Powers that Be

Chapter 9

A week later, Yana noticed unusual activity at the Kilcoole meeting hall. When she went up to investigate, she was put to work by a laughing Clodagh, who was organizing every available body to assist in the good work. By midday the place had been swept clean, the floor washed, the trestle tables set up, and the chairs placed around the walls. The platform was erected where singers and players could be seen, and heat was pouring forth from the two fireplaces and the big fuel-drum stove. The breakup betting board had been hung from its accustomed hook, the dates and two-hour sections newly inscribed, waiting for folk to place their wagers as to the day and the approximate hour when spring would crack winter's ice and the rivers would once again begin to flow with wet water.

The latchkay stewpot, the biggest kettle in Kilcoole, occupied its burner, and every time the lid rattled with steam, a delicious odor wafted free. The big coffeepot was ready to go on-no need to do it yet or the coffee would walk out of the pot and demand dancing space. Mugs waited in platoons, and someone had donated a whole pail of sweetener. Soon the cakes and pies and other baked goods would arrive, and the other dishes the village's best cooks would provide.

With the hall set up, Yana hurried back to her cabin to complete the rest of her civic duty and prepare her hot dish. Bunny had suggested beans, probably because they were relatively foolproof, Yana suspected. However Yana, who felt she was doing quite well with the cooking lessons, not only seasoned them with the pepper Bunny had recommended, but actually got cocky enough to add garlic, just because she liked the flavor. She also threw in a heaping handful of dried tomato and capsicum flakes, because the dash of color made the plain beans look more festive.

She had just taken the beans off the stove when, rather to her surprise, Aisling and Sinead came by with the finished blouses. She was amazed that they had finished the garments so quickly, especially considering the intricacy of the ornamentation. Hers fit beautifully. Its V-neck was tastefully decorated with beads cunningly sewn on to the material's design, a sort of applique. The full sleeves were gathered into a tight cuff, also beaded, and the bodice of the shirt fit close to Yana's lean frame, but not so close that it didn't soften the spare lines of her thin body. And there were pockets, also bead-trimmed, into which Yana could stuff her hands when she didn't know what else to do with them. The open collar was also cleverly decorated, with beads made from segments of some of the wires Yana had seen in the store. In exchange for the blouse, Aisling gratefully accepted Yana's proffered bags of those spices Bunny had said the two could most use.

By the time the other women left, it was time to bathe and dress for the main event. Usually, Yana just took a spit bath in kettle-heated water, but she wasn't about to put her new blouse on without a proper bath. The hot springs, while a few miles away, was not an impossible walk, and on several occasions since Scan had introduced her to it, Yana had trekked there for a dip. Usually there were other people enjoying the water, so she wasn't surprised not to encounter the "special" seal she must treat with respect Had she been properly respectful that first time? she wondered. On this latchkay morning, the entire village was in and out of the pool, sprucing themselves up for the long-awaited celebration. There were such splashing and carryings-on that the communal bathing deteriorated into a sporting event. At which time Yana left, wrapping up well for the walk back to her cabin.

"Slainte, Yana," Bunny called cheerfully as Yana reached her porch. "Want you to meet Diego," she said, pointing to the well-wrapped figure in her sled. "Here, give this to the major…" Bunny shoved a water thermos into his hands. "Major Yanaba Maddock, this is Diego Metaxos." She gestured with her hands for Diego to get a move on.

Yana felt for the boy, knowing how stiff a body could be after one of Bunny's sled rides, as he unfolded, a little awkwardly, balancing the water thermos.

"How's your father doing?" Yana asked, walking to the front of the porch to take the thermos from the boy. Seeing his haunted expression, she felt even sorrier for him.

"She"-and he jerked his mittened hand over his shoulder at Bunny-"said you'd made them get Steve."

"I didn't make anybody do anything, Diego," Yana said with a self-deprecating laugh, "but I did suggest-to someone who has the power to authorize such things-that it might reassure your father and improve his condition. And yours."

"Yeah, thanks." He started to turn back, noted Bunny's frown, and turned back, a halfway smile tugging his cold and cracked lips. "I mean it, Major Maddock."

Now Yana could see why Bunny could be interested in the boy. Not only was he around her age, but he was tall and well built, with longish wavy black hair and intense dark eyes with curling lashes any girl would envy. And that little smile of his held a certain charm. It was certainly an improvement on his lost, haunted look. What had he seen in the caves that had produced that effect? Not that Petaybee wasn't daunting to anyone suddenly plonked down on its surface.

The two turned to go, but Yana suddenly remembered the blouse. "Wait! You'll want this for the latchkay," she said, ducking back inside. In a moment she handed the blouse to the girl.

Tears sprang up in Bunny's eyes. "Oh, Yana! For me? It's so beautiful!" She held it up in front of her parka and swung around to show Diego, who pretended indifference, but Yana thought she saw a flicker of admiration behind the boy's nonchalance.

Bunny hugged her. "Thank you! I'll go get dressed right now."

Yana watched Bunny, with Diego walking beside her, jump onto her sled and skim down the street, the plume tails of the dogs wagging as they knew themselves near home, and food.

With a satisfied smile, Yana went inside her nice warm house, to dry her hair and get ready for the latchkay.

To Yana's surprise, there was a knock on her door just as she was about to leave. She had been hearing people going past her door, on foot and with dogsleds, for the past half hour, though it was only midafternoon. She spent the time primping, trying to make her own appearance worthy of the blouse, admiring the way the garment added sparkle to her eyes and brought out highlights in her hair, even making her skin glow with unaccustomed color. The knock startled her. Bunny, probably.

Before she could reach the latch, the door swung slowly open and a well-snowed figure-for it had begun to snow again-stood in the doorway. She recognized the finely decorated gloves as Scan Shongili lifted his hands to push back the hood of his parka.

Yana's heart did an unexpected flip-flop. And got even more agitated as Scan grinned at her.

"If you thought you were going to weasel out of singing tonight, think again," he said, stopping inside and closing the door. "But I see you have dressed for the occasion. Nice shade on you," he added, nodding with approval. He stepped up to her, putting a finger on the beaded work of her collar and tracing the design. His smile deepened and his silver eyes gleamed. "A combined effort, if I do not mistake the fine Italianate touches of Aisling and my sister." '

Yana swallowed, unaccustomed to being complimented on her appearance and inordinately pleased that Scan had. "They were very good to get it finished in time for the latchkay."

"Nothing Sinead likes better than a race against time," he said with a second cryptic smile. The intentness of his gaze reminded her of Sinead's regard across their trapping campfire.

"You-you should have seen Bunny's face when I gave her the blouse they made for her," Yana said, knowing she was babbling. She reached for her parka, which Sean took from her suddenly nerveless fingers and held for her. Feeling slightly foolish, she turned, shooting her arms out for the sleeves. Deftly he slipped the bulky parka up and onto her shoulders, settling it with a little flick of his hands across her shoulders. Then his fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she had to suppress a convulsive shudder. The memory of their hot-spring interlude flooded her, and she hoped she wasn't blushing. So she flipped her hood up, pressed shut the parka fastenings, all with her back to him, before she jammed her hands into her gloves and collected the bean pot. Turning resolutely, she smiled at him, just as if she hadn't gone through all kinds of mental acrobatics over the simple act of his helping her into her coat.

"Let's go. My debut awaits!"

"I hear the boy's alter-parent is on his way down. Good idea," he said as they stepped into the well-rutted roadway.

There were folks behind and in front of them, and every house had lights on to illuminate the way to the hall. Yana hadn't appreciated just how many people lived in and around the village.

"Is everyone on Petaybee here?" she asked, trying to estimate attendance from the steady traffic and the numbers of sleds already parked in front of the hall.

"Everyone who matters to Petaybee," he answered, grinning at her.

She mulled that over. "Why should I matter to Petaybee?" she finally asked.

"Why shouldn't you?"

She wanted him to explain that remark and to stop being so cryptic, but before she could speak, someone hailed him from a passing sled. He cupped her arm in his, shielding her from the snow spray, as he called a cheery reply. Then they had to pick their way around sleds and sled dogs, careful not to tread on animals half-buried in the lazy snow that was adding new depth to the old.

They could hear the happy noise of many cheerful voices, the scrape of fiddles, the wheeze of an accordion, the tootle of a tin whistle, the bass thrum of a bodhran as they reached the front door. Light flared out onto the sawdust that coated the well-trodden snow as the door opened, letting out a puff of warmed air, redolent of leather, clean linen, and herbal scents.

As soon as Sean was identified, he was absorbed into a welcoming group that effectively divorced him from Yana. She shrugged, impressed by his popularity, as she hauled off her outerwear and tried to find a spare hook on the line down the left-hand wall. She gave up and tossed her parka onto the growing pile in the corner, then slid out of her boots and tied their drawstrings together before setting them down beside the pile.

An arm snaked around her waist and she was pulled into a tight embrace. She was about to struggle when she realized it was Sean. Then she was guided out and onto the dance floor and found herself, willy-nilly, pumped about in an energetic polka by her grinning partner.

Those on the sidelines seemed determined to encourage him to grander feats of speed and agility. She clung for dear life to his shoulder and his guiding hand as the room swirled in dizzying circles about her. Three or four weeks earlier she would have been coughing uncontrollably after the first turn about the room, but now she didn't even feel the need to reach for Clodagh's cough medicine. She was breathless, of course, but it was with the sheer momentum of the dance as she was swept away in Scan's arms while other dancers careered around them. She had better not have a coughing fit here. She could be accidentally stomped to death if she lost her footing! But it was all very exciting. She had never-not even when Bry was being extra sociable-danced quite this uninhibitedly. It was unbelievably exhilarating-dancing with a whirlwind. She didn't know how Sean kept his balance, much less how he kept dancing so lightly, and yet she who, a mere five weeks before, had barely been able to walk without doubling over with lung spasms could now-almost-keep up with him. Whether it was due to the romance of the moment or the beneficial effects of Clodagh's cough medicine she didn't know, but she loved it.

The dance stopped only when the musicians needed to catch their breaths and moisten their throats. Weak and breathless, Yana was obliged to hang on to Sean for fear of falling, and she shivered with reaction to the closeness of the hard, strong body that supported her, and the hands that clasped her body with a touch that sent peculiar ripples up and down her arms and legs. She knew she should pull free and didn't want to-not in this lifetime.

Sweat was trickling down her face by then, and she was afraid if she didn't attend to that she would disgust her partner. Except, just then, he laid an equally moist cheek against hers and laughed in her ear.

"You offworlders sure can rob a body of breath with your dancing!" he said.

"Me?" she exclaimed in amused outrage, and pushed back to be sure he was teasing her.

His silver eyes gleamed with mischief, and he pulled her back to him, leading her off the floor toward the immense bowl of punch, which no doubt consisted largely of Clodagh's blur-maker. Yana didn't care what was in the punch: she would welcome the moisture to unparch her throat. Fastidiously, she found her one cloth handkerchief and blotted the sweat on her face. Sean was likewise engaged, nodding and grinning at folks as he released her to get them two full cups.

"This is perfect," she said, after rolling the drink around in her mouth.

Scan's arm around her waist pulled her close against him. "Helps the nervous performer," he murmured in her ear.

"You had to remind me?" she demanded in a mock-accusatory tone. She had managed to forget that upcoming ordeal.

"Stick with me, babe," he answered in a mock-gruff voice, "and you won't need to worry!"

"You intend to get me suitably drunk?"

"No one gets drunk on Clodagh's punch," he replied with fake indignation, adding with another wicked leer, "but you'll be so blurred it won't matter."

"Here's to that," she said, and chugalugged the rest of the cup. He took it from her hand and passed it to the lady serving to be refilled.

"Hey, too much of this and I'll forget the words," Yana protested.

Sean shook his head, handing her the cup. "Some words you don't forget, Yanaba." He laid his fingers lightly on her shirt above her heart. "Some words come from there and, once spoken, can't be forgotten."

She gave him a long look, awash with a few unblurred anxieties, like why he had insisted in the first place, why she had let him in the second-and in the third, should she go through with it?

"Have you placed your bet yet?" he asked, pointing to the breakup board and the knot of people about it. Someone had just chalked in a mark. Scan grinned. "Tolubi's out by two days and six hours."

"How d'you figure that?" Yana regarded him suspiciously.

He gave an indifferent shrug. "I'm not allowed to bet I've been right so often."

"Can I?" '

Sean gazed steadily at her. "You could. But, knowing that I'm always right, would you?"

Yana returned his gaze. "If you're always right, I'd be taking an unfair advantage."

"You could still place a bet." His tone was bland and his eyes lazy.

"A sure thing's not a bet," she said. "And I'm not a betting woman anyhow." She gave him a droll smile. "I always lose, and I wouldn't want to spoil your record."

Sean laughed at that, his eyes twinkling, and she knew her response had pleased him.

"What would my prize have been?" she asked.

"Don't know what it is this year," he replied. "Usually credit at the company store, or pups, if there're some good ones due in the spring whelpings."

The music started up again, a two-step, and before she could protest, Sean had her out in the middle of the floor dancing with him, one strong arm clipping her waist so that she couldn't duck away, the other hand with fingers inextricably laced around hers.

She had time during that dance to see the crowd, standing and sitting around the big hall, and she wondered if the entire "native" population of Petaybee had somehow managed to assemble in this one spot. Kids raced about the edges of the dance floor, tripping over feet, howling with hurt and being comforted by whoever picked them up and dusted them off; babies were traded off as dancing partners were claimed. Little girls danced with their grandfathers and teenaged boys asked their aunties and grandmothers to dance or showed the steps to smaller cousins; a few of the older kids, looking self-conscious, waited to be asked to dance by a member of their peer group, but often little girls and grown women danced together, as did some of the men and boys- whoever didn't have a partner danced with any other available body.

Yana spotted Bunny, who was looking remarkably lovely and feminine, in close conversation with Diego near the food table: Diego had already started to munch on a meatroll, and Bunny was nibbling on a hunk of something in one hand.

Sean was an excellent dancer, possibly the best she had ever been partnered with, and for once her feet seemed to know which way to go. She dreaded stepping on his toes, especially as he had discarded his heavy boots and was wearing some beautifully beaded moccasins.

Between dances, Sean kept her mug full and piloted her about the hall as he met and exchanged some of his cryptic remarks to men and women.

"Who are these folks?" she asked in his ear as he maneuvered her to yet another couple.

"The parents of the Bremport victims," he said.

"What the frag! That's unfair, Sean." She tried to pull free, but his grip was implacable.

"Why? They know you're going to sing. They've wanted to meet you. They have. You're their last link with their dead."

"Oh, frag it! That's not fair. To me, Sean."

"Yes, it is, because now you'll know which faces to look for when you're singing."

"Is that why you're attached to me like a limpet?" she asked bitterly. "So I can't escape this ordeal?"

"It won't be an ordeal for you, Yanaba, but a release," he said softly and with such great tenderness that she felt weak-kneed. Damn Clodagh. She was blurring.

About then, she noticed that Bunny and Diego had not once parted company.

"Yes, Diego'll sing, too. You aren't the only one," Scan said, observing the direction of her interest. Then he chuckled. "Will the miserable like some company?" He began to propel her in their direction.

Some quality of the look with which Bunny was favoring Diego made Yana dig her heels in. "No, Scan, we won't interrupt them."

"No." Scan looked at the young pair, his mobile face thoughtful. "No, I don't think we will. Bunny's handling him like a trooper."

"Handling him?" Yana bristled.

Scan shrugged, his expression bland. "Keeping him company, if you like. You know more people here than he does."

Just then Sinead and Aisling danced up to them, Sinead leading, as always. Both wore superb leather shirts, Aisling white, Sinead buff, with elaborate decorations which were so tasteful that jewels could not have been better displayed.

"Enjoying yourselves?" Sinead asked, her expression bland, but the slightly arch tone of her voice seemed to convey some hidden message evidently intended for Sean.

"Now that you mention it, I am," Sean said, equally archly, locking gazes with Sinead. "How about you, Yana?"

"Oh, I am, indeed I am," she replied. Sinead nodded and kept walking.

"What's up with your sister?" Yana asked Scan, as he whirled her in a pirouette to the other side of the room.

"Don't let her worry you for a single minute," he said.

She caught an odd twitch to his mouth, a twitch of minor irritation, she thought. Well, sisters had been irritants to brothers since the worlds began.

About the time she was beginning to wonder if the music makers had been trading off with others who looked identical to keep up such an amazing barrage of dance tunes and tempos, the current ones put down their instruments and left the little stage.

Somehow Scan had timed it so that he and Yana were at the seemingly bottomless punch bowl as the last note died away. He pressed yet another cup into her hand.

"I'll be too blurred to sing," she said, trying to put it down.

"Drink it. You're on."

With what seemed to her like unceremonious haste, he then guided her across the floor to the platform.

"No, no, Sean," she protested, noticing herself to be the center of attention. In the sudden way these people had, everyone was settling into a quiet mode all around the room as Sean led her inexorably to the stage. Even the children were quiet, the babies remarkably all asleep.

"Yes, yes, Yana."

"Why me?" she protested, but her feet seemed willing to follow Sean.

"You're the hero."

She tried to wrench her arm free of his grasp, but his fingers merely tightened, and then she was stumbling onto the box that was the step up to the platform. She stood there, miserably aware of being the focus of so many eyes, so much unwarranted attention, of her coming ordeal. How could anything she said, or sang, help ease their losses?

Scan held up both arms and what little noise there was died completely.

"This is Major Yanaba Maddock," he announced, turning slowly to take in everyone patiently waiting. "You all know her. She will sing." Then, with an oddly formal bow, he gestured for Yana to sit on the single chair that was now centered on the stage.

She sank limply to the chair, feeling the hard seat grind into her tailbone. Sing? She was supposed to sing now?

A soft beat registered, and she saw Scan, the bodhran in one hand, gently fingering sound from the skin. She blinked and suddenly began the chant that had come to her. She hadn't rehearsed it since that day, weeks before, when Scan had coaxed the words from her. But they were there, on her tongue, and in the proper order, in the precise rhythm of the drumbeat, and her voice was saying them. She was unaware of anything else because her mind was back there, in Bremport for those few surrealistically macabre and devastatingly helpless and horrible minutes, and she wondered that she could enunciate any words for the pain in her chest, the constriction in her throat, and the unwept tears that pressed against her eyelids. She wished she were even more blurred than she knew she had to be, to let go like this. To perform, as if by rote, any duties that had not been drill-inspired over centuries of practice.

She heard, from a distance, her own voice, and she had never realized she could sound like that: a husky rich contralto that dipped and rose. She wasn't really aware of what she was singing until she got to the final lines.

"I was sent here to die, too, here where the snows live The waters live, the animals and the trees live, And you."

As the last of that vowel drifted into nothingness, she bowed her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and falling into her hands. She couldn't move and didn't know what she was supposed to do next. Maybe Scan would liberate her.

Then a pair of work-roughened hands slid across hers, pressed gently, and withdrew only to be replaced by another set of hands. By the third pair she looked up, for their touch was like a benison, healing her grief, staunching her tears. She could even smile as yet another set of parents laid hands on hers to mutely offer their appreciation. Seeing the tears in their eyes-tears of an odd sort of sublimated sorrowing-hers began to ease, along with the constriction in her chest, the tight bands about her heart.

The little ceremony completed, Scan collected her and brought her wordlessly to Clodagh's bowl, where the woman herself ladled a cup for her and solemnly inclined her head in a regal bow of approval as the cup was handed from Clodagh to Sean and then to Yana.

Then Sean put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to sit in a space that magically appeared on a bench against the wall. His shoulder touched hers, his hip and thigh brushed hers. She felt drained but exultant, no longer sad but infinitely relieved. She sipped the punch, keeping her head down, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone as she savored what was, as Sean had said, a healing.

The little susurrus of soft voices, expectant, made her look up to see Bunny leading Diego to the stage.

"This is Diego Metaxos," Bunny said, arms above her head and turning around slowly to the audience just as Sean had done. "He must sing."

Yana hoped that she had shown as much composure as Diego did. He sat down with more grace than she had, his hands splay-fingered on his knees.

"I am new come, in storm, here., A storm of heart and mind and soul. I sought and found storm with Lavelle She saved me when the sled crashed down. With the heat of her body she saved me. With the wit of her mind she saved my father, too. Saved me to see the cavern that all say I didn't see."

His tone was rich in irony and his tenor young and surprisingly vibrant though Yana suspected he had never sung before audience either.

"But I saw the caverns and the water and the carving of wind and water.

I saw the gleaming snow, like jeweled cloth.

I saw the branches waving, the water talking,

The ice answering, the snow laughing.

I saw The animals of water and earth and they were talking, too.

They were kind to me and answered all my questions

But I do not know what questions I asked.

I do not know what answers I heard.

I know the cavern, the branches, the talking water,

The speaking ice and the laughing snow. I know

That you know it, too. So hear my song

And believe me. For I have seen what you have seen.

And I am changed. Hear my song. Believe me."

He threw his head back as his last passionate note died away, and threw out his arms, entreating their response.

It began as a very low murmur of approval, growing as more folk entered the answering chorus, as more people began to drum their feet on the floor, as a crescendo of sound beat on Yana's ears until she almost put her hands over them. But if she had, she would not have heard the answer.

"We believe! We believe! We believe!"

She had jumped up and was shouting along with everyone else. Because she could not doubt the boy. Everyone, at the same instant, swarmed across the floor toward him. Bunny was on the platform, hugging him, and suddenly he was crying, with the same sense of relief that Yana knew she had just felt.

Singing the Inuit way had much to recommend it.

Yana was still caught up in the emotion surrounding Diego's song when a voice spoke in her ear. "Now that was very moving."

The voice belonged to Torkel Fiske, who prevented her from turning with a light touch on her shoulders. Sean was no longer beside her. "Very touching. I'm so glad I convinced Giancarlo to let the boy come here today. Obviously he needed to vent his emotions and I do find it curious that when he insists here, in his poetic mode, that the nonsense his father has been babbling was real, the villagers agree with him."

"Maybe," Yana replied in a sardonic tone, "that's because the villagers are more observant than the company."

"Oh, but the villagers are the company, too. Perhaps a branch that's had insufficient attention in the past."

"Ooh, that sounds ominous," she said as lightly as she could.

"Maybe a little prophetic," he admitted, breathing into her hair. "I hope nobody will mind that I came. I just had to see for myself about this party you and Diego were so excited about. Could I talk you into a dance, or are you able?"

"I seem to be managing," she said, looking around for Sean. "And there's no dance music playing," she pointed out, feeling ridiculous, standing there in her homemade blouse, uniform pants and stocking feet like something out of a gothic novel. "Look, Torkel," she said, shaking off his hands to turn in his arms. "You've been a godsend and I'm very glad to see you, and I'm flattered by your interest. Under ordinary circumstances I'd be very tempted, but, well…"

"Oho!" he said, his eyes smiling down at her while his mouth twisted with mock disappointment. "I'm not the only one to appreciate you, huh? I was hoping the locals would be too backward to notice. My estimation of this place increases by the minute."

Thank God his ego was strong enough that she didn't have to worry about losing his friendship-and his assistance-by declining to play. She kissed his cheek. "Asshole."

He prolonged the contact with a hug that ended with sagged shoulders. "Oh well, so much for the reasons I was looking forward to coming."

About that time Aisling approached them and held out her arms for a hug, too, giving Yana a graceful way to extricate herself from Torkel. "Yana, I just had to tell you how beautiful your song was, how much it meant to me and everybody else."

"Thanks, Aisling. And thanks again for making this gorgeous blouse."

Aisling flushed with pleasure. "That's okay. It looks beautiful." She glanced at Torkel inquisitively and with just a tad of something Yana took to be-well, not hostility, but suspicion.

"This is an old shipmate of mine, Aisling, Captain Torkel Fiske. He arranged for me to get the material and for Diego to be here today."

"Oh, that was real nice of you, Captain," Aisling said, sticking out a long-fingered hand for him to shake. Torkel, typically, raised it to his lips instead.

"Hey, Yana." Sinead appeared behind her partner and stuck her hand out to Torkel, too. "Tell this guy for me that Aisling and I share everything," she said.

Again, the tone was friendly but the undercurrents were guarded and, in this case, more markedly hostile-but not because Torkel was kissing Aisling's hand. Yana thought perhaps Sinead might be being possessive of her on Scan's behalf.

"Torkel, Sinead Shongili."

The two regarded each other like fencers assessing each other's strengths; then he kissed Sinead's hand, after which she surprised him by kissing his, then licking her lips.

"Um, hairy knuckles. My dad had hairy knuckles."

"I like her," Torkel said, turning to Yana and pointing to Sinead.

"Me, too," Aisling said, putting her arm around Sinead's shoulders.

"Listen," Torkel said confidingly, taking in not only Yana but Aisling and Sinead, "maybe you women can help me with something I've got to do which is going to be real hard. Maybe you'd even know if I ought to do it now or wait until this party is over."

"Sure, Torkel," Aisling said.

"What's the matter, man?" Sinead asked.

"I need to find out who is next of kin to a woman named Lavelle Maloney."

"Lavelle!" Sinead said. "Has something happened to her? Where is she?"

Torkel gritted his teeth and patted the open air with his hand in a calming gesture. "I really think I should tell the next of kin before I tell anybody else, don't you? But, well, I think they'll need your support when I've finished talking to them."

"Oh, no…" Aisling said.

Sinead touched her partner's forearm gently. "Why don't you go tell Clodagh and Scan they're needed and I'll take Torkel and Yana to get Liam." To Torkel she said, "Lavelle's husband has been sick a long time. He didn't come today. We'll get her boy Liam to come with us back to her house to tell his da. Her daughter lives at Tanana Bay, and her other son is in the Space Corps, stationed on Mukerjee Three."

Yana saw Scan then, one arm around Bunny and the other around Diego, hording the kids toward her, speaking earnestly to Diego. Close behind him came Clodagh, and Sinead stopped as she met them.

Clodagh held up her hand and twiddled her fingers impatiently, as if staving off Sinead's news. Then she, too, headed toward Yana and Torkel.

She knows, Yana thought as Clodagh sailed toward them like a liner through an asteroid belt. She already knows. But how?

Torkel was intercepting Sean and the kids. "Diego, son, you have great talent," he said.

Torkel looked so handsome and fatherly congratulating Diego, Yana thought. He had wisely chosen not to wear a uniform, despite the apparently official nature of his visit. He wore instead a heavy sweater patterned with moss green, rust, and cream that set off his hair and eyes to good advantage, and a pair of rust-colored woolen trousers. He was bigger than Sean, she saw, and more stockily built, and of course their coloring was very different; one russet, the other silver, like fire and ice. Except, she remembered with an inward blush, there had been nothing icy about Sean Shongili thus far in their acquaintance.

"Sean," Sinead was saying, "this man is here because something has happened to Lavelle."

Sean squeezed his eyes shut and his lips thinned with pain, but that was nothing compared to Diego's reaction.

"What? What's happened to her?" the boy demanded of Torkel, his eyes blazing and his fists clenched. "What did you dorks do to her?"

Torkel looked genuinely pained. "Nothing, son. We're not sure what happened, and won't know until we get the autopsy report."

Sean's head snapped up. "Autopsy?"

"I take it she is dead then?" Sinead drawled with a contemptuous roll of her eyes.

Torkel blew a deep and frustrated sigh. "Please. Let's tell the relatives first."

"Sinead," Clodagh said softly, and the woman plunged into the crowd.

Diego, who at first had seemed moderately pleased to see Torkel, suddenly blew a gasket. "Goddamn you guys, you killed her!" he cried. Sean had hold of him, which was a good thing, because Diego was lunging for the captain and spitting with anger. "You guys just kept after her and kept after her and wouldn't believe her or us or anybody. So you fraggin' tortured her to death or something! Damn you. Why couldn't you let her alone? Why can't you let us all alone? You don't know the truth when you hear it. She told you what happened. Dad and I told you what happened, and you beat her up because you didn't believe her and she died."

"No, son, I-"

"If you didn't have my dad there, I'd never go back to that place. Never! Let us go. You're too dumb to-"

Clodagh was interrupting him with soothing noises, but she didn't really know the boy.

Neither did Yana, but she knew the reaction. The boy had simply had one too many profound traumas in a short space of time. His singing had been a highly emotional probing for him, opening a deep wound for healing. Before the healing could take place, Torkel's revelation had assaulted him with a new pain on top of the other.

"Metaxos, listen to me," she said in a calm but very firm voice. "We can find out the truth. There'll be a report. They'll return her body. I'll go back with you to SpaceBase personally and find out what happened if I have to go retrieve Lavelle myself."

Diego jerked his head to turn his scaring glare on her. "You're one of them. How can 1 trust you?"

"Oh, Diego, come on," Bunny said.

Just then Sinead arrived with a stony-faced young man in low. "Captain Fiske, this is Liam Maloney, Lavelle's son."

"My mum's dead, isn't she?" Liam asked Torkel. In contrast to Diego, Liam seemed outwardly very calm. Almost as if he'd been expecting this, Yana thought.

"Well, yes. I wanted to tell you and your father together."

"No offense, Captain, but I don't think Dad wants to see any of you people right now. I'll tell him." He turned to Clodagh, who put her arm around him as if he were still a baby, and as they moved away, he buried his head against her massive breast.

"Okay, Captain, now that you've done your duty, I think the rest of us need to know what's going on," Scan said.

"Come on back to my place," Yana said quickly, including Scan, Bunny, Diego, Sinead, and Aisling in her invitation and finally, with a sympathetic glance at Torkel, adding, "I'll make us some real coffee."