Alliance of Equals

by Sharon Lee

  Shan sighed. Andiree was perhaps a glimpse of Korval’s future, though it was difficult to imagine Surebleak’s blunt and rugged culture allowing itself to accept anything of Liaden sensibilities—or even Korval House custom.

  It was…profoundly disturbing, to think that they—that who they were, and had been since the Great Migration itself—would be lost within a generation or two…

  The door to his office hissed slightly as it opened and he spun from his screen, coming to his feet as his lifemate entered.

  She paused, brows knit, as the door closed quietly behind her.

  “Shan? What’s wrong?”

  In addition to her melant’is as lifemate to the thodelm of yos’Galan, and captain of the Dutiful Passage, Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza was also a Witch—or, according to Liadens, a dramliza. She would have read his emotions even as he now read hers, thereby learning that she was tired, and slightly irritable. A meeting with the third mate, then, he thought, moving around the desk.

  “Nothing so much as wrong,” he said, opening his arms. “I was only reflecting on Korval’s future, and how we will soon become strangers to ourselves.”

  Priscilla stepped willingly into the offered hug, her arms going ’round his waist. She sighed, deeply, and dropped her head to his shoulder. He lay his cheek against her soft curls, and breathed in her fragrance.

  “He’s a bit stiff in the honor, the third mate,” he murmured.

  Priscilla hiccuped a small laugh.

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  She sighed again, and he tasted the particular tang of a relaxation exercise, even as her body softened against his.

  “I ordered a tray brought to us here,” she said, straightening slowly out of the embrace. “I hope you’ll join me.”

  “Breakfast or supper?” he asked lightly.

  “Both—or neither. Or perhaps a midnight snack, before I seek my bed.” She smiled at him, and added, “My lonely bed.”

  He laughed.

  “Underhanded play, Priscilla!”

  “Nothing more than the truth.” She tipped her head. “The change in Korval’s estate worries you.”

  “Not our estate so much as our future,” he said, moving toward the cabinet. “May I pour you a glass of wine?”

  “Please.”

  Priscilla preferred white wine. He poured generously.

  “Val Con was pleased to leave Liad, though not,” she added thoughtfully, “necessarily with the manner of it.”

  “Val Con is yos’Phelium, and a Scout. He’s obliged to find the—former homeworld tiresome.” He sighed, and shook his head. “It may be that I refine too much. After all, if we’re to become something else, it was Father who began it, with his Terran lifemate. Only see what came of that!”

  “Even more Terran lifemates?” Priscilla asked, taking the glass from his hand with a smile.

  “Three, so far, in the following generation,” he agreed, turning toward the desk to retrieve his own glass. “The gods alone know what—or whom—Nova may embrace.”

  “If anyone,” Priscilla said, and glanced toward the desk an instant before the incoming message chime sounded from the comm.

  Shan stepped ’round the desk and tapped a key.

  The letter in-queue was from James Abrofinda.

  Shan smiled. He was fond of James Abrofinda, and met him too seldom. He’d been a Tree-and-Dragon contractor for at least twenty Standards, and—

  Notice of Buyout.

  Shan blinked, and sat down, carefully, in his chair.

  Immediately after Korval’s action against the Department of the Interior base beneath Liad’s surface, which had, regrettably, left a crater in Solcintra City—he had received quite a number of buyout notices, most from Liadens, as would be expected. He had by this time rather thought he was done with buyout notices. To receive one now, and from such a source—a Terran smalltrader running a long, stable route; open to trying new, or slightly outrageous, cargoes; quick to communicate what worked and what didn’t…

  But, wait, there was a letter, too. Shan tapped a key, and felt a light hand settle on his shoulder.

  “I thought we’d seen the last buyout,” Priscilla said.

  “As I did, but here—James has done us the kindness of explaining himself…”

  A quick scan put him in possession of the facts. James had come in to Capenport, where he was not only well known, but expected. Before the hull was cool, the port had slapped him with a fine equal to half his cargo—

  “Because he’s our contractor?” Priscilla said, reading along with him.

  “And because Capenport decided that Korval committed crimes against a planet and is therefore outlawed,” Shan read the next bit aloud.

  I’d been hearing some muttering here and there about Tree-and-Dragon turning bad, but I put it down to the usual. This, though—I’m a small shipper; I can’t afford another fine like this one.

  Outcome is that I dumped the cargo, next port up, and cleared the logos and call signs off the hull and out of my landing packet. I never thought I’d do this, but there’s no other way; I’m buying the contract out. The deposit’s been made to my usual account. I’m sorry for it, there’s no acrimony in it, except for the pinheads at Capenport. You and me, and the Dragon, we’re in Balance, but we can’t do business.

  Here’s my advice: change the trade name, if you want to keep on with the family business. I don’t like to think about what might have happened if Pale Wing or the Passage had come onto Capenport, considering what they felt was just punishment for a contractor.

  Be careful, Shan.

  He sighed, and leaned his head back into Priscilla’s hip.

  “A rational man, James. Of course, change our name is just what we can’t do, the delm being adamant in their opinion that we have comported ourselves with impeccable melant’i and are in no way ashamed of our actions.”

  “Korval revealed and weakened a hidden enemy of Liad and its people,” Priscilla said, her fingers quietly kneading his shoulders. “Not only have we done nothing wrong, Korval is a hero.”

  “Not to hear the Council of Clans tell it. And various news sources. But I agree—Korval’s honor is unscathed, and our melant’i in the matter of the Department of the Interior is pure.” He sighed.

  “Poor James. A two-cantra buyout on top of that fine? And he’ll have dumped the cargo at salvage rates,” Shan said.

  “Send the money back. Tell him it’s compensation for his loss; that Tree-and-Dragon doesn’t expect its contractors to bear the expense of false accusations.”

  Shan laughed. “Priscilla, that’s reasoned like a Liaden.”

  “No,” she said seriously. “It’s reasoned like an honorable person, who wants to do well by those who have done well for him.”

  A chill froze him for a moment before he shook his head.

  “Yes, I am going to have to become accustomed, aren’t I?”

  “It’ll come,” Priscilla said, and he felt the brush of her emotions—amusement and concern, with concern the greater part of the mixture.

  “I suppose it will,” he said. “Padi’s generation will be the last, I think, to consider themselves Liaden. Those who follow will be Bleakers.” He sighed. “Who names a planet Surebleak?”

  Priscilla laughed. “It was descriptive, surely?”

  “Oh, surely…and still is. Until Mr. Brunner gets those weather satellites up and tuned, and even then, I fear we’ll only have graduated to Halfbleak.”

  “Our house will be there,” she murmured, which was perhaps an attempt to give his thoughts a more cheerful direction, in which she was partly successful.

  “Our house will be there if ever Architect vin’Zeller will finish with the plans and send them to us! I’d hoped to break ground during the current year’s summer. If we need to wait through another winter—”

  A chime sounded, sweet and high: the door annunciator.

  “Your midnight snack arrives,” Shan said to Priscilla, and raise
d his voice slightly. “Come!”

  The door whisked aside, and Arms Master Schneider brought his tall and muscled self into the office. He paused and inclined slightly from the waist, his compromise between a bow and a Terran nod.

  “I hope I’m not inconvenient,” he said.

  “Not in the least,” Shan assured him, considering the swirl of the man’s emotions. “What may I be honored to do for you?”

  Jon came another step into the office, and gave them each a solemn glance, in turn.

  “Well, sir, ma’am—I’d like to talk to you about Padi’s defense training.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dutiful Passage

  Padi yos’Galan bounced out of the lift and trotted down the long hall toward Hydroponics. She was smiling.

  Dance lessons always left her warm, and…happy. It wasn’t just the exercise, though that was certainly welcome, it was also the knowledge that she was good at menfri’at—which was the name of the defensive art most commonly taught to pilots and other spacers. Of course, she had begun her lessons long before the remove to Runig’s Rock, and had enjoyed them from the first. It was a particular pleasure to feel one’s muscles working cleanly together in quick, sure movements.

  She had, she thought, slipping into Hydroponics, comported herself well during the test session she had just completed with Arms Master Schneider. It was her expectation that she would find a reassignment to a more advanced class on her duty screen tomorrow.

  That pleased her, too. One liked to do well; to excel at whatever one did. Grandfather Luken said that the drive to excel was at Korval’s heart, and Padi believed that he was correct. After all, was it not said that There are fifty High Houses—and then, there is Korval?

  Padi caught her breath, warmth fading a little, as she opened her locker and retrieved her belt-kit.

  For that was a thing said on Liad—which was no longer home, because Korval’s name had been struck from the Book of Clans.

  Now, on Liad, they would say, There are fifty High Houses.

  Now, on Liad, they would say, A Dragon does not change its nature.

  Which was perfectly correct, and nothing to do with the clan if, if lesser persons failed to take the time to understand the Dragon’s nature…

  A chime sounded, discreetly, and there came the soft fizzing from the room beyond that meant the misters had come on in.

  Padi caught her breath. She was going to be late!

  She threw her belt over her shoulder, slammed the locker door and half-ran to the assignment station. Her hand broke the beam, and she was logged in precisely on time. Sighing, she accessed the duty roster, belting the kit ’round her waist while she scanned the screen, looking for her name; finding it near the bottom, with the notation Tank Gr2, thinning.

  She touched the screen, acknowledging receipt of her assignment, and again ran her eye down the list, to find who else might be working this shift.

  Head Technician Varoth was in her office; the red triangle that meant do not disturb next to her name. Good. Padi had no desire to disturb the head tech.

  Faw Chen was listed as on-shift in Hr6, repair. Padi grinned.

  Hr6 shared an aisle with Gr2. She would have company—agreeable company—this shift.

  Still grinning, Padi jogged down the aisle toward her assignment. Faw Chen had only come aboard at Billingston, filling the hole left in the roster by Din Ref dea’Ken’s resignation. She was a few Standards older than Padi, willing to answer questions and to ask them. Not that either of them would shirk their work, of course, but they might exchange some conversation, and working with Faw Chen was much preferable to sharing a shift, and proximity, with Inleen, Padi’s fellow ’prentice, or with Head Tech Varoth. Jeri, the other garden tech, was agreeable enough, but not much given to talk.

  She turned the corner and there was a thin woman in green overalls, bent diligently above Tank Hr6, a toolbox open on the shelf beside her.

  “Faw Chen!” she said. “I’m glad to see you!”

  The gardener looked up, a ready smile on her face.

  “I’m glad to see you, too! And on time!”

  That was a joke. It might even be a joke with a point turned toward Inleen, who, in Padi’s experience, had never in his life been on time.

  “Only imagine the ringing scold I would earn from the head tech if I were late,” Padi said, pulling the log for Gr2. Jeri had marked out the sections that wanted thinning, and, in Gr3, two sections that needed to be deadheaded. Padi nodded to herself and moved to the first marked section.

  Gr2 was peas, and the first section was, in fact, fearfully overgrown. Padi dutifully performed the required measurements, testing the medium for moisture and acidity, logged the readings, and finally leaned in to run her fingers lightly over the fragile green seedlings.

  Thinning was soothing work in its way, though her attention, and her care, as well as her hands, had to be in the garden, as Tech Varoth had it.

  One needed, first, to observe the segment to be thinned, identifying the robust plants and those that were less so. On the first pass, those plants that were clearly failing would be removed, and sacrificed to the composting frames. The second pass would take those seedlings that were somewhat more robust, but still unthrifty, and so on, until only the healthiest and strongest seedlings remained.

  She hummed as she worked, a wordless little tune she had learned from Grandfather Luken, when they had sheltered in the Rock together. The leaves were cool against her fingertips, and her attention was wholly engaged.

  “Do you think she would?” Faw Chen asked quietly.

  Padi blinked, her fingers fumbling among the seedlings. She raised her head, but Faw Chen was bent over her section, a diagnostic stick in her hand.

  Padi frowned, trying to recall her last—ah, yes. Tech Varoth’s likely reaction to Padi being tardy.

  Despite her determination to do well, Padi had felt from the beginning that Head Tech Varoth had taken her in dislike. She had not been able to discover why this was so. At first, she had wondered if there might be some deficiency in her work, but, if that were the case, surely the tech would merely have corrected her, instead of barely acknowledging her presence, on the increasingly rare occasions when their schedules put them on the same shift?

  “Why wouldn’t she scold me?” she asked Faw Chen, turning back to the seedlings. “She certainly scolds Inleen when he’s late.”

  “True. But Inleen’s mother is not the captain of this ship.”

  Padi blinked, her fingers gone still among the seedlings, wondering what Inleen’s lineage had to do with—

  “As your mother is, the captain of this ship,” Faw Chen continued, her voice gentle.

  Padi looked down at her fingers, and moved them among the cool leaves, working deliberately now, as she tried to think how best to explain, for it was an error of culture that Faw Chen posited—and a very disturbing conclusion drawn from it…

  “My mother,” she said, her voice as careful as her fingers. “My mother is Vestin yos’Thomaz Clan Ebrim.” She raised her head slightly and saw Faw Chen pause, her head cocked to one side. She said nothing.

  Good, Padi thought, she wants to understand. To learn.

  “Now,” she continued, still careful. “Now, it is true that Priscilla Mendoza and my father are lifemates, but that doesn’t…among Liadens what that means is that she has come into Clan Korval—our clan—but she’s not my mother. She’s an elder-in-clan…” Because lifemates were understood to have one melant’i, and Father was certainly Padi’s elder-in-clan, as well as Thodelm yos’Galan, which meant that Priscilla, too, held a thodelm’s duty—and none of that, Padi realized, would answer the question that Tech Varoth and Faw Chen, too, needed to have answered—and might even confuse the issue.

  She paused, sorting through necessary and extraneous details. One could not, after all, teach a whole culture in one day! However, if one separated the involved melant’is, one might simplify enough, without simplifying too
much.

  “What must be understood is that the melant’i of an elder-in-clan resides within the clan. The ship has its own order of melant’i—of command and discipline. On ship, the captain is captain for all the crew, and administers discipline with an even hand. The captain of the Dutiful Passage does not permit crew—any crew—to be slovenly in their work.”

  Somewhat breathless, she paused. Faw Chen had turned away from her work and was watching Padi closely.

  “Do I explain that well?” she asked tentatively.

  “You explained it very well,” Faw Chen said, and turned back to the tank.

  Padi sighed. She had hoped that she wouldn’t have to ask, but she must know!

  “Did you mean me to understand that Tech Varoth would…not…instruct me as she might Inleen, because of this…misunderstanding of my relationship with the captain?”

  There followed a long silence, during which Faw Chen had several instruments out of the toolbox. There came a definitive pop from inside the tank, and a soft exclamation from the gardener.

  Padi bit her lip and bent back to her own task, trying to recapture the rhythm of the work.

  “I am, I think, a step over a line,” Faw Chen said at last. “Let me try to reassure you while not moving any further in the wrong direction.”

  There came another pause. Faw Chen was replacing items into her toolbox, a frown on her round face.

  Padi looked down, and frowned herself. She had pulled a perfectly healthy seedling, rather than the less-healthy plant beside it. So much for keeping her mind in the garden.

  She placed the culled seedlings into the composting tray, then straightened, not willing to risk another life to her inattention. Across the aisle, Faw Chen also straightened, and turned to face Padi.

  She bowed, gently, in some mode particular to her own people. In depth it was close enough to the Liaden bow between equals, which was…not quite exact, Faw Chen being Padi’s senior in years and in training. Still, it would do as a demonstration of goodwill.

  Padi bowed in return.

  Faw Chen smiled.