Venezia, when she looked back at her, was hunched over the deskcomp, murmuring something Heris couldn’t follow. Heris could just see the flicker of rapidly changing screens, lines of text and blocks of numbers scrolling past much faster than she would have cared to read. Did this old woman really know what she was doing? Cecelia was sharp enough—at least about horses, and her own investments—but Venezia had not yet impressed Heris with her intelligence. She had seemed far more scatterbrained than Cecelia or Marta; she had kept muttering about pottery. What was she reading so fast?
“Aha,” Venezia said in the midst of this musing. “He’s sharpened the blade for his own throat this time!”
“What?” asked Heris.
Venezia glanced up at her. “It’s a mistake to assume that people with artistic hobbies can’t think,” she said. Heris blinked; this was exactly the sort of statement she would have expected from Venezia eight hours before. “Or won’t notice,” Venezia went on, stabbing at the controls. She had bright patches of color on her cheeks, and Heris realized she was in a considerable rage.
Was it better to say nothing, or show an interest? Heris had opted for saying nothing when Venezia spoke again. “My brothers,” she said. “Did you have brothers, my dear?”
“Only one, and he died,” Heris said. She had never really known him; she had been only five when he died, and he had been adult.
“Friends tell me they can be human,” Venezia said. “But I always doubted it. My brothers—well, most of it doesn’t matter now, except as background for not trusting them. But they’ve overreached themselves this time, and I’m not going to back down.” She pushed back her chair and went to the door of the other office. “Marta—anything critical?”
Heris craned her neck to look. Raffa’s aunt didn’t glance up from the deskcomp she was using, but she answered. “Only if you want your product to meet contract specs. This is very strange, Venezia. Some of the problem is just your biochemists trying for a cheap way around a difficult synthesis, but some of it is . . . could almost be . . . deliberate sabotage. I’m not sure how these changes will function biologically.”
“Product liability problems?”
“Unquestionably. You’ll have to track the shipments to see how bad it is. And retainer or not, there’s no way I can keep quiet about some of this.”
“I don’t want you to. We’re going to have to close this facility down anyway, at least for some time.”
“What will your brothers say? Can you convince them?”
The grin on Venezia’s face reminded Heris of her aunt admiral on the trail of a feckless ship’s captain. “I can do more than convince them, Marta. I can destroy them.” Her grin widened. “I have the shares.”
“I’m impressed,” Marta said. “Then why did you let them get into this mess?”
“I was busy elsewhere.” Venezia shifted from foot to foot. “I know that’s no excuse, really. It’s my money. My responsibility. I should have been keeping track of them, but Oscar . . . he’s so difficult. It was easier to stay away. You’re going to say I should have known.”
“No need,” Marta said, still not looking up. “You already know that. What can I do to help?”
“Be sure you bring along any evidence you’ll need; I’ll try to secure these files, but you can see how it is . . . these people will try to protect themselves.”
Heris thought of something she could do. “If it would help—” she began tentatively. Both the older women turned to look at her.
“Yes?”
“If they think I’m an official Fleet representative, perhaps that will make them think twice about destroying things. Or, if it would help, I’ve got a really good scan tech who could probably put military-grade encryptions on them. And someone who could watch the door while he does it.”
“Perfect,” Venezia said. “How long before you can get your people down here?”
“I don’t know the shuttle schedule,” Heris said. She refrained from telling Venezia that it was her presence on the other shuttle that had kept them aloft. “It shouldn’t take long for the little equipment he’ll need.”
“There will be a shuttle,” Venezia said. “I’ll order one.” Heris was only mildly surprised at the efficiency with which Venezia ordered a shuttle, arranged a secure comlink for Heris to the Sweet Delight, and arranged ground transportation for Heris’s personnel when they landed. Some officers didn’t look as formidable as they were; Venezia must be that sort. And Bunny, she remembered, had had that uncanny ability to change gears from foolish, horse-besotted idle rich, to the very effective Lord Thornbuckle. She wondered what it would feel like to do that. And was it something that came with money and power, or with age? Or all of the above? If age was part of it, the increasing number of Rejuvenants were going to affect society even more than she’d thought.
Marta and Venezia continued to unearth more problems, and discuss them—a discussion that went far beyond Heris’s comprehension—until Koutsoudas, Oblo, and Meharry showed up. Heris explained what Venezia wanted.
“No problem, Captain,” Oblo said. He looked around the offices. “Just how much trouble do we expect?”
“Not much, really. The damage is done; it’s just a matter of protecting the evidence. And they know I represent Fleet. Unofficially, of course.”
“Of course.” Meharry grinned. She had brought some of the lethal weaponry Heris had bought on the first voyage, and the lightweight body armor under her shipsuit was obvious to the instructed eye. So was the military bearing of all three. Koutsoudas, busy at the computer terminal, had attached some of his pet boxes.
“I’ve secured the database,” he said, in far less time than even Heris expected. “It’ll snag and log any attempts to delete or alter anything, and lock the guilty terminal.”
“And I’ll just go around and put out a few scanners,” Oblo said. He waggled the duffel he carried.
“Good,” Heris said. The two older women looked pleased, and she let herself enjoy it. At least she didn’t feel like a useless idiot next to them . . . although she was beginning to suspect they might not need even this help.
“I’m thinking of dinner,” Venezia said, turning to lead the way back out of the building. “Did we ever have anything for lunch?”
All the way back to the hotel, Venezia and Marta discussed the culinary possibilities of the local cuisine, as if all they cared about was food.
Chapter Twenty-two
They were all relaxing after a leisurely dinner, waiting for dessert to be served, when a deferential waiter brought Venezia a comunit and plugged it in for her. “A call, madam. From madam’s brothers.”
Venezia scowled. “Good. I have something to say to them.”
But she didn’t get the first word. Heris could hear the angry, “Venezia, you stupid cow, what are you trying to do!” from where she sat. Venezia did not click on the privacy screen. The angry male voice ranted on. “You’re ruining us! It’s all your fault!”
“No.” Venezia grinned, an unpleasant grin full of teeth. “I am not the problem, Oscar. You are. I know about Ottala. I know about the drugs—”
“Venezia, no! Not on an open line!”
“I have called an emergency stockholders’ meeting—” Heris wondered when she had had time to do that. “And you can either resign now or be thrown out.”
“Venezia, you don’t understand.” Now the angry voice had turned conciliatory, pleading. “It’s your artistic temperament; I understand that. Someone’s upset you—”