The Wrong Lance

by Sharon Lee

  Kor Vid yos'Phelium and Daaneka tey'Doshi, Theo told herself, her stomach tight. Kor Vid yos'Phelium and—

  Behind her, Hevelin screamed.

  * * *

  Daav had the door open before the car had fairly stopped. Aelliana was out nearly as quickly, pausing until he reached her side.

  He could scarcely blame her for hesitating, for it was a strange scene, indeed, that confronted them.

  In the foreground was Theo, looking as ill-tempered as he had ever seen her. Directly behind her was what was surely a Clutch ship with its hatch up. Its resemblance to the ship in which Edger had transported them to their meeting with the Clutch Elders was meager: While Edger's ship could have easily been mistaken for a small moon on holiday, this present object appeared to be the merest asteroid, unaccountably come to rest in the center of Korval's drive.

  There were no Clutch persons immediately evident, which was, Daav admitted to himself, something of a relief. Theo had obviously been left to guide them, and perhaps to impart something approaching information.

  There was a flicker of movement as another pilot came 'round the far side of the rocky vessel and moved toward Theo.

  Daav, Aelliana said inside his head. That norbear. Is—

  The driveway morphed into a narrow alley, dark air glittering with icy flakes, the footing treacherous, snow-covered, and before them an angry mob, voices rough with fear and rage. There—Aelliana pelting directly into the thick of it, skidding as she gained the side of the pilot crouching low, his voice broken and pleading—pushing him back and swinging 'round to confront the throng.

  A stone arced out of the crowd, and Daav heard his own voice, in the mode of Command, ordering—

  "Enough! Hevelin, you're going to deafen the whole house!"

  The images blew away like so many snowflakes. Daav shook his head, found that he had hold of Aelliana's hand—or she, of his—and that the order had come from Theo, who held the norbear in her arms, while the other pilot had a hand to her head.

  "Enough!" Theo repeated. "You hurt Kara, is that what you wanted to do?"

  There came a sense of contrition, much muted, and a scent perhaps of mint, to soothe abused heads.

  So much, I fear, for secrecy, Aelliana said, stepping forward.

  We may yet come about, Daav answered, keeping pace with her.

  "Well met, Cousin Theo," he called. "May one inquire? Does the pilot require aid?"

  "Kara?" Theo put the norbear down and turned to the other, her posture eloquent of distress. "Do you want a 'doc?"

  Kara drew a shaky breath, and lifted her head.

  "What was that?" she asked, somewhat faintly.

  Theo put an arm around her waist.

  "Hevelin," she started . . .

  "It would seem that the norbear believes he knows us," Aelliana said, glaring down at the norbear in question, who was now at her feet, standing tall on his back legs and stretching toward her, clearly wishing to be picked up.

  "He thinks he knows a lot of people," Kara said, sounding somewhat less breathless, though she did not seem disposed to shake off Theo's support. "I have never heard him—scream. And the—" she shook her head and focused on Aelliana.

  "Forgive me, pilot, but he must know you. That memory . . ."

  "Yes, well." Aelliana sighed and tucked her hands into her belt, shaking her head at her furry supplicant.

  "No, rogue; I will not take you up. We are called by the delm; and that business has precedence."

  "Yes!" Kara said, with shaky enthusiasm. "Do you see, Hevelin? Your necessities are not the most important, always."

  Daav hunkered down on his heels, the better to look into dark norbear eyes.

  Hevelin turned from Aelliana, and put a hand on Daav's wrist. A sequence formed behind his eyes—not the mob this time, thank the gods, but the bridge of Ride the Luck, a considerably less-grey Hevelin climbing out of the case to confront Aelliana, her face a mixture of laughing disbelief and anger that her ship had been placed in danger.

  "Yes, I quite see," he said, softly, but loud enough for Theo and Kara, too, to hear him. "Assuredly, we must dream together. But dreaming must wait upon our delm's desires. That is reality, my friend. If reality moves in such a way that we meet again after the delm has done with us, then will we three dream."

  "In the meanwhile," Aelliana added, sternly; "you would do well to refrain from deafening your comrades, and perhaps show them a little care."

  Hevelin sighed, and dropped to all four feet. Another wave of contrition spread out from him, and another cooling breath of mint.

  Daav came to his feet. Kara had stepped out of Theo's embrace, her brows pulled together, as she looked from Hevelin to Aelliana—to him.

  "The delm sent?" Daav prompted Theo.

  "She did, yes."

  Theo motioned toward the rock-ship.

  "Emissary Twelve arrived, in haste. She says she's from the Clutch Elders."

  She paused.

  "It seems like she's under strain. Not only the Jumps, but—I got the idea that maybe the Elders aren't easy to work for. She has questions and she needs answers."

  "And it is assumed that I have answers," he said lightly, looking to Aelliana. "What a treat for us, Pilot."

  "Indeed."

  He turned back to Theo.

  "The delm and Emissary Twelve are where, just now?"

  "In the garden. Emissary Twelve thought maybe she'd take the Tree to the Elders. I think Miri—the delm—is letting her see for herself how much of a problem that could be."

  "Very wise," Aelliana said gravely, and gave him a nod. "We to the Tree Court and the delm, Pilot."

  "So it would seem. Thank you, Cousin. Pilot Kara, forgive us, please, for our part in your distress."

  Kara shook her head.

  "There is nothing to forgive," she said, and dropped her gaze to Hevelin, who was sitting calmly on the drive, listening avidly, so Daav greatly feared.

  "It so strange," Kara continued, looking to Theo. "It's not like him to make such an error."

  "He does make errors of kind, sometimes," Theo said carefully. "He showed the Pathfinders my father, after they'd given him a—what was it? An M-soldier?"

  Kara sighed, brows still tight, clearly unconvinced.

  Aelliana bowed.

  "Pilot Kara, I am Daaneka tey'Doshi, and this my co-pilot is Kor Vid yos'Phelium. We are at your service."

  Kara bowed.

  "Kara ven'Arith, Pilots. I am pleased to meet you."

  A breeze flowed, quick and green, over them, where a moment before the day had been windless.

  "We are wanted," Daav said to Aelliana.

  "So I see. No, Cousin Theo, we know the way. Please, care for your comrades."

  She strode off, Daav at her side; the green breeze harrying them along.

  When they were passed through the garden gate, out of sight and presumably out of earshot, Kara turned back to Theo, her brows drawn in a deep frown.

  "Hevelin does not make those kinds of mistakes," she said, flatly.

  Theo looked at the norbear, who was sitting on the driveway, apparently deep in thought. Nothing came to her from him—no commentary, no sense of participation—nothing. He might've been just some random furry creature that had wandered out of the garden and onto the drive.

  "Theo?" Kara said.

  Theo sighed, and turned to meet Kara's eyes.

  "No," she said. "Hevelin doesn't make those kind of mistakes. He did meet those pilots before—and I can't tell you anything else, because it's . . . family business, and not mine to tell."

  She expected temper—Kara had a temper, though she was 'way better than Theo was about keeping it under control. Still—she'd been assaulted by a norbear; lied to by pilots; and gotten worse than no explanation for any of it from her friend and her captain. It was enough to make anybody angry, in Theo's opinion.

  Kara, though . . .

  Kara actually seemed . . . relieved. Her face relaxed, and she sighed
.

  "If it is in the clan, then of course you must keep it so," she said.

  That seemed to be a match-up with Kara's opinion that Val Con and Miri were Theo's delm—which they weren't—and Theo was about to take that on again when it occurred to her that she didn't have an explanation other than "clan secret," or "Delm's Word" that wasn't an outright lie.

  Half-truth, then, she thought; compromise, if we can't have consensus.

  "Now, then, sir!"

  Kara strolled over to where Hevelin sat, still and shuttered. She knelt on the drive facing him and, after a moment, Theo joined her.

  "Hevelin," Kara said softly; "the pilots had pressing business; their delm had called them to duty."

  There was a stir; perhaps even a sigh.

  In the space right behind her eyes, Theo saw, illuminated as if by a sun, the two pilots—very nearly the first "dream" Hevelin shared with everyone he met.

  Two pilots, male and female, dark and light, sardonic and sweet-faced; each standing well within the other's personal space, clearly partners, comfortable with themselves and their arrangement.

  An old memory, since the dark pilot was Father before he had come to Delgado to take the Gallowglass Chair. An old memory, and Father a young man—yet still older than the pilot who, with his partner, had just passed down the drive on their way to the Tree Court and their delm.

  She felt a sort of a light pinch near her ear, drawing her attention back to the dream of the two pilots.

  "Yes," she said, carefully. "That is Daav yos'Phelium, who was also Jen Sar Kiladi. He's my father, and he's Val Con's father. The other pilot is Aelliana Caylon, Val Con's mother."

  Beside her, she heard Kara draw a sharp breath.

  The brilliant memory faded, leaving behind an impression like chilly fog. Out of it, another dream formed—of the two pilots who had just left them: male and female, dark and light, sardonic and sweet; each standing well within the other's personal space, clearly partners, comfortable with themselves and their arrangement.

  "Yes," Theo said, even more carefully. "The best I can tell you is what they told you themselves. Those are Kor Vid yos'Phelium and Daaneka tey'Doshi." She took a breath.

  "You heard me tell Kara that anything else is Clan Korval business."

  There was a burst of protest at that. Hevelin was not a wet-eared kit; he could keep a secret! He had many secrets.

  "We all have secrets," Theo said. "But, see, this secret isn't mine, and it isn't yours. It's their secret, and they're the only ones who can decide to share it—and with who."

  There was a long pause, then a very specific sending of the corner of Theo's apartment, where Mr. pel'Kana had set up the comfortable little nest.

  "It's been a long shift," Theo agreed.

  She rolled to her feet, and held a hand down to Kara.

  "Something tells me I'd better check in with the crew."

  Kara accepted the hand and the boost to her feet.

  "Possibly Clarence will have some small interest in events," she said dryly.

  Theo laughed, and bent down to hoist Hevelin to her shoulder.

  "Yeah," she said. "Maybe he will."

  They crossed the drive in companionable silence; the door opening as they approached.

  "Thank you, Jeeves," Theo said, turning toward the stairway.

  "You are welcome. There is an urgent message from Joyita waiting."

  Theo stopped, and blinked.

  "Urgent?" she repeated, suddenly recalling Bechimo's uncharacteristic silence on a subject he found fascinating. But, he'd have said something, if there'd been a problem. Wouldn't he?

  "If this message is urgent—" she began, as Kara lifted Hevelin to her own shoulder.

  "It has only just arrived," Jeeves told her. "Will you hear it?"

  "Yes."

  "Captain," Joyita's voice carried an unaccustomed edge of irritation. "Surebleak Portmaster requests your presence in her office immediately, regarding the drones we set in Surebleak orbit." There was a short pause. "She did not sound happy."

  Theo looked at Kara.

  Kara looked at Theo.

  Theo sighed.

  "Jeeves, please ask Tommy if he's available to drive me to the port. Also, may I speak to Joyita?"

  "Certainly," Jeeves said. "Joyita, Captain Waitley wishes to speak with you."

  "Captain?"

  Theo sighed again, and closed her eyes.

  "Please tell Surebleak Portmaster that I have received her message and will be with her as quickly as possible."

  "Yes, Captain," said Joyita, followed by a subtle click, as if he had closed a connection.

  Kara shifted.

  "Shall I come with you, as crew representative?" Kara asked. "The entire ship had agreed on—"

  Theo shook her head.

  "The portmaster will take it as given that the captain speaks for the ship." she said. "You and Hevelin bring the crew up to date. I should be back soon."

  She produced a slight grin.

  "How long can it take to pay a fine, after all?"

  Chapter Four

  Surebleak

  Jelaza Kazone

  Emissary Twelve, Val Con thought, as he and Miri escorted that middling large person through the garden gate and down the path that would lead them, roundabout, to the Tree Court.

  Emissary Twelve was something of a curiosity. Val Con had spent some time as a hopeful Scout, living with Edger and the Knife Clan of Middle River. He had learned that Edger represented one end of the Clutch spectrum—open to new experience, and able to entertain a certain tolerance—not to say fondness—for humankind. On the other end of that spectrum stood the brood mother, who was inclined to view anything different as dangerous, and to meet all perceived danger with deadly force.

  Others of Edger's clan had fallen somewhere between the two extremes of T'carais and brood mother, with Edger's heir, the young T'caraisiana'ab standing closest to his progenitor, and Selector standing nearest the brood mother, though they had scarcely been shoulder-to-shoulder, and room for two or three well-shelled Clutch between them.

  He had not, during his time with the Middle River Clan, been summoned, or shown to, the Elders, though Edger had twice been called to attend that august body. It had been Handler who had instructed the brother of the T'carais in the history, function, and physiology of the Old Ones.

  However, as befit one of the clan who also stood high in the esteem of the T'carais, he had several times walked the caverns in company with Edger, Handler, and, on one notable occasion, with Selector.

  What had made that particular tour so notable had been a minor rockslide, not so much blocking their way as narrowing their access. Val Con could have skipped over the fall with ease, and despite his shell, Selector might have passed with only a very little more trouble.

  Still, after a long study and a series of notes sung very nearly below Val Con's ability to hear, Selector had turned, gathering his brother's brother to him with a curt wave of a three-fingered hand.

  "We will go by another path," he said. "Stay close and do not wander."

  The admonition not to wander had been fair enough, and indeed he had stayed close. Which is how he happened to enter the cavern on Selector's heels before that person checked his stride, muttering something under his breath.

  Thus prompted, Val Con had looked about him with some interest, and seen, not tender crystals, nor yet full-grown blades, ready for inspection and selection.

  No.

  The cavern, chilly by even Clutch standards, had contained . . .

  Eggs.

  Dozens, hundreds of large, dark eggs, their surfaces faintly iridescent, even in the dimness, as if they had been dipped in oil.

  Or as if they were coated in ice.

  Selector let his breath out in a long, slow sigh.

  "You will follow exactly in my footsteps. You will touch nothing. You will say nothing. You will think nothing. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes," Val Con breathed
, and did as he was told.

  After they had finally gained the room of newly grown knives from which Selector was to choose only those most perfect, Val Con had watched carefully, and had taken care not to ask any questions—not for a lack of curiosity, but because he did not wish to agitate his brother's brother any further.

  Later, he sat alone by the hearth, telling over his trove of questions, seeking to frame at least one which would not be found offensive, yet still elicit an informative answer.

  And, while he sat mulling, Edger came to him.

  "You have questions, Brother. Ask."

  "Who are they . . . meant to be?" Val Con said after a moment; not his best question, but the thing he was most curious to learn. "Those waiting in the cold?"

  "Gently asked," Edger said. "They are meant, my brother, to be what you may call soldiers. They are our defense, our offense, and our shame. We cause them to be born . . . rarely, and only against an enemy which has chosen to contest us.

  "We call them Short Lives. We call them Destroyers. We call them the Quick and the Dead. As they are now, we call them the Unrequired, and we hope that name grows no longer."

  "The Yxtrang," Val Con said then, recalling his history; "they run from Clutch ships."

  "They do, now. When first we encountered them, they were of a mind to conquer us. We have several times been required to answer the Yxtrang with the Short Lives. They forget, after a certain passage of time, and the Unrequired must be waked again."

  "Short Lives?" Val Con asked then, and was answered with another sigh.

  "Once the eggs are quickened, they are born within hours. Within a day, they have their full strength and all of their skills.

  "Within three revolutions, those who have survived the task for which they were born . . . die, shell-less, nameless, and unmourned by any clan."

  Shell-less, Val Con thought now, and a terrifying warrior within a day of hatching. Such a one, perhaps, would look very like Emissary Twelve.

  In the office at the port, Val Con took a hard breath against rising dismay.

  The Elders were not physically quick, but he was not at all surprised to learn that they had the ability to monitor insults to the fabric of the universe itself. The Elders would not—could not—come themselves, but they could send a newly born and fully capable Emissary, very quickly, indeed.