I Dare

by Sharon Lee

  "I beg your pardon," he said, as gently as Terran allowed him.

  Her sigh came clearly out of the speaker. "No, I beg your pardon," she said, equally gentle, "for I must send you into peril alone, and for no better reason than I cannot face the upcoming interview with Korval-pernard'i on an empty stomach."

  She sighed a second time. "Please do me the favor of meeting Lady Nova at Docking Bay Two and escorting her to my office."

  "I?" Ren Zel bit his lip. "Priscilla, I am—"

  "Pilot, first mate, and crewman of good standing on this ship," she interrupted. "Lady Nova knows how to value such things."

  And he had, after all, Ren Zel reflected wryly, received his orders from his captain. He inclined his head, as if she could see him—and who knew that she could not, dramliza that she was? "I will meet Lady Nova and bring her to you in your office."

  "Good," said Priscilla.

  His hand moved toward the disconnect—and stopped as she spoke his name.

  "Yes?"

  "It will not be necessary," she said, "to tell Lady Nova that her brother is not presently aboard."

  The ways of the dramliz were mysterious, Ren Zel thought, but the ways of Korval were stranger still. Again, he inclined his head.

  "I understand," he said, and the connection light went out.

  THE STATUS LIGHT went from red to green, and the hatch slid open, revealing a tall blond woman wearing the leather jacket of a Jump pilot over serviceable dark shirt and trousers. Her face was comely, as he had recalled, and fell easily into a frown, though he had taken care to be in place several minutes beforetime, so that she would find him neither tardy nor breathless.

  He bowed, oathbound to lord, which might have waked a question in her mind, had she been less focused upon her own business. As it was, she returned his courtesy with an inclination of the head, and a brief, "Pilot."

  "Lady," he murmured, straightening in proper time and keeping his gaze decently averted. "I am sent to bring you to the captain."

  "So I surmised," she answered drily, the accent of fabled Solcintra gilding her words. "If the captain has likewise desired you to lead me the long dance, I pray you will allow yourself to be persuaded otherwise. I do know the shortest route, and will have no difficulty escorting myself."

  Well, and Captain yos'Galan had been known, upon occasion, to issue such orders to those sent as escort, Ren Zel allowed, and bowed again.

  "The captain was off shift," he offered, softly, "and required time to prepare."

  "Of course," said Lady Nova and swept a slim hand toward the corridor. Korval's clan ring flared briefly in the light, silver and green. "My business with the captain is urgent."

  "Certainly. If your ladyship will accompany me . . . "

  ALL HONOR to the lady: She did not insist on the shortest route, through the narrow service corridors. However, the pace she set through the public corridors was swift enough to discourage conversation, which Ren Zel could only feel was to his benefit.

  Soon enough, the bright red door of the captain's office came into sight. The lady broke her step, courteously allowing Ren Zel to lay his palm against the plate. The door slid silently open and he preceded the guest across the threshold, as protocol required, saw his captain sitting tall and proud behind the desk and swept a low bow as Nova yos'Galan stepped past him.

  "I bring—" he began, and then halted, as Priscilla's voice overrode his, speaking mild Terran.

  "Well met, sister. Will you have wine?"

  Ren Zel straightened. Sister. What came next was between kin. He had no business here. He moved one careful step forward. Both women looked at him, but he kept his eyes on Priscilla's face.

  "Captain, shall I take your place on the roster this shift?"

  She smiled. "That will not be necessary, first mate. Please, pursue your rest shift."

  He bowed—"Captain"—again—"Lady"—and resisted the impulse to back out of the office.

  The door slid shut behind the brown-haired pilot. Nova took a deliberate breath, and glared at the woman behind the desk. "So. Sister and captain, is it? Where is my brother?"

  "Planetside," Priscilla said in her deep, calm voice, and raised a hand as if she felt Nova's cry of protest rising. "It was an accident, I swear. We had taken damage and he insisted on being part of the repair crew. The enemy attacked and separated him from the ship." She paused, then added, "Seth Johnson gave his life to protect his captain and his ship in that action. I think you knew him."

  Nova bowed her head, recalling with the vividness that was her gift and her curse the long, rat-faced Terran pilot. "Who are we, that people die for us? All honor to him."

  "All honor to him," Priscilla repeated softly.

  Nova looked up. "First mate rises to fill the void in command, when the captain is separated from the ship. It is understood. Now—sister?"

  "Shan and I have declared lifemates."

  Nova closed her eyes. "With recourse to neither law nor first speaker."

  "The clan was scattered; our enemy in pursuit," Priscilla murmured. "I refused to leave the ship to be safe, and he was too wise a captain to order his first mate away."

  Nova opened her eyes. "Ah, I understand! A sacrifice upon the altar of duty! How like Shan, to be sure!"

  Priscilla threw back her head and laughed. After a moment, Nova sighed and moved forward to take a chair. "I believe I will have a glass of the white, if you please. Sister. And then you may tell me how my brothers fare, planetside."

  "Shan," said Priscilla, moving gracefully across the room to the bar. "Fares well. Val Con fares . . . less well." She poured two glasses of white wine and carried them to the desk. She handed Nova a glass and sat again behind the desk, her own glass cradled in long, slender fingers.

  Nova's mouth tightened. "How much . . . less well . . . stands my younger brother?"

  Priscilla raised her glass and almost laughed again, to catch herself employing one of Shan's delaying tactics.

  "Val Con was desperately wounded in the strike that broke the back of the Yxtrang on-world. He remains in the catastrophe unit at Erob's medical facility. The med techs there are divided in their predictions of the final percentage of his disability."

  The color drained from Nova's face, leaving it a sticky beige color; her distress slammed across Priscilla's inner senses with the shrill force of a scream.

  "Nova—"

  Her lifemate's sister raised a slim, golden hand, and turned her face aside. "A moment, of your kindness. Val Con—" Her breath caught. "If he is not able to fly . . . "

  If Val Con were not able to fly, Priscilla thought, following Nova's logic effortlessly, then he could not, by Korval's own law, be delm. And Korval needed its delm now as never before, with Plan B in effect, and enemies on all sides.

  "Val Con's lifemate is out of the 'doc and by all reports will make a full recovery," she said to Nova's stricken eyes. "She will be able to fly. Korval has its delm."

  "Lifemate," Nova repeated flatly, and had recourse to her glass, eyes half-closed.

  "Lifemate," Priscilla asserted. "Shan says—lifemates in the fullest sense, shadowing the link that your parents shared."

  Nova closed her eyes. "Gods be merciful," she murmured. She had another sip of wine and opened her eyes. "I will be leaving for the planet surface as soon as I have cleared descent with the appropriate commanders," she said, with a forced and brittle calm.

  "There are Yxtrang on the planet surface," Priscilla pointed out, though she had very little hope of turning Nova from her course. "You will be placing yourself in peril."

  The other woman stared at her for a long moment, violet eyes unreadable.

  "I acknowledge the possibility of peril," she said, slowly. "However, the report I have from the mercenaries is that Erob's House is no longer in immediate danger of attack and that the Yxtrang have lost heart. I am Korval-pernard'i. Necessity exists."

  And that, Priscilla thought with an inward sigh, was that. She knew better than
to try to talk any Liaden out of an action that had been found, by some fey balancing of duty, desire, and melant'i, to be "necessary."

  "May I ask you a thing," Nova said suddenly, "as captain of this vessel?"

  What now? Priscilla wondered, but kept her face and voice serene. "Yes."

  "I wonder how you came to name a clanless first mate?"

  "Ah." Priscilla leaned back and sipped her own wine, her eyes drawn upward, to the glittery frivolous mobile Anthora yos'Galan had given her brother Shan. "Ren Zel is able; mere hours away from master pilot. He is respected by his shipmates, and—" She brought her eyes down to meet Nova's gaze. "And, he is not . . . entirely . . . clanless. This ship—this crew—are his kin. He will fight to keep both safe, with his last gasp of life."

  Nova sat for a moment, then inclined her head. "It is well-reasoned. I thank you." She stood, leaving her empty glass on the corner of Priscilla's desk. "If I may have the use of a comm?"

  Priscilla rose. "You may use this one, and welcome," she said. "I am wanted on the bridge."

  "Thank you. Sister." She smiled, then, sudden and genuine. "I am glad to be able to say it."

  Liad

  Department of Interior

  Command Headquarters

  THE BOX WAS approximately five foot square, matte black and, on casual inspection, seamless.

  Commander of Agents, completing an inspection that was not at all casual, paused before the door and looked to the hovering technician.

  "I would examine the interior."

  "Certainly, Commander." The tech removed a cylinder no longer than his forefinger from a pocket and depressed a section of its black surface. There was no sound, but when Commander of Agents again faced the box, it was to discover that one wall had slid away. The interior was very dark. Commander of Agents produced a hand light from his pocket, flicked it on and stepped into the box.

  Its interior dimension was somewhat less than the outside led one to expect; the ceiling short enough that Commander of Agents needed to duck his head and round his shoulders. A taller person would not have been able to stand at all, but would need to kneel upon the ungiving metal floor.

  "The apparatus," the technician murmured from the doorway, "is enclosed in the floor and the sidewalls. If one braces oneself against a wall, or kneels or lies down on the floor—the lethargic affect is far greater. The test subject has been able to experience the weakening of his abilities, which was not expected, but which may prove useful. In the short term, the perceptible ebb of power has been observed to awaken panic to the verge of hysteria in the test subject."

  Commander of Agents played his light around the interior of the box, noting with satisfaction the smooth, nearly featureless metal walls. There were a series of small, vents—33 holes altogether, the report had said—on the immovable wall. These were for ventilation, or for the introduction of gasses, as necessary. On the very center of the "ceiling" were several indentations—these the microphone and speakers for communicating with the inmate, or for introducing sounds as might be required. An uncomfortable place, altogether, in the normal way of things, but for those of the dramliz—a torture.

  "You lost a subject, I believe?" he said over his shoulder to the technician.

  "Commander, we did. The first dramliza understood her circumstance very quickly and was able to raise sufficient power to hurl a fireball at the apparatus beneath the floor."

  The Commander's little beam of light danced across the floor, found a black smear rather like a grease stain on the floor nearly at his feet; a similar stain ran half-way down the wall he faced.

  "Did the mechanism take harm?"

  "Tests immediately after the incident indicated that the apparatus remained fully functional," the technician said. "The material, you see, is highly reflective of that energy utilized by the dramliz. The bolt was thus sent back to the subject from the floor and all the walls, immolating her. An unfortunate loss of an interesting subject. I very much regret the waste."

  "There is some waste in all experiments. You have found the second subject less volatile, I understand."

  "It was understood that proper testing required that we utilize dramliza of greater rather than lesser ability, and the present subject, like the first, is very strong. He is, however, young; and we hold his cha'leket hostage to his cooperation. Also, I took care to show him the stains you have found, sir, and explain in depth how they came to be there." The technician paused. "There was, of course, some danger that he would attempt to suicide, using this proven means, but he is, as I have said, young, fond of his cha'leket, and inclined to believe in the possibility of rescue."

  Hunched, the Commander backed out of the box and flicked off his light. Straightening his cramped shoulders, he looked again to the technician.

  "You planted the belief that he might expect a rescue?"

  The tech inclined his head. "It seemed the best strategy, given the need to conceal our development from the dramliz."

  The Commander took a moment to consider this. Ordinarily, he did not tolerate such innovations from mere technicians. In this case, however, given, as had been said, the need to conserve resources . . . He inclined his head.

  "You have done well," he said. The technician bowed profoundly. "I will wish to speak with the subject in"—he glanced as his chronometer—"four hours, Standard. I suggest he spend the time before our meeting in there." He flicked a negligent hand at the box.

  The tech bowed again.

  "Commander, it shall be done."

  Lytaxin

  Mercenary Encampment

  CLONAK WAS ON the camp, engaging in poker with as disreputable a half-dozen card sharps as Daav had been privileged to behold in at least twenty years. He hoped, though without much optimism, that Clonak would allow them to retain their dignity, if not their pay.

  Shadia, sensible woman that she was, had retired immediately after their release from Commander Carmody's dinner party.

  Nelirikk—or Beautiful, as Commander Carmody had it—had chosen to remain with the fearsome duo he referred to, with no irony that Daav could detect, as "the recruits". The Rifle—one Diglon—appeared of a phlegmatic nature and would very likely follow Shadia's sensible schedule. However, the winsome and biddable Hazenthull had been another kindle of kittens entirely. She had been most displeased to find that she was not to be allowed to sit sentinel by the autodoc enclosing—and gods have mercy, healing—her senior, and had only reluctantly accompanied Nelirikk and Diglon to quarters.

  Which left Daav, wide awake and content to be alone, sitting cross-legged on the bench by the 'doc containing the wounded explorer, eyes closed against the darkness.

  It was at times like this that he could feel her sitting next to him, her knee companionably pressing his; her silence sanctifying his disinclination to talk. Aelliana, his lifemate. Dead these last twenty-five Standard years.

  Daav sighed in the dark, and felt Aelliana lay her hand, comfortingly, on his thigh.

  It came to him that he was as much a ghost as she: his brother was dead, and his brother's lifemate. Who of Clan Korval would remember Daav yos'Phelium, so long absent from kin and hearth ? Certainly not the so-formidable son referred to, by explorer and mercenary commander alike, as "the scout"—as if there were only one in all the galaxy. The small boy he had given, weeping, into the care of his cha'leket had in some way become a man revered as a lesser god by the Yxtrang soldier he had bested in single combat; lifemate of a red-haired rakehell no less beloved of Jason Carmody.

  "What may we bring to these feral children, our kin?" he murmured into the darkness.

  "Why a working Rifle," Aelliana answered, her voice warm inside the whorlings of his ears, "and a brace of explorers. It seems a gift they will know how to value."

  Daav smiled and resisted the temptation to pat the hand that could not be touching him. "Why, so it does. And how fortuitous to have met them upon the road, to be sure."

  Aelliana laughed softly and it was all he co
uld do, not to open his eyes and turn to look at her. Instead, he smiled for her, and sighed, just a little.

  "Commander Carmody has promised to send a message to our son's lady, desiring her to visit at her earliest convenience," he said. "Perhaps we may meet her soon."

  "Will she accept the Yxtrang, do you think?" asked Aelliana.

  Daav sighed again. "Commander Carmody thinks it . . . .possible. And we see that she has allowed our son to persuade her to one Yxtrang already . . . "

  "Singularly persuasive, this scout of yours," she teased him.

  "You will hardly blame him whole cloth upon me," he said, with mock severity. "Not only did I find you an enthusiastic participant during construction, but saw you thoroughly besotted with the result."

  "You, of course, never named him 'Little Dragon', nor recited nonsense verses for hours on end to lull him to sleep."

  "A man of my honors and position? I should think not."

  "False, oh false, van'chela! A man of your dignity, indeed."

  "Oh, and now I have no dignity?" He forgot himself and spoke aloud, rousing the tech on duty.

  "Everything OK over there?" she called.

  "Yes—" Daav began, opening his eyes, and then came to his feet, staring at the 'doc, which ought to be—which had been—aglow with readouts, and status lights.

  "Something's wrong," he called to the tech.

  She ran to his side, took one look at the somber 'doc and shook her head with a sigh.

  "Nothing wrong," she said. "He's just dead, is all."

  Things that Go

  Bump in the Night

  THE HOUSE LAY shrouded in pre-dawn, its rooms at rest. Abovestairs, a woman slept uneasily in a bed beneath a silvering skylight, her hair a dark wing across the pillows. A gray cat, his pre-dawn nap disrupted by the lady's restive habit, sat at the foot of the bed, meticulously washing his whiskers.

  "Necessity," the woman said clearly, her voice full of unshed tears. The cat paused in his ablutions, paw poised by cheek, ears ticked forward, as if reserving judgment on the truth of her assertion until he had heard the whole.