Vasily & The Works (Tales from the Middle Empires Vol III), Page 3

  #

  A fortnight’s agitation and worry spurred Mrs. Alexseyev to action. She could no longer pretend Vasily’s shortcomings didn’t matter (and in fact, she knew there were titters and whispers among some of the other families regarding the one in particular). She cornered Portia in the butler’s pantry and interrogated the night-servant savagely.

  “Sure, that’s the truth,” she responded with a knowing shrug. “But it ain’t as much that little thing he got as that he don’t go after it with vim, nor got him any real workaround, if you see what I mean. Your old man, now, he knew what he was about.”

  Mrs. Alexseyev glared at the girl, who just blew smoke out the side of her mouth. But she knew the girl did no more than speak the truth.

  “Perhaps you could show him—” Mrs. Alexseyev began.

  “No way, no how,” Portia said. “I’ll pack up me satchel first. Asides, what’s in it for me? I ain’t got me no name, like you and him. Never will. I got me fella, anyhow. I’m all done for. I’m all set.” She stubbed out her smelly cheroot and turned off the butler’s-pantry exhaust fan.

  Mrs. Alexseyev sighed and retreated, smart enough to recognize loyalty when she saw it. Portia was a good girl; she would stay. And they needed her silence. It was best to keep her close.

  So the regent of the Works, with a firm purpose, retrieved the Linnet Register from the multicore and set about commanding the processor to winnow the field of eligible oligarchs’ daughters. It wasn’t long before the full weight of the Linnets’ industrial legacy hit her: there weren’t above a hundred girls on the whole planet of sufficient genetic robustness and differentiation to serve as breedstock for an Alexseyev. Of those, a dozen might have the dominant traits needed to back the Alexseyevs out of the genetic cul-de-sac they had blundered into. A mere two of the girls were in the home district. And one of those was an upstart Bilici. Out of the question. They were coming up quickly enough without active Alexseyev help, thank you very much; she had no intention of helping them along, no matter how pretty the girl was. (She reminded her of herself, in fact, though the girl’s skin had seen too much outdoor activity).

  Only one girl remained. Mrs. Alexseyev rose from the node terminal and looked forlornly out the tower at the Works. The fat, tapering chimneys and slender, guy-wired exhausts of the great underground factory lazily puffed their own cheroots. She sighed and shook her head sadly, then balled her hands into fists and shook them at the planet.

  “Damn you, Arseny Alexseyev,” she said through clenched teeth. “I will do it. If it’s what must be done, I will. If he won’t do it voluntarily, I will have him tied down, milk the cursed seed from him, grab a caulk gun from the shop floor, and inseminate the slut myself. I didn’t come into this family to let these Works die. Let the impudent Chernow minx inherit it all. Let her have my bed. But she will become one of us. The name of Alexseyev will live, and it will be stamped upon every ship in the Empire!”