Courier Run

by Sharon Lee

  Another flutter of her fingers.

  "That is the price that we pay; the price we expect to pay. To ask those who are not Ranked, and who do not seek to Lead -- to ask yourselves, for instance, to pay our toll to society -- that is not acceptable. Now, what have you brought me?"

  Daav stepped forward, opened the satchel and placed the transport capsule in her hand. She opened it, removed the velvet box, and opened it, also.

  "Ah..." A sigh, of satisfaction and of reverence."Excellent."

  Raising the small box, she turned it so that they could see the contents -- a single, large ruby, cut by a master, and flashing crimson lightnings at the room.

  "This is what you have brought to me," the Gransella said proudly."One of the greater treasures of my house. Had it been lost..." She allowed the thought to fade with a small shudder, closed the box and looked to Aelliana.

  "Such service demands a bonus in addition to your regular fee."

  Aelliana bowed, gently.

  "If you please," she said."What will serve us more than a bonus is your reference. We are new upon the field, and...and, for this time, fame is as good as cantra."

  "Better, for fame will bring you more cantra!" the elder lady stated."It is done. It happens now. Your fee has been released into your ship's account. My car will take you back, and my people will see you to safety. Thank you. You have done a great service for my bloodline. And fame you shall assuredly have. I guarantee it!"

  Kin Ties

  It was the old dream: Herself, the gun heavy in her hand, Grandfather a weight and a wall at her back. Before her, the man who had coldly slain her mother. He looked as his picture, that Grandfather had her study until she knew every line of his face, and would mistake him for no other pilot, on Casiaport or elsewhere.

  In truth, it was not an ill-cast face. One could hardly credit that so clear a countenance belonged to a monster -- and yet it was so. Grandfather had taught her.

  Indeed, indeed, Ren Zel dea'Judan was every inch a monster, no matter how direct his gaze, or sweetly shaped his mouth. For this man, having murdered Elsu Meriandra Clan Jabun, then wrongly called the attention of the portmaster's office down upon Grandfather's business, an action that had cast Jabun from its rightful place among Casia's High Houses -- and then? The Balance for this string of murderous mischief? What was brought down upon the head of Ren Zel dea'Judan for his sins against Clan Jabun, and Grandfather, too?

  Why, that he should achieve a berth, and rank, on a merchant ship out of Liad itself, while she and Grandfather, the last of Clan Jabun proud enough to bear the name, lived pinched and retired, with neither associates nor allies to support them.

  The root of it all was Ren Zel dea'Judan, and for the wrongs he had visited, unprovoked, upon Jabun, he must die.

  That had been Grandfather's judgment, speaking as Delm Jabun.

  It was Balance; it was hers to carry and commit, and here he stood before her, trembling as she held the gun, with Grandfather at her back. There would be no failure of her will. She would do her duty. There would, at last, be Balance.

  ...she woke before she pulled the trigger.

  She always woke before she pulled the trigger, muscles tight, face wet, stomach roiling.

  Carefully, so as not to wake the others, she slid out of bed, opened the window and stepped out onto the catwalk.

  ***

  The hatch came down behind them, locking out the rest of planet, and most particularly Delm Flenik, who desired what benefit an alliance with Korval might yet bring her clan. Ah, yes, the ether rang with her desire. And clashed, discordant, with her caution. She would meet with Korval's emissaries -- the silly sister and her irregular lifemate -- that much, for profit, she did risk. But to extend proper courtesy -- to offer a guesting, or even so little as a formal meal with the clan entire? No, Flenik was not so rash as that!

  "Never tell me you wanted another formal dinner out-clan," Anthora exclaimed, snatching the thought out of his head, as was her wont."Had I not understood you to be entirely bankrupt in your account of polite nothings?"

  She spun there in the hallway before him, jeweled pins askew among lively dark curls. He would have blamed this state of sudden charming disorder on the brisk breeze that had assaulted them on the gantry, did he not know his lady rather better than that.

  His lady. In unlikely fact, as beautiful and fey as she stood before him, silver eyes smiling in a roguish face, Anthora yos'Galan Clan Korval was his lady. His lifemate. Recalling it still took his breath.

  "Because we have been together so long," Anthora said, tipping her head.

  "Because it seems simultaneously that we have been together since space was born, and have only this moment met."

  She laughed."There, now -- that's pretty said! Perhaps we should have insisted upon dinner, after all!"

  It was his turn to laugh."Should I have made Flenik a like compliment?"

  "No, that would never do, would it?" she answered, suddenly serious."Father would have said that we must honor her care for Flenik's reputation and resources."

  "And so we ought." Anthora's father had followed his lifemate into the long peace years before Ren Zel dea'Judan had stumbled into her life. As represented by his children, Er Thom yos'Galan had been a man of good sense and stern propriety; and -- as a Master Trader was unlikely to be an idiot -- a strong force for Korval's continued prominence among Liad's High Houses. The lesson that one must respect a delm's care for the clan was sound, but --

  "Flenik cannot hope to keep the alliance a secret from her neighbors," Ren Zel pointed out."If our visit escaped notice, the flow of goods sealed with the Tree-and-Dragon through Flenik's warehouses surely will not -- and where stands prudence, then?"

  "Where it has always stood, I expect," Anthora said,"somewhere between the shadow and the shade. Recall that our mission is to reaffirm existing ties, nor has Flenik been the most timid we have encountered."

  No, there was that, Ren Zel allowed. He had permitted Flenik's disrespect of Anthora to put his temper into disarray.

  "Surely the lady might be permitted her private thoughts," Anthora murmured, coming back down the short hall to put her hand on his sleeve."We have grown easy between us, sharing this thought and that until speech becomes cumbersome. But we must recall that Flenik showed no disrespect, and if she failed of an invitation to guest, or to dine, proper courtesy to a trade partner does not demand either."

  That was also true. He sighed and walked with her to the piloting chamber. Happily, this visit to Flenik was the last of those their delm had set them; soon, they would be on the way to the clan's new home on the world Surebleak, which he and his lifemate had scarcely seen. It was, indeed, the clan's hasty removal from Liad, in compliance with orders from the Council of Clans, that had made necessary the mission he and Anthora had just accomplished. Korval's outworld trade partners, having heard of their banishment, as had all the galaxy, needed to be assured in person by one of the Line Direct that Korval not only intended to honor long-standing associations and agreements, but was able to honor them.

  That they had not succeeded in soothing the fears of everyone the delm had bid them visit -- well, and how might they have dealt with Venari, who had instructed the doorkeeper to deny them, and had the poor child hand out through the hatch an envelope containing contracts of reversion.

  Venari the timid, Anthora had dubbed him. The reversions had also revealed a man desperately frightened -- of the Council, or of Korval -- or, possibly, of both.

  It's of no mind," Anthora had said."Val Con will send Shan to mend it, and you know he will find success, beloved."

  Ren Zel watched his lifemate lean over the co-pilot's board, checking for messages. He sighed again, and loosened the collar of his formal shirt. It would be good, he thought, to exchange finery for a sweater and ship clothes -- or leathers, if Anthora fancied dinner on the port this eve.

  "Let us dine from supplies," she said, her attention seemingly still on the co-pilot's b
oard."So we may be ready to lift for Casiaport, if Tower finds us an early slot."

  Ren Zel froze, fingers at his collar.

  "Casiaport," he said, hearing his voice flat with old pain."Surely we will not."

  Anthora looked at him over her shoulder, the quick movement dislodging at least one pin; he heard it strike the decking -- silver to steel.

  "Surely we shall, for Korval has desired it," she answered, raising her eyebrows as if perfect propriety was her nearest kin.

  He took a breath."As much as one dislikes to speak ill of the delm's --"

  "Oh, do by all means speak ill of the delms!" Anthora interrupted him."But I beg you not to waste your genius! Wait until we are with them again, for surely you will find none who will agree with you more!"

  It was heart-stopping, to hear one speak so of the delm -- of their delm. The delm was the face and the voice of the clan. The delm husbanded the clan's resources -- those resources including the life of every member of the clan. It was for the delm to order, and the clan member so ordered to provide. Without obedience to the delm -- without every clan member striving always for the best good of the clan -- all would be chaos and barbarism.

  And yet --

  "I know that the delm wishes to do honor," Ren Zel, forcing himself to speak evenly."However, I believe that -- I believe that, in this instance the delm has failed to understand how...difficult it is for those who are not of Korval -- those who have -- those who have known only one world, one Code -- who have not seen so much of odd custom as might a scout, or a soldier, a trader -- even a pilot --" He paused, the better to weigh his words. Anthora's levity aside, it was the delm of whom he spoke.

  Anthora had straightened, and stood watching him seriously from silver eyes, her hands tucked behind her back like a schoolgirl receiving a lesson from her tutor.

  She said nothing; the ether conveyed the quality of her waiting. Patiently waiting.

  Goaded, Ren Zel continued, perhaps, just a little, snappish.

  "The delm fails to comprehend that there are those who will turn their face from profit rather than stand against custom. There is no choice in this offer Korval desires us to bring to Obrelt. The dead do not return to the world, even to accommodate Korval."

  Bang!

  It was not an actual explosion that assaulted him, he thought -- not that. What struck him was only the manifestation of Anthora's anger on the ether.

  "There are no dead men here!" she shouted. Her hair was stirring; he heard more pins strike music from the decking, and drew a breath.

  "Beloved, you may say so, and I am dismayed to anger you, yet the truth --"

  He scarcely saw her cross the deck. He felt his face taken, not gently, between her two palms, and her lips against his, hard, lewd, and desirous, waking his body with a shout and shiver, his blood coming at once to a boil, and almost he spent himself there and then.

  Anthora released him as suddenly as she had snatched him, and stepped back.

  "Now," she said, hands on hips, and silver eyes snapping."Produce me this dead man."

  "Custom," he answered, his voice thin and breathless. He dragged air deep into his lungs."If you deliver me another such kiss, beloved, well you may produce a dead man."

  Her lips quirked, but her eyes remained stormy.

  "As you told me the story, your delm diced against custom at your death -- winning you your license and a two-cantra stake."

  "So he did, and very bold he was," Ren Zel answered."But that does not mean Obrelt will -- or can -- abandon all propriety. We -- they!-- are shopkeepers; their strength -- the reason that other clans hire them to keep their books, order their inventory, and manage their staffs -- is that they do observe every propriety and are nothing out of the way." He took another breath, which he sighed out, suddenly tired and wistful.

  "The business and the purpose of the clan was twice wholly disrupted by myself. I would, if I could, allow them their peace and their true course. I will say these things to Korval, and accept whatever comes of it."

  "As if Val Con -- or Miri!-- would lash you to the Tree and lay you three stripes for disobedience," Anthora said, and sighed, herself.

  "It shames me," she said softly, and he shivered as her sadness brushed him."Shames me, that I have won such a jewel as you are for myself, and for Korval, with no cost, and no honor paid. If it had been Obrelt that had cast you aside of their own will and spite, I would feel differently. But you were stolen from them, cruelly --"

  "The man had lost a daughter," he murmured."The heart of his life. Allow a father grief."

  "I allow a father all he might require to comfort him, in such circumstance," Anthora said sharply."But delms are held to higher standards."

  There was, Ren Zel thought, no denying that. The delm, indeed, ought to reflect what was best and most honorable of the clan, as a moon, reflecting the glory of its sun. Jabun had used the power and position of his clan to bully and, yes, steal from those less moneyed, and lower-placed. Ill-done, the whole of it, and like to have killed one Ren Zel dea'Judan in truth, as well as by custom.

  "Allow me," Anthora said softly."Allow me at the least to go to your aunt,

  beloved. Allow me to kneel at her feet and thank her from my heart, for the astonishment and the delight that is yourself."

  How that would please Aunt Chane! Ren Zel thought, with a mixture of horror and humor. To have a child of a High House kneel before her, thodelm of a middling mercantile House based upon an outworld? Every sensibility must rebel! And, yet, how could he ask his lifemate, who shared not only his life, but his soul, to carry any shame or dishonor? And especially for this, which was no more her fault than...his.

  He stepped forward and raised his hand, gently, to cup her cheek.

  "We will go together," he said."You will say all that you must, respectfully and with restraint, and honor will put an end to shame."

  Longing swept through him -- hers -- chill as a sudden rain, and gone as quickly. Anthora smiled at him, and turned her head to kiss his palm.

  "Of course it will," she murmured.

  ***

  "Bad night, Bethy?" Sal asked when they met at the caf.

  "The dream, again," she said, low-voice, so Rijmont, just behind her wouldn't hear. Grandfather had taught her that it was not only shameful, but stupid, to show weakness. And, indeed, if it had been Rijmont who had dared to ask after her sleep, she might -- no, she would -- have given him the answer he deserved. Sal, though, was -- different. Soon after she had joined the team as an emergency fill-in, he had found her sitting on the catwalk in the dark, chin nestled on arms folded over the rail, feet swinging in the darkness above the repair bay, far below. He'd sat down next to her, hooked his arms over the rail, and let his feet swing, too, and saying nothing at all.

  It had occurred to her, after they had sat companionably together for some time, that perhaps he was concerned, lest she was thinking of throwing herself from the catwalk to the bottom of the bay -- a considerable distance. Nor would such a fear be entirely beyond his scope; Kunkle's Repair had at that juncture only recently lost a team-member to a fall into the bay, which was how the temp-slot had opened for her.

  "A bad dream," she had murmured, to ease him; for Sal of course stood senior to her, and was in addition "floor boss." It was a bad policy, to have a supervisor concerned of one's fitness for work.

  She'd felt him nod, in the dark.

  "Know all about bad dreams," he'd said, and said nothing more.

  She resettled her chin on her arm, and stared down into the darkness until her eyes grew heavy and her thoughts sluggish. She'd pushed to her feet, then, staggering slightly, and found Sal's hand there to steady her.

  "G'night," he'd said."No dreams for either of us,'til morning."

  And so it had been, just as he said.

  Alas, his dominion over dreams did not extend for more than a night or two, and it transpired that they met often, after the others were abed and long asleep. The catwalk was the
usual meeting place, she sometimes finding him there before her. Later, after the team had voted to accept her fully; after she had seen her true name vanish inside the Terran "Bethy"-- when she had built some small melant'i within the team -- then, some few times, on very bad nights -- his or hers -- they walked out into the Night Port until they found a bakery or other eatery open on dark-license. They talked, on such excursions. She told him of Grandfather, a little, and how he had been cheated of his last cantra by persons who had been his allies, who he had trusted -- and how, because of this break of trust, there had been insufficient resources to allow her to go for pilot first class.

  He told her of his life before he'd come to Casiaport. He'd lost kin on his home world, in an repair accident. The insurance company had refused to pay on the claim, citing some safety deficiencies at the shop, and so Sal was made homeless, who was already kinless. He had signed on with the Kunkle Franchise, and had assisted in setting up repair yards on two worlds before Casiaport, which was when the Franchise vanished, and the Set-up Team became Kunkle's Repair. Sal had been third senior, then; he, with the two above him in rank, had taken Kunkle as their surname, and filed for a family business license, which Casiaport granted.

  Sal was second senior now, behind Nan, Robert having sold back his share and taken a crew berth on a tramp the year before Bethy joined the team.

  "Second in line and the bidness in the black," Sal had said during one of their recent Night Port rambles."Time to expand operations, settle in an' get married."

  It had been, she thought at the time, a joke, and she smiled. They joked now,; shared commonplaces, and Sal had become...Sal was...

  Sal was trustworthy, she told herself. A valued comrade.

  Which Rijmont certainly was not.

  She received her cereal with a nod of thanks, moved down the caf line, drew tea, and passed out into the larger room, slipping into a table for two near the wall. In a moment, Sal joined her, smiling, though his eyes looked as heavy as hers felt.