Young Rissa (28 page)

“Yeah — well, they were just cargo, in a way. Rode cramped — but clean, and fed decently — best I could do. And nobody touched them — except my medics, in line of duty. You have to know, they came aboard filthy and stinking — raw sores that'd make you puke. Lots better shape they were in, when they got off.”
 

“Oh? They have disembarked? Where, may I ask?”
 

“
Here
! Where else could they?”
 

“And what has happened to them?”
 

“We all got lucky. You know the other ship at the port when I took off? Quinlan's
Red Dog
— next port of call, Farmer's Dell — a colony that needs women, can pay, and treats them right. It's a long haul but Quinlan's freeze-chambers work. I made expenses and a little better on the deal, and I don't expect Quinlan will lose on it, either.”
 

“So instead of a slaver, Tregare, you are a great benefactor?” He glared at her. “I told you the truth; what more do you want?” “Where is the girl Chira?” “On her way, with the rest.”
 

“With or without her consent?”
 

“I told her how it was; she decided for herself. That's truth. Fucked me a good one, too — insisted on it, in fact — before she got off. That suit you, or do you still think I lie to you?”
 

Rissa smiled. She shook her head. “Bran Tregare, you are too proud to lie — except, of course, in the line of business. No — “ She reached her hands toward him. “ — you are what my father used to say — a brass-plated sonofabitch who takes no crap from
anyone
. There is much to be said for that kind of person. So I accept you . . .
 

“No — not
yet
, you ravisher of cripples!” But she was laughing and his hands were gentle on her, and her lips did not pain greatly as she kissed him. Then he rose and sat again, grave-faced and watching her.
 

“Rissa — can you fit into the stretched-out life I must lead?”
 

“How could I know? But for now, while we are here, I think I can. Shall we try?”
 

He smiled, and she said, “Before facing your family, I need another soak, another hot tub. Help me?” He did, and when she lay with only eyes, nose and mouth above the steaming water, she said, “Bran Tregare — now I shall trust you.”
 

“If you do,” he said, “then except for my people on
Inconnu
, you'll be the first.”
 

 

Later, dried and dressed, she looked in the mirror and shook her head — makeup would not hide the great plum-colored bruise of her eye and cheek. She brushed her still-damp hair back to hang straight, and joined Tregare in the bedroom. “I am ready.”
 

Starting down the stairs, soreness caught at her muscles, but the brief exercise soon eased them. They found Liesel in her office, frowning over a sheet of figures. She said, “Up and around, are you? That eye takes first prize, but you move well enough. How do you feel?”
 

“Stiff — sore — but nothing serious. Already my teeth are more solid and pain me less.” Liesel looked puzzled; Rissa pointed. “These in front — dal Nardo's backhand nearly removed them. But they will be all right.”
 

“Good. Here — sit, you two. I'm trying to figure dal Nardo's net personal worth — his estate's, I mean — and the readout on his public records is peace's own mess.”
 

Rissa frowned. “Dal Nardo's estate? Why?”
 

“To figure your share. Didn't you know about that? Having dueled him to death, all legal and proper, you get a third of it.”
 

“No one told me before. Will it be any great amount, do you think?”
 

Tregare laughed. “He'll have most of it squirreled away in trusts and under dummies. The trick is to nose it out.”
 

“Which will cost you ten percent commission, Rissa. All right?”
 

“Of course, Liesel. I do not yet know enough about your especial legalities here, to do it myself. Perhaps I can sit with you and learn?”
 

“Sure. Or, better yet, why not wait until I'm done, and we can go over it together in summary?”
 

“Certainly,” Rissa paused. “Liesel, you are being very businesslike — and in my interests, to my benefit — but I am afraid I do not feel at all that way, myself. I — “ Tears began to come; she blinked them away.
 

Liesel rose and grasped her arm. “Girl — something's wrong?” Rissa shook her head. “Good — there shouldn't be. After all — you won your fight, saved your life and status with honor. And your share of dal Nardo's holdings — not to mention the bet with Bleeker — you won't be one of the smaller frogs in the oligarchal puddle. You — “ She looked closely at Rissa. “So why are your eyes leaking like a pair of cracked cups?”
 

“Because — none of that — it is not what is
important
to me now!” She gripped Tregare's hand and put her other arm around Liesel's neck, pulling the two close to her.
 

“Then in the name of peace,” said Liesel, “what
is
important?”
 

Face muffled against Liesel's shoulder, she said, “When I was five years old, they killed my parents and put me into Welfare. I had forgotten what it was like to have a family, to be a part of it. Ever since I was a little girl — and now I see, that in some ways I still am one — I have been alone. But now — ”
 

As Tregare's free hand stroked her hair and cheek, she heard Liesel say, “Well,
of course
you've got a family now! You're a Hulzein by marriage, aren't you? Nothing less — and you fought your way in, earned it!” As much as hearing Liesel's laugh, against her face and body Rissa felt it.
 

“Little girl? No such thing.” In Liesel's voice, for a moment Rissa heard Erika's. “You've a way to go — we all have — but you're growing up, young Rissa!”
 

 

 

 

Biography
 

 

F. M. Busby and his wife Elinor live in Seattle with their two cats: Jeoffrey the young black and white panther, and veteran calico Molly Dodd. Daughter Michele, her husband, and two of three topnotch grandchildren reside at feasible driving distance in a scenic area of central Oregon. Books, now. Buz's eighteen published novels include eight in the universe of Rissa Kerguelen, three in that of Cage a Man, and another three in the Slow Freight grouping. Solo books are All These Earths, The Breeds of Man, The Singularity Project, and Islands of Tomorrow. Of more than forty shorter works, three have appeared in Best of Year anthologies; twenty are gathered into his collection Getting Home. Growing up in the "Palouse country" of eastern Washington, Buz attended and graduated from WSU, studying physics and electrical engineering which still help him keep his numbers straight. What with two vacations financed by the Army, the graduating part took nine years, after which he moved to Seattle to engineer communications for the Alaska Comm System, get married, and settle down. When the ACS was sold in 1970, he opted for early retirement and began writing SF. In the Army and later he spent considerable time in Alaska, including a year in the Aleutians, and swears his tales of Amchitka weather are simple truth. His interests include aerospace, unusual gadgetry of most any kind, dogs, cats and people, not necessarily in that order.