“I hardly think Barin’s an appropriate choice,” the admiral said.
“These people care about families. If you send a family member, you are showing that you will risk family to save family. It is also as well that he is male—that will be more acceptable, as long as there are women along.”
“I see. And whom else would you recommend? Do you have the entire mission plan in mind?” Sarcasm, from Admiral Serrano, affected most people like being in close proximity to a large industrial saw, but Professor Meyerson didn’t flinch.
“No, that is your area of expertise. Mine is antique studies.”
Hovers held position above the streets, and a mobile squad kept pace with them, helmet shields down.
“Looks kind of silly,” Hazel said, “with the streets empty.”
“The streets wouldn’t be empty if they weren’t there,” Barin said. His helmet informed him of the location of hotspots in the buildings; they were clustered behind every screened window niche. He hoped none of them had weapons that could penetrate their body armor . . . he hoped even more that Ranger Bowie’s transmission had convinced them not to fight. Right now the Fleet forces were on Yellow Two, which meant that even if they were fired on, they were not to return fire without authorization.
Hazel pointed out the main entrance to the house, and the side street that led to the women’s entrance. “I came through this door only once, when he brought me here.” Barin noticed that she did not say the man’s name or title. “I used that other door to take out refuse or go to the market.”
“But you think we should go in here?”
“It establishes authority,” Professor Meyerson said. She had elected to wear a skirt, though she agreed to wear body armor under it, which made her look considerably bulkier.
She led the way up to the door; it swung open just before she reached it. A stout woman wearing a blue dress with a wide flounced skirt glared at them. She had a flowered kerchief tied tightly around her head.
“That’s Prima,” Hazel said softly. “The first wife.”
“Ma’am,” Professor Meyerson said. “We’ve come for the children.”
Prima yanked the door wider. “Come in. Which one of you is the yellow-hair?”
“She couldn’t come,” Hazel said. “She’s getting medical treatment for her voice.”
“She abandoned her babies—abominations like her don’t deserve children,” Prima said.
“Are they here?” Hazel asked.
“Yes . . . but I’m not convinced they should go . . .”
Hazel stepped forward. “Please—Prima—let the children come.”
“I’m not giving those sweet girls up to some disgusting heathen,” Prima said. She had the taut look of someone willing to die for her convictions.
“It’s just me,” Hazel said softly. “You know me; you know I’ll take care of them.”
“You—you traitor!” Prima’s face had gone from pale to red, and tears stood in her eyes.
“No ma’am . . . but I had my family to think of—”
“We were your family—we treated you like family—”
“Yes, ma’am, you did. As well as you could. But back home—”
“And you!” Prima turned on Professor Meyerson. “You’re what—a woman soldier! Unnatural, disgusting—”
“Actually, I’m a historian,” Meyerson said. Prima looked blank. “I study Texas history.”
“You—what?”
“That’s right. I came to learn about you—about what you know of Texas history.”
Prima looked thoroughly confused, then focussed on Barin. “And you—who are you?”
“Admiral Serrano’s grandson,” Barin said. Then, when Prima seemed not to understand, he said, “The woman you may have seen in transmission—dark, like me, with silver hair? She’s commanding the task force.”
“A woman? Commanding men? Nonsense. No men would obey her—”
“I do,” Barin said. “Both as admiral and as my grandmother.”
“Grandmother . . .” Prima shook her head. “Still . . . do any of you have a belief in God?”
“I do,” Barin said. “It is not the same as yours, but in my family we have always had believers.”
“Yet you are a soldier alongside women? Commanded by women?”
“Yes, sometimes.”
“How can that be? God decreed that women bear no arms, that they enter into no conflicts.”
“That is not the doctrine I have been taught,” Barin said.
“You are a pagan who believes in many gods?”
“No, in one only.”
“I do not understand.” Prima looked closely into his face. “Yet I see truth in your face; you are not a liar. Tell me, are you married?”
“Not yet, ma’am, but I plan to be.”
“To a . . . another of these woman soldiers?”
“Yes.” If he survived this. He wished very much Esmay were with him.
“Do you swear to me, on the holy name of God, that you are taking them to their families?”
“Yes,” Barin said. Prima deflated; her face creasing into tears. Barin moved nearer. “Let me tell you about their families, ma’am, so that you will understand. Brandy and Stassi—Prudence and Serenity, as you call them—have aunts and uncles. Their dead mother’s sisters and brother; their father’s sister. Paolo’s grandfather and uncle, and Dris’s aunt and uncle. We have brought recordings of them, asking for the safe return of these children.”
“They are happy here,” Prima said. She looked down and away; she had the look of someone who will argue to the end but knows she cannot win. “It will hurt them to move them now.”
“They are happy now,” Professor Meyerson said. “They are small children, and I know—Hazel told us—that you have been kind to them. But they will grow older, and you are not, and cannot, be the same as their own family. They need to know their own flesh and blood.”
“They will cry,” Prima said, through her own tears.
“They may,” Professor Meyerson said. “They have had a difficult few years, losing their parents and then coming to such a different place, and leaving it again. They cried when they came here, didn’t they? But in the end, all children cry over something, and that is not reason enough to leave wrong as it is, and good undone.”
“I am undone,” Prima said, folding her apron. “But I had to try—”
“You are a loving mother,” Professor Meyerson said. Barin was surprised at this; he had not thought of Meyerson as having, or caring about, families. Yet her tone of absolute approval seemed to settle Prima. “I want you to see recordings of the children’s families.”
“I don’t have to—I believe you—”
“No, but it may help you understand.” She nodded to Barin, who set up the cube reader and display screen. “We have brought our own power supply, since your electrical lines carry the wrong voltage for our equipment.”
“This is men’s work,” Prima said.
“God gave eyes to men and women,” Professor Meyerson said. She put the first cube into the reader. “This is a recording of Brandy and Stassi’s parents before they were killed.”
On the screen, a woman with a long dark braid over her shoulder cradled a baby in her arms. “That’s when Stassi was born; their mother’s name was Ghirian. Her parents were from Gilmore Colony. Brandy was a year old then.” A man appeared, holding an older infant in his arms. “That’s their father, Vorda. He and Ghirian had been married eight years. His family had been merchant spacers for generations.”
“They—were married?”
“Oh yes. And very much in love, though I understand from Hazel that you do not value romantic love between men and women.”
“It doesn’t last,” Prima said, as if quoting. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, where the affection between mother and father, and parents and children, was obvious. “It cannot be depended on to make a strong family.”