"Not that I know of. He liked her rather more than she liked him, I would say, but it was Bunny—Lord Thornbuckle—who really detested him. It goes back to hunting, some twenty years ago. He insisted on having a fast horse, and then he rode over hounds—"
"Oh." He lost interest. A quarrel in the field, twenty years before, could not generate a murder by the other man's widow.
"It's difficult," he said, tapping his stylus on the recorder. "This being a private world, and all. I'm the law, but the law here has always been what the Thornbuckles wanted."
"Miranda would want you to do the right thing," Cecelia said.
"Familias investigators don't even have jurisdiction on private property—but the problem is . . . he's a Minister, you see. Somebody official. I . . ." He cleared his throat. "May I ask what your plans are?"
"Lady Thornbuckle and I are planning to travel to the Guerni Republic. She is concerned that some medical condition impaired her ability to stop the thrust when the blade broke—that she might be in some measure responsible for Ser Orregiemos' death. There's always concern about rejuvenation failure . . . she is planning to check herself into one of their clinics."
"Ah." He tapped his chin with the stylus. "Of course. I hadn't thought of that, but we have heard rumors, even here. That might indeed be best, milady."
"But only if it's acceptable to you," Cecelia said.
"I think so. Yes. We have the scan records and your deposition. If I may, milady, I would suggest an early departure." Before the news leaked out to the rest of the Familias, before Pedar's relatives or colleagues demanded an inconvenient inquiry of their own.
Heris Serrano and her great-aunt Vida—once again an admiral on active duty—crossed paths in the Sector Five Transient Officers' Quarters, both en route to their new assignments. Heris, who had been fuming over the admiral's tirade at the family gathering, lost no time in tackling her about it.
"I want to talk to you about Barin and Esmay," she began.
"I don't want to talk to you about it. They're married now, and it's an unholy mess—"
"You're wrong," Heris said. "I don't know if it's the rejuvenation, or what, but you're acting like an idiot."
"Commander—"
"I mean it. Admiral, I've had hero worship for you since before I went to the Academy, but not any more. First you kept me from getting the support I expected when Lepescu threatened me, and now you've interfered to ruin a fine young officer, someone of proven ability and courage. I have to ask myself if Lepescu was the only traitor—"
"You! You
dare
!"
Heris folded her arms. "Yes, I dare. Do you think a Serrano is going to be intimidated by being yelled at? Do I seriously think you are a traitor? No, not really. But the way you're acting, it's a possibility that has to be considered." With the part of her mind not focussed on the older woman across from her, Heris was able to be amazed at her own calm. "I realize admirals have to do things which aren't in the books, and which junior officers may not understand. But I also know that admirals go bad—Lepescu is only one example; we could both name others. I know admirals aren't perfect little gold statues up on the pinnacle of Fleet rank. They—you—are human, and they make mistakes."
"Which you think I made."
"Which I know you made. So did I." Heris took a breath. "Look—what I did at Patchcock was right, tactically. I don't regret a hair of it. Afterwards—I should have stayed for—demanded—a court-martial, whether or not any Serrano backed me up. I was wrong to resign and leave my crew to Lepescu's mercy. I was wrong to depend on family for support, to let that be my guide in what to do next. Later on, I was wrong to depend on a Fleet record to judge people—it should have been obvious to me that Sirkin wasn't the problem, Iklind was. But the habit of trusting Fleet, like the habit of trusting family, slowed my brain. My mistakes got people killed—people I cared about, and people I didn't even know. That's not a mistake I'm going to make again."
"And just what habits do you think I'm trusting, that lead to my mistakes?" The voice was deceptively mild, but Heris wasn't fooled.
"I don't know how you think," Heris said. "You alone know the basis for your decisions. But when the decisions are wrong, anyone can see them."
"And you still resent me for not coming to your aid?"
Heris waved her hand. "Resentment is not the point. We're not talking about my putative resentment or anger, we're talking about your actions. Your failure to allow even my parents to make contact before or after my resignation had dire consequences. And you have twice taken after Esmay Suiza, once when you believed rumors about her involvement in Brun's capture, and now because of some old book—fossilized rumor—about her ancestors. Look at the facts, Admiral."
Vida moved her glare to the wall, where Heris was moderately surprised not to see the paint darken immediately. "I am aware that my first displeasure with Lt. Suiza was unwarranted. I allowed myself to be distracted by other considerations. If this conversation were being held by strangers, in a story, I would have to see that someone my age would be the senile old admiral, who needs to make room at the top for the bright young officers." She looked back at Heris. "But I don't think I'm senile, whatever you think. I've taken the trouble to retest regularly, and my reflexes and cognitive markers are still where they should be. However, the tests are not designed to find areas where increasing age will change judgment on the basis of experience. Usually that's considered an advantage."
"Usually it is," Heris said. "Up to a point, anyway. But no one knows how the awareness of immortality will affect judgment—particularly risk/benefit analysis."
"Immortality! Rejuvenation isn't—oh." Vida mused over this a few moments. "I never thought of it that way. Of course, if someone keeps getting rejuv, it would be."
"Long-term planning," Heris said. "Very long term. Valuable, too, up to a point. At least in my case, I think you were operating at a time scale beyond my understanding—and with disregard of the fallout."
"I see." Vida steepled her fingers. "I suppose I may have. So much has happened since, it's hard to recall exactly what I thought I was doing. Damage control for Fleet and family, but you're right—I wasn't particularly concerned with what happened to your people."
"What I see," Heris said, "in many Rejuvenants—civilian and military—is a kind of detachment from the present, and particularly from the unrejuvenated. They're ephemerals; they don't really matter unless they interfere in a plan, in which case they're expendable."
Vida frowned. "I don't think that's how I look at them, but—I can see where it looks like that."
"If it's the effect, what matters the intent?" That old saw came easily to Heris's tongue; Vida's frown became a fixed scowl.
"You know the dangers in inferring intent from effect—"
"And also the dangers of not doing so. But this is idle fencing, and what I need to know is whether you will reexamine your bias against Suiza and recognize the asset she is to us now."
"Ignore the long view?"
"No. But prioritize. We have an ongoing mutiny; we have external enemies. We need every good officer we have, and she is one."
"Was one," Vida said. She leaned back in her chair. "Heris, she's not on the list now; she thinks she was cashiered on my orders, and she's now disappeared. The last we know is that she boarded a free trader, the
Terakian Fortune
. While that ship has a flight plan, it may or may not adhere to it."
Heris said, through clenched teeth. "You cashiered her?"
"No, she
thinks
I cashiered her. The orders were presented as from Admiral Serrano. She thinks I am that Admiral Serrano."
"And you claim you're not?" Heris said.
"I'm not. Thanks to the wholesale idiocy of Hobart Conselline, we now have a confusion of admirals Serrano: those of us who were put on the shelf, those who were promoted as a result, and the total—both older and newer admirals—when we older ones came back to active duty. We Serranos didn't pick up as many stars as other families—Conselline's never favored Serranos—but there are at least five and perhaps as many as eight. Could be even more. I had no reason to ask for a list before someone ordered Suiza out, and what with the mutiny and the chaos at headquarters, I haven't heard back from Personnel. I'm assuming one of them, hearing about my quarrel with Suiza, decided to curry favor by dumping her."
"Or someone forged the name, and it was believable because your quarrel was known," Heris said. She looked at her aunt. "Damn—I was ready to be really angry with you for a very long time."
"I know." Vida sighed. "If we hadn't been interrupted . . . if there'd been time to talk it over, Suiza could probably have convinced me to at least consider what she was talking about. I know—objectively I know—that she's not a social-climbing sneak. I realize that my rage then makes no sense now, anyway. If treachery were actually heritable, I can't think of anyone I'd trust, including myself. That's why I got in touch with her family, after she married Barin . . ."
"You did what?"
"I sent word to them about the marriage. I didn't know what she'd told them about the quarrel, so I mentioned it and said I was convinced whatever it was could be worked out."
"And?"
"And . . . that's not their view at all."
"What—that they're guilty of all those heinous things, or that it can be worked out?"
Vida took a data cube out of the rack beside her desk and put it in the cube reader. "Take a look at this. Her family sent it."
Heris looked at a picture of a young woman in a brilliantly colored costume.
"That's the Landbride," Vida said. "Look closely." She touched the controls, and zoomed in to the face.
"Esmay Suiza?" Heris said.
"Yes. And now I know what a Landbride is." Vida touched the controls again, and two fields came up, one clearly an old document—faded ink on some surface that had discolored, and one in crisp black print on white. "That's the Landbride's Charter, on the right, one of the oldest surviving documents on Altiplano. Suiza's family provided the translation and typescript. You did know that our regulations, Fleet regulations, prohibited relationships and marriages with Altiplano Landbrides, didn't you?"
"No," Heris said, skimming down the closely-typed pages. The phrasing, even in translation, seemed archaic and stilted: "—
and for the honor of the land, and the land's health, she shall not be alienated from her own, for any cause whatever . . ."
"Before I read this, I'd have assumed it was the Altiplano mutiny . . . and maybe it was . . . but the duties of the Landbride are just not consistent with the duties of Fleet personnel."
"It's—primitive," Heris said finally. Vida pursed her lips.
"I don't think primitive's quite right, though it is old. It's far more complex than I thought, based on a sophisticated—though to me very odd—theology. And it is a theology, because they do seriously believe in the existence of one or more gods. I'm not entirely sure if the invocations imply multiples or not. They are, however, strict Ageists, though they don't use the term."
"Opposed to rejuvenation?"
"Yes. In any form, for any reason. Some of what they call the Old Believers were even opposed to regen tanks for bone fracture repair, and a few considered that no one should receive medical care past age sixty in their years—probably seventy Standard. They're also committed to population control and consider free-birthers to be immoral."
"So . . . you don't think the Suizas are villains anymore?"
"I don't think Esmay Suiza, or her father, are directly responsible for the massacre of our patrons. However, I do think there's a problem with her marrying Barin, quite apart from what happened historically. She's sworn, as a Landbride, to a religious duty that requires her to put the welfare of the land—the Suiza land, to be specific—above every other consideration."
"But she wouldn't—"
"It's a conflict, Heris, however you look at it. Her oath to the Regular Space Service, the oath she swore when she accepted a commission, requires her to put the welfare of the service ahead of everything else. It's clear to her family, and to me, that her Landbride oath conflicts. Her family is being criticized for letting their Landbride go offplanet."
"Why did she take it, then?"
"The position passes from one Landbride to another by direct appointment—her great-grandmother had chosen her, for some reason, and didn't change the appointment even after she left to join Fleet. When her great-grandmother died, she became the Landbride-elect automatically. And, since she was in some disgrace with Fleet at the time, she accepted it and went through the ritual."
"Has she appointed a successor?"
"Her father thinks she'll appoint a cousin of hers, a younger woman. But to transfer the duties from a living Landbride to another, they both have to be in the ceremony. Now she's disappeared . . . Terakian & Sons are a respectable firm, and I'm sure she'll show up somewhere, but I don't know where."