“You have upset me.” Venezia snorted. “Artistic temperament, my left little toe! Do you think I haven’t seen what you did with those ceramics you said you appreciated so much? I even found one on the desk in the police station!” She cut off an apology. “Never mind. I haven’t made a pot in years. I bought them wholesale in the Guerni Republic, just to keep you boys off my back so I could do what I wanted to do, and you never even noticed that I kept picking uglier and uglier ones, hoping you’d quit asking—” She ran out of breath, and panted a moment, her cheeks flushed.
“You just don’t understand, Venezia . . . it was for your own good—”
“Ottala’s death was not for my own good! She would never have been killed if you hadn’t been involved in this mess with rejuvenation—if you hadn’t ignored the workers’ complaints—”
“Workers always complain!”
“You were forcing Finnvardians to manufacture rejuvenation drugs, and you tried to coerce them to use contraceptives,” Venezia said. “Didn’t you bother to find out anything about Finnvardians?”
“They’re tough, hard workers, and they like living underground,” her brother said.
“They’re also fanatic about free birth and plastic surgery,” Venezia said. “You remember when you wanted my investment in the expansion, I asked you then if you understood what a Finnvardian work force meant, and you said ‘Never mind, Venezia, let us boys handle it.’ I should have known better,” she said bitterly. She looked as if she might cry.
Marta reached for the comunit, identified herself, and went on. “Lord Thornbuckle is personally interested in these matters,” she said. “The supply of contaminated, adulterated, and illegal rejuvenation chemicals concerns the highest level of government. I think Venezia’s right—resignation’s your best option.”
“But—but she’s never managed any—”
“She has the shares, doesn’t she? Besides, it’s not a secret monopoly anymore. Your profit margin just collapsed. You’ll be lucky if you’re not held personally responsible for damages under the product liability laws.”
Cecelia went next. “And if there’s any evidence of pharmaceuticals from here getting into the hands of that conniving Minister’s sister—Lorenza—you know whom I mean—then I personally will sue you for the damages she did me.”
Heris decided to join the party. “And while Fleet chose not to act openly, in recognition of the difficulties remaining since the Patchcock Incursion, I should tell you that I have a brief from my admiral to report on the situation here and determine if it poses a threat to the security of the Familias.”
“But—but you’re just a lot of stupid old ladies!” Oscar blurted.
“Wrong, Oscar,” Venezia said, calm again. She looked at each of her allies and winked. “We’re a lot of rich, powerful, smart old ladies. And as you know, I’ve never had any rejuv procedure—so I can take the Ramhoff-Inikin and repeat it as often as I like.” She paused, but Oscar said nothing, at least nothing Heris could hear. “I’ll always be there, Oscar,” Venezia went on. “Older, richer, stronger, smarter. Live with it.” She cut the connection and grinned at the others. Marta and Cecelia nodded.
“To aunts,” Heris said, raising her glass. “Including mine.”
Hubert de Vries Michaelson reappeared, this time in a formal black dinner jacket, with one arm in a black silk sling, just as the waiter brought their desserts. Graciously, they invited him to join them, and he eased himself into a chair, careful of his arm.
As Heris expected, he was glad to explain his role. He had tried to warn management of the danger of manufacturing Rejuvenant drugs with Finnvardian workers, he said—and he had argued against the cost-cutting synthesis that sometimes degraded the product—but he’d been forcibly retired, with not enough money in his account to go offplanet. So he had worked alone, gathering evidence as he could.
“It’s a wonder they didn’t just kill you,” Heris said. She thought the black silk sling was a bit overdone. He couldn’t be badly hurt—if he was hurt at all—and he didn’t need that kind of fancy dress anymore.
“They would have,” Hubert admitted, “if I hadn’t made such a ridiculous figure. That’s why I dressed so formally all the time.” His shoulders shifted, emphasizing the well-cut dinner jacket. Heris had to admit it suited him. He twinkled at them, and went on. “They couldn’t believe anyone with creases and rosebuds and spats and so on would be a menace. They let me alone, mostly, though I couldn’t get access to open communication.” His smile widened to a cheerful grin. “I was very glad to see you ladies . . . I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I was afraid my evidence would be lost when I died.”
“And of course they wouldn’t let you have rejuvenation.” Venezia looked angry, her plump cheeks flushed again.
He shook his head. “Of course not. Although with what I knew about the production shortcuts here, I’m not sure I’d have wanted it. Now the field generator—I just wish I’d been faster. The Chief Engineer didn’t want to believe me, and I couldn’t get him to go look—”
“But the field didn’t collapse.” Heris was not sure how far to pursue this. She still did not know—and wanted to know—if the charge had been improperly calculated, or if Michaelson really had saved them all. Did he even know?
“No.” Hubert paused to sip from his glass. “We were lucky, I suspect. Anyway, after the Chief Engineer threw me out of his office, I hung around the control room—I know a lot of the workers there—and was ready to throw the switch diverting all power to the field generator when the explosion came.”
“And your arm?” Heris asked. Someone had to.
“I tripped,” Hubert said cheerfully. “I’m not as spry as I was, you know. Someone tried to pull me away from the controls; I fell over a chair, couldn’t catch myself—and there it was. A simple fracture. A couple of hours in the regen tank, and all that’s left is the soreness. They wanted to keep me overnight in the clinic, but I wanted to find you ladies—” Again that roguish twinkle.
“That’s very gallant of you.” Cecelia, Heris noticed, had a speculative look in her eyes. So did Marta and Venezia. They needed no help, she realized, in seeing Hubert for what he was: a minor player who wished very much to have a starring role on the strength of one decisive action.
“I was hoping we could celebrate together,” he said, giving each of them a bright-blue-eyed smile.
“I think the company owes you a rejuvenation, Mr. Michaelson,” Venezia said earnestly. “And I will have someone review your retirement folder; a senior scientist should certainly have had enough in his account to travel offplanet. Of course we are all grateful that you were able to do something about the field generator and prevent worse trouble. Unfortunately, while we certainly have cause for celebration, and I personally appreciate your help, we’ve all been traveling a long time, and would really rather go to bed.”
“Oh.” To his credit, his cheerful face did not lose its bright expression. “Well, in that case, I thank you for your interest, madam, and hope you have a very restful night.” He bowed slightly and walked off, jaunty as ever. Heris found herself unexpectedly sympathetic, now that she was sure her gaggle of aunts was safe. He had been helpful, courteous, brave . . . she hoped he would find someone to celebrate with. With that twinkle, he probably would.
Morning brought more changes. A message had arrived from the police station that all charges against the young people had been dropped. Heris noticed pale bare patches on the wall where the ugliest pottery decorations had hung, and passed one hotel employee hastily tacking up a framed picture of flowers over another. The young people, with the resilience of youth, were attacking a huge breakfast in the hotel dining room when Heris got there; they waved her over.