by Sharon Lee
“Right,” he said, and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Together they exited the inspection bay.
He stopped at the office to let the clerk know that the cargo was to remain isolated until it had been thoroughly inspected by a third party. She pushed him to leave a deposit for the space, he said curtly that he would do so when the inspection was complete, and in the meantime, he expected the bay to be placed under seal.
Possibly, he was too rough. Her face paled somewhat and she lowered her eyes.
“Of course, Pilot.”
They were well away from the warehouse when the trader’s comm pinged.
“Yes,” she said, putting the unit to her ear. She listened, and nodded, Terran-wise.
“Thank you. Yes, we’ll go at once.”
The comm vanished, and the trader turned to him.
“Lady Graz has been locked down, pending a formal filing of piracy.”
He looked at her.
“That means . . . ?”
“It means,” she said, “that you must go to the station master’s office and sign some paperwork.”
He stiffened, and caught his breath when he felt her hand on his.
“We’ll both go, of course, and read the papers together.”
Fer Gun managed a smile.
“Of course,” he said. “My thanks, Trader.”
“If we’re going to be working together, I think I ought to be Karil,” she said, still keeping a hold on his hand, as she turned them back to the station master’s office.
“In that wise, I will be Fer Gun,” he answered, and traded her, smile for smile.
IX
Well, and it came to light, once all of the documents were found and accessed, that the first paper he had signed for Jai Kob, giving him free use of the ship Lady Graz, which had been left to Fer Gun by his grandfather—that paper had not been regular, at all, since Fer Gun had been too young to sign such a thing.
The second paper gave Jai Kob access to the accounts Grandfather had left to Fer Gun, himself, and also immortalized Fer Gun’s agreement to pay for any repairs and upgrades required to Lady Graz from his own funds.
That, too, was irregular, having been presented to the still-grieving Fer Gun barely two days after the paper which had stolen away his ship.
At the last, it was a matter for Qe’andra dea’Gauss to sort out, which was done. Jai Kob and Vin Dyr had been fined, blacklisted, stripped of all licenses, and placed on an ore boat as working crew, their wages limited to berth and meals. Eventually, they would arrive home, and Telrune would deal with them . . . not kindly, as Fer Gun saw it. They had lost the ship, the money, Telrune’s portion of the marriage settlement, and exposed themselves to discovery and punishment. He could not predict what further penalty the delm might place upon his cousins, but he doubted it would be pleasant.
In the meanwhile, there was work to be done—he had two ships now, though Lady was in need of upgrading, as well as new licenses and registrations. A deal was closed with Korval’s Chonselta Yard for the refurbs, which would take up the year of Comet’s first real run; and another with Qe’andra dea’Gauss for the applications and the purges and the clear new record.
He’d taken crew on for Comet; and Karil had emerged from several hours closeted with Chi’s sister, the master trader, with an amended route, a goods list, and a thick notebook full of contacts.
There remained one more duty to perform, as per the contract, and he was there at the early hour of the morning Chi’s son had chosen to make his entrance into the world. He stood witness as the child was born, and examined, and pronounced fit. And he remained there when the room was cleared of Healer and medic and the Council’s eyes. At her invitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, covering her hand with his, and smiled at the boy with his sharp black eyes, and his black hair, already rumpled and unruly.
“When do you lift?” she asked him.
“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. “We can file an amendment, if you have need of me.”
She smiled at that.
“I see no reason for such desperate measures as that,” she murmured, still half-drowsy with whatever the Healer had done.
“Then, tomorrow morning, we’re away; and returning to Liad in a year, to outfit the Lady and see her crewed.”
“Come and see me, Pilot, when you’re back again,” she said, and he squeezed her hand lightly.
“I must, after all; you’ll want an accounting of the ship’s business.”
“Which you may and shall file with dea’Gauss,” she said with a faint smile. “Come to me anyway.”
“I will,” he promised.
She closed her eyes, then. The boy—Daav yos’Phelium—stared at him for another minute from knowing dark eyes, before he, too, slipped away into sleep.
Epilogue
Daav and Er Thom were having a game of tag back and forth across the Tree Court. At least Chi supposed it to be tag, though she conceded the possibility that it was some other game of their own devising, the rules of which she was not meant to know.
In any case, it involved a great deal of running around, and shouting, and dodging behind bushes in order to lie in wait, and leaping out at one’s brother, whereupon there was laughter on both sides, and a bound once more into action.
There had also been what she allowed to be only the most necessary amount of rolling about in the grass, and at least one unfortunate encounter with the gloan roses, which had taken, so she believed, no permanent damage. The scratches, she had declared minor, and the game was therefore rejoined.
She . . . was supposed to be reading the agenda and briefing documents for the next meeting of the Council of Clans. Indeed, the material lay on the bench beside her, though she had not even glanced at them, finding the play of her sons—of her son and Petrella’s—to be far more compelling.
They made a striking pair, grass-stained and perspiring as they were. The eldest, Er Thom, Petrella’s lad, was already a beauty, with gilt hair and violet eyes surrounded by dark gold lashes. He looked, in fact, quite a lot like Petrella, and thus very much like his foster-mother, Chi.
By contrast, Daav was lean and vulpine, a changeling, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and marked brows. It was well that she had made her pregnancy and his birth a matter of very public record, indeed. Looking at him, even if he could be persuaded for five minutes to stand still, never mind remaining clean, unrumpled, and with his hair combed—even then, he could scarce be taken for one of Korval, never mind the delm-to-be.
Well, and it was too soon, yet, to know if Daav would in fact be delm. If not, the Ring would fall to Er Thom. And however it went, Korval would have at his side his brother, who had been given exactly the same education, shared the same history, and stood always as a valuable and beloved ally.
“Catch me!” Daav cried, and bolted for the Tree, rounding the enormous trunk with nary a stumble, despite the plentiful surface roots waiting to catch the feet of the unwary.
Er Thom flew after him, every bit as nimble, and vanished on the far side of the Tree.
She felt it then—say it was a small flutter in the air, or a puff of pleasure at seeing an old friend. She turned her head so that she could see the path, and here he came, tall, and lean, and . . . somewhat less wolfish than when first she had seen him.
The leather jacket hugged shoulders that had filled out; shoulders that wore the easy weights of success and satisfaction. The dark hair was tidy, if still over-long; the face fuller at cheek and jaw.
He raised a hand as he left the path. She smiled and moved the unread papers beneath the bench.
“Fer Gun,” she said. “Well-met.”
“Well-met,” he answered and settled next to her with the ease of an old friend. “We came in early and I thought I’d call before we’re swamped tomorrow with business.”
“Is Karil with you?” she asked, already knowing that she was not.
“Not today, though she hopes to see
you before we lift again,” he said, and turned his head sharply at the whoop from behind the Tree and the sudden appearance of two small bodies, running flat out toward the rose bank again.
“They’re in fine fettle,” Fer Gun said, and gave her a sideways glance. “I do regret that mode, you know. There was no reason he should look like me when he had you as a model.”
“Well, there is something to be said for contrariness,” she said comfortably. “It’s a family trait, after all.”
His wide mouth softened into a smile, and he leaned back as Daav flung his arms out, shouted, “Zooooom!” and banked hard, only brushing the flowers, and flew back toward the tree, trailing rose petals.
“Here’s a bit of news you’ll enjoy,” Fer Gun said. “We were approached by Telrune regarding an accounting owed the clan.”
“Were you? How did that go?”
He moved his shoulders.
“Karil sent a copy of our incorporation as a Family, and the contact information for our qe’andra.”
Another slight shrug.
“We received in return a rather curt letter stating that it would have been good form, had I contacted Telrune to formally sever my connection with the clan. I’m properly put into my place.”
Chi laughed.
“I see that you are. And the children?”
“Telrune has no claim on our children,” Fer Gun said sternly. His voice softened as he added, “If they tried to lay such a claim, they would have to go through Karil.”
“Daunting, for bolder hearts than Telrune, if I may be forgiven for speaking so of your clan.”
“Not my clan, haven’t you been listening? We’re Family Uldra-Joenz, incorporated on Fetzer’s World.”
“Fer Gun!” a young voice yelled, and here came Daav pelting across the grass, Er Thom a fleet shadow at his side.
Fer Gun came to his feet in a rush, swooping the lean body up, spinning as he held the boy over his head.
Daav shouted with laughter, and collapsed flat on his back in the grass when he was let down so Er Thom could have his turn.
“Well, my sons,” said Chi, when the merriment had somewhat abated. “I believe it is time the two of you bowed to the necessity of baths, and study. You may join me for Prime on the east patio, unless you have other obligations.”
“We have no other obligations,” Er Thom said gravely. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Will Fer Gun stay for Prime?” Daav wanted to know.
“Not today,” Fer Gun answered. “Maybe your mother won’t be too busy to have me and my lady back, sometime before we’re set to lift again.”
“We will arrange a time,” Chi said, standing, and waving the boys toward the path. “Make your bows, now.”
They did, very prettily, if briefly, before breaking to race for the path.
“Bathe!” Chi called after them, and bent to retrieve her paperwork.
“I don’t know,” Fer Gun said, as they followed the boys at a more sedate pace; “if I ever properly thanked you for all of the good things you brought into my life. In fact, you saved my life.” He paused, and took a breath, before meeting her eyes.
“I don’t know that there is any proper thanks for such gifts. Notice that I say gifts, because there is no hope I can bring us into Balance.”
There came a shriek of laughter from the path ahead, and he raised his eyebrows.
Chi smiled.
“We are perfectly in Balance, my friend,” tucking her hand into his arm and increasing their leisurely pace somewhat.
“Let us speak no more about it.”
Friend of a Friend
Friendship among free-spirited Surebleakers is far different than it is among rule-bound Liadens, whose melant’i must always be observed, and in some cases preserved. Imagine, then, the potential for miscommunication when a ’bleaker’s best friend was born and bred on Liad and a stranger decides to take advantage of that relationship.
****
Two young men, much of an age, but unalike in almost everything else, save having a good head for numbers, and a facility with the Sticks, walked down-Port toward the Emerald Casino.
They made a pretty picture—one tall and fair and lissome; the other supple and dark and golden-skinned. The fair lad wore a blue jacket, to set off his eyes. The dark one wore leather, and had a bag slung over his shoulder.
“So you’ll be back in a Surebleak week?” the fair one asked, ending what had been a rather long pause between them.
His companion gave him an approving nod.
“That’s very good, doing the conversions in your head on the fly.”
“I’ve been practicing,” Villy said. “I’ll keep it up, too. By the time you’re back, I’ll be able to do a four-level conversion in my head!”
“Here’s a bold assertion! Will books be all of your lovers, until I am returned to your arms?”
Villy considered him out of suspicious blue eyes.
“That sounds like a play-quote,” he said.
“Discovered!”
Quin gave a small, on-the-stride bow of acknowledgment—for which he would have been severely reprimanded had he been observed by his protocol tutor—or, twelve times worse!—his grandmother.
“It is a play-quote, yes. If you like, I’ll find a tape and we may watch it together.”
“Would I? Like it, I mean.”
That was a serious question, and Quin gave it the consideration it deserved.
“You might well. It’s a classic melant’i play, and I had to study it, and write papers on it, and view several productions, from the first recorded to the most modern, which is why I have the phrase so apt, you see. But—yes, I think you might find it useful, and interesting, too. Especially the sword fight.”
“Sword fight?”
“The most diverting thing imaginable, and quite harrowing, despite you know it’s all mummery.”
“Okay, then, I’m provisionally interested. If I get bored, though, I’ll make you speed through to the sword fight.”
“Fair enough.”
The casino was in sight; they would part in another few minutes. Villy was bound for the Sticks table and his shift as dealer. Quin was for Korval’s yard, Galandasti, and Pilot Tess Lucien, who was to sit his second, who had undoubtedly arrived early, and would therefore believe that he was late . . .
“What will you do,” he asked, “while I am away?”
Villy looked arch.
“Jealous, honey? I’ll keep busy, don’t you worry. And books won’t be half of it.”
Quin laughed, Villy grinned, and stepped close to drop a kiss on Quin’s cheek.
“You fly safe now, handsome,” he said, huskily, and slipped away to join a group of the casino’s morning workers, calling out to Cassie to wait for him.
Quin shook his head, his cheek burning where Villy’s lips had brushed. For Liadens, such a salutation was given between kin, or lifemates, or—perhaps—long-time lovers.
For Villy, a kiss on the cheek denoted casual affection. Or, as Villy himself had it, “I kiss all my friends.”
Yes, well. Local custom. It was Quin’s part to step away from the custom—and Villy, too—if he was offended.
Which, truth told, he was not.
Surely, his grandmother was correct when she deplored the state of his melant’i.
His father had nothing to say regarding Quin’s friendship with the best Sticks dealer the Emerald employed. In fact, he and Villy had met over the Sticks table, and the relationship had been firmly fixed before Quin discovered that Villy was also one of the company of hetaerana attached to Ms. Audrey’s house of delights.
Quin had been tutored in the protocols of pleasure, though circumstances had not granted him much opportunity to refine his knowledge. From observation, however, it would seem that Terrans and Liadens approached bed-sport on vastly different trajectories, and merely being among the number of Villy’s friends meant receiving casual kisses on the street. A Liaden hetaera would blush
to presume so far on the melant’i of even a frequent partner-in-joy.
And, again . . . local custom.
“We will all need to be Scouts, if we mean to settle here,” Quin had said to Grandfather Luken, who had only laughed.
“But we have settled here, boy-dear! Never fear, your grandmother will find us a way to a new Code. In the meanwhile, your father is not quite an idiot, as you know, nor are his fellow Bosses. They teach and learn in equal measure. What remains for us is to be slow to take offense, and to cultivate the melant’i of a little child.”
Children—little children—were understood to stand within the melant’i of their clan. Their own melant’i was . . . flexible and open, and very specifically did not pursue Balance. It was tradition, to give a child upon their twelfth Name Day a Small Debt Book, in which entries were made by the child, and reviewed with a clan elder. On the fourteenth Name Day, a private Debt Book was given, and it was considered at that point that the child was competent to take up the keeping of their own melant’i, and Balances.
On consideration, Quin thought that Luken might have the right of it.
He also thought that most of the Liadens who had followed Korval to Surebleak were not . . . capable of accepting the melant’i of a little child. Most especially if it also meant tolerating insults from Terrans.
It really was too bad that Father hadn’t chosen a civilized world to subjugate to Korval’s purpose.
Quin threaded his way through the ships sleeping in Korval’s yard. There, just ahead, was Galandasti, and, as he had feared, there also was Pilot Lucien, her long self disposed down half-a-dozen gantry steps, from the tread where she leaned her elbows, to the stair where her boots rested.
“Well, there you are! I was starting to wonder if you wanted to fly today, after all.”
He felt his ears warm, and his temper rise—which was nonsense; hadn’t he known how it would be? The good pilot was always early; he, by extension, was always late.
“I think we can make up the time,” he said evenly, for, in addition to being annoying, Pilot Lucien was a master pilot, in charge of observing him, and of registering his flight time with the Guild.