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

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  A small pause, then a decisive wave of a hand. "Yes, bring them up, of your kindness. It is, after all, a wind year--bitter beyond bearing last relumma, and now it grows warm too early. I do not wish the sap to surprise us."

  The man inclined his head. "I will call them."

  "Good. Then I leave you to your labors." He looked up. "Young Jethri. I trust you left Master pen'Jerad well?"

  "Your honored mother was present, sir," Jethri said carefully, "so there was no hope of anything else."

  Ren Lar's eyebrows rose. One of the strangers laughed.

  "A stride, in fact. Well said. Now, walk with me and we will find you a section in need of your shears."

  He moved a hand, beckoning, and turned left. At his feet a shadow moved, flowed, and gained shape.

  "Flinx," Jethri said. "What are you doing out here?"

  Ren Lar glanced down, and moved his shoulders. "He often comes to help in the vineyard. For which assistance we are, of course, grateful. Come with me, now."

  Down the row they went, turned right down a cross-path--which would be north again, Jethri thought with pride.

  "You will be tending to the needs of some of our elders," Ren Lar said, moving briskly down the pathway. "I will show you how to go on before I take up my own duty. But have no fear! I will be but one section over, and easily accessible to you."

  That might have been a joke, though on consideration, Jethri didn't think so. He very likely would need a senior nearby. The wonder of it was that Ran Lar was apparently not going to be in the same row with him and keeping a close eye on the precious "elders."

  "Here we are," the man said, and dodged left down a corridor, Jethri on his heels and Flinx flowing along in the shadows beside them.

  The vines here were thick-bodied; some leaned so heavily into their support that the wires were bowed outward.

  "Now, what we will wish you to do," Ren Lar said, pausing by a particularly bent specimen, its head-tentacles ropy and numerous. "Is to cut the thick vines, like this, you see?" He pulled a branch forward, and Jethri nodded.

  "Yes, sir. I see."

  "That is good. I must tell you that there is a reason to take much care, for these--" he carefully slipped his hand under a thin, smooth branchlet--"are what will give us this season's fruit, and next year's wine. So, a demonstration..."

  He lifted his shears, positioned the blades on either side of the thick branch, and forced the handles together. The wood separated with a brittle snap, and before the severed twig had hit the ground, Ren Lar had snipped another, and a third, the shears darting and biting without hesitation.

  The old wood tumbled down into an untidy pile at the base of the vine. Ren Lar stepped back, kicked a few stray sticks into the larger heap, and inclined his head.

  "At first, you will not be so quick," he said. "It is not expected, and there is no need for haste. The elders are patient. The cuttings will be gathered and taken to burn, later." He moved a hand, indicating the next vine down.

  "Now, let us see you."

  Teeth indenting lower lip, Jethri looked over the problem, taking note of the location of the new growth inside the woody tangle. When he had those locations in his head, he carefully lifted his shears, positioned the blades and brought the handles together.

  The wood resisted, briefly, then broke clean, the severed branch tumbling down to the ground. Jethri deliberately moved on to his next target, and his next.

  Finally, there was only new wood to be seen, and he stepped back from the vine, being careful not to tangle his feet in the grounded branches, and pushed his hat back up from his face.

  "A careful workman," Ren Lar said, and inclined his head. "The elders are in good hands. You will work your way down this row, doing precisely what you have done here. When you reach an end of it, you will go one row up--" he pointed north--"and bring your shears to bear. I will be six rows down--" another point, back toward the house and the wine cellar--"should you have need of me."

  "Yes, sir," Jethri said, still feeling none too good about being left alone to do his possible with what were seemingly valuable plants.

  Ren Lar smiled and put his hand on Jethri's shoulder. "No reason for such a long face! Flinx will doubtless stay by to supervise."

  That said, he turned and walked off, leaving Jethri alone with the "revered elders," his shears hanging loose in his right hand. Ren Lar reached the top of the corridor and turned right, back down toward the house, just like he'd said, without even a backward glance over his shoulder.

  Jethri sighed and looked down at the ground. Flinx the cat was sitting three steps away, smack in the center of the dirt corridor, casually cleaning his whiskers.

  Supervise. Sure.

  Well, there was nothing for it but to step up and do his best. Jethri approached the next plant in line, located the fragile new growth, and set to snipping away the old. Eventually, he moved on to the next vine, and a little while after that, to the next. It was oddly comforting work; soothing. He didn't precisely think; it seemed like all his awareness was in his eyes and his arms, as he snip, snip, snipped the old wood, giving the new wood room to breathe.

  It was the ache in his shoulders and his forearms that finally called him back to wider concerns. He lowered his shears and stepped away from his last vine. Standing in the middle of the dirt corridor, he looked back, and whistled appreciatively.

  "Mud and stink," he said slowly, looking down the line of pruned vines, each with a snaggly pile of twigs at its base. He looked down at the base of his last victim, saw a twig 'way out in the corridor and swung his foot, meaning to kick it back into the general pile.

  The twig--moved.

  Jethri jerked back, overbalanced and fell, hard, on his ass, and the twig reared back, flame flicking from the rising end and a pattern of bronze and white scales on its underside, moving toward him and he was looking to see how it was moving, exactly, with neither feet nor legs, and suddenly there was Flinx the cat, with his feet on either side of the--the snake, it must be--and his muzzle dipped, teeth flashing.

  The snake opened its mouth, displaying long white fangs, its twig-like body flailing in clear agony, and Flinx held on, teeth buried just behind the head.

  "Hey!" Jethri yelled, but the cat never looked up, and he surely didn't let go.

  "Hey!" he yelled again, and got his feet under him, surging upward. Flinx didn't flick an ear.

  "Ren Lar!" He gave that yell everything he had and it worked, too. His panicked heart had only beat half-a-dozen times more before the master of the vine rounded the corner, running flat out.

  But by the time, the snake was dead.

  * * *

  The doorman at the pilots' crash scanned her Kinaveral Port willfly card, and gave her a key to a sleeping room with its own sonic cleaner, which device Khat made immediate, grateful use of. She then hit the hammock for two solid clocks, arising from her nap refreshed and ravenous. Pulling on clean slacks and shirt, she remembered her idea of checking the Trade Bar for the names and numbers of Liaden ships at dock, for Paitor's eventual interest, and thought she'd combine that interest with the pleasure of a brew and a handwich.

  The doorman provided a map, which she studied as she walked.

  It seemed that most of Banth, with the notable exceptions of the ship yards and the mines, was under roof and underground. Ground level, that was the Port proper. Down one level was living quarters, townie shops, grab-a-bites, and rec centers. Khat thought about that--living under the dirt--and decided, fair-mindedly, that it was a reasonable idea, given the state of the planet surface. Why somebody had taken the demented notion to colonize Banth at all remained a mystery that she finally shrugged away with a muttered, "Grounders."

  The Port level, now, that was Admin, of course, and the pilots' crash, hostels for traders and crew, exhibit halls, Combine office, duty shops, eating places--and the Trade Bar.

  Khat traced the tunnel route from her room to the bar, and checked the color of the floor arrows cl
osely.

  "Yellow arrow all the way," she said to herself, folding the map away into a pocket. Up ahead, her hall crossed another, and there was a tangle of color on the floor of the convergence. The yellow flowed to the right, and Khat did, too, lengthening her stride in response to her stomach's unsubtle urging.

  Banth was close to Kinaveral-heavy, despite which Khat arrived at the Trade Bar barely winded.

  Look at you, she thought smugly, swiping her card through the reader. There was a small hesitation, then the door swung open.

  She'd expected a crowd, and she had one. Terrans outnumbered Liadens, Liadens outnumbered the expectable, just like Admin, earlier. Noisy, like Trade Bars were always noisy--no difference if they was small, which this one was, or large--with everybody there frying to talk loud enough to be heard over everybody else.

  Khat waded in, heading for the bar itself, and found it standing room only.

  No problem. She got herself a place to stand, and swung an arm over her head, catching the eye of a bartender with spiked blue hair and a swirl of tattooed stars down one cheek.

  "What'll it be, Long Space?" she bellowed

  "Handwich an' a brew!" Khat yelled back.

  "It's processed protein," warned the barkeep.

  Khat sighed. "What flavor?"

  "Package says chicken."

  At least it wasn't beef. "Do it," Khat yelled, and the other woman gave her a thumbs-up and faded down-bar.

  Khat fished a couple bills out of her public pocket, and eased forward, careful not to step on any toes. The bartender reappeared, and handed over a billy bottle of brew and a zip-bag. Khat tucked them in the crook of her arm, and handed over the bills in trade.

  "Got change comin'," the woman said.

  Khat waved a hand. "Keep it."

  "You bet. Good flying, Long Space."

  "Same," Khat said, which was only polite. The bartender laughed, and turned away, already tracking another patron.

  Provisions firmly in hand, Khat squinched out of the crowd surrounding the bar, and looked around, hoping to find a ledge to rest her brew on. The booths and tables were full, of course, as was the available standing space--no, there was a guy coming off of his stool, his recyclables held loose in one hand. Khat moved, dancing between clusters of yelling, gesticulating patrons, and hit the stool almost before he left it.

  Cheered by this minor bit of good luck, she popped the seal on the billy and had a long swallow of brew. Warm, dammit.

  She had another swallow, then unzipped the food bag.

  She's expected to find her flavored protein between flat rectangles of ship cracker, and was pleasantly surprised to find it served up on two fine slices of fresh bake bread, which was almost enough to make up for the warm brew.

  A bite confirmed that the protein was no better than usual, with the bread contributing interest and texture. Khat made short work of it, and settled back on the stool, nursing what was left of her brew.

  Good manners was that she should pretty soon surrender the stool and the little table, so someone else could have their use. Still, she had a couple minutes left before she hit the line for rudeness, and she wanted to study the floor a little closer before she went back to being part of the problem.

  The Liadens traveled in teams--no less than two, no more than four--and all of the teams she could see from her stool were in conversation with Terrans. That struck her as funny, being as Liadens were always so stand-offish. On the other hand, shy never made no trades.

  It did make a body pause and consider what it was that Banth had, that Liadens wanted.

  She chewed on that while she finished her brew. The mines--what did they mine on this space-forsaken dustball? She made a mental note to find out, and slid off the stool, on-course for a view of the ship-board.

  * * *

  "And no one thought to tell our guest, before he was left alone among the vines, that kylabra snakes are poisonous?" Lady Maarilex inquired gently. Too gently, Jethri thought, sitting stiff in the chair she had pointed him to, Flinx tall and interested beside his knee.

  Her son was standing, and his face had regained its normal golden color. He hadn't known that it was possible for a Liaden to pale, but Ren Lar had definitely lost color in the instant that he took in the snake, and whirled back to Jethri, snapping, "Are you bit?"

  "Mother," he said now, voice quiet and firm. "You know that the kylabra do not usually wake so early."

  "And you know, Master Vintner, that the weather in this wind year has been unseasonably warm. Why should the snakes sleep on?"

  "Why, indeed?" murmured her son, and despite his level shoulders and expressionless face, Jethri was in receipt of the distinct idea that Ren Lar would have welcomed the ability to sink into and through the floor.

  He cleared his throat and shifted a little in his chair.

  "If you please, ma'am," he said slowly and felt like he wanted to sink through the floor on his own account when she turned her face to him--and took a breath. Dammit, he thought; you took whatever Capin Iza was serving, you can sure take this. He cleared his throat again.

  "The fact is," he said, keeping his voice settled and easy, just like Cris would do, when their mutual mother was needing some sense talked to her, "that I wasn't left unguarded. Ren Lar left Flinx with me, to supervise, he said. I thought it was a joke--I've been studying on what is and isn't a joke, ma'am, as you'll remember--but it comes about that he was serious. Snakes--I read about snakes, but I've never seen one. And Flinx was there to do what was needful."

  "I see." She inclined her head, maybe a bit sarcastic--he thought so. "You would argue, then, that the house provided adequate care to one who is perhaps naive in some of the ...less pleasant aspects of planet-bound life."

  "Yes, ma'am, I do," he said stoutly, and thought to add, "All's well that ends well, ma'am."

  "An interesting philosophy." She turned to face her son. "You have an eloquent champion in the one whose life you endangered. Pray do not rest upon your good fortune."

  Ren Lar bowed. "Mother."

  She sighed, and moved an impatient hand. "Attend me a moment longer, if the vines can spare you. Jethri, you have had adventures enough for a day. Go and make yourself seemly for the dancing master."

  "Yes, ma'am." He rose, made his bow and headed for the door, Flinx prancing at his side, tail high and ears forward.

  * * *

  The ship-board was hung along the backmost wall, the Combine-net computers lined up just below.

  The computers was all taken, of course, not that Khat had need of a beam or a quote. She did want a clear view of the 'board, though, and that took some fancy dancing around various clustered jaw-fests.

  Finally, she got herself situated behind a rare group--half-a-dozen Liadens, talking low and intense 'mong themselves and not minding anything else. No problem seeing over those heads, and there was the ship-board, plain as you please, showing the names of five Terran ships, including her own--and four Liaden ships, their names a garble of Terran letters and pidgin hieroglyphic.

  Khat frowned at the listings, trying to work out the names and having a little less luck than none. Four Liaden ships at Banthport was some news and no doubt Paitor'd be glad of it. Nameless, though, that wasn't much good, especially as there was a Combine key graphic next to two of the four indecipherables, and Paitor would really want to know those names, so he could run a match through Terratrade's main database.

  Some Liaden traders held Combine keys--it was 'specially found 'mong those who worked the Edge. Banth being the Edge, it wasn't out of the question to find a Liaden-held key on-port. You might even stretch to two on a port the size of Banth, given the random nature of the universe. But four Liaden ships, two carrying keys?

  Khat's coincidence bone was starting to ache.

  She stared at the 'board, not really seeing it, trying to figure the odds of getting anything useful out of Admin and what plausible reason she might offer for her need-to-know. And how much it was likely
to cost her.

  "...long time!" an exuberant male voice bellowed into her off-ear.

  She started and blinked, coming around a thought too fast for such cramped quarters--and lowered her hand with a half-laugh.

  "Keeson Trager, you near scared me outta my skin!"

  "No more than you did me, thinking that strike was gonna land!" he retorted, blue eyes dancing in a merry round face. "Least I'd've been able to tell my captain it was Khat Gobelyn who decked me."

  She cocked an eyebrow. "Your captain figure brawl fines by who takes you down?"

  He pushed his chest out, pretending to be a tough guy. As Khat knew for certain, there wasn't no need to pretend, except for the joke of it. Keeson Trager was plenty tough.

  "My captain says, anybody takes me down in a brawl, she'll waive the fine and give double to the one who done the deed." He let his chest deflate a little, and cast her a bogus look of worried concern. "Not short on cash this trip, are you, Khati?"

  She laughed and shook her head. "Even if I was, there's easier ways."

  His relief was obvious--and ridiculous. "Well, I'm pleased to hear you're doing OK." He glanced over to the 'board.

  "Market not with you?"

  "Market's at Kinaveral for refit. Right now, I'm a hired wing." She waved a hand at the 'board. "Brought Lantic down today. The unloading goes timely, I'll lift out tomorrow."

  "My luck," said Keeson with a sigh. "Wager's lifting inside the hour--I'm sweep. Of course." Of course.

  "Who's missing?" Khat asked.

  "Coraline."

  Of course. Keeson's youngest sister had a restless urge to explore every station and port Wager put in to, roof beam to secret cellars, and she'd more than once been the cause of the Wager refiling a scheduled lift.

  "Funny to look for her here," Khat commented. "You try the residences, down below?"

  "Tried that first. Then all the tunnels and the crawlways. Figure she might be here on account she's takin' her approach from your Jeth and given' some study to the Liaden side of things."