Young Rissa (15 page)

Sparline's mouth went slack, her face pale. For a moment her lips moved without sound. Then; “You were on
Inconnu
? It's here? Liesel didn't — “ Her cup struck the table; coffee slopped over. She rose, took two fast strides, then returned and sat again. “No. He'll be here a week at least. It's more important now — what you can tell me of him.” Her color returned. “
Tell
me, Rissa!”
 

“I rode
Inconnu
here from Far Corner — I thought you knew.”
 

“Did you see much of Tregare? Did you come to know him well?”
 

Rissa did not allow the potential smile to move her mouth. “Over a journey of nine months, a little more? In some ways, quite well.”
 

Sparline leaned forward. “What kind of man is he . . . now? Did you like him?”
 

Rissa sipped coffee. “He is — hard, as you said — on the surface, at least. He is sometimes violent and ruthless — but not so much as he likes to think he is. He has little regard for the rights or feelings of anyone he does not value personally. He is very able — but capable of overlooking important factors if his attention is caught elsewhere.
 

“Did I like him?” She shrugged. “At first I distrusted and almost feared him. Now I respect parts of his nature, and certainly his achievements. Between us there is both antagonism and a certain affection. Perhaps — “ She sighed. “Let us say that I will be disappointed if I do not see him ever again.”
 

Sparline shook her head slowly. “You know more of him than I do — and in less than a year. I envy you.” “You need not. I shared his quarters, not by my own choice.” Now the other's cheeks flushed; she gripped Rissa's arm. “You say my brother raped or enslaved you?”
 

Rissa spoke carefully. “No. He could not have done so — I was trained, remember, by Erika. To some extent he did coerce me. I accepted that coercion because the alternative was to kill him and fight my way off the ship. And I needed the ride.”
 

“You?
You
couldn't kill Tregare!”
 

“I think I could have. No matter — I did not, and am glad of it.”
 

Sparline scowled at her, then the scowl relaxed. “Yes — you said — a certain affection. You came to love him, didn't you?”
 

Rissa shrugged. “Not by my definition, but call it what you like. It is true that the last time we bedded, I invited him. Because it may have been our final night together, I let myself be sentimental.”
 

Finally Sparline released her numbing grasp; Rissa flexed the arm. “All right — so my brother isn't the paragon I'd like to think him. But even though he first took you against your will — ”
 

“Not against my will — against my inclination. There is a difference.”
 

“Don't pick nits. With all that, I say — still you came to like him, admire him. Didn't you?”
 

Rissa nodded. “In our personal dealings, yes — as I have said. But in some other matters, no.”
 

“What matters?”
 

“On
Inconnu
, I was told by one who should know, are women who are called ‘property.' Can you like or admire the thought of human property?” Sparline waved a hand. “A joke — it has to be. My brother wouldn't — ” Rissa stood. “Believe what you like. I was there; you were not. And I think it time I thanked you for your hospitality and excused myself.” Sparline stood also. “You're right.” Her smile showed effort. “Rissa — I'm not angry. I'm sure you're telling the truth as you know it. But now I'm going to the port to try to see my brother for the first time in — it must be fifteen years, biological time. Later we can talk more.”
 

“Will you give Tregare a message for me?”
 

“Sure, if I reach him. What is it?”
 

“That Tari Obrigo — he knows me only by that name — sends her regards. And — and holds no grudges.”
 

“I'll be happy to tell him that — if you mean it.”
 

“If I did not, I would not say so. Tregare and I — I feel — are even with each other. And both gained, perhaps.”
 

“All right. If I can't see him, I'll try to leave word.” Sparline left the room, and Rissa thought,
I wonder if he will bother to send answer
.
 

 

She found the way to her room, performed necessary functions, and lay on the bed for a time, considering what she and Sparline had said, and what might come of it. Her thoughts meandered into half-formed dreams, with little content except vague emotion. She dozed; a knock awakened her. “Come in!”
 

Liesel entered. “Did I wake you? Well, so be it — the sun's high, or was, until the clouds got here.” She pulled a chair alongside the bed and sat. “Sparline seldom shouts at me. She did, though, before she made off with the only aircar that wasn't already in use. Do you know why?”
 

Rissa pushed her hair back and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I thought she knew
Inconnu
was here, that I had come on it. She was disturbed that you had not told her her brother is aground.”
 

Liesel shook her head slowly. “You know a lot very quickly, don't you? That could be dangerous, and not only to yourself. What else do you know that I don't?”
 

“How should — I mean, how can I know?” Rissa stood; after a moment she put a hand, gently, to the older woman's shoulder. “I am new here — inexperienced in your ways — I have no way of knowing what secrets one Hulzein keeps from another. Nothing I said to Sparline was from malice or self-seeking.”
 

Liesel covered Rissa's hand with her own. “Yes, child — I'm sure of that. But to the point — what did you tell her of Tregare? And she to you?”
 

Rissa bowed her head and raised it again. “Our exact words escape me. I will tell you what I remember, and of my association with Tregare, when I did not know he was one of you.” The telling was not long; at the end, Liesel squeezed Rissa's hand, then released it. She stood.
 

“One thing I need to know. Could you be pregnant by my son?”
 

Rissa thought,
one secret I keep for a time yet. And I am not lying.
She laughed. “A Welfare child? You must know better.”
 

“In a way I regret that; otherwise you reassure me. No damage is done if Sparline keeps her head, and she will. I appreciate your story of the mutiny; Tregare was always too proud to excuse his actions. How did
you
get it out of him?”
 

After thought, Rissa said, “He may have felt he owed me something.”
 

“Maybe.” Liesel had slouched; now she stood erect. “Well — I thank you for telling me. Now I've work to do. Would you like to walk outdoors, explore our grounds?” Rissa nodded assent. “Fine; I'll send someone to escort you. You'd better dress a little more warmly.”
 

 

The next knock was Hawkman Moray's. He smiled and held up a basket. “Peace offering. Would you like luncheon with me — up our valley an hour's walk?”
 

“Yes, of course. I will fetch my outergarb.”
 

They left by a back door and walked up a winding path, through fragrant underbrush. Clouds purpled the sky, but the gentle climb warmed Rissa.
 

He was not really seven feet tall — but nearer seven than six. How old was he biologically? She would have taken him for Sparline's brother rather than father. She did not ask.
 

The climb grew steeper, wound between heavy thickets, then leveled abruptly; they entered a flowered clearing.
 

“This is the place.” He moved to one side. “The view is best here,” and he unfolded a covering to spread on the ground. In the middle he placed the basket, and sat beside it. “Are you hungry, Rissa? I am.”
 

“Yes. The walk gave me appetite.” She sat also, looking past him down the valley. Against the distant hills the great Lodge was a toy.
 

“Some wine first,” he said, as he unpacked the basket. “And perhaps some talk?”
 

She stiffened. “Questions; right? Ask away — you can all compare notes later.”
 

Hawkman Moray laughed; in the clearing the sound rang. “I'd thought to let you ask most of the questions.”
 

She looked at him, at his broad smile. “I do not understand.”
 

He poured red wine and handed her a glass. “There are several of us and only one of you. You have more to learn than we have.”
 

He touched his glass to hers; they both sipped. “What does that mean?”
 

“Without asking you won't find out, will you?” His mouth twitched upward; she could not withhold an answering grin.
 

“Very well, Hawkman — Sparline tells me first names are in order between us — I will ask. First, why does Sparline bear your name and not Liesel's? And did Tregare?”
 

Sitting tall before her, he shrugged. “These customs vary. You carry your mother's name, do you?”
 

“And my brother, my father's. Your customs were different?”
 

“A moment.” From the basket he was filling two plates; he set one before her. “Let's eat while we talk. More wine?” He poured it. “In the ordinary case, our daughter would be a Hulzein.”
 

“And your son?”
 

“Liesel told me of you and Tregare. He inherits my own early lack of self-discipline — perhaps I owe you an apology on his behalf.”
 

She laughed. “Apologies are useless waste; the thing is over. But tell me of his naming.”
 

“Our family also names sons for their fathers. He was Bran Tregare Moray until we had to hide him — then merely Bran Tregare.”
 

“I knew him as Tregare, only. How — how old is he?”
 

“Biologically? I can't know — I don't know how much he's traveled. Chronologically, perhaps fifty-seven.”
 

“Then he has traveled greatly. But what of Sparline's name?”
 

He was chewing; after he swallowed he said, “Hulzein heirs outside the main Establishment were prime targets. We felt she was safer under the inconspicuous name of Moray. We never changed it.”
 

“I see. Hawkman — I do not know what this green paste is but I want more of it, if any is left, to put on my bread.”
 

“Of course. A moment — I'll spread some for you.”
 

“Thank you. Hawkman, how old are you?”
 

He raised an eyebrow. “That puzzles you? All right — I'm biologically forty-four, sixteen years younger than Liesel. Don't bother to count back — I fathered Tregare at fifteen. Liesel chose for genetic reasons, without regard to age. Later she decided I was worth keeping.” The tall man looked almost apologetic; then he smiled. “Even among Hulzeins I think I've earned my keep.”
 

“I am sure you have.”
 

Now both brows rose. “Flattery? Or innuendo?”
 

“No.” She shook her head. “Simply the fact that you are here.”
 

The brows returned to normal. “Pardon me; I do persist in underestimating you.”
 

“It is all right. Better that than to expect too much.”
 

“Well. And what else would you like to know?”
 

She thought. “A personal problem. The man dal Nardo — in his job, he must have a superior. Do you know who it is?”
 

“If you're thinking of having him
told
to leave you alone, it won't work.”
 

“Of course not. I merely wish to know whether killing him would arouse his department against me also.”
 

“I wouldn't think so. His family's, more likely — but without Stagon I doubt they'd meddle with any Hulzein connection. He's the only bold dal Nardo left; the rest are a ragtag lot.
 

“Stagon's boss, though — that's Arni Gustafson. I know her mostly by reputation — stubborn but fair-minded. Well, it could do no harm to talk with her.”
 

“Good — I will, then. Now — when I challenge, what weapon is dal Nardo likely to choose? I may as well be practicing.”
 

“But it's
your
choice, Rissa!”
 

“How can it be, when I am the one making the challenge?”
 

“On Number One the less formidable antagonist, as judged by their seconds and the officials, has the choice. If the two appear evenly matched, the referee flips a coin to decide.”
 

“Then I will need no specialized practice.”
 

“So? What weapons will you choose?”
 

“None — except for my body, mind, and training.”
 

“That's insane! Use a gun — anything to keep out of his reach.”
 

“If I am within his reach, he is also within mine. And I think I am faster.”
 

“No, Rissa — he'll kill you.”
 

“Five million Weltmarks say he will not.”