The Serrano Succession

by Elizabeth Moon

  "You don't have to be so mysterious with me," Kate said.

  "Actually I do," Brun said. "Excuse me a moment." She walked across the room and stepped out into the foyer with George Mahoney.

  "I'm glad you're all right," he said, bowing formally.

  "Things . . . happened."

  "Yes. Dad's taken care of it."

  "Harlis was here," Brun said.

  "Here?"

  "Yes. You must've just missed him—he was . . . asked to leave."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "Yes. He wants to go to Sirialis."

  "Let me call Dad—then can I join you for dinner?"

  "Of course. I'll tell Kate and snag a waiter."

  When George exerted himself to be charming, he could be very charming indeed. Kate, who had only seen him worried about his father, or being casual at Appledale, had not experienced the glossy splendor of George in full feather. Brun sat back and watched them banter and flirt and chat, as she worked her way through her saddle of venison without saying much. The food revived her, and by the time they were ready for dessert, she was ready to ask questions.

  "The house staff?"

  "All safe. Variously disposed of, but safe. Your security was less fortunate, but they're all alive. Stepan has assigned Barraclough senior security to you; the house will be safe tonight, but he recommends that you spend the night elsewhere. You can always stay with us, you know."

  "Do you know who, or what?"

  "Not for sure, but Harlis's name was mentioned."

  "He started out saying he was worried about Brun," Kate put in. "Said he'd been by the house, seen the police . . . as if he thought something might have happened. Seemed put out that she was safe and unworried."

  "Hm. Nobody told me he'd been to the house. I'd have thought they'd hold him if he'd shown up . . . where'd he go?"

  "I have no idea," Brun said. "All I know is, he wants to go to Sirialis, and when I didn't agree that he could, he said I'd be sorry."

  "I think we need to call that in right now," George said. "With any luck we can find him, but—" He looked at the time. "He could have caught the up-shuttle already."

  "If we'd been there . . . if he'd had backup," Kate said, "Brun could be dead and he could be on that shuttle."

  "Well, I'm not," Brun said, eyeing the pastry cart coming toward them. "I'm alive, and I want something with chocolate all over it."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rockhouse Major, 1800 local time

  Goonar was just getting ready to head up to the main restaurant block in this section of the Station for dinner when his comunit buzzed. "It's Commander Tavard," a voice said. "Those fingerprints and video were very interesting."

  "Oh? Are—uh—this isn't a secure link at this end, Commander."

  "Not a problem. Just wanted to tell you how glad I am you aren't heading out with that particular passenger. And to keep a close eye on your area, in case he decides to retaliate for your inhospitality." Tavard sounded almost smug.

  "Believe me, I shall. We were going out to dinner, Basil and I, but we could stay aboard, if you think that's wise."

  "No, dinner out sounds fine, as long as you have someone reliable aboard. If we should happen to meet, I presume you're still annoyed with Fleet for its ungenerous attitude towards informers?"

  "Of course. Shall I snub you, or you snub me?"

  "Both a little cool, I'd say. Oh, and thanks for your information about Suiza. She's turned up—she was visiting a private residence and that's why we couldn't find her."

  "You mean you really—?" Goonar had not considered that this interest might be real.

  "Two strings to my bow, and two arrows nocked . . . though if I understand bows at all, that's not how it could work. But you grasp my meaning."

  "Indeed." He thought of asking about Betharnya and her troupe, but decided better not complicate an already complicated situation. "I'm taking my comunit along, if you need to contact me."

  With a last warning to the ship's crew, he and Basil headed up to the main levels. Rockhouse always made him feel he was in the thick of things; Zenebra might be as crowded just before the Trials, but that was all horse people, all one sort. Here it was the variety, the sense that everyone, at one time or another, might turn up on business. Shops, news kiosks with screens flickering and hardcopies racked below, more shops, the bustle of the evening traffic, mostly well-dressed at this hour: the soberly dressed businessmen and women who were still working, the gaudily dressed young out for an evening.

  He watched an old woman in a brilliant red and purple caftan, her thick gray hair in a braid piled on her head, swing along as if she owned the entire station. She wasn't particularly tall, but people moved out of her way as if by some arcane force. Basil nudged him. "Reminds me of Aunt Herdion."

  "She's somebody's aunt, I'd say," Goonar said. She cheered him up, for reasons he couldn't grasp. In a universe with brisk old ladies like this, old ladies who could mend quarrels between families for the sake of a lost child, he could almost believe that Betharnya would consider giving up the stage for a nice house at the family compound, next door to Basil's.

  As a Terakian captain, Goonar now had a membership in the Captains' Guild; he had booked a table for himself and Basil. He'd been here before, as a junior guest of his uncle's, but this was his first time in the door as a member in his own right.

  "Captain Terakian, of course." The maitre d' smiled at him. "We're always delighted to see captains of Terakian and Sons here. Please—follow me."

  Then, he had been awed by the decor, unused to the style of the inner worlds of the Familias. Now . . . he could almost feel he belonged here.

  Once the first course was on the table, Basil leaned across. "You aren't going to leave here without talking to Bethya, are you?"

  Goonar almost choked on his soup and glared at Basil. "How can I talk to her when she disappeared into the Fleet side of the Station, and I've heard nothing?"

  "You could ask. You could have asked that commander."

  "He came to ask about the Suiza woman," Goonar said, mindful of listeners. "Why would he know anything about Bethya?"

  "Goonar . . . she likes you, and you like her. I can tell."

  "You cannot. Last year you thought I was falling for that blonde—"

  "I was hoping. I knew better, truly I did. But don't try to tell me Bethya doesn't stir you—"

  "Don't be vulgar, Bas." Goonar leaned over his soup, the rising steam an excuse for the heat in his cheeks. "Besides, if she wants to talk to me, she knows where I am. Anyway, she's an actress. Why would she be interested in a plain old ship captain?" Other than the reasons he didn't want to hear.

  "She's ready to settle down, maybe."

  "I doubt it," Goonar said. The soup lay heavy in his stomach, and he wished dinner over already. Basil went on spooning his in—his appetite hadn't suffered.

  His comunit buzzed. Goonar flicked it on. "Captain? This is Bethya—" His pulse raced. "We're . . . um . . . finished here." He could hear the careful phrasing. "We're contacting agents to see about a booking . . . I know we need to get our equipment off your ship and into storage or something. Could I come talk to you about that and about settling up?"

  "Don't worry," he said automatically. Then, with a feeling like plunging over a cliff, he said, "Actually—Basil and I are having dinner at the Captains' Guild. Would you like to join us?"

  "I don't know if I . . . yes, Captain, I'd like that. Where is it?"

  Goonar gave her directions and looked up to find Basil grinning like a boy who had just pulled the prize ring out of the barrel. "What!"

  "It was Bethya, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, it was Bethya, and yes, she's coming over here to have dinner." He signalled a waiter and explained that he had another guest coming.

  "You're grinning all over your face," Basil observed. "Some of our competitors are going to think you just made a deal."

  "Let them," Goonar said. His appetite had return
ed with a rush; he could have eaten an entire cattlelope.

  Bethya arrived a few minutes later, and Goonar would have sworn every male in the place perked up. She knew it, too, he saw, and enjoyed it. But her smile was for him alone when he seated her.

  "I didn't want to call you until they were completely through," she said. "And then Dougie started up—insisting that he knew just what we should do, and how, and when. I had to get them all back to the hotel, and call two agents, before he'd leave off."

  "That's all right," Goonar said. "What will you have?"

  "That looks good," she said, glancing at his plate. "Cattlelope?"

  "Yes—soup to start, clear or cream—"

  "Cream," she said. "I need something soothing."

  Goonar ordered dinner for her and waited.

  "Go on," she said. "Don't wait for me."

  "I'd rather," he said. "It's been one of those days, and I don't need indigestion tonight."

  "I wanted to thank you again . . . both of you." She looked at Basil, then back to Goonar. "I know it caused you trouble and worry, and perhaps your company will be angry—"

  "It's all right," Goonar said.

  "I've been trying to think how to make it work for you, make it pay—"

  "Your presence, sera, was all we needed," Basil said. He widened his eyes at her; she grinned at him.

  "You are married, my fine young cockerel; don't pretend to offer what you don't have. And I'm talking business here. I thought, Goonar, you might want a share in the company."

  "In an acting company?"

  "Yes. It wouldn't amount to much, most likely, but we've talked it over, and we're all willing to split off another share for you. We know what could have happened if you hadn't taken us in. And if miracles happened and we had a long run in some major theater . . ."

  Her soup arrived, saving Goonar the need to answer. Basil, who had not slowed down, pushed his plate aside. "Goonar, I'm going back to the ship; I'm just not comfortable with none of us aboard. My vote's to take the share, if it comes to that."

  As transparent an excuse as any he'd seen, but he, too, thought having Basil aboard was a good idea. Goonar toyed with his vegetables, and watched Bethya covertly.

  "Bethya . . . would you ever consider—" He cleared his throat. It was hopeless, why was he even trying? "Er . . . settling down?"

  "Settling down? You mean in one place? Goonar, I'm talented, but not that talented."

  "No, I meant as—with a family. Live in a house on a planet, raise children."

  "Goonar, are you asking me to marry you?"

  "I would if I thought it would do any good."

  She laughed, not unkindly. "Goonar, that has to be the most depressed proposal I ever got. But I don't want to give up travel. Someday I'll have to give up the stage, yes: as I said, I know the limits of my talent, and it won't survive my forties. And though I'm a reasonably good manager, there's been grumbling in my company that I'm too old to have the lead roles. Dougie thinks he could run the company as well, and Lisa is sure she'd be a better village belle."

  "She's wrong," Goonar said. "She looks like a village idiot and sounds like a goose with a bone in its throat."

  Bethya laughed again. "Not quite that bad, but I'll agree she's not as good as she thinks. Anyway, I'd like to have children. But stay in one place? No." She gave him another of those looks that had raised his hopes. "I confess I've been selfish, Goonar . . . traveling on the Fortune was such fun, and I thought maybe trader captains took their wives along. I like you—we can laugh together, that's important, and you're honest and kind. But not even for you will I go sit in a house on a rotating mudball."

  "Some captains take their wives along," Goonar said. "I mean, it's not against the rules."

  "Many are fooled by glamour," Bethya said. "But wives and husbands see behind the stage makeup."

  "I'm not in love with your stage makeup," Goonar said. "I'm not some callow boy."

  "Then who are you in love with?" Bethya asked.

  "The woman who took in a fugitive when she didn't have a clue how she was going to get him out. The woman who sang and danced and stole my heart, while she was scheming to evade the Benignity. The woman who could act two parts and never scramble them, and who in all those weeks, doubled up in bunk space, never said a cross word. Was kind to Esmay Suiza—"

  "All right, all right." She had gone red, and as the blush faded he saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I . . . this is utterly crazy. I have had suitors—"

  "I'm sure you have," said Goonar. His heart pounded until he was sure it would fly out of his chest. Would she?

  "I'm—I can't just—" But the look on her face said she could, and suddenly she opened to him like a rose in midsummer. "All right—yes—I've been taken with you since I saw you sitting there beside Basil, sad and worried and tired. I told myself it was just a performer's pride, to make you laugh, make you smile, make you . . . think . . . you wanted me. But . . . it's ridiculous, you and me, we aren't the lad and lass in the story."

  "That's true," Goonar said, pulling her to him gently and inexorably. "We're not that lad and lass . . . but we are this man and this woman." He buried his face in her hair. "You are so beautiful."

  Rockhouse Major, 2130 local time

  Harlis arrived at the Allsystems dock area thirty minutes late.

  "What happened?" asked Taylor.

  "A slight inconvenience," Harlis said, breathing hard. "Let's go aboard and get out of here."

  "Our departure slot isn't for another hour."

  Harlis went aboard, to find that the owner's suite was full of duffel and four men were asleep there.

  "What's this?" he asked Taylor.

  "You're down here," Taylor said, showing him to the smallest cabin—meant, Harlis could see, for a cook or valet or something like that. "My people need to be together."

  "But—"

  "Don't worry," Taylor said. "We'll get you to Sirialis." Harlis settled himself into the narrow bunk and wondered how far behind his pursuers were. Could they find him in the next hour? He cursed himself for letting Brun know he wanted to go to Sirialis.

  Rockhouse Major, Captains' Guild

  How long they might have sat there, to the amusement of other captains and the waiters, Goonar was later unable to guess, but their time of bliss was interrupted by a waiter bearing a note.

  "Drat," Goonar said. "It's that fellow from Fleet who was looking for Esmay. I thought they'd found her. I wonder what he wants now."

  "I should get back to the hotel," Bethya said. "I'll have to tell the others and endure Dougie's lectures and Lisa's gloating." She pushed back her chair.

  "I don't want to rush you," Goonar began, standing up.

  "Yes, you do," Bethya said. She came around the table, and in full view of everyone gave him a kiss that made his ears catch fire. Yes, he wanted to rush her, straight back to his quarters on the ship. "I'm not a sweet little virgin, you know," she said into his ear.

  "I should hope not," Goonar said. "All right—go settle 'em and let me know when you want to come back."

  He had walked her to the foyer, aware that Terakian & Sons' newest captain had just furnished juicy gossip that would be all over the intership coms just as soon as those captains made it back to their ships.

  As Bethya left, Commander Tavard stepped out of an alcove. "Handsome woman," he said.

  "Yes," Goonar said. "We're getting married."

  "Um. I thought she was that actress—"

  "She was."

  "I see." For a moment, the commander looked confused, but then he said, "Come outside with me, will you? We have a bit of acting to do ourselves."

  Goonar grinned. "Maybe you should have asked Bethya."

  "No—I think you'll do."

  Outside, the commander walked Goonar along the concourse in the direction of the slideways. "You had a visitor this morning you didn't tell us about," he said, quietly but clearly. His tone was intentionally antagonistic and,
even though Goonar understood what was going on, he could still feel his neck getting hot.

  "I don't see why I should tell you about every possible customer who comes by," Goonar said. "And you were asking about Sera Suiza."

  "I told you we were interested in possible mutineers and pirates—and you sat there and didn't say one word about this man—" The commander pulled out a flatpic of the man who'd been at the ship that morning. "He's a former commander in Fleet, a mutineer, the very sort of man I talked to you about—"