by Sharon Lee
"Bread would be good," she said, and it would be, here at Ongit's. Truly, she feared that she had acquired an addiction.
He broke the loaf with strong fingers, put half on her plate, kept the other and took up his spoon.
Aelliana reached—but no! Her news was too urgent. Even fresh-baked bread and Ongit's vegetable chowder paled before it.
"Daav," she said, breathlessly, "I have something very important to tell you."
Halfway to his mouth, the spoon stopped, reversed itself and made a soft landing in the bowl. She looked up, seeing at once that she had his undivided attention.
"Very important?" he repeated, head tipped to one side.
"Extremely important," she clarified. She reached into an interior pocket of her jacket and withdrew her prize.
"Just before I left Binjali's, I received this!" She held it up for him to see.
Whatever Daav had been expecting, she sensed that it had not been an envelope, no matter how luxurious against the fingers, or how elegant the script that adorned it.
"And that is?" he inquired politely.
"A job offer!" she said triumphantly. Since he made no move to take the envelope, she opened it and slipped the single sheet of paper free.
"We're to take an antique dulciharp to Avontai . . . complete instructions and an introduction to be provided when we accept the commission." She looked up from the letter. "Only think, Daav! We have a job offer."
"Allow me." He plucked the paper from her fingers. "You are not eating, Pilot."
"The job—"
"If the job cannot wait while the pilot takes care of her reasonable needs, it is not a job we may wish to accept," he said quellingly.
He recovered his soup spoon, and directed his attention to the letter.
Sighing, Aelliana tasted the soup—and was abruptly quite hungry indeed.
Daav read the letter—twice—while he pursued his own meal, then folded the paper and slipped it back into its envelope.
"What do you think?" she asked, breaking off a piece of bread.
"I think that we will have to fly like a Scout to make the proposed delivery date," he answered, pulling the salad toward him.
Aelliana moved her shoulders. "We could scarcely fly like anything else," she pointed out. "The fee?"
"Acceptable," he allowed, throwing her a bright, unreadable glance. "Though I would insist upon a bonus, if we deliver early."
"Early?" She did the math in her head and laughed. "There is a very small chance of that, van'chela—even if we fly like two Scouts."
He smiled. "Then the client will not mind the presence of the clause, since it is so unlikely that we will collect." He speared a bit of greenery; it broke with an audible crunch. "Besides, it is standard in our contract that we receive a three percent bonus for early delivery."
Aelliana considered him. "Is it?"
"From this moment forward," he said solemnly. "Pending the pilot-owner's approval, of course."
"Of course," she said, with the irony he had not supplied. "It is the pilot-owner's inclination to accept this offer of employment, unless my copilot has an objection, or knows ill of the prospective client?"
The prospective client—Dath jo'Bern Clan Hedrede—was High House. Aelliana had set herself to memorizing the Houses and Lines, a task she found remarkably agreeable with young Shan as her study partner, and more often, her tutor. However, as she had also come to understand, through listening to Daav and Er Thom's conversation, High House did not necessarily mean "wholly honorable."
"Your copilot sees no reason at all why we should not accept this offer of employment, to the enrichment of the ship and the enjoyment of the pilots. Let us by all means inform the client that she will be receiving our contract immediately."
She frowned.
"Mr. dea'Gauss has our contract on file," she said. "Is he likely to have put in such a clause on his own initiative? For I did not know to tell him."
"Doubtless Mr. dea'Gauss considers early delivery worth far more than three percent, pirate that he is. But! All may be known, as soon as we have a comm . . ."
"A comm . . ." she began, meaning to say that it would be a wonder, indeed, to find Felae or another server in this crush, but there. Daav had merely straightened; perhaps he lifted an eyebrow, but certainly not a hand, and here came the second Mr. Ongit himself, his blunt-featured face attentive.
"Service, Pilots?"
Daav glanced to her—which was of course, she reminded herself, correct. The captain ought to call regarding matters of the ship. She felt her cheeks warm.
"If I might trouble the House for the use of a comm?" she murmured.
"Certainly, Pilot. I will bring it myself."
Aelliana finished reading the contract Mr. dea'Gauss had obligingly sent to the screen. It seemed well-done enough to her, but, she reminded herself, only look how ably she had handled her employment contract.
She glanced to Daav, who was sipping his wine, eyes pointed at a spot slightly above the comm, his face perfectly neutral. Almost, she put her hand on his arm; something—perhaps it was pride—restrained her. Instead, she cleared her throat.
"Your opinion?" she asked.
He glanced to her, one eyebrow up.
"I see nothing egregious, but this is, after all, the pilot-owner's decision."
She frowned. He knew she was inept, and depended upon his advice, she thought, feeling rather put out. Why did he withhold himself?
The second eyebrow rose.
"Have I displeased the pilot?" he murmured.
Aelliana drew a breath—and let it out in a rush.
"Only by being correct," she said ruefully. "I need to learn how to be captain of my own ship—that is why we are undertaking this enterprise."
He gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "Being reminded of one's duty is endlessly irritating, is it not?"
She felt her mouth twist slightly—perhaps not quite a smile, but no longer a frown. "In fact, it is."
She touched the comm, recalling Mr. dea'Gauss from his exile off-screen.
"The contract is well, sir, saving that we stipulate a three percent bonus for early delivery, rather than five, as it is written here. We are young in this trade, after all. Perhaps, after we are established, we might revisit the clause and raise our bonus to be more in keeping with our melant'i."
Mr. dea'Gauss inclined his head. "The change shall be made, Pilot, and the contract dispatched immediately by runner to Lady jo'Bern. We will of course hold the executed hard copy at this office. Do you also wish a copy?"
She paused on the edge of saying "no," considering what sorts of proofs might be required, Outworld.
"Of your goodness, please send an electronic copy to Ride the Luck."
"It shall be done," he promised. "Is there any other service I may perform for you?"
"Not at the moment, I thank you." She glanced to her copilot. "Daav, have you anything for Mr. dea'Gauss?"
He glanced to the screen and inclined his head. "Only my thanks, as always, sir."
Mr. dea'Gauss bowed.
"It is my pleasure to serve, your lordship," he said formally.
The screen went dark.
"Put in my place twice in the course of a single meal," Daav said mournfully.
Aelliana turned the comm off, and glanced to him.
"I think he meant respect, van'chela," she said.
His lips twitched. "Ah, do you?" he murmured, and turned his head.
Aelliana followed his glance, immediately spying the red-haired pilot, who had apparently dismissed his comrades. He approached their table slowly, both hands plainly in sight, fingers slightly spread in the pilot's sign for no danger here. His hands were innocent of rings, Aelliana saw, which was proof of nothing—Daav had used to leave off Korval's Ring when he worked his shift at Binjali's. This man's pale fingers were unmarked, however, as if he disdained rings in general. His face was also pale, and his eyes were very blue.
He was not, she r
ealized with a slight shock, Liaden.
"Clarence," Daav said, his tone so even that Aelliana slipped her hand off the table and rested it on his knee.
She tried to be stealthy, but the red-haired pilot saw the movement, and stopped where he was, though he partially blocked the aisle. The emotions she received from Daav were—complex, even confused: wariness, affection, dismay, fellowship . . .
". . . it's good to see you," Daav continued, in Terran.
"It's good to see you, too," Pilot Clarence responded readily, and to Aelliana's ear truthfully. He glanced at her meaningfully, as if chiding Daav for his choice of language.
"Practice, I need," she told him, in her laborious Terran.
"In that case," he answered gravely, "I'm honored."
Beside her, Daav shifted slightly; she received a flutter of good-humored fatalism from him, even as he swept his hand out to formally show her their guest.
"Aelliana, this is Clarence O'Berin. You may hear him referred to as 'Boss O'Berin,' or 'the Boss.' "
Aelliana inclined her head. "Clarence O'Berin, I am happy to meet you," she said, which phrase in Terran had very nearly the same meaning as its counterpart, in High Liaden.
"Not as happy as I am to meet Aelliana Caylon herself," he answered gallantly. He glanced again to Daav. "I'm hoping the wine was acceptable?"
It was, Aelliana realized with a start, a bi-level question. She had not thought that such complexities were possible in Terran! In the flush of discovery, she almost missed Daav's reply.
"Half the pilots on-port have already bought Aelliana wine. I'm only amazed to find you among the half yet to do so." His tone was light now, as if he wished to set the other pilot at ease.
"Not any more," Clarence pointed out with a smile that perhaps betrayed relief.
"Kind it was," Aelliana said, feeling that she should do her bit for good will between pilots. "Thank you."
"My pleasure," the red-haired man assured her. He paused, considering her out of sharp blue eyes. "Word on the port is you're looking to set up as courier."
She frowned slightly as she felt over the shape of the words. "Set up? Ah! I see. Yes, I am available as a courier pilot." There came a thrill of . . . something . . . from Daav, but she was too focused on the conversation to sort it out properly.
"I was a courier pilot, myself," Clarence said. "It's a grand life, but a dangerous one."
He spoke as one who had known such dangers at first hand, and Aelliana leaned forward eagerly. Here was a pilot she might learn from.
"I am . . . hearing this from even my copilot of danger, but I am also hearing that . . . no thing is absent of danger."
Clarence grinned. "Can't argue with that. You can mostly dodge the worst, if you're awake and noticing details. Sometimes, though, no matter how careful you are, you get caught out. Not so much a mistake as it is somebody else being a little cleverer than you are—this time."
Beside her, Daav stirred.
"But," Clarence continued, sending a bright glance into Daav's face, and shifting into the mode between pilots, "I had only come to make my bow to you, Pilot, and, I confess, to renew my acquaintance with your copilot. It has been too long, Daav."
"Too long and not long enough," Daav replied, surprisingly keeping to Terran. "Clarence. Is there something we should know?"
The other man sighed, his expression rueful. "There's something off, if you catch my meaning. Nothing a man can put his hand on and take away with him, but it makes the place between the shoulder blades itch, nevertheless."
She felt Daav's attention sharpen.
"Here?"
Clarence shook his head.
"Not that I've noticed," he said, and it seemed to Aelliana that the assertion held a secondary meaning, though she did not know what it might be.
Daav nodded. "But?" he prompted.
"But, I've got pilots—solid, port-worthy pilots who know how to keep clean—coming in from Out and Farther Out. They're telling the same tale, all independent of the other." He shrugged, bringing his shoulders high and letting them drop suddenly, nothing at all like a proper Liaden shrug. "Ghost stories—that's what I got."
Daav nodded again. "Thank you," he said gently. "We'll be careful."
"And if you happen to see something a little more solid than a wisp of smoke?"
"I'll let you know."
The red-haired man grinned. "Can't be any fairer than that."
He bowed, with pilot grace, though a little too quickly.
"Pilots," he said, back in Liaden again, "I take my leave. Good lift."
"Safe landing, Pilot," Aelliana answered, and felt Daav at last relax.
Chapter Nineteen
Those who enter Scout Academy emerge after rigorous training capable of treating equitably with societies unimaginably alien, some savage beyond belief.
Scouts are by definition courageous, brilliant, supremely adaptable and endlessly resourceful.
—
Excerpted from "All About the Liaden Scouts"
They had flown after all like a Scout and a brand-new first class, and so missed the bonus. On-time delivery, however, was comfortably within their grasp when Aelliana entered the code provided by the client into the comm.
"Clan Persage, who is calling, please?" Though the phrase was recognizably the familiar challenge to an unknown caller, the words fell oddly on her ear.
Aelliana blinked and belatedly inclined her head to the round-faced young woman in the screen.
"I am Aelliana Caylon, pilot-owner of Ride the Luck. I have been engaged to deliver a package directly into the hands of Bre Din sig'Ranton Clan Persage."
The young woman hesitated, as if the accent of Chonselta was something exotic, and not readily decipherable. Then the moment passed, and she inclined her head.
"I am desolate to inform Pilot-Owner Caylon that Bre Din sig'Ranton is away from House." She tipped her head to one side, apparently debating with herself—and coming to a decision all at once.
"Bre Din plays music at the port, you know, Pilot. The place is called Bas Ibenez."
"I thank you," Aelliana said. "I will seek him there."
By the time they had exchanged the required parting formalities and Aelliana had closed the connection, Daav had located the listing for Bas Ibenez in the Avontai Port database and had sent the information to her screen.
"You are far too efficient," she told him, with a smile.
"Copilot's duty," he returned, as she scrolled down the listing.
"The club opens in the evening only," she murmured, with a glance at the board to check local time. Several hours, yet, until opening time.
"Still well within the client's necessity for delivery," he pointed out.
"True," she acknowledged, and sighed. "I suppose we might call and find if he's arrived early."
"Or," Daav murmured, "we might refresh ourselves, and rest, so that we do not come to the young gentleman in all of the disorder of travel." He met her eyes, his only slightly mischievous. "After all, he may have something to send in return."
Aelliana leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. It was true that they had flown hard, pushing her limits, if not his, and more with her training in mind than the bonus . . . But, it had been the pure joyous rush of flying, even the considerable bits where "flying" was Jump and the screens showed nothing but grey—the joy of knowing that she was at last working her own ship, just as she said she would do—exactly as she had hoped to do, with Daav sitting his board at her right hand. Oh, it had been exhilarating, the lift to Avontai.
But it had not necessarily been conducive to either rest or sleep.
"There is something in what you say," she admitted. "Who would entrust anything precious to such a pair of scarecrows?"
She rose, stretching, and looked down into his face, noting the subtle signs of weariness there. Daav had kept good watch, as a copilot ought, and if he had not been as flight-drunk as his pilot, yet he had not gotten much
more rest.
"I am going to take a shower."
He raised an eyebrow.
"A shower and a nap?" he suggested.
"Only if you will do the same."
He smiled, and a trickle of mischievous lust warmed the air between them, lighting a slow fire in her own belly.
"There's a rare bargain," Daav murmured, and rose to his full height, formally extending his hand to her. Korval's Ring glinted, almost as if the Dragon had moved a wing. She rested her fingers on the back of his hand—and gasped aloud.
"I thought you said a nap," she managed.
He smiled and raised their hands, bending his head above hers.
"There's time," he whispered, and kissed her knuckles lingeringly.
His lips were cool, exciting in their remoteness, giving the lie to the passion licking across their nerves. She wanted to move closer, to achieve a fuller embrace, but their relative positions did not allow it. Daav completed his salute, unhurried, raised his head and turned, his hand still beneath her fingers.
Bland-faced, as outwardly indifferent as if they were two strangers about to go into a formal dinner together, he guided her across the piloting tower and down the short hall to their quarters.
The snow drifted prettily, glinting like mirrors among the lights of the port. The flakes were cold, which she had known they would be, but which still surprised, and she turned her face up into them, laughing as they showered burning kisses on her cheeks.
Snow play was limited to the air. Underfoot, the walk was heated and dry. Daav had approved of that, and settled the pack holding Hedrede's fragile treasure more firmly on his shoulder. She had protested that she could carry it just as well, but he claimed copilot's right.
"But that leaves me to protect you, and you know what my marksmanship is!" she'd protested, which had gained her one of his tightly edged smiles.
"I repose every faith in my pilot," he'd replied, which was no answer at all, but nonetheless put her on her mettle.
Avontai Port was not so large as Solcintra, nor even Chonselta, though it enjoyed good custom. The walks were crowded; gem-colored light from the shops splashed across the walkways, scandalously painting the faces of passersby.