"We were your family—we treated you like family—"
"Yes, ma'am, you did. As well as you could. But back home—"
"And you!" Prima turned on Professor Meyerson. "You're what—a woman
soldier
! Unnatural, disgusting—"
"Actually, I'm a historian," Meyerson said. Prima looked blank. "I study Texas history."
"You—what?"
"That's right. I came to learn about you—about what you know of Texas history."
Prima looked thoroughly confused, then focussed on Barin. "And you—who are you?"
"Admiral Serrano's grandson," Barin said. Then, when Prima seemed not to understand, he said, "The woman you may have seen in transmission—dark, like me, with silver hair? She's commanding the task force."
"A
woman
? Commanding men? Nonsense. No men would obey her—"
"I do," Barin said. "Both as admiral and as my grandmother."
"Grandmother . . ." Prima shook her head. "Still . . . do any of you have a belief in God?"
"I do," Barin said. "It is not the same as yours, but in my family we have always had believers."
"Yet you are a soldier alongside women? Commanded by women?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"How can that be? God decreed that women bear no arms, that they enter into no conflicts."
"That is not the doctrine I have been taught," Barin said.
"You are a pagan who believes in many gods?"
"No, in one only."
"I do not understand." Prima looked closely into his face. "Yet I see truth in your face; you are not a liar. Tell me, are you married?"
"Not yet, ma'am, but I plan to be."
"To a . . . another of these woman soldiers?"
"Yes." If he survived this. He wished very much Esmay were with him.
"Do you swear to me, on the holy name of God, that you are taking them to their families?"
"Yes," Barin said. Prima deflated; her face creasing into tears. Barin moved nearer. "Let me tell you about their families, ma'am, so that you will understand. Brandy and Stassi—Prudence and Serenity, as you call them—have aunts and uncles. Their dead mother's sisters and brother; their father's sister. Paolo's grandfather and uncle, and Dris's aunt and uncle. We have brought recordings of them, asking for the safe return of these children."
"They are happy here," Prima said. She looked down and away; she had the look of someone who will argue to the end but knows she cannot win. "It will hurt them to move them now."
"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?"
"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—"