The Serrano Connection (101 page)

Admiral Serrano looked thoughtful. "They both still think they're in love, do they?"

Marta chuckled. "All the symptoms. They blush, they tremble, they look shy—it's rather sweet, actually, as well as unmistakeable. I admit my fondness for young love, messy though it often is. It's why I helped Raffa and Ronnie get free of their appallingly stiff-necked parents. So you can quit looking for hidden political motives in Lieutenant Suiza's behavior—this is the oldest story in the book."

"That may be, but it doesn't excuse—"

"What she said? No. But if her commander had known from day one that this was a squabble over a man, would he have handled it the way he did?"

Admiral Serrano pursed her lips. "Well . . . probably not. We do get late bloomers from time to time, and they do usually make a mess of things at least once." The admiral sounded thoughtful, less harsh.

"Making a mess of love is part of growing up," Marta said, nodding. "Making a mess of someone's career, however, requires the connivance of others."

"I don't follow you." But the dark eyes were alert, watchful.

"Well . . . as the resident sweet old lady in this facility—" The admiral snorted, and Marta flashed a quick grin but went on. "The youngsters tell me things. They always have. It's why I was Raffa's favorite aunt. I'd already begun to wonder how so shining a young hero could become everyone's favorite wicked woman quite so fast. I suspected that someone else's interest lay in making Lieutenant Suiza look as bad as possible, and I found that the tainted effluent, as it were, led to a few sources quite remote from Copper Mountain. That's why I went planetside, so I could do a little discreet database poking from a civilian facility."

"And you found—?"

Marta held up her hand and ticked off points on her fingers. "I found Academy classmates of Esmay's who were jealous of her success—who resented her honors—who would be quite happy to see her back in tech track, or out of Fleet, because she can fight rings around them. Much that's been attributed to her has come from these sources, and they've put the worst possible interpretation on what she
did
say. The people who've actually served with her are confused and upset right now, but find it hard to believe she could be the way she's now being painted. I found others who want to get influence with your grandson because he's a Serrano . . . who are very glad to put a barrier between him and Lieutenant Suiza."

"All very interesting—but are you sure you're hearing the truth?"

"Vida—remember Patchcock? My nose for this kind of nastiness—"

"Yes . . . all right . . . but that doesn't get Lieutenant Suiza off the hook for what she actually said and did. And there's a witness to her saying that Brun wasn't worth starting a war over."

"So did I, m'dear. So did you. So did the Guernesi ambassador, more than once. We wrapped it in platitudes, but you know and I know that no one—not even the Speaker, and certainly not his daughter—is worth starting a war for. Taken in context, what she actually said cannot be construed to mean that she thought all those things attributed to her."

The admiral spread her hands. "So—what do you propose to do about this? Since you came here, I presume you have a plan in mind."

"Well . . . having played fairy godmother to at least three other romances recently—you know about Raffa and Ronnie, but you don't know about the others—I feel I'm on a roll where love is concerned. If Esmay and Barin can work out their problems—"

"You mean you aren't planning to do it for them?" That with a challenging grin.

"Of course not." Marta made a prim face. "Children learn by doing. But if they can work it out—and since they're both still smitten, I expect they can—that will take the teeth out of some of the other criticisms. After all, if a Serrano is her lover—"

"Ah—so
that's
why you tackled me first. So I wouldn't tell young Barin to avoid her?"

"Got it in one. Incidentally, if you thought Suiza was bad, you ought to see what's working on him now. One of Esmay's classmates, and a very sleek piece of work she is, too. Knows everything Esmay doesn't know about men, and since she's also a colonial, from one of the Crescent Worlds, you have to wonder where she got that kind of skill. Rumor has it, from seducing her senior officers."

"Pull in your claws, Marta—I won't do anything to warn Barin off. And I already know about Lieutenant Ferradi—she may have done even worse than you know, according to Heris. If so, her doom is about to be upon her: Heris lent Koutsoudas to the cause."

"You're going to tell me, I trust? No? Wicked woman—but then you are an admiral." Marta's chuckle ended. "There's another thing, though. Lieutenant Suiza, when I talked to her, had what I think are some very good insights into Brun's situation and some concerns about the planning. She is convinced that no one will listen to her, and asked me to pass these ideas on, as my own. I'd much rather get her involved in the planning herself—"

"Can't be done," Admiral Serrano said crisply. "Lord Thornbuckle's adamant. Apparently he had liked her when he met her at Copper Mountain, and feels that this proves she is . . . treacherous, was his word. He will not have her involved at all. And I doubt you can change his mind. Not in the time we have left."

She glanced at the wall calendar and Marta followed that glance. A red rectangle covered the most probable dates for the end of Brun's pregnancy; a green one covered the time the Militia were known to allow before rebreeding a captive. That was their target; somewhere in that period they had to extract her—or face even more difficult problems.

"All right. One war at a time. I'll present Esmay's ideas; they certainly make sense in terms of my knowledge of Brun's character."

Marta found Esmay at work in a cubicle, paging through a report, looking thoughtful.

"I've just talked to Admiral Serrano," Marta said. Esmay flushed a little, the reaction Marta had hoped for. "I told her I thought the reports of your hardheartedness and political ambitions were exaggerated . . . and why." The flush deepened, but Esmay said nothing. "You will find that she creates no barrier to your relationship with Barin . . ."

"If I ever have one," Esmay said. She looked up, tears standing in her eyes. "What if he won't speak to me?"

"Well, then, you have to see that he does."

"But Casea's always around—"

Marta sat very straight. "You are not going to make that mistake again! Think, child! What do you know about that young woman? Does she have a good reputation?

"No . . ." Esmay's voice trembled slightly.

"Do you really think Barin is the kind of man who prefers that kind of woman?"

"No . . ." Her voice failed completely.

"Then quit being a wet lump, and give him some help in getting free of her. Be someone he can prefer, with some reason." Marta cocked her head. "Personally, I'd recommend a good haircut, to start with. And a really well-cut exercise suit."

Esmay flushed again. "I—I couldn't."

"What—you can't show what you've got, because she's displaying herself like a fruit basket? What kind of nonsense is that? Come along—" Marta stood up, and watched Esmay rise slowly. "I know perfectly well you're just moving things around in here trying to look busy. Your commander's angry with you, nobody has any real work for you—so I'm demanding your services as an escort."

"But you—"

"My dear, before you embarrass yourself again, I'm not just Raffaele's aunt . . . I hold my own Seat in Council, though I usually let Ansel vote it for me, and if I wanted to grab any officer up to and including Admiral Serrano for an escort, no one, least of all Vida, would stand in my way. Bunny himself is putty in my hands when I'm in this mood. And you are, after all, the Landbride Suiza. Now come along and quit making difficulties."

Marta was glad to see the salutary lift of spine which that produced, and thoroughly enjoyed her sweep through the corridors of the HQ complex, with Esmay Suiza a silent shadow at her side. She could almost see the shock, and imagined it trickling icewater-like down certain spines. The particular blonde spine she most wanted to discomfit didn't appear—well, that would come later.

Esmay hung back as Marta led her toward the doors of the most fashionable salon in the city. She had heard of Afino's—including from Brun, who had recommended it heartily.

"No one's ever been able to do anything with my hair," she said miserably, as she had more than once on the way downside. "It's too fine, and thin, and it frizzes—"

"And probably all you do is wash it, brush it, and cut it off when it gets too long," Marta said. "Listen—you are not your hair. You have choices. You want Barin, and you want to regain your professional reputation. This will help."

It still seemed more than a little immoral. Her hair had always been her downfall, in the style sense, and she could think of nothing that would improve it but yanking it out and starting over from the genome. The serious noises the head of the salon made when he looked at her scalp made her want to sink through the floor.

"You have the fine hair," he said. "Perhaps your parents also, or perhaps you have had a high fever when you were young?"

"Yes, I did," Esmay said.

"That may be it. But it is very healthy; you have not been doing anything stupid, as some women do. And you are a Fleet officer—you want something practical, easy to keep, but looking more . . . more . . ."

"More like it's intended to be something," Marta put in. "Less like dryer fluff."

"Ah. A more permanent solution would be the genetic one, but you said the matter was urgent."

"Yes. Although in the long run, Esmay, he's right—it's expensive, but you can have your hair genetically reprogrammed."

So—even a salon like this thought that replacing it from the roots out was the best approach. But she hadn't actually thought it was possible.

"It would change your genetic ID slightly," the man said. "You would have to report it to your commander, and they would have to approve, and then change your records. But it has been done. On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with your hair as it is, once we determine the best way of cutting it."

With scissors, Esmay thought but did not say.

Three hours later, she stared at her reflected image with astonishment. It was the same hair, but somehow it had consented to take a shape that suggested both competence and charm. Smooth there, a bit of curl here. Fluff was perhaps the wrong word . . . but she couldn't think of another. She looked like herself, but . . . more so. And under the tutelage of the salon's staff, she had learned to do it herself, from sopping wet to final combing.

After that, Marta dragged her off to the neighboring dress shop. "You need off-duty clothes. I've seen you in those exercise suits."

"I sweat," Esmay said, but with less strength in the protest.

"Yes, but you don't have to sweat while eating dinner." Marta prowled, sending Esmay into the changing room again and again until she was happy with the result—by which time Esmay was finally beginning to understand what the fuss was about. The blue and silver exercise suit was as comfortable as the ones she usually wore, but looked—she had to admit—stunning. And the others . . .

"The people you think were born looking good were born looking red and wrinkly just like everyone else," Marta said. "Yes, there are faces more beautiful than others, bodies more easily draped than others. But at least half the people you admire aren't, on form alone, beautiful. They make the effect they have. Now some people don't care about effect, and don't need effect, and nobody needs it all the time. At home, when I'm out in the garden, I look like any plump old woman in dirty garden clothes. I don't care, and neither does anyone else. But when I'm being Marta Katerina Saenz, with a Chair in Council, I dress for effect. Right now you need all the effect you can manage: it will do no good, and much harm, for you to skulk around headquarters looking ashamed of yourself. It helps people think you're guilty."

Hair, clothes, even a session in a day spa, from which she emerged feeling utterly relaxed. Two days after they'd left, when her new clothes were stowed in her compartment, Marta led her back to the lieutenant commander in charge of Esmay's section.

"Here she is—you can have her back for a while, but I may need her again. Thank you, Lieutenant Suiza; you've been most helpful."

Lieutenant Commander Moslin looked from one to the other. "You're . . . satisfied, Sera Saenz?"

"With Lieutenant Suiza? Of course. Best personal assistant I ever had. Excuse me; I mustn't be late to meet Admiral Serrano." With a wave, Marta departed, leaving Esmay under the lieutenant commander's mistrustful gaze.

"Well . . . I thought she was Lord Thornbuckle's friend, and here she's sticking up for you . . ."

"I think," Esmay said, following Marta's briefing, "I remind her of a niece or something. But of course I did my best."