Command Decision

by Elizabeth Moon

  Outside, the day had already darkened into night again. A clear night; the glowing cloud of the Arctan Nebula hung over the city. He shouldn’t go home; he had too much to do. Those calls to the government, to Mackensee. He could make them from home, but then his parents would want to know what was going on.

  “What about the government?” he asked Emil.

  “The office was closed by the time I got your message, sir. I didn’t know how urgent it was.”

  “Urgent—but probably not worth interrupting the secretary at dinner.” And he himself was tired; he could feel it in his shoulders, in his eyes. When had he last slept? Before the blizzard began? “What about Mackensee?”

  “I’ve contacted their local office; the ansible in their system is still down. I’ve directed the nearest ISC repair team to go there—it’ll be several days.”

  “Good work,” Rafe said. He noticed that Emil, too, had dark circles under his eyes. “Take a shift off at least, Emil. Get a proper meal, somewhere off the premises, and a good night’s sleep.”

  “Are you sure that’s all right?”

  “You have a skullphone—I can always wake you if I need you. I’ll go home tonight; call the car. We can drop you somewhere if you like.”

  On the drive across the city, Rafe tried to sort out how to tell his father what was going on. He shouldn’t; the doctors had said to limit business talk. But every time he came in the door, his father had a hundred mumbled, semi-coherent questions along with a stream of advice. He felt smothered, trapped in his father’s expectations, his father’s…he hated to say it even to himself…his father’s limitations.

  How could his father not have seen what Lew Parmina was? How could he have let ISC’s fleet slide into obsolescence? He’d always thought of his father as completely competent, all-knowing; even when he was angriest with the man, he’d felt pride in being Garston Dunbarger’s son. Now…he felt pity for his father, for what had happened to him, for his struggles in rehab, but his admiration had dimmed as he dug into ISC and found so many things so badly awry.

  What he should do was move out, separate himself from the family. At the thought of having his own place, a place without the associations of so much misery, he felt better immediately. If he lived closer to headquarters—even in headquarters; the guest suite could be rearranged for him—he would lose less time traveling back and forth. Weather conditions would matter less.

  By the time the car turned into the drive, he had decided that moving out was the best possible solution to the whole family entanglement. The house loomed ahead, the familiar pattern of its façade, the windows, the portico. How, he wondered suddenly, did it seem to his family? Twice this house had been invaded, once successfully. Yet he could not imagine his parents living anywhere else.

  He paused outside the door of the house, scraping his feet carefully. This was not going to be easy. He put his hand to the reader, and the lock opened; a chime sounded inside as he pushed it open. He wished he’d been able to persuade his parents that they needed to have someone in the house to answer the door, but he hadn’t. At least they hadn’t balked when he upgraded the house security system and hired more external guards to patrol the grounds.

  “Rafe—I thought you were never coming home—” His mother came from the music room.

  “The snow finally stopped,” he said.

  “You could work from home; your father did sometimes.”

  “He knew everyone, and everyone knew him,” Rafe said, unwrapping his scarf, slipping out of his coat. “I need to be visible, on the job. Parmina had a lot of people confused, and his departure has left…holes…in various departments.” He glanced at the door to the library, where his sister Penelope stood, wrapped in a big shawl, her shoulders hunched. “How—”

  “Don’t ask,” Penelope said. His mother drew in her breath; his sister came forward with a quick, angry glance at their mother. “I lost my husband,” Penelope said. “I lost my baby. How do you think I’m doing?” Her gaze swept the entrance hall, and in this house carried to him without words. In this house where she’d been the night they were abducted, the night her husband died. Where she’d been the night Rafe had saved her, and terrified her, and the night he had not saved her, and the terror went on too long.

  She needed to go somewhere else, too…but would she? Could she?

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, retreating from that dilemma. His sister’s face twisted a moment into a knowing look that recognized his retreat.

  “A well-balanced meal designed by a medical nutritionist,” Penelope said. Her voice matched her expression: cold and scornful.

  “Dear—” his mother said.

  “Well, it is,” Penelope said. “It doesn’t matter what it is, that’s what it tastes like. The right amount of protein, carbohydrates complex and simple, the right amount of fiber and vitamins and minerals…they sent a cook with a list, Rafe. What father should have, how much, and so on.”

  “It’s not that bad,” his mother said. “Quite good, really—”

  “I’ve been told it tastes that way to me because I’m depressed,” Penelope said. Rafe eyed her. She looked far worse than she had when they first came back.

  “It’s probably too early,” he said, as they went into the living room. “But I was going to ask if you could possibly do a little work for me.”

  Her expression shifted a little. “Work? What kind?”

  “Rafe, she can’t possibly; how can you ask?” his mother said.

  “Mother, please. I have nothing to do all day around here except…what I do. Mope. Cry. Go to therapy. Mope and cry some more. Have nightmares.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rafe said. “I don’t remember what it is you studied, if I ever knew, but you are family, and I know I can trust you. There’s a ton of data to go through, trying to untangle Parmina’s relationships in the company. I need someone to help me with that. Even a couple of hours a day would help.”

  “Do you think I could?” she asked.

  “Rafe, you can’t be serious,” his mother said. “After all she’s been through, she doesn’t need—”

  “Mother, please—I need to get out of this house!” Penelope said. She turned to Rafe. “If I just have something to do, something useful…I may not do it well…”

  “Be ready to leave when I do in the morning,” Rafe said, keeping his tone light. “I’ll take you in with me. We’ll see how it goes.” Clearly, Penelope couldn’t be expected to leave tonight, as he had planned to, nor should she make her own way to ISC headquarters…he would have to spend at least another night here, and tell his parents in the morning that he was moving out.

  Dinner was not as bad as his sister had said, but nothing like the meals he remembered. His father, propped in a float chair, seemed barely able to feed himself; a medical attendant sat beside him, murmuring suggestions. His father’s left eyelid drooped almost shut, and his mouth sagged. Rafe felt his stomach tightening. They were all worse than they had been even three days ago, before the storm. Was something wrong with their medical care? Had Parmina somehow arranged to mess with that?

  Rafe ate steadily, silently, glancing now and then at his mother. She ate little that he could see, perched like a bird about to take flight on the edge of her chair. His sister ate even less…one or two bites of each offering, that was all.

  His father tried to speak, his one good eye fixed on Rafe, but managed only a rough jumble of noises. Supposedly the left side of his brain hadn’t been damaged; why was his speech so impaired? Like everything else, it had worsened over the past weeks. Rafe struggled to hide his worry and concentrated on the sounds, trying to parse meaning from them.

  “Everything’s going well,” Rafe said, interpreting this as a request for information, information he was not about to impart. “We’ve found a few more of Parmina’s cronies and we’ve taken care of them.”

  “No business worries…,” the attendant said to Rafe, with a warning glance.

  �
�Sorry,” Rafe said. “I’m glad to see you up and around, Father. That was quite a snowstorm. When the weather is bad, I may spend nights at the office—please don’t be concerned if I don’t come home.” He shot a glance at his mother. “In fact, I was thinking of getting a place near the office—or even bunking in that guest apartment.”

  His father’s hand twitched, sending a spoonful of the steamed greens flying onto the carpet. The attendant bent to wipe it up.

  “I want to do a good job,” Rafe went on, hoping his face matched the tone he was trying for. “I want to take care of the company—as you asked me—”

  “Yuh…duhnuh…dih-wih-vvvvatttah…”

  “You’ll be better soon,” Rafe said. No one else might have understood that, but he knew that You do not deal with Vatta was what his father wanted to say. “If you rest, if you do what they tell you. I know you’ll be all right, and I will take care of things for you in the meantime.” He finished his own meal, all he could eat, and looked at his mother. “Mother, I need to take a long, hot bath, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” she said, her brow furrowed a little. “Are you coming down later?”

  “Not if I fall asleep in the tub,” Rafe said, forcing a smile. “Don’t wait for me, I beg you.”

  When he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry, his sister was waiting in the hall, shoulder propped into the corner between a case of antique porcelain belt ornaments and the wall.

  “Were you serious? About giving me a job?”

  “Yes,” Rafe said.

  “I hate this house,” she said with quiet intensity. “I’ve hated it since…and then what happened made it worse. I can’t sleep here. I keep seeing…what happened. Jared’s face…when they shot him…and…then it comes back, that night when you saved me. It’s always cold; I’m always cold. I tried to tell Mother I wanted to move out, find someplace. She thinks I’m better here, or I should go back to our—to Jared’s and my house—and I just can’t. And you’re getting out, aren’t you? I can tell. You don’t want to live in that little boy’s room; you’re not that boy anymore. You’ll get your own place, or stay at the office, and I’ll be here with…with all this.” She waved again at the surroundings.

  “It…would be easier to do my job if I lived closer,” Rafe said.

  She gave him a long look. “Would Father be happy if he knew exactly what you were doing?”

  “What kind of a question is that?” Rafe asked. “Why would you think not?”

  “Because you’re you,” she said. “You’re not like him…you have that other…that other flavor. What are you doing, Rafe?”

  “Come and see,” Rafe said, trying to keep it light.

  “Is it all going away?” she asked, her eyes shifting now from his face to the hall, to the pictures on the walls, the carpet on the floor. “Is something wrong with ISC?”

  “You are in deep grief,” Rafe said. “You are seeing all the darkness there is, and that’s perfectly normal—”

  “But there is something wrong, isn’t there—I can feel it—”

  This was not a conversation he wanted to have here, in the hall, where anyone might hear. Yes, his father was supposed to be having a final series of exercises before bed, but houses had been bugged before.

  “You are upset,” Rafe said. “Tomorrow will be different; tomorrow you won’t spend all day here. And if you can show me that you have a definite plan in mind, I’ll help you move away, if that’s what you need.”

  She stared at him now…was she as irrational as she looked? He didn’t know; he had no idea how to interpret her expressions, her quickly changing moods. “But I’m…I’m not like I was…I never will be…”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rafe said firmly. “Yes, you’ll need to stay in therapy—you’ve had terrible things happen, and everyone needs help after something like that. But I’m here, and I’ll help you.” She looked as if she might cry again; Rafe was too tired to deal with that, he told himself. “Good night, Tinkabear,” he said, softly. For a moment, her face lit up: it had been her nickname as a toddler.

  In the morning, she was dressed and ready by the front door, holding a small suitcase, when he came down. He didn’t comment; he, too, was carrying a suitcase, packed with two of his new suits and other necessities. The house was silent; his parents, he hoped, were still asleep. Rafe tapped out the security code; the car outside answered. He opened the door for her, nodding as she went past, and called softly into the silent house “We’re on our way!” as cheerfully as if they were headed for a picnic.

  On the ride into the city, she settled herself warily into the wide backseat; her face was pale and her fingers tightened on her case every time they went around a corner. Finally, in the last stretch up to the entrance, she said, “I’m not going back.”

  “No one can make you,” Rafe said. “Certainly not me.”

  “No one can—you just said that.”

  “So I did. Now, what time is your usual therapy appointment, and do you go, or does someone come?”

  “The doctor comes. At eleven.”

  “We’ll call, to be sure the doctor comes here…unless you’d rather go to someone’s office—and by the way, do you like this therapist?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her voice had gone soft.

  “Of course it does. You’ll get better faster with someone you like and trust.”

  “Not…really. He’s all fatherly and comforting, but I can tell he thinks I’m just a spoiled girl who will always be too weak.”

  Whether the therapist really thought that or not was not as important as his sister’s belief. Rafe felt the family bond tightening around his shoulders, a noose that would hold him here longer, keep him from Ky. And yet—this was Tinkabear, Pretty Penny, Pennyluck…all the silly childhood pet names came back to him. This was the little sister he’d smacked one time, and much good it had done her. She was his only remaining sister, all he had, really. He could not abandon her just because she was so unlike Ky.

  “I’m sure that’s not the only good therapist in the city,” he said. “But first, let’s be sure Mother doesn’t panic when she finds you gone and the therapist is coming. Then we’ll find you a place to stay. Do you want an apartment, or would you feel safer here?”

  “I won’t feel safe anywhere,” Penelope said. “But—I’d like to be near you for a while.”

  He was not going to have her in his apartment…which meant they should both stay at headquarters for the time being. “Did you visit Father at work much?” he asked.

  “No. Not at all since I married, and not much before that.”

  “Well then: welcome to the executive life.” One of his bodyguards preceded them up the steps and through the door; Rafe led her to the security desk and spoke to the middle-aged woman there. “Hi, Sylvie. This is my sister Penelope; you will have her biometrics on file. We’ll need an all-shift pass for her. She’s going to be helping me out for a while.”

  “Of course, sir.” Sylvie glanced up at Penelope. “If you would, please, put your hand in here and look into the hood. We need a current image for the tag.” In less than a minute, the machine spat out a laminated tag; Sylvie punched a hole in it, attached the clip and a lanyard, and handed it over. “There you are.”

  Penelope clipped the tag to her jacket. Rafe waited as his bodyguard checked the lift and his fellow upstairs, then nodded. Rafe ushered Penelope into the lift with a low bow.

  “Stop it,” she said, turning pink. “You’re being silly…people will look…”

  “You used to like it when I played prince to your princess,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Don’t you remember the time you made me wear Linnet’s dance tights and that coronet?”

  This time she giggled. “I’d forgotten that. It must have been a scene out of one of the videos. And you kept wrapping Mother’s evening cape around you, when it was supposed to trail out behind.”

  “There are reasons,” Rafe said, putting on
a scowl, “why I needed that cape…those blasted tights were too big.”

  The elevator coasted to a stop; Penelope stepped forward, but Rafe blocked her. “Why—” she began, but he caught the nod from his guard and stepped back.

  “After you, Princess.”

  “You aren’t going to call me Princess—”

  “Only when you deserve it,” Rafe said. “Now let’s find you a desk—”

  “Are you serious? You’re really going to put me to work?”

  Rafe shrugged. “Sitting around here doing nothing won’t help you any more than sitting around home…the house. Emil, this is my sister Penelope. Find her a place to work, will you? On this floor, close to me. She’s going to be helping me with some research. In the meantime, Penelope, come into my parlor…”

  She gave him a weak, wavering smile.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  By the time Rafe had rescheduled Penelope’s appointment with the therapist, Emil had found her a quiet place to work, shifting an assistant one door farther away. Rafe cocked his head at Penelope. “Do you want me to call Mother, or—”

  “Please,” she said. “And tell her…” Tears spilled over.

  Rafe felt helpless. Any of the usual comforting phrases would be an insult. “I’ll tell her that you and I are both staying here for the time being. I think we can find a therapist who agrees that’s best for you, if yours doesn’t.”

  “Th-thanks,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry—” She stood up. “I—I want to find a room—”

  “Emil will show you,” Rafe said. “If you need a restroom, or something to drink, or anything—”

  When she had left his office, Rafe called home. His mother answered. “Rafe—where’s Penny? Did she go with you? Is she all right?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. She’s here with me. Her therapist is coming here today. We’re going to stay here for a few days at least. She needs to get away for a while.”

  “Away? But this is her home; she’s safe here.”