John Ringo: Sister Time

“Oh, great,” Cally said. “I’ve got a wizard for a daughter.”

“She will never develop it here,” Michelle said, looking up into the sun.

Cally shifted slightly so her sister was in shade.

“You want to take her with you,” she said. It was not a question.

“One of our clan children, Mark, is… less gifted,” Michelle replied. “And quite a handful. He seems to have gotten the full measure of the O’Neal chaos gene.”

“Gets in fights?” Cally asked.

“He’s learned not to engage in actual violence ,” Michelle said distastefully.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see what we can do to correct that,” Cally said, squatting down. “Sinda, Aunt Michelle is asking me to let you go live with her. She wants to send one of her boys to live with us. We could still see each other from time to time.”

“I don’t wanna leave Mama,” Sinda said, suddenly frightened.

“Perhaps not yet,” Michelle said, nodding. “I can understand the fear. I cried very much when I had to leave my parents. It was not a good time. But… can we talk about it?”

“Yes,” Sinda said, lisping slightly. “Can we play with the flowers some more?”

“Of course,” Michelle said. “Take my hand…”

Katund, Clan Leader of the Epetar clan-corp, was still in the midst of one set of breathing exercises when he heard his AID chime, “Urgent report for you, your Tir,” it said.

“What is it now?” he was at his limit and controlling his temper with difficulty.

“The council respectfully notifies you that the Epetar Group has been found in default on the ship maintenance contract for the Eastern Fleet Detachment. Accordingly, this message is to notify you of contract termination,” it said in its melodious but ultimately uncaring voice.

After a long moment’s pause, the AID prompted, “Is there any reply, your Tir?”

Another long moment passed, “Tir?”

And another, “Please respond, your Tir.”

It was still repeating its polite query when two of his Indowy body servants came in to see to his needs. The former Tir sat, still, in his chair, a dreamy but somehow horrible grin lighting his face as his glazed eyes stared off into the distance.

“Oh, my. Inform Tir Hmili immediately.” The addition of the honorific was automatic.

“Should I send you some help?” the other Indowy asked.

“Please. He is not small. I’ll need at least four others to get him through the bounce tube. I suppose the roof is the best place to store him until he is ready for disposal. Wait just a moment,” the first Indowy stepped outside with his companion and shut the door, effectively shutting out the catatonic Darhel’s AID.

“We must risk a message out. This could jeopardize the entire plan. Send it,” he said.

Two very grave Indowy turned to their separate tasks.