it away somehow. Prisoner mutiny, they said. There was some forensic evidence to contradict the story but not enough to stand up in court. Not even enough to get a balance of probabilities finding, never mind a beyond-all- reasonable-doubt verdict.”
Andrew Helfort took a long slow drink.
“No bodies to autopsy, you see; blowing the hull made sure of that. And by the time anyone suspected anything, the bodies were well away. God knows where they ended up.” A long pause followed as Michael’s father squinted into his beer. Another sigh.
“Anyway, no one would talk openly, and Jack Wilson, Fielding’s ops officer, found out about it only when two of d’Castreaux’s security team members got drunk and said too much one night. Boasting, they were, to one of Jack’s petty officers. Said much too much. Bad mistake. A week later, one died in a backstreet brawl on Pasquale-V. A month after that, the other was left brain-dead by a suit malfunction, and that was what made up Fielding’s mind. One could have been an accident, but two? Never. Fleet legal turned up some earlier incidents involving d’Castreaux that looked suspicious during the antipiracy campaigns around Kelly’s Deep and Damnation’s Gate in the early ’70s, and he was implicated in the disappearance of a young couple on Jascaria when he was there on Admiral Leahy’s staff as a lieutenant. That was back in the early ’60s, I think. But the court AI’s proof of guilt probability never got better than 58 percent, so no conviction was recorded. Pity. Only a few percent off a balance of probabilities finding, which would have been nice.
“So that’s where things ended up, formally at least. Fielding finally got Space Fleet to pension d’Castreaux off on medical grounds. Even better, she made sure that the Anjaxx police were well briefed on his entertainment preferences. Fielding’s cousin was commander of the Anjaxx federal police, and there was enough circumstantial evidence together with the court AI’s proof of guilt rating to convince the Anjaxx high court to impose a permanent tracking order on him. So far as I know, he hasn’t strayed since. He just sits in that bloody great big house of his outside Cotentin looking out across the Middle Sea, and long may he rot there.”
The pain was clearly visible now. Suddenly, Michael realized that he had been told all he needed to know and that making his father relive the bitter years of the Third Hammer War was something he didn’t want to do anymore.
Michael’s hand went out to rest on his father’s shoulder. “Dad, no more. I’ll watch out for d’Castreaux Junior, that’s for damn sure. And his day will come, depend on it.”
Andrew Helfort looked up sharply. “Michael, promise me. Don’t think about it anymore. Don’t think about him. Concentrate on what’s important. You hear me?”
Michael nodded.
“So, talking about what’s really important, what’s happened to the lovely Anna? Will we see her this time? Will-” Andrew Helfort’s well-intentioned if unwelcome foray into Michael’s love life was, much to Michael’s relief, cut off in midquestion by the arrival of his mother’s flier as it climbed steeply out of the valley below before turning with characteristic flair to land on the pad behind the trees, the mass driver briefly shattering the peace as she killed the flier’s forward speed. Anna was not someone he found it easy to talk about even to himself and certainly not to his father.
“Come on, Dad. Mom’s home. And I think I saw Sam.” And with that, Michael was out of his seat and running through the house and out into the trees.
Dinner that night was quiet but relaxed and close with just the four of them. In the hearth, a fire blazed to fill the room with a red-gold warmth, while outside the rising wind signaled the outriders of the storm Michael had seen coming off the Karolev Ranges. By morning, it will probably be blowing an absolute bastard, he thought, and pissing with rain into the bargain.
Michael said very little during the meal, content to sit there as the tiredness washed over him in waves, contentment settling deep into his bones like balm. As ever, Sam took up the conversational slack, full of stories of life at the Manindi Center for Oceanic Research, where, at the ripe old age of eighteen going on nineteen, she had secured for herself a prime appointment as chief tank cleaner and general gofer since finishing school. With plans to become a serious marine biologist, Sam was in seventh heaven and made a point of ensuring that everyone knew it. Michael strongly suspected that the fact that Arkady Encevit, Sam’s long-standing boyfriend, had managed to find himself a job in Harbin only 750 kilometers from Manindi, a job, what was more, that involved no weekend work, had a lot more to do with Sam’s happiness than she was prepared to let on.
Michael awoke with a start. Christ, he had actually dozed off at the table, and so far as he could tell, he had just been told something significant. “Sorry, Mom. Missed that,” he said.
“You did.” Michael’s mother smiled. “I always knew the college was good, but how on earth did they teach you to sleep sitting up and apparently paying full attention to what’s going on?”
“Years of sitting through astrogation lectures, Mom. A necessary aid to survival. You should know.”
Kerri Helfort smiled indulgently. “Michael, I was just saying that Sam and I have finally fixed a date to go see Aunt Claudia. We’re-”
Kerri sighed as Sam cut her off, a bad habit the girl showed no signs of getting over. Sam never even noticed. “You can see Aunt Claudia all you want, Mom, but I’m going to see Jemma. It’s been so long,” she said firmly.
“Yes, dear, and Jemma’s probably the only person in this universe that you would give up Arkady to go see.” Game, set, and match to Mom, Michael thought as Sam sat back red-faced and suddenly silent. Michael laughed out loud at the sight and was rewarded by a scowl from Sam.
“Aunt Claudia,” Michael said. “I never could work out why she had to up and go all the way out to the Frontier Worlds, but I’m sure she had her reasons. We haven’t seen her for what, eight years?”
“Nine, actually, but who’s counting? It’s all arranged. We go on September sixth and should be back about three months later.” His mother’s face belied her confident tone of voice and betrayed the struggle going on inside her. Michael knew she badly wanted to see her sister again after so many years but was unhappy at leaving his father for so long, especially when the Flame tree seed harvest was due. Getting the seeds safely into storage was a tricky exercise at the best of times and not one she’d readily trust to Dad and his oafish, unreliable drinking buddy Maxwell Bassini. “Maybe we should wait until after the harvest-”
Andrew Helfort knew his wife well enough to see what was going through her mind. He leaned over and took her hand. “Don’t you start again. We’ve been through this a million times. She’s your only sister and you haven’t seen her for a very long time, so you must go. You know you must. And it would be good for Samantha to catch up with Jemma. So stop thinking about me. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Maxwell to help out at harvesttime. And despite what you think of him, he’s not a complete idiot.” Except after too many beers, Michael thought.
Michael broke the awkward silence that followed. “Well, one thing I do know is that Jackson is a long way away. The trip will take how long?”
Sam had it all worked out. “Fourteen days, and that’s including the time to get to Terranova first. Of course, I’m going to miss Arkady terribly, but I think it’s worth it even if we take ages to get there. Jemma vidmailed me, and there’s so much to do and she says the people are really nice and she’s dying for her friends to be able to meet me and I think we’ll have a great time.” Sam finally ran out of breath.
“Arkady, where are you?” Michael whispered teasingly.
Sam ignored him. “As I was saying, fourteen days there and fourteen days back gives us a good two months on Jackson. I bet we won’t want to leave, ’specially not to come back to a cruel pig like you, Michael Helfort!”
After a short flight down from the Palisades, Michael got the flier safely back in the hands of Avis. The sheer pleasure of flying the little Honda across the impossibly rugged landscape around the Palisades had been more than enough to make the uncomfortably high cost of hiring it bearable.
The rest of Michael’s leave passed in a tornado of furious activity as he attempted unsuccessfully to cram into two and a half weeks all the things he had planned to do in four. A riotous reunion with his friends in Bachou (that was two days gone, of which Michael remembered almost nothing), a four-day trip to surf the Point Barrow break, on a good day, the most perfect left-hander in the entire universe, and then a couple of days to catch up with Charles Mbeki, who was killing time waiting for his ship, the venerable heavy cruiser
But finally his time was up. After the duty visits to family-his mother’s instructions had been quite clear that they were not optional-and with less than a week before he had to leave to join his new ship, the less than romantically named deepspace light scout
