The crew took the news quietly at first. Sirkin still looked shocky from her own loss and her injuries; she sat pale and silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The others glanced back and forth and deferred their questions. Heris, knowing them so well, knew they had questions, and would come to her individually.
By the time she thought of sleep again, she and Petris both had little interest in pleasure. He pleaded a headache—“Nontraditional as it is, my love, it’s boring a hole in my skull and frying my brain”—and went to his own quarters; she slept badly, waking often to think she’d heard the intercom calling.
The next call finally came from the family legal firm two days later. They had no interest in answering her questions, and had plenty of their own. What was the status of Lady Cecelia’s yacht? Heris explained about the redecorating. Couldn’t it be halted? She had anticipated this question, and had already contacted the redecorators. No—the ship’s existing finishes were already being stripped. They could delay applying the new carpeting and wallcoverings, but they couldn’t replace those already removed—not without a surcharge. Heris pointed out that Cecelia had loathed the color scheme, and it would make no sense to replace the same one.
“But her sister selected it,” said the lawyer, in an outraged tone.
Heris wondered whether to mention who was paying for the new one, and decided better not.
“Lady Cecelia preferred something else,” she said. “She was quite firm about it.”
“I don’t doubt,” he said sourly. “The point is, if she is, as seems likely, permanently incapacitated, she will have no need for the yacht and a new color scheme hardly seems worth the price. If it’s for sale—”
“Perhaps simply having the decorators delay installing the new—that way, any potential buyer could choose his or her own scheme—”
“Perhaps. Now, about the crew payroll—”
“Lady Cecelia had given me permission to authorize payment from the yacht expenses account. I can transmit all the recent transactions, if you’d like.”
“Yes, thank you.” He seemed a bit surprised. Heris wondered if he’d expected her to try something dishonest.
“And I would like some idea of when a determination will be made about the yacht, since the crew will need the usual warning before being asked to find new positions.” That should convince him she wasn’t trying to get them on the family payroll forever.
“Oh. Quite. Well, er . . . no hurry, I should think. In case she recovers, though that seems unlikely . . . there’s always the chance . . . and anyway, some legal action would have to be taken to transfer control of the yacht to her heirs. Certainly that won’t happen for . . . oh . . . sixty days or more.”
Heris chose her words carefully. “You mean, I am authorized to maintain and pay an idle crew for sixty days?”
“Well . . . er . . . yes . . . I suppose so . . .” Unspoken conflicts between parsimony and habit cluttered his words.
“I would prefer to have that in writing,” Heris said briskly, with no sympathy for his problems. “It’s possible that either Lady Cecelia’s bankers or Station personnel could have questions.”
“Oh, certainly. I’ll see that you get that, and I’ll speak to her bankers.” Faced with an assignment, his voice picked up energy. This was simply business, a routine he was used to. “Of course, that’s limited to . . . er . . . the usual schedule of payments.”
“Of course. I’m sure Lady Cecelia’s records already contain a pay scale and the account activity, but I’ll send those along.”
Spacenhance were not pleased to have the redecorating halted midway, but maintained a polite, if frosty, demeanor about it. They could, they admitted, simply leave the ship “bare” for a week or so. Even longer, if no other business came in, though if they needed the dock space the yacht would have to be moved to another site. Heris pointed out that she would have to have legal authorization to move it, since Lady Cecelia’s affairs were now in the hands of her legal staff, and might soon be a matter of court decision. They subsided so quickly that Heris was sure another player had made the same point more forcibly. The king? Certainly the Crown could command a berth there as long as it wanted.
After another three days of waiting, she tried to contact Cecelia’s sister or brother-in-law. A frosty servant informed her that neither was home, that no family member was home, and that inquiries from employees should be made to the family legal representative. She couldn’t tell, from the tone, if that was aimed at her, specifically, or at any low-level employee. She realized she didn’t even know what other employees Cecelia might have onplanet, besides her maid Myrtis.
The news media had had nothing to say about it, of course, though it showed up on the hospital admissions list. Heris thought of having Oblo insinuate himself into the hospital datanet, but that could have serious repercussions. The hospital census let her know that Cecelia was alive still.
Ronnie called her a day after she’d tried to reach the family.
“She’s alive, still in a coma,” he said. “They’re talking about moving her to a different facility, which prepares people for long-term care.”
“Have you seen her yourself?” Heris asked.
“Only through glass. She’s hooked up to so many tubes . . . they say that’s temporary, until they’ve got implanted monitors in her. So far she’s breathing on her own—”
“No response?”
“None I can see. Of course, she could be sedated. There’s no way for me to tell, but I know the family’s very concerned. They’ve had outside consultants already.” He sounded as if he wanted to burst into tears.
“What happens now?” Heris asked. “Who decides what to do?”
“My mother’s her nearest relative on this planet. Aunt Cecelia had filed all the . . . er . . . directives old people are supposed to file, and my mother agrees with them, so she’s the one to sign the papers.”
“When will they move her? Do you know?”
“Not exactly. She’s out of the first unit, and into something they call the Stabilization Unit. As I understand it, they’ll implant the first sensors and something so they can plug feeding tubes and things in. Then they’ll send her to this other place. If she comes out of the coma, fine—they can just take the implants out. If she doesn’t, there’s some other surgery—I don’t know it all yet—and they’ll send her somewhere for long-term care.”
“For the rest of her life,” Heris said, trying to take it in.
“That’s what they said.” Ronnie sounded uncertain. “They said she might live out her normal life span, even.” Heris tried to think what that would be for a woman Cecelia’s age. “Oh—” Ronnie broke into her thoughts. “Do you know if she was taking any kind of medicine?”
“Your aunt? Not that I know of. She told me she didn’t take anything unless she had an injury.”
“That’s what I told them when they asked, but I thought—if you knew—maybe it would help.”
“I can’t even look in her quarters,” Heris reminded him. “Everything’s in storage for refitting. Have you asked Myrtis?”
“Yes, but she didn’t know of any. There’s another thing—”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure why, but my parents are really upset with you. They seem to think you’ve been a bad influence on Aunt Cecelia. I told them about how you shot that admiral, and all, but they have something against you.”
Heris frowned. “I wonder what. Did your aunt talk about me?”
“Yes—she thought you were great, but I would’ve thought it just bored them—excuse me, but you know what I mean.”