Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  "All right," Kem said softly as Hakan pulled into the drive and cut the motor. He sat for a moment, hands curled around the wheel, staring out at the blur of snow and gray sky.

  "Kem?" he said. Then he turned rapidly, strong fingers closing lightly around her wrist. "Kemmy, I missed you."

  "I missed you, too, Hakan." She hesitated, scandalized but certain that the time was right for telling truths. "I never want us to have to be apart again."

  His face relaxed, his smile almost as bright as she remembered, and then he was serious again. "We've got a lot of things to talk about. But tonight - let's just be with each other tonight, all right?"

  "All right. I'd like that." She smiled, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

  "Well...Let's go in and see what kind of mess Cory's made out of dinner."

  Cory had made a work of art out of dinner, transforming everyday meat and vegetables into exotic viands, subtly spiced and astounding. Hakan contributed a bottle of wine from his father's fall pressing, and matters progressed as well as they could for a young lady with two virtually silent gentlemen as dinner companions.

  Cory accepted compliments on his cooking with a slight smile and a formal bow of the head; he was predictably evasive about where he had learned the skill and fell silent the moment Kem ran out of questions.

  Hakan loosened up a bit with the wine, and by the time the after-dinner fruit was eaten and the dishes were stacked neatly in the sink, he was very nearly the Hakan she knew. The phone call from Zamir Meltz informing his son and guest that he would be staying in Gylles that evening, rather than brave the growing snowstorm, seemed to restore him completely. He grinned at Kem. "Looks like you're snowed in too, honey. If you want to be."

  "Hakan!" She jerked her head toward Cory, but the smaller man seemed absorbed in rinsing off the soup bowls.

  Hakan's grin widened. "Hey, Cory - leave that stuff for tomorrow, man; we'll all three pitch in after breakfast. We got some practicing to do now! Winterfair's coming fast."

  Cory turned, and Kem saw the worry on his scarred face. "Hakan - "

  But Hakan had grabbed her hand and was hustling her down the hall to the parlor, whistling as he went.

  Cory drifted soundlessly into the room as Hakan was tuning his guitar.

  "Pull up a stool, my man, and get that keyboard smokin'."

  "Hakan - " Cory began again, but he was interrupted by a quick staccato riff and a wide grin.

  "What's the matter? Forget how to play?"

  "No..."

  "Well then, what're you waiting for?" The guitar went into a complicated arabesque of chords, and after a moment Cory went to the piano, slid onto the bench, and put the cover up.

  He sat with his hands poised over the keyboard for so long that Kem thought he would refuse to play after all. Then, very carefully, as if he expected an explosion instead of music, he touched the keys and ran a soft set of scales.

  From the guitar came the unmistakable intro riff to "Bylee's Beat." There was the slightest of hesitations before the piano took up its line.

  Kem leaned back in her chair, eyes on the side of Hakan's face, preparing to lean back into the music. Hakan's frown and the protest of her own ears were simultaneous.

  Disbelieving, she turned to stare at Cory. Notes were issuing obediently forth from the piano, correct and in proper time. Technically, Kem realized, the piece was probably perfect; even the crazy zigzag of sound that always made Cory shake his head was fully accomplished, without flaw.

  But it was not Cory's music. There was no joy, no impetuosity, no subtle undertones. It was as if a music box were playing, rather than the musician she knew Cory to be.

  Kem shifted in her chair, thought of going to the piano and making him stop, then paused and tipped her head as she caught some other sound there, under the sounds of piano and guitar.

  Carefully, seeing that Hakan's frown had deepened, Kem got up to answer the door.

  A very small person stood in the pool of yellow porch light, hood pulled back and red hair frosted with snow.

  "Miri, for wind's sake! You're half frozen!" Kem caught her friend's arm and pulled her inside, peering toward the driveway as she did. She saw no car, no tire tracks. "How did you get here?"

  "I walked," Miri said matter-of-factly.

  Kem stared at her. "From Brigsbee's? In this? Miri - "

  Miri shrugged. "I come to see Cory."

  "Yes, but, love, you could have called us! Hakan would have come to get you. Give me that jacket - you're soaked! What in wind possessed you?"

  "I come to see Cory," Miri repeated, and leaned forward to hug her. "Don't fuss, Kem! The walk is not long. And where I come from, it snows like this - oh, often!" She winced suddenly, her head turning toward the open parlor door.

  "Hakan and Cory are practicing," Kem began weakly, but the other woman had spun back, gray eyes huge.

  "He don't play like that!"

  Kem moved her hands helplessly and noticed again the snow in her friend's hair. "Go in there by the fire," she ordered, glad of a problem she could solve. "I'll bring you some hot tea and whiskey. You'll be lucky not to get the very brute of a cold."

  Miri smiled faintly and went toward the parlor, moving with a silent grace that rivaled Cory's own. Kem watched her for a moment, then headed down the hall to the kitchen.

  Cory's hands went flat on the keys, ending soulless perfection in discord. Relieved, Hakan brought his palm against the strings and looked up.

  His friend was staring at the door, with no particular expression on his face. Hakan turned to look.

  Miri stood in the center of the double doorway, eyes only for the man at the piano. She stood there for a long moment; then she shifted, moved her eyes, and smiled warmly.

  "Hakan." She came across to him with her small hands held out. "I don't get a chance to thank you for your help. Brave you were. Very a friend." She slid her hands into his and bent to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she said again, straightening. Then she tipped her head, smile fading.

  "Hakan, I come to see Cory. Talk, we must. It is your house, and I am sorry to - impose? This room, another room? With a door that closes? You can lend us that?"

  "This room," he told her. "No imposition - that's what friends are for." He squinted at her to verify that the braid wrapped around her head was wet. "We better get you dry, though. You'll catch pneumonia or something."

  "Kem brings tea, and the fire is good here. Soon I will dry. Thank you, Hakan, again. You are a good friend."

  That was definitely a dismissal. Hakan rose and started for the door, guitar in hand. Grinning at Cory as he passed the piano, though the other did not seem to see, he almost bumped into Kem.

  She set a large mug on the low table near the fire. "You drink every drop, now," she told Miri sternly. "We can't have you getting sick." She turned and went out, pulling the double doors firmly shut behind her.

  Val Con had turned on the bench; he sat with his back to the piano. "Hello, Miri."

  "Hi." She came to stand before him, noting with dread the blandness of his face and feeling stiff with more than cold.

  "I ain't gonna keep you long," she said abruptly. "Just wanted to hear you say it, okay? So I know."

  He considered her warily. "Say it?"

  "Yeah," she said harshly. "Say it. Figure it's pretty clear - you sending me off with the old ladies and then no word. Little surprised - didn't think that was your style. Thought you'd tell me straight. Something like 'Miri, go away.' She took a breath, eyes on his face. "That's what I came to hear."

  Dismay was noted and overridden as the Loop flashed into existence, extrapolating a CMS of approximately .96, with the removal of the woman from the equation. His lips parted; they were dry, and he licked them.

  Miri drifted a step closer, hands clearly in view, stance specifically nonthreatening.

  "It's real simple," she said softly. "Like this: 'Miri, go away.'" There was a small silence before she leaned forward, her eyes holding
his. "It ain't like I never heard it before."

  Tension was building; he attended it briefly, found no specific source, and discounted it. He licked his lips again.

  "Miri - " His voice choked out, tension increasing to a level that could not be ignored. He experienced a confusion of purpose; was unable to separate personal desire from the requirements of the mission.

  The woman before him leaned closer. "That's a start. Two more to go."

  "Why?" The word came out of the confusion, lashed with tension, so that it was nearly a shout.

  "You want me to go away," she said. And then, very softly, she asked, "Don't you?"

  Did he? What did he want? Surely nothing akin to what she supposed. Surely whatever he wanted was not a thing so deadly that the mere desiring of it should leave him sick and shaken. He cast his mind back, fighting the screaming tension. Once, certainly, he had wanted something...

  "I want - " He heard his own voice from a singing distance. "I want to speak to my brother. Three years - four - and I sent him no word; never went home. Never dared go home - he would see! He would ask questions; he would probe and - endanger himself - Zerkam'ka...kinslayer..." His hands were cold, and he was shaking.

  "Val Con."

  She was holding his shoulders; he should not allow her to hold his shoulders. She was dangerous; she was Miri...

  "Boss." Her fingers brushed the hair from his eyes and touched his cheek. "Your brother's safe, Val Con. You never went home."

  "But I wanted to!" he cried. "Shan - " He reached out and cupped her face in icy, shaking hands. "You do the same - ask questions, put yourself in danger. Miri..." He took his hands away, seeing what must be done for her, as once he had done it for Shan. "Miri, run."

  "No sense to it," she said with shocking calm. "You're real fast, boss. Catch me in a second." She touched his cheek again, then put both hands on his shoulders, fingers kneading. "Stiff as a board. You sleep since the fight?"

  "A little..."

  "Thought so. You and Hakan look like a couple zombies."

  "Hakan told me he had never killed a man before," he said, not sure what it had to do with anything.

  "Hell..." The small fingers continued their massage, soothing in a way that transcended the mere physical. "I tell you what, boss - they shouldn't let civilians have guns."

  "And they should not let soldiers have agents," he said almost drowsily. "Miri - "

  "I don't wanna hear 'run' outta you any more tonight, accazi? I don't know if you know it, but there's a blizzard going on out there. Already walked five miles in it - I sure ain't running nowhere in it."

  One hand left his shoulder, cupped his chin, and lifted it until his eyes looked into hers. "Boss, what's going on?"

  "I - " The Loop flashed, predicting disaster, an adrenaline surge snapped him toward his feet while something unnamed kept him nailed there, eyes looking into hers, trying to find words in Terran or Trade, words that would let her understand what had happened and the peril she was in. "I cannot - locate - the - the switch."

  "Switch?" She frowned in incomprehension.

  "Switch." He paused, groping after more proper words. Switch? Not precise. Key? No. Pattern of thinking? Closer, but Terran would mangle it beyond sense.

  Gods, what a language! he thought savagely. It's impossible to explain anything in it!

  He did not know he had spoken the thought aloud, until he heard her say, softly, "Yeah, but I don't think they did it that way on purpose, do you? Probably just the best anybody could come up with on the spur of the moment, and they thought they'd get back and sharpen it up later..." She looked closely into his eyes and moved her hand to stroke his cheek. "Can you give me just the broad outlines? We get you outta this jam, then I'll learn Low Liaden. Deal?"

  Impossibly, he smiled - truly smiled. She saw his eyes light with joy as his mouth curved, and for just a moment she thought they had done it. Then the moment was gone and she was seeing him still, but through the other one - the agent one - as if she were seeing him through bars.

  He closed his eyes, and she felt the effort he was making as if it were her own. She bit her lip and did not dare to move, barely dared to breathe, until he opened his eyes again.

  "When we were on Edger's ship, I left you for a time to dance L'apeleka and relearn the - proper - way to think."

  She nodded, watching with fascination as his hand rose - painfully slowly, fighting his own muscles all the way - and curved around hers where it rested on his shoulder. She squeezed his fingers and thought she felt a slight response.

  "What I did then..." he said slowly. "Understand that I - gathered up all that was - that I felt was - wrong - and put it into one small...closet, Miri. A closet in my mind. I put a - a lock on the closet. Then I put the key in my pouch and pretended the closet did not exist." He paused and took a breath, his fingers exerting pressure on hers. "Another way: I had cornered the genie, so I found a bottle, shoved him inside, and firmly corked the mouth."

  "And when the army attacked, the genie got loose."

  "No," he said. "No. I opened the door - threw the switch. My choice. The lock was secure."

  "Why?"

  Why, indeed? He struggled for the memory itself, brushing aside datum she would scorn as meaningless.

  "I was afraid," he achieved after several minutes. "I - you were in the house; there was danger. Many hostile people were between us, and I did not know what to do. I - wanted you to be safe, and I knew I would have to be - efficient and very quick. So I - " His fingers were gripping hers tightly, but if she was in pain she gave no sign. "I am not naturally good at killing people, Miri."

  She blinked, then grinned. "Not the kind of thing folks usually apologize for." She paused. "So, you figured you'd go in, wipe out the enemy, shut off this switch thing, and everything'd be goomeky, right? 'Cept you can't find the bottle, and the genie's bigger'n you remembered."

  "I - " Scout understanding signaled acceptance of the simile, and he inclined his head. "Something alike, yes."

  "Hope it's close enough." She frowned. "You're caught up in this - ah, hell - this master program they imposed at spy school, and it won't let you find your gimmick for getting out. Pattern's a mess - you ain't sleeping - getting jumpier and more confused...Master program'd rather have you dead than have itself shut off again, boss." There was silence then. "You outsmarted it once with L'apeleka. Done any lately?"

  "There is no room..."

  "We'll find you room." She gnawed her lip, considering. "Okay, here's what: Lie down on the rug next to that fire, run through the Rainbow, and get inside your room. Once you're there, you can get yourself some rest, and I'll go rent the local gym."

  "No..."

  She went very still, eyes sharp. "No? Why not?"

  "I - the militia captain was here to speak to me. His unit will be sweeping the gap, and he wanted whatever information I could give, since we so recently came that way." He hesitated. "They will find the ship, Miri. It is not so well hidden that a concerted search will miss it. I must go and send it away."

  "That a fact."

  "Yes." And it was, though not the fact he had intended - had wanted - to put forth.

  "When were you planning on leaving?" Her voice was almost casual, belied only by the sharpness of her eyes.

  "Tomorrow, after dawn. A single person can easily outmarch a unit. I would reach the ship in late morning, send it away, and be back with Hakan by evening."

  "Simple," she agreed. "No need for you to go, though, boss. L'apeleka's more important. I'll get rid of the ship."

  "You are not a pilot, Miri."

  "Did I say I was? Shut up - I'm thinking."

  Thought took no more than a dozen heartbeats; she squeezed his fingers gently. "I need to move around a little. You gonna be okay?"

  "I will be okay."

  She hesitated, staring into his eyes, then sighed and slipped away. At the sideboard she yanked drawers open and made a satisfied sound as she extracted a pencil and a
sheaf of papers.

  Kneeling next to the piano bench, she sketched with utter concentration for perhaps sixty seconds, then leaned back and pointed. "Here's what the board looked like when we left. You show me what it's gotta look like to lift."

  He knelt, feeling the warmth of her body like a torch against his side, and considered what she had drawn.

  The rendition was precise. Drawing a line beneath it, he sketched the pertinent instruments and the settings they had to achieve to engage the magnetics and initiate lift.

  She studied it, frowning slightly, then nodded once. "Can do." Wadding the paper into a ball, she threw it into the heart of the fire. "Taken care of. Lie down on the rug and close your eyes."

  "No."

  "Now what?"

  "Miri - " The unburdening came like a dam bursting; he sat suddenly on the worn rug and her face blurred before his tearing eyes. "On Edger's ship, when I was caught - 'battleshock,' you said - but I was caught in the Rainbow. I needed to relax so badly; reached for the best way, the safest way...a Scout thing, Miri, I swear it to you! Made myself vulnerable and this other - arms proficiency program - imposed itself - trapped me...Nothing is safe - they teach you that. And it's true - the only truth they tell. Miri, I dare not..."

  She moved, wrapping her arms around him, and he should have fought, but instead he bowed his head, pushing his face into the soft hollow of her neck, and heard her say, "All right...all right, kid. Val Con, Val Con, listen. Are you listening to me?"

  Face against her flesh, he nodded.

  "Good. Now you're gonna have to trust me, okay? I been at your back, ain't that true?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. We're gonna get you down to your safe place - your room. I'll be with you every step of the way. You see anything scary, you sing out, and I'll get you out of it." Her arms tightened around him, fiercely. "Nobody's gonna trap you again, boss - an' you get my word on that one."

  Her grip loosened; he was pushed gently away and found himself confronting a pair of very serious, gray eyes. "Lie down, Val Con. Please."

  It might work. Something so very far away within him that he barely noted its input was screaming, clamoring, demanding that he do as she said; the Loops, for a wonder, were quiescent.