They discussed the relative merits of the different classes until the transport came.
The flight to the weapons research facility was, despite the clear day, rough enough to make Barin wish he hadn’t eaten breakfast. Here were no walls and towers, just low buildings on a flat windswept space. Barin noticed that all the windows had been broken out, and some replaced with clearfilm and tape. He could see the black scars of fires and other destruction. But bleak as it was, it wasn’t as depressing as the prison island; he didn’t mind that they’d spend the next few days here.
“Who is that?” Barin asked. The stout man in the funny-looking jacket and fuzzy hat that he’d noticed on the flight from the mainland stumped around the blackened soil where the aircraft had been.
“That’s the professor.” Meharry grinned. “He was there when they pulled me out of the water. I think he’s crazy, the way geniuses usually are.”
“He’s a genius?”
“They all seem to think so.”
“Well . . . the beard’s right,” Barin said.
“He’s the reason Ensign Pardalt came along,” Meharry said. “She was his bodyguard when he went out to keep the mutineers from taking over the lab. I heard he asked for her again.”
“She didn’t want to come when I asked her,” Barin said.
The next morning, Barin came into the mess hall—its shattered windows now covered with clearfilm—and looked around. One table was all civilians, talking faster than they were eating. At another, the man in the yellow leather jacket—did he ever take it off?—was sitting next to Ensign Pardalt and leaning towards her.
Barin didn’t like the look the professor gave Margiu. She didn’t seem to mind it, but . . . she was young. Inexperienced. Geniuses probably thought they could do whatever they wanted, just because they were geniuses. He was determined not to make the mistake he’d made before, and fail to understand his people.
For a moment he remembered the annoying major on the ship he and Esmay had taken from the family reunion, but he pushed that aside. That had been different, if for nothing else than he and Esmay were the same age.
He went over and sat down beside Margiu. “Morning, Ensign.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Young Serrano comes down like a wolf on the fold—or at least the spring lamb . . .” the professor said.
“Excuse me?” Barin suspected it was a quotation, but he didn’t know the source.
“I only meant that you, like me, chose to sit beside the most ravishing young creature here.”
“That’s not why I—”
“Tut-tut, my boy. Never suggest anything less to a lady. Whatever your real motive, such as, perhaps, that she’s got the only saltshaker on the table, it’s only gallant to tell her you came in pursuit of her beauty.”
“Professor—” Margiu looked embarrassed; Barin thought she should. What a wordy old flatterer the professor was, after all, and old enough to be her father. Even her grandfather.
“My dear, this is not about you. Unless Lieutenant Serrano thinks I’m a danger to your heart or your safety—” The professor looked at him, and Barin was suddenly aware of a very bright, very piercing glance from those gray eyes, a directness that reminded him of his grandmother. Then the professor looked down, and stabbed his waffle.
“I—thought Ensign Pardalt might not mind some—younger company.”
“She might, if you were single,” the professor said. “But rumor has it you’re married. To Esmay Suiza, in fact. Or is rumor mistaken?”
He was playing dirty, Barin decided. He wrapped himself in Serrano dignity. “Yes, I’m married,” he said. “And no, I’m not trying to express any interest in Ensign Pardalt which is inappropriate to . . .” He was floundering and he knew it; there was a wicked glint in the professor’s eye which said he was enjoying Barin’s difficulty. “As the senior present—”
“He’s not bothering me, Lieutenant,” Margiu said softly. “He’s sort of . . . crazy . . . but he’s harmless.”
The professor raised his eyebrows dramatically. “Harmless! And this is what I come to, after a life of dedication to the sweet beauties . . . to be called harmless.”
Barin’s anger evaporated, for no reason he could name. He grinned. “You don’t look harmless.”
“Thanks be for small mercies. And you, young woman, don’t ruin my reputation. My colleagues would tease me unmercifully if they thought I was losing my appeal.” He looked at Barin again. “Actually, you’ve done me a favor. They’ll see your challenge as proof of my performance, not my feathers. Now I’ll take myself off, as if you’d threatened me, and you two young people can enjoy breakfast.”
After the professor had gone, Margiu said nothing more, eating steadily.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted,” Barin said, finally.
“No . . . it’s just . . . he’s fun sometimes. He reminds me of home, in a way.”
“Xavier?” Barin asked.
“Yes. It’s just an ag world, but we do have a university. My parents are farmers, but they’re not stupid—” She said this as if expecting an argument. When Barin said nothing, she went on. “Before the—before the Benignity came, we had a house with wide porches, and every week my parents would invite people over. We kids would play games, and the grownups would talk and talk.”
“Did you lose your home?” Barin asked.
“Oh, yes. But we rebuilt, just not as big. In time, it will be. Dad says he can’t do without a porch to sit on and watch the sky over the fields. Anyway, the professor’s a lot smarter and more educated, but some of his talk reminds me of home. The teasing kind of thing.” She sounded wistful.
“Do you miss it?”
“Xavier? Sometimes. But I like Fleet, too. Sir—if you don’t mind—would you introduce me to Lieutenant Suiza sometime? I’d like to thank her personally.”
“Of course,” Barin said automatically. He didn’t feel like explaining that Esmay wasn’t in Fleet anymore. He wondered if everyone was going to think of him as Esmay Suiza’s appendage for the rest of his life, the way the family spoke of his aunt’s engineer as “Heris’s Petris.”
His deskcomp informed him he had downloaded messages waiting. Barin sighed. His parents had been sending him jaunty little get-well messages every week or so, but that was not what he wanted. What he wanted . . . was right there in front of him. personal on the header, and Esmay Suiza-Serrano down below.
His breath caught in his throat. She was back—it had all been a mistake, not his grandmother’s fault. She wasn’t Landbride anymore. She had a ship of her own. She loved him. She hoped he was better, and she was sending a cube.
He looked away, and blinked back tears. She was all right. She wasn’t dead, or hurt, or lost; she hadn’t gone back to Altiplano. He should have known she’d manage. Esmay always managed. Things always worked out for her in the end.
Whereas he . . . he shook his head hard. She loved him; he loved her. He was glad she was back in—of course he was. He was glad she had a ship—she deserved to have a ship. His mind automatically calculated how long it would be before he could hope for a ship, and he swatted it down. That didn’t matter . . . did it?
He looked at his reflection in the bureau mirror and grimaced. All the scars were gone—the visible ones—but he still looked gaunt and older than he had.
Because you’ve grown up.
Had he? Was this restlessness, this dissatisfaction, part of growing up?
He fled from that question and decided to follow his doctors’ recommendation to walk at least five kilometers a day. Around the training field, around the main buildings . . . and down to Q-town would just about finish the distance. His legs ached by the time he got to Q-town, and he was glad to stop and rest. Now which? He could eat supper here, just as well. He knew the name and reputation of each bar and restaurant, and shied away from Diamond Sim’s, where someone would be sure to comment on experiences. Mama Zee’s, on the other hand, served hearty food in its small crowded dining room.