by Sharon Lee
He would never hear her voice again.
Desolate, he perversely attempted to embrace yet more desolation—deliberately refusing the Tree's urge that he take seedpods with him; refusing to tell Er Thom his plan; refusing to contemplate a return. Refusing to believe with every bit of his will that he heard his beloved's voice, until desolation itself betrayed him, and Aelliana caught him nodding in exhaustion before a computer screen . . .
"Daav? Shall we share?"
He smiled. "Indeed we shall." Taking a pod in each hand, he offered—and Aelliana accepted—the first bite.
THEIR SNACK FINISHED, Aelliana was pleased to accompany him on another tour of the strange vessel on which they found themselves. Daav wandered them leisurely back along the path of the tour Edger had given them, the tantalizingly glimpsed library the first goal.
Path was a more accurate description than corridor, Daav thought. There were irregularities in the stone beneath his feet, and apparently random turnings in the way, which put one in mind of a forest walk, rather than a tame hallway. Strolling along, he indulged himself in a scout-like amusement: in his mind's eye, he attempted to connect several of the rooms in a straight line. Perhaps it could have been done, but there seemed a certain shape for doorways, and an alignment—or perhaps lack of alignment—in a pattern he could not quite understand.
Aelliana offered the opinion that the water rooms—which she counted as rooms containing open pools or flowing water—of which they had passed at least four, appeared to be situated at a mathematically constant distance from the ship's core.
"I suspect we have a combination of the technical and the aesthetic at work, Daav," she said, excitedly, as such discoveries invariably excited her. "Closer to center there would be no whirlpool pattern to the drains—water would flow directly in from all sides. Situated as they are, the pools and brooklets follow a rhythm and flow more natural to a spinning world."
Very likely, she was right, Daav thought. Gods knew, he was no authority on Clutch aesthetics.
Ambling, they passed periodic gaps in the stone walls, and the gleam of fittings for a metal door. Otherwise, the ship was very much the cavern Miri had promised them—a cavern shaped by an intelligence far from human.
Daav ran his fingers along the wall as they walked, discovering patterns—or perhaps merely the marks of ancient chisels—and sighed. At every turn, he was reminded of the difficulty of the task his delm had set him. Negotiate with the Elders, forsooth! Convince a council of beings unimaginably old to offer refuge to a sentient tree as old, or even older, than they.
If the Clutch Elders are wise, he thought sourly, they will decline the honor, with speed and force.
"Daav." Aelliana's voice was urgent in his ear. "The ship . . . "
He paused. Indeed, he did feel something change in the rock beneath his feet—the briefest vibration, as if someone had slammed a door on the far side of a large building.
"Perhaps Edger is adjusting our orbit—" he began—and his voice was overwhelmed by the voice of the gong.
The entire ship rang with the sound; disorienting him for a fragment of a second. He made a pilot's quick recover and dropped to the stone floor, sitting with his back pressed against the rock wall, distantly amused at the new vogue in acceleration couches.
He leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes and waited for transition.
Another vibration, so low he felt the long waves up it sweep up his legs and body, through his chin, and over his head.
He opened his eyes.
The walls were full of color; shot with veins of gold and silver, coruscating, so that he felt that he—that they!—were deep inside a quartz meteor revolving around a star of lambent blue.
He realized almost immediately that he should not have opened his eyes, for the busyness of the light disturbed his sense of direction. He looked down, bracing a hand against a floor streaming with pearl pink and aqua. His hand sank into the stone—he felt it; felt the textures of the colors—and now his equilibrium was disturbed, the stone hallway stretching up into the filaments of the blue-toned quartz . . .
The ship—or the universe—lurched; his inner ear protested; and he was seeing through dozens of layers of rock, threatening to reveal cold space . . .
Aelliana was with him, he could feel her presence, as if she too were amazed and appalled at the spectacle before them.
He twisted against the wall, trying to recover his shattered balance, but his body did not properly obey him. It was as if he were twinned, with two right arms to move, using two sets of muscles, superimposed . . .
"Daav!" Aelliana mirrored his panic, her voice echoing sweetly off the stone corridors.
"Aelliana!"
Briefly, disorientingly, he did see two right arms, braced by two ghostly right hands leaning on and into the flowing colors. There was fog boiling out of the rock floor, the air thick with motes of light . . .
He winced, lost that vision—lost everything but the confusion of trying to move an arm following someone else's orders—and her voice.
"Daav! Daav, I am—here!"
He took a breath, imposing discipline. "Aelliana, where are you?"
Somewhere beyond the chaos of color, a gong sounded, vibrating into his very soul. His vision cleared, and there again was the rock wall, bleeding color into the foggy floor, and the whole corridor was vibrating, as if the rocks themselves were singing, and the light thickened air was as lascivious as silk and Aelliana was beside him, her hand was on his shoulder, and he turned his face into her kiss—
No. She was not there. Rather—she was everywhere. He could feel the flow of her thoughts, feel her deciding where to look, feel her adjusting her balance against the wall she braced against—
His eyes—her eyes—focused on the wall opposite, shimmering with bolts of gold and green, but more solid, now, no longer threatening to fade into transparency.
"Daav," his beloved said in his ear. "I can see that this will need work!"
He half-gasped a laugh, as she lifted his right hand and caressed his face.
"I think the worst is over," she murmured. "Let us return to our cave."
"An excellent idea," he said. "A glass of wine would be most welcome. And a nap, if you will have it. Edger should be more considerate of an old man's frailties."
"To Edger, you are the veriest babe," Aelliana retorted. "But, yes, a nap—and then we must talk."
EDGER STOOD with his intricately shelled back to them, engaged in a close study of the control board built into a rock buttress. He was also, Daav realized, humming, or possibly singing, as he touched first this, then that, on the board—
The tune altered, and though he did not turn to look at them he raised a bit from the board as he spoke.
"Please, Aelli and Daav, if you will but tarry for five or six more moments I will join you. I have news of interest to you both."
So saying, Edger returned to his hum; leaving Daav and Aelliana to continue exploring this new, higher-level melding.
It was, of course, the lifemate-bond, but somehow expanded, broadened, deepened beyond anything they had thought possible. Daav, wary of joy unleavened, proposed it to be an effect of the drive, which would fade upon the return to normal space. Aelliana considered that the drive was a factor in the . . . speed . . . of their joining, but offered the possibility that the seeds they had eaten were the motivating force.
The exchange was far faster and far fuller than their usual, even the pleasant after-effect of the wine had not dulled the transfers. Occasionally, one or the other might be distracted by this memory or that sudden bit of information . . . .
Aelliana had sensed the change coming first, for the images and information she had been receiving through Daav had sharpened all at once—as if she were seeing with her own eyes—and she was able to conceive of moving an arm. Later, she proved herself capable of walking, without Daav's active assistance.
The nap had been not quite that—instead they
had relaxed with eyes closed and shared: thoughts, emotions, essence . . .
There were some few of Daav's memories which Aelliana could not properly access, nor could he grasp all of hers—but in every case, those tended to be memories each had done the most to forget. And there were certainly enough tantalizing—and sometimes dismaying—glimpses to beguile them both. For Daav, of her brother Ran Eld and his friend; of a marriage full of taunts and pain; of his own young and subtle face. For Aelliana, of planets she had never seen; and the tender tuitions in patience . . .
New to Daav was his ability to access a larger part of Aelliana's intuitive understandings of mathematics; new to her was sharing Daav's immediate and nuanced interpretations of the motivations of people. New, too, for her, was the surprising overlay of the Diaries, richly illustrating and informing her altered realization of her beloved, of Korval, and of Liaden history.
It had taken effort—a willful exchange of thoughts rather than the subconscious communication they had allowed themselves to be enveloped by—to go to Edger.
"Aelliana, my love, we cannot stare into this mirror until the stars cool. I do believe that this will, as you say, take some work. And perhaps the assistance of a master."
So, they had gone to find Edger, with Daav, like a youngster learning to trust the way a simple lean could take advantage of a duocycle's momentum, accepting Aelliana's direction of their hike.
"I will miss this," she said, "if you are right, and it is solely an artifact of the drive."
"I know," he whispered, and felt her feeling his regret—and his fear.
The gong sounded once more. Here in the control room it rang through them foot to head . . .
Edger turned, sweeping into a full bow and speaking in a booming, formal voice.
"True elders of your clan! I am humbled to be the first to see you thus."
He straightened, and continued in what passed for a more conversational tone. "The art of your children, my kin, has strong roots; stronger than I knew. Already their names are spoken among the Elders—and your names, as well. My request was that the Elders act in unprecedented haste and see you immediately, in the human sense.
"I am informed that the outer chamber will be open when we arrive, and that I might bring you directly there. The Elders make haste—surely, this is a work of art like none before! They will see you, I think, very quickly."
There was a pause, which Daav allowed to stretch.
"The Elders will see us," Aelliana breathed, for him alone. "Van'chela, can you imagine it?"
"I can," he answered, in the same way, "and it concerns me greatly. Recall that I know the Tree very well indeed, and I know what Jela's bargain has cost us . . . "
Before them, Edger bowed slightly, as if rousing from some deep process of thought.
"It would be pleasant if you would walk with me to the waterfall park. There, we may enjoy a small repast, and an hour of talk."
"It sounds a good plan," Daav admitted. "Might I know the ship's schedule—and your own? If we are to travel the next weeks with you . . . "
Edger blinked his huge yellow eyes, one, then the other.
"I see that you have studied the affect of our ships at low drive," he said. "For a task of such moment and urgency, I have utilized the higher drives." He turned, widely, motioning them to follow.
"We will enter my home atmosphere shortly after your next sleep period. You will be in the outer chamber, awaiting permission of the Elders to enter, in sixteen Standard Hours."
Lytaxin
Erob's House
"WHAT ELSE?" Miri asked Val Con, after the last late meeting was done and they were alone in the sitting room of their suite.
He turned from the wine table, bottle and glass in hand, eyebrow well up. "We have put such things into motion as may be put into motion. All that remains us is to defeat the Department, vanquish the Commander, and reclaim the Agents."
"Piece of cake." She moved across the rug toward him. "Can the Agents be reclaimed?"
"The Healers will know," he said softly, pouring. "If I was able to break training, perhaps others may do so, as well."
"Or maybe not." She took the glass he handed her, and stood sipping, staring at nothing in particular, going over the plans they had laid. It was, she thought, going to be dicey.
To say the least.
"The kids?" she asked, that being a detail left in flux.
Val Con raised his glass. Korval's Ring gleamed on his finger, big and flashy and flawed.
"Do you think we should dispatch the Passage to the children? Shan and Priscilla are able, and the ship now runs as a battlewagon."
She frowned, weighing it.
"It'd draw attention—"
The comm buzzed. Shaking her head, she crossed to it and pushed the button.
"Robertson."
"Cousin, it is Kol Vus. A person has called for yourself and for your lifemate. He awaits your pleasure in the public parlor."
Miri's brows drew together in a small frown. "I thank you, cousin," she said, dropping effortlessly into the High Tongue. "Has our guest a name?"
"He produces Greenshaw Porter. He says it with remarkable ease."
Her frown deepened slightly. "I see. Pray allow Mr. Porter to know that we are on our way to him."
"Very good." The line went dead. Miri glanced up.
"Odds that Greenshaw Porter's another one of ours? Who ain't here yet?"
"Of the adult males? Luken bel'Tarda—and Pat Rin. Luken's duty under Plan B lies with the children, and I cannot this moment conceive of a circumstance that would cause him to abandon it. Pat Rin . . . " He moved his shoulders, abruptly aware of an uncomfortable home truth. "I cannot predict what Pat Rin might do, though I would not expect him to adopt a Terran persona. Certainly, not on a Liaden-held world."
"Well, something's got Kol Vus' hair up." She shook her head, and regretfully put her wine aside. "Guess we'd better find out what."
Greenshaw Porter was on his feet in the public parlor, which was only reasonable, the available chairs being much too short to accommodate his lanky frame. The House had provided him with neither tea or wine.
He was a long-faced man, unmistakably Terran, his tan-colored hair short and bristling, his eyes gray and alert, and Val Con felt a curious sense of relief that, after all, it was not Pat Rin, come to add yet another Korval life to the tale of those present upon Lytaxin.
Their visitor bowed as they entered the room, entirely in the Terran mode, then straightened and stated, in the staccato accents of Standard Terran, "Greenshaw Porter, Juntavas courier. Miri Robertson and Val Con yos'Phelium?"
"That's right," Miri said easily.
"Yes." Val Con assured him, noting the position of at least two guns and a blade distributed about the courier's person.
The man nodded, apparently unsurprised. "The Juntavas has been looking for you. The offer is aid and comfort. We cooperate with Clutch turtles Edger and Sheather. I have verification."
"Ah, do you?" Val Con murmured.
The Juntava cocked a sapient eye. "Turtles thought you'd want it." He raised his hands, fingers spread wide. "I saw the rock in orbit. I heard there are turtles on planet. Order from Headquarters is proceed according to plan. Verification in my right outside pocket. You can take it, or I can give it."
Inside his head, Val Con heard Miri's song, alert and watchful. Deliberately, not really certain that it would work, he looked at the places where the Juntava carried his concealed weapons—one, two, three—and heard her song shift. Almost, he thought he heard her murmur "gotcha".
He raised his hands, fingers spread, returning the offered gesture of peace.
"Please," he murmured, "feel free to display your verification."
"Right." Slowly, fingers still held wide, he slipped his right hand into the outside pocket of his long jacket, and withdrew something so sharply luminous it seemed that he held a star between his thumb and first finger.
Still moving deliberately,
he extended the brilliant token. Val Con held his hand out, fingers cupped. The crystal hit his palm, unexpectedly heavy, warm, its edges sharp, but not sharpened. He glanced down, eyes narrowed against the whiteness of it, saw without surprise that it was luminous at its core.
"Flashlight?" Miri asked from beside him.
"Exactly," he murmured, and handed it to her, returning his attention to Greenshaw Porter.
"We have received verification," he said, carefully. "More, we have only lately seen Clutch turtles Edger and Sheather, who know us to be well and at liberty. Please inform Headquarters that the Juntavas is quit in this matter."
"Not exactly," the Juntava said, and Val Con raised an eyebrow, feeling Miri come to full alert beside him.
"Explain."
"The Juntavas is missing a Sector Judge."
"Ah. I commiserate with the Juntavas upon its loss."
Greenshaw Porter grimaced. "Supplemental data. I'm attached to the Justice Department. High Judge himself petitions Korval for info. The missing Judge put herself on detached duty. Last known to be in company with Pat Rin yos'Phelium." His forehead wrinkled slightly. "Your brother, maybe?"
"Cousin," Val Con said absently, trying to reconcile Pat Rin with a Juntavas Sector Judge. And, yet, how could he predict what Pat Rin might do? He and his cousin were scarcely intimate. Indeed, Val Con had gathered that Pat Rin had few intimates. His foster-father, perhaps. And surely Luken bel'Tarda had taught his fosterling to give the Juntavas wide clearance.
"Cousin," the Juntava repeated and nodded. "Questions from the High Judge: Does Korval know the location of Sector Judge Natesa? If yes, as a personal favor to the High Judge, who values his judges as a delm values his kin, will Korval divulge her location? Follow-up: If something happened to her, the High Judge asks for that info, too. No rage, no Balance. But he would like to recover the body." He hesitated before adding: "Myself, I know that Judge. She'd be hard to kill."
"I am desolate to disappoint the High Judge," Val Con murmured, "but his inquiry marks the first time I have heard of Sector Judge Natesa."