Ghost Ship (34 page)

Father put his hand gently on Val Con’s shoulder, just like he wasn’t slowly strangling somebody.

“The moment is past, child. Release him to the Judge’s custody.”

It seemed to Theo that Val Con shivered. She saw his fingers relax, just a little.

“Miri.” His voice was hoarse.

“I’m good, Boss. Let Nelirikk have him.”

The big man stepped forward. Val Con released his victim. Father caught his wrist, pulling him back and slipping an arm around his shoulders, murmuring, “Peace, now; all’s well . . .” just like he’d done when she was a littlie and had gotten herself knotted up in a temper.

The man who had attacked Miri was on his knees, retching. Nelirikk grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him to his feet. The room was so quiet you could’ve heard a feather strike, as Kara used to say.

“Okay, Theo, you can stand down, too.” Miri said softly from her side. “ ’Preciate the backup—quick and on point.”

Suddenly there were people along the edge of the dance floor—the pilots Theo had seen circulating earlier, Thera Kalhoon’s fair-haired husband, the lady in the crimson vest, Padi, Quin, and Luken bel’Tarda—a living curtain, cutting them off from the view of the guests.

“Well done,” Father was telling Val Con. “Come now to your lady and assure yourself that she is well.”

Beyond the curtain of people, Theo saw Pat Rin walk into the center of the dance floor, raising his voice to be heard at the back of the room.

“There has been an unfortunate incident. Matters are now in hand. Please, join us for dinner, where we will all regain our good humor.”

- - - - -

“You’re bleeding!” Theo cried, snapping forward. Inside her head, Miri saw Val Con’s pattern flare red.

“No, I ain’t,” she said, holding out the arm so they could both get a look. “I had a cup of the redberry juice Melina Sherton brought in for me, and I dropped it when he grabbed me. Damn waste. And the dress, too.”

“Damn the dress,” Val Con said clearly, stepping out from under Daav’s arm and grabbing her shoulders, not exactly gentle, either, so he knew she wasn’t hurt, even if he was still coming down from terrified.

“Didn’t I just say so?” She sagged, so that he had most of her weight in his hands, and then leaning against him, in a hug.

“You were right,” she said, putting her arms around his waist. “I should’ve had Beautiful. I guess seeing me just sitting there all alone an’ vulnerable give him a new idea.”

“Wait . . .” That was Theo, sounding shell-shocked, poor kid. “You
knew
somebody was going to attack you?” Miri pushed her forehead into Val Con’s shoulder, feeling cold and shivery.

“
Cha’trez
?”

“Adrenaline,” she muttered. “Pat Rin got everything under control?”

“He was herding everyone in to dinner,” Daav said, “which ought to answer for now. In the meanwhile, I assume that the household
dramliz
are moving among the guests with an eye toward preventing a sequel after the guests have dined?”

“Anthora had already picked up two—accomplices, I must suppose them, now,” Val Con said over her head. “But with so many people . . .”

“Dreadfully noisy, I understand. May I suggest that we remove to another part of the house, and allow the servants to clean up?”

“Good idea,” Miri said. “I wanna get out of this dress. And Theo asked a question that deserves an answer.”

- - - - -

“. . . so we decided between us,” Val Con continued, “that we would expand the guest list to include not only the Bosses, but those at the next level down, who would have access to particular information, and so net our revolutionaries before they became more than a nuisance.”

They were in what appeared to be a game and reading room, judging by the comfortable shabbiness of the furniture. Miri had stepped behind a carved screen with the robe produced by a female pilot Theo had never seen before, who had left with promises of sending a tray.

Father had draped himself, boneless as a cat, on a flowered chaise, one leg stretched out, the other foot in its dancing slipper braced on the floor. Val Con had a hip on the wide arm of a double chair, one foot on the floor, the other on the chair’s rung. There was a smear of pink on his white shirt, from Miri’s hug. Either of them could be up, centered, and moving in less time than it would take to think about. The room was deep inside the house. They were as safe as possible, and not likely to see another attack. Despite that, and the fact that there were plenty of chairs available, Theo couldn’t have sat down for anything less than lift. She stood in the more or less center of the room, quivering with adrenaline; staring at her brother in disbelief.

“You
deliberately invited
dangerous people into your house, knowing that they might hurt somebody?”

“No, hey, Theo . . .” Miri came out from behind the screen, running her fingers through her unbraided hair. “They never tried to hurt anybody before this—and they had plenty of chances. They always stuck to breaking up toys and unbuilding things that had been built.” She curled into the double chair and patted Val Con companionably on the hip.

“We’re not complete newbies,” she went on. “We had people watching the room—you saw ’em. Plus, we had Anthora and Ren Zel and Shan and Priscilla looking into heads or at invisible strings or whatever it is the four of ’em look at. It should’ve been—I ain’t gonna say
safe
, ’cause there ain’t nothin’ such—but it shouldn’t have been
dangerous
.” She sighed.

“If you want it straight, what happened was my fault. Seeing me sitting there alone and what he might’ve read as vulnerable put a whole new idea in his head, is how I’m reading it. He could have a hostage—
leverage
—and it was just too good. If he’d thought it out, he’d’ve seen it wasn’t gonna do anything but increase
his
vulnerability, but he’s not a pro. Not by a long walk, he ain’t. If I’d’ve thought he was dangerous, I’d’ve killed him myself, instead of just throwing him, and scaring Val Con outta two nights’ sleep.”

Just throwing him,
Theo thought, like grabbing a man twice her mass, who had come up on her from behind, and flipping him onto his back wasn’t anything much, while her lifemate across the room—

Theo turned back to Val Con. “I’ve never seen anybody move so fast. How—”

He shook his head. “Necessity. Also, this link we have is not always . . . convenient. I received Miri’s distress, as she received mine—”

“And so a feedback loop was born,” Father murmured from his comfortable lounge on the chaise.

“Yeah,” Miri said. “We ain’t good at this yet.”

Father laughed.

Theo spun, temper sparking. “You think this is
funny
?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Acquit me—the crimson sleeve was not comic in any way. However, the naïve supposition that one will become proficient . . .” He inclined his head in Miri’s direction. “That has a certain humorous value.”

“But you agree with what they did?” Theo persisted, even as she wondered why she was angry at
Father
. “You
knew
about this?”

“Certainly, I knew about the general sabotage, and one only needs to take a walk in the city to understand that the arrival of offworlders—of
so many
offworlders—has awakened a certain amount of dismay among the indigenous population. As the party was already in place—initially for that first level reason you were wondering after earlier, Theo—it made sense to do exactly what was done: expand both the guest list and security and try to isolate the motivating agent, and his associates, if any, in controlled conditions. I might well have done the same thing, noting that none of the House is an idiot.”

“We really were having a party to show the home folk that we’re serious about the contract and about Surebleak,” Miri said. “And Thera Kalhoon—you danced with her, Theo—”

“I remember,” she said shortly, recalling the cheerful lady who had danced pretty good, though she wouldn’t ever be a pilot.

“Right. First thing outta Thera’s mouth almost when we met, was that people here need to remember how to be civil again, to meet and to be social and to work together. Civilized.”

“And,” Val Con murmured, “since this House has arguably just arrived from the most civilized planet in the galaxy, who better to lead the way?”

“Now, there sits a lad who has properly listened to the lessons of his aunt,” Father said. He waggled a languid finger in Val Con’s general direction.

“If I may, and speaking to Theo’s point—what has apparently not been put into place are the emergency drills, so that those of the House who were present would have known what to do in the case of just such an attack. As it went, it went well . . .”

“Better’n it could have,” Miri agreed. “Theo—I don’t think I said—good reactions; you did everything right. Didn’t show no weapons, but there wasn’t anybody there doubted that if they wanted to get to me, they was going to have to go through you—and that was gonna be a day and a half’s work.” She tipped her head. “I just wonder about one thing, though.”

Theo looked at her, trying to remember what moves she’d made, and if she could have possibly hurt someone without noticing—

“Hey, I said you did good, didn’t I?” Miri waved a hand. “No, what I wondered was—
why
you jumped the way you did.”

Worry melted into bafflement. “Why?” she repeated. “You’re pregnant.”

Miri blinked, which meant she’d said something wrong, Theo thought, but—

“Miri is not native to Delgado,” Father murmured into the quiet room. “You will need to unpack it for her, Theo.”

Right. Cultural norms—weren’t. She knew that.

“You’re pregnant,” she repeated, and took a breath. “On Delgado, a pregnant woman has—precedence in almost everything. The Safety Office will deploy someone to be with her, on request.”

Miri frowned slightly, apparently still working it out.

“So, I’m your brother’s wife, and pregnant, so—”

“You’re a pregnant woman in your own home!” Theo interrupted angrily. “A pregnant pilot carrying a daughter pilot!”

The anger flared and extinguished itself. Theo jammed her fist against her mouth, hearing the echo of what she’d just said—just
shouted
—knowing it was true. And not knowing how she knew.

Val Con and Father traded glances.

“It is an interesting Sight,” Father observed, “if slightly obscure.”

Val Con rose; Theo looked at him with trepidation, wondering what taboos she’d just broken.

“Gently,” he said, raising a hand in the pilot’s sign for
peace
. “Many of us have seen odd things. I only wonder—curiosity, merely—if you are able to explain how you came to that knowledge.”

“I can tell if someone’s a pilot by looking at them.” She cleared her throat. “That’s not so strange, is it? You’re a Master Pilot; can’t you tell if someone’s a pilot?”

“Often, yes, I can. But I wonder. If you were confronted with a group of people seated, hands folded, at a table, would you then be able to see the pilots among them?”

She nodded. “Yes, sure. I mean, it’s obvious, once you know what to look for.”

“And when,” came the question from the chaise, “did this ability to see pilots arise, if a father may inquire?”

She turned to look at him, feeling a spark of anger return.

“When I had knowingly
met
pilots.”

“Ah. Then that would have been approximately at the time of your trip to Melchiza with Kamele.”

“Right. Pilots think in certain ways—” She turned back to Val Con. “You can see it—it’s obvious, even sitting still! You could tell, yourself—you could!”

Gently
, he signed, and, “Perhaps, if I watched their eyes, or considered their balance as they sat, I might produce results slightly higher than a mere guess. But to know, with complete surety, at a glance—and for an unborn child?” He shook his head, smiling slightly. “My eyes are not so keen.”

“The contention that pilots think in certain ways . . .” Father said. “That might be observed by someone with Sight, surely? Certain connections must be made, by one who has undergone training.”

“Perhaps so,” Val Con said, “though that begs the question of our daughter’s abilities, for surely she has not yet received her first lesson.”

“But—you’re a pilot,” Theo pointed out, “and Miri’s a pilot. It’s not a reach to assume that your child will be a pilot. And on Delgado”—she glanced at Miri, who gave her an encouraging grin—“on Delgado, all unborn are assumed to be daughters.”

“Of course,” Val Con said politely.

“There is, after all,” Father added, “Kareen.”

She looked at him. “Lady Kareen isn’t a pilot.”

“Yet, she was born of pilots,” Val Con said. “We do not always breed true.”

“So I might be wrong,” Theo said, and spun suddenly at the knock on the door.

“Dinner, I think,” Val Con murmured, but it was Father who rose from the chaise and went to open for the same female pilot and a male, non-pilot, helper, each bearing a tray.

“The table, if you please, gentles,” Val Con said. “We will serve ourselves.”

The trays disposed, they were alone again. Val Con moved to the table and began to fill a plate. Theo stood aside, not really hungry, not with all the . . . energy roiling in her belly, and felt a quiet presence at her elbow.

“Father.” She turned to look at him. “
When
were you going to tell me?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“When would it have been proper, Child of Delgado, for the
onagrata
of your mother to reveal himself as your gene donor and declare that he expected you to rise into a path scarcely discussed on the planet surface?”

Theo shook her head.

“But—after . . .”

“After, was—after. You asked my assistance with your math and I gave it. Had you asked Jen Sar Kiladi for details of your parentage beyond himself, that he would not have given you, for he had . . . willfully forgotten such things.”

She stared at him. “Father—”

“However,” he swept on, “you mustn’t think ill of him. Before—he did what he might, as little as it was, and giving the lie to Ella’s assertion of always gaining his own way.”