Cecelia started to reach for her ID packet, but the shift of his weapon stopped her hand. Not her tongue. “I’m Lady Cecelia de Marktos, as I said; we came looking for my nephew Ronnie and his friends. With the militia.”
“Ah.” Petris still looked past her, to Heris. “The rescue arrives.” He glanced briefly at Cecelia. “Tell me what you know about Admiral Lepescu.”
Cecelia thought of objecting, but the weapon suggested caution, even cooperation. She had not realized before just how large the bore could look, seen from this angle. “I don’t know him,” she said.
“She didn’t tell you?” he asked, jerking his chin at Heris.
Cecelia’s patience snapped. “Whatever she told me is no concern of yours, young man.” He laughed, a short ugly sound with little humor in it.
“You’re not the best judge of that,” he said. Then, to Heris, “And you think I’m working with the admiral?”
Cecelia glanced at her, and recognized Heris’s expression for what it was, sorrow and despair, a great wound. Even when telling the story of her resignation, she had never looked this shattered.
“I know he organized the hunt, here,” Heris said. Her voice had no vigor, as if the words lay dead in her mouth. “And why else would military personnel be here with him—?”
“With him.” Petris’s voice was no louder, but the passion in it would have fuelled a scream. “You—of all people—can believe I might work with that—that—and does it look like I’m with him? Is this a uniform?” His voice had risen then, chopped off by a gesture from the other man. “No,” he said savagely. “I am not with Lepescu.” He turned away, still pale around the mouth. Cecelia stopped him.
“Excuse me, young man, but although you and my captain may be perfectly clear about what is going on, I am not. Heris has told me the admiral is an old enemy she would rather not meet save over a weapon. When my nephew and his friends disappeared, and we found that Lepescu was expected, she became convinced he had something to do with it.”
Finally, the man seemed to focus, really focus, on Cecelia. “Your captain? You’re her . . . uh . . . employer?”
“That’s right. Captain Serrano signed a contract with me only two days after resigning her commission.”
“And then?” He matched her gaze, as if he could pull answers out through her eyes.
“And then she took command of my yacht, and we came here. Now—”
“Directly?”
Cecelia drew herself up, annoyed. She had questions of her own, and he kept interrupting her. “No,” she said, not caring if he realized she was miffed. “No—although I don’t quite see what business it is of yours. My former captain had been negligent, if not actually criminal, in maintaining systems, and we had to detour for emergency repair of the environmental system.”
The man turned to Heris, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You didn’t check things yourself before you started?”
“The inspection sheets had been faked,” Heris said dully. “Lady Cecelia’s schedule had already been set back; she wanted a quick departure, and I—” Her voice trailed off.
“You couldn’t wait to escape,” Petris said. Sarcasm edged his voice. “You took your bribe and ran off—”
“Bribe!” This time it was Heris’s voice that got the silencing gesture from the other man. At least, Cecelia thought, the insult had broken through and forced a live reaction. “Is that what he told you?”
“He told us nothing, except the list of charges.”
“Charges? But I resigned so they wouldn’t prosecute any of you—”
“Wait.” Petris lowered his weapon suddenly. “Then it’s true what this youngster heard?” He nodded at Ronnie. “Will you tell me you resigned? To save us, without any . . . any reward?”
“Yes. That was the choice. Resignation, and no trouble for you, or courts for all. It wasn’t fair to put all of you through that; it had been my decision. What do you mean about charges?”
“That . . . motherless son,” Petris said. Cecelia remembered hearing once that on some planets that was still an insult, although most people were now decanted and not birthed. “He got you out of the way, brought us to trial, and then had us here, to play his little games with.”
Heris stared, the whites of her eyes showing clearly in the dimness. “You—it was you he was hunting?” Petris nodded. Heris shook her head, like someone who has just taken a hard blow, and turned to Lepescu’s body with such violence that Cecelia was afraid she would attack it bare-handed. “Damn you! I killed you too soon! If only I could—” She was shaking now, starting to cry. Cecelia gaped, she had never imagined Heris losing control.
Petris strode past Cecelia and grabbed Heris by the shoulders, dragging her away. “He’s dead—don’t . . . you can’t change it now—”
“I’d have—have done something—it’s not fair—!” She turned a tear-streaked face back to Cecelia. “He took my ship—my career—and then to kill them this way—” And then to Petris, suddenly dry-eyed again, a sorrow too deep for tears. “I’m sorry, Petris. I didn’t—imagine this. I couldn’t. I believed they’d hold to the agreement.”
“No,” he said soberly. “You couldn’t. I’m sorry I misunderstood what you’d done.”
“How many—how many died?” Heris asked. Cecelia could hear the fragile control, the tremor in her voice.
“Too many,” Petris said. “But it’s over now.”
“It’s not over,” Heris said. “It will never be over.” But she stood straight, motionless, and Cecelia watched her usual control return, layer by layer.
“Well, it’s mostly over,” said a cheerful voice from the cave entrance. Petris and the other men whirled, startled, but relaxed when they saw the distinctive uniform of Bunny’s militia. The militia captain was grinning at them. “Unless one of you is the wicked Admiral Lepescu?”
“Admiral Lepescu is dead,” Heris said. Her voice seemed to hold no emotion at all; it was the simple statement of fact.
Captain Sigind came nearer, glanced at Lepescu’s body, and nodded. “You shot him?”
“Yes; he was threatening them—” Heris nodded at the young people. Ronnie and the prince had untangled themselves from each other, the floor, and the quiescent grenade, and now stood more or less at attention. Raffa had gone to Ronnie, Cecelia noticed, as if he were her responsibility. Bubbles stood a little apart from the group, rifle in hand, watching Heris intently. Cecelia had time to wonder why, when both girls were armed, neither had shot the admiral.
Captain Sigind looked them over.
“And here’s Lord Thornbuckle’s daughter, and I presume that’s your nephew, ma’am, and the other young lady, and who’s this—?” The militia captain looked at the prince, and the prince looked confused.
“Mr. Smith,” said Ronnie firmly. “A friend of the family.”
Captain Sigind allowed a dubious expression on his face, and then shrugged it away. “Mr. Smith, indeed. An invited guest? Pardon, but I’m required to ask.”
Bubbles spoke up. “Mr. Smith has often been an invited guest here; my father will confirm it.”
“I . . . see.” The captain looked as if he would like to pursue that, but again chose discretion. Well trained, Cecelia thought; a quick glance at Heris’s face, and she caught another well-trained expression. Heris, however, would certainly pursue the matter later. The captain did not quite shrug before going on. “Well, if everyone will come along, we can get you back to Bandon this evening, and fly you back to the Main House by morning—or you could spend the night on Bandon, and fly back tomorrow, whichever you prefer.” He spoke into his comunit; Cecelia heard something about “retrieve the bodies” and “forensics” and then realized she was very, very tired indeed and wanted to sit down.