by Sharon Lee
* * *
Lina found Shan in the gym. Just inside, she stopped to watch him swing the paddle, strike the ball, spin, connect, dive, connect—faster and even faster, the ball a white blur trapped between wall and paddle, the man moving with lithe intensity, never missing, never pausing.
After a moment, she walked forward, angling toward the wall, then heard the ball strike just beyond her shoulder.
"Lina! Are you courting suicide? You could have been hit!"
"No," she told him calmly, changing her course. "You are far too quick for that, my friend."
"Accidents happen." Shan walked to meet her, paddle in one hand, ball in the other. His hair stuck in wet points to his forehead, lending him a slightly satanic air; he was breathing hard, and the wine-colored shirt showed darker patches. Lina set aside a spurt of fond sympathy; she stopped at precisely the proper distance and looked sternly up at him.
"You are meddling!" She spoke in the High Tongue, as senior to junior.
"I always meddle," he returned in mild Terran. "You know that."
"You will cease to do so in this instance. Immediately." Her words were still in the High Tongue, commanding, as was proper.
"Dear me," Shan murmured, looking down with a fine show of bewildered stupidity. "Do you mind if we sit down?"
She laughed and turned with him toward the side benches. "You are impossible!" she told him in Terran. "You deserve to be scolded!"
"Often," he agreed cordially, flipping paddle and ball into the wall slot and dropping into the first chair he came to. He thrust his long legs out before him. "Scold me."
She frowned. He was in a chancy mood. She began tentatively. "Shan, it is serious. Please. You could do harm." She extended a mental tendril.
She was met with opposition, the familiar Healer's barrier. He rarely took such complete refuge; never in all their years of friendship had he done so with her. Not at the time his mother had died so tragically, nor when Er Thom yos'Galan had turned his face from kin and from duty to follow her.
Lina withdrew the tendril and considered him quietly. "It is a bad thing," she offered, "for Healers to argue over a proper approach. Most especially when Healing has begun."
"I agree," Shan said.
"That is good. Now, I will tell you that I am puzzled. We spoke, did we not? And it was agreed that I should proceed, though Priscilla was drawn as much to you as to me. You insisted, old friend, saying you were captain, not Healer."
"True. I do not act as Healer in the matter."
Lina stifled a sigh. This was Shan at his least tractable, showing the streak of stubborn reticence that characterized Korval at the fore. In a way it was a blessing—if she could not read him through the protective barrier, neither could he read her. The Wall, like so much of healing, was reciprocal.
She considered that last thought. One did tend to become entangled with those one Healed. Priscilla . . . He may have feared reciprocity, having felt the strength of her—even half-crazed with pain. And if he had been drawn enough to fear the Healing process. . .
"What is it that you want, old friend?" she asked.
He stirred. "I want to be her friend."
So. "And her lover!" She put a lash to that. If he did not yet know. . .
"I am not," Shan said carefully, "made of stone. You will have noticed this."
"Better you should have taken her to Heal yourself, then! The bond was there, from the beginning! Healing across sex is more rapid—you know that! Why—"
"And have her think herself hired to be the captain's slut? Thank you, no." There was Korval ice in that.
Lina blinked and gave a flickering thought to her own protections. "Why should she have thought so, old friend?"
Shan sighed. "She came to me—as captain—for protection. One Liaden had already robbed her of status as a person. It would not have seemed at all wonderful to her if another continued—" He shifted irritably. "Priscilla's Terran, Lina. She wasn't raised to melant'i. I am the captain to Priscilla. She believes it. It would have been nothing short of rape, a violation of trust so basic . . . ." He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, standing it up in sticky spikes. "I was in error, old friend. I act as Healer in the matter, in that I refused to act as one."
"I am Liaden," Lina said softly. "I am her superior."
"You are also friends. And I believe that the amount of influence a senior librarian exercises over a junior is somewhat less than what a captain may exercise over a crew member."
There was a silence that grew lengthy. Then Shan leaned forward abruptly and took her hands between his.
"I want her to be well. Joyful and complete. That most. I want her friendship, but I don't—won't—force it. A pair of earrings? Call it restitution for another wrong done her by Trader Olanek, if you like, Lina. If it will make all easier—"
"You have already said they are your gift to her," she reminded him. "But I do not think harm was done." She smiled warmly. "It is a good thing to have friends."
"I think so, too." He leaned back. "I leave the Healing in your hands. My word on it."
"So, then," she said, satisfied. She brought a finger to the side of her head. "I had almost forgotten the other. She did not mean it, Shan, when she welcomed you in esteem. I have explained, and it will not happen again. You must not be angry with her."
"Angry with her?" He laughed. "I'm delighted with her! She would have done no better if I'd coached her beforehand. What a devastating setdown for poor Sav Rid! The look on his face! I could have kissed her."
"You must not encourage her to behave improperly," she scolded him. "You talk of being her friend! It is important that she learn to behave with propriety. Especially if you will present her to Lady Kareen!"
"Yes, Lina," he said with wholly unconvincing meekness.
She shook her head. "No, that will not do. I know you. Priscilla and I will work on her accent, and she will use sleep tapes. Lady Kareen will find her above reproach."
"A matter of your own pride, in fact?"
She laughed and stood. "Completely impossible. Good night, old friend." She touched his cheek, very gently, noting that the Wall was yet in place. "Sleep well."
Shipyear 65
Tripday 144
First Shift
1.30 Hours
He did not sleep well. Nor did his interview with Gordy do anything to mend his badly frayed temper. He had begun by snarling at the boy, and his mood was not improved by the realization that he sounded rather like his father in that tone.
Irritably, he crossed to the bar and poured himself a glass of morning wine. There were a few things to attend to here before going worldside to begin a local week of trading. He dropped into his chair and spun the screen around.
Buzzzz!
Shan looked up, not quite placing the sound.
Buzzzz!
Brutally, he rearranged the mob of documents on top of the desk and eventually uncovered a shiny blue pad set with two unmarked keys. He depressed one at random. "Yes?"
Buzzzz!
Shan sighed and pushed the other key. "Yes?"
"Cap'n? Rusty here. Sorry to bother you."
"Rusty? Aren't you scheduled for world leave today? I thought you'd be dancing in the streets with a lover on each arm."
"Well, I'd planned on it," Rusty said seriously. "But when we hit port, there were two—oh, individuals—waiting for us. They say nobody from the Passage is allowed on-world and that they're coming up." There was a tiny pause. "They say they've got a warrant, Cap'n."
"Do they? What are we to do with that very interesting piece of information, I wonder? And what does it have to do with the crew's leave? Do strive for clarity, Rusty—I'm afraid I'm a bit dense this morning."
"Well, they say they want to see you. I guess they'll explain it personally."
"Wonderful. What sort of . . . individuals, Rusty? Ambassadorial? Mere policepersons? Concerned citizens?"
"Ummm. . ." Rusty's voice drifted, t
hen came back. "Didn't Cap'n Er Thom used to say that if your host wore a dagger, you should wear a dagger and a dirk?"
"It sounds very like him."
"By those rules, you ought to wear three daggers and a machete."
Shan grinned. "And these very formidable persons wish to call on me? How pleasant. Do me the favor, please, Rusty, of asking Seth to bring our visitors up as quickly as possible. Gordy will meet them and serve as escort. You needn't bear them company, if you'd rather not."
"Right you are. I'm not losing my breakfast. I'll catch a lift with Ken Rik, since they're evacuating him, too."
"Marvelous. Thank you for the call, Rusty. You always have such cheerful topics of discussion."
The other laughed and broke the connection.
Shan spun in his chair, hit the toggle that would summon Gordy, opened a drawer, and began to sweep papers into it.
The door opened to admit a subdued and rather pale cabin boy. "Yessir?"
Ruefully, Shan stretched out a hand. "Forgive me, acushla. My dreadful temper. I swear I didn't mean it to sound half as fierce as it did."
Gordy actually produced a grin, albeit a faint one. "That's okay. I should've been workin' at it all along. Guess I deserved to get my head bit off."
"That for me!" his cousin cried, snapping his fingers with a grin. Sobering, he shook his head. "An emergency, Gordy. Run to Selna and get a piece of the sample wood—so." He squared it off in the air with big, capable hands. "On your way back, stop and ask Calypso for the loan of his antique. Jet!"
Gordy was gone.
In an amazingly short time he was back, armed with the required items, which he placed on the pristine desk.
"Good," Shan said, surveying things. "Another task. Shortly there will be two individuals in the reception hall. Please bring them here."
"Yessir," the boy said, moving toward the door.
"Oh, Gordy!"
"Yes, Cap'n?"
Shan grinned. "Take your time."
* * *
The visitors were not pleased. They followed Gordy with rustling aloofness, their sulfur-colored robes brushing the sidewalls, and kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. They came finally to the red door—after having traversed the length of the ship twice, had they but known it—and Gordy activated the annunciator.
"Come!" Shan's clear voice was followed by a peculiar heavy thump just as the door slid open.
Gordy stepped into the room. Shan was lounging back in the chair behind the desk, which was clear except for a block of oak with a wooden-handled hatchet buried in it. He raised his glass and lifted his brows.
Mindful of the proprieties, Gordy bowed. "Cap'n yos'Galan, here are Budoc and Relgis come to speak with you."
"Good day; gentles. A pleasant one, isn't it? How might I serve you?"
Relgis, who was bald, stepped around Gordy and executed a grudging bow. "Good day, Captain," he replied in hoarse Terran. "We are officials of Arsdred Court. It is my duty to inform you that we carry papers denying your crew access to the planet surface for the amount of time required for the municipality of Arsdred to inspect and verify your cargo. Under this same order, you are banned from trade activities until such time as investigation retires charges brought against the Dutiful Passage, tradeship, and Shan yos'Galan, captain and Master Trader." He paused to glare sternly from beneath bushy eyebrows. Shan sipped wine.
"The charge," Relgis continued in a goaded voice, "is smuggling illicit pharmaceuticals and proscribed animals."
"The Dutiful Passage is accused of running contraband?" the captain inquired in the mildest possible tone. "May I know the name of the accuser?"
Relgis looked at him with suspicion, apparently formulating a reply. Into the silence stepped his partner, saying with ponderous affability that no such thing as charges had been leveled at ship or master.
"Relgis made a slip of the tongue, sir. The thing is, a complaint has been lodged with the court, citing suspicion of contraband. I'm sure you'll agree that this is a very serious thing."
"Oh, I do," Shan said, raising his glass, "Especially when suspicion names my ship."
Budoc had the grace to look discomfited. "Well, of course you're bound to feel that way," he allowed after exchanging a startled glance with his partner. "I'm sure it will be inconvenient for you to deny your crew leave and forfeit a few days' trading. But if you're innocent—as I'm certain you are—then there's no harm done, is there? You'll be allowed to go about your business, just as you normally would."
"The municipality," Relgis stated, revolted by this conciliating speech, "must be certain of either the truth or falsity of a suspicion of contraband. We cannot be too careful."
"I see. Any other suspicions, sir? Or is this the awful whole?"
Once again Relgis found that tone of vacuous amiability disconcerting. Budoc took over, clearing his throat noisily.
"We also bear a warrant for the detention of one Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza, of the crew of the Dutiful Passage. She is to be questioned under deep probe and held, pending arrival of further information."
"On what charge?" Shan queried gently, leaning forward and setting the glass aside.
"Suspected thievery." Relgis was back in the game.
"Really?" Shan looked at him with interest. "Now I have found her to be scrupulously—no, make that excessively—honest. Who accuses her?"
"Trader Sav Rid Olanek brought the matter to the attention of the court, sir. When the balance of his information arrives, determination shall be made as to whether the matter would be most properly handled by local or galactic authorities."
"And if she's innocent?" Shan asked, resting his chin on his left hand. His right lay next to the wooden block.
"If she's innocent," Budoc said magnanimously, "she will be released."
"Which will," Shan said dulcetly, "do her a great deal of good if the Passage has moved on in the meantime." He ran an absent finger down the hatchet haft. "What is she suspected of stealing from Trader Olanek? The clothes on her back? She had nothing else when she came to me."
The two officials exchanged glances. "No doubt that will be included in—"
"Trader Olanek's further information," Shan concluded. "Of course. May I see the papers you carry, sirs? I must say that I think it extremely unlikely that Ms. Mendoza is a thief. As to allowing her to be removed from this vessel and placed in a detention block for—how long before this information comes forth? Stupid of me, but I don't seem to recall. . ."
"We didn't say," Relgis said quellingly. "No longer than ten days, local."
"Captain," Budoc added, with a warning glance at his partner.
Relgis glowered, produced the papers from the depths of his robe, and handed them over with scant grace.
"Thank you," Shan said, receiving them in the spirit in which they were offered. He glanced at the hovering cabin boy. "Gordon, fetch Ms. Mendoza, if you please."
"Oh, no you don't!" Relgis snapped, leaping between Gordy and the door in a swirl of fabric. He fingered his sword hilt menacingly. "A very sly idea, Captain, but it won't work! Send the boy for her! Warn her, more likely! Next we'll be hearing from him that she's escaped!"
"Escaped?" Shan blinked at him, striving for his best look of foolish interest. "Now, where would she escape to, I wonder? I do seem to recall rather clearly a statement to the effect that none of my crew would be allowed worldside." He picked up his glass and took a thoughtful sip. "Of course, the Passage is a large ship," he conceded. "But not that large, do you think? I'm sure you could run her to ground if she took a notion to hide from you."
Perceiving a sheen of dew on Relgis's bald pate, he relented somewhat. "Go for Ms. Mendoza," he instructed Gordy gently. "Say that I wish to see her immediately. Please do not mention the presence of these two persons."
Gordy goggled at him, then recovered enough to bow and mutter "Yessir" before turning toward the door.
Speared by a glance from his partner, Relgis let him go.
/> Shan had another sip of wine and began a leisurely perusal of the court's documents.
* * *
In just under five minutes, the door chime sounded.
"Come!" Shan called, eyes still on the documents he had already committed to memory.
The two officials turned, hands on swords, ready to confront the desperate criminal herself as she stepped unescorted into the room.
Relgis preserved his countenance. Budoc visibly gaped.