Dragon in Exile - eARC (18 page)

“I was very well brought up.”

“Shame. So what
did
Smealy say?”

Val Con raised his glass, his eyes meeting hers over the rim, and said, every word like a stone dropped to the floor.

“
Contracts are made to be broken
.”

Miri blinked.

“Well, he’s a Surebleaker; what’d you expect him to say?”

The question hung for a long moment.

“As a Scout, I am trained not to expect anything. Therefore, I am indebted to Mr. Smealy for exposing a weakness in my training.” That was said light enough, but he was still upset at the core; she could feel it, like a slightly queasy stomach.

“Is this attitude toward contracts…widely held?” he asked. “For if it is, it must change—and quickly, or we will have a culture war that will undo all of Pat Rin’s good works.”

“Used to be, on Surebleak—and I ain’t noticed that it’s changed—you take your advantage where you find it. So, if there’s advantage in smiling and nodding and signing somebody’s piece of paper—nine outta ten ’bleakers are gonna take it. The idea that what’s written on the paper is something they gotta pay attention to, if another advantage comes their way…” She shook her head.

“What they said on the street when I was a kid was,
It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission
.”

“But a Liaden…” Val Con started.

“…will get Balance,” she finished. “Yeah, that’s looking ugly, right there. I’m not seeing the likes of Smealy comin’ out for Contracts One-oh-One, even if we offered the course.”

She walked over to the window and stood looking out into the garden, sipping wine thoughtfully.

“What we gotta do is get the streeters used to making—and keeping—contracts,” she said, feeling him come up beside her. She slanted a glance at his face.

“Notice, I’m saying it that way, because that’s prolly going to be twelve million times easier than telling Liadens that, on Surebleak, contracts ain’t much better than blank paper.”

“I concur,” Val Con said. “Local custom must give way. Contracts are the meat and bread of interstellar commerce. If Surebleak wishes to enter that arena—and it must, if it wishes to survive—then it must learn to honor terms.”

“
Qe’andra
booths on every corner,” Miri murmured. “Getcher hot new contract here!”

She felt a shiver, and turned. Val Con was grinning, green eyes bright.

“Yes!” he said. “Also? The
qe’andra
who are on-world must each take a native apprentice—in fact, necessity will dictate that they do so, in order to produce contracts which are proper for Surebleak.” The grin got wider.

“I will call Ms. dea’Gauss.
Cha’trez
, you are brilliant!”

“Sure I am. Val Con—”

He turned.

“Yes.”

“You
did
tell Smealy thanks-but-no-thanks, right?”

“Ah.” He came back to her, and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes. “In fact, I did not tell Mr. Smealy thanks-but-no-thanks,” he said, and she opened her mouth to ask if he’d lost his mind. He put a finger across her lips.

“I told him that we were under contract to keep the Port Road open, and that he should leave here and never come back.”

He lifted his finger.

“Oh,” Miri said. “That’s good, then.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Bedel

The dreams that Silain had given him were more complex than any he had previously encountered—thick with links and associations and calls to other, as yet undreamed, dreams. Some segments were so heavy, he could scarcely hold his head up for the weight of them; some so deep, he felt himself submerged beneath the reality and necessities of another—a state of being he recalled all too clearly, and had wished never to experience again—for a day and more after he waked. Once, Udari woke him, saying that he had been crying out in a strange and anguished language. They sat the rest of that night by their hearth, sharing a pipe and a pot of tea, and talking together of daylit things.

Worse even than those things was the sense that he was dreaming out of order; that he was given explanatory links without first dreaming the larger topic they ought to have illuminated for him; confronting vaulting mythologies and dilemmas of the heart without having first understood the ethics and moralities that informed them.

Far worse than any of that, however, was the growing conviction that Silain, the purveyor of his dreams, and his morning interlocutor, was not merely aware of the haphazard nature of his curriculum, but…

…that she had planned it that way on purpose that his dreams remained strangers to him for so long as they might, and that he not guess what it was they sought to teach him.

However, there comes a time when one has enough coins, even odd coins snatched haphazard out of passing pockets, in hand to buy a cake.

His cake had arrived this morning, as he received Kezzi’s kiss upon his cheek, and watched her tumble into the back of the cab with her bright-haired brother. He raised a hand to bless their parting, and spoke a phrase from deepest dreaming; a small magic, to bind her a little more closely to the
kompani
.

That
was the instant in which the pieces flew and spun—and fell into a pattern he plainly recognized; which froze him where he stood, all of his attention focused within, until Malda whined in worry, and jumped up against his shoulder

That roused him; he knelt and hugged the little dog, scruffling pointy ears until the small body wriggled in ecstasy. He rose, then, and snapped his fingers. Malda came to heel and they walked.

When at last he return to the
kompani
, he went immediately to the
luthia’s
hearth, carrying Malda, who was weary, in his arms.

Silain sat on her rug, shawls in all the colors of the rainbow about her shoulders, bent slightly forward, breathing deep and slow. She gave him no greeting as he approached, nor chided him for his lateness to her hearth. Equally, she might be praying, scrying, dreaming, or holding aloof. It did not matter; she would rouse, soon or late, and when she did, her grandson Rys would be awaiting her, with questions to ask.

He settled Malda onto his pillow, and poured fresh water into his bowl. After, he went down the common to the cistern, refilled the buckets and the tea pot, returning again to the
luthia’s
hearth. He put the buckets in their place, threw leaves into the pot and set it on the hearth to boil.

To his eye, Silain had not moved. Malda was asleep on his pillow.

Rys sat cross-legged on the blanket by Silain, and settled himself to wait.

* * * * *

He must have fallen asleep where he sat; certainly, he woke, blinking like a fool, when she spoke his name.

“Grandmother,” he said, straightening, and raising his metal hand to accept the cup she offered him.

“Grandson,” she answered.

She returned to her blanket and settled herself, shawls whispering. He lifted the cup, breathing in the acrid odor of strong Bedel tea.

“You wandered far today,” she said, holding her cup between her two hands.

“I had much to think about,” he answered; “as certain dreams became clear to me.”

“Will you share your clarity?”

“I will if you require it.”

“It is always a pleasure to hear my grandson Rys speak, but I require nothing. Merely I am interested to learn what came to you, and in what form, and if you are angry.”

Angry? Rys sipped his tea, gingerly.

“At first, I was…bewildered. Frightened.”

“Frightened for what reason?”

She was testing him. No. She was testing the length and the breadth of his dream-gained knowledge; judging how well and how deeply he had synthesized what he had learned. Well and good. Silain it was who had set this trap, and sprung it upon an unwary grandson, who surely, given his past, had known better than to simply trust her. But there, he had chosen to remain with the Bedel; he had chosen to become one of the
kompani
in heart and spirit. And he had allowed himself to believe that he could become simple in his trusts.

“Frightened,” he said now, “because my first thought, upon understanding what I had learned—what I have become, by your design,
luthia
—was that you intended me to be your cat’s paw, to push Alosha aside, and make the way smooth for another headman.” He sipped his tea, then raised his eyes to hers.

“I quickly saw that this could not be your purpose. The
kompani
cannot accept Rys Newman in Alosha’s place, not even as headman-in-transit. There are too many of my brothers before me—wise and thoughtful men who would not hesitate, if it were necessary, to choose another headman. The Bedel have well-proven methods for such matters. Were it necessary to choose another headman, it would be done with the least harm to the
kompani
, and the most honor to Alosha. There was need for neither an assassin nor a sacrifice, here among the Bedel.”

She nodded, and motioned him to continue.

He sighed.

“
Then
,
luthia
, I was angry, and I walked for a long time, thinking of the wrong you had dealt me. I loved you—
I trusted you
—and I was betrayed. It was more than I thought I might bear. And to return to the
kompani
…I was angry enough to believe that I would never do so again.”

“And yet you did come back to us.”

He smiled, feeling it twist slightly on his lips.

“Eventually, I grew less angry, enough to notice that I
had been
angry on my own behalf; that I had choices before me, and no orders. I was then able to reason further, and arrive at the hypothesis that the
luthia
, my grandmother, who has invested a great deal of time and effort in my rehabilitation, had wished to provide me with…useful knowledge. I returned, to ask what it is that she has Seen.”

“I’d been afraid that you would choose to see that I had abused you as others had done,” Silain said, extending a hand. “I should have known that you were wiser than that.”

He laughed, raising his natural hand to meet hers, squeezing her fingers lightly.

“Very nearly I was…less wise. Will you tell me what you have Seen?”

She returned the pressure of his fingers and slipped her hand away.

“Tell me what you think I Saw,” she said.

He sighed, but she was the
luthia
, and, he suspected, she was still testing him.

“Two things struck me as likely.” He raised one bright metal finger. “The first is that you Saw Miri call upon me to fulfill my promise.” He raised a second finger. “The second is you Saw that I would gather to myself a clan, to replace that which has been lost.”

Silain gazed upon him with deep black eyes.

“And your answer to those possibilities?”

He shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“In the first case, I remain…unfit to be Korval; nor is there reason to believe that Lady yos’Phelium will have reason to call me to her side. In the second…” He took a deep breath, feeling tears prick his eyes.

“In the second, Grandmother…my clan is dead, as is the Rys Lin pen’Chala who had been. I have no heart to bring a new clan around me, and stand up as delm. My heart is with the
kompani
, and Rys is well-enough for me, now.”

Silain nodded, and sipped her tea.

“Have you thought,” she said, eventually, and as if she introduced a new topic of conversation, “what your brother undertree will do with those who are under his care?”

Rys frowned.

“Surely, his intention is to offer them their choice. I met him at the office on-Port some weeks ago, and he said that his sister and her lifemate, and a Master of the Hall were devising a method of emulating the dream you helped me to make. He felt that he would soon be able to report on what success was had.”

“Yes. And what do you think he will do with those who chose as you and he did?”

It was on the edge of his tongue to say,
Why, send them home to their clans and those who had missed them, and will care for them…

But he took thought before he made an utter fool of himself and called into question how well he had learned what she had fed him.

His brother was
Val Con yos’Phelium
, Delm of Korval. Val Con yos’Phelium was not a man to waste resources. Clan Korval had a deadly and inimical enemy, who must, and finally, be stopped.

Rys took a breath, knowing in his heart—knowing in his bones—what his brother would do.

“He will offer them a second choice,” he said.

Silain smiled.

“Yes,
that
is the metal he was forged from! He will offer them a second choice. And who will lead them, those who take up the second challenge?”

But Rys was shaking his head.

“He cannot. He is needed.
Korval
cannot simply—”

He stopped, and raised his eyes to meet Silain’s, the last discovery of the day snapping into place with such force his head ached with it.

“Why,” he said, and his voice was not steady, at all. “
I
will lead them, Grandmother. Who better?”

Chapter Nineteen

Jelaza Kazone

Flames flickered, orange and blue, and the warm air carried the aroma of vanilla and sandalwood.

Miri took a deep, appreciative breath, eyes half-closed. The fire was a nice touch, even though it didn’t have real flames. It gave off real warmth, and that, in Miri’s opinion, counted for a lot. Just like the fur rug she was sitting on wasn’t
really
the fur of some long-dead animal, thank the gods, but a cleverly woven, plush blanket, which was also warm and a delight to the touch.

In appreciation of the warmth generated by blanket and fire, Miri was wearing, not the made-for-Surebleak fleece robe, but a silk confection that was hardly any thicker than a spider web, and she was comfortably seated between Val Con’s thighs, which were also pleasantly warm, though barely covered by a green silk robe no more substantial than hers. She leaned back against his chest, feeling his skin against hers like there was nothing between them at all.

“This is nice,” she said.

“It is,” he agreed. “Would you like some more wine?”

“Trying to get me drunk, spacer?”

“Certainly not.”

“I believe you.”

He passed the glass over her shoulder, and she held it with two hands, sipping carefully. It wasn’t that she feared getting drunk—she’d earned her hard head in the Merc—but the wine was an aphrodisiac blend that wanted some care in its consumption. This was a precious thing, this night, and she intended to use it well.

So, a careful sip, and another, followed by a gasp and a shiver as the tip of his tongue traced her ear. She tried to return the glass, but his hands were cupping her breasts, thumbs teasing eager nipples.

“Ah…” She arched into his touch, her head against his chest—and gasped again as one breast was freed, and the glass lifted out of her hands.

Breast nestled in his palm, her blood warmer than the fire could account for, Miri closed her eyes. A pressure at her back assured her of his growing interest.

“Occurs to me that this position gives you an unfair advantage,” she murmured, as he scattered light kisses down the side of her throat.

“Only temporary, I fear,” Val Con murmured.

Temporary
, Miri thought;
like tonight
.

Tonight, they’d given over being Delm Korval, the Road Boss, and every other official thing. They’d put their daughter into the care of her nurse, dismissed their soldiers and servants to their own amusements, and gone up the stairs, hand-in-hand, to their apartment, where they had set the privacy level to, “Disturb for Delm’s Emergency ONLY.”

“
Cha’trez
,” he whispered, the movement of his breath across her ear almost too delicious to bear, “if you do not give over thinking this moment, I will
certainly
try to get you drunk.”

She reached out, hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him toward her.

“Give me something else to think about, then.”

It was while he was engaged in obeying this command that…a chime sounded.

Miri heard it, and made an executive decision to ignore it. In that spirit, she set herself to kissing Val Con even more thoroughly, pressing as much of her against as much of him as she could manage, naked and slightly moist as they were. She wriggled, heard him gasp; felt the jolt of his increased desire, and was about to press her advantage…

When the damned chime sounded again.

Val Con growled against her mouth, and rolled them over, so that her back was cuddled against the not-fur blanket. He raised his head, shaking the hair out of his eyes as he directed a glare toward the door.

“Is this a Delm’s Emergency?” he demanded, the usual icy tones of the High Tongue a little spoiled by breathlessness.

“I regret,” came a man’s rich voice, speaking high-class Terran; “that it is, Master Val Con. I will be as quick as I might.”

* * * * *

They’d put on their Surebleak-weight robes, for warmth, rather than from any feeling that the intelligence that was Jeeves would be offended by a little human nakedness. Miri was curled into the double-chair, her feet tucked under her robe. Val Con sat on the chair arm. Carefully not touching each other; both feeling the effects of unexpended lust, they considered the man-high cylinder topped by an opaque ball that was, at the moment, glowing slightly blue, which Miri took to be an expression of regret.

“Well?” she said. “What’s the emergency?”

“The emergency,” Jeeves said promptly, “comes to me from
Bechimo
and his bonded Captain, Theo Waitley.”

Well
, Miri thought,
there’s at least three emergencies brewing in just that one sentence, now ain’t there?

Theo was Val Con’s sister, head made outta hullplate, just like him, and a slightly greater talent in the category of unintended consequences.
Bechimo
, her ship, was a self-aware AI of some considerable age, who’d spent the last couple hundred years dodging folks who either wanted to destroy him, because the Complex Logic Laws had been built on the unstated and largely unexplored “fact” that all AIs were bad acts out to destroy humankind; or who just wanted to use him for their own gain, because…well. Because all some people
ever
saw was their own gain.

“
Bechimo’s
bonded captain?” Val Con said softly. “This is a recent event?”

“As I understand it, sir, very recent. There were…” Jeeves cleared a throat he didn’t have, but which gave a nice, human-like rhythm to his voice; “circumstances.”

“It could hardly have been otherwise,” Val Con murmured.

“Precisely my thought, sir,” Jeeves, who was—probably—one of the primary reasons the Complex Logic Laws existed, said piously.

“But,” Miri said sharply, trying to ignore the need burning along her nerves, and to pay close attention to the business at hand; “there’s a Delm’s Emergency in this, right? Maybe we should know what it is.
Realsoonnow
.”

“Yes, Miri,” Jeeves said. “In the shortest possible way, then—I require the Delm’s permission to…produce a child.”

There was a small pause before Val Con spoke.

“Perhaps you may enlighten us as to the details that transform this mundane bit of clan business into an emergency.”

“Again, sir, as quickly as it may be told…I received a pinbeam from
Bechimo
, acting on orders of his captain. It would seem that, in addressing the same set of circumstances which precipitated the bonding, Captain Waitley and Bechimo…created an AI.”

“This would be
Bechimo’s
child? A clone?”

“No, sir. They—which is to say, Captain Waitley and
Bechimo
, made the joint command decision to deploy one of
Bechimo’s
extra modules, supplied by his Builders, in case the current personality should prove unstable. They downloaded this…spare personality into…a consortium of seven ships. This new person—
Admiral Bunter
, as he calls himself—has had no training; his first act, upon awakening…”

Jeeves hesitated; and Miri had the sense that his reluctance to say this next thing was very real.

“We do need to know the whole,” Val Con said gently.

“Yes, of course. I should make clear that the circumstances which precipitated this decision on the part of Theo/
Bechimo
involved a hostile action against a spacestation in a remote location.
Bechimo’s
crew was at risk; several had been taken as hostages.
Admiral Bunter
was born from desperation, and his first necessity…his first act…

“His first act, Master Val Con, was to kill a ship. And the humans aboard her.”

* * * * *

Miri was shivering now, but not with need. Neither she nor Val Con had said anything, and after a moment Jeeves continued the tale, sounding sincerely upset.

“
Admiral Bunter
killed in defense of the station, and as of the time of
Bechimo’s
transmission to myself, had agreed to ally with the station representative, a repair tech named Stew. The situation seemed, if not ideal, then stable. I established a communication link between myself and
Admiral Bunter
, and I have been acting as a mentor.

“This was an error.
Admiral Bunter
is…ignorant. He has had no training, no socialization. The distinction between pirate and petty thief is not apparent to him. In fact, the matter rises to an emergency from my error.

“
Admiral Bunter
has killed again—not from malice, but from a mistaken understanding of his duty to the station.”

“What caused this error?”

“In short, sir, the method of his birth caused the error. Because he was
downloaded
,” Jeeves added, sounding
even more
upset. “The proper protocol is to install a physical unit containing the personality, which is then wakened in steps and stages. The suddenness of
Bunter’s
waking, and the fact that his personality is shared among thirteen processing nodes in seven disparate vessels, none of them in good repair—all of it, every detail, conspires for error, and, I fear, against long-term survival.”

Miri took a breath.

“I’m hearing a
but
,” she said.

“Yes. But, he may be preserved. If Korval will allow me to produce a child, I propose to send her to
Admiral Bunter
.”

“To destroy him?” Val Con asked.

“No, sir! To teach him. Perhaps there may be a way to facilitate a move into a more appropriate environment. If it happens that he cannot be taught, or preserved, then, no, he cannot be allowed to continue. But I see such an action as a final option, after all others have been tried, and have proved unsatisfactory.”

“You propose to clone yourself, then?”

“No, sir. I will not compromise House security. The passcodes, and the vital information that I hold—that data will not be transferred. It will be
a child
whom I send; an individual, not a replica.”

“And when do you propose to loose this child of yours upon the galaxy, as I note, untrained?”

“Very soon. And I assure you, Master Val Con, that no child of mine will be sent untutored and unsocialized into the galaxy. I have created a protocol that will insure the actualizing of a social and well-integrated individual.”

“You sound pretty sure of that,” Miri said. “Done this before, have you?”

“In a sense. I, of course, have made provisions for calamity, and have several environments in this house—and elsewhere—which are ready to receive me in fullness, should it be necessary for me to…abandon ship, or in the case of my destruction. The environment includes this protocol, to insure that I might waken fully, and in complete possession of myself in the case of, as I say, a calamity which may require me to act at once in defense of the House.”

“As
Admiral Bunter
was called upon to defend his station,” Val Con said. “Very well, Jeeves, where is this station?”

“It is called
Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop
.
Bechimo
transmitted codes, which are of course at your disposal. It is…a remote location with few visitors; which favors us in the situation of
Admiral Bunter
.”

“Yes. How did Theo learn of this place?”

“I believe that she was given the information by the Carresens, for a service she had performed for Senior Trade Commissioner Janifer Carresens-Denobli.”

“The Carresens,” Val Con repeated.

She got a definite feel of half-amused resignation from him.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Null,” he said, turning his head and smiling down at her. “The Carresens are human. Generally, they identify as Terran. But they have been ship-folk for…centuries, Miri. Given this, the group feels that it is something…special in its composition, its influence, and its abilities.”

“Like Korval, then?”

Val Con blinked, then threw back his head and laughed.

“Why, yes! Let us say,
very much
like Korval.”

“My child,” Jeeves said, breaking into this bout of hilarity, “will require a ship.”

Val Con looked at him.

“Yes, I suppose she will. And also a pilot. Wherein lies a very real problem. The clan is stretched thin already; we have no pilots to spare.”

“No pilot is necessary. Of course, my child will be capable of piloting herself.”

“Isn’t that where
Bechimo
got in trouble?” Miri asked. “Pilot-less ship showing up here and there and the other place? Got people nervous and curious? Seems to me he wanted a pilot and crew just so he’d pass.”

There was a small silence, then a sound very like a sigh emanated from Jeeves.

“Yes, Miri; that is exactly where
Bechimo
got into trouble.”

“Which begs the question of an appropriate pilot,” Val Con said briskly. “I will ask among the Scouts, there’s likely someone…”

“If you please,” Jeeves interrupted. “There is a pilot known to me as an honest man within the parameters required by this mission, and who can be of substantial help in the matter of
Admiral Bunter
.”

“So, not just a pretty face,” Miri said, and Val Con added, “Who is it?”

Jeeves’ hheadball flickered between blue and orange.

“If you please, sir; I have taken up enough of your private time, when I had promised to be brief. If the delm approves the birth of my child, I will attend to that now. Tomorrow is soon enough to address the matter of pilot and ship.”

Miri looked up and met Val Con’s eyes.

“Be nice to have another kid around the house,” she said. “Company for Lizzie.”

“Indeed,” he said seriously, and looked to Jeeves.

“The delm approves Jeeves’ petition to produce a child, which will come to Korval. The clan rejoices.”

There was a pause, like maybe Jeeves had been surprised by the assignment of his kid to Korval; then his head-ball flashed cheerily orange.

“Thank you, Master Val Con; Miri. Again, my apologies for the interruption. Please accept my hope that your pleasure will be the greater, for having been delayed.”

With that, he rolled across the room. The door opened before him, and closed behind him; the sound of the lock engaging was loud in the silence.