Local Star, Aimee Ogden [ebook reader that looks like a book txt] 📗

cheek. “Quelian just wishes he got to run public welfare like it’s part of his wrenchworks, but that’s not exactly how it goes, you know. He’s a civilian tribune, not the god of Justice.”

“I still don’t think he’ll be doing much to tamp down on tonight’s activities. Nothing like having your prodigal daughter return in star-studded glory to convince a man that maybe she’s done all right for herself after all.”

At that, Casne only grunted. Triz knew Quelian had been upset when Casne ran off to join the Fleet. But she couldn’t imagine how he could hang on to that old anger now, with all Casne had done. She let the subject slide and ducked her head into Casne’s shoulder to avoid the spray from a freshly popped bottle of fizzy-slosh. At Casne’s squawk of dismay, she cackled a laugh. In answer, Casne picked Triz up around the waist and wiped her wet, sticky face off on Triz’s already-mussed worksuit, ignoring Triz’s squalls of protest. Together they staggered, shrieking with laughter, into the minilift doors as they opened. Triz stepped on someone’s foot—not Casne’s.

Triz turned and looked up into Quelian’s dubious face.

“Baba!” Casne said to her father, reaching uncharacteristic heights of joviality before Triz could croak an apology. “We were just talking about you.”

“I got all the Swarmers inventoried,” Triz cut in, crushing a foot—Casne’s—on purpose this time. “Started drainage on the worst one and started two batches of algae cultures incubating, so they’ll be ready for you first thing in the morning.”

“Ready for me?” Quelian’s frown didn’t deepen, exactly, only shifted somehow. He was much fairer than Casne, whose looks took more after her mother, but there was a certain . . . stubbornness these two shared. When Casne and Triz were teens, he’d taken on a role as one of the habitation ring’s tribunes, expecting to transition away from the wrenchworks entirely once Casne came of age to take over. Then she’d gone and run off to be a Fleetie. Overworked and overtired as he was these days, he didn’t seem quite as eager, somehow, to hand off the ‘works to his daughter’s guttergirl-partner. “I assume you’ll be in somewhat later than first thing yourself?”

“Baba.” Casne’s perfectly cheerful tone sheathed steel. “Has Triz ever slacked off a day in her life?” She pursed her lips. “Where are Daddy and Damu and Mama?”

“I queued up to handle the tab while the others took your mother home.” Now a touch of humor tugged at his mouth. “She drank enough brandy tonight to drop a Tolvian martyr.”

A flicker of guilt over missing time with Casne’s family made Triz’s shoulderblades jump. They got to see Triz plenty, more than they wanted, probably; better to let them have their one-on-one time with Cas.

“In fact, it’s probably just as well you excused yourself when you did,” Quelian went on. “All three of them send their regards, Triz. Veling said to remind you that you’re invited to dinner tomorrow night.”

These “family” dinners hadn’t stopped, as Triz had half-expected, when the quadfamily’s only daughter had gone off to war. Having grown up a guttergirl in another Hab’s recycling engines, Triz found any meal she didn’t have to fight for to be a gift; she was embarrassed and pleased to still be included when she was outside of Casne’s shadow.

They wanted her to be a part of their extended family, so why was Triz so hesitant?

Quelian looked between Triz and Casne once more and sighed, looking not a little martyr-ish himself. “Enjoy yourselves, then. I’m sure you will.” He shouldered his way out into the Arcade crowds as others finally nudged Triz and Casne forward and into the minilift.

“Gods,” said Casne, and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You know how he is.”

Triz did know. After Casne had first invited Triz to join her and her wife Nantha in their marriage, Triz had tried calling Quelian ‘baba’ too. Once. The look he’d given her could’ve slagged plastiglass. “Didn’t your parents want to see you tonight?” she asked, now that Quelian’s dour mood had kindled a trashfire of guilt in her belly.

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Casne’s elbow dug into Triz’s ribs as the minilift spat them out on the second level of the Arcade, where most of the eateries and, more importantly, drinkeries were located. “They were waiting for me as soon as I offloaded. We had dinner while you were slumming it in the wrenchworks. Which, by the way . . . why were you doing that exactly? Mama told me she couldn’t dislodge you out of there with a crowbar and a bottle of brandy. Wasn’t the same without all six of us together. We even had Nantha on the ‘port.”

A flush crept up Triz’s neck, and she let a little space come between her body and Casne’s. It was always nice when Casne talked about her like she was really one of them, and still awkward too, because she wasn’t. “I wish Nan could’ve been here too. To celebrate all together.”

“Nan said the same thing.” Casne arched an eyebrow. “But I bet if Fleet Admiralty tried to unplug her from her calculation matrices right now, she’d claw her way right back into them. With those three inbound deployments, the navigators are up to their necks in math about now and she lives for that stuff.”

“Says the Tactics number-jockey.” They both laughed, and Triz ducked her head in embarrassment. “Anyway, your parents deserved to have you to themselves.”

“Well, you’re basically part of the family. More than basically, if you ever get around to formalizing it, which by the way, Nantha and I are still waiting for you to say yes to.” A snort. “Besides, if you’d been there, maybe Mama wouldn’t have done so much damage to the brandy on her own. Oh!” Casne let her hand slide down Triz’s arm until they only clasped fingers so they could slide one after the other through a flock of Fleet engineers and their