“Piedro! Would it really please you to have me dress as if I were a shameless woman? I know it is custom in the HQ, but would you really display me in this way before all the strangers in the street? Even if Cholayna visits the Guild House, I shall supply her with proper clothing!”
He stopped then, and thought it over for a minute. Then he said quietly, “It’s not fair to you, and I know it. I shouldn’t blame you. But especially right now, while Li is here examining the status of the colony—they’re saying I wrecked my career; I could have been the first Legate here. I don’t see why it should make any difference, especially as you are adapting so well to life in the HQ, and there’s really no question of conflict of interests. But I felt it might be better, just now, not to—not to ram it down their throats, that I’d married across the wall.”
He stopped, and Jaelle felt as if he had slapped her. But it was nothing she had done. He had married her knowing who and what she was, and what it might do to his career. Now if he was having second thoughts, she should not blame herself for them. She had never guessed at this kind of ambition which would be willing to build on a lie! She stared straight ahead, blinking back tears she would not shed. All her pleasure in the beauty of the day had gone. Now, in the afternoon sky, there was as yet no trace of the late-afternoon fog preceding nightly sleet or rain. Jaelle’s life often depended, traveling in the hills, on her ability to judge weather conditions for a whole caravan, and she felt a little uneasy prickle down her spine.
There’s a storm coming. Maybe Cholayna did mean weather after all.
The Terran escort left them at the formal outer gates of the Comyn Castle, where a very young cadet, unshaven fuzz downy on his cheek, very stiff in his shiny new uniform, informed them self-consciously that the Lord Hastur had sent an honor guard to escort the guests. Peter replied politely, in flawless casta, but Jaelle wondered if he knew what was perfectly clear to her, that the guard was not to do them honor but to keep these clumsy intruders out of places where they were not wanted.
They were guided into a room Jaelle had never seen before, but she guessed at once that it was the Regent’s presence chamber. She had never thought they would be allowed to see Prince Aran, not even to pay their respects; had supposed they would be fobbed off with some minor functionary, but it seemed that the Hastur would deal with them himself. So it was serious. Prince Aran Elhalyn, like all the princes of the Comyn, held purely ceremonial and ornamental functions; the real power of the Council lay in the hands of the Hasturs.
Guarded by two more of the youthful cadets in green and black uniform, some unidentifiable metal fragments were laid out on a polished table. The Terrans began to drift over to examine them, when one of the young cadets cleared his throat hesitantly, and Jaelle tugged urgently at Peter’s arm. He spoke in an undertone to Coordinator Montray, who turned as, between two more of the Guards, a slender, pale-haired man, not much over thirty, came into the room. He wore elegant blue and silver, the colors of the Hasturs, and his manner was quiet and unassuming; yet Jaelle could see how much in awe of him all the Guardsmen were.
He said, “I am Danvan Hastur, and my father, the Regent, has been unexpectedly called away on family business; he sent me to make you welcome; please forgive him, it is not intended to slight you that I am sent in his place.” He bowed to the strangers, and Peter translated this for the Terrans.
The Coordinator said, “Haldane, say whatever is suitable about the honor he does us, and tell him as diplomatically as you can that the sooner we get down to business, the sooner he can get back to family matters or whatever they are.”
Jaelle stood listening quietly while Peter translated in his perfect casta; the young Hastur listened with a bland smile, but Jaelle, nevertheless, had the feeling that he understood what Montray had really meant.
When the formalities had been concluded, Hastur gestured them toward the table. “These are the bits of the fallen aircraft which contain identifying numbers or letters, which of course our people could not read. Everything else, I am assured, is only bare metal, and you must realize that these people, although they are very poor, are very honest; in returning these materials, they are renouncing what would to them be a fortune. It would be generous of you to reward them in some way.”
Montray said, “In our culture people don’t expect rewards for common honesty—no, don’t translate that,” he added with a wry face. “Their sense of duty is probably different from ours. If I live here a thousand years, and it seems I’m going to, I’ll never understand a world where honesty isn’t taken for granted as duty, and rewards kept for something unusual.”
Aleki said cynically, “Oh, come, Montray, you can’t be that naive. Matter of relativity. Suppose somebody left a hill of diamonds lying around and told you to guard this heap of worthless rocks? That’s the whole history of Terran civilization— taking valuable things that the natives never thought were valuable, and trading them for worthless junk. How do you think we got the plutonium on Alpha?”
“It was worthless to them, with their current level of civilization—or lack of it,” argued Montray, “but we can talk ethics some other time, if you don’t mind. Right now, tell him we appreciate the courtesy, and make a note to send the farmers or whoever found this stuff, some kind of reward.”
Jaelle, remembering a conversation at Ardais, volunteered quietly, “A few good metal tools—spades, hammers, axes— would be the most welcome reward possible.”
“Thank you, Jaelle. Make a note of that, Monty,” Aleki said, “and Haldane, start getting the data on those fragments before they’re moved.”
Peter went with Jaelle to read off the numbers and record them on his pocket scriber.
“Flight recorder, tapes intact,” Peter said. “We can find out why the plane crashed, though I suppose, in the Kilghard Hills, bad weather and crosswinds are as far as we have to look.” He sorted through the neatly packaged fragments. “Only three ident disks? Mattingly. Reiber. Stanforth. There is a Carr listed in the records. His disk must still be out there in the wreck. How many bodies did they find?”
Jaelle translated the question, and Danvan Hastur shook his head. “I fear I have no idea. You must question the men, who said they are willing to guide you to the wreckage. But they told me that they buried the bodies decently. The plane was, you understand, at the very bottom of a nearly inaccessible ravine; they felt that transporting the men out would have been unnecessary labor, since nothing could now be done for them.”
Jaelle paused with a piece of metal in her hand, a picture suddenly clear in her mind, a plane crashed on a high ledge, perched there precariously for moments, then when a single figure made its way outside, the sudden precipitous crash into the irrecoverable depths… she clutched at the edge of the table, dizzied, wondering at the vertigo which had suddenly overcome her.
“One of the men survived the crash?” she blurted. “What happened to him?”
Hastur’s pale eyes met hers and Jaelle realized she had spoken in her own language. “How did you know there was a survivor, mestra? Have you laran?”
She blundered, “I held this—and I saw him, plunging out of the plane, on to the ledge, when it fell—”
Peter turned to look at her, startled, and she realized she had drawn all eyes to herself. Hastur ignored the other Terrans. “It is true there was a survivor of the crash; he is living at Armida. I have a message from the Lord Damon, Regent of Armida for the Lord Valdir, who is still legally a child, that the man Carr is in his employ. He was asked if he wished to send a message to his kin, and declined, saying he had no living relatives and the Terrans had no doubt presumed him dead for many years.”
“That can’t be allowed,” said Coordinator Montray when this was translated to him, “he must return and regularize his status.”
Monty said under his breath to his father, “No, sir, that was what that business was all about last year. Private contracts between Terran citizens and Darkovan employers are legitimate
, if we want to be able to hold contracted Darkovans to their terms of employment.” He asked Lord Hastur, “Tell me only this, sir, who is the patron of the man Carr?”
“The Lord Damon Ridenow himself,” said Hastur, and Monty’s eyebrows went up. “That settles that, father. The rule says that if a Darkovan of substance makes himself personally responsible for the Terran employee, it’s legal, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Lord Domenic out at Aldaran asked for a dozen Terran experts in aircraft design—he wants to try and get helicopters or some form of VTOL aircraft working out there. Lorill Hastur has half a dozen hydroponics experts working with solar technology out on the Plains of Arilinn. If Lord Armida wants to keep this Carr working for him, all we can do is put it into records that he’s alive and well somewhere in the Domains, and leave it at that.”
They ended the session by bundling up the logged thirty pounds or so of assorted debris to be returned to the city for study. Lord Hastur stated, “I am willing to mount a salvage operation, complete with guides to take you there, when weather permits. But I think we must meet soon and discuss the rules under which your overflights for Mapping and Exploring are permitted.”
The Coordinator said, “With respect, sir, we do not accept your jurisdiction over our flights. You are making no use of your airspace whatever and there is no traffic problem. We intend to continue all necessary mapping flights, and, while we are grateful for your cooperation, it should be abundantly clear that we ask this cooperation as a favor, we do not admit that we are required to do so. Our position is unchanged; Darkover is an Empire colony and while we will not interfere with the self-determination of your people, we do not admit that these overflights come under your jurisdiction to protest.”
Hastur’s face went pale with anger “About that, sir, you must speak with my father, with Prince Aran and with the Comyn Council; you are invited to appear before us at Midsummer, if you wish, and present your case. And now, I fear, duty calls me elsewhere. May I offer you help in having these things transported to the Terran Zone? And it would be welcome if you would speak with the people who brought these things and make arrangements to sell them the metal for adequate compensation or to have it transported.” He arose and departed, followed by his escort, and the Terrans were left alone.
“Cool customer,” said Aleki, “I’d give a lot to know why everybody is so damned deferential to these Comyn—Jaelle,” he added, “aren’t you related to some of them?”
“Only distantly,” she lied, eager to get away from them and suddenly unwilling to remain there any longer.
“What about that damned metal? It’s no good to us, but we don’t want to disturb the local economy by leaving it out there to start what amounts to a gold rush, either. We’ve got the important part here—” Li gestured to the identification disks, flight recording box, the fragments which identified the particular aircraft. “Should we waive the rest of it out there? Haldane, Monty, you know local conditions; what do you recommend?”
Peter said, “The Regent of Alton has the reputation for being a reasonable and honorable man. Granted, I’ve never met him personally, but he has that reputation. I suggest we send someone to discuss it with him; after all, it’s on his land.”
“Good idea,” the Coordinator said, “and at the same time we can find out about this man Carr. What the hell, if he wants to take some job over the wall, nobody’s stopping him, and after all, he didn’t come in to collect his severance pay!” He laughed uproariously, and Jaelle could not help but see the grimace of the other Terrans behind his back. Did anyone take this man seriously?
“But we’ve got to make sure,” the Coordinator went on, “that they’re not holding this man Carr out there to squeeze out everything they want to know about the Terrans. Brainwash him. We might wind up having to send someone out to rescue him!”
Peter said in his dryest tone, “Somehow I cannot imagine the Regent of Alton would be guilty of anything so dishonorable.”
“Look here, whose side are you on anyhow?” demanded Montray. “You always take all these native bastards right at face value and if they’re as simple as all that, how come they’re not doing what all the other natives on uncivilized planets do when the Empire lands on their world—coming up and begging for a piece of the action? Something’s going on out there that we don’t know about and I’ve got a gut feeling that those bastards you call Comyn have something to do with it!”
Monty said, and his tone would have frozen liquid hydrogen “However that may be, sir, I suggest you keep your voice down. We are, after all, in their territory and if there is anyone here who speaks even a little Terran standard, you have just insulted their highest nobility. We can discuss what Haldane is to do when we are safely behind the walls of the HQ again.”
Jaelle said in a tone almost as stiff as Monty’s, “If you question your safety, I venture to remind you that the word of a Hastur is proverbial, and Lord Danvan has assured us of our safety. Nevertheless, I suggest that we should be gone from here before we give him cause to regret his courtesy!”
“Let’s load up that stuff, then,” Li commanded. “We can give it to Spaceforce when we get down to the gates; until then, Monty, Haldane, you’re able-bodied, can you divide it up between you? Careful with that recorder box, I’ll take that,” he added, and tucked it into a uniform pocket. “I’ll turn it over to Flight Operations personally, though I don’t suppose it will tell us anything except bad weather. All right, let’s get going.”
One of the cadets remaining cleared his throat self-consciously and said to Jaelle, “Mestra, will you kindly inform the Terranan captain, or officer—I don’t know his proper designation, acquit me of deliberate failure in courtesy—that the Lord Hastur has required us to give any assistance desired in transporting your property through the gates and to the City. They need not burden themselves like animals; we are here to assist them.”
Jaelle relayed the information; the Coordinator said, “I’ll bet they’d like to get their hands on it, wouldn’t they?” but quickly, before that could sink in, Peter said, “Thank you, friends,” to the cadets in the most courteous inflection, then added, “Monty, let him take it, Li, hand him the Flight box; it will come to no harm, and when someone of Lord Danvan’s rank offers a courtesy it should be accepted gracefully.”
“Who the hell do you think you are, Haldane?” growled the Coordinator, but Aleki said under his breath, “He’s the resident expert on protocol, sir, he has the right to override you on matters of this kind; dammit, don’t make an issue of it!”
Russell Montray sullenly gave up the Recorder box to the leader of the cadets, and they went out toward the gates.
As they passed through the corridor outside the Presence Chamber, Peter said in a low voice, “Against the wall, everybody. Someone’s coming through and by their look I would say they were high placed in the Comyn. Let them pass and for God’s sake act respectful!”
Jaelle could almost hear the Coordinator’s snarl that they were Terrans and they didn’t bow down to feudal lords from any damned pre-space culture, but he did not speak aloud and they moved against the wall in varying attitudes of courtesy, grudged or real. The man in the lead was somewhat like the young Hastur-lord who had spoken with them, though his hair was gray through the silvery blond, and the others were crowded behind him. Then there was a cry of recognition.
“Jaelle! My dear child!” And in a moment Jaelle was in Lady Rohana’s arms.
Lady Rohana Ardais seemed to have shrunk; she was smaller, more frail. There was more gray in her dark-red hair than Jaelle remembered
“My dear, I looked for you in the Guild House, but I did not find you there, and the Guild Mother was not there to tell me where you could be found! Blessed be Avarra who guided me to this meeting, child!”
Lorill Hastur took Jaelle briefly into a kinsman’s embrace. She was surprised by that, as if it had happened to someone else. Surely he could see that she was a Renunciate, that she had among
other things renounced what status she might ever have had in Comyn.
“I met you once as a child,” he said, and touched the feathery edges of her short hair, “It is almost all I remember about you; how lovely your hair was, and what a pity that the Renunciates should sacrifice it.”
She dropped him a confused curtsy and for the first time in her life the dress of a Renunciate seemed awkward.
“But who are all these people, my child, and how is it that you come among them?”
Danvan Hastur, behind his father, said quietly, “They are the Terran embassies who have come to speak about the downed aircraft on Armida lands, sir.”
Jaelle pushed Peter forward and said shyly, “This man, Lord Hastur, is my freemate. He was born in Caer Donn and has lived among Darkovans most of his life.”
“Rohana spoke of him,” said Lorill Hastur, “and I remember that he was among those who helped to formulate the concept of making medical technology available to our people through the employment of Renunciates in the Trade City.” He nodded courteously to Peter. “Rohana, if you would like to speak with your foster daughter, I can spare you for a time from our counsels,” and passed on.
“Do stay and talk with me,” Rohana said, clinging to Jaelle’s arm, “There are so many things we have to say.”
Jaelle looked hesitatingly at Peter. He said, “It’s very kind of you, Lady Rohana, but my duties—”
“Stay if you want to,” Montray said, but as the great door swung open before them, wind lashed through the room, and he shrank back. Jaelle realized that she should have expected this— why had she not been sensitive to the very unseasonable weather? This was the sudden late-spring blizzard that could sweep across from the pass unseen until it struck full force, blanketing the city in white-out within minutes and without warning. Once Jaelle had been caught out in it at Midsummer-Festival itself. “Zandru’s kiss,” she said aloud, then explained to Montray, hesitating. “I fear we must seek hospitality here—we cannot go out in this. My Lord Hastur—”
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