“Sit down,” Esmay said, waving to the couch. He sat, and clasped his hands. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Someone sent word when you were discharged—to your home of record, apparently that’s standard procedure—but you’ll understand, it took quite a while for news of that to get to Altiplano. Then I heard you’d gotten on a merchant ship.”
“The Terakian Fortune.”
“Yes. There were delays in contacting Admiral Serrano, because she was in transit and because Fleet wasn’t too cooperative with me in granting ansible access to what they called ‘foreign military.’ The thing you need to know first, Esmaya, is that Admiral Vida Serrano had nothing to do with your discharge.”
“She didn’t?”
“No. She was angry, and so was I, that you young people chose to get married without anyone’s consent. She was angry about what she thought our family had done to the Serrano patrons. But we agreed that history can wait while we deal with the present crisis.”
The thought of her father and Admiral Serrano concentrating their formidable executive powers on her career gave Esmay a shiver of apprehension.
“Then the captain of the trader ship sent me a priority message from Zenebra, so I knew where you’d be next . . . and here I am. And don’t tell me you don’t need help,” her father said. He glanced at Brun. “Everyone needs help sometimes. You’ve proven your ability and independence.”
“Thanks,” Esmay said, feeling very trapped.
“But I can ask you what Admiral Serrano can’t. Do you want to get back in Fleet and command ships, or would you rather go back to Altiplano? Or settle in the Familias as a civilian?”
“Space,” Esmay said without hesitation. “But what about—”
“First things first,” her father said. “That was first—finding out what you wanted. They weren’t going to draft you against your will. Then the next complication is, your status as Landbride. Their regulations and our Landsmen’s Guild are both clear and unequivocal. I’ve argued the Landsmen’s Guild into the grudging agreement that you can resign in absentia, and Luci can be invested without delay—we will need several locks of your hair—” He looked at it. “If you could manage even a short braid—”
“Of course. And do I need to sign anything?”
“I brought the Order of Renunciation . . .” He gave her a long look. “Esmaya . . . I want you to know that you will always be welcome at home; Luci says that too. She’s still managing your herd; your Starmount award grant will always be yours. Your children—should you and Barin have children, which I hope you do—will be welcome there, as well, and considered legitimate heirs to the estancia.”
Her eyes stung with sudden tears. “Father—I do love the land . . . and Altiplano . . .”
“I know that. And Altiplano is very proud of its hero.” He took a big breath and sighed. “Thank God you’re not shutting me out—I was so afraid—”
From the distance of several years her anger now looked more like a local storm than a planet-circling cataclysm. He had been wrong; he was trying to make amends. A last niggling voice in her mind pointed out that he faced considerable difficulty in securing the Suiza place in the Landsmen’s Guild if she hadn’t cooperated, but she suppressed it. He did love her; his convenience wasn’t the only measure of worth.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, surprising herself because it was true. She had been baffled, and now she had an ally of no mean ability, one who was not trapped in a hospital bed. “Are you going to send the braid and certificate back to Altiplano, or carry them?”
“Carry them. Both Luci and the Landsmen’s Guild believe the Landbride’s Hair must not be consigned to the post like any ordinary object. I will need to make an ansible call back, to tell them you’re willing, and then I can stay long enough to be sure you get back into Fleet without trouble.”
Esmay was suddenly struck with another problem. “I don’t have but one uniform—the others were in transit when they discharged me, and who knows where they are now?”
“Surely this place has some military tailors who can fit you out?”
“Yes—” She wasn’t used to spending the kind of money it would take to replace all her uniforms.
“Don’t worry,” her father said. “Consider it my belated gift to you. Now if you don’t mind, I should make that call as soon as possible. Luci’s wedding is being held up pending—”
“Of course. There’s a terminal over in the banking center—”
While her father went to make his call, Esmay showered and washed her hair. She didn’t cut it, having a vague memory that the hair must be cut in front of official witnesses. “Do you want us to go or stay, Esmay?” Brun asked.
“Stay, please. I don’t know if he’ll need additional witnesses or not. That is, if you’re willing.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Brun said. “This whole Landbride thing fascinates me, and it’s not just the fancy dress. I remember my mother telling me about something she’d heard from her grandmother, about customs somewhere . . . can’t think where. Anyway, there it was the man who married the land.”
That sounded obscene to Esmay, but she told herself it was just a different culture. When her father returned, he had brought along the Altiplano docent, the representative who had no Seat on Council, but was allowed to submit minutes on Altiplano’s behalf. Esmay had never met him.
The man bowed. “Landbride Suiza. It is an honor.”
“Docent Faiza.”
“It is my understanding that you intend to renounce your position, in favor of a younger relative. Is this true?”
“It is,” Esmay said.
“In accordance with law and custom, belief and practice, it is my duty to be sure that this is indeed your will. If you will excuse us—” His gaze swept the room; Esmay’s father, Brun, and Kate retired into the hall.
Esmay noticed now that he held the paper which must be the Order of Renunciation. Her stomach clenched. Now that it came to it . . . the very feel of the earth beneath her bare feet that morning when she had sworn to protect the land forever came back to her. Could she renounce that? Tears stung her eyes again.
“Do you swear, Landbride Suiza, that you desire this of your own will, that no one has threatened you, or done you harm, or coerced you in any way to renounce your status?” He gazed at her solemnly; Esmay could hear the wind of Altiplano blowing through the summer grass, smell the rich fragrance of the summer pastures. Yet . . . much as she loved it, she did not love it enough.
“I so swear,” she said.
“Do you swear, Landbride Suiza, that your reason for this renunciation is your sincere care for the land of Suiza, and that your chosen successor will, in your unquestioning belief, protect this land better than you yourself could?” Was she sure Luci would be a better Landbride? Yes, for Luci had the undivided heart, as well as the intelligence and the character. The land would be better for having Luci as its guardian.
“I so swear.”
He lowered the paper. “I’m sorry, Landbride . . . though I am not a Suiza, and it has been years since I was home, I had been so proud of you—you made Altiplano famous in a good way.”
“I can’t do both,” Esmay said. “And I was away too long—I wanted to do the best for the land, but I don’t know enough about it. My cousin does. She’s been my agent.”
“Very well.” He picked up the paper again. “Now, I’ll need three witnesses to shearing your hair and your signature.”
Esmay called the others, and they came back. Docent Faiza spread the document on the table, and said, “Now you sign, and then your witnesses—and, Landbride, you must add a drop of blood.”
“Here, Esmay,” her father said. He took a small sheathed knife from his vest pocket. “This is the knife that has been used in the family for generations.”