I Dare

by Sharon Lee

  He had chosen to write in Trade, very simply, the smooth lines of his hand drawing her eye even as she told herself that this was not hers to read.

  Surebleak, Day 308, Standard Year 1392

  My name is Pat Rin yos'Phelium Clan Korval. I write in Common Trade because I do not know who you will be, or from what world you will hail, who will come after me. I will begin by describing the circumstances immediately preceding my residence upon this planet. I will delineate the Balance that must go forth, and the reasons for its going forth. I will put down, as best as I am able, those things from other log books and diaries that may illuminate my actions and necessities.

  Let it begin.

  On the planet Teriste, in Standard Year 1392, Day 286, a messenger of the Department of the Interior brought me word that the entirety of my kin were killed—murdered by agents of this Department.

  I will herein name the names of my kin, lest they are forgot, and I will say to you, whoever and whenever you may be, that it is only I, Pat Rin, the least of us all, who is left now to carry Balance to fruition . . .

  Day 50

  Standard Year 1393

  Dutiful Passage

  Lytaxin Orbit

  LINA HAD AGREED to meet him over tea in the library at the end of his piloting shift. The necessity of retrieving the whisker from his quarters put Ren Zel a few moments behind the appointed time, and he found her at table ahead of him, teapot steaming and two cups standing ready.

  "Well-met, shipmate," she said with a smile, that having become a joke between them, over the years of their acquaintance. Despite the concerns he brought with him from his shift, Ren Zel felt his mouth curve upward in response.

  "Shipmate," he responded, slipping into the chair opposite her, and inhaling the fragrance of the tea. "Ah." His smile grew wider. "Shall I pour?"

  "If you please. I find myself remarkably indolent this hour."

  To find Lina indolent was to find an impossibility. Ren Zel filled a cup, and passed it to her. She cradled it in her hands and lifted it to sample the aroma. Ren Zel poured a cup for himself, and leaned back in his chair, likewise enjoying the sweet steam, and then taking a bare sip, teasing his tastebuds with the complex notes of the beverage.

  "So," said Lina eventually, putting her cup aside. "How may I assist you, shipmate? Have you been dreaming again?"

  "In fact, I have," Ren Zel murmured, setting aside his own cup and reaching into his pocket for the sampling tube. "And, when I woke, I found that dreaming had produced—this." He placed the tube before her on the table, then sat back, with an effort.

  "I . . . see." She picked the tube up and turned it this way and that in the light. "A singularly handsome specimen. Found in a dream, you say?"

  "In the aftermath of a dream," Ren Zel said, slowly. "I woke—or dreamed I woke—and felt the weight of a cat on my chest. I raised a hand to stroke it—and realized of a sudden that a cat was—not possible, so that I woke in truth." He waved a hand at the tube. "And found that whisker caught in the coverlet."

  "I see," Lina said again, her eyes on the whisker. "And was there a dream before the dream of the cat?"

  "Two," he said promptly. "First was the battle-dream. I woke from that and read until I nodded. There was another dream, then. Within it, a . . . shipmate had come to me with the same dream, of the fleas and the—solution we undertook to save ourselves. I soothed her as best I might and sent her to her own rest. And then—"

  Lina raised a hand. "Did you recognize this shipmate?"

  Ren Zel considered that, then shook his head, Terran-wise. "Indeed, it was only that she had the memory upon her, and stood so very distressed, for ship and crew . . . " He moved a shoulder. "But, after all, it was a dream."

  "Just so." Lina touched the tip of her forefinger to the tube's seal. "May I?"

  "Certainly."

  And so she had the whisker out, and settled back in her chair with it held close between her two palms, and her eyes closed.

  Momentarily ignored, Ren Zel retrieved his teacup and sipped, recruiting himself to patience.

  "I know this cat . . . " Lina murmured, her voice slightly slurred, as if she spoke in her sleep. Ren Zel froze, cup halfway to his lips, unwilling to break the Healer's trance.

  "I know this cat," she said again, barely more than a whisper. "It is . . . " Her face changed, tightened; her eyelids flickered, flew open. She sighed and shook her head gently. "To my knowledge, this cat has never been on the Passage."

  With which, she picked up the tube, reinserted the whisker, resealed the top, and leaned forward to place the whole before him.

  Ren Zel lowered his teacup, looking from her careful face and opaque eyes to the tube and its captive wonder.

  "It had seemed," he said eventually, and with utmost care. "That . . . trance had produced more information regarding this cat."

  "Had it?" Lina recovered her cup and sipped.

  And whatever that information might have been, Ren Zel dea'Judan was not to be made a gift of it. He bit his lip, staring down at the tube, concentrating on breathing. He had counted Lina among his friends . . .

  "You think me cruel," she said. "Friend, acquit me."

  He looked up, saw sympathy in her eyes and raised a hand. "Then, why—?"

  She shifted, setting her cup down. "Tell me, has there been a return of that phenomenon such as Shan reported, when he found you on Casiaport?"

  He blinked, bought a moment of thought by putting his cup down.

  "Certainly not. Why should there have been?"

  She moved a hand, soothing the air between them. "Forgive me; I meant no offense. It was merely that Shan had said you were in trance, and foretelling . . . "

  "I was wounded," he said, more sharply than he had intended, "and raving."

  She was still for a moment, then inclined her head. "As you say, Pilot."

  Ren Zel flinched. "Lina . . . "

  "Ah, no—" She bent forward and put her hand over his where it rested next to the damned tube. "Peace . . . peace. Friend, you must understand that it is . . . difficult to know the correct path to take with you. We have on this ship three not-inconsiderable Healers—one a full dramliza—and you remain beyond the touch of all, shielded so well that none of us may so much as reach forth and give you ease of ill dreaming." Gently, she patted his hand and withdrew.

  "With you, we must—we must pilot blind, trusting our training and an honest regard for yourself to win us through to safe landing." She sighed and picked up her teacup to sip. Ren Zel, curiously breathless, did the same.

  "So," Lina continued. "I will tell you that the trance did produce more information. Not," she said wryly, "as much as I would have desired. Yet more than I will give to you. My training—and my sincere regard for yourself—tells me that it would be best to allow you to proceed . . . unencumbered by preconception. The cat may never come to you again—or it may reappear often, at the times it chooses. Cats are like that, after all."

  "So they are." He picked up the sampling tube and slid it into a pocket, rose and bowed, respect to a master. "My thanks, Healer."

  She smiled, wistfully, and inclined her head. "Pilot. Good lift."

  "Safe landing," he answered, that being the well-wish pilots exchanged before a journey.

  He walked back to his quarters slowly, wondering what sort of journey Lina supposed him to be on.

  Day 309

  Standard Year 1392

  Blair Road

  Surebleak

  NATESA HAD PERHAPS been correct to protest his choice of hour for this meeting, Pat Rin thought, as he followed Jonni on a tour of the rooftop garden. The air was frigid, and the light breeze soon had him a-shiver and longing for the temperate climate he had been born to.

  Well, he would have a cup of tea soon enough, and in the meanwhile he was in a fair way to learning the sign-names for rather a number of vegetables.

  It appeared that Jonni's purpose in the tour was to elicit Pat Rin's advice on the crops to be
planted this season. The unraveling of this would doubtless have proven tedious, if not impossible, as the beds had lain fallow over the winter beneath tarpaulin shrouds, long since stripped of their visual aids to communication. But here Jonni revealed unexpected resources.

  Showing Natesa empty hands with fingers spread wide, he opened a plastic tool chest and pulled out an object inexpertly wrapped in oilcloth. A few moments later, Pat Rin was holding a spine-shot paper book entitled How to Grow Food in Small Spaces, and trying to simultaneously read the descriptions appended to the pictures Jonni pointed out and attend the boy's hand-talk and pantomime.

  So, in the end the planning was only laborious, leaving Pat Rin feeling that he had personally turned every bed and hand-set every seed.

  "That is good then," he told Jonni, closing the book. "With care, we will be comfortably supplied through next winter. I depend upon you to do well for us."

  The boy smiled and nodded, and reached rather anxiously for the book Pat Rin cradled in his arm.

  "A moment." He held up a hand, and the boy stopped, smile vanished and eyes anxious.

  Pat Rin sighed. "Only a question, child. Can you read?"

  The pert nose wrinkled, and the right hand wobbled in a sign which was most perfectly plain: So-so.

  "Ah." He glanced to Natesa. "I suppose it is too much to hope that there is a school in this territory?" He asked, foreknowing the answer.

  But she surprised him. "Gwince tells me she learned to read at Ms. Audrey's house. I do not believe that she was ever employed as a Scarlet Beauty, so it seems at least possible that Audrey sponsors a school." Her mouth twitched in a faint smile. "For some definition of school."

  "Well, since I will be seeing Ms. Audrey today, I will make inquiries." He held the book out. Jonni pounced on it with visible relief and went over to stow it in the tool chest, first re-wrapping it in its sheet of waterproofing.

  A blade of wind sliced across the rooftop; Pat Rin gasped, shivering renewed, and turned toward the rather fearsome metal staircase which ascended from the attic to the garden.

  "Come," he said to Natesa. "There will be tea in the kitchen."

  "BEAUTIFUL," Audrey breathed, some hours later, gazing raptly at the Sinner's Carpet.

  It did look well, Pat Rin thought, standing at survey by her side. He had been at pains to impress upon the extras hired to carry and lay it that it did indeed matter how the carpet was oriented in the room, that the edges be straight, and that there be no unsightly wrinkles. In fact, it had taken rather longer than he had estimated to finish the thing properly. But the result was well worth the labor.

  "I got it all planned out," Audrey was saying, with what sounded to be genuine happiness. "Real special deal, only for the, you know—connoisseur."

  "I hope that it brings you profit," he murmured politely and she chuckled.

  "Oh, it will. That rug is gonna be good for business." She turned to him with a smile. "Thank you. Now, let's step along to my office and I'll hand over the deposit and the first month's rent."

  "I wonder if you might assist me," he murmured, as they walked through halls and rooms much less busy than yesterday. Audrey threw him a quick blue glance.

  "Well, I can try," she said, with appropriate caution. "What's up?"

  "There is a child of my house who requires tutoring. He reads, but poorly. I would have his skill increase."

  Both of Audrey's eyebrows were up. "If he reads at all, he's better off than most of the streeters."

  "True. However, he bears the burden of being deaf, and thus it is doubly important that he learn to read and write well." He tipped his head, considering. "It would also be good if he were able to learn basic mathematics."

  She snorted, half a laugh. "What d'ya think this is, a nursery school? Who's the kid?"

  "His name is Jonni. He is employed as my gardener."

  She stopped, there in the middle of the hall, and turned to stare at him. Perforce, Pat Rin also stopped, wondering.

  "Kid about—what?—thirteen? fourteen?—with a kinda pointy face and a head full of black hair that just makes you itch to take a comb and a pair of scissors to it?"

  A fair description. Pat Rin inclined his head. "It sounds the very child."

  Perhaps she heard him, perhaps not. Certainly, she continued on as if she had not—"And deaf. Blizzard, it's gotta be the same kid!"

  "I am to understand," Pat Rin ventured when several moments had passed and she said nothing more, "that Jonni is known to you?"

  "Known—" She looked at him, her face set in grim lines. "Look, that kid used to live here—we taught him what he knows about reading, and he used to be pretty good at his numbers, too. Not that he cared about the reading or the sums—but he did care about growing things, and so he learned what he needed for that. Then—it's been maybe two years ago, now—an'—well, you don't need the details. Short of it is a customer walked in here one night higher'n a spaceship on somethin' that wasn't doin' him no good, and when the smoke cleared, he was dead, which he deserved—and so was two of mine, which they didn't." She sighed. "An' o'course one was Jonni's mom. Kid come strollin' in from somewhere, took one look and screamed—first time I ever heard him make a sound—turned 'round and ran out the front door. A couple of the boys went out after him, but they lost him in the dark. And, you know, we thought he'd come back, after he got himself in hand." She sighed. "Hasn't yet."

  A bitter tale, indeed, and if the boy could not bear to return to the place of his mother's murder, who was Pat Rin yos'Phelium to call him a coward? Yet, he must have his letters and his sums, if he were to profitably make his way into adulthood. He looked up at Audrey.

  "I will speak with him," he said, and saw her brows lift slightly, possibly in amusement. "If he will not come here for lessons, perhaps lessons may come to him." He tipped his head. "If, of course, you are agreeable to providing tutoring for this child, in return for a reasonable fee."

  She waved her hand, a shapeless, meaningless gesture. "Oh, sure—got a pregnant girl right now who reads like a house afire. She'd be glad of the work and the cash. Don't know how she is with her numbers, but there's Villy to do it, if she ain't able. Patient as glass, Villy, and real good with the kids."

  "Then it is decided in principle," Pat Rin said, with a feeling of entirely ridiculous relief. "That is good. I will speak with Jonni this evening and see if I might persuade him here tomorrow. If not, I will send word and you may dispatch his tutor."

  "Suits," she said, and suddenly grinned her wide, infectious grin. "There you go again, pitching changes into the wind! Let's make that settlement before you decide it's too cold and install central heatin' on the streets!"

  IT WAS MID-MORNING when he and Cheever McFarland returned to the store to find a bent and tattered person at the front window, her hands and nose flattened against the glass.

  So rapt was she that Cheever McFarland needed to clear his throat three times before she stirred and looked up, blinking, but unafraid.

  "I'm Ajay Naylor, Boss. Gwince said you wanted to talk to me."

  Cheever shook his head. "I ain't the boss," he said, and pointed. "He's the boss."

  She peered along the line of his finger, and there came over her face an expression Pat Rin was beginning to know well—raw astonishment mixed with disbelief.

  He inclined his head. "Indeed, I am the boss. Thank you, for taking the time to come to me. Will you step inside, so that we may talk in comfort?"

  Disbelief increased by a factor of six. She turned back to Cheever.

  "This is for real? He's the boss? The one took Moran and the publicity committee out, like Gwince was tellin' me?"

  "This is for real," Cheever assured her. "He's the boss. I'm one of his 'hands."

  She shook her head. "Damn." Her gaze drifted back to the window. "Pretty things you got there. Boss."

  "Thank you. Would you like to examine them more closely? As a rug-maker, yourself, you will perhaps be interested."

  She grin
ned at that, showing toothless gums. "I'm interested, OK. Though you can't hardly put my rugs in the same room with them."

  "Ah, but I intend to," Pat Rin said, moving to unlock the door. "If the two of us are able to reach an agreement."

  GWINCE OPENED the door with a grin and a nod.

  "Evening, Boss. Mr. McFarland. Natesa sends that the work progresses, Boss. Cook asks when you want to eat supper."

  "We shall dine in an hour," Pat Rin answered. "Please ask Jonni to attend me in my office in three hours."

  "Yessir, will do."

  "Thank you, Gwince." He moved down the hall, and paused to look up at Cheever, who grinned.

  "Got it. See you in an hour." He strode off, whistling. Pat Rin continued, more slowly.

  The business with Ajay Naylor had been concluded to mutual satisfaction; she was not adverse to providing him rugs on commission, though she was less sanguine, even, than Audrey regarding the possibility of shipping off-planet. The road was the thing, as he understood it. As recently as Ajay's young womanhood, the Port Road had been neutral territory, and free passage guaranteed. That was not to say safe passage, even then, but caravans had regularly formed to bear items for sale or trade to the Port and most, if not all, won through.

  On the subject of what had changed, Ajay was unclear. There had been a rumored falling out among several of the bosses of the larger territories, which resulted in the road being closed, and abandoned to bandits. Another rumor had the Port itself closing, the ships withdrawing entirely. But that rumor, Ajay had allowed, with a certain dryness, had likely been air-dreams—as he doubtless knew better than she.

  Ajay departed, and there had come Al, the keeper of the hardware store, and their near neighbor. He had chatted for awhile, admired the carpets without displaying the least desire to understand them, and finally brought the conversation around to Pat Rin's proposed Insurance rate structure.