Maybe we could’ve gone at it a tad more heedfully, but the investors wouldn’t’ve sat still for that, and the damage to the planet isn’t so terrible or unrepairable, is it? When I’m ready to sell out, I’ll ask you to help me make the terms and arrangements.”
She could only think to mumble, “Seafell won’t like this one bit.”
Hebo grinned. “Seafell will be stuck with a, what d’you call it, a
“They might not think it is—” But this is the dreariest detail stuff, she thought. He’s talking of adventure and glory. Maybe of everybody’s future.
“Has no one else thought as you have?” Orichalc wondered.
Hebo shrugged. “Evidently not, or we’d’ve heard. Unless whoever it is has more reasons than getting rich. In which case, I suspect we’d do a public service by finding out. The gear I want on my ship includes weapons.”
“I see. I see,” Lissa said in slight shock and rising exhilaration. “I don’t know yet if I quite agree with your plan, but— Oh, Torben!”
She sprang to her feet, leaned over, and kissed him. He responded. Positive feedback set in until they remembered Orichalc. He had kept tactfully still; nonetheless, they broke off, he somewhat rueful, she coloring.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, “we will be seeing each other again, Torben.”
It happened sooner after she left Forholt than she had expected, and was less joyous.
XLI
The thought struck her a day after she had returned to New Halla, too late for her to warn him. And maybe an unnecessary, even stupid notion, she told herself over and over. Certainly there was no point now in passing it on to him. She’d risk looking like a fool in his eyes. Or would she? He must have had far more experience of trickery in his long and checkered centuries than her comparatively innocent life had met with. He’d appreciate wariness. Wouldn’t he?
And did it matter so much what he felt?
Anyhow, as things had worked out, for the time being she and only she could do something about the situation.
She considered calling her father, or actually going to him, for his help. But no need yet. In fact, it might narrow her options. He was a dear; he was also a traditionalist of sorts, whose concept of honor sometimes got unreasonably stiff. Without much better evidence than she could offer, he might feel that her idea was a gratuitous insult to House Seafell, and therefore unworthy of Windholm.
A private investigator? She had never dealt with any. Besides, what she wanted done was simple enough. All it required was discretion, and perhaps a few connections here and there. Her sister Evana and brother-in-law Olavi Jonsson qualified on both counts. They happened to be back on Asborg, taking a few years to personally cultivate their investments. She gave them a call— encrypted, just in case. Yes, they could easily oblige her; and when she didn’t say why, they didn’t ask. She’d doubtless let them know eventually. Meanwhile, and always, the children of Davy and Maren trusted each other.
Lissa resumed her work on Freydis. Not quite three months later, she came into bush camp at eventide and found a message on her communicator. Thereupon it took three planetary rotations to plead private emergency, arrange for her replacement, flit to the colony, and commandeer a flyer. It wasn’t a speedster; the six or seven hours it spent going halfway around the globe became interminable.
Nonsense, ridiculous, she muttered in her mind. There can’t be this kind of urgency. Can there?
Night lay over Venusberg when she arrived. She was faintly glad of that. The vast scars that mining and manufacturing had gouged in highland forest were amply infuriating on video. Or simply depressing, and she in reaction against sadness? After all, Torben was right, this was inevitable in the early stages of settlement. It shouldn’t have been, but mortals being what they were, it was. And the wound, the ulcer, was still tiny on the body of a whole world.
It must not be let grow much bigger.
Though operations sprawled, habitation huddled mostly dark. More machines than people labored here. The airfield glared out of a surrounding murk. She set down and sprang forth, leaving her vehicle to the servers. A solitary live figure waited at the edge. Hebo. He hurried, well-nigh ran, to meet her and seize both her hands.
“Jesus, how good to see you!” Then, with the wry, lopsided grin she remembered from past moments: “I wish you came to gaze into my eyes, not on an errand, but welcome anyhow.” A server brought her bag. He took it in his left hand, his right on her elbow. “You’ve got a room at the hostel, of course, and I’ll escort you—right away? Or would you like a drink, a snack, a gab, or whatever first?”
She beat off temptation. “I’m wide awake, thanks; not hungry, but, yes, a drink would go well. Unless you’re politely pretending not to be dead tired.”
“No, I’m keyed up like a grand piano.” Another of his archaisms that she didn’t recognize. “Whatever we do, let’s get inside out of this steam-bath air. I know an all-night pub. Noisy, but it has booths.”
They started walking. “Only good for small talk,” she told him.
“Yeah, your call said you have top-confidential information. You really feel like diving into it straight off?”
“If you do. That’ll probably mean a sleepless night, but I’m impatient. However, the site has to be absolutely secure.”
His stride checked for an instant. “I think my digs are. I double-checked them myself, after your call.”
“That’ll be fine.” Keep this strictly business. Even a casual romp could prove too distracting. Especially since she suspected it wouldn’t stay casual. “Then you can ferry me to my lodging, and I’ll sleep till noon.”
Did she hear the slightest chuckle, feel the slightest tightening of his hold on her arm? Did she care?
His groundcar whirred them to a house apart from the rest. The interior reminded her of his shelter on Jonna, basic cleanness and order, casual clutter strewn about it, oddments, tools, a half-completed model of a sailing ship, probably one that had plied the seas of ancient Earth. An animation on the wall showed mountains in the background, trees she didn’t recognize waving sinuously under a softly booming wind in the foreground, souvenir of some world where something had happened that mattered to him. Another screen was blank. Did it ordinarily show a woman? Glancing around, Lissa saw no traces of feminine visitors. That didn’t mean he hadn’t had any.
He ushered her to a seat and, at her request, poured a whiskey and splash for her, a neat shot for himself. Briefly, sharply, she remembered an evening in Gerward Valen’s apartment. It faded away as he sat down before her and raised his goblet.
“Cheers,” he said. “Also
She clinked rims with him and wondered how ancient that gesture was. “I’m afraid I don’t bring the best of news,” she forced herself to say.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Didn’t expect you would, from the tone of your voice. Proceed.”
She gathered breath. “Romon Kaspersson and Esker Harolsson have left for Susaia.”
“Hm?” However lightly he spoke, she sensed the sudden tension. “What’s that signify?”
“You know Romon, but probably not as well as you may believe.”
“Probably not. And Esker’s, um, the physicist who was with you on the black hole expedition. I’ve met him a time or two.” She heard a certain distaste. “Go on.”
She drank a longer draught than she had intended and leaned forward. “I admit I’m prejudiced, but the fact is I’ve never felt easy with either of that pair. After I’d said goodbye to you at Forholt, I fell to thinking about those flowers Romon brought. Yes, legitimately, no doubt—you’d have learned otherwise once you got back here”—and never mind about that girl in the office—“but an opportunity? Why did he make a second visit several hours later? Why come at all in person, when telepresence would’ve been perfectly adequate, in fact more suitable for a coolish relationship?”
Hebo’s eyes widened while the pupils contracted. “Judas priest,” he whispered. “He knew you’d be here too, and after what we’d been through together, it was natural, maybe likely, we’d open up to each other—”
She nodded. “Yes. A microbug in the bouquet. When he returned to you, he could scrape it off with a
