Miss Chin looked down her patrician nose at the angry mother and inhaled, causing the seams on her bodice to strain as the neckline on her crimson gown threatened to resign its proper position. “Madame, I do not know what you are talking about.”
“You are fifteen years old,” the woman snapped.
The young man dropped Miss Chin’s arm and backed away so quickly that he collided with a fifth Stamm waiter. The crash of glassware and metal pulled everyone’s attention to the scene.
“Fifteen?” a captain demanded. “You said you were nineteen and independent!” He’d gone pale. Rigi had a sudden sense of impending disaster, social and otherwise.
Mrs. DiNatali and two other matrons swooped down on Miss Chin. Rigi turned away, crossed the room and got a little something from the tasting buffet. She could guess, and preferred not to know. Her parents should never have permitted that, Rigi sniffed. No wonder her mother refused to allow Rigi and Cy to socialize with the Chins, even if they were only fifth-cousins of Mrs. Chin-Petrason and related to a former colonial governor.
“I wonder how long she’s been flying false colors?” Cy inquired a few minutes later. “Because there’s going to be at least two breach-of-promise suits come tomorrow.” He sounded gleeful. “That’s why you cannot be too careful around young men, Auriga.”
Rigi started to kick him in the shin. It was Lea Chin who had led the men astray, not the other way around! Mr. Brown stopped just beside Cy, speaking to another couple, and Rigi restrained herself, but not easily. “This entire season at least,” Rigi replied. “Beyond that I do not care to speculate, Cyril.”
“Miss Bernardi, may I have this dance?” One of Miss Brown’s male cousins bowed, saving Rigi from whatever her brother had intended to say.
“Certainly, sir.”
Tomás reappeared an hour later, shortly before the meal. “Rigi, I need a word with you and your brother.” He appeared calm but he sounded worried, and his eyes had a hint of what Rigi thought of as a hunter’s look.
“He’s speaking with Miss Sorensen.” Tomás took her arm and together they strolled around the dancers and observers, acting as if nothing at all might be the matter. Once they reached Cy and the young lady in orange, Tomás bowed and released her.
“Mister Bernardi?”
Cy drew himself up, shoulders square. “Lt. Prananda.” Ice almost dripped from his words.
“I apologize profusely for interrupting sir, Miss Sorensen, but events force me to ask a small question of you and Miss Bernardi.”
Cy started turning red and before he could explode, Rigi assured him, “Cy, it has to do with an event elsewhere this evening.” If they weren’t standing in the open, she’d stomp on his toes for being so obstreperously overprotective!
“Oh. Miss Adele, if you could possibly pardon me?”
She sent them off and Cy followed Tomás to a relatively quiet corner.
“Miss Auriga, are you missing anything?”
Rigi blinked, then opened her small bag. “No, I—Yes. Yes, my lip color and one of my cards are both missing.”
“Has your bag been out of your sight, or yours Mr. Bernardi?”
“Yes, several times.”
“B—Blast,” Tomás snapped.
“What is going on?” Cy demanded, folding his arms and glaring at Tomás.
“One of my subala minors was killed this evening. And I saw a broad-shouldered man with dark hair near your chairs before the dancing started.”
“And?” Cy tried to loom over Tomás.
Tomás ignored the threat. “Mr. Bernardi, the person who reported finding the soldier claims that a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man met with the deceased. If either of you see someone like that, please tell security as soon as you can. I’ve already told Mr. Brown.”
Cy bared clenched teeth. “What is in the water? Grimly smoking sorrow-weed, someone taking my sister’s lip color, and now this.”
“Be careful, please. I have to go. And Rigi, if you hear from our uncle, tell him I’d like a word if he has time.”
“I will do just that, and thank you for the caution.” Rigi nodded.
“Yes, thank you,” Cy grated, watching Tomás disappear again. “Our uncle?”
“Uncle Ebenezer Trent.”
“Oh.” Cy studied her for a moment. “Why do you have anything to do with what he just mentioned?”
“I hope that I do not, Cy. But if the person seen near the, ah, incident and the person here are the same, then we need to be aware.” As she spoke, Cyril straightened up, squared his shoulders, and stepped to the side, as if blocking someone. “What?”
“Mr. Smargad, the person from the news feeds, seems to be bearing down upon us.”
She turned and saw him glowering at her. The glower shifted to a sneer, lip curled, pale eyes narrowed. Then Smargad spun on one heel and hurried away, his limp and rolling gait becoming worse as she watched.
That’s odd, Rigi thought. I’ve never seen him move smoothly before. And he had dark eyes las—
The air in the room shivered. Boomf!
15
Death and Life
Eye-burning white smoke filled the hall. Rigi heard screams of panic. Cy grabbed her arm and dragged her out the closest door, into a short hallway leading outside. She ducked, keeping one eye shut as the drills on the transport ships had ordered. “Stay here, and help keep the doorway clear.” Cy pushed her against a wall and turned around, rushing back through the rapidly-closing door. It slammed open again and stayed that way. Bitter white and brown smoke oozed out and she moved a little farther down the short corridor, toward the outside door. Soon the first people appeared, coughing and choking, groping for guidance. Rigi took a woman’s hand and led her and a gentleman out into fresh air, then used an ornamental rock to block the outer door open. As soon as the couple were in the evening air, Rigi went back and helped another person, then a man who seemed to be choking, followed by a woman who flailed, screaming with blind panic. Rigi ducked her waving arms, grabbed some loose material on her dress and push-pulled her into the garden, where one of the men took charge of her. Rigi crouched below the smoke and returned to her little hallway.
She must have made a dozen trips back and forth before someone in a Company Security uniform appeared. He had a gas shield on and pushed past her. Rigi took that as a sign and fled to the relatively clear air of the courtyard. She went straight to the fountain in the center and rinsed her hands in the flowing water, then wiped her face. Whatever it was, she wanted it off her bare skin.
“What in the blazes is going on?” one man demanded, scowling at the Brown’s dance pavilion. “That wasn’t a very funny practical joke.”
“It smelled a little like smoke from a coolant failure,” someone observed, then coughed. “But the color was wrong.”
Rigi saw another batch of people staggering out of the doorway and trotted forward, taking the hand of a woman in a stained dress. The woman held her arms straight out and waved her hands, as if trying to feel her way, and tears streamed down her face. She kept her eyes closed and Rigi led her to a bench. “My eyes,” the woman gasped, then coughed. “Burning, I can’t see, my eyes!” Rigi looked at the fountain. Could she carry water in her hands to rinse the woman’s eyes? No, but perhaps… Rigi emptied her wrist bag onto the bench and darted to the fountain, filling the little cylinder with water from the upper spigot, and rushed back.
“I have water for your eyes.”
“Bright one be thanked, do it,” the woman moaned. She forced one eye open, holding it with her fingers as Rigi poured the water in. “Arrrrh, oh, better. Hurts, cold, but better.” Rigi made another trip and flushed the woman’s left eye, then repeated the process.
“You, what are you— Oh. Good thinking,” an old woman said. “Let me look.” She had a little light and shone it in the stranger’s eyes. “Irritated but not scalded, Creator and Creatrix be thanked. Well done, young lady.” She patted the seated woman on the shoulder. “Do not try to
go anywhere until a medic comes, my dear, but your eyes should be fine. Miss, come with me.”
Rigi obeyed without thinking, and the older woman stated, “I’m a retired nurse. You stay by the fountain with that water carrier of yours. I will send the patients to you. Flush their eyes four times, a full bag worth each time.”
“Full bag worth, flush each eye four times, yes ma’am.” Rigi repeated then took up her station. One of the young men led people to where she stood and in some cases held the unfortunate’s head still as she bathed their eyes. Rigi took care of a dozen people before the nurse returned. She inspected the eyes of a small, elderly man, spoke quietly to her helper and dusted her hands on her flowing split skirt. The young man escorted the senior gentleman to sit with a group of other weeping and blinking people.
“I fear the others need more than just large amounts of fresh water,” the old woman nodded toward a small group of moaning men and women, all clutching their faces. “May justice be swift and firm for the creatures who put blindgass into the ventilation system.” She shook her head, making the small beads on her earrings clatter. “Creator and Creatrix have mercy on the rest of us.” She blinked a few times and looked at Rigi, really looking at her. She peered more closely. “You. You are the hand-dancer from Southside temple, are you not?”
“Ah, yes, ma’am.” Should Rigi know the older woman? She did seem almost familiar, but not quite, not entirely.
“My daughter was the Matron at the original Temple, dear. I am Retired Matron.”
Rigi hand bowed and then curtsied, eyes on the ground. She’d never met a Retired Matron. “Ma’am, it is an honor and blessing to serve,” she murmured.
“It is an honor and blessing to serve our fellow creations, always and ever, to the extent of our capabilities and gifts and to the glory of the Creator and Creatrix. You may rise, dear.”
Rigi stood, keeping her eyes down. “Is there ought else I may do to be of aid?”
“Only that which all are called to do, to pray and to give comfort.” The Retired Matron tapped her foot. “We have done that which we could do without causing greater harm than help. I’m not a trauma nurse, just a general care assistant. Blistered corneas are not something I know how to treat, and I suspect the Brown family does not have a full ophthalmic medicine suite tucked away behind the golden ivy over there, no matter how generous their hospitality.”
“I fear we do not, ma’am,” Mr. Brown said. “Company security wishes to speak to everyone once the medical personnel have finished evaluating and sending emergency cases on. Thank you, Mrs. Lee-Tomkins, Miss Bernardi, for your work.” How he managed to stay so calm and proper Rigi could not imagine.
“It is our duty to serve,” the Retired Matron said. “I took the healer’s oath and while I may be retired, that never changes.”
Rigi kept her voice even and calm, her words formal, trying to sound like her mother. “Thank you, Mr. Brown, but I only did what all people would do. I do hope that Miss and Mrs. Brown are safe?”
“Yes, they are fine, thank you. If it is not too great an imposition, could I ask you to stay with the injured until the medics arrive in the garden?”
“It is no imposition at all, Mr. Brown,” Mrs. Lee-Tompkins assured him. “Miss Bernardi, if you would come with me.”
“Ah, one moment, please ma’am. I need to collect the contents of my bag.”
“Oh yes, quite so.” She waited while Rigi scooped her identification and credit purse, and cards, off the bench and returned. “Be just as you have been, dear. Calm. Do not give false assurances, but,” she pursed thin lips, then shook her head a few centimeters at most. “A soft falsehood to ease pain might not be amiss at times such as this. I trust your judgment.”
A weight seemed to settle on Rigi’s shoulders. A Matron trusting her? The thought scared her more than the carnifex leaper had. Creator and Creatrix guide me, she prayed franticly. “I will do as you council, ma’am,” she heard her voice saying.
By the time the medics and emergency physicians had tended to the worst injured, and Corporate Security had taken her statement, Rigi felt as if she’d aged a decade in three hours. The clocks had chimed the midnight hour and another hour after that, her back ached, her eyes felt gritty, she wanted a drink, and needed to use the washroom. Cyril had checked on her twice, Mr. Patel likewise. Rigi wished Tomás would come, or her father, or Uncle Eb. Or Makana and Martinus, and her mother to take over. Instead she held shaking hands, comforted the weeping, listened to other people’s fears, and tried to be as calm and serene and soothing as the Retired Matron. She wanted to close her eyes, to make the picture of the blinded people go away. Even in the dim light of the garden, Rigi saw too much. She felt ill, but didn’t let herself show it. Instead she stroked a weeping woman’s back and made soothing noises until a medic took over.
At long last a Security officer pointed to her and Cy. “You may go. Do not linger. If we have more questions we will contact you.” He sounded stern and a little fierce, and Rigi put her hand on Cy’s arm to keep him from responding. Cy almost dragged her off her feet in his haste to get her out of the courtyard.
“Blast it, I don’t see any vehicles. Where’s our runabout?”
“All vehicles moved to make room for emergency and security, sir,” a sixth Stamm male said. “There’s some personal carts and vehicles that way,” he pointed with a forefoot. “Hire transports too, sir.”
“Thank you,” Rigi said, tugging Cy’s arm. He jerked his head in a quick nod to the Staré and they went in the indicated direction. The air had begun to cool a little, but not much, and the pavement radiated heat. It made Rigi sleepy and she struggled to not yawn.
“Mister Cyril, Miss Auriga,” a blessedly familiar voice said and Rigi heard metal on steincrete. She crouched and caught Martinus as a dark shadow, Makana, appeared from beside a wombow cart. “Mister Timothy asks you to come with me.”
Cy helped Rigi into the cart, then stepped clear until Martinus joined her. Cy sat up front, balancing the Staré seat with Makana, watching for trouble. Makana flicked the cream-colored wombow with the go-faster stick and the sleepy gelding snorted, then began walking. Rigi fell asleep before they’d gone a block. She was safe with Martinus and Makana.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Rigi told Martinus a few days later as she cleaned him. He’d gotten into some odd mud that stained, and with a grumble and sigh she knelt beside him, scrubbing and polishing all his bare metal, then spot-cleaning his fabric-textured areas.
“Wee?”
She patted him and returned to polishing his left foreleg. “Why attack a coming-of-age dance? If the Staré wanted revenge for the deaths of the farm workers and the soldier, why attack the dance? And why that way?” The news feeds claimed that the governor had received a message just before the attack, claiming that “since the company is blind to the Staré under the law, and blind to the killing of Staré defenders, the Staré will blind the colonizers in truth.” Which to Rigi seemed silly, because the governor did not answer to the Company or have much say over it. He answered to the Crown. “And how did they know so quickly about the subala minor’s death?”
“The media or the attackers, Miss Rigi?” She startled and looked up to see Tomás looking down at her. He was wearing his slightly-fancy uniform. What was he visiting for?
“You are not a good guard dog,” she scolded Martinus. He seemed to droop. “I’m sorry. Never mind.” She patted his head with the cleaner of her two hands. “And the attackers.”
“A lot of other people would also like to know that, including me.” He lifted his uniform hat and smoothed his short trimmed hair. “Is your father at home, Miss Auriga?”
“Yes, Lt. Prananda.” She sensed motion, looked over her shoulder, and saw the end of a dark tail disappearing into the side door from the verandah. How did Lonka move so quietly? “If you go to the front door, Lonka will show you in.”
“Thank you, Miss Auriga.” He patted Martinus, who thumped his onc
e-more-furry tail on the verandah floor, and trotted off the top step to go around to the front door. Well, that explained why Martinus had not warned her about her visitor. But why was Tomás here to see her father? Maybe it was old Army matters, something his father had asked Tomás to look into. That made sense.
Rigi resumed cleaning and polishing. At least Martinus did not shed like some of the long-haired or heavy-coated bio-dogs. There was one that had been bred for hunting on LimWorld that had a heavy double coat and that shed everything within twenty-four planetary hours, once a year. The results wouldn’t have been so bad, except that the dogs hunted in packs, so everyone seemed to have at least four of the sixty-kilo dogs. Rigi’s sister had asked about the mounds of black snow and had been informed that it was dog hair. Martinus just tried to rust or to bring as much of the outdoors in as possible. “Hey, stop that.”
Martinus stood, tail horizontal, intent on something. Rigi turned around and saw a seventh Stamm carrying a large box toward the verandah. Oh, a delivery. She turned back around to start picking up her cleaning things, then hesitated. Who had ordered something? And the delivery males always came to the front. She turned again. The Staré looked odd—glazed?—staring straight ahead, not watching his footing.
“Martinus disarm!” Rigi tried to get to the door, tripped and dropped flat onto the floor of the verandah. She covered her head as Martinus crouched and leaped over her, knocking the box out of the Staré’s forefeet.
Bang-boom! Clatter tinkle tinkle tinkle.
Ears ringing, Rigi stayed still until she didn’t hear any more falling object sounds, counted to five, then scrambled to her knees. “Martinus!” She ran toward the pile of metal, skirting a small crater in the lawn. “Martinus!”
One of his forelegs had been mangled, and one optic sensor remained dark. His tail, still furry, managed a wag. “Whheeeff.” Something had damaged his sound transmitter. Rigi knelt, then lay down on top of him, petting him.
Staré: Shikari Book Two Page 23