Defender

Out of the least likely source—a kind of understanding. It brought back one of the better evenings, one of the best evenings… the reason he’d thought he was in love with Barb, a naïve long while ago.

She’d married, suddenly, stupidly, bought herself a world of discontent and grief over his failure to be what she wanted—but over all, had there ever been anyone on Mospheira who understood him better?

Couldn’the have talked with her?

She’d developed a genuine tenderness toward his mother.

And wasn’t there virtue in that? Didn’t he owe her more than he’d ever paid her?

Toby’s gone to the coast for the weekend. He’s kind of in a state. I don’t know whether he’s heard from you since the phone call. He said you made a lot of sense, whatever that means, and I asked if he’d called you and he said he’d write later, so I hope he will.

And what about mum, Barb? Can we possibly get to the damned news, for God’s sake?

I told your mother I was going to write to you. I told her you were back on the station, and she said that was like you and she wasn’t surprised. I asked her what she’d say to you because I was going to write this letter and she just said get here when you can.

How isshe, Barb? Dammit, can you just say?

I know things are the way they are. So I’ve gotten to thinking how the station is part atevi and part human. And even if I can’t handle the mainland, I think I can handle that.

Damn you, Barb. No, I’m not taking you back. I can’t.

So I ask myself, kind of wistfully I guess, if I could find a place there, the way we used to be, just on occasional weekends, Bren.

Nothing formal or permanent. I tried the wife business and found out I’m not cut out for that, and I know you’re not cut out to marry. It doesn’t stop me loving you, whatever you think. I know about the atevi woman, and I’m actually glad you’re not alone. But whoever you’re with, if she can understand, too, and if it ever gets convenient for me to be up there, maybe you can put in a word for me with her. At least say thanks and I understand. I’ve lived a lot of life in the last six years.

Meanwhile I’ll argue your mother into understanding. I’m good at that. I practiced six years on myself.

Forever and ever,

—Barb

What was there left to say for Barb?

That Jago, exasperated and angered by the push and pull Barb had exerted on him before now, had offered to file Intent on her?

That she was, at least at the edge of his thoughts, his one remaining vestige of a human relationship neither birth nor the job had settled on him—the only lasting one he’d made for himself, for its own sake.

And, oh, by the way, she was divorced and free again. Never mind hiswhole world had changed.

There was a kind of tragedy in that. Desire for warmth and foreknowledge that she always stopped when the temperature passed the bounds of her own convenience. There was his mother in a capsule, the woman who’d taught him how to negotiate from the cradle up—negotiate for love, for career—for survival.

And if there was a member of his own species who could handle his mother, it was Barb; and if there was a human association he didn’t want to rekindle to all its old heat, it was Barb.

Get here when you can. That his mother had said exactly what Barb reported—along with I’m not surprised—oh, that statement he believed. That complaint was so familiar it sounded warm and smelled of pancakes.

Well, it wasn’t the nicest love a son could have, but it had kept him and Toby warm their lives long, and there was good news in the packet, after all. If Toby was off after Jill under these extreme circumstances, maybe Toby had finally gotten an inoculation of sorts.

And Barb was with their mother. Peas in a pod, and damn if she wasn’t right.

And he was out of the picture. He might not ever see his mother again. It was a real possibility. But he could only think of escape, on that front.

Go, he wished Toby. Go with all you’ve got. Change. You can do it at that age. I did. Take Jill out on that boat and don’t answer the damn radio.

“Put the files on my computer, Gini-ji. Thank you.”

He wanted them, not for sentiment, but to remind himself of the facts of the situation every time he grew maudlin.

And to rethink Tabini’s moves, if it became pertinent.

“None so bad,” he said to the four of them. “It explains some things. I canassure you all that Barb’s not coming with us.”

Jago had a look on her face that defied translation.

He added, for her benefit, “Another solar system is too close.”

The news would break soon, that the ship was going. The station and the ship were constantly observed by hobbyists. Its absence would make the news even if Tabini didn’t a

“The dowager’s letter,” he said.

This one, it turned out, had come in by courier, not electronic at all—and not within the electronic system the ship could spy on. Tano leaned and gave it to him, a small, familiar message-cylinder.

The door had opened, and he and Jago alike had failed to know it. They weretired.

We will board a few hours before the ship leaves,

the dowager’s note said.

We have sent certain perso