“They are happy now,” Professor Meyerson said. “They are small children, and I know-Hazel told us-that you have been kind to them. But they will grow older, and you are not, and cannot, be the same as their own family. They need to know their own flesh and blood.”
“They will cry,” Prima said, through her own tears.
“They may,” Professor Meyerson said. “They have had a difficult few years, losing their parents and then coming to such a different place, and leaving it again. They cried when they came here, didn’t they? But in the end, all children cry over something, and that is not reason enough to leave wrong as it is, and good undone.”
“I am undone,” Prima said, folding her apron. “But I had to try-”
“You are a loving mother,” Professor Meyerson said. Barin was surprised at this; he had not thought of Meyerson as having, or caring about, families. Yet her tone of absolute approval seemed to settle Prima. “I want you to see recordings of the children’s families.”
“I don’t have to-I believe you-”
“No, but it may help you understand.” She nodded to Barin, who set up the cube reader and display screen. “We have brought our own power supply, since your electrical lines carry the wrong voltage for our equipment.”
“This is men’s work,” Prima said.
“God gave eyes to men and women,” Professor Meyerson said. She put the first cube into the reader. “This is a recording of Brandy and Stassi’s parents before they were killed.”
On the screen, a woman with a long dark braid over her shoulder cradled a baby in her arms. “That’s when Stassi was born; their mother’s name was Ghirian. Her parents were from Gilmore Colony. Brandy was a year old then.” A man appeared, holding an older infant in his arms. “That’s their father, Vorda. He and Ghirian had been married eight years. His family had been merchant spacers for generations.”
“They-were married?”
“Oh yes. And very much in love, though I understand from Hazel that you do not value romantic love between men and women.”
“It doesn’t last,” Prima said, as if quoting. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, where the affection between mother and father, and parents and children, was obvious. “It cannot be depended on to make a strong family.”
“Not alone, no. But along with honesty and courage, it’s a good start.”
The screen flickered, and now showed a slightly older Brandy, stacking blocks with an unsteady hand.
Prima sucked her breath through her teeth. “Boy’s toys-”
“We value all the gifts God has given a child,” Professor Meyerson said. “If God did not mean her to build, why would he have given her the ability? They sent this recording to her grandparents; her mother’s father was a construction engineer in Gilmore. He was pleased that his granddaughter had inherited his gift.” The child pushed the blocks over, gave a dimpled grin into the camera, and stood up, dancing in a circle. Then her mother came into view, carrying Stassi, now a wiggly toddler herself. She reached out and caught Brandy to her, gave her a little hug. Professor Meyerson turned up the sound of the cube reader.
“-So we’ve decided to take them with us. Captain Lund says that’ll be fine; there are two children about the same age, and a couple of older ones. The ship has a fully equipped nursery and playroom, with all the educational materials you could hope to see, so don’t worry about them falling behind. It’s as safe as being onplanet-safer, in some ways. No bugs!” The woman grimaced. “And no weather. I know, I know-you like the changing seasons, but with these two if it’s not colds in winter it’s allergies in summer.”
Professor Meyerson stopped the reader. “That was made just before they rejoined the Elias Madero, about a year before they died.”
“Was there sickness on the ship after all?”
“No.” Could she not know? Was it possible? She glanced at Hazel, who shook her head. “They were killed in the capture of the ship, ma’am.”
“No . . . it must have been an accident. Mitch would never kill women-”
This was farther than they’d meant to go; they’d assumed the wives knew how outworld children were taken. Professor Meyerson said nothing, clearly at a loss to think how to put it. Prima blanched.
“You think-you believe our men killed the parents, orphaned those children on purpose? Killed mothers? That’s why you attacked us?”
“They considered them perverts,” Professor Meyerson said. “That’s what was on the recordings.”
“I don’t believe it! You’re lying! You have no proof!” She grabbed Meyerson’s arm. “Do you? Does your . . . your device show anything like that?”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Heads up-” That murmur in Barin’s ear got his attention away from Prima. “May be trouble on the way-some kind of gathering across town-” A tiny picture flashed on the corner of his helmet display. Someone in a bright blue bathrobe or something similar yelling at a bunch of men.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Barin said. “Do you know what this might be?” He transferred the image to the larger screen they’d been using for the cube reader.
Prima glared at him, but turned to look. Her face paled. “It’s Parson Wells-”
“A parson is a religious leader,” Professor Meyerson said with renewed confidence. “Amazing-look at that garment-”
“It’s a cassock,” Prima said.
“No, it’s not a cassock,” Meyerson said, as if correcting a child. “Cassocks were narrower, black, and buttoned up the front. This is the variant of academic regalia which was popular in one branch of Christianity-”
“Professor . . . I don’t think that’s the most important thing.”
“But look at that-those men are carrying replica Bowie knives-and that looks like a replica of an actual twenty-first-century rifle-”
“Professor-we need to get the children and get out of here,” Barin said. “We don’t want a conflict-we want them safe-”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Meyerson flushed slightly. “Sorry. It’s just-seeing things I’ve only read about before-it’s quite exciting. I wish I had more time-”
“Not this visit,” Barin said. He turned to Prima. “Please, ma’am-the children?
“Come with me, then.” She was still angry, but clearly the view on the screen meant more to her than to the professor. “I want you to see where they were housed, how they were cared for, so you can tell their families-” She led the way down the corridor to the women’s wing. Through windows, Barin saw a garden brilliant with flowers, centered by a fountain-then a wall, then another garden.
“The children’s garden,” Hazel murmured. “The little girls were allowed to run about some there.” It was empty now. The scent of warm, fresh-baked bread wafted along the corridor, as Prima opened another door. “Kitchen’s down there-she’s taking us to the sleeping area for the youngest-”
Another courtyard, this one paved with broad stone slabs and shaded by a central tree. Prima turned, led them down a narrow exterior hall, and into a large room. Here a dozen beds were lined up along either wall. On five of the beds, children sprawled asleep.
“Here is where they slept,” Prima said. “This is the quiet time after lunch, and these younglings are napping. Prudence and Serenity are too old for naps now; they’ll be in the sewing parlor.” She led them on, to a room where two older women and a dozen young girls from Hazel’s age down were sitting, heads bent, over their sewing. Only the women looked up; the younger one stood. “It’s all right, Quarta. They do have families, real families.”
Now the children looked up, shyly, staring at the intruders. Barin smiled at them; he didn’t want to be a frightening memory. Two of the children stared at Hazel a long moment, then one of them said, “Patience-?” softly.
“Yes,” Hazel said. “I’m back. Do you remember your Uncle Stepan?” The child nodded, her face solemn.
“He wants to see you again, and so does your aunt Jas. We can go home now, Brandy.�
�
The girl’s face lit up and she dropped her sewing-then she looked cautiously at the older women.
“You may go with Patience-Hazel-now, Prudence.”
The girl ran to Hazel and hugged her. “I didn’t forget, I promise I didn’t forget!” She leaned back, looking up at Hazel’s face. “Home to the ship? Will Mama be there? Can I use the computer again? Can I have books?”
The other child, younger and shyer, had to be led from her seat . . . but when she realized she was actually leaving, she clung to Brandy’s hand and smiled.
The other girls stared, faces solemn. Clearly they had no idea what was happening.
Barin glanced at Prima, hoping she would make the necessary explanation. The older woman grimaced, but complied.
“Prudence and Serenity are going back to their own families,” she said. “We wish them God’s blessings in their new life.”
“But who will protect them?” asked one of the other girls. “Is that man their father? Their uncle? Why are those women holding weapons?”
“We will protect them,” Barin said. Shocked looks from all of them. “In our home, women can be soldiers or work on spaceships-”
“That’s wrong,” said one of the older girls firmly; she picked up her sewing. “It’s wrong for women to meddle in men’s things.”
Quarta reached out and tapped the girl lightly on the head with her thimbled finger. “It’s wrong for children to instruct their elders. But I believe, Faith, that you are right and these heathens will not prosper.”
The boys were in the boys’ wing; Prima despatched one of the other women to fetch them, while she herself led them to the nursery to pick up Brun’s twins. They seemed healthy, happy babies, scooting about on the floor in a way that suggested they would soon be crawling.
“Simplicity . . .” Hazel breathed, nodding toward a young woman who sat rocking her baby. The girl looked up with a shy smile; her eyes widened when she saw the others. Hazel picked up one twin, and Prima carried the other; by the time they were back to the front hall, the boys were there, looking worried and uncertain.
“Paolo!” Brandy said. “We’re going home!” She reached out to hug him, but he moved aside.
“I don’t think-”
“You need to hear this, Ensign-” That in his earplug. Automatically, he switched audio to the speakers of the cube reader.
“-Satan’s snares!” the man in the blue robe was saying. “God’s judgement has fallen on those Rangers, and on their families, for their sins. Suffer not the wicked to prosper, nor the ungodly woman to speak-”
“He means you,” Professor Meyerson said to Prima. “You’re in danger now.”
“We must retake the Rangers’ houses, and cleanse them of the filth of contamination-destroy the infidels with holy fire-”
“Not that there’s anything really to worry about,” the marine major said; his voice overrode the other man’s on the com. “All they’ve got is old-fashioned small arms and big knives. You’ll be safe enough in the ground transport-”
“No,” Hazel said. “They have whatever was on Elias Madero. They said so, when they were talking after I was captured.”
“What was on Elias Madero?” Barin asked. “Ship weapons?”
“I don’t know, but something bad, something they’d stolen from Fleet.”
A cold wave ran down Barin’s spine, as if someone had swiped along it with a piece of ice. The Guernesi had talked about arms traffickers and stolen weapons . . . and Esmay had mentioned that her captain was concerned about missing nuclear warheads.
“Major, it could be a lot worse than that-these guys may have our missing nukes.”
A pause, in which the ranting voice went on about sin and defilement and tyranny. Then: “I knew we shouldn’t have brought a Serrano along. Things always get interesting with a Serrano along. All right, Ensign, suppose you tell the admiral while I see what I can do to keep these guys from using whatever it is they’ve got.”
Barin had just presence of mind to sever the connection to the cube reader’s speakers, then switched channels to contact Navarino in orbit.
“We’re on it,” he was told first. “Monitoring all local transmissions . . . and we have scan working on locating any fissionables. Get those kids out now, if you can.”
“I don’t want to be another man’s servant,” Prima said suddenly. “I don’t want my children brought up in another man’s house. . . .”
Barin spared her a glance, but no more; he was trying to patch into ship’s scan and see if he could spot anything. Then Prima grabbed his arm.
“You-your grandmother is really the commander? And you are a man of her family-you must give me your protection.”
“I’m trying,” Barin said.
“I want to go,” Prima said. “Me, all my children. Take me to my husband.”
Barin stared at her, startled out of his immediate concern. “Take you-? You mean, to the ship?”
“Yes. That man-” She pointed at the now-blank screen. “He will give me to someone else; he may tell them to mute me just because I have talked with you-and if he knew I had killed Jed last night, he would certainly do so.” Heavily, with no grace at all, she knelt in front of Barin. “I claim you as my protector, in place of my husband.”
Barin glanced around; Professor Meyerson had her usual expression of alert interest, and the guards looked frankly amused. “I-let me talk to my grandmother,” he said. When in doubt, ask help.
“No-it is you I claim.”
“She means it,” Meyerson said. “And she’ll probably do something drastic if you don’t agree.”
And he had always wanted command track. Well, he had it now. “Fine,” he said. “You’re under my protection. Get your household together-”
“I can’t speak for the other wives,” Prima said.
“Would he give them away? Mute them?”
“Yes . . .”
“Then you jolly well can speak for them, and you have. Get them together; don’t bring anything but warm bodies.” He chinned his comunit. “Major, we’re going to be bringing out the whole household. I don’t even know how many-” He looked at Hazel, who shook her head. Even she didn’t know. “More transports,” he said, trying to think if they’d have shuttle space. If they crammed in, if nobody blew the shuttles on the way up-
People started crowding into the front hall: women, carrying babies; girls leading younger girls, boys pushing younger boys ahead of them, and one man-a narrow, angular fellow that Barin disliked on sight. They all stared at Barin and the guards, but there was less noise than he expected. The girls were all looking silently at the floor; the boys were all staring silently, with obvious awe and longing, at the soldiers’ weapons.
Prima made her way through the crowd and dipped her head to him, which made Barin acutely uncomfortable.
“May I speak?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
“I have sent messengers to the other Rangers’ houses-by the women’s doors-to their ladies.”
“What? No!” But even as he said it, he realized it must be so. “You think-”
“You said I could speak for the other wives. As you are my protector, so you are theirs, through me; it is your people who killed their husbands, after all.”
Barin looked over the crowd that filled the hall from side to side, and was packed into the rear passages-somewhere between fifty and a hundred people, he was sure, and made the easy calculation.
“We need more shuttles,” he murmured to himself. And what of the male relatives of the other Rangers, who were surely in their houses as-what was his name? That fellow Ranger Bowie had been talking to-had been here. Wouldn’t they resist? He could not possibly get that many people out of a city in riot, without casualties. A child whimpered, and someone shushed it.
“What’s your situation, Ensign?”
Waiting for inspiration, he could have said. Instead, he gave his report as
succinctly as possible, into the hissing void of the comunit, which hissed emptily at him for long enough to make him worry. Then his grandmother’s voice in his ear.
“Am I to understand that you have undertaken the evacuation to our ships of the entire civilian population of that misbegotten excuse for a city?”
“No sir: only about five hundred of them. Rangers’ households.”
“And upon whose authority?”
“It . . . had become a matter of family honor, sir. And Familias honor.”
“I see. In that case, I suppose we are bound to support your actions, if only to have you present and accounted for when the bill comes in.” His grandmother, according to rumor which he had never cared to test, could remove a laggard officer’s hide in a single spiraling strip, from crown of head to tip of toe, without raising her voice. He felt dangerously close to finding out whether she would use its full powers on a callow young descendant.
“Contact!” That was the marine major in charge of the landing party. “We are being fired upon; say again: we are receiving hostile fire.”
“Engagement code: open green.” His grandmother’s voice when speaking to the others was flat and edgeless. “Say again: engagement code is open green.”
Open green . . . new objective, new rules of engagement. She had given it to him. Barin felt a simultaneous lift and sink of the heart which almost made him sick, then he steadied to it.
“In support of Ensign Serrano and an unknown number of civilians, in the hundreds, who will be embarking for evacuation-open green.”
He could hear the suck of the major’s indrawn breath: the ground support more than adequate for a small party was far from adequate to protect and escort hundreds.
“Support on the way-”
He tried to calculate how long it would take, whether they would have to draw shuttles and troops from the other cruisers, from Shrike. Then he shook his mind away from that, which was someone else’s task, to his own, which was organizing this mass into the most protectable, in the safest possible place to await what his grandmother would send.
Rules of Engagement Page 44
