacular performance by the famous Dolphin-Human Sea-Air rescue teams stationed here at Saunderhome. Director of Rescue Operations Lujan will give us a description of the daring tricks the dolphins and their human partners perform while saving..."

  "Let's get away from here," Todd Saunder suggested, wincing. "Too much noise." He pointed toward the terrace. "Let me introduce you young folks to your hostess. I don't think you've ever met my sister-in-law, have you, Joe? Adele? Shoje? Come along."

  There were a lot of delays as they made their way across the grass and up the flagstones. Everyone knew the Saunders, and anyone in their company was worth meeting, in the opinion of a lot of the guests. By the time the junior pilots had shaken hands with vid stars, up-and-coming sports figures, and some of the glamorous new crop of world politicians, they were slightly dazed. They were treated as super-celebrities—which was even better than going on a PR tour and pitching for the cause of faster-than-light travel! They preened and strutted, until Brenna and Yuri were grinning fondly at their friends. Not too many years separated the older pilots from the "kids"; they were in their early twenties, while Brenna and Yuri were crowding thirty. But the gap in experience re gatherings like these was enormous. Yuri Nicholaiev had been with Breakthrough Unlimited since its beginnings, and he had rubbed elbows before with many of the guests attending Carissa's party. He, like Brenna, was fairly blasé about all these big names.

  They were finally clear of the crush, moving up the slope toward a canopied area near the mansion. The three-story-high window-walls of Saunderhome were catching the halo-lights and reflecting the glow—a second form of moonlight to rival that streaming from the heavens. The eerie, cold-blue illumination turned faces and forms pale. The lawn and the terrace steps seemed crowded with ghostly figures, people shimmering in unnatural light. Brenna was glad to see that her dress withstood the effect well. The artificial light merely deepened its color to a mysterious-looking sea green.

  The usual cordon of SE Security and diplomatic corps guards surrounded the V.I.P.s under the canopy. They weren't wearing uniforms, but they stood out sharply from the relaxed party-goers. Only a few people at a time were permitted into the elite inner circle. The guards didn't strong-arm anyone; they simply stalled the person until they had decided it was okay for him or her to enter the little pavilion. Ostensibly, this was for Quol-Bez's protection. Since these guests had been thoroughly checked before they had been invited, it seemed more likely the setup was some of Carissa's snobbery, a form of separating the upper castes from those not quite so upper. Todd Saunder had spoiled the effect by leaving the area under the canopy and wandering around the grounds on his own. Quol-Bez and his aides were more of a captive honor group. They stayed put, nodding, shaking hands, being introduced and shown off.

  "Brenna! My dear! So good of you to come!" Carissa cooed as Brenna drew close enough for her aunt to recognize her.

  "Aunt Carissa ... you're looking well," Brenna said, lying politely.

  The women embraced, carefully, not touching anymore than they had to, their lips kissing the air centimeters away from each other's faces. Brenna knew better than to muss her aunt's frilly high-fashion gown. Carissa treated her niece with the same rigidly correct courtesy.

  Brenna's father was leading the other pilots through the ritual. They shook hands, complimented Carissa on her elegant party arrangements, said how pleased they were to be there. Brenna thought everyone sounded like a badly programmed computer. No imagination in any of the pat phrases.

  Stuart Saunder was holding court a few steps to Carissa's left. He was unusually subdued, his expression bleak. A pretty, rather nervous-looking young woman was at his side. She wasn't of the same mold as Stuart's interchangeable collection of bed partners. Brenna wondered who the stranger was. The poor thing appeared terribly ill at ease, as if wishing she could escape. Brenna shared the sentiment, but she had to stay, thanks to kinship.

  Carissa suddenly turned to the young woman. "Oh, I don't believe you've met Felicity Emigh, of the Orleans Emighs—my daughter-in-law-to-be." Carissa waved her bony hands, drawing attention to the fortune in jewels she wore on her fingers. "Here, step forward, dear. Let them see you." As obedient as a puppet, Felicity jumped, shaking hands and accepting the good wishes offered her.

  Brenna was stunned. Daughter-in-law-to-be? Carissa had pulled a real shocker. She must have been negotiating this match secretly. Now that Carissa had introduced the puppet woman, Brenna remembered seeing Felicity's picture on society vidcasts about various Earth social events. Felicity Emigh had never done anything of note. She seemed to be a cardboard person, strictly for show, with no substance. Of course, the Emighs were rich, though not nearly up to the Saunders' level. Who was? Old John Emigh was said to have made his fortune during the aftermath of the Crisis of 2041, so in a way he owed his wealth to the Saunders. Jael Saunder was the Crisis of 2041! But as far as Brenna knew, none of Emigh's heirs showed any of his traits.
They were content to blend in with the scenery and spend the money he had cut throats, figuratively, to win. Marrying a daughter off to Stuart Saunder was one way of consolidating Earth's wealth and making sure there would always be enough money to keep Felicity in luxury.

  What about Stuart? What did he have to say about any of this? Not much, if his expression was an indication. Brenna stole a sidelong glance at her cousin. Stuart sipped his drink and absently responded to the congratulations the guests heaped on him. He looked hypnotized. Was he on some new illicit chemical? Carissa had tried to dry up his sources, and had always failed. Brenna couldn't tell if he was numb or simply sunk in despair. He certainly wasn't the image of a happy bridegroom-to-be.

  Felicity? Obviously she was the type who would do what Daddy told her to. She didn't reveal any opinion about this match at all. Maybe she had no opinion. That would make her an ideal daughter-in-law for Carissa. A lump of pretty clay, to be molded the way Carissa Duryea Saunder wanted it to be.

  Brenna thought about Stuart's discarded mistress and illegitimate child. Not bought off. Cut off cold. Carissa had engineered that. She owned the judges and she had the power. Stuart's mistress and child had been banished, all their legal claims wiped out. Now Carissa was going to get him married off to a wealthy nonentity. Her choice, this time, not Stuart's. The mother-son warfare that had been going on ever since Stuart was old enough to say, "No!" was over. Carissa had won.

  "Why, we've decided to have the wedding at Christmas," Carissa was telling a guest who had asked. "We." Not "they." She probably hadn't bothered to consult the happy couple. Mommy knew best, anyway. "It'll be so lovely here, at that time of year..." Carissa was fluttering, very happy. Her maid had brought one of her pet dogs, and Brenna's aunt was using the tiny beast as a prop to hold the audience's attention. The fashionably clad dowager empress, the just-right hairdo, the still-slim figure, the face a bit too firm to be believable—but corrective surgery could do wonders!—and the purebred little terrier. Carissa, to the nth degree. ♦

  "I feel so sorry for that girl," Todd whispered in Brenna's ear. "That's a marriage made in the computers, and in the accountants' ledgers. Carissa's done it again."

  Brenna whispered, too. "How on Earth did she force Stuart to agree to this?"

  "Mutual pact, I hear. Shh! Stuart's watching us. I'll tell you all about it when we have some privacy..."

  People milled around the pavilion, nibbling at the fancy food, ordering exotic drinks from the butlers. Several high-ranking guests were in earnest conversation with Ambassador Quol-Bez. Todd wandered over that way, in order to rescue the Vahnaj from his own politeness, if necessary. Brenna noticed Yuri Nicholaiev and Chin Jui-Sao chatting affably. She smiled. There had been times, during Homo sapiens" not-too-distant past, when Yuri's and Sao's ethnic groups hadn't been on good terms, to put it mildly. Millions had died during national collisions and struggles to preserve "honor" and "face." Some of that animosity lingered still, even in the final quarter of the Twenty-first Century. But that didn't affect Yuri and Sao at all. They were Colonists. The squabbles and old national conflicts of Earth seemed remote to them. They had their eyes on different goals, and Earth's horizons were pitifully limited. Those two, in easy conversation, summed up the best of Terran colonial life styles, for Brenna. Her junior pilots were mingling nicely. Joe was talking computers with an inventor from the Northern European Democracies, and Adele and Shoje were listening intently to a famous entertainer's outrageous stories.

  Then, too close to ignore, Brenna heard Stuart complaining. "No, I will not dance with her, Sweet Mother Carissa. You can lead this castrated bull to the slaughterhouse, but I'm damned if I'll dance with the butcher who's going to put a ring through my nose."

  "Stuart, you will," Carissa said, her voice almost lost in the yapping of her noisy little dog. Stuart heard her, though. So did several other people. Carissa's husky, tearful-adolescent lilt was unmistakable, even when it was coated with icy steel. Carissa dominated the confrontation. Stuart's posture had always been awful, and dissipated living hadn't improved him. He slumped unattractively, every line in his rapidly aging face showing. Of the two, his mother looked healthier and younger. Without taking her eyes from his, Carissa raised a finger. "Come here, Felicity. You and Stuart are going to dance."

  Other conversations continued, a soft murmuring all around and through the pavilion. But everybody was also watching this little battle, trying not to be too obvious. Nobody dared back one or the other of this branch of the Saunder clan. People tried to stay out of their way, fearing them.

  "Dammit, Mother..."

  Felicity trotted up, ready to do her duty for her future mother-in-law. Brenna thought the least Felicity Emigh could do was salute. Or perhaps prostrating herself at Carissa's feet would be more appropriate. Carissa gestured to a flunky, and smarmy, safe, and out-of-date popular music began to waft from hidden audio systems. Several couples took the hint, making halfhearted efforts to dance.

  Brenna had never seen Stuart's haggard face look so ugly. Hatred, not dissipation, was twisting his once-handsome features this time. He reached out and savagely pulled Felicity toward him, making her gasp. Too fast and far too roughly, Stuart whirled Felicity around, dancing across the terrace with her. It was apparent to all who were watching that he would rather be strangling his hapless fiancée. SE Security hastily got out of Stuart's path. Felicity's expression tightened with fear, but she hung on desperately. Too afraid to try to break free!

  Brenna felt, rather than heard, the gossip beginning. There would be no account of the incident in the media. No reporters were present except security-cleared ComLink employees, and no guest who carried gossip outside Saunderhome could ever expect a repeat invitation. Plus, "unlucky" things were likely to start happening to him or her, for "betraying" Carissa's favor. But they would gossip, just the same, among the social circles the Saunders and Emighs inhabited.

  And everyone knew these Saunders were related to the Mars Colony Saunders—Todd, Dian Foix, and their daughter, Brenna. Brenna wanted to sink into the grassy lawn and disappear, chagrined even to be in the same place with such people as Carissa and Stuart!

  Across the pavilion, Ambassador Quol-Bez was looking at her, sympathy in his large black eyes. He understood. Even less than a member of the family, he couldn't express his personal opinion of Carissa or Stuart. He had to put up with them. They were powerful people among the Vahnaj Ambassador's hosts. A diplomat was paid to be polite. It was enough to know she wasn't alone, that Quol-Bez appreciated the situation and wasn't snickering at her embarrassment. She had never felt so friendly toward the alien. .

  "Brenna? We meet again."

  She glanced up, startled. Terran Worlds Councilman Yan Bolotin was standing beside her, his hand held out to take hers. "Oh, sorry, sir. I didn't see you. Small world! T.W.C. meeting all finished, huh?"

  Bolotin nodded. The Hiber-Ship Corporation badges on his uniform caught the lights vividly. The tiny fabric copy of the photon ramjet interstellar craft seemed a painful reminder of Derek and the only other major competitor of Breakthrough Unlimited's reach for the stars. Bolotin gazed across the lawn, watching Stuart and Felicity going through their charade. Carissa's dog was yelping, punctuating the syrupy music. The effect was discordant and set Brenna's teeth on edge.

  "Glad you got the franchise," Bolotin was saying. "I mean that. I can tell you, now that I'm no longer presiding over the meeting. Ames can get terribly partisan at times, of course. So can I. But we're all Spacers, when you come right down to it." He was nodding again. Brenna envisioned him riding aboard the first Mars Probe, part of the crew who had flown to the red planet in '45, with her aunt and uncle. A brave pioneer. A Colonist. A Spacer. One more of her father's contemporaries, a legendary figure from the past who had lived into present times and was still active and very much involved with bringing the future into being. For Yan Bolotin, however, the future was in cryogenic stasis ships, not faster-than-light drive. Yet he had
said he was glad Brenna had gotten her renewal on the test-area franchise.

  "Thank you," Brenna said, with sincerity. Yan Bolotin was one of the main ramrods of Hiber-Ship Corporation, but he wasn't an enemy. He could have made things rough for Derek, when he had turned the ferry around so that he could be with Brenna after Morgan was hurt so critically. Instead, Bolotin had merely chewed out his popular young officer, then forgiven him and granted an extended leave. In effect, they were all on the same side, the one resolved to go on out into the universe, even though their methods were different. "I'm glad you approve, Councilman," Brenna said. "After all, without Breakthrough Unlimited to compete against, Hiber-Ship wouldn't have much of a horse race going, to keep volunteer enthusiasm at a peak."

  He smiled at her. Bolotin had that look of eagles Ames had spoken of. If a test pilot hadn't bought it in a crash, perhaps he or she kept that look for the rest of life. "We enjoy a horse race, true," Bolotin said. "Not everyone does, though. Or maybe it's more accurate to say they want to win so much they try to rig the odds. Let's keep this a fair contest, shall we, Brenna?" The former navigator touched his Hiber-Ship uniform cap politely and strolled away to greet other guests.

  Brenna stared after him. What had that last remark meant? She sensed that Bolotin knew about the sabotage of her flier; he had probably learned about it from Ames. But there was something more in his reference, an allusion she couldn't puzzle out. Rig the odds? Wasn't that what somebody had tried to do to her flier—blast it, and Brenna, out of the sky? But Yan Bolotin had hinted the situation was reversed. He had implied it was Breakthrough Unlimited that might play dirty in order to win the "race." Victory at any price. And in space, losing a race could be deadly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Tower in the Sea