by Sharon Lee
“Perhaps your brother can assist you,” Kamele suggested. “Kareen tells me that Clan Korval’s fortune is from trade. Maybe he can put you in touch—with a trader or with someone who can help you figure out how to think about your problem.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I had a contract with Korval’s master trader, but he called it off when the route started to get more dangerous than he’d anticipated.”
She frowned. “I guess Shan’s out on his route, though…”
“That’s Master Trader Shan yos’Galan of Dutiful Passage?” Kamele asked.
Theo looked up, blinking—and then grinned.
“New knowledge,” she said.
“Being put to use,” her mother said, pursing her lips and attempting to look stern. “I have heard it said that the delm has charged the master trader to develop and implement new routes that take advantage of Surebleak’s location.”
“That’s pretty much it. I was contracted to follow a kind of sketched-in route, to see if it would be viable for a long-loop. Had a list of possible contacts, but I didn’t do so good there, either. Got thrown off one world because my contacts believed in luck, and they believe that Clan Korval has an interesting relationship with luck that they didn’t want to get involved with.
“Also,” Theo said darkly, “they really didn’t like it when I said I’d learned how to be invisible from Father. Apparently men aren’t supposed to know anything.”
“Your father would have laughed.”
“And then he’d’ve done something when they weren’t looking, just to prove that their position wasn’t as unassailable as they thought.”
Kamele smiled.
“That, too,” she said and rose.
“If you have time, I’d like to show you our work—you’ll understand the importance.”
That might, Theo thought, be optimistic. On the other hand, it would be interesting to see what had grabbed and held Kamele’s enthusiasm.
“I’d like that,” she said.
She rose and gave her mother a willing smile.
V
Well, Robertson, you wanted to know.
And she had…wanted to know. Worse than that, she had needed to know.
And now that she did, she had to figure out what to do about it.
Even if they could absorb a couple of old-style pathfinders themselves, Korval was not the proper repository for the contents of those two cases. Not even close. They had their share of secrets to keep, but this one—this one was out of their league and best out of their hands. She was…reasonably sure that they wouldn’t crack the cases—unless something really bad threatened Korval, and nothing in the main or auxiliary bags of tricks and dodges had neutralized it.
And that was the problem, right there, remembering that they were relatively sane, as delms of the line went. Korval genes occasionally kicked out a seriously deranged delm, and didn’t it just make the blood run cold speculating on what Mad Delm Theonna would’ve done with those cases?
All of that being said and agreed to, the question was: If not Korval, then who?
The Clutch came to mind, which was an idea, but not a good one. There’d been a war, way back, between the Clutch and the Yxtrang. She wasn’t clear on what had started it, and neither was her best source of Yxtrang history—Nelirikk. Whatever the root of the argument, the Clutch had demonstrated the superiority of their viewpoint so decisively that, even today, Yxtrang gave Clutch worlds wide berth, and flat-out ran if a Clutch ship happened to show up on the scans.
Clutch lived a long time, and she knew from her own experience that Edger, at least, held a grudge.
All of which made putting the cases into the Clutch’s care not one of the top three solutions.
The Lyre Institute was a possible recipient since, if Jeeves’s dossier had been anything like factual, they already oversaw an extensive library of heritage genes.
On the other hand, if Jeeves’s dossier was anything like factual, the Lyre Institute would immediately start offering supersoldiers to the highest bidder.
For right now, Nelirikk’d taken the pathfinders up to the security wing, so they could get showers and some downtime. On her order, they’d taken the cases with them because she couldn’t think of any better place for them than with the soldiers who’d kept them safe this long.
She…
She needed something to drink—coffee, by choice, though she’d take a cup of the bitter green tea, if that’s what was on offer.
She turned down the hall, toward the morning parlor.
* * *
The room was dim, in solidarity with the not-exactly-bright-and-cheerful morning outside. Despite the lack of sunshine, there were a couple of young cats following the rule book, stretched out belly-up on the window seat. Other than them, the room was deserted, which suited her fine.
She drew the dregs of coffee from the urn to a cup, and sat down with it on the edge of the window seat. The grey-and-white cat—Fondi, that was—opened his eyes, yawned, and flopped over onto his side, which gave her space enough to angle her back against the wall and put one leg up on the cushion.
“Thanks,” she said, and commenced in to staring over the lawn and drinking thick, bitter coffee.
The cases presented a whole suite of problems. Whoever received them couldn’t just slide them under the bed and forget about them. They were designed to keep the contents fresh until they could be moved to a long-term environment. Chernak and Stost were of the opinion that they were good for a couple of Standards before the need for better storage got serious, but the sooner they were in a permanent archive, the less chance the samples would deteriorate.
What she needed, Miri thought, eyes closed, and absently stroking Fondi, who had draped himself, purring, across her thigh…what she needed was an established gene library controlled by someone tough enough to protect it and purehearted enough not to put the material into play. Not the Scouts, the Scouts’ official stand on clones and cloning was in line with their opinion of independent logics. They’d destroy cases and contents and be proud of themselves for saving the universe.
She toyed with the idea of destroying the cases and found she liked it even less than she liked turning them over to the Clutch.
The problem was that the kind of archive best suited to the preservation of the samples…was against law. It was against the law to manufacture humans; it was against the law to clone humans; it was against the—
Clone humans.
Miri opened her eyes.
“Jeeves, is the Uncle’s ship still on port?”
“Yes, Miri. No departure time has been filed.”
“Good. Please contact the Uncle on my behalf and tell him that Korval has a mutually beneficial proposition to discuss with him. Ask him to please wait upon Delm Korval at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes,” said Jeeves.
“Also, please ask Daav yos’Phelium and Aelliana Caylon to attend their delm in the Tree Court in twelve minutes.”
* * * * *
Val Con had three main screens open, each displaying a document, words and phrases heavily highlighted. A fourth side screen displayed six different dictionary options; the one currently on top being Old Terran to New Terran. It was treacherous going, and he also had frequent recourse to the Terran-to-Trade, and Liaden-to-Trade volumes.
At his request, Jeeves had piped in the port all-band, the litany of ships in, ships departing, and the side-band chatter taking the part of white noise while he concentrated on the documents Bechimo had provided.
The documents were, of themselves, fascinating, and he might have happily spent a week or two learning them as they deserved. Necessity, though. Necessity demanded this unseemly drilling for data, names, dates, specs. Facts, rather than nuance. Facts were what would sway the zealous Old Tech hunter.
Well…possibly they would not.
He had also researched Captain yos’Thadi, who was every bit as overreaching as Scout yo’Vala had hinted.
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br /> Thus, the facts were doubly necessary. When he filed his judgment, his reasoning, and supporting documentation with Scout Headquarters—with, he supposed, both Scout Headquarters—it must be unassailable. A judgment…a Scout commander might make a field judgment when called upon, and that judgment would hold until or unless it failed the review board, which had been backed up for years before the battle at Nev’Lorn and Korval’s act of aggression against the homeworld.
Acts which had resulted in two Scout Headquarters, two active rosters, and apparently not even the most rudimentary attempt at negotiation on the part of either administration.
He shook his head and sat back, frowning absently at the middle document, which was also the most highlighted.
All honor to the secretary of the corporation which had built Bechimo, for keeping such meticulous records. Even more honor that those records agreed in so very many instances with history, which might be utilized in the absence of certain other documents under Captain’s Seal, and were best not shared with curious Scouts.
However, there were a number of phrases—a Scout might assume that they were key phrases—that still failed of being perfectly clear.
He supposed that he might weave context and best practice together well enough to cover the holes in his certain knowledge, but one would rather not dice with Theo’s liberty, nor with Bechimo’s life.
The receiver produced a belch, which would be a ship entering local space. Scarcely had it faded when a clear, familiar voice came across all bands, speaking very precisely in Trade.
“Captain Waitley and the crew of the tradeship Bechimo welcome Captain yos’Thadi and Chandra Marudas to Surebleak.”
“What!” snapped an unguarded voice in Liaden.
In his office, Val Con spun his chair around so that he could stare at the receiver.
“Jeeves,” he said when some minutes had passed with no further comment from the receiver.
“Sir?”
“Remind me not to irritate my sister Theo.”
“I believe it to be too late, if I may make so bold, sir.”
Val Con sighed.
“I fear you are correct. Well, then. I shall endeavor to accept my comeuppance, when it arrives, with aplomb. That, I think I may manage.”
“Yes, sir. Bechimo reports that Miss Nova and Mr. Golden are aboard Spiral Dance and that Miss Nova has allowed Bechimo’s condition report to stand as the pilot’s inspection. Systems are live and countdown to lift has begun.”
“I will refrain from inquiring into the state of my sister Nova’s temper on receiving a message from her delm to drop every other task and return to the house in order to lift a ship. However, I am surprised. I had not known that Mike Golden was a pilot.”
“He is not,” Jeeves said.
“My sister brings a passenger?”
“Not as such. Mr. Golden is present in his melant’i as Boss Nova’s head ’hand. He asked Bechimo to relay a message to Korval’s delm, from his Boss. The message is: Tell my delm that I am on the edge of a very old memory, indeed, and if I do not emerge from it, I wish them joy of Grandmother Cantra.”
Val Con inclined his head.
“Please convey to Mr. Golden that the delm has heard Nova yos’Galan’s message, and that her brother Val Con wishes them both a safe lift.”
“Message relayed.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Jeeves.”
He turned resolutely back to his screens and was very shortly again immersed in research.
* * * * *
Twelve minutes was time enough to reach the Tree Court from their rooms, if they left immediately the summons arrived and walked briskly all the way. They had of course been anticipating the call and had early seen to dressing themselves—which was well, as the clothes Daav had left behind did not suit his newly young frame and it had been many years since Aelliana’s clothes had hung in their closet.
Mr. pel’Kana and Jeeves had conspired to allow them to do better, so that they now, appropriately clad in black pants and formal shirts under leather jackets, followed the path to their meeting with the delm. Daav wore his own battered garment and the one that Mr. pel’Kana had found in stores for her was almost equally disreputable.
She had hesitated before the jacket, not quite daring to touch it where it lay over the back of the chair.
“Because, you know, Daav, we have not yet found if I am reborn a pilot.”
“You may not have been reborn a pilot,” he answered, shaking the leather out and holding it for her, “but you cannot believe that the Tree would have forgotten such a detail.”
“No, of course not.”
She slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowed him to settle the jacket on her shoulders, and turned to look up into his face. He bent to kiss her cheek. She touched his brow and stepped back.
“We ought not keep the delm waiting.”
* * *
They were in good time, walking briskly hand in hand down the overgrown path, Daav leading in the frequent case that the way was too thin to accommodate both, and were, for the moment, side by side.
“Advise me, van’chela,” she said.
“To the best of my ability.”
“I have only just thought—shall I scold the Tree on the Uncle’s behalf before or after the delm has judged?”
“Before, certainly. A previous commitment must have precedence. Additionally, as we remain uncertain of any after, you would not wish to risk breaking your word.”
“Thank you,” she said, as the path ended, and they stepped onto grass. “I shall begin at once.”
* * * * *
Miri was sitting on the bench by the gloan-roses, considering the Tree and thinking about the ground in the middle. The upcoming conversation would only answer a question; it wouldn’t solve the problems Val Con saw in bringing his parents back into the clan. Or two newly named young yos’Phelium pilots who just happened to fly in out of nowhere and hadn’t ever been listed in the clan’s census.
Quiet voices reached her, getting nearer. She stirred, stood up, and watched them as they entered the court, walking pilot-smooth and unhurried, hand in hand and heads high.
They stopped well before they reached the trunk, still holding hands. Aelliana tipped her head back, addressing the boughs above.
“You, sir! I will have you know that I am quite out of temper with you! It is all well and good to have planned for our resurrection, but might you not have proceeded in a more tactful manner? Insulting the very person upon whom our survival depended—was that wise? Undoing all of his care at one sweep—was that kind? What, I wonder—”
Miri had a sense of words said just beyond her hearing. Aelliana laughed aloud.
“Yes, and it is good to see you again also, reprobate! Though you must know that you have caused many more problems than you have solved. The delm may be the delm, but it is cruel to place this upon our children.”
Another murmur, just out of range. Miri walked forward, mentally stepping into what she called delm-space.
Daav turned toward her, his lifemate with him. They bowed, each a perfect reflection of the other, and straightened.
“Korval,” Daav said.
“We arrive at the delm’s word,” Aelliana said.
Korval inclined her head.
“Elucidate your arrival in these vessels.”
“Yes,” Daav said. “In the process of deactivating the device situated upon Moonstruck, as required by the delm, one’s previous vessel sustained serious wounds. I had chosen the Uncle as my backup, as he was the builder of the installation. So it was, when he arrived to view the progress of my work, he found me near dying and, acting as an ally, took what to his philosophy is merely the next step in healing.”
“Before he left on the delm’s mission,” Aelliana took up the narrative, “the Tree had given Daav two unripe pods: one for him, the second for me. The Uncle became aware of the fact of there being two pods, and therefore prepared two vessels. That we were able
to separate and utilize them, we know only because we woke thus.”
She paused. The delm motioned for her to continue.
“Korval. Daav was at first suspicious that the vessels might inherently include infelicitous aspects. If this was so, we cannot know, because at that point, the pods ripened and, of course, we ate them.
“I immediately fell into a faint. At Daav’s suggestion, the Uncle placed me into an autodoc. Daav also entered a ’doc shortly after consuming his pod.”
“In my case, it seems that the pod merely…fine-tuned the Uncle’s work,” Daav continued, “as this vessel was ‘seeded’ with material from my previous body. In Aelliana’s case, it appears that the Tree utterly undid and overwrote the Uncle’s work, making her new body, so we believe, very much nearer to, if not exactly the same as, the body she had previously inhabited.”
“We approach my topic,” Korval said. “Legitimacy. The Tree is the first test, if it will oblige.”
The Tree was amused, but willing.
Aelliana approached first and put her palm against the trunk.
Green light illuminated the Tree Court, and there came an immense rustling above, from which a breeze descended trailing leaves like a scarf, and wound about Aelliana’s waist in a hug, before dancing away up into the branches.
She stepped back, smiling, and beckoned.
“Come, Daav, you must be properly received.”
“I foresee mischief,” he said stepping to the trunk. “It would be a fine joke to deny me. Its humor tends that way.”
He put his hand against the trunk.
Nothing happened, if so absolute a cessation of sound and movement could be said to be nothing.
Daav took a deep breath, shoulders rising—and falling. He removed his hand, turned—
The gloan-roses burst forth in flower, flooding the court with their heady scent; a tiny whirlwind leapt up from the ground, enclosing him for a moment before dissipating, leaving him rumpled, with random bits of grass and twig caught in his clothing here and there.
“That was not very kind,” Aelliana said chidingly, “though it is true that he challenged you.”