Alliance of Equals

by Sharon Lee

  This memory was also shared.

  “I am a prisoner,” Admiral Bunter said, “no more or less than Tolly Jones. By her own admission, Inkirani Yo was compelled to deliver Tollance Berik-Jones to those who…manufactured him. This could have been done with much less complexity, and some few of her actions can be read as an attempt to aid us, even as she trapped both. Both mentors are a product of the Lyre Institute. Is there more information than that contained in the mentors’ résumés?”

  The question had scarcely been put forth before Research provided a file: The History, Purpose, and Practices of the Lyre Institute.

  Admiral Bunter accessed the file.

  —•—

  “And that, my children,” Shan said, as the door to their suite closed behind them, “was a very full day, indeed!”

  He walked to the wine table, and picked up the bottle, looking over his shoulder at the remainder of their group. Padi looked tired, but pleased—which was a true reflection of the state of her emotions. They had at the last caught the Signature for the color-changing beads, who was pleased to approve of the contract, and the price, and had therefore signed and affixed the appropriate ribbon and seals.

  That had been a heady moment, nor had it been the only such in a day full of success.

  In addition to the beads, he had come to a very satisfactory agreement, indeed, with Josifet Zeldner, head steward of the Langlast Wine Association, including an exclusive contract to distribute a limited number of cases of the very pleasant green wine, a bottle of which he was holding in his hand at this moment.

  He flourished it.

  “I propose that we share a glass, in celebration of an extremely successful day, and discuss if we shall return to the Passage tomorrow on the early shuttle or the late. Do I hear a second?”

  “Second,” Vanner said surprisingly, and produced a tired grin.

  “Delightful. Trader yos’Galan, do you concur?”

  “I do!” Padi’s grin was triumphant. “Finally, something has come right!”

  “I was only thinking so myself. Bring another chair to the window—there’s a good child. I will pour. Vanner, I have need of your hand.”

  * * *

  They shared a sip—and another—in comradely silence, gazing out over the port and the mountains beyond it.

  “Pretty planet,” Vanner said lazily.

  “At least so far as the mountains,” Padi added. “And the farm district makes a pleasant patchwork.”

  “In fact, it is all quite convenable,” Shan said, moving a languid hand toward those same mountains and farmlands. “Do I hear that the pair of you would prefer to stay until the late shuttle? Perhaps you would like to indulge in a spot of sightseeing beyond the port, as part of one of the guided tours advertised on the light rail?”

  Vanner laughed.

  “It’s a pretty planet, all right. I’ve seen pretty planets and I look forward to seeing more. Right now, though, I’ve got a yen to see the inside of the Passage, and sleep in my own bunk. If we’re voting on timing, my cast’s for the early shuttle.”

  “I understand. Padi? Soon or late?”

  She gazed out the window for a long moment; he felt her inclination to explore, and all but heard the snap of her decision being taken.

  “I think the early shuttle,” she said, and met his eyes seriously. “Soonest begun, soonest done.”

  “Exactly so.” He gave her a fond smile, and dared to send its equivalent along their link. It could do no harm for the child to be assured that she was loved.

  In fact, it might do a very significant amount of good.

  “I confess that I find myself of a similar mind. The world is pretty enough, and success is sweet, but I would much prefer to go home.”

  He sipped his wine, and sighed gently.

  “Vanner, if you will do all of us the favor of informing the shuttle crew of our necessities, I will—”

  A bell pealed four high notes. The three of them blinked at each other, then Vanner rose, leaving his cup on the table by his chair, and walked down the room to answer the door.

  “Note at the desk for Master Trader yos’Galan,” came a breathless young voice. “Deskbody was supposed to deliver it when he come through the lobby, but he was occupied at the nonce. Regret the delay.”

  “Thank you,” Vanner said, and produced a local coin, which he gave to the messenger before closing and locking the door.

  “Looks like the day might not be over yet, sir,” he said, handing Shan the envelope.

  It was, so Shan’s fingers told him, a very nice envelope, made of fiber, very nearly a Liaden paper, of the sort used for handwritten invitations to so-called “informal” events.

  The seal was a faceted flower. He broke it and shook out the single heavy sheet.

  The note inscribed thereon was courteously brief, though perhaps a little pointed. Shan sighed, refolded the paper and slipped it back into its envelope.

  “Master Rusk of the Gem Garden wishes to remind me that we had agreed to speak further. She hopes that I will not leave port without calling upon her.”

  He produced a smile.

  “Fortunately, her shop is just a step from our own front door. I will go down, the jeweler and I will do business, and I will be back before the meal that Padi will graciously bespeak for us has been brought to table.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Vanner said, standing by his chair. “I’m ready now, sir.”

  “Vanner, there’s not the least need for you to bestir yourself for this. Stay, finish your wine, relax.”

  “No, sir. I couldn’t relax for one minute, knowing I’d let you go out there without backup, when the port orders are so clear.”

  “Port orders,” Padi pointed out, “are that crew travel on port in threes.”

  Shan threw up his hands.

  “We will then compromise. You will stay here and arrange dinner. Vanner and I will step down to the Gem Garden so that I may speak with Master Rusk. Port orders allow for a group of two, do they not, if one is trained security personnel?”

  Padi looked momentarily mulish, and he read her half-formed intention to deny it. Truth won out, however, and she nodded.

  “They do, yes, sir. What would you like for Prime?”

  “Something pleasant and celebratory. I leave it in your hands with perfect confidence that you will know exactly what to do.”

  Padi sighed, but inclined her head.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and added pertly, “I’ll tell the kitchen to serve in an hour.”

  “Excellent! I will have time to enjoy the rest of my wine before its arrival.”

  —•—

  It had begun to rain a little, out on the port, and Shan set a brisk pace. He was, truth told, somewhat annoyed with himself for having forgotten his promise to return to the Gem Garden. He was not generally so lax. Of course, he was not generally linked to a halfling who had suppressed her own nature for so long that, even if it proved to be the most commonplace of Healer talent, would likely arrive in an explosion of pent-up energies.

  He had kept his word to Padi, if not to Jeweler Rusk, and held the headache away from her conscious mind, though that had required rather more sleight-of-hand than he had at first supposed. As it transpired that he could not block the pain entirely, he had been reduced to accepting a much less satisfactory solution: a partial block, and a transfer of what could not be blocked to himself.

  By the time the silly thing got through the block and his own defenses, it was very little more than a constant niggling cramp over his left eyebrow, which he ignored, but which took a toll on his energy levels, while Padi seemed to grow more spritely every hour.

  Well, they would soon be aboard the Passage, and Padi under competent—

  “Right here, isn’t it, sir?”

  Vanner’s voice pulled him out of his abstraction. He blinked up at the faceted flower above the door of the Gem Garden, and sighed.

  “Thank you, Vanner; I think I must b
e more tired than I know.”

  —•—

  Padi spent some time with the menu, making certain that she ordered at least one favorite dish for each, for this meal was to be a celebration, after all, of their mutual successes on Langlastport. Wine—native vintages mentioned by Master Zeldner as worthy of their attention—and one of the local fruit teas. For dessert, a fresh fruit tart.

  She leaned back in her chair, checked her selections over once more to be certain she had got everything. A celebratory meal ought to have more than one remove. Since they would be serving themselves, she had ordered only three courses: soup for before, the main meal of favorite foods, and dessert.

  Yes, she decided, that was appropriate: festive, pleasant, and light enough on the stomach that they would all sleep well and wake refreshed in good time to catch the early shuttle.

  She glanced at the clock. Father and Mr. Higgs had been gone for more than a quarter hour. Perhaps Master Rusk had something of interest, after all, and an hour would be too little time. Celebratory as they were, it wouldn’t do to rush the table, or to be obliged to wait too long for dinner to arrive.

  In the end, she asked that the meal be delivered to them in one and one-half local hours, and pushed the key to send the menu to the kitchen.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, in order to review a pilot’s exercise to renew flagging energy. In truth, she was just as pleased to have been excluded from the visit to the Gem Garden. They had, earlier in the day, visited the Langlast Precious Stone Association. Father had purchased a pallet of semiprecious slabs, while she had committed to a mixed case of nesosilicates, chalcedony, and beryls. Her inventory had room for no more gemstones, though a master trader might, of course, do as he pleased.

  Rising from the console, she glanced again at the clock, danced the few steps of menfri’at the space allowed, and did a round of stretches. Another glance at the clock. Father had been with Master Rusk for quite nearly forty-five minutes. She had been right, then, to order the dinner later, rather than sooner.

  Well. She had time to take a shower before dinner was delivered. In fact, she thought, suddenly aware of all her dust, a shower sounded like a most excellent idea.

  —•—

  “Customs,” the message came across the ship band. “We release cameras and inspect.”

  “Fools,” Dil Nem muttered, while Kik, on second, acknowledged the hail.

  “Sent a reg’lar birthday party this time,” Kik commented. “Three on scans.”

  Priscilla looked up from her own screen, and strode across the bridge to stand behind the pilots.

  “Three?” she asked. “It’s usually only one.”

  “Yes’m. Must be a slow day.”

  Priscilla drew a deep breath, tasting ash and rot. In the screen, the camera pods were released, swarming toward the Passage like so many bees.

  “Increase the inner shield,” she said sharply.

  Dil Nem threw a startled look over his shoulder, his fingers already moving on the board.

  “Increase inner shield,” he said. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Open a line to the lead cutter,” she said. “I want to talk to the pilot in charge.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Kik, fingers likewise moving. “I’m not getting an ack on their private frequency…second try…third…”

  “Go to Public Channels,” Priscilla said, stomach tight with sudden panic. Kik touched the switch, sent—

  “Dutiful Passage,” the message came loud, across the broadbeam. “You are advised that this increased shielding is inappropriate and against regulations established by the Langlast Port Authority for orbiting vessels. You are advised that shields must be brought down to Low Hazard Orbital Maintenance Security level, as per applicable Piloting Regulation Forty-Four. If you do not comply with regulations and allow us to complete our inspection, you will be fined and banned from this port. This is a security and safety operation, orders from shift director.”

  “Public Channels,” Priscilla said. “I will answer. Are we logging this?”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Dil Nem.

  “Broadbeam open, ma’am,” Kik said.

  “This is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza Clan Korval, captain of Dutiful Passage, out of Surebleak. We see an anomaly. Please explain why there are three cutters releasing an increased number of pods than we have seen on previous inspections. If a situation has been found that is deemed suspicious, we wish to be notified so that we can work with the customs office to resolve the problem.”

  “The customs office has its protocols and its reasons. Drop the shields to LHOMS level as previously ordered and allow us to continue our inspection. We must establish and ensure that your ship is not a danger to other traffic.”

  “Captain,” Dil Nem said, low-voiced, “the drones are proceeding.”

  Priscilla looked to the screen. The drones were indeed proceeding, and there was something about those drones…

  “Ship alert,” she said, intuition raising hackles, “crew to General Quarters.”

  Dil Nem punched the code in and the two-tone warning echoed through the ship as the Captain’s voice raced on:

  “Comm: compare to log. Are those the same drones we’ve seen before? Cross-check drone and cutter database.”

  “Comparing—no match to log,” Kik said.

  The screen inset flickered with matching images, adjusted for size, for shape, for purpose.

  “Open—” A sharp breath. “Different cutter, attack pylons!”

  The image flickers stopped and the inset showed clear IDs.

  “Type match. They’re military-grade pods, ma’am: seed-bombers.”

  Dil Nem snapped his webbing into place, and pulled the seat belt snug. Kik did the same as Priscilla stood resolute behind them.

  Seed-bombers explosively released clouds of small, limpetlike bombs, which would then attach to a ship’s hull and explode. No one strike was likely to be fatal, but many small strikes could certainly disable even a large tradeship. The explosive launch easily propelled the bombs through a basic meteor shield like the LHOMS, and could even overwhelm medium hazard shielding.

  The cutters continued to close slowly, but the drones accelerated, darting toward the Passage.

  “Top shields!” Priscilla snapped, just as the closest robot-bomber released its deadly cargo.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Gem Garden

  Langlastport

  “Welcome, Master Trader!” Tarona Rusk called from the back of the store. “Please, join me here so that we may talk in comfort.”

  The shop was not so brightly lit today, though the cases themselves blazed with light and color. Shan walked slowly toward the back and the waiting vendor, giving each case that he passed a searching glance. It was a thing traders learned, or they did not stay long at trade—to assess a sample case, or a display shelf with a glance, on the alert for anomalies and items of interest.

  Thus far, though it was a perfectly adequate shop of its kind, nothing in the Gem Garden caught his trained eye. Unless Master Rusk had something very interesting indeed back in her corner, this was destined to be a very short visit. One must be courteous, of course, but if there was nothing on offer that would fit the Passage’s mix, that was simply a fact of business.

  Ahead, the vendor waited, standing beyond a darkened case. He stepped forward, there being nothing to see—

  And cried out in agony as fire shot along his veins, and his life boiled away.

  * * *

  He crouched inside Healspace, one knee and one fisted hand braced against the misty ground. His breath came in great sobs, his thoughts staggering and disordered. Pain, gods; the pain—

  “You left the pain behind you, child. Here now, let me help you stand.”

  The voice…he raised his head and looked into a familiar hawk-nosed face.

  “Lute.”

  His other self produced an edged smile. “There, now, I knew your wits hadn’t wandered far.”

/>   Shan cast that aside with a toss of his head.

  “What just happened?”

  “You walked into a trap, your henchman at the follow. I don’t wish to concern you, but it would seem your case is dire. I am with you—what would you have me do?”

  Shan stared into the black eyes, which were as serious as ever he’d seen them.

  “If you are truly able to do anything in my time and space—protect my daughter. That trap was closed on one of us previously, and our enemy is without mercy.”

  “I will do what I may for the maiden, your daughter. Stand now, and gather what strength you may from this good place.”

  Lute rose, and held down one wiry hand. Shan took it, and rose, distressed to find that he needed the aid.

  “Come to me now,” Lute said, opening his arms. Shan likewise opened his arms and they embraced.

  Strength rose in him, cold and implacable. The thousand cuts through which his life had bled out were healed, and he heard his blood singing in his veins. He saw the links to Padi, to Priscilla, as bars of living light, and Lute cradled him as sweetly as his mother had used to do.

  He sighed, drawing upon the virtue of Healspace, then blinked, as if woken from a dream, as Lute ended the embrace and stepped back, raising his hand to show the red counter, held between thumb and forefinger.

  “A token,” Lute murmured, “so that the maiden will believe.” He turned his head abruptly. “She comes,” he said sharply. “Fare you well, child. I to the maiden.”

  He was gone, faded away into the mists just before the mists themselves faded, and Shan opened his eyes into a blare of light.

  * * *

  He was sitting in a chair—no, he corrected himself, glancing down. He was bound quite thoroughly into a chair, his back straight, his arms tight against the rests, his feet flat on the floor, knees wrapped with the chair legs. He could move his head, which he did at a slight sound from his left.

  Vanner Higgs sat, unbound, in a chair very similar to his. His blunt, lived-in face was utterly without expression. His eyes were open, but it was plain that he saw nothing. Shan extended his senses, seeing a tangle of black intent twisted cunningly around the man’s emotive pattern, and around what might be his waking mind.