Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  Master Frodo loosed her finger, patting her wrist gently before he dropped to all fours and moved away toward the fresh treats which had already lured Delm Briat and Tiny.

  Lady Selph remained tucked up on the sand, quite alone and making no move to bring herself to Padi’s attention.

  Well, of course not, thought Padi. It is the student’s part to place herself at the feet of the master.

  “Lady Selph,” she said, with as much gravity as she could muster, “I am come for my lessons. I will do my utmost to be attentive and to refrain from any . . . unseemly displays.”

  There was a long moment, as if her words and attitude were being evaluated for any want of sincerity.

  Just when Padi was certain she was to be dismissed from the master’s sight as unworthy, Lady Selph rolled to four feet, then two, standing quite straight and dignified; once again putting Padi forcibly in mind of Cousin Kareen.

  She bent, settled her hands around the lady’s middle and raised her.

  As before, she retired to the chair and sat, norbear on knee, hands lightly bracketing, to prevent any possibility of a fall.

  * * *

  The session again began with faces—crew, this time, rather than kin. Padi was astonished to discover how many of her crew mates visited the norbears—at least, she was until her lapse of attention was noted with a surprisingly sharp flicker of discomfort, rather as if Lady Selph had put a ruler across her knuckles.

  After that, she did not allow her mind to wander, but gave all of her attention to the faces proposed to her, naming names until they had accounted for the crew entire, saving only—

  There.

  Yes, she thought; that is Lina, and that . . . well, but that is my stylus, floating—yes, floating; I taught it to do that. Yes, Lina’s stylus, worse for my attentions, I allow. I had no idea it was so . . . susceptible.

  There came the impression of austere amusement then, before the image of a bowl came before her mind’s eye.

  Ah, such a bowl! Dark blue at the center and lighter blue swirled with green rushing up toward the rim, where it broke into a froth of white and cream . . .

  Padi felt her eyes fill with tears.

  “That was mine,” she said. “It was given me by a potter on Andireeport . . . ”

  No need for sadness then, came the suggestion from the master.

  Padi shook her head, taking a deep breath against the sharp sense of loss. She tried to explain, her thoughts perhaps not as orderly as they might be . . .

  The bowl—it had been broken. Assassins had been trying to kill her, and she had needed something . . . something to hide in, and Lute—

  Inquiry.

  Lute—Father sent him to keep me safe, because he—Father—was in the gravest danger. And Lute had said that it was a very fine thing to hide under, this idea of the bowl, which was, after all, indestructible in its own right—only it had not been; she, Padi had broken it. She hadn’t understood—well, and how could she have understood?—that by using the idea of the bowl—by stretching the essence of the bowl so . . . very . . . far, she had made it vulnerable.

  Fragile.

  An image of Father interrupted this recitation of failure, bearing the taste of inquiry.

  “Yes, that’s Father—oh! Lute? Well . . . ”

  Laboriously, she formed the image: the lean, brown, long person who might have been Father in some strange manner, despite his hair was dark and braided down his back, where Father’s was white and crisp cut. Father’s clothes were those of a prosperous trader; Lute’s were worn, patched in places, thin in others. They both had the same big, clever hands, but really, there was no mistaking them one for the other; it was merely a chance resemblance . . .

  The image of Lute hung between her and Lady Selph, as if it were a holograph. Then, with a little sound of satisfaction, the norbear . . . accepted . . . the image, and it vanished from Padi’s ken, to be replaced by an image of Priscilla— No . . . not Priscilla, Padi thought, but someone—something—wearing her seeming.

  Priscilla’s eyes were fine, but they did not glow from within, luminous as ebony stars. Priscilla’s skin was pale, her face mobile and lovely. This . . . other woman wore an alabaster mask, translucent and emotionless.

  “Who is that?” Padi whispered.

  The image of Lute reappeared, standing beside the luminous lady. They were partners, then; lifemates, perhaps, as Father and Priscilla.

  “Her name?” she asked, but Lady Selph did not answer. Eventually, the joined images faded, and nothing else arose. Padi felt a definite sense of . . . patient waiting.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, even as another image began to form.

  It was the stranger from the session before. Padi felt her muscles clench, but she controlled herself and did not thrust them away. Instead, she held herself ready to receive whomever it was, as if she were at a trade show, waiting upon a customer new-arrived at the table.

  The face was not, she thought, so rough this time; the eyes were green and blue—more puzzled than fierce. For a moment, they were merely a static image, like the others Lady Selph had dealt her.

  Then, the mismatched eyes moved; the rough head turned—the stranger met her gaze, and saw her.

  IV

  Korval greets Thodelm yos’Galan and Master Trader yos’Galan.

  Thodelm yos’Galan is advised that Anthora and Ren Zel, of the Line, have become in need of Healing. The clan is seeing to their proper care.

  Master Trader yos’Galan’s attention is directed to the documents sent under separate cover by House Security, particularly the field judgment rendered by Scout Commander yos’Phelium.

  Master Trader yos’Galan is advised that Tinsori Light is a Korval property and open for trade. At your earliest convenience, please inspect the station with an eye to including it in any new routes you may build. It is expected that the station will receive significant traffic from Independent Logics.

  Korval

  Priscilla glanced up from the screen, eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “At least they say, at your earliest convenience.”

  “A concession, I allow it,” Shan said, from his slouch in the chair on the far side of her desk. “Truly is it said that every problem carries within it the seeds of its own solving. You will, I know, be pleased to learn that Master Trader yos’Galan did most sprightly direct his attention to the documents provided by House Security.”

  “That would have been the field judgment rendered by Scout Commander yos’Phelium?”

  “That, and also letters of introduction. At least now I know what to do with Theo.”

  Priscilla frowned at him.

  “With Theo?”

  “More accurately, I should say, with Theo’s ship. If most of our expected clients will be Complex Logics, then it behooves us—wouldn’t you say?—to have at least one Complex Logic on our side of the equation?”

  “There’s Tocohl—Tinsori Light,” Priscilla pointed out.

  “Tinsori Light is Station,” Shan said, “and must be objective. Tocohl has been Seen by the delm and looks to Line yos’Phelium. If you were . . . a Free Ship, let us say, accustomed to living hidden, would you place yourself in the hands of Line yos’Phelium?”

  “I might,” Priscilla said. “There’s Jeeves, after all. But I take your point: Someone who is objective, to represent Korval’s interests and meet equally with AI clients, would be more likely to foster trust.”

  “If anything can foster trust in the community of Independent Logics. Though I suppose . . . ” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose that those who dare Tinsori Light first will be the boldest, and the canniest. The less bold will be watching, judging, and forming their own conclusions. I fear it will be a project that we will pass on to the succeeding generation, undone. However!”

  He pushed himself to his feet.

  “As Jeeves has been kind enough to supply me with an introduction to Tinsori Light and to Tocohl, I shall write to each
, and also to Light Keeper yos’Phelium, soliciting such particulars and advice as they may have available. Also, I will write to Theo, and desire her to bring her crew and Bechimo to Tinsori Light to set up as emissaries of Tree-and-Dragon Trading until we can join them there.”

  “Which may not be soon.”

  “At our earliest convenience, recall. We shall trust that the combined good sense of Tocohl and the light keepers will be sufficient to contain Theo, her ship, and crew, while we continue to The Redlands.”

  Priscilla frowned.

  “Is Tinsori Light convenient to The Redlands?” she asked.

  Shan moved his shoulders. “To my recollection, Tinsori Light is convenient to nothing—and a good job that was, too.

  “The information supplied by Jeeves reinforces my recollection, but I think—just as a first consideration—that we may want to build some security into any routes we craft with the Light in our thoughts. Tinsori Light is out of the way, which will suit the smartships well. It will suit them less well, if we should immediately highlight the station, and start bringing in—well! What shall we call ourselves now, I wonder? Traditional tradeships?”

  He turned his hands up.

  “In any case, it may suit the situation better to put some Loops and small-routes between Tinsori Light and—everywhere.”

  “That may work,” Priscilla said, sounding only slight dubious.

  “Clearly, it requires additional consideration,” Shan agreed.

  The comm buzzed, and Priscilla touched the button.

  “Mendoza,” she said crisply. Then, “Yes, thank you. I’m on my way.”

  “To the bridge with you, Captain!” Shan said, rising from his chair with a bow.

  “I’m afraid so. For some reason, the first mate wants me near at hand when we begin our approach to Pommier.”

  “Your presence buoys their spirits,” Shan told her, and followed her out of the office.

  Off-Grid

  * * *

  There are dreams—and then there are dreams.

  All dreams are distinct from Seeing.

  Seeing is an act of probability; in essence, the Seer’s talent and unconscious mind collaborate in a string of extrapolations, the outcomes of which have root in various highly probable scenarios.

  Dreams, on the other hand, have no use for reality, probability, or even logic. While a Seer, or an Oracle, may misunderstand or misinterpret what they have Seen, what they See is always possible.

  Dreams—even True Dreams—speak their own language, and they are not confined to linear narration. A dream, therefore, may as easily be addressing the finale of a particular event, as the start, or the middle.

  Dreams—even True Dreams—tend to prove that the human mind is closer to chaos than order, even when rigorously trained.

  Lacking the framework of rules and proven technique, each of the Haosa developed their own, unique relationship with the ambient. Some worked ceaselessly to hone their skills; others worked only enough to be certain that they would not accidentally cause harm to another.

  Tekelia had trained rigorously, in so far as the Haosa could be said to train. The Haosa, let it be known, believed in training by doing. The ones best trained were the boldest—or as may be, the most foolish—who went back to the ambient again and again, no matter how many times they were hit in the head by strange young women, or their efforts ended in broken bones.

  Tekelia’s approach to the ambient and the acquisition of skill had been—determined. Possibly even stoic. Power was well enough, but for one seeking a life of relative peace, nuance was desirable, not to mention acuity of thought and purpose. Civilization thought that the ability to form and use tools made the Civilized superior.

  It was Tekelia’s opinion, shared by many of the Haosa, that dependence on tools and ritual made one less nimble in defense, as well as offense, and thus made one vulnerable.

  Which was why Civilization needed the Haosa, no matter how much that equation horrified both sides.

  Tekelia had been born to Civilization. After a series of tutors and counselors had thrown up their hands in despair of teaching the child one thing that a proper person ought to know, Tekelia had been pronounced Unteachable.

  It was naturally a blow; no family wishes to discover that one of its children has been found wanting by the highest rank of society. To Tekelia’s family, the judgment had not been a surprise. Tekelia was by no means the first Wild Talent the family had produced; however, the verdict of Unteachable did mean that there was a decision to be made.

  There were those families who had their Unteachables Deafened—a small matter of specialized shielding, painless. As their memories were also adjusted so that they were not borne down by the weight of their failure, this was seen as kindness and proper care of kin.

  Tekelia’s family had always produced unpredictable talents. As far back as Liad, they had birthed both greater and lesser talents, with no regard for decorum or propriety. What they did not produce were no-talents, and that the clan elders had taken as a heart-lesson. It had happened that a Deafened child had overcome their shielding, to the sorrow of all involved, and also thereby increasing the store of bitter wisdom available to the elders. A living child, so said the elders, was superior to one who died in agony, knowing themselves betrayed. Banishing the Unteachable was therefore a kindness and best care of kin.

  Which is how it came to pass that there were members of Tekelia’s family residing both in Civilization and in Chaos.

  There was Cousin Bentamin, the very Warden, whose duty was nothing more nor less than the preservation of Civilization; the Oracle, Aunt Asta, a Wild Talent confined and pressed into the service of Civilization; and Tekelia, of course, who might fairly be said to be not merely chaotic, but an instance of Chaos Itself.

  Back in the classroom, it had only needed that Tekelia be told a rule to see it shattered. It could not be—in fact, was never said—that the child had no aptitude: Tekelia was extraordinarily apt, even brilliant. Show Tekelia one of the tools Civilization required in order to interface with the ambient, and that tool would be skillfully reproduced on the instant.

  The rub was that—Tekelia’s tools, elegant as they were, did not function.

  There was no need to use tools to access the ambient, after all. On this, the Haosa, and Tekelia, were clear. The ambient existed. In fact, it was ambient. To reach the ambient—to interface with it or to influence it—all one needed to do was—open one’s self . . .

  . . . not too far, naturally, and not without taking appropriate care in the matter of shielding and spotters. While the ambient supported and sustained Civilized and Haosa alike, it did have—as the air—the power to harm those who were too trusting of it.

  Trust had claimed more than half of Colemeno’s original settlers, who had neither training, nor shields, nor knowledgeable kin to protect them. They had therefore succumbed to hallucination and the effects of Chaos, and thereby died. It had been the sheerest good luck that the second wave of colonists had been the vas’dramliz, relocated to Colemeno from Liad at a time of mutual need.

  Or, as history suggested, perhaps not. Clan Korval, which had an . . . interesting relationship with probability, had been part of the relocation effort after all.

  Now, though . . .

  Now, Tekelia settled into the chair, and took a moment to order turbulent thoughts. It was useful to have a goal in mind when treating with the ambient.

  Yes.

  Today’s goal was to achieve a . . . more satisfying . . . contact with the young woman who had thrust Tekelia away with so much authority on their first meeting, coincidentally leaving behind a blazing headache.

  Some of the Haosa played at hide ’n seek in the ambient. It was not a game Tekelia cared for overmuch—and in any case, the woman had not been playing. Tekelia was under the impression that she had been startled, and had acted instinctively to protect herself from a potentially dangerous stranger.

  That, at least, was mor
e comforting than to think she had been specifically hunting, or that she was connected in some way with the Reavers.

  Tekelia sighed. To have an enemy in the ambient was no good thing. To have a friend though . . .

  Clarity was required. It was prudent, if not imperative, that another contact be made so that they might each fairly take the measure of the other, and know themselves for who they were.

  So. Tekelia shifted slightly in the chair, eyes closed, open to possibility.

  Bentamin would have initiated a search protocol to locate a person of interest, but Tekelia’s way was much simpler. Merely, one stepped outside of one’s shields, and whispered to the ambient.

  I am here.

  The echoes of the words faded. Dreams and phantoms drifted past, some familiar, others not. Tekelia felt interest, curiosity, wariness . . . and sat, open, but not engaging, watching the flickering parade slip past . . .

  And there she was.

  Pale hair drawn back from an angular face; lavender eyes; bold nose; decisive chin—startled once again. Her shields were open, and she made a reflexive move, as if she would close them. Then she stilled, holding herself in wary silence.

  The ambient revealed her pattern, the texture of her spirit, the weight of her will—no Reaver, she. Tekelia felt relief; really absurd amounts of relief.

  Tekelia carefully paid out a thread of goodwill.

  She bit her lip, her shields quivering, as if they might snap closed of their own volition. Such a display of timidity was . . . puzzling, and drew Tekelia’s attention more closely to those shields.

  They were bulky—businesslike—with edges sharp enough to cut, and an air of wary alertness about them. Attack shields, one might almost say, save that went against the very nature of shields and shielding.

  Only, look how quick she had been to strike out on their first meeting. Perhaps she was in a position of peril, or lived in a moment of ongoing threat. One might easily find it prudent to strike first and ask particulars later. Such shields might fit that situation.