For the first time since Palane had inserted herself into their little circle, Naomi Imbesi spoke up.
"Your simple soldier routine is slipping, Lieutenant," she murmured. There was more than a trace of malice in the words, which annoyed Victor. It was pure cattiness, and even though he understood that he was the cause of it himself-not often thathappened to him, either-he still found it distasteful. He'd never particularly liked the fact that women generally ignored him. He was now discovering that he liked being fought over by them even less.
Fortunately, Palane seemed inclined to avoid the fight. "No secret," she said pleasantly, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm assigned to Captain Rozsak's intelligence unit, so it's my job to know these things." For an instant, she glanced down at the drink in her hand. "Can't say I like it any more than I do this stuff, but duty is duty and beggars can't be choosers. And you'd be Naomi Imbesi, I believe, one of Walter Imbesi's kin. Niece, as I recall."
There was something vaguely triumphant about Palane's last words, as if she were playing a trump card. Victor noted the fact that she managed to convey the sentiment your cattiness identifies you without saying it in so many words. It would appear the imposing Marine lieutenant had a subtle streak also.
He found himself really wanting to see Palane's outright grin. Strongly enough, in fact, to wonder about it. To ponder over it, rather, the way Victor was prone to do with his own emotional reactions.
He didn't have to ponder for long, this time. The reason he felt such a stronger attraction to the Solarian officer than to the Erewhonese socialite was obvious enough to him, and had nothing to do with their respective physical attractions.
For an instant, his eyes met Palane's. There was no expression on her face beyond pleasant amusement, but Victor understood the meaning of that glance. They came from the same kind of place-generically, at least-and they both knew it. Plebes among patricians; respectable plebes, now, but still plebes.
Palane polished off the rest of her drink. "And I think I've interrupted your conversation long enough, so I'll be off." She gave Ginny a little nod; did not give one to Naomi; and gave Victor simply another glance. "Have a pleasant evening."
She was off, striding away. After taking a few steps, one of the many inebriates now sprinkled through the crowd stumbled in front of her. Without breaking stride, Palane seized him under the armpits and set him back on his feet as easily as a woman handling a child. A moment later, her tall form had disappeared into the mob.
"Accident, my foot," muttered Naomi. Again, the words held an undertone of malice; and, again, Victor found it annoying.
Chapter 14
once they reached their hotel suite, Anton lowered himself into an armchair and took a long and slow breath.
"Didn't mean to be rude. But for this, I'm not relying on any portable scrambling equipment small enough to carry on your person." He glanced toward the corner where the suite's scrambling device was located, checking the green light to make sure it was operating. The double-check was more a matter of habit than anything else. That equipment, paid for out of Cathy's fortune, was the very best available anywhere in the galaxy.
"So what's up?" asked Ruth brightly.
The dubious expression on Berry's face amused Anton. Unlike Ruth, she was not a princess in training to be a spy and, clearly, was not at all sure she wanted to hear whatever it was Anton had learned from the Solarian officer. Berry still hadn't decided what career she wanted to pursue, but the one thing it was not going to be was espionage.
"One in the family is enough," as she'd put it once over the dinner table. "If you added another, we'd all go crazy." To which Cathy had immediately added: "Amen to that," and his daughter Helen-sharp as a serpent's tooth is the ingratitude of children-had chimed in with: "Not sure we haven't all gone crazy already. No, Daddy, that's just my dog wagging his tail in the corner, hoping I'll toss him some food; he's not a robot sabo-toor, honest. So don't you dare dissect him."
Anton still wasn't sure what career course Berry would finally settle on. The girl suffered from a mental condition which, though probably excellent from the standpoint of her own sanity, was a severe handicap in a modern society: she was interested in everything,but not obsessively interested in any particular thing. A generalist rather than a specialist, by temperament. Someone whose emotional stability continued to privately amaze Anton-the more so, given the horrors the girl had gone through in her childhood-but who showed no special talent for any given occupation.
Berry herself made jokes about it, now and then. He smiled, remembering another conversation which had once taken place over the dinner table. Just a few months ago, in fact, over the end-of-form holidays, when Helen was enjoying her first extended leave from the Naval Academy on Saganami Island.
"It's obvious, Daddy," Berry pronounced. "There are only two things I'd be good at. First, being a housewife-talk about an obsolete profession-or, second, being a queen." Berry pursed her lips thoughtfully: "A constitutional monarchy would be best, I think. I'm sure I'd be a flop as a despot. Too easy-going."
"Be a lawyer," Helen chimed in between mouthfuls. "There's no opening for queens anywhere that I know about, and at least as a lawyer you'd be able to meddle in everything."
"I don't meddle," Berry said, a bit crossly.
"Nope, you sure don't," came Helen's reply, "even though everybody's always confiding in you. Which means you'd make a great lawyer."
Anton's natural daughter broke off for a moment, shoveling food into her mouth at a rate Anton was certain was anatomically impossible. There had to be a demon residing somewhere in the girl's belly.
Helen's metabolism was a little scary. At the age of fourteen, she'd been on the smallish size. Four years later, she was already over a hundred and seventy-five centimeters tall and still probably hadn't reached her full adult size. The girl had gotten her musculature from Anton, but clearly enough she'd inherited the height which was normal in her mother's family-even if her mother herself hadn't shared it.
"I don't want to be a lawyer."
" 'Course not. So what? You don't much want to be a housewife or a queen, either. Besides, the first one would bore you to death-you're too sensible to slobber all over babies-and, like I said, there's no opening for the second. So," Helen concluded triumphantly, finishing her plate and scooping on seconds, "lawyer it is. Process of elimination."
Scoop, scoop. Anton began to fear for the structural integrity of the table.
"I learned about it this semester, at the Academy, in my course in introductory logic." Scoop, scoop. Like most of the furniture in Cathy's mansion, the table was an antique. Gorgeous thing, sure. But with Helen around, Anton would have preferred an industrial strength assembly bench. "My prof was fond of quoting some ancient philosopher. 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however… um, how'd he put it?"
Helen broke off for a moment, in order to feed the demon. "Can't remember, exactly. 'However implausible,' I think. Anyway-" She broke off again. The demon was apparently still rampaging in full fury. "Whatever's left, however screwy, has got to be the right answer. So lawyer it is, Berry. Mark my words."
Judging from the little smile on her lips, Anton suspected that Berry was remembering the same conversation.
"I'd rather you did hear it, Berry," he said. "Whatever decision I make-we make-you'll be involved." He looked at Du Havel, adding: "I'd like to get your reactions, too."