Again, it took a moment for the words to register.
Admiral Young finally stopped gaping. “What ‘other’ responsibility?” he demanded.
Lady Catherine’s eyes grew a bit round. “Oh, you hadn’t heard? It seems that the self-destruct mechanism in Manpower’s vault failed to operate properly. When those savage Ballroom terrorists wreaked their havoc on Manpower’s headquarters, they were able to salvage most of the records from the computers. I received a copy, sent by an anonymous party.”
She planted the hat back on her head. “I haven’t had time to study it fully, of course—such voluminous records—but it didn’t take me more than a minute to realize that the information needs to be presented to the Queen as soon as possible. You all know how much Elizabeth detests genetic slavery. She’s said so in public—oh, I can’t keep track of all the times! And in private, her opinion is even more volcanic.” She shook her head sadly. “Such a hot-tempered woman. I worry about her health, sometimes.”
The smile was back. “Elizabeth and I were childhood friends, you know. Did I fail to mention that? Oh, yes. Very close, at one time. Our relations have been strained for years, naturally, due to political differences. But I’m quite certain she’ll want to speak to me on this subject. And Lady Harrington also, of course. I’ve never met her personally, but my butler Isaac is an old acquaintance.”
She’d left them completely befuddled, now. The smile widened. “You didn’t know? How odd, I thought everyone did. Isaac was one of the slaves Lady Harrington freed—well, she wasn’t a peer in those days, of course, just another commoner naval officer—when she smashed up the depot at Casimir. I’m sure she’d agree to see him again, to allow him to present his overdue thanks. Along with a copy of these records. Quite certain of it.”
Her hand squeezed Zilwicki’s shoulder. “Captain?”
“Your servant, Lady Catherine.”
A moment later, they were gone. The two men remaining in the room stared at each other. Their faces were already growing pale.
“Records?” choked Hendricks.
The admiral ignored him. He was already scrabbling for the communicator. In the minutes which followed, while Hendricks paced out his agitation, Young simply sat there. Listening to his chief legal officer explain to him, over and again, that he had neither the legal grounds—nor, more to the point here on Terra, the police authority—to detain a Manticoran Peer of the Realm engaged in the Queen’s business.
Victor
As he leaned over the railing on the upper level of the terminal, studying the small party below getting ready to enter the embarkment area, Victor had mixed emotions. Which, sad to say, seemed destined to be his normal state. He almost felt regret for past simplicities and certitudes.
Almost. Not quite.
He heard a chuckle. The big man standing next to him, with the very pretty woman nestled under his arm, had—as usual—read his mind. Victor was almost getting tired of that also.
Almost. Not quite.
“Grotesque, isn’t it?” mused Usher. “All that obscene wealth, in the hands of a single person? You could feed a small town for a year on what a private yacht like that costs.”
Victor said nothing. He had learned that much, at least. One thing at a time.He didn’t want to hear the lecture again.
“What do you think he’s saying to her?” he asked.
Usher’s eyes moved, focusing on the girl below. She was giving a fierce hug to the small man who had accompanied the party to the terminal.
“Well, let’s see. He’s probably stopped chiding her for using the Owl By Night. And he’s probably already told her exactly which schools to investigate, once she gets to Manticore.” A large hand came up and rubbed his jaw. “So I imagine he’s simply telling her the kind of things which she really needs to know. Things from the heart, so to speak.”
Below, the embrace ended. With the quick motions of someone steadying loss with new determination, Helen Zilwicki marched her entire party to the gate. There were six people in the party. Her father and Lady Catherine and Isaac brought up the rear. In the front, nestled under Helen’s wings, her new brother and sister advanced toward a new life. Master Tye alone remained behind, simply staring.
Usher turned away from the railing. “And that’s that. Come on, Victor. It’s time for Ginny and me to introduce you to a new vice.”
Victor followed obediently. He didn’t even grimace at the gibe.
“Good lad,” murmured Usher. “You’ll like it, I promise. And if the elitism bothers you, just use the plebe word for it. Movies.”
He leaned over, smiling at his wife. “Which one, d’you think?”
“Casablanca,” came the immediate reply.
“Good choice!” Kevin draped his other arm over Victor. “I do believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Helen
On the second night of their journey home, her father didn’t return to their suite on the yacht. Once she was sure he wasn’t going to, Helen made up her bed on the couch in the small salon. It took her a while to settle Lars and Berry for the night, in the stateroom which she was sharing with them. Partly, because something of her own good cheer seemed to infuse them. But mostly it was because they were afraid of sleeping without her.
“Come on!” she snapped. “We aren’t going to be sharing a bed forever, you know.” She eyed the huge and luxurious piece of furniture. “Not one like this, anyway. Not with Daddy on half-pay, at best.”
She did not seem noticeably upset at the prospect of future poverty. Lars and Berry, of course, were not upset at all. Their new father’s “half” pay was a fortune to them.
“Get to sleep!” Helen commanded. She turned off the lights. “Tonight belongs to Daddy. And tomorrow morning too.”
* * *
In the time which followed, Helen set her clever alarms. She did the work with the same enthusiasm with which she had spent the evening designing them.
But, in the event, the alarms proved unnecessary. She never managed to sleep herself. So, when she heard her father coming through the outer doors, early in the morning, she had time to disengage them before he entered. She even had time to perch herself back on the couch. Grinning from ear to ear.
The door to the salon opened and her father tiptoed in. He spotted her and froze. Helen fought to restrain her giggles. Talk about role reversal.
“So!” she piped. “How was she?”
Her father flushed. Helen laughed and clapped her hands with glee. She had never managed to do that!
Her father straightened, glared at her, and then managed a laugh himself.
“Rascal,” he growled. But the growl came with a rueful smile, and he padded over to the couch. The moment he sat down next to her, Helen scrambled into his lap.
Surprise crossed her father’s face. Helen had not sat in his lap for years. Too undignified; too childish.
The look of surprise vanished, replaced by something very warm. A film of tears came into his eyes. A moment later, Helen felt herself crushed against him, by those powerful wrestler’s arms. Her own vision was a bit blurry.
She wiped away the tears. Whimsy, dammit!
“I bet she snores.” She’d planned that sentence for hours. She thought it came out just right.
Again, her father growled. “Rascal.” Silence, for a moment, while he pressed her close, kissing her hair. Then:
“Yeah, she does.”
“Oh, good,” whispered Helen. The whimsical humor she’d planned for that remark was absent, however. There was nothing in it but satisfaction. “I like that.”
Her father chuckled. “So do I, oddly enough. So do I.” He stroked and stroked her hair. “Any problem with it, sugar?”
Helen shook her head firmly. “Nope. Not any.” She pressed her head against her father’s chest, as if listening to his heartbeat. “I want you full again.”