Fenn nodded. Eddie popped back up between them and clapped a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “It’s been a long day for everyone, Carter. That’s okay.”
And friends or no friends, manners or no manners, Carter could’ve choked him just then. So priggish. So terribly, terribly stupid. He was already bringing his hands up to do it.
But Fenn was on the verge of laughing as he reached over and removed Eddie’s hand from Carter as quickly and delicately as if he were picking up someone else’s underwear, and Carter had never been able to not laugh when Fenn did.
“Oh, I don’t think you want to do that, Eddie,” Fenn said, fighting down a smile he couldn’t quite bury.
And Carter’s anger fizzled like a fuse pinched off. “Yeah, you really don’t,” he said, smothering a grin of his own behind his hand as he took a long drag off Eddie’s cigarette.
“Sorry,” said Eddie. “I just—”
“Yeah, don’t.” Carter edged back a little on the bed and took another drag. He looked away from Eddie. He bit his lip.
“So,” asked Fenn. “Nothing from nothing then, Kev? No action?”
“None,” he said. “Quiet as anything. We were thinking about bombing Connelly just to get some fun started.”
“Oh, Connelly’s not out there right now,” Eddie said brightly. All of a sudden, Carter wondered how old he was. So expertly preserved, he could’ve been anything from twenty to sixty, easy. His skin was smooth as a girl’s, mouth a perfect little bow. Eddie motioned to the bottle at Carter’s feet and Carter handed it to him warily. Eddie took it with both hands like a baby, had a good swallow, passed it along to Fenn, who gave Carter a little nod in Eddie’s direction as if to say, Listen close.
“He’s in here,” Eddie continued, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his fingertips. “At the field house with Ted, I think. That’s what we were talking about before you came in.”
“Not possible,” Carter said. “Saw Ted when I landed. Did a debrief.”
“Full debrief?” Eddie asked.
“Full as they ever get now. Twenty words maybe.”
“In the field house?”
“On the apron.”
Eddie nodded. “Connelly’s there. Ted was stopping you before you came in. Diverting you.”
Carter looked at Fenn, who just shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips. It was red wine they were drinking, though only by the loosest of definitions. Locally made, it was closer to fruity, red liqueur with a sweetness like rotting mangoes and a kick like a mule. It’d been a favorite of the indig officers before they all left, an acquired taste for sure. Carter knew that you had to be careful with it and either drink it slow so you didn’t go out of your head or fast so you didn’t care.
He took the bottle from Fenn again. “He serious?” he asked, meaning Eddie.
“No. Eddie’s too short to be taken seriously. But he is correct. Connelly is here. I saw him walking across the field myself, six of his natives with him, all decked out like he was late for a costume ball.” Fenn gestured grandly at all the wrack and clutter of the tent and present company. “Hence this little garden party. I figured Eddie could use a break from getting screamed at.”
“Oh, I’m accustomed,” Eddie interrupted. He turned and looked straight at Carter. “No one likes lawyers, right, Captain?”
Carter opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Fenn continued. “Also, I was thinking that if we got him drunk enough, he might be able to let slip some of the family secrets. So tell us, Edward.” Fenn leaned forward with a leering smile. “What do you know?”
“Eden,” said Eddie.
“Excuse me?” Fenn’s smile went crooked, then vanished. For an instant there was a look on his face like Eddie’d said some kind of secret word.
“Eden. That’s my first name. Not Edward. My parents were…”
“High?” Carter offered, smiling to himself at his wit.
“Different,” Eddie said. “They were settlers. Pioneer family. They settled three different colony worlds before I was born, helped found one of them. I was first-born at Serenity, on Challos, and the tradition was to name every first child Eden.”
“Missionaries,” Carter said, thinking of his mother.
“No. Mormons. A Dominionist sect. Pretty common outside Sol.”
“Mormons don’t smoke,” Carter said.
“Or drink,” added Fenn.
“I took my manumission at eighteen and went to law school on Earth. London, actually. Never looked back.”