Power Play - Anne McCaffrey [29]
“Well, as long as they think you’ll just sit about and wait for them to organize themselves, that’s what they’ll do,” Marmion said, then paused thoughtfully, regarding the flimsy as if there were unseen lines there that required decoding. “Though why this delay when they were so bloody eager to get you here in the first place . . . And we came as fast as anyone can . . . Hmmm. Well, they do have the depositions to work from . . .”
“Something’s rotten in Denmark?” Sally asked.
“If it were on Denmark, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. But this is Gal Three . . . And it was presented to me as an in-and-out appearance.” Giving her shoulders a massive shrug, Marmion returned to her office.
“Why,” Yana asked the room, “would B. Makem want to start trouble for us on Petaybee? I thought we’d opened his eyes to that erstwhile employer of his.”
“Yes,” Millard said thoughtfully, and began to tap out codes on his terminal. “We’ll just see.”
Yana began pacing restlessly, fretting about Sean. He’d have so much more to do now, with who knows how many people foisted off on Petaybee. She reread the communiqué, her free hand going automatically to the little bag of Petaybean dirt that generally provided her with comfort as she tried to get more of Sean than the words were conveying. Even if Johnny Greene had sent the message, it was from Sean and by Sean, and therefore it was Sean, and she gathered what comfort she could out of that contact. It was stupid of her, at her age, to need the man so desperately, and yet she did. Here she was in the lap of luxury, being scrupulously cared for and pampered and wined and dined, and not liking it a bit simply because Sean wasn’t there to share the absurdities with her—like Macci and his SecondSkin and loin clout. Sean would have looked just as well in such attire—probably better, since he had a second skin of his own, if it came to that. The memories that thought provoked made her smile, and she nibbled at the edge of the message, until she realized what she was doing. She really was being ungrateful, especially when Marmion was going out of her way to be so accommodating and helpful. Not that she didn’t appreciate it all—but she had managed to get accustomed to the discomforts of Petaybee! Now she’d have to learn to love them all over again. It would be snowing soon, and she’d miss it, and freeze-up and all the other wonders of Petaybee that she hadn’t yet experienced firsthand. She resented her absence terribly, and that reminded her of who might be responsible for all the delays.
“Do you know where Matthew Luzon is right now?” she asked, stopping and turning to survey those in the lounge. “And where are Diego and Bunny, for that matter?” she asked Sally and Millard, and asked the same question of Bailey and Charmion, who entered at that critical moment.
“Must be around here somewhere,” Millard said, swiveling about as if the two had to be in the lounge, visible or invisible.
At that precise moment, there was a request for entry, and a resonant voice announced, “Macci Sendal.”
Sally and Millard exchanged astonished glances.
“You made a conquest, Yana,” Sally said, grinning. “Shall I admit him?”
Yana was flustered. “Whatever would he want with me?”
“I suspect business,” Sally said. “After all, Rothschild’s has always diversified. I don’t recall them having any pharmaceuticals, though.”
“Yes, they do,” Millard replied. “They have recently acquired a major holding in SpayDe.”
“You’re quite right.” Sally hurried to press the door release. “I’ll just replicate some refreshments.”
Despite the fact that the man was wearing more normal station apparel instead of the formal SecondSkin, he was as devastating as ever as he came forward to greet Yana. He had a small posy for her and smiles for Sally, Millard, and Marmion’s young relatives, and he accepted Sally’s invitation for midmorningses even as he led Yana, still holding the hand he had kissed so extravagantly, to one of the smaller seating arrangements on one side of the large room.