Read Online The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) by Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Tags: Fiction
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in an emergency, but she sometimes needed help, and he hadn’t been here for either attack—Anniversary Day or the attack last week. Much as he wanted to be available for his family, he so rarely was.
The house smelled of baking bread, which overlay the usual faint mint scent that Gerda used to calm them all. Gerda had been cooking ever since the Peyti Crisis. She either cooked or organized when she felt helpless.
He preferred the cooking. The organizing sometimes felt compulsive.
He threaded past the living room chairs, which looked like they hadn’t been used in weeks, and went into the heart of his home—the kitchen.
His small wife bent over the old-fashioned oven, door open and hot fragrant air wafting into the room. Deshin’s son, Paavo, stood beside her, protective gloves on his hands, a streak of flour on his cheek. The evenness of the streak told Deshin that the flour was expensive Earth-made flour, not the Moon flour that most people used.
Gerda was getting fancy. She had been cooking the old way for weeks now, not using any of the conveniences he had purchased for her. She had asked for this oven long ago, and he had protested: He hadn’t wanted Paavo near anything that could heat up like that.
But Gerda had convinced him, and he had benefitted. He loved the food she made with the slow heating unit.
“Daddy!” Paavo shouted and ran to Deshin. He hit Deshin with a force that rocked him slightly.
His boy, eight now, was no longer so thin that Deshin worried about him. He was getting taller as well. He hadn’t hit a growth spurt yet, but it was coming. His face held hints of the adult he would become.
In the two years since Deshin had solved the problem of Paavo’s ghosts, the problems that had filtered into the illegal links his biological parents had installed before Disappearing, Paavo had become a steadier, happier child.
He still treated his father as if his father—not his mother—were the center of his world. Deshin constantly braced himself for the day that would change: his memory of growing up and all of the child-rearing experts said at some point in his pre-teen years, Paavo would challenge his father’s authority. But that point hadn’t come yet.
Paavo looked up at him. The streak of flour was no longer on Paavo’s cheek, which meant it was probably on Deshin’s clothes.
“Something wrong?” Paavo asked, and his tone held that adultness that had threatened for months now.
Deshin didn’t know how to answer that.
Something always was wrong when he arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, but Paavo had meant the question in a particular way. He was asking if something as drastic as Anniversary Day or the Peyti Crisis had occurred.
Deshin’s gaze met Gerda’s. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before. She clearly had the same question their son did.
Deshin didn’t want to talk about the family’s future with Paavo. The boy was brilliant, one of the smartest children ever to attend Aristotle Academy, but he was still very young emotionally. And Deshin never had a good handle on the boy—what he could deal with and what he couldn’t.
Deshin had thought that Paavo would have trouble with the Peyti Crisis, particularly since several people—including a student—had died in the United Domes emergency action to stop the Peyti clones. But Paavo had taken that in stride. He was too young to know the student, and somehow he had come to the conclusion that bad things happened everywhere.
The only thing Deshin didn’t like about Paavo’s attitude was that Paavo also seemed to believe his father would make everything right.
“We haven’t heard anything on the news,” Gerda said. “Has something happened?”
“Not like that,” Deshin said, his hands still on Paavo’s back. The boy’s muscles had developed now, partly because he had insisted on learning how to be as strong as his father.
Some day, his boy would be as strong as his father and
The house smelled of baking bread, which overlay the usual faint mint scent that Gerda used to calm them all. Gerda had been cooking ever since the Peyti Crisis. She either cooked or organized when she felt helpless.
He preferred the cooking. The organizing sometimes felt compulsive.
He threaded past the living room chairs, which looked like they hadn’t been used in weeks, and went into the heart of his home—the kitchen.
His small wife bent over the old-fashioned oven, door open and hot fragrant air wafting into the room. Deshin’s son, Paavo, stood beside her, protective gloves on his hands, a streak of flour on his cheek. The evenness of the streak told Deshin that the flour was expensive Earth-made flour, not the Moon flour that most people used.
Gerda was getting fancy. She had been cooking the old way for weeks now, not using any of the conveniences he had purchased for her. She had asked for this oven long ago, and he had protested: He hadn’t wanted Paavo near anything that could heat up like that.
But Gerda had convinced him, and he had benefitted. He loved the food she made with the slow heating unit.
“Daddy!” Paavo shouted and ran to Deshin. He hit Deshin with a force that rocked him slightly.
His boy, eight now, was no longer so thin that Deshin worried about him. He was getting taller as well. He hadn’t hit a growth spurt yet, but it was coming. His face held hints of the adult he would become.
In the two years since Deshin had solved the problem of Paavo’s ghosts, the problems that had filtered into the illegal links his biological parents had installed before Disappearing, Paavo had become a steadier, happier child.
He still treated his father as if his father—not his mother—were the center of his world. Deshin constantly braced himself for the day that would change: his memory of growing up and all of the child-rearing experts said at some point in his pre-teen years, Paavo would challenge his father’s authority. But that point hadn’t come yet.
Paavo looked up at him. The streak of flour was no longer on Paavo’s cheek, which meant it was probably on Deshin’s clothes.
“Something wrong?” Paavo asked, and his tone held that adultness that had threatened for months now.
Deshin didn’t know how to answer that.
Something always was wrong when he arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, but Paavo had meant the question in a particular way. He was asking if something as drastic as Anniversary Day or the Peyti Crisis had occurred.
Deshin’s gaze met Gerda’s. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before. She clearly had the same question their son did.
Deshin didn’t want to talk about the family’s future with Paavo. The boy was brilliant, one of the smartest children ever to attend Aristotle Academy, but he was still very young emotionally. And Deshin never had a good handle on the boy—what he could deal with and what he couldn’t.
Deshin had thought that Paavo would have trouble with the Peyti Crisis, particularly since several people—including a student—had died in the United Domes emergency action to stop the Peyti clones. But Paavo had taken that in stride. He was too young to know the student, and somehow he had come to the conclusion that bad things happened everywhere.
The only thing Deshin didn’t like about Paavo’s attitude was that Paavo also seemed to believe his father would make everything right.
“We haven’t heard anything on the news,” Gerda said. “Has something happened?”
“Not like that,” Deshin said, his hands still on Paavo’s back. The boy’s muscles had developed now, partly because he had insisted on learning how to be as strong as his father.
Some day, his boy would be as strong as his father and
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