Worn out and empty, she tidied her face and changed dressed for supper, then started to check her comm messages. “Oh good,” she said under her breath, more than a little distractedly. “The wombow wumps are wound enough.” At least one thing had gone right that day.
8
Courtship
Rigi opted to postpone sorting suitors until the next day. Instead she savored a delicious evening meal, kept Paul out of mischief as he tried standing and walking in the hallway, and then joined her adult family in the family room for the evening.
“Cyril, I have a navy question if you have a moment,” Rigi asked her brother after an hour or so.
“What kind of question?”
She half-lied, “I had a request for illustration outlines for a book, about extra-human contacts with humans.” He rolled his eyes and she nodded, “Yes, I know. But would the Navy be in charge of sorting out ‘mysterious signals from space’ or would the Company investigate them?”
“If it were a Company ship, in or near a Company-managed world, then Company but they have to report to Navy what they find.” Cy wrinkled his nose. “If Navy or non-Company commerce vessels, or a private ship, heard them, then it would be Navy. Does your author want a picture of a ship in space?”
“At least one but he’s not certain yet what kind. He also mentioned perhaps using a ground-based receiver as well or instead. I don’t think this will go far beyond the initial estimate,” Rigi said.
Her brother ran his fingers through his hair and stretched in his seat, sprawling over the arms and almost across the back. “No, probably not. Alien contact stories are out at the moment, according to the latest feeds from Home. Neo-primitive romances are popular once more, and sea pirates, if you can believe it.”
Rigi shook her head a little. “Yes, I can. Next will be unicorn princesses or something similar. Thank you.”
“Auriga, Mrs. Rajnanda asked me to pass her congratulations to you for the Crown award,” Rigi’s mother said, looking up from mending trim on a dress. The embroidery had come loose yet again. Rigi suspected the machine had not knotted or sealed the end of the thread. “Is this new?”
The contented glow left by Shona’s fish stew disappeared and Rigi’s stomach turned sour. “Yes ma’am. The illustrations for the initial monograph about the first three major finds on Shikhari received the Royal Xenoarchaeological Society’s annual award of excellence. I learned of the award this morning at the meeting.”
“That’s superb Rigi,” Cy beamed. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She tried to return to her reader.
“Indeed, that is quite an accomplishment,” her father agreed. “Will there be an award ceremony?”
Rigi closed her eyes. She really did not want to tell her family about it. But there was no good way to wiggle out of answering the question. “Ah, there will be a ceremony for the university staff and De Groet. Dr. Xian is off-world, on Home, and will receive her award in person from the Crown Prince. I am not invited to the local ceremony, neither is Uncle Eb, and I do not know if Capt. Prananda will be able to attend.”
She heard anger in her father’s voice and tried to sink into the chair cushions. “Auriga, why are you and Mr. Trent not invited?”
“Dr. Szabor, the Crown xenoarchaeologist leading the new excavations, has a long-standing philosophical difference with Mr. Trent. The governor’s thoughts about NeoTraditionalists are well known, and are shared by others in the current administration. When my beliefs were reported to the organizing office, they removed my name from the list. Dr. Martinez inquired and was told that my presence was neither requested nor desired.” Her hands shook, and Rigi wanted to cry again. She took a deep breath for the count of eight, exhaled for eight, inhaled for eight, exhaled for—
Crunch. Her eyes snapped open and she saw blood on Cyril’s hand. He’d shattered the thin-walled mocha cup and it had cut him. He’d gone white and the fire in his eyes startled her. “Cyril, don’t move. I’ll get my kit.” She jumped up, dropped her reader in the chair seat and raced up to the washroom, grabbed her smaller emergency bag, and clattered down the steps again. Her mother held a piece of cloth, an old clean nappy, under Cy’s hand to protect the rug and chair. Her father pushed down on his shoulders, keeping him in the seat. “Open your hand please, slowly.”
As she picked shards of fine synth-porcelain out of his hand, he snarled. “Damn and blast it, Leopoldi has no right to shut my sister out of the ceremony just because he doesn’t like religion. There are laws against that.”
“There are, and he is the Crown Governor. And Shikhari is at the very far end of the communications chain. By the time you protest, it reaches the Colonial Office on Home, and word comes back, your brother will be old enough to claim retirement pay,” Rigi’s father said. He still sounded and looked angry, but not as furious as before.
“Don’t move yet, please,” Rigi asked. She removed the last shard of cup from his hand, dabbed the cuts with sterilizer, and bandaged his hand. “Make a fist, please.” He did. “Open your fingers as far as you can, please.” He spread them, then let them close again. “Thanks be to Creator and Creatrix both, nothing got cut.” Rigi leaned back. “I’ll change the bandage in the morning before you go to work, Cy, but it appears that you will have a little surface scaring and nothing more serious.”
“Thank you, Auriga. Timothy, I do not feel well.” Rigi registered her mother’s grey-green face and leaned over, grabbing her as she fainted. Cy helped lower her to the floor as their father moved the table with the evening beverage service on it out of the way. Her mother’s pulse felt fine, and she didn’t seem ill otherwise.
“Rigi, take the catch cloth and your materials and dispose of them, please. Cy, if you will help me carry your mother to our room? She has no tolerance for the sight of blood.” Their father shook his head as he crouched beside his wife. “She tried hunting exactly once. And now you see another reason why we do not eat red foods.”
“Yes, sir.” Rigi and Cy helped him pick up their mother, then Rigi cleaned up everything as the men took Mrs. deStella-Bernardi to the bedroom. When Rigi returned, she found a puzzled Lonka surveying the family room.
“Miss Rigi, a cup broke?”
“Yes, Lonka, and Cyril and I cleaned it up. Mother has retired early.”
He gave her a sideways look, the same sort that Mar had given her and Lyria when they were much younger and edging into mischief. “Very good, Miss Rigi.”
No, she sighed, not very good at all, but one did not say that to one’s staff and friends.
Lonka’s ears twitched. “It is said that the Elders have expressed unhappiness with the new city-digger and her ways.”
Rigi’s guess had been off by half a day. I wish we humans had such fast communications, Rigi giggled to herself. Aloud she said, “I understand that to be the case, and am inclined to agree with the Elders and to abide by their desires.”
“Thank you. More mocha?”
“Yes, please, and I believe the heavier cups would not be amiss.” He ear-bowed and took the tray. She pulled the table back into its usual place and he returned just ahead of the men, with stronger mocha and heavy mug-like cups. Rigi accepted one and curled up in her seat, staring at the steam and wishing things would settle down just a hint of a whisker of a bit.
The next morning Rigi cleaned Cy’s hand again, bandaged it, and asked, “What story have you come up with? Rescuing Paul from an angry prickle-back?”
He snorted. “I’ll use that one. I’m too irritated to be creative.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, Curly. I’ll keep it dry and clean, and move it as ordered.”
“Please do.” She put her materials away and added the bandages and cleaning liquid to her shopping list.
Rigi went downstairs to find her mother having coffee as Siare fed Paul. Paul seemed intent on eating the spoon as well as the contents, and fussed mightily when Siare tapped him on the nose with one toe of her forefoot. “Now now Master
Paul, you are not a grazer bird to eat hard things.”
“Gah! Gah-zah puhd”
Rigi and her mother stopped and looked at Paul. “Gah-zah puhd!” he repeated, lunging for the empty spoon. Siare refilled it and slid it into his mouth. He chewed, made a face, and opened his mouth for more.
“I wonder what career options there are for self-proclaimed grazer birds, Mother,” Rigi ventured.
“Better than for some degree and vocational choices. Your sister wanted to be a twining pea vine.” She rubbed her temple at the edge of her upswept hair. “I believe I shall take a day of rest today.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I bring you my card list after dinner?”
“What? Oh, yes, please. There was one young man . . . I recall the name but not from where, and not positively. I left it in the potential-pile, in case I conflated him with another individual.”
“I will do an initial check, ma’am, and then give you the list, as well as any that present themselves today.”
“Thank you, dear.”
After breakfast, Rigi took the “potential” cards and started looking at the Shikhari news files. One lieutenant had just arrived on the planet, and Rigi considered him, then set the card in the “reluctant regrets” stack because his commanding officers would not allow him to court anyone for at least a year. The next two also joined him, one because the gentleman would be leaving the planet in three weeks to take up a very nice position on WemWorld, and the other because Rigi found a news piece with his picture. She recognized him as the man who had gotten fresh with her and several other young ladies at a concert in the park two years before. She’d been forced to warn him twice to keep his hands to himself, and another young lady stepped on his foot and then had him escorted off the floor by security when he took advantage during a dance. Rigi wondered if he was the person her mother was thinking of.
Two men went into the “maybe” stack, another joined the rejects, and then Rigi had a run of five possibles, although one of them . . . She didn’t like something. Nothing in the stories or invitation reports sounded truly bad, and he worked as an exports inspector for one of the private corporations, so he had steady employment with good prospects. Still, Rigi thought hard, and moved him to the “reluctant regrets” stack. Maybe her father would know something. The next card puzzled her greatly, because she could not find the name in the usual places, and someone had written on the reverse “Will visit tomorrow.” Perhaps the caller had made a mistake and the card should have been taken to Lonka to give to her mother. Rigi set it on the other side of her e-pad, so she would not confuse matters. In fact, she decided, she needed to take it to Lonka, since her mother would not be receiving callers today.
Rigi stood, stretched, and took the card downstairs. She walked quietly down the hall and found Lonka in his office, studying a document of some kind. Rigi waited until he looked up and acknowledged her. If he were doing accounts for her mother, she didn’t want to interrupt. After long enough that she had started trying to find faces in the grain of the wood paneling, he finished, glanced at the door, and startled. “Miss Rigi, my apologies.”
She hand-bowed. “No apology needed, Lonka. I believe this card was left in error, or the gentleman intends to speak with Mother rather than me. Should I put it on the tray?” He kept a polished metal try on a small table beside the door for cards and other small items, so he would not have forefoot-to-hand contact unless necessary.
“Yes, please, Miss Rigi.” His ears tipped to the side a few centimeters, reminding her of a movable antenna swiveling toward a faint signal. “Miss Rigi, what is the procedure for,” he enunciated in Common, “gentlemen callers?”
“If it is Capt. Prananda, he is family and is always welcome unless Mother or Father say otherwise. The other gentlemen will send word in advance that they wish to visit. If they do, show them into the visiting room, please. The first call is always short, and no refreshments are needed.” Rigi thought back to the book of manners that she had read a few weeks before. “It becomes more complicated after the first call. And if a young man is not welcome, you will know, and you should not let him in. If he tries to push matters, the usual procedures apply.”
A whiff of //relief/understanding/agreement// reached her nose. “Very good, Miss Rigi. I will make a note for Makana and the others, should I be away or unavailable.”
“Thank you, and I apologize for not informing you earlier.” She set the card on the tray and left him in peace.
She stopped just outside the closed kitchen door and heard an uneven chopping noise, followed by a young female voice saying, “It is trying to get away!”
“Put your forefoot on the end and hold it. No, do not cover it, tip to the side, yes. Now chop, even slices.”
Chop chop chop chop.
“Yes. Here are the next five, just like that, even slices so it will all cook at the same speed.”
Did Shona spat Nahla with his forefoot for sampling the way her mother and aunts had swatted Rigi and Lyria? Could Cy cook? Probably, but she did not remember him in the kitchen. He’d gone to school on Home when she’d turned eight, no, seven because they were living on Eta Tolima, so that explained why she did not remember. Rigi considered peeking, imagined Shona showing Nahla how to chase humans out of the kitchen, and decided against it. She’d seen the splatter on Cy’s shoulder from the soft fruit that Shona had hurled at him the last time he tried to sneak a treat. And her parents had sided with Shona, although her Mother had fussed mildly about the waste of food.
After dinner, while Siare bathed Paul, her mother considered the stack of potential suitors’ cards. Paul had managed to feed himself, and his clothing, and the floor, leading to a change and wash. Rigi wondered if Sogdia pouchlings were as messy and Indria Plateau pouchlings and human babies, and if so how their parents dealt with it. Did they put down catch-mats on the floor like humans? Did they have a special wall-cover that could be discarded? That was what the Staré of the Indria Plateau had done, using reed mats. Maybe the little temporary shed-like structures she saw from time to time were the local solution—pouchling feeding booths, torn down or burned after the youngster learned manners. Rigi saw a spot that Siare had missed, probably because it was on the wall and appeared to be yesterday’s evening vegetable, and decided that human babies should probably be fed in temporary booths as well, at least in good weather. Maybe she should ask if they could build a feeding booth on the verandah. Rigi started to giggle at the mental picture of Siare feeding Paul through the open window and bit her tongue. She had to stop giggling so much!
Her mother said, “Auriga, not Mr. Holzklaw. He shares the governor’s sentiments about personal faith. Mrs. Bairos told us at the work meeting yesterday. He informed her that he preferred she take her custom elsewhere.”
Rigi moved his card to the “polite refusal” pile and wondered why he had bothered. Or had a family member left his card without Mr. Holzklaw’s permission? She had heard of such things. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you certain you do not wish Mr. Okala to call? He has excellent prospects.”
“Yes, ma’am. He had to be asked twice not to take advantage of a dance, then was escorted out of the concert dance for putting hands where they did not belong. I am not certain he has improved, and I prefer not to be forced to deal with such behavior.”
Her mother frowned but did not argue.
They had gotten two-thirds of the way through the lists when they heard the chime warning that someone came up the front walk. “Are you expecting anyone, Auriga?”
“No, ma’am. A Mr. Xiaolenk left a card with a note saying that he would call today, and I thought he might have erred in leaving it in the box instead of giving it to Lonka, if he wished to speak with you.”
Her mother shook her head and stood. “If the gentleman does, I am not in. Put these away for now, please.”
Rigi went upstairs, taking the cards with her. Just in case she tidied her hair and changed into a nicer house-jacket, one s
uitable for receiving guests. She also put on her better house-slippers. The downstairs alert chimed, and Rigi faintly heard Lonka speaking with someone. Then the knocker thumped. “Miss Auriga, a Mister Xiaolenk to speak with you.”
“I will receive him in the visitor room, Lonka, thank you.” She brushed off her skirts and went downstairs, then crossed the hall to the visitor room. A nondescript gentleman in a coat and trousers of the latest cut waited for her. “Mister Xiaolenk?”
“Miss Bernardi.” He stopped.
When he did not continue, she asked, “Might I ask the reason for your call?” She tried to keep her voice warm and polite.
He blinked. “I prefer to wait until your father joins us, Miss Bernardi.”
“I fear that will be several hours, sir, and I do not know if he is planning on seeing visitors this evening.”
“Oh, this is, oh.” He swallowed and patted the side of his leg with one hand. The stone in his ring flashed a little. “It is not done to discuss dowries and marriage documents without your father or male guardian present. I only asked for you because I have sent him my dower request and copies of the property transfer forms already, but have not gotten a response, so I assumed he would be here waiting.”
Rigi struggled to stay composed and polite. So forward! Who did he think he was, asking for money and goods and assuming her father would accept such a thing? Rigi swallowed hard and took as deep a breath as she could. “I am sorry, Mr. Xiaolenk. It appears that a misunderstanding has occurred. I am responsible for the portion I bring to the marriage, not my father or other male relatives. I will speak with my father to see if he received your request, and ask him to reply appropriately.”
Stamme: Shikari Book Three Page 13
