“And did you know the deceased?”
“Slightly.” Cecelia allowed herself a curled lip. “My horse beat his in the Wherrin Trials, right after Bunny—Lord Thornbuckle—was killed.”
“Was he there?”
“Pedar? Oh, yes. He thought he could win—”
“Did he ride?”
“No, he had a rider. Pedar was never . . . particularly interested in risking himself.”
“Yet Lady Thornbuckle said he asked specifically to use the old fencing gear—” The militia captain glanced at her suddenly, as if to catch her out.
Cecelia shrugged. “I don’t know what he was like with fencing. I don’t fence; I ride.” The interviewer smiled and nodded; everyone knew this about her.
“Ser Orregiemos had been a competition fencer, milady; according to Lady Thornbuckle, he had won many championships in his younger days. She wasn’t sure when his last competition was, but with his multiple rejuvenations he could have been competitive quite recently—as you yourself are.” He paused. “Lady Thornbuckle said, when she came, that she was here for privacy; we were all quite surprised when Ser Orregiemos arrived.”
“Well, so was I when I heard he was here. Such an appalling little tick.”
“You don’t—didn’t—like him.” It was not a question.
“No. None of us—the horse people, I mean—felt he was entirely honest.”
“Ah. But you know of no reason why . . . I mean . . . there was no bad feeling between him and Lady Thornbuckle?”
“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.
Chapter Five
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.”