“It happens.” Van didn’t feel like explaining. “You’re being transferred to Sulyn?”
“Actually, I’m headed to the research station off Aeylen. Someone has to keep track of all the widgets and supplies, and if the RSF supply type isn’t at least a major, no one really listens. That’s what the detailer told me.”
“I wasn’t aware that Aeylen was an RSF project.”
“Oh…it’s not, but they’ve run into some interesting developments, and the RSF research arm has been operating the station for almost twenty years. It’s really a converted biostation.”
The only research the RSF supported was weapons research. Why would there be an RSF station off a world being planoformed? What possible type of weapons research could there be?
“That’s been going on for centuries—the planoforming, that is.”
“So I was told.” Dolan smiled faintly. “Is Sulyn your home?”
“That’s where my family is and where I was raised.” As he spoke, Van realized that he really didn’t think of Sulyn as home. He wanted to see his family, but did he really want to settle down in Bannon—or anywhere else on Sulyn?
“They’ll be glad to see you.”
“I’ll be glad to see them.”
There was a cough from the passageway at the front of the cabin. Both officers looked up to see the tech standing there.
“Sers…we’ll be delocking in a moment. If you would secure your harnesses…”
Van had already secured his, but he checked it again. When he looked up, the tech was gone, and the hatch between the passageway and the cabin had been closed.
Van just hoped that the short standing wave message he had sent had reached his fathers. They’d welcome him, no matter what; but he hated surprising people, even family, because it usually meant that someone or something got slighted.
Chapter 33
Once Van reached Sulyn orbit control, he had to wait almost eight hours for the shuttle down to Bannon, which only ran twice a day, as opposed to the more frequent runs to the planetary capital of Domigua. He spent most of the time and close to a hundred credits accessing news reports and other information, both about the Republic and the transportation and out-system resource extraction situation so that he would have a better grasp of the job possibilities. When he had exhausted that, he ran a search of Sulyn’s news files, but there was nothing new there on the Fergus. Then he paced, for a time, before finding an eatery where he had a sandwich that tasted only slightly better than flavored sawdust.
The inbound clearance at orbit control was perfunctory, and the down-shuttle almost as worn and tired as the Sligo had seemed, but Van couldn’t help but smile as he stepped from the terminal in Bannon and out into the late afternoon sunlight. He walked as quickly as he could with his three bags, moving toward the groundcar lane, when he heard cheers from somewhere.
“There he is!” someone announced.
Van wondered what celebrity had been on the shuttle. Some rezsongster? He glanced around, but no one seemed to be near him.
Beyond the groundcar lane, someone was waving a banner, on which were written the words “Welcome home, Van! Bannon’s own hero!”
Him? A hero? Before he could react, a group of media types moved toward him from his left. He hadn’t seen them at first, concentrating as he’d been on seeing whether any of his family had come to meet him.
“Van? Or should I say Commodore?”
Van turned, half-squinting into the afternoon light, taking in the long-faced but still-youthful-looking—and familiar—commentator. “Is that you, Ashley?” At that moment, Van thought he saw Sappho and her children in the crowd, but he didn’t see Arturo or Margaret—or his fathers, either.
The commentator laughed. “The first words from a returning hero. Yes, it’s me. Now…how about a few words for the people of Sulyn. You’re the first recipient of the Star of the Republic in years. How do you feel?”
“I’m glad to be here.” That was mostly true. “I’m looking forward to seeing my family. It’s been several years.”
“Spoken like a true son of Sulyn. For those of you just tuning in, this is Commodore Van Albert, the RSF officer who single-handedly and without weapons prevented the assassination of the premier of Scandya. Why did you do it, Commodore?”
“It had to be done. No one else was in a position to act.”
“As simple as that? Didn’t you think about the danger of eight armed assassins?”
“Not until I was in the medcrib recovering.” Van managed a rueful laugh, still wondering what all the media hype was about. “Then I had a lot of time to think.”
“We understand you were retired after the incident. Would you care to comment on that?”
“That was a decision by the RSF. According to the doctors, I’m fully recovered, and able to do anything I ever could.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
“Spend some time with my family first. Then…we’ll see.”
“Thank you very much, Commodore. We wish you well. And that’s it from the Bannon shuttle terminal, where one of Sulyn’s sons has returned home a hero in three systems.” The professionally bright tone vanished from Ashley’s voice as he stepped forward, and said, far more personally, “It’s good to see you. Mairee and I worried when we’d heard you’d been wounded.”
Van glanced from his former classmate toward the crowd on the other side of the groundcar approach lane, smaller than it had first appeared, but still waving banners and signs for the media. “This…this was a little surprising.”
“You don’t think we’d let a real hero slip into town without notice, do you?”
Van smiled.
“Or that your family would?”
“Don’t tell me…?” Van began.
“There they are.” Ashley pointed to Van’s left.
A long charter-type pale green groundcar eased up. Two familiar faces appeared—those of his fathers—the narrow and serious latte face of Dad Cicero and the broader and smiling darker face of Dad Almaviva.
“Are you going to stand there and gawk?” called Almaviva, his booming bass voice riding over the
