Jenna Starborn

by Sharon Shinn

  “Eleven,” Deborah said.

  “Eleven, then. They have been here a few weeks and are really in transition—most of them have found jobs already, but they do not have places to stay yet, so we provide beds for them—and breakfast. Everything else they are responsible for on their own, though Sinclair is instrumental in helping them find both housing and employment.”

  “It must keep all of you quite busy, running two households and what is essentially a job placement office,” I observed.

  “Quite busy!” Maria said with a smile. “But we all enjoy the work.”

  Deborah handed me another bag of vegetables and turned the conversation back to me. “So what did you do at this grand manor where you used to work?”

  “I was a nuclear technician,” I said.

  The sisters exchanged glances. “Really! But that’s excellent!” Maria exclaimed. “Can you repair systems? For ours is most unreliable and Sinclair simply will not take the time to call in a repair team.”

  “You have your own generator?” I asked in surprise, for normally all the buildings in a city would draw on the energy from one or two central power plants.

  “Well, we do, but it’s a long story,” Maria said. “It’s very small, and it hardly ever works, and when it doesn’t, we rely on city power. But someone offered to sell the system to Sinclair for a very low price, and he bought it thinking he could then sell extra power to nearby businesses as a way to raise additional money for our programs, but since the day we’ve owned the generator, it’s been broken more often than not. Of course, no one will contract to buy from us, because they don’t trust us to supply power on a regular basis—and they’re quite right!—but Sinclair refuses to sell it because he keeps saying it was an excellent investment. But if you could repair it for us—”

  “I should be able to, unless some complete systems breakdown has destroyed its usefulness.”

  “Oh, this is wonderful!” Deborah said. “Right after breakfast, I will take you to the access area. First we will feed you, though, or you will faint of hunger before you can do us any good at all!”

  She was clearly joking, and all three of us laughed, and I felt sustained by a warm glow of companionship that was more nourishing than the breakfast that I helped served a half hour later. The other four boarders were in the dining room, patiently awaiting food, but Sinclair Rainey was nowhere to be seen. I imagined he was often absent; he seemed like a man so preoccupied with larger issues that he would rarely remember to feed his body with food or refresh his soul with conversation.

  After the meal, Deborah escorted me to a cramped, poorly lit room tucked off of one utilitarian hallway (where laundering equipment and a multitude of storage boxes also had made their homes). It seemed astonishing to me that the equipment worked even intermittently, so poorly organized were the fuel leads and generator cables, but a cursory examination of the items on hand led me to think there was nothing irreparably wrong.

  “Though I may need to replace a few parts,” I said, looking doubtfully at some worn connectors. “Is there any budget for that?”

  “I would imagine Sinclair would be happy to drop some of his credit on machinery, if you could ensure it would function in the future,” Deborah said. “Perhaps, if you could get an estimate—”

  “And there are supply stores in Cody where I could get parts?”

  “I’m not sure, but you could check with the power companies and see if they would be willing to sell you items.”

  “Yes—that’s a very good idea—well, first let me take a thorough look at the setup and see what might be missing.”

  “I’ll check back with you at lunchtime,” she said, and left me.

  I spent the next few hours happily enough, absorbed in work that I understood and that seemed to render me valuable to people who had been kind to me, which made it twice as satisfying. I kept a growing inventory of parts that needed immediate replacement, parts that should for future reliability be replaced soon, and parts that were so outdated that it would be better just to upgrade them now. I also scoured down a few encrusted connectors and checked safety levels and investigated the toxic dumping hoses (which, I was glad to see, appeared to be in excellent condition). It was, or would be, a tidy little system which could supply enough power to run a couple of city blocks; I was sure Sinclair Rainey would be able to realize his dream of selling enough energy to his neighbors to make his facility self-supporting.

  I took a quick lunch with my fellow residents, told Deborah I thought the job would be relatively simple, and returned to my task. By dinnertime, I had climbed over enough wires, cables, tubes, and protuberances to get my coveralls filthy, so I returned to my room to shower and change before I joined the others for the evening meal.

  I had barely seated myself at the table before Deborah turned to her brother and exclaimed, “Sinclair! The best news! Jenna Starrin is a nuclear technician who is able to repair our generator! She has been working on it all day and compiling a list of the parts we will need to make it operational again.”

  Sinclair turned his solemn, considering gaze my way with such intensity that I found myself blushing for no good reason. His eyes were so remarkably blue, and so completely unwavering, that I felt transfixed by his attention; I did not believe I would be able to move or speak until he gave his permission. “Has she,” he said in a light, calm voice, and the force of his personality made the simple words seem invested with drama. “Well, Jenna, and what will be required to achieve this goal?”

  My lips moved soundlessly, and for a moment I feared I had resumed the incoherence that had hampered me when I was first released from cold storage. But I swallowed and tried again. “Many small parts,” I said in a quavering voice. “One big one, but I do not think it will be too expensive. And some cables. Deborah thinks we might be able to buy them from a power company.”

  Sinclair flicked that calm, lethal gaze at his sister, who went on serenely eating her food as if his glances held no terror for her. “Good idea, Deb,” he said; and again, such was the deliberate and impressive power of his speech that his words sounded like a divine pronouncement. “I shall call Leopold in the morning and tell him we are coming over. You will have this list by the morning, will you not?” he said, returning his attention to me.

  “I—certainly—I might check it over once before—but it is all but complete now,” I said, stammering like a schoolgirl.

  Sinclair nodded majestically. “Good. The sooner it is functional, the better. So where did you learn such technology, Jenna?”

  A personal question from this imperial personage! I had not expected it, and continued stammering. I was sure he believed I was fabricating a history even as I spoke, so nervous and uncertain did I sound. “On Lora. At—at the academy there. I was a student and then—then I was a teacher for several days—I mean, years.”

  “Lora Tech. That is partially a charity school, is it not?”

  I nodded. “Yes, and I was one of its charity students.”

  “Did you like it?”

  I considered, and tried to recover some of my habitual calm. “My classes were hard at first, but grew easier. I learned a great deal. And I acquired skills that I can use anywhere in the universe, so that I have assured myself of employment wherever I go. So I liked the results I achieved.”

  Sinclair nodded, as if this answer pleased him. “It is good for anyone—man, woman, citizen, half-cit—to have useful skills that can be translated to a variety of environments. One never knows when one’s circumstances will change, drastically or for the worse. Self-reliance is a cardinal virtue.”

  “I have always believed so,” I said.

  “Yes, well, I believe human kindness is an even more cardinal virtue, if one thing can be more cardinal than something else,” Deborah said saucily. “That shall be the skill I cultivate.”

  Sinclair bent his lancet gaze on her, a reproving look on his face. “Human kindness will not always see you employed and able to care
for yourself,” he said repressively.

  “No, that’s the point. It is something you spend on others, not on yourself,” she retorted.

  “It is a valuable commodity,” he conceded, “but you must arm yourself with more practical ones as well.”

  Maria laughed. “Let it go, Deborah, you will never convince him.”

  “Yes, but I cannot agree with Sinclair’s values! What do you say, Jenna? Which is more important? To fortify yourself with a strong head or a strong heart?”

  Oh, this was a fine question to be asked, indeed! How should I answer, I who had trampled on my own heart because of the very principles Sinclair Rainey espoused? “My head and my heart give very different answers,” I said at last with a rather painful smile. “In my heart, I believe we would all be better off if everyone led from emotion. But my head has often dictated tougher choices than my heart would prefer, and I have always believed the head must be protected before the heart can be hazarded.”

  “Very well put,” Sinclair approved.

  “Yes, but how dreary!” Maria exclaimed.

  “A full life teaches you dreary scenarios,” I said.

  “You must tell us about that life sometime,” Deborah said. My face must have showed a look of alarm, for she laughed merrily. “I didn’t mean now,” she added. “Sometime when you’re more comfortable with us.”

  “Yes, I shall be interested to hear how one so young could have formed such decided opinions,” Sinclair said gravely. I thought to myself that I would never be comfortable enough with him to feel like making confidences. “I would not have expected it.”

  I made some inconsequential answer, and the talk turned to other topics, for which I was profoundly grateful. Someone else at the table then spoke up to ask about a game that had been played the night before, when I had retired early to my room.

  “Yes, that was fun. Shall we try that again tonight?” Deborah replied. “Jenna, you will join us this night, won’t you? It will be so much fun.”

  I understood, of course, that she wished to rehabilitate me—body and soul—and that she would not consider me quite healed until I was able to indulge easily in playful human interaction. So I agreed, and spent a pleasant enough evening with the other residents of the house playing mindless space-battle games. I must admit, having won two of the three games we played, that I was feeling rather cheerful by the time I at last ascended to my bed; and perhaps it was the various triumphs of the day that led me to the best night’s sleep I had had since I had woken on the Anniversary.

  The next day, however, my first waking thought was one of dread: I was to make an expedition in the company of the august Sinclair Rainey, and hope to appear professional and competent before him. It seemed a singularly daunting task, but I reminded myself sternly that I had faced more severe challenges in the past and always managed to emerge relatively whole. I donned my last clean pair of coveralls and joined the others for breakfast.

  Sinclair was already awaiting me, having eaten his morning meal at some impossibly early hour. “How much time will you require to go over your lists and make a final assessment?” he asked me as I hurriedly swallowed my meal.

  “An hour, perhaps. I do not want to be careless.”

  “Very well. I will be working on my computer when you are ready.”

  Deborah had pulled me to my feet and appeared to be measuring her body against mine. “It is a shame you are so small, because I could lend you some of my clothes if we were closer in size,” she said. She was not a large woman, but both taller and more amply endowed than I was, and the idea of me in any item she owned was laughable. “I think you would make a better impression if you were more suitably outfitted.”

  “That is certainly a trivial preoccupation,” Sinclair observed. I winced, but Deborah ignored him.

  “I know!” she exclaimed. “I shall ask Rianna if she has anything she’s outgrown. She’s almost as small as you are.”

  Sinclair’s head whipped around at the mention of the other woman’s name. “Rianna!” was all he said, but his voice vibrated with deep emotion.

  “Yes,” Deborah said, quite unmoved by his tone, “she often donates linens and other small items to our houses, and I’m sure she’d be happy to help Jenna out. Unless you object to charity,” she added to me.

  “I am living in your house on charity,” I said, smiling. “I am happy to take whatever anyone is willing to give me.”

  “You should not be troubling Rianna,” Sinclair said in a low voice.

  Deborah shrugged. “She will tell me if she cannot help. But I’m sorry I can’t do better for you today, Jenna. Unless you’d like to wait a day or two?”

  “I think not,” Sinclair said.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Your brother is impatient,” I said to Deborah. Then, to Sinclair, I said, “Give me an hour and I will be ready. I will come to you.”

  Soon enough I was finished with my final examination, and Sinclair Rainey and I were on our way. I had spent such wretched hours wandering Cody’s streets that I had not realized the spaceport contained an underground transport system that was fast, clean, and efficient. Sinclair shepherded me aboard this, kept fairly close track of me when strangers pressed in at each new stop, then escorted me back aboveground when we had reached our destination. Eventually we entered a tall, sleek building that appeared to have been constructed from a single seamless sheet of black glass. Although Appalachia was not yet sophisticated enough to sport much technology, it was clear to me that the power companies were in advance of most of the other planetary businesses. Sinclair spoke a name into an automated teller; a small, self-propelled, floating car popped up beside us, and we climbed aboard. Within minutes, it had whisked us up circular hallways and through narrow, spiraling shafts at a breathtaking pace. I was quite overwhelmed by miracles by the time it deposited us at the office of a man whose name on the door was given as Leopold Joester.

  He turned out to be a large, jovial, red-faced man, dressed casually (though not as casually as I) in a black tunic and cotton pants, and he seemed delighted to see Sinclair. They talked a few minutes of business plans that had no relevance to me, and then Sinclair rather abruptly introduced our mission.

  “This is Jenna Starrin, a nuclear technician who has just arrived on Appalachia. She is going to repair my generators, which you know have been malfunctioning for months, but she needs some additional parts. I thought you might be willing to sell them to me at a reasonable price.”

  “Repair it! Really! I was beginning to think that was a hopeless task. What sorts of parts do you need, Miss Starrin? Before I commit myself to any kind of transaction.”

  I took out my list and read it to him. I could tell that, though he had had his doubts when Sinclair first introduced me, he was impressed by my basic understanding of key nuclear components. He nodded a few times, took notes, then looked up with a smile.

  “I don’t see a problem with any of that. When would you like it delivered?”

  “Today, if possible,” Sinclair said. “As you know, the less time wasted, the happier I am. Tell me what the cost will be, and I will write out a transfer right now.”

  Leopold Joester waved one large-knuckled hand. “Count it as my contribution for the month,” he said negligently. “It will cost me less in the long run.”

  Sinclair smiled faintly. “Very well,” he said. “I appreciate it. Let me know next time there is something I can do in return for you.”

  The men talked a few more minutes, and then Sinclair rose to his feet to say good-bye. I quickly followed suit, murmured my thanks to Leopold Joester, and followed Sinclair out the door. We reversed our modes of transit, and in a short time were back at the Public Aid Office telling the Rainey sisters our success. Everyone seemed jubilant, but my happiness, though the quietest, was by far the greatest. For I had again, at least briefly, a task and a purpose; and I did not know any other way in which to make my life endurable.

  Chapter 17

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nbsp; The next few weeks, for me, passed in an atmosphere of ever greater comfort and contentment. I spent the bulk of my days working in the generator room, repairing and replacing machinery; at mealtimes and in the evenings, I interacted with a circle of friendly and undemanding acquaintances, some of whom I became fond of very quickly; and at night, I slept with serenity. Most of the time. It was true that I had my greatest mental and emotional struggles at night, before I fell asleep, when visions of Thorrastone Manor and its many beloved residents rose before my eyes and would not be banished.

  What had been Everett Ravenbeck’s reaction the morning—more than a year ago!—when he rose and found me vanished from his home? How long had he searched for me, how long had he mourned for me, and what desperate measures had he taken to assuage his grief? For that was my greatest fear, that the man I loved so deeply had, through my behavior, come to terrific harm. I knew his past propensity toward numbing his troubles through a reckless pursuit of hedonism, but I could not think such a course would be anything but disastrous now. I could not be sure there would be any checks on his behavior; I did not know how far he might fling himself down the road of self-destruction.

  I was afraid to search for news of him on the StellarNet, because I believed him fully capable of mining his name references with codes that would alert him to my inquiries. I did occasionally, when the house computer was free, browse through general news and society reports, hoping to come across a mention of his name, but I never found it. I did accidentally discover that Bianca Ingersoll had married Harley Taff and settled at the Taff family estates, but no list of guest names was provided in the article and I was afraid to query the computer for more details.

  But it was not only Everett Ravenbeck whose fate troubled me. What had become of Ameletta since Janet and I had both disappeared? For that matter, had any news of Janet Ayerson ever been discovered? What of Mrs. Farraday, who had considered both Janet and myself to be under her care—and balancing on the border of respectability? Would she blame herself for my defection? Or her employer? Would she resign her post? What then would become of Ameletta—and Everett Ravenbeck?