by Sharon Lee
It would be soon, now, she thought. She sipped her wine, and took up another piece of bread.
She looked up to find Pilot yos'Phelium's sharp eyes on her.
"You were looking for me," he said. "Specifically for me."
She met his gaze calmly.
"Yes."
"Ah." He sipped wine. "I don't wish to be rude, but if there is something you need to say to me, you must speak. I'm soon away."
"Yes," she said again, and then, because in her current state she could not fail to remark them – "You have very strong shields."
"So I am told. I hope you will not ask me to lower them, for I haven't the least notion how to do so. The shields came with me into this life."
Ah, she thought, her gifts were canny, indeed.
Smiling, she inclined her head.
"My name is Kishara jit'Luso, Pilot. I am lucky, so my delm cast me out, in order that the clan take no damage from sheltering faulty genes."
He sipped his wine and considered her.
"Forgive me if I am impertinent," he said eventually, "but, being as I am, I know little of those who are gifted. It is true that my entire clan is lucky – and risky. I wonder if you put yourself in danger by seeking me out."
Danger, Kishara thought, amused.
"As the moth is endangered by the candle flame?" she asked lightly. "You are kind to regard it, but no. I think, in this moment, that our lucks reinforce each other, to the betterment of both."
"Ah?" he murmured politely.
"Yes," she said, reaching for another slice of bread with cheese. "You see, there's about to be a pirate raid."
He blinked and put his glass carefully on the table.
"A pirate raid?" he repeated.
Just then, the front door smashed open.
#
Kishara drank the last of her wine and put the glass down. It was begun; she felt the warmth at the base grow warmer still, and was content. From here ... from this moment, all was forced.
A shout went up from among the diners and drinkers, chairs and stools were noisily overturned as people leapt to their feet. Pilot yos'Phelium also rose, silently, hands loose at his sides as he observed the unfolding scene.
Kishara likewise rose, and put herself a few steps closer to his side, into the shadow of his shields.
There came another shout. A chair was thrown, a bravo ducked. Rifles were raised. Without turning around, she knew that the musicians had leapt up behind her, while, forward, the 'tender swung below the bar and came up with a long arm, oddly made, and glowing weirdly –
Pilot yos'Phelium moved, as if he would introduce himself into the situation, and put all into order. Kishara extended her hand to grip his arm tightly. He paused, and she removed her hand, for here came Mor Gan now, strolling in all unconcerned, dragging a halfling girl by her wrist.
Mor Gan had, Kishara saw, made other suggestions before his arrival into the snare of her chosen future. He now wore a space leather jacket, and at least a dozen necklaces. His hands were ablaze with rings. She felt ... something tighten around her, as if her gifts sought to protect her.
There came a sharp fssstt! from the weapon in the bartender's hands. The shot burned the floor near the boot of the nearest bravo, who spun, weapon up.
"Friends, friends!" Mor Gan called, his voice compelling attention. "There is no reason for dispute. We are here to pick up supplies, funds, and perhaps personnel. Please all be calm."
Even tucked inside the influence of the pilot's shields, Kishara felt drawn – a quick glance around the room showed that the bar's customers were thoroughly caught, beguiled by his voice, and entranced in a moment.
Mor Gan turned and pointed a finger at the gape-mouthed bartender.
"Put that down," he said chidingly; "you will do someone a hurt."
The bartender put the rifle on the bar.
"Very good," Mor Gan said. "Now, if you please – go to the storeroom and pack up three cases of your best liquor and wine and bring them here."
The bartender left on this mission, and Mor Gan shook the girl by the wrist, demanding to know how the weapon was disarmed. She told him, her voice flat, her face blank. Kishara frowned. The girl – surely, she had not chosen to endanger a halfling?
Mor Gan pointed to a customer seated at the bar.
"You," he said, "do as she said."
The customer rose to approach the weapon, and Mor Gan turned his attention to the room at large.
In short order, he had the entranced working for him, directing three to go among the many, who were instructed to give over all their money and precious things. This, they willingly did.
When it came their turn to donate, Kishara reached into her pocket and fingered out her entire wealth of coins. She also gave the ring she wore, looking into the collector's eyes as she did so.
His eyes were blank, as if blind. Receiving Kishara's offering, he thrust his collection tray at Pilot yos'Phelium, who deposited a few coins from an outside jacket pocket, and with not the least hesitation, drew the big gaudy ring from his finger, and placed it among the rest of the items gathered.
The collector moved past. The musicians gave their instruments, and the coins in their cup.
"Bring all that you have collected to the bar," said the compelling voice, and this, too, was done.
Kishara took a breath as Mor Gan went to the bar to inspect his takings, dragging the halfling with him. There came the subtle sound of metal ringing, loud in the silence of the room. Suddenly, he paused, and turned, holding the pilot's gaudy ring high.
"Who gave this? Raise a hand!"
Her pilot did so, blank-faced and slow, and Mor Gan came down the room toward them, ring in one hand, halfling dragged, half-stumbling in his wake.
Kishara took another breath, and tried to take comfort from the warm emanations of her gifts. This was a danger point. If Mor Gan should recognize her –
But his glance passed over her and settled on the pilot.
"Well! Pilot, is it? Jump pilot, in fact? You will be coming with me. And who is this – ah ... lady?"
He looked directly at her, no recognition in his face. Kishara, daring to look into his eyes, saw that, even as he entranced others, he was himself entranced. The guard had warned her that those who responded too well to the ambient conditions were in danger of their minds, if not their lives, and in Mor Gan's eyes Kishara saw the truth of that.
"What is your relationship with this pilot?" he asked her. "Speak true!"
"We are partners," Kishara heard herself say, flat-voiced.
"Very good. You will also be taking employment with me. What is your name?"
Her gift spoke again. "Pelli asSulo."
Mor Gan accepted the name without question.
"What is your name, Pilot? Speak true!"
"Sin Jin Isfelm," the pilot replied, lying in his turn.
"They now belong to me, as you do. Follow."
They followed, and Kishara rejoiced. They had passed a point, the quarry was trapped, and her safety assured. They could not vary now.
* * *
Mor Gan had designated two others besides herself and the pilot to carry his goods. He had instructed the room to forget all that had happened, and Kishara did have some curiosity as to how that would play, once they were no longer in thrall.
That, however, was not her business. Her business was to escape this planet before the ambient conditions broke her mind, and to do so in company of the Korval pilot, who was also unnaturally lucky, and safely isolated from such madness as threatened her.
Their group arrived at a shuttle, and the two extra carriers were instructed to put down their burdens. They were dismissed with a curt command to forget the events of this night.
Mor Gan then looked at his three bravos, with their blank faces and their weapons at ready, and said, "Leave me."
They went, taking their weapons with them, and Kishara spared a thought for the damage they might do on-port. Beside her, the pilo
t shifted, as if he were weighing this moment as an opportunity to act. She took a careful breath, and felt him take the decision to wait.
Excellent, she thought, he has a cool head.
Mor Gan moved then, dragging the halfling to the hatch, slapping her open palm against the plate with one hand, and with the other pushing her chin up so that the scanner registered her face and eyes.
The hatch slid open. Mor Gan snatched the halfling roughly back, slamming her into the side of the shuttle. It must have hurt, but the girl didn't cry out, nor did her expression change. She might have been a doll, Kishara thought, or a puppet. She blinked at that last thought, and wondered how deeply Mor Gan had attached the girl. If matters fell as she, Kishara, had ordered them, she would have blood on her hands if the girl were damaged, though she had not – she was certain that she had not agreed to anything that endangered an innocent.
"Stow the goods," Mor Gan snapped, and the pilot moved to do so, neither quick nor slow, face blank. Kishara picked up another case and followed him into the shuttle.
The pilot was waiting for her at the bin. He bent and breathed into her ear.
"I will want an explanation."
"No time," she answered. "Trust me."
He snorted lightly, for which she blamed him not at all, and went back out onto the dock, returning a moment later, carrying the last case. Mor Gan came after, carrying his sack of loot and shoving the halfling before him.
He slapped the switch as he passed, and the hatch came down. Kishara moved further into the shuttle to make room, which she hoped did not show too much initiative for one supposedly under Mor Gan's control. The pilot finished stowing the last crate, got the bin locked, and came after her, stopping at her side. Kishara saw him give one sharp look at the piloting board before Mor Gan arrived, striding past them toward the pilot's station.
"Sin Jin will pilot, Pelli will take the jump-seat. I will have the co-pilot's chair. My carte blanche will kneel, so."
He shoved the girl roughly to the decking. She made no protest, nor even blinked, her eyes staring blindly ahead.
Kishara sank into the jump-seat, as directed. Pilot yos'Phelium went to his appointed station, sat, and stared down at the board. For a long moment, he did nothing at all, and Kishara caught her breath. If he were to openly resist, now – well, but he couldn't, could he? They were all caught and moving toward her chosen future.
Mor Gan made a small sound, slipped a hand into his belt and withdrew a flat rectangle, which he held out. It was a ship's key, Kishara saw, though there was something odd about it–as if it had been dipped in chocolate, or –
"You will want this," Mor Gan said.
The pilot turned his head, eyes dropping to the key, but he made no other move.
"Take it," Mor Gan snapped, and Kishara felt the force of that order act on her own muscles. Her hand twitched, and she pressed it firmly against her knee.
"Dock us with the ship Merry Mushroom," Mor Gan said. "Do not contact them."
The pilot's hand moved slowly, but he did take the key, and pushed it into the slot. The board came live. Kishara could see that his fingers bore dark stains, and looked to the halfling, the hostage, who knelt motionless on the deck. Whose blood is on that key, she asked herself, and the pilot gave the shuttle leave to lift.
#
Kishara felt her gifts begin to cool as the shuttle rose, and she breathed a careful sigh of relief, though it was far too soon, much could still go wrong. Perhaps, now, even more could go wrong. She had made her decisions, and chosen her future while bathed in the planet's ambient conditions. If they were now leaving the field's influence, then – she was safe, surely, from the two dark futures that had been hers?
"This is Merry Mushroom," a voice came out of the comm. "Aincha talking to me, Sinda?"
Mor Gan shoved the girl toward the board, snarling, "Talk to them. There is a situation which the pilot must attend. Say it!"
The halfling leaned forward.
"This is Jaim, Vina," she said, her voice flat. "Sinda's got a glitch to ride. We're coming in to dock."
Hesitation, then a gruff, "Come on, then."
The pilot reached to his board.
#
"Docking complete."
The brilliant burn of her gift was embers now, leaving Kishara cold. She could remember – she could remember what she had decided, she recalled making choices, but the manner of choosing and deciding – that was lost to her. She looked to Mor Gan, but if he was experiencing the same sort of loss, there was no outward sign of it.
The halfling had wilted, her shoulders hunched, and she directed her sightless gaze now at the decking on which she knelt.
Mor Gan unsnapped his webbing, stood, and yanked the girl to her feet.
"Follow us!" he snapped, pushing ahead, and shoving the halfling before him. "Go!"
The girl went, though too slowly to please her captor. He shoved her again, and when she reached the hatch, slammed her forcefully against the wall, grabbing her wrist and jerking her hand to the plate as if he intended to rip the arm from the socket.
Kishara heard a gasp – the first the girl had made, and looked sharply. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and glanced up, to see the pilot frowning at her. He meant her to stay back, she thought, and stepped out of his way.
The hatch opened into a common room. Mor Gan threw the girl in ahead of him. She hit the deck with a cry, rolling. Crew started up with shouts, alarm showing on their faces.
"Sit down and be calm!" Mor Gan said firmly, and Kishara with a sinking heart heard that particular note still in his voice. She had been a fool, playing with what she did not understand. Was she a goddess, to pick and choose the future she preferred? The planet's ambient conditions did more, and worse, than magnify such gifts one possessed. It overset one's reason, and –
"Kill him!" screamed the girl on the floor. "Kill him! He killed Father and Sinda!"
It was the pilot who moved first, fast and sure. There was a snap, loud even above the shouting of the crew. The pilot took Mor Gan's weight and sank to one knee, seeing him gently to the deck, and closed his empty, staring eyes.
#
"I am," the pilot said to the question put by Jaim Evrit, daughter of Trader Ban Evrit and Pilot Sinda Mark, "Can Ith yos'Phelium."
Like the refugees, he omitted his clan affiliation, possibly, Kishara thought, because he was conversing with the clanless.
"And you, ma'am?" Jaim Evrit asked.
"Kishara jit'Luso," she answered.
The halfling nodded.
"Do either of you know what happened, that I could finally act on my own?"
It was well that the question was put in such a fashion, Kishara thought. She need not lie, nor confess her part in the ruin of this girl's life. Though she would have to explain herself more fully to Pilot yos'Phelium. Later. In private.
"The field is particular to the planet," Kishara said. "I felt it ebb, as we lifted."
She bit her lip, and cast a conscious look at Can Ith yos'Phelium.
"I was in the same test group," she said. "We all felt the effects as soon as we hit planet, but he –" she waved toward the lock, where the body rested – "he understood the possibilities more quickly than the others of us, and did not hesitate to act for his own advantage."
Can Ith inclined his head, and Kishara awaited the next reasonable question, from him, or from some one of the crew, but the first mate – a grey-haired woman called Vina Greiz – spoke then, and at a tangent.
"All well and good," she said. "My question is what we're gonna do now. Trader's gone, pilot, too. Young Jaim –" She threw a worried look at the halfling slumped in her chair.
"I'm not certified," Jaim said, and her voice was stronger. She straightened. "Can't run the trade."
"We'll have to marry Shroom to the Mikancy Family," said another of the crew from the back.
"No." Young Jaim's face was set.
"What else then?" came yet a third voice. "Sell
out and stay downside?"
"Not that either." Jaim took a hard breath and gave Can Ith a stare.
"You're a Jump pilot."
He glanced down at the gaudy ring, rescued from the sack of stolen goods and back on his finger.
"That is so," he admitted.
"Are you at liberty?" she asked then, and he smiled.
"Very much so."
"I was raised in a trading house," Kishara said, for the ship had lost two skills this day. Both must be replaced, if Jaim was determined to keep her independence. "I can advise, as required. I think that you will not need to marry to your disadvantage."
Jaim's smile was grim as she looked over her crew.
"I'm family," she said. "I can offer contract."
Kishara bowed, and so did Pilot Can Ith.
"I think we might manage," Jaim said to her crew. "And not impossible to borrow a Second Trader from one of our friendlies, if we gotta."
"We trust them?" the first mate demanded, jerking her head in the direction of themselves.
"You'd rather the Mikancy?" Jaim asked, sharp and strong. "You know their style. We'll be lucky to be set down on a back world alive. These two gentles have done more good for this ship an' crew in one day than the Mikancy in all the decades we've known 'em."
The crew was silent. The first mate threw up her hands.
"We trust 'em, then. What's next?"
"Gotta cover the route," Jaim said, and stood. "Need to get goin'."
"In that wise," Can Ith said slowly. "Let us first make up a pod, with the stolen goods, and our late friend, and a locator. We will inform the port authority before we Jump out."
"Yes," said Jaim, and looked again to the first mate.
"Vina, show Pilot Can Ith to his seat, please. Trader Kishara and me'll go over the route and the inventory."