by Sharon Lee
She looked down to her Ringless hand.
“That last, no, not that. Even a madwoman must obey her delm. So it was that Wylan commanded me to go off-world, for she knows my limits perhaps not so finely as I do myself, but near enough. Twelve years a drain upon my House—that, I would not, could not, abide. And so I was granted capital, and a berth arranged—to Surebleak. I think Fereda—my daughter, though perhaps not my delm—had hoped that Korval’s wing would unfurl.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
“This is not of the Dragon’s melant’i, but my own.”
They exchanged glances, the two Terrans, and it was Cheever McFarland who asked, “So, what’re you doing for work?”
“I have just this afternoon had an offer of work,” she said, “but first, I must ask—” She looked to Andy Mack.
He nodded, watching her.
“Are you also called the colonel, and have you offered to stake Jemie a cab, if she hires a second driver?”
A grin spread slowly over his face.
“Now, then, happens I am and happens I do. You applyin’?”
“I am, if—” She looked to the other man, who was watching interestedly—“if Pilot McFarland may give me a reference.”
He laughed, and her stomach sank, hearing in his merriment the last and best of her slender hopes dissolving.
“Give you a reference? Hell, I’ll buy you a cab!”
“No, hey, now—none o’that! Competition’s all well and good, in its place. What we need right now is a Port-N-City taxi squad that’s honest, strange as that word might fall on your ear, there, Pilot. If Ms. Vertu’s willin’ to take Jemie on, then I think we’re on the way to solving a couple problems right now.”
“I would welcome the work,” Vertu said, looking between the two of them. “Wylan has driven cabs for many generations. We have experience that, perhaps, Jemie might find to—to our profit.”
“Startin’ with gettin’ the name of the taxi service big enough to be read ’cross the street,” Cheever said.
“That,” Vertu admitted, with a smile, “is one of the first things I will speak of with her.”
“All right, then,” Colonel Andy Mack said. “Soon’s I can get the news to Jemie, you got work.”
“Jemie had stopped at the Emerald for her supper, and asked me to come by when I had finished here. She proposed to take me home as a free fare, with the debt to be paid that I drive for her some day when there was need.”
“Well, now she can drive her partner home and bring ’er back to port tomorrow to pick up ’er cab.”
Andy Mack grinned and stuck out his hand, Terranstyle. Vertu blinked, then placed her hand in his.
They shook.
“Done!”
“’Bout time,” Cheever McFarland said. “Speaking of the Emerald, I’m heading back that way, Ms. Vertu, and I’d take it kindly if you’d have some supper with me before you go on home. If Jemie can’t wait, I’ll drive you back.”
“Thank you,” she said, rising. “That is very kind, but—”
“No buts,” he said firmly, and bowed her toward the back door ahead of him.
* * *
It was spring at last, insofar as Surebleak entertained the season. Vertu dea’San sat in her cab outside of the Emerald Casino on the port, awaiting her contracted fare.
Who was . . . about to be late. She lowered the window, settling back into the seat that by now knew her shape, and considered starting the meter. Spring had brought the addition of a third cab to Jemie’s fleet, and a new driver, known to the colonel, for he had grown up on a Surebleak street. One leg was cybernetic, but that was no handicap to the cab, and he held the streets in his head like a driver born. Soon, they would need a fourth driver to stand at call, and she and Jemie had discussed the possibility of branching out into the ground-courier business.
The Emerald’s door opened, and a big man exited, crossing to the cab in a half-dozen long strides, and settling familiarly into the seat beside the driver.
“’Evenin’,” he said, pulling the door closed and giving her a grin. “Ready?”
She nodded, looking down at herself—a white shirt and a dark sweater under a spring-weight jacket; new trousers and boots. She was as presentable as she might be, for this trip out to the end of the road, and an introduction she thought never to receive.
“Know the way?” Cheever asked her, waking the echo of memories.
Vertu grinned and put the car into gear.
“I know the way,” she said. “The question becomes—can we afford the fare?”
He laughed, and she did, and the car slipped into traffic, heading out the road, toward Korval.