And the babies had lost, never realizing they had been pawns in a dynastic war.
"What did you think of their sweet little song?" Stuart asked Brenna. "Quaint, hmm? Ironic, too. Consider," he waved a pale hand over the toddlers' heads, "that they learned that ditty the way children always have learned nursery rhymes, since time immemorial. By rote. I wonder who taught it to them, here at Saunderhome? They haven't the slightest idea of the significance behind the words, do they, poor little things! Don't know that the Lady is their grandmother, Jael Saunder, and the knight was Sweet Mother Carissa's sainted husband. Or that Jael's son—the knight—burned up her, himself, and the tower. Did so the year I was born, as a matter of fact."
Brenna glowered at him. She spoke gently to the babies. "Shouldn't you be in bed? It's awfully late for you to be awake.
"Rachel!" Stuart bellowed. Brenna flinched at the blast of harsh sound. The toddlers clung together, gawking up at the man with the drink-hardened face. Footsteps pattered along the hall and several servants rushed up to the alcove, panting for breath. Stuart pointed at the little clones. "Take them away. My cousin insists it's past their bedtime. No doubt it is. Women are so maternal about these things. We mustn't let anything bad happen to them, must we? Stay more alert in the future, or I'll report you to the current lady of the tower." The servants didn't understand the reference, but they understood Stuart's threatening tone. They took the toddlers by the hand and led them away. Baby Anthony kept peering back over his shoulder, his unusual eyes raking across Brenna and Stuart.
Brenna had seen eyes like that before: her aunt Mariette's eyes.
When the children were out of sight, Stuart said with amusement, "You see? You needn't think of me as such an ogre. Why, I wouldn't harm a hair on those precious darlings' heads. That was what you were thinking I might do, wasn't it?" Brenna made no reply, on guard. Stuart was obviously drunk, and he was no longer subdued. This was her cousin at his ugly "normal" level, and he was blocking her path.
"What do you want, Stuart?"
Surprisingly, he wasn't flip. His expression was mean, but it wasn't aimed at Brenna, or at the children, she sensed. "Nothing you can give me, Cuz."
She guessed what was deviling him. "I'm sorry. I gather you didn't have any say in the matter."
The arranged marriage. She had offered him congratulations earlier, on the lawn. Now she dropped the pretense and offered him sympathy.
Stuart's smile was frightening. "Oh, I had a choice: 'Sign here.' You wouldn't believe some of the things ... well, maybe you would. Anybody would who knows her." He made a rude noise. "What the hell does it matter? She's got a surprise coming. New dynasty, she thinks. Wrong!" Stuart's hag-ridden face twisted with terrible hatred. "No more little Saunders from this branch of the family. I made damned sure of that. If she thinks Felicity is going to make her a grandmother, she's got a lot of rethinking to do." Brenna didn't know what to say. There didn't seem to be anything to say. She stared at her cousin pityingly. Stuart suddenly focused on her, a malicious glitter in his eyes. "Now if it'd been you, my pretty relative..."
"Stuart, you're disgusting."
"I try." The smile vanished. "But in this case, I'm not stretching the truth ... too much. We could have something, you know ... we used to play on the beach when we were kids..."
"Your memory's faulty," Brenna said, her words dripping ice. "Morgan and Derek and I played on the beach. You came along and caused trouble—the family bully, picking on the little kids."
"Only six years' difference. That's not too much! I was there. You should have—" Stuart broke off, a peculiar mixture of sad nostalgia and anger chasing over his countenance. Brenna had a sudden image of a lonely, and spoiled-rotten, pubescent boy, gazing longingly at the three happy playmates romping on the sand, shutting him out of their games because he was too old and too big and too manipulative. Stuart attempted a smile, a sheepish one. "Ah! Well, we can never go home again, they say. Except I never get away from home, do I? Trapped in this damned tower in the sea. There are times when I feel like replaying history for Sweet Mother Carissa." The lady in the tower—burned up by her son. Stuart was no knight, and the only person he wanted to set free was himself. But his hatred was strong enough to make Brenna shudder.
"Let me by, Stuart..."
He grabbed her arm, just as he had at Colony Days, his sharp fingernails digging into her flesh. As she had done then, Brenna whirled, and this time she didn't hesitate. She chopped down with the heel of her hand, breaking his grip. Stuart gasped and reeled back against the wall, looking at her with amazement. "I warned you not to do that. I don't bully worth a damn anymore, Stuart. Six years doesn't make a difference now. You're out of shape and drunk. Don't make me follow through, or you won't be having any romps in bed for a while, child-free fornicating or not!"
"Quite the little rough-and-tumble artist," Stuart muttered. He nursed his sore wrist, pouting. "You shouldn't do things like that. We can help each other. No, listen to me! I can help.
"Breakthrough Unlimited doesn't need your money, Stuart. Thanks for the donation to the hospital, but—"
"You do need me! You don't realize it yet, but you will." Stuart nodded slyly. "Very well. I can wait. I'm not sure you can, Cuz. I've been watching a couple of wealthy industrialists trying to recruit Yuri Nicholaiev to captain their commercial fleet. How long do you think the lure of FTL is going to hold your pilots? Hmm? You're going to need more than faith to get the job done. Why the hell can't you open your eyes? Or would you rather wait until you get your pretty skin fried off, like Morg did?"
"You're drunk," Brenna repeated, her voice dropping to absolute zero.
"Okay. I am. Touchy subject, eh? Keep it in mind, though, Cuz. And when you're hungry enough, and desperate enough, give old Stuart a call. We'll work something out. You'll see." Very tentatively, he reached out. Brenna raised her hand, warning him. But all Stuart did was tweak her chin, to her surprise. The gesture was almost affectionate. Stuart backed away, a bit unsteadily, the liquor affecting him. He waved to her, then ambled off in the opposite direction from where she was going, weaving down the corridor.
Brenna felt unclean, as if she had come in contact with something crawling with invisible and filthy monsters. Reflexively, she scratched her arms. Very disturbed, she proceeded on her way, leaving the annex by the western door and crossing the servants' trav-cart bridge to the cabana side of the waterway. The beach on the Saunderhome side was still crowded, but the path leading to the visitors' area was nearly deserted. Brenna walked under the palm fronds, heading for the most luxurious cabana. Carissa wanted Brenna's father to stay in guest rooms in the main house when he was on the island; but whenever possible, Todd insisted on using a cabana—probably because doing so removed him from his sister-in-law and her son and their notorious quarrels.
SE Security was guarding the door, naturally. Yesterday, Brenna would have said that was needless, that the old days of the Saunders' being in danger from unknown enemies were long past. After what had happened to her flier, she wasn't so certain. The guards nodded and stood to attention and then relaxed to parade rest as Brenna went on into the cabana.
Her father was watching the vid. Brenna saw with surprise that the main picture was a so-called "sports" event—the beginning of the Fourteenth Annual Pan Asiatic Controlled-Violence Meet. Todd Saunder loathed the concept of the Hazlet-proposal arenas. She had never seen him look at one of these modern gladiatorial contests for more than a few seconds before shutting off the channel. He had the audio muted, but the pictures were graphic, needing no sound to tell their story. Todd glanced up at her and gestured to the screen. "Will you look at that? They've already killed a dozen participants. And audience feedback rating is enormous. Hazlet was right; there is a lust for blood among some of the populace, disgusting as that seems. It must reach some deep savage streak in Homo sapiens..."
Brenna sat down beside him. "Why are you watching that?" she asked.
"Damned if I
know. I guess it touches some deep savage streak in me." He turned away from the screen. "Want a drink? Some rye? I forgot. Your generation goes in for different depressants."
"Not all of us," Brenna said. "Stuart won't turn up his nose at anything. And Aunt Carissa turns up her nose at everything. We're a real bunch of misfits, running the gamut, huh?" She had his attention, and Brenna poured out her tale of meeting the four little clones. Her father listened solemnly as he sipped from his glass. Brenna noticed a half-empty bottle on the table.
"The whole thing makes me sick," she finished. "Those babies were just ammunition in a nasty legal game. Now nobody gives a damn about them. That boy—Dad, I've never seen a child so young look so cynical. It was scary."
"Yes, I've seen them. I've spoken to Carissa, but it doesn't do any good." Todd took a long pull on his drink. "I think she's going to keep them around just in case Stuart gets any funny ideas ... again."
"I think he already has." Brenna described her hair-raising encounter with Stuart, laundering the details so that her father wouldn't be unduly upset. She paused and looked at him searchingly. "You said you'd tell me what made Stuart agree to that farce of a marriage. I think I know. Money."
Todd was nodding, very glum. "What else? Money and power. Carissa spoiled him when he was a kid, and lost control of him when he was a teenager. Now it's a battle to the death. He hopes to outlive her. She's trying to make him fulfill her dreams. They use each other without mercy."
"And the losers are victims like those babies." Brenna stared down at her hands. She would probably develop a faint bruise, where she had connected with Stuart's arm. Nothing worth concern. "Stuart says he's sterilized himself. No grandkids. Carissa's been outmaneuvered. Felicity's wasting her time. I hope Emigh signed a tight pre-nuptial agreement with Carissa, or else Felicity's only reward will come if she outlives Stuart— which may not be too difficult, considering the way he's drinking himself into an early grave." Her own morbid remarks made Brenna slump in her chair, shaking her head sorrowfully. "How did the family get in a mess like this?"
"Not our branch of the family," Todd said emphatically.
No. No civil wars between us. But Morgan's crippled. And you and I and Dian can't seem to pull together like we used to, Dad.
"I wish you'd been here earlier," her father said abruptly. "Your mother was on the com."
"Any news?"
"Oh, everything's fine." But he sighed heavily. Brenna was about to ask if indeed all was well, fearing Morgan might have taken a turn for the worse. Then Todd said, "God, I miss her. Miss the boy, too. Even when he's inside that shell. Getting so hard to talk to him. Quol-Bez ... thank God for Quol-Bez. Morgan relates to him. I wish sometimes that..." He gazed at Brenna a long time. There was a silent melee raging on the vid screen behind his head. Brenna wondered if the same sort of thing was going on inside her father's skull. What was he thinking? "Your mother and I have been talking about having another child," he finally said. "There's still plenty of time for us, you know. We ought to have thirty years or more, easy. Good health. And plenty enough money to support a bigger family. Your trusts are solid, kitten. We wouldn't be taking anything from you." Todd Saunder patted his slight paunch and gazed into empty air, apparently making plans. "I'm going to retire. I mean really retire, this time. I'll turn the whole damned thing over to Elaine and the board. The corporation can run itself fine. Dian and I will just stay put, do the whole domestic routine we've never had the leisure to enjoy..."
Brenna was stunned. Jealousy and resentment stirred deep within, the instinctive reactions of a suddenly threatened, beloved only child.
Late middle-age parenthood wasn't too unusual, for those who could afford it, and the Saunders certainly could. Quite a few people opted for just what Brenna's father was proposing, sometimes delaying all parenthood until they were in their fifties or sixties and their hard-won career successes were behind them. With the general practice of preserving sperm and ova and DNA cryogenically while people were still young and vigorous, conception could be put off indefinitely. There were always surrogates willing to carry a lab-conceived fetus, for a fee. A number of Todd Saunder's contemporaries had done exactly that. Some men and women were older than he when they started a first or second family. Brenna tried to imagine Dian and her father dropping their active lives and "settling down" into a vid-drama, happily-ever-after, little family scene, with toddlers at their feet. The idea seemed silly. But then she remembered Dian's tired face, that morning when she had told Brenna they wouldn't come to the test of Prototype II because "it'd kill us if anything happened to you." She looked at her father and saw decades of work and worry beginning to etch lines into those kind features.
"Have I been such a disappointment to you and Dian?" Brenna asked softly.
He didn't react to that for a moment, still building dreams in his mind. When he finally comprehended what she had said, he was appalled. "No, of course not! That's an idiotic attitude!"
It seemed to Brenna that his response was too vehement. "Is it? Okay. You can afford it, and you deserve it. How many kids were you planning to hatch, in this new domesticity? There's no reason you and Dian couldn't have a dozen. The surrogates would be delighted to collect their fees. For that matter, you're Aunt Mari's executor. Doesn't that include, legally, her reproductive capacity? Her ova and Uncle Kevin's sperm are on file in the Enclave. Raise some nieces and nephews to take Morgan's place, and a houseful of siblings for me. One big, happy family..."
Todd set his glass down hard. He blinked owlishly, raking a hand through his white-streaked hair. "You ... you really are hurt, aren't you, kitten?" He sounded stricken. "We never wanted to hurt you. I'm ... I'm not expressing myself well. I've drunk too much. I ought to know better. Pat and Mari could handle it. I never can. I turn into a turnip after a couple of stiff belts." He looked ruefully at the bottle, then at Brenna. "It's not the way you pictured it. Not at all."
Brenna wanted to accept that. She wasn't a baby. The might-be younger sibling or siblings wouldn't be usurpers, would they? Wasn't she far past the sort of childish rivalries bigger families were supposed to suffer? Her accusation about Morgan had been unfair, too. Even if Todd exercised his executor's option and reproduced other nephews or nieces from his sister and brother-in-law, they wouldn't be rivals for Morgan. No one, she knew, could replace her or Morgan in her parents' affections.
And yet...
"Here we go again, huh?" Brenna muttered. Her father frowned in puzzlement. "Just like thirty years ago. Morgan and I know the family history. Carissa was making political capital out of her widowhood, and using Stuart as The Little Prince, heir of his martyred father. And the in-fighting between the Saunder branches was getting nasty, wasn't it? Aunt Mari and Uncle Kevin had started Mars Colony, and you and Dian were expanding your contacts with the Vahnaj. Aunt Carissa tried to leech onto you, as well as hanging on Fairchild's coattails and climbing the ladder to the P.O.E. Chairmanship. I don't know if it was a conscious decision, but Morgan and I were always aware that Dian and Aunt Mariette decided to have kids just to prove to Aunt Carissa she wasn't the only fecund female among the Saunders..."
Her father was shaking his head, looking miserable. Despite his trying to deny it, she had touched a nerve. "We loved you. We wanted you. And Mari and Kevin wanted Morgan. Kevin was so proud I thought he'd burst. He always hoped Morgan would go into service, the way he did..."
"Instead, it was Derek," Brenna said, turning the knife on herself, willing to share the pain she was dishing out. "But Derek was part of the family, in a way. And there we were. Three little cousins and our playmate, Derek. Balance. One kid per Saunder branch." She took a deep breath and plunged on before she lost her courage. "I'm surprised you didn't want to start a new family when Aunt Carissa had those babies cloned, four years ago. Maybe this is just a delayed reaction? No, it's the marriage, Stuart's marriage. Even if he refuses to sire any kids, it's a one-upmanship tactic by Aunt Carissa. But if you outmaneuver h
er and have kids of your own—more kids—you win. She can't do that herself; she's the perpetual widow, and she won't dare try cloning again..."
There were tears in her father's eyes. Brenna broke off, ashamed and angry. But she had spoken the truth. They both knew that. Brenna and Morgan had been loved and wanted children. The intrafamilial politics got all tangled up with genuine caring. She pushed her own feelings aside. Brenna tried to look at the situation from her parents' point of view. She became the parent, speaking with mild reproof. "You know that's the way it was, Dad. And I won't deny Morgan and I benefited, in love most of all. But there's another reason here. Dian mentioned it, months ago." She hesitated while he wiped his eyes and took another sip from his drink. After a moment, he nodded for her to continue with what she was saying. "It's me. And Morgan. And Breakthrough Unlimited. Okay. You and Dian go ahead. Start another family. Start one for Morgan, too; it's also possible for him to have his own children by the same methods you'll use. Then what happens? Say you and Dian get those thirty more years, and even beyond. That's possible, the way the life span's lengthening. Those kids grow up. And they go off on their own. They won't choose to experiment with FTL. Not by then. Something else will attract them. I don't know what, but something. And whatever it is, it's likely to be dangerous. They may die."
Todd winced, cut to the bone by that picture of the future.
Outward Bound Page 30
