“I will not, Jones. I did nothing improper.”
“The young lady asked you not to speak to her. You persisted. That is most improper.”
“Oh crap,” Tomás groaned, so quietly Rigi barely heard the imprecation. “He’s one of mine. Excuse me.”
“Go.” Rigi shooed him and he tugged his short formal jacket straight and walked in a straight line toward the commotion. The dancers and others parted to let him through, giving Rigi a good view of two angry men, an upset young woman in soft orange and pink, and four older women. Tomás stopped beside the other man in uniform and spoke quickly, then eased over so that he stood slightly behind him in a position of support. The civilian raised his fists, arms bent like a ring fighter.
“What she said and I do is none of your damned business, trooper.”
Tomás gestured toward the half-open patio door. “I believe this is better discussed outside, sir, away from the ladies.”
“Where you two can beat me up, you mean, ya damn starfu—”
A firm hand came down on his shoulder and turned him around, cutting off his words. “Sir, you are upset. That is understandable,” Cyril noted calmly. “Let’s move away from the press, shall we?”
The other man, Cyril’s height but of lighter build, blinked. “Chadwick, is that you?”
“Yes, yes, so let’s get a breath of air. Elsewhere.”
“Yeah, the wench’s a snow-leaper anyway, pretty pelt but cold as ice.” The pale man staggered and Cyril took his arm, leading him outside. Tomás had a quick, murmured conversation with the other soldier, then approached the matrons and had another quiet talk. The girl in the pale dress wept into a large pastel handkerchief as she left on Mrs. DiNatali’s arm. Rigi went to find her mother.
Her mother fanned lightly and raised one eyebrow. “What happened, Auriga?”
“A young man, shaggy blond hair, bright blue suit, apparently misunderstood a young lady or the reverse, and he took offense. One of the lieutenants intervened; the other man persisted and was slapped. Tomás held the officer back and Cyril escorted the offending party out. He thought that Cyril was someone named Chadwick, and I believe that the young man was, ah, ‘spirit filled’?”
Tomás appeared at her side, with the other officer. “That is a kind way to describe him, Miss Auriga, but also correct. Mrs. deStella-Bernardi, Miss Auriga, please allow me to introduce Lt. Antonio Carlovi. Antonio, Mrs. deStella-Bernardi and her husband Timothy are friends of my parents, and Miss Auriga is the illustrator who worked with Mr. Trent on the initial reports of Stela Site and Fountain Site.”
The ruddy-cheeked, fair-haired officer braced, then bowed to the ladies, first to Mrs. deStella-Bernardi and then to Rigi. “Madame, it is an honor indeed. My father served with Colonel Prananda and always thought highly of him, and I have heard the name of Captain Timothy Bernardi mentioned several times, always with praise.”
Rigi’s mother smiled, a warm and welcoming look, and Lt. Carlovi relaxed. “Thank you, sir, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Rigi danced the next dance with Lt. Carlovi as Tomás spoke with her mother and then with one of the matrons co-hosting the dance. He and Carlovi said their good-byes and left shortly after Cyril returned. Rigi’s brother shook his head and sat firmly in the chair on her mother’s other side. “What a mess. The man is—” He caught himself as their mother’s eyebrows started to rise, warning of potential maternal disapproval. Rigi wished she could master that gesture. “—has overindulged, and made an error of judgment. His driver is taking him home, although the driver is sixth Stamm, so who knows where they might end up.”
After that, the rest of the dance passed uneventfully, and at eleven their mother announced that she was tired, and so they thanked the hostesses and went home. Rigi added Lt. Carlovi to her approved list, higher than Mr. Patel.
Several days later, Rigi’s father and mother had a discussion over the vid lines. Afterwards, Mrs. deStella-Bernardi said, “Auriga, your father has looked into the proposed expedition, and has decided that you may go, so long as Dr. Xian agrees and you exercise proper judgment.” She did not look entirely pleased, and added, “I am not comfortable with this, but I do not know if it is simply because I do not want to admit that you are mature enough, or because something is truly wrong.” She smiled a little sadly, “It is not easy to see my baby all grown up.”
Rigi hugged her. “Thank you, and I will be as careful and prudent as possible. And I’m very glad that you are feeling better.”
“Thank you. So am I.”
Two days later her mother returned from a visit to her physician and disappeared into the office, locking the door before Rigi could ask how the appointment went. Rigi happened to be passing by a few minutes later and heard, “No, there’s no mistake, and I should have guessed, Tim, I really should have.” Rigi froze. Her mother never called her father anything but Timothy. “Yes, just after we got back, so I’m a month and a half along and everything is normal.”
A month along? Rigi felt her eyes bulging and she put her hands over her mouth to keep from yelping with surprise and shock. Her mother was pregnant!
4
Preparations
Uncle Eb leaned back, long legs crossed at the knee, and smoked his pipe for a moment before setting down her list. “That looks reasonable to me. I’m not pleased that you were unable to get a waiver for Martinus, however.”
“Neither am I, sir, but the law does not specify m-dog or bio-dog, and getting the law changed on short notice is even harder than trying to find proper boots in my size, or to match the colors of a tan and grey brindle wombow.”
She’d come to ask her aunt and uncle for advice. The promised verandah seemed well on the way to being finished, with only the repeller screens lacking, but as with art, construction seemed to be “ninety percent done with ninety percent to go.” A cool, damp weather system had defeated the forecasts of warm sun, and so Rigi and her aunt and uncle sat in his study/library/chamber of curiosities. Rigi could have spent a week looking at the hunting trophies and insect specimens alone, not to mention the art, textiles, rocks and minerals, and books in electronic and hard copy form. The freight on the bound books must have cost him a year’s salary and more, although Rigi suspected that he’d either found a way to have someone else pay, or smuggled them just for the challenge. Or Aunt Kay had done something to arrange for their appearance here. The room made Rigi feel safe and comfortable, most of the time.
Aunt Kay Trent tapped her drawing stylus against her sketch screen. “Color-matching is easier, believe me. I had to get a self-defense permit before going to the Crown Reserve on LimWorld on short notice. Short notice meaning six planetary months, I might add.” She pursed her lips. “Sloth-rocks move faster than some crown agencies, I believe.”
Her husband blew a long stream of pipe smoke, and Lexi, his long-time third Stamm assistant made one of those intriguing noises that Rigi took to mean //exasperation/sympathy/resignation,// if the complex scents he puffed were an indication. “There are rumors, strictly rumors, mind, and no evidence exists to prove them even close to true, my dears ladies, that somewhere in the cargo hold of a sleep-ship still en-route to Home is paperwork requesting clarification of a royal colonization policy regulation relating to the proper proportion of human males to females on initial colony grants.”
Rigi giggled, even though it was unbecoming of a young lady of her age. Aunt Kay sighed. “If it were to prove true, dear, I would not be the least bit surprised. Did they ever find that report of yours?”
“No, but the person who requested it has passed from old age, likely still waiting for two budget forms and a personnel-transfer request.”
Lexi’s ears flopped sideways, then returned to the proper upright position. Rigi stifled another giggle with a sip of her water.
“In sum, all the stars in the galaxy will burn out before Martinus will be permitted in the reserve with less than his weight in supporting documentation,” Uncl
e Eb sighed. “So, you need a serious rifle.”
Rigi drooped a bit in regret, then sat upright again. “All the rifle permits have been filled. All I can have is a hand-shooter.”
Aunt Kay stood up, set her stylus on the table with a loud clunk and planted her fists on her hips. “Oh for fur’s sake. They are serious about limiting the number of larger self-defense weapons?”
“Yes. Five for the entire group of fifteen, with three of them to administrators and camp personnel, ma’am.” Rigi’s eyes went wide and she covered her ears with her hands as her aunt used words Rigi was not supposed to have heard before.
“While I agree that a new-born wombow would have more sense and foresight, dear, I don’t think either of the last two acts you so clearly described are anatomically possible for either human or Staré.” Uncle Eb stated calmly, then nodded at Rigi. Her aunt stalked off and Uncle Eb shook his head a little. “Your aunt is a wonderful woman and a jewel without price, but she really does need to learn to moderate her language in mixed company. Poor Lexi has delicate ears.” He winked at her.
Aunt Kay returned with a box almost identical to the one that held Rigi’s hand-shooter. “See if the grips fit. Your hand is a little plumper than mine. I’ve already unlocked the latches.” Rigi set the case in her lap and opened it to find a military-grade beam-shooter, with pink and lavender grips and a lavender firing body. The grip fit her hand well, and she added the main body but not the barrel, mentally thanking her instructors. She confirmed that it was unloaded, then slid in and ejected the test gas pack. It didn’t brush her fingers, but she didn’t have much grip room to spare. “Good. Take that with you and leave yours here. We can say there was an unfortunate mistake, if anyone asks. And they won’t.”
“No,” Uncle Eb said. “They will look at the colors and ignore the rest of the weapon.”
“Which is why I had it done, dear.” Aunt Kay rested a fond hand on her husband’s shoulder. “It eats gas packs at a frightful rate, Rigi, so use minimum power unless you need something absolutely, thoroughly dead.” A text-comm chimed and she answered it as Rigi disassembled the shooter body and put everything back. “And you now have sufficient funds to get more gas packs, Rigi. The commission finally paid, and your share went straight to your account.”
“Thank you Aunt Kay, I’m honored. I’ll take good care of this.”
“Please do.” Kay left and Uncle Eb straightened up.
Lexi stopped whatever he was doing and walked over to stand a hindfoot-length behind and beside her uncle’s chair. The old man seemed to shift, growing harder and warier, shoulders and back absolutely straight. “What do you know about the Staré on the Indria Plateau, Miss Auriga?”
“Nothing, sir. I was told that they follow the same Stamm system and speak a dialect similar to that used here.”
The two males exchanged a complicated look, and Uncle Eb made a hand gesture that mimicked a Staré forefoot sign. Lexi’s ears twitched, and he enunciated, “Such is half true, Miss Auriga. They are wild Staré, with Stamme but not as ours. I understand their speech, but not easily. They have drifted in body and mind from true Staré since the Second World began, or so the elders say, and I believe. Scent has not changed.” He stopped, allowing her to think for a few minutes about what he had said. Then he continued in Staré. “You can mimic scent. Do so with great care, and do not let other humans know. We,” he pointed to himself with his forefoot and released the scent meaning Staré, “hold uncertain.”
Rigi parsed his words into Common, blinked, and hand-bowed from her seat. “Thank you, Lexi, for wise council. I hear and will follow.” If the Staré were unsure about the expedition, she’d be trebly cautious. And making a fresh batch of //harmless/polite// moved to the top of her to do list.
“Wise child. Would that all cadets took such things seriously.” Uncle Eb sounded grim and sad both, and stared over her head, looking into his past. “When Kor learned that Tomás could not go, he petitioned to be added to the group. I wish the fools had listened.”
Rigi blinked before her eyes popped out of her head and rolled across the floor. Kor had petitioned to come? Kor the hunter, the canniest Staré she’d ever met, who rarely had time for humans aside from Tomás, who said that she had the wise eye and Tomás the hunter’s eye, had asked to come? She sat back with a thump. “Thank you for the news, sir, Lexi. I will act accordingly.”
“Do so. I should come with you, but that blasted fool Smargad is making trouble, stirring waters he has no idea of.” The savagery in his voice made her shiver. Uncle Eb shook, and the familiar eccentric uncle returned. “But that’s for me to observe, not you.”
Lexi made a quiet noise and a forefoot gesture.
“Tisk, tisk, Miss Rigi does not need to see such things.”
Lexi’s ears flopped sideways again, then crossed before returning to the vertical. He stuck his long tongue out and flapped it in a familiar rude brrrrrt. Some things transcended species. Rigi giggled. Her uncle looked up at the ceiling, asking for patience.
He also returned her list. “No, I think you have enough. I’d add a spare set of sturdy skirt and jacket or blouse, if they won’t take up too much space, say twice as heavy as your usual material, in a washed canvas or twill, something with a tight weave that will wear well and turn thorns. You do have lizard leggings?”
“Oh yes, they were the first thing I purchased.” Lizard leggings fit over the tops of boots and reached to her knees, and were almost bite proof. A hunter-lizard would have no trouble, but the ordinary small reptiles and a few of the nastier little monotremes would lose teeth before they did any serious damage to her leg. “And a spare sun shade, and heavy half-gloves to protect my palms.”
“Good. Practice shooting with the half-gloves on, please.”
“Aunt Kay’s shooter or mine, sir?”
“Yours. Do not let anyone think that you might have hers until you get to the plateau.” He leaned forward, pointing one finger for emphasis. “A few people might recognize it, and make a stink. Metaphorically,” he added, looking over at Lexi, who had returned to his work.
Rigi wondered if he meant Mr. Smargad, and what the problem was, aside from having a military-power hand-shooter in the hands of a minor. She had more than enough to worry about and decided not to bother asking. “Yes, sir. Tomás sent me a long list of advice.”
Uncle Eb hid a smile a little too slowly. “Shorter or longer than your brother’s?”
“Shorter and more useful, for the most part, sir.” She had doubts about needing a space-weight insulated coat on the plateau during the warm season. Serious doubts, since she had to carry her own kit in large part. The little emergency beacon made sense, and her father had obtained one for her. “The personal wombow cart, with wombow, seemed a bit excessive.”
Uncle Eb leaned back and laughed, as did Rigi. “He forgets that he’s talking to you and not to your sister, I do believe. Did he have any suggestion as to how said item should be transported?”
“No, sir, nor did I inquire, lest said item appear at my parents’ door with instructions attached.” She’d heard stories about overly enthusiastic junior officers; everyone had.
“Indeed. The only thing more dangerous than a lieutenant with a map and a plan is a colonel with vast experience from twenty-five years prior to the current date.” He sighed. “Should you encounter either of those animals, Miss Auriga, I suggest that you flee at the first possible opportunity. Should that prove impossible, climb a tree and do not come down until the disaster finishes ensuing.”
“I will keep that in mind, sir.”
If she had to answer one more question about how much she had packed, Rigi grumbled, she would climb the tallest tree in the botanical garden! Except her skirt did not permit that, and the sleeves on her dress would probably rip if she reached overhead too quickly. And formal slippers tended to fare poorly on rough surfaces such as tree bark in situ. Rigi made herself smile politely. “Thank you, ma’am, it has been a challenge,
but I’ve become used to traveling lightly.”
The thin, nervous woman started to ask another question, when they heard the Staré footman announce, “Mrs. Elaine Debenadetto. Mister Luminous Smargad.”
“What an unusual personal name,” the woman exclaimed, but quietly.
“Indeed, ma’am, indeed.” Which might go several light years toward explaining Mr. Smargad’s unhappy disposition and dyspeptic expression, that and his injuries and rolling walk, or so Rigi thought. He seemed to have brought a dark cloud with him as he bowed to Governor Theodaulf. The governor looked almost as unhappy, and Rigi wondered why. Where the two not on the invitation list? No, because then the guards would not have let them in. Mrs. Debenadetto was the sister-in-law of a former governor and the sister of the former military liaison, Col. Australi, so she had double reasons for attending, but what about Mr. Smargad?
Mrs. D looked around the room, and before Rigi could dive behind a large piece of furniture or potted plant, she saw Rigi and walked straight toward her. She reminded Rigi of a charging wombeast. The herds tended to move slowly, but when they panicked, or charged a predator pack, they flattened everything in their path smaller than a mature tree or large boulder. Her outfit suited her coloring but not her figure and drew attention to Mrs. D’s large following, to use a phrase. The color also clashed with the pale brown wall coverings, something Rigi would have thought impossible. She finished her glass of punch and braced for the onslaught.
“Little Auriga! There you are. I had no idea you were the mysterious illustrator selected to go with the group. Congratulations on your achievement. I knew when you were in school that you would do well but I had no idea!”
“Thank you, ma’am.” That seemed safe.
It wasn’t. Mrs. D frowned. “Still so restrained and shy, I’m sorry to see. It is said that happens to young people forced to develop ahead of their social skills, unless they act out and go wild. It is such a pity your parents did not encourage you to interact more with your fellow students, like that lovely Petrason boy and Tarkio Lamar. What did become of Lamar? I’ve not heard either of their names mentioned since my return.”
Staré: Shikari Book Two Page 6