the student problem 8

 Himself and I awoke sneezing and coughing snot monsters. no brains here, only snot. 

Chapter 8

 

I wasn’t going to see Serenaa for at least two weeks; that’s how long jump-drive takes. A week each way. But at least her father would be able to use the new wormhole communication.  I don’t know how it works, and I don’t want to know, but it’s near instant communication up to three parsecs. And you can’t send packages; electronic code only. And certainly not living beings. I know that because there was an attempt at espionage by one of the megacorps who got wind of it, and the spy tried to escape being caught by sending himself.

It was two years before I could face liver and bacon casserole again.

Normally the speed of travel is the speed of communications, but the wormhole communication was a game-changer, and apart from that one leak, it’s strictly military need-to-know. Major Kerufin was a man in the know, and he would use it to his contacts all the way up to Emperor Xander. With a bit of delay – you can’t open a wormhole within three light minutes of another, so the stations to send and receive have to be a bit... scattered – that message would be in Capital being read to Xander within about six hours. In time to let him know about the insurrection before he left on his progression.

Thank any powers in the universe for that.

If I could manage to figure out what was going to happen that would kill Xander, Lady Bronteen, Lisilli Bronteen, and anyone with them, I would try to do so. 

This was an odd sort of system. This world, Teeofaan, was the capital of the subsector, and the seat of the duke, which was Lord Duranor. Baron of the world was Faruu. Baron Bronteen was baron of the three large moons, one of which was virtually a double planet with Teeofaan, named Teeobhan, the two named after mythical twins in old Wiłanu legends. One of the moons orbits both at a far orbit, the other, closer, goes in a figure of eight about both. They are named Uushi and Teherru, after the consorts of the twins. Teherru, consort of Teeobhan, was also Teeofaan’s mistress, and was killed by her husband. Somehow I doubted that Henduuri Faruu was boffing Lady Bronteen as well as Moruunaa Kerufin. Hen-Hen? I hated the woman just for that, as much as her trying to trammel Serenaa into convention.

Still, I suppose I should be glad that Serenaa was more her father’s daughter than her mother’s; if my lovely Serenaa had been applying her beautiful and devious little head to espionage on the wrong side, she’d be in Xander’s place before the year was out.

I did not think that she had been dissembling with me.

No, her sweet lips had never been kissed before, and she was eager to learn and to show off what she was learning. And her shock over her mother’s involvement... she was not simulating that.

Kerufin would be shocked, too, but perhaps not as much. He had regretted his marriage, or so I had heard, almost from the first week of the honeymoon. It was perhaps why he was so keen on teaching recruits, ‘if you don’t want to wake up over the breakfast table opposite the woman, don’t mess her about off the dance floor.;

A lesson learned hard; but his noble title was, at least, for deeds done, not seed squirted from the august testicles of his sire.

No, I don’t like aristocrats.

Well, time to get my contacts sleazing their ways through Baron Bronteen’s bank details, and other transactions. It’s amazing how arrogant men can be about the money trails they leave.

 

Reading week ended, and I confess that so far all I had heard about was Bronteen’s new swimming pool and the fashion bill for his wife and daughter.

And I had to put up with the new fashion accessory which was adopted by all of Miss Bronteen’s set, though I thought unwillingly by Miss Faruu.

Which was odd. Or maybe she hated the idea of someone else having an original idea. She was taking it out on Kassi Ondarool, who had attached herself to Rauf Guffah. Sensible girl.

Miss Ondarool was wearing a jumpsuit with a belted sweater like Serenaa, and looked better for being clear of the excess makeup and tortured hair of her former fellows, whose monoringlet now depended from a ruddy snow globe.

Well, I say a snow globe, they were yellow, green, or brown, with floating sparkles, eternally shaken as their bodies moved, and with bright silk petals around as if the globes were the centres of exotic, and probably toxic, flowers.

 

I twigged in the middle of the night.

And I doubt that the swimming pool had anything to do with it because chlorine gas, whilst toxic in quantity, would not be sure enough. But it added things up in my mind, and reminded me that there are neurotoxins strong enough to kill if one droplet touches the skin.  Which is why anything which might be a container for such is not allowed near the emperor or other visiting dignitaries. But hair ornaments?

My blood ran cold.

 

oOoOo

After the next class, which was on how not to irritate various alien dignitaries [it was entitled ‘changing diplomatic stance to the non-human outlook, but we all knew what it meant, except maybe Miss Bronteen,] I found my blood running hot.

With anger.

There were four young men waiting outside the classroom, and they were joined by Mr. Dretanaar, who had not enjoyed being told that his attitude was likely to get himself sliced up by Baburi.

The four young men carried grav ball racquets, and one of them passed one to Mr. Dretanaar.

“Now, sir,” sneered Mr. Dretanaar, “We wanted to discuss with you what we think of a Soll’d like you laying your filthy earthy hands on a pure blood like Serenaa Kerofin. And if you start begging, you might just survive the beating.”

“You are young fools,” I said. “You should disperse, and if you do so quietly, I will only set you essays on why the genetic heritage of the earthborn is identical to that of those native to Wiłu.”

They looked at me as if they could not believe their ears.

“Is this teach of yours for real, Agguur?” one of them asked Mr. Dretanaar. “Does he think we’re carrying these batons for fun? Even if any one of us could not beat up some earthy-blooded mongrel anyway.”

“He needs to accept our superiority,” said another.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“What very silly little boys you are,” I said. “None of you could come close to beating me up on your own. Even with your little weapons.”

“I’ll show him; hold back,” said the first.

Good. I was hoping that would happen; any four I could take. Five might have a chance to injure me.

He advanced, swinging his baton.

A gravball racquet is about two feet long, wider at the far end than the handle, and it has an iron ball inside it which slides up and down the hollow centre the right width to allow it to move freely. Using momentum to get the ball in the right place within the racquet to get the right weight of strike on the free-moving gravball ball is part of the skill. It can also be used to move the players about to some extent. In a gravity well, the iron ball is subject to gravity as well as to momentum. This makes it more sluggish to use.

Just as well. I wouldn’t want one of them in my ribs.

He came at me with a round sideways stroke, aiming to strike at my kidneys.

He was not expecting the slow-moving weapon to be grasped, pulling him off balance, and to be rabbit-punched on the back of the neck as he came forwards.

One down, and out for the count.

The others gaped.

“It was a fluke,” said one of them. “Get him!”

They didn’t have a clue how to use footwork, or to do anything but swipe at me. And they were entirely confused when I not only put down Mr. Dretanaar, but also used the force of doing so to catapult myself off the top of his head, twisting in midair to come down behind them, where I had more room to manoeuvre.

A marine with room to move is a killing machine. They were nasty youths, but I did not kill them. I scientifically broke ten legs and five arms. In enough places that they would be in boneknitter machines for a week or so.

“You have your right hands to write that essay still,” I said. “And because I’m kind, I’m going to call the meatwaggon.”

Whatever story they decided to tell the medics probably did not involve the five of them being broken like puppets by a teacher shorter than any of them.

 

I went to see Mr. Shagaanuu, the principal.  I also swept his office for surveillance devices; there were none, but you can’t be too careful.

“You got a letter clear to Deneb, to Mr. Beecher,” I said. “You have friends who have new technology.”

“You have something to report?” he asked.

“Plenty,” I said, grimly. “I sent Miss Kerufin to her father to report some of what we found out, to keep her safe. But I know how the assassination of the Emperor is to be achieved, with nerve gas carried by unwitting carriers, who could be scanned by the best psycher in the Imperium without showing guilt. Because they are pawns for the sacrifice.”

“Surely the Emperor would be met by members of the local aristocratic family?” said Shagaanuu.

“Yes,” I said. “And I need to get the message out in case the third time they try to kill me is successful.”

“Dear me, Mr. Lime, isn’t that melodramatic?”

“Treason is usually along the lines of melodrama,” I said. “Item; the goons waiting in my flat. A trap I sprang. Item; some youths set to beat me, ostensibly for kissing Serenaa Kerufin.”

He latched onto the piece of information I thought least relevant at the time.

“You kissed a student?” he gasped.

“I’m not a real teacher, and we’re going to be married,” I said. “It was only an excuse. Faruu is actually shagging your vice principal, so don’t act like it never happens.”

“She... he... are you sure?” gasped Shagaanuu.

“Are you seriously more put out by that than that someone wants to kill the emperor and has tried to kill me?” I asked, amused.

“I... no, of course not. You are sure the youths meant to kill you?”

“One of them said if I pleaded enough they might not kill me. Five of them with gravball racquets.”

“But... but that is deadly intent! How... you managed to run away?”

“I put them in the hospital,” I said. “Grow up, Shagaanuu, I’m a marine. I kill people for my monthly wage, But they are on to me, and if anyone seriously wants me silenced, it could be at the expense of a large hole in the ground formerly known as Brighthill College of Academic Excellence. Or at least the collateral damage of a few dead students. I want to talk to someone who can get information to Kerufin, Capital, or Beecher.

“Wait here,” he sighed.

 

The person he came back with was a Newt – Tsshst I should say – who radiated eagerness from every gill. She was a high-ranking female, judging by the headdress, so I bowed in the proper manner, bending my knees, and clenching my buttocks as if to curl the tail I don’t have. I don’t know how they can tell if you do so, but they can, so I did.

“You may be easy, Gunnery Sergeant,” she said. “I am Mwaphlphp, and you need to get a message through?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “The news that Duke Duranor is part of a plot to kill the Emperor, aided by Barons Faruu and Bronteen, Lady Kerufin, who hopes to kill her husband and accepted that her daughter would die as well, and Baroness Faruu and sundry others should have reached capital by now.”

“It has, and I and my organisation have been briefed to try to find out the means.”

“There’s a new fashion fad for globes containing moving glitter as part of hair ornaments,” I said. “I am almost completely positive that some neurotoxin will be enclosed in the globes worn by Baroness and Miss Bronteen. The fashion has made its appearance already, in order to get people used to it. The baron is happy to sacrifice his wife and daughter. They are unaware of this. I am now a danger to the public and need to leave.”

“You drive?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll arrange to have an explosive device attached to your car. Park over the manhole near your flat. Your car will be doctored to allow you to slide out of the seat and through the bottom, as you inflate a dummy. Through the manhole, you can start the car remotely and Mr. Harry Lime will be blown to smithereens. Where do you want to go?”

“To Major Kerufin.  Can my other flat be packed? I assume you know where it is.”

She pouted in the way which meant a smile.

“I arranged it for you,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

“Take to your car first thing in the morning,” she said.

 

oOoOo

 

I did check the car for any other devices before I moved it over the manhole.

I found one, too.

Well, when it blew up in the morning, whoever had left it would assume he had been successful.

I slept like a baby.

A baby who was teething.

Every noise had me starting in case it was an intruder. In the end I got up and listened to Shegwally baroque music.

And then I got up, went down to the car, discovered a hole in the bottom of it, and an inflatable figure with a quik-inflate can, and slithered down as I hit the inflation button. The manhole cover swung out of the way and I descended into a drain.

However high-tech a world might be, a drain is a drain is a drain. I pressed the convenient button on the convenient box, and heard a detonation above me.

“Thiss way, Mr. Lime.”

Another Tsshst. As well as being superb bureaucrats, they are happy in damp tunnels like sewers; no doubt something the Imperial Intelligence Service makes use of.

Three hours later I was on a freighter out to the next system over, where Major Kerufin had his office.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                    

the student problem 7

 well, after several days of being predicted snow, the Good Lord is teasing the BBC by sending it on the day predicted to be warmer before a big freeze. It's taking it moderately seriously too, for such late snow.

Chapter 7

 

The Diary of Serenaa Kerufin

 

Well, I’m not such a fool as to write down what happened last night at the ball, but I was absolutely devastated and furious so I have banged into my room telling Mumsy that I have no desire to speak to her about Harry.

I don’t think he was indifferent to me, at all. I will be glad to get back to college. I wish Daddy was here. But I can’t really write to him.

I want to talk to Gunny...

 

 

oOoOo

 

I couldn’t leave the child... young woman. And it wasn’t just her safety, it was mine, and that of the Imperium. A clever interrogator could easily make her talk, and give up more without her even being aware of it.

I didn’t bother to go back to my normal strip cut; I put on the same expensive black jump-suit, with  marine boots, and a casual jacket, with a wide belt under it, to make the outfit different. I do have expensive clothes these days, but not many.

And not here.

I wasn’t expecting to have to gladhand the great and the greasy.

I screeched up to the door of the Kerufin house, a nice place in the suburbs, very swish, on about an acre of land, I imagined, at the back. It was built on the elegant lines of Wiłanu architecture, which was decorative and yet fairly functional, the lines of bracing  members sinuous and pleasing.

I knocked peremptorily on the door. I pushed past the flunky who opened it.

“Serenaa!” I called. “You can pack; we’re going.”

Serenaa appeared on a mezzanine layer. She was still in her nightclothes.

Her nightclothes were shorts and a loose top of some kind, no fancy ‘sexy’ nightgown. It was though. Sexy. All that leg.

“G... Harry! I need to dress and pack. Now Mumsy knows, there’s no point hiding it.”

“That’s what I thought. And your father’s not a kindly man, I don’t want you around when he gets home.” I managed to wink at her.

“He... he has never struck me,” she said.

“He’s known as a martinet,” I said.

Understanding flooded her lovely eyes.

“I’ll be about twenty minutes,” she said.

She was, too, to the minute.  I ran up the stairs to help her down with one of the bags she had packed.

“Did you forget the kitchen sink?” I teased.

“I folded it up and put in my pocket,” she said.

We were walking out of the door by the time Lady Kerufin had managed to get up and turn up on the mezzanine shrieking.

We ignored her.

“You think I’m a security risk,” said Serenaa.

“That too,” I said. “That and that I worry about you because I broke all the rules.”

“Oh?”

“I fell in love,” I told her.

Now was the time for her to laugh at me, and say she had only been playing.

But she gasped.

“You have? Oh, I never dared hope,” she said. “Are we going to your place?”

“No,” I said. “We’re going to the spaceport; I have a ticket booked out of here for you to take a report to your father. I don’t dare disappear, but it needs to be a report in person. I love you too much not to stay and cover for you.”

She frowned.

“You could be cagey at first and then say we’d had a lover’s tiff and I went to find Daddy.”

I nodded.

“That would work,” I said. “Damn, I’m going to miss your bright brain. And your beautiful body,” I added.

“Good save, there,” said Serenaa. “I’ll miss you and I’ll worry about you, but you are right about the report.”

And that was why I loved her. She knew what was what.

 

oOoOo

She was working on not crying when I kissed her goodbye at the airport. But she shimmied through the extrality gate to check-in like a good’un, without a backward glance. She had also spent her time in my gravcar changing her appearance, slicking her curls down, slimming her face with blusher, until she looked almost horse-faced with her forehead revealed by slicking her hair back – I did mention that her face was inclined to be long, when she was wearing the monoringlet – and light powder around her eyes made them a little protuberant. She had been wearing a fairly utilitarian jumpsuit anyway, as many people do for space travel, and with the addition of spike-heeled ankle boots [so the one she had worn to the ball had been one of a pair; I should have guessed] and a businesswoman’s jacket, and she looked as though she might be someone’s secretary, or a member of the press, or a sole trader putting together a business. But not at all like an effervescent and bubbly student.

 

I watched her through customs; she should be safe on the other side. Then I drove to the flat off-campus, which was not in my name, and which boasted a garage with separate booths for privacy.  I drive a Ford Shuttle, red, no distinguishing features, the most common vehicle in the most common colour to be found in most cities where Ford makes transport systems. Which is to say, anywhere Solcentic and throughout most of the Central sector. The incidence of people who drive something virtually identical to mine is around one in eleven. And that meant, even on a relatively sparsely occupied garden world, assuming one person in ten had personal transport, there were ten million of the things.

If there were fewer than a million in Puułaf City here, I’d be surprised. One passed the block where I lived as I left the garage and walked to the front entrance – just to eyeball whether I had been made – and by the time I had walked up the stairs, glancing out of the [mirrored] glass stair well, two others had passed. And one drew up outside to let someone out before heading for the parking level. That was good luck; and the fellow was even dark. His passenger was even blonde, or possibly blond, I was not sure if the person was male, female, or ungender. It didn’t matter, only brief descriptions that would cover me and Serenaa.

There was still a hair over the lock of my flat door; nobody had been in since I was last here. Either that, or they were pros. Some people have cleaning firms handle their cleaning. I keep my own bot. I call it ‘Irri’ short for ‘irritation’ since it will ask about clearing up books I have left out, and can’t seem to recognise real paper and pseudopaper books, of which I have a number. He – one anthropomorphises an ‘it’ to a gender – keeps asking if this is packaging and rubbish. I had to give a direct order not to throw away anything I had not put in the garbage bin.

There’s something satisfying in browsing real pages. I grew up with it on a world where electricity was... dodgy, and if you wanted to study, you had to read real books, sometimes by the light of something we called a ‘candle’ made out of artificial waxes and oils, which burned by lighting a real flame at the wick end. I know, I know, enough of my primitive upbringing. At least it means I know how to improvise in less than ideal situations. I’ve never had a buddy bleed out like some of these clueless high-tech losers have, because I know how to pinch the lips of a wound together, and how to sew it up until such time as we get to use a flesh replicator.

Why do we think of weird, irrelevant things when we are tense?

I let myself in, and checked the flat out. It was as I had left it only cleaner. Irri was deactivated in one corner, and that suited me fine. Unless called for, the pesky bot activated on the last day of the month to deal with sundry dust which might have accumulated. And I had not been back here since the semester started so presumably the pest had dusted, polished, and scrubbed the patina of life out of the flat twice.

I threw myself down on the sofa, and activated the trid.

And turned to the private channel I had installed to my flat on campus.

How glad I was that I had set up another pad, and this surveillance system.

The place had been trashed, and a couple of heavies were waiting fruitlessly for me to come home.

There was nothing for them to find; I’m good at security hygiene. Presumably the explanation over why the place had been trashed was to be a warning over touching up debutantes. Likewise the beating the goons planned to give me. They were getting resty.

I did the only thing I could think of. I heated a bowl of popcorn, chilled a carton of icecream, and called the local cops on my pocket box. I explained that I had rescued a student of mine from an abusive home and installed her in a safe house where nobody could find her, no, so sorry, I did not know what pull her abusive mother had to coerce or bribe the few, the very few, rotten apples that might potentially exist in the law enforcement structure, and so I was not about to give up the location of the accredited safe house. I knew there had to be rotten apples because of the laws of averages, and this was proven when the desk sergeant shut up over the words ‘accredited safe house.’ I waved ID as a social worker, and confessed to having pretended to be her boyfriend to help her escape, and that I suspected that my flat might contain coercion to make her go home and make me leave her alone; and if they didn’t send a team equipped to handle goons, that wasn’t my problem.

The cooker pinged, and I got out my popcorn and sat back to watch the show.

Trouble on campus elicited a fast response, and the black-and-yellow cop gravcars screeched to a halt, setting down with indecent haste, and took two years off the maintenance warranty of the grav unit. I was amused to see they were Ford Cruisers, the big brother of my runabout. Ford was one of the bigger factory complexes here, and Miss Ondarool was the daughter of the local CEO. Well, poor kid, she was bereft of Serenaa at the moment but hopefully at least not in danger.         I had seen Serenaa hanging out with... Kassi, the kid’s name was, and she had performed better in class too. And looked more wholesome.

... ’The hell?”  There was a knock at the door of my campus flat. A timid knock, not like the police.

One of the goons opened the door, and a hand shot out, and Kassi Ondarool shot in. She screamed.

This encouraged the police to get a move on, and suddenly they arrived, forcing their way in. The thug who had hold of Miss Ondarool went down very quickly, and the other thug followed him shortly. Miss Ondarool picked up one of my chairs, and I could see why, the first thug, having been left without being properly secured, was up again. She hit him. Good girl! Serenaa would be delighted. This time the cops noticed and put cuffs on him. The nasty cuffs, which is to say the ones which start firing nasty electric jolts into anyone who moves more than a few feet from the cop holding the control box.

      I put in a call to the school councellor to get to my flat for Miss Ondarool, who had walked into an incident there as she needed support. I cut short her firing a battery of questions.

“I’m not there. The kid has been attacked by thugs and the cops are there. That’s your job; do it,” I snapped.

I give Miss Ondarool her due; she was refusing to answer any questions and was asking to phone her mother.

“So your mother doesn’t abuse you? Why did you leave your home with Mr. Lime then?” demanded one officer.

“I think you think I’m someone else,” said Miss Ondarool. “But I’m not going to say anything without my mother or father present. And you can’t make me,” she added. “If you harass me in any way, I’ll make a complaint. I don’t know why you’re here, or why those men were here, but it’s nothing to do with me, so you have nothing with which to hold me.”

This was when Miss Ballbrecker turned up. She’s a starchy piece with a stick so far up her arse you could fly a flag from between her teeth, but she takes care of the kids when they need it.      

“Why are you questioning a minor without a parent present?” demanded Miss Ballbrecker.

The senior officer frowned.

“I understand that Miss Kerufin is of age,” he said.

“Miss Kerufin may well be, but what has that to do with Miss Ondarool?” demanded Miss Ballbrecker. “It’s all right, Kassuli, dear, they can’t do anything to you.”

“We only wanted to know what she was doing here,” asked the officer.

Kassi gave him a fishy look.

“Miss Ballbrecker, is there something wrong with him? I wanted to ask Professor Lime a question, but when I knocked, that goon grabbed me and pulled me into the flat. And I had no intention of doing anything compromising like coming into a male professor’s living quarters,” she added. “And now my fingerprints and hair and so on are here, they’ll try to make it into something smutty.”

“They’d better not try,” said Miss Ballbrecker. “What did you want to ask the professor, dear?”

“Oh! Only if he knew where Miss Kerufin is,” said Kassi. “I called her personal box and couldn’t get it, so I called her home, and Lady Kerufin said she had gone off with Mr. Lime, only she wasn’t very polite about it.”

“He called me to come here for you,” said Miss Ballbrecker, grimly.

I sighed and activated the intercom I also had installed.

“I was removing Miss Kerufin from a situation where she was in fear, and took her somewhere safe,” I said. “I was monitoring the situation in my home and observed that Miss Ondarool had arrived into the middle of mayhem. Naturally I called the campus councellor.  Miss Ondarool, it was improper of you to come to my apartment, but I honour your bravery in concern for your friend. No, she is not with me; she is safe and cannot be reached by anyone who might wish her harm. You should go home, Miss Ondarool, and I am sure that Miss Kerufin will contact you in due course. She may even have written to you, and there may be a message on your box by now.”

“Oh!” Miss Ondarool fished out her pocketbox. “Yes, she has! She says she’ll be out of the city for a week or two, and apologises if that’s upset any plans we had... Oh dear! Can I go home, now?”

“Yes, of course,” said Miss Ballbrecker. “Mr. Lime, perhaps you’ll swing by my office later today?”

“Of course,” I said.

That would be uncomfortable, but I might actually tell her the truth.

“And,” I added, “The officers should take a full sampling of my apartment to prove that Miss Kerufin is not and has never been there.”

That for Serenaa’s protection as well as mine.

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

 

 

 

 

the student problem 6

 

Chapter 6

 

I was relieved, and amused, that none of the snotty brats from my class seemed to recognise me. Plainly, thinking that a tutor was little short of a servant, none of them saw me as a person, whereas Henduuri Liim was Somebody. I was even introduced to Sharuu, and she tittered, gave me the eye, and greeted me prettily.

Well, she’d be a dead loss as a noble in terms of her observation.  And I was fairly sure from her body language that she had not recognised me.

I had a good cover story for any who might, and gave me an excuse for rather chilly standoffishness.  One did not really wish to meet, socially, the students one had reluctantly taken on as a favour to a friend.

I would have been rather hurt if Miss Kerofin had failed to recognise me, I confess, but I was still gratified when her eyes scanned the ballroom and stopped on me with immediate recognition. Her eyes looked all kinds of questions. I made ‘stay put’ faces at her, and moved, not directly, in her general direction.

This led to me having to talk to one or two people who wanted to know how true it was that Lady Kelso was a dreadful woman, with no manners at all, and just too, too violent.

I smiled brightly to answer that one.

“Lady Kelso adheres to the social code of her barony,” I said. “The people of Tallis have adapted largely to the customs and societal mores of the Babari settlers there. I’m sure you know that they resemble felines, and have a warrior culture, in which there is a gendered dichotomy of behaviour. To retain their respect, Lady Kelso has to be perceived by them as a male warlord. She has won a number of duels fighting only with the strap-on dewclaw, which is the Babari way of settling conflict. She’s not a large woman, maybe sixty-five ruud tall and ten kameen.” I used the Wiłu measurements; a ruud, originally a thumb length, was about the same as an old earth inch, and a kameen was five kilos give or take. Indira is skinny but made of whipcord. “Seeing her take on thirty-five plus kameen of angry furball at court, because some idiot had slighted the Babari ambassador was a real treat. She’ll bear a scar on her left bicep for life – there are rules that scars from honour duels may not use tissue replicators to mend them – but she spread his guts over the throne room for his remarks to the emperor.”

“Indeed, whatever one may think of his family line, he is the emperor,” said my interlocutor. Some female named Rutilli Foruudeen, if I recalled correctly from memorising the social scene, a social climber with sufficient roots not to easily be weeded out, and suckers with gripping thorns which clung where they touched as she heaved herself up. Oh bugger. I had just essentially said I had been at court.

I do not attend court. I had only been there to discuss my little book on spying with those who were interested... and Mad Indira had been there, and the incident with Ambassador Reeaawlish had occurred. But Foruudeen’s eyes had lit up.

“Are you often at court?” she asked.

“No, I find it too tedious,” I said.

Good save, Kowalski. The eager look faded from her eyes, and she took her encroaching sucker... hand, I mean... off my arm.

I managed to make my way over to Miss Kerufin with only a few minor interruptions after that.

“Gunny!” she gasped. “I am glad to see you. Everything I hear now means more, and... goodness, I probably deserved the D grades old Asaki used to give me, but he never explained things like you do. You look so different!”

I grinned.

It’s amazing how much difference it makes to have a quick-grown hairstyle all over in contrast to a marine’s strip-cut, even with the length permitted to a high ranking gunnery sergeant. The Marine corps is strict. A recruit’s head is shaved; and when it starts to grow back, the sides of his head are shaved. By the time he has a respectable strip, he is fully-trained and is expected to maintain his hair like that. Now that fitted masks are no issue, anyone above the rank of corporal is permitted facial hair. Some units maintain customs whereby this is only a moustache until promotion to sergeant. I’ve seen one unit where lance-corporals wore a moustache on one side only, until promotion to corporal. I considered that to be taking things too far.  Anyway, as a gunny, I was permitted to grow the front of my strip cut to a maximum of six inches long where that did not impede my eyes. An officer might grow a tail at the back.

And I had defied all marine convention and had grown my hair over all my head in the way a nobleman generally wears it – in the inner sectors, anyway – brushed back from the forehead to fall to shoulder length. I postulate that it comes from a time when this was a form of conspicuous consumption, in that one could afford to have any grease from the hair readily laundered from collars, before the days of easy laundry, but it’s only my theory.  I had not had it curled as some people do, but it curled under naturally at collar length.

“Amazing what hair can do for you,” I murmured.

“Yes, you’re even more scrumptious, Gunny,” said Miss Kerufin, who then blushed fierily red. “I’m sorry!”

“I’ll take the compliment in good spirit,” I said. “You are attracting attention from young men; congratulations on your new look. I’ll ask you to dance later but I won’t stand out by asking you for the first.”

“Besides, I don’t have much to report,” said Miss Kerufin. “Suppose I put you down for the supper dance?”

“Admirable,” I said. “Then I also get decent conversation for taking you in to supper.”

“The relief there is mutual,” said Miss Kerufin.

 

I let some callow idiot ask Miss Kerufin to dance, and moved away before I informed him that any woman who took him seriously must have had at least a partial cerebrumectomy, at least those portions of the brain dealing with sight, scent, hearing, and good judgement. His pantabriefs were scarlet, and he wore a quasi-military jacket with them, in gold lamé, tight on one arm, pleated and wide on the other, with scarlet and black frogging of the kind I’ve never seen even on the dress uniform of the personal guard of the most outrageous Wargrin  dictator, and over it a half cloak of similar cut to mine, where ended the similarity, it being scarlet with gold lining. His hair tamer stank like a cheap brothel and he might as well not have bothered as his asymmetric cut was not staying where he seemed to want it, and he had a rather high-pitched and nasal voice.

I hoped Miss Kerufin would not giggle at him too much; it might give her hiccups.

I danced the next few dances with women who were, on the whole, older than me, and glad of the attention. What, did you think that because I’m a marine I can’t dance? I’ll have you know that marines dance very well. It’s good for footwork as well as being good P.R., and you soon learn a dance when your sergeant is firing a powered down laser rifle at where your feet should not be.

I still have a burn scar from learning the Trehuuni Threestep, or what we called the Poshity Polka.

I was contemplating whether I would ask one of the even older harridans, or one of the young idiots for one of the last two dances before the supper dance, when  I felt someone behind me, and a light hand slid into my arm.

“This way,” said Miss Kerufin.

She led me down the length of the ballroom, through an antechamber where people were playing cards, down a corridor, into another room, currently empty, and into... a cupboard.

I turned to her, to ask if this was a joke, and she put her finger to her lips.

Very pretty lips, but pursed unbecomingly at the moment, even as her face was twisted in a frown. She fished around in her silly little clutch-purse, and extracted a nail file, which she used to unscrew some kind of insulation inside the cupboard. I assisted her with part of the kit I always carry with me. The panel lifted away and we were hearing voices.

“...wipe away the Soll’d contamination forever,” rumbled Lord Duranor. “The timing has to be impeccable, or we lose our chance whilst Xander Papadopulos is off Capital on his Progression. Lord Bronteen, your sacrifice is considerable.”

“Hardly,” sneered an upper-class, rather nasal voice. “Obviously one of the family has to be there to greet the emperor, and if my wife and daughter are there, and I have an unfortunate case of some childhood ailment I don’t want to spread, that’s a good reason not to be there in person.”

“You’d better be genuinely ill; there will be investigations afterwards and they’ll be all over you like Sol pox,” said Duranor. “You might do better to be inspecting some slum building on your major moon, and get trapped in falling rubble. I know a man who can arrange for you not to be badly hurt, but to be out of commission for a few days.”

“Thank you, I have my own man to arrange such things,” said Bronteen.

“Don’t you trust me?” said Duranor.

Bronteen laughed.

“Of course I trust you. I trust you to cover your own arse. I plan to survive to reluctantly remarry, and start another family. I won’t make the same mistake; Sulitielle is beautiful and seemed restful, and as dear Lady Faruu is one of us, and astute, I assumed Sulitielle was astute as well.  Her daughter – I do not claim her – is positively wanting, so it will be no loss at all.”

“Moreover, Sulitielle speaks out of turn and says too much,” said a female voice, which I assumed was Lady Faruu until Miss Kerufin stiffened beside me. “And I am sure my dear husband will be an honour guard. And then I can get rid of him as easily. And we can start over, Hen-Hen.”

“Only if you’re still fertile, Moruunaa,” said Lord Bronteen. “I will want an heir, and your daughter is not suitable; she’s too much like her father. Indeed, I think she should have the honour of meeting the emperor with her dear friend, my daughter.”

“I... Serenaa has not been herself lately,” sighed Moruunaa, and I suddenly realised that this was Lady Kerufin and that Serenaa was shaking uncontrollably beside me, and suppressing a sob.

She did not suppress it well enough.

“What was that?” said Duranor. “Quick! Into the passage, let nobody get away, find out if someone was eavesdropping!”

Hastily I shoved the insulation back, putting two screws in fairly well, Serenaa, bless her, catching on to do likewise, and the voices vanished. I pulled Serenaa into the empty room, which was some kind of parlour, and pulled her against me.

“Pardon the liberty,” I said, and kissed her, hard.

She was kissing me back, and moaning loud enough for the noise to be as much as a muffled sob in the cupboard as Duranor crashed into the room.

I ignored him, making out that I was too carried away. Which didn’t take much acting. Serenaa had one hand clamped firmly on my butt, her other hand entangled in my hair. I had one hand in her curls and the other on her own delectable little arse.  Most improper, but better than being caught spying. And my arousal was in no wise simulated. Especially as she thrust herself against me.

“Lime?” said Duranor.

I started, and probably looked as guilty as I was feeling for manhandling a student.

“Dammit, my lord, I thought we were out of earshot of anyone,” I said.

The woman with blue hair behind him gave a little shriek.

“M...mumsy?” said Serenaa. “I... I’ve been seeing Harry for a while...”

“What, some Soll’d?” said Lady Kerufin.

“Henduuri Liim is perfectly respectable, Lady Kerufin,” said Duranor. “He assumed a Solcentric name for his own reasons, though like many people, including your own husband he has some Solcentric blood. We can’t all be pure blooded,” he smirked.

“You’ll have to marry him!” said Lady Kerufin. “Oh dear! What will your father say?”  

“Goodness, Mumsy!” said Serenaa. “It’s not as if I’m sleeping about like some people do; Suelle is sleeping with four different boyfriends and going all the way, and trying not to let them find out about each other. I haven’t permitted Harry to touch an inch of flesh.”

“We are going home, and we will talk about this tomorrow,” said Lady Kerufin. She grabbed Serenaa by the wrist, and dragged her off. Serenaa flounced, and wriggled her butt at me. Part of me was trying to follow her out.

Duranor strolled over to look in the cupboard, before coming back to talk to me.

“You’d be in trouble if I ratted you up to the principal,” he said, in an amused tone.

“I can’t say I’m enjoying teaching so much that it would really upset me to be fired,” I said. “She’s a passionate little piece; I wouldn’t even mind being saddled with her, even if it did start out as revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Her father is a martinet,” I said.

His face relaxed.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Is that why you really took the job?”

“Of course,” I said. “No profit in teaching a bunch of frankly slack-jawed inadequates how to do their jobs, even the pure bloods seem mostly wanting.”

“I expect they were playing you up, thinking you too Soll’d,” said Duranor. “I will have words; they will behave themselves a bit better.”

“I had hoped it would stimulate them to try to prove themselves better, but that, alas, did not work,” I said. “A little social experiment of mine, for kicks and giggles.”

“Now, Henduuri, you are not one of the Forerunners and should not play games with our young people,” said Duranor, wagging a playful finger. “Did you break into Miss Frostyface’s virginity?”

“I thought I was going to do so tonight,” I said, managing to sound rueful. “I was so sure we could not be heard from the ballroom or the antechambers.”

“Oh, it was because I was conducting some business in another room the other side of this one,” said Duranor. “Well, well, I won’t tell on you, and I suspect the more Miss Kerufin is scolded, the more stubborn and reckless she will become.” He winked at me. “I wager you’ll have her in your bed before the holidays.”

“I hope so,” I said. “I want her beyond payback to her father.”

Mix three parts truth to one part lie, stir well.

And my lust must be fairly obvious.

He clapped me on the shoulder, and took me to his study for a Tallisian brandy.

It looked as though we had got away with it. If only Serenaa could manage not to throw her mother’s betrayal in the woman’s face.

I trusted her not to do so.