Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (26 page)

She caught her breath.

“I thought I had…hidden it,” she whispered. “I—does it hurt you? I never thought—”

She
hadn’t
thought—why
should
she have thought?—what her construct might feel like to Healer senses.

She blinked away sudden tears.

“I have control enough that it does not hurt me, though it occasionally surprises and dismays me,” Father said softly. “In fact, I will make bold to say that it hurts—and has hurt—
you
far more grievously than it may ever hurt me.”

He leaned over to put his hand on her knee.

“Padi—why?”

His voice was gentle; she saw concern in his face; felt tenderness in the touch of his hand. Love swelled in her throat, choking her, and then the tears came, faster than she could blink them away. She reached for the Small Dance she had made in her head, meaning to lock the shame away with the rest of it, and—

“Do not!”

The command rocked her back into her chair; it took the breath from her lungs. She gasped for air—and bent forward, her face hidden against her knees as the tears flowed, hot and shameful.

“I was afraid,” she managed, her voice shaking. “Oh, Father, I am such a coward!”

—•—

The customs ship had released its camera drones—three—and continued its own inspection until they returned, having recorded the
Passage
by thirds.

“Transmission,” said Pilot Jorik. “We’re cleared; report sent to Langlast portmaster; copy to us under cover of this communication.”

Jorik looked to Priscilla, who had remained on the bridge during these events.

“States there will be a recheck.”

Dil Nem gave an unLiaden snort.

“Do they expect us to receive contraband in orbit?”

“It might happen,” Priscilla said. “Though I wonder how we would conceal the pods.”

“Heard there’s a field,” Jorik said. “Pirates—serious pirates—use it. Disrupts scan and visual. Any new pods we took on would be invisible, close enough.”

“Thus, the cameras, and the magnetometers,” said Dil Nem, with a sigh. “Well, perhaps that is reason enough for such prudence. How common are these devices?”

Jorik shrugged.

“Wouldn’t think they were as common as all that. Don’t know that I actually believe the thing even exists. Wouldn’t have to be a pirate to want one, either. Plenty of small shippers and grey-traders would welcome a way to dodge a little bit o’excise.”

“Well,” Priscilla said, coming out of the captain’s chair and stretching tight muscles. “Leave a note for the next team, to expect the customs boat at intervals, to log it and record their procedure, with a copy to my screen.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jorik said. “Done.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in my office, if there’s need.”

—•—

“So I danced it all into a stone closet, at the very heart of myself,” she said, her voice dull.

Most of the tale had poured forth, as ungoverned as her weeping. That passion was spent now. She was exhausted, poor child, and the headache was back, which was worrisome for more than the usual reasons. He’d blocked the damn thing three times now, and he was not the most unskilled Healer the Hall had ever trained. Yet here it was again, edgier and angrier than before.

And he…

He had to be very careful, indeed, here.

Gently, he extended a line of comfort to the shame-filled child beside him, and, gently, spoke her name.

“Padi.”

“Father…forgive me.”

“For being afraid? I forgive you freely! In the interest of Balance, I will, of course, ask that you forgive me for being afraid. In fact, I believe we had best do the thing properly, if we’re to do it at all, and forgive the delm for being afraid, Aunt Nova, and Cousin Kareen. Pat Rin was certainly afraid, he confessed as much to me. To my observation, Luken is not a fool, therefore, he must also have been afraid.”

Padi had raised her head and was watching him from eyes squinted half-shut with pain.

“Aunt Anthora?” she asked. “Never tell me she was afraid!”

“I must do so, however. She was very nearly caught and killed, you know, by a device created specifically to entrap and harm those of the
dramliz
. The next time you are home, ask her for the round tale.”

He crossed his legs, looking out over the darkening landscape.

“Let us see, who else must we add to our list—why, you as much as told me that Quin was afraid! I expect we shall have to forgive him—and also Priscilla, and Uncle Ren Zel…”

“Uncle Val Con?” Padi asked suddenly. “You said…the delm…”

Shan sighed, and extended a careful hand to cover hers where it was fisted on her knee.

“I wager that Uncle Val Con was more afraid even than I was, and I do not mind telling you, speaking as we are, among kin, that I was terrified.”

She swallowed, hard.

“Also,” she whispered, “I lied to you.”

“Yes, you did.” He squeezed her hand gently. “It grieves me, that you felt you must. I am desolate, that I must have given you the impression that I would refuse to assist you with the arrival of your gift. However, surely Priscilla is everything that is discreet and trustworthy—might you not have gone to her?”

“No!” She took a breath and managed, somewhat, to moderate herself.

“No, you never—Father, you never—but we were at the Rock, and there were enemies, and
I didn’t need
it. I needed—I needed to be strong, and not afraid, and not distracted, and—I locked it away, with the fear.”

He nodded seriously.

“I quite see that. You stood, after all, in the front line of defense. You needed your wits about you.

“But once you had been retrieved from the Rock, and enclosed by the clan’s protections—couldn’t you have spoken then?”

Padi shook her head.

“It was…gone. If I thought about it at all, which I cannot say that I did, then I would have recalled that the fear and…and my…talent, were tied together.” Another breath, followed by a whisper.

“And I didn’t want to be known for a coward, Father. A pilot of Korval is not a coward.”

Her face was averted. He squeezed her hand again, and released it, settling carefully back into his chair.

“That supposition is worthy of further study,” he said. “I will look out the Diaries references for you. In the meantime, my child, I suggest that we take a small break to shower and refresh ourselves, and meet back here in an hour. Does that align with your schedule?”

Padi smiled faintly, but with good intent.

“Yes, Father.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Admiral Bunter

“Tolly, I have a question.”

Caught in the act of making a cup of tea, he glanced toward the galley’s ceiling,

“I’ve got a pallet load of questions my own self,” he said conversationally. “Life’s a questionable affair, no denying.”

There was a pause. He finished the transfer from pot to mug, whistling lightly.

“I wish to ask my question of you,”
Admiral Bunter
said, sounding a little…surprised. “May I do so?”

“Well, now, there’s a conundrum,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “Did the two of us ever talk about
melant’i
?”

“We talked about role models and chains of command. I have access to anthropology texts. Compare and contrast indicates that
melant’i
is a Liaden cultural artifact comparable to chain of command, entwined with individual honor.”

“Hmm.”

He had a sip of tea.

“That’s a good first approximation,” he said eventually. “I do remember we talked about approximations, and how dangerous it is to make assumptions, cross-culture.
Melant’i
, now—chain of command…”

He shrugged, frowning down at the floor for a second, before he looked back up to the ceiling.

“You could start thinking about
melant’i
that way, so long’s you remember that the chain, and command, too, can be the same individual. Also, one person’s
melant’i
can interact with another person’s
melant’i
—has to, in fact. Then, there’s group
melant’i
. And, like you said, it’s all tied up in honor—by which I mean
right action
—personal, and group, and also,
melant’i
itself has honor that can be tarnished, or even broken, by wrong action.”

Another pause. Tolly sipped tea.

“This does not appear to be a very useful concept,”
Admiral Bunter
said. “It is too broad, and it lacks ease of use.”

“No, now, that’s where you’re wrong.
Melant’i
’s one of the most useful tools in the whole toolbox, once you get the hang of it. Most Terrans don’t bother…well, they’re of your mind, is all it is: too confusing, hard to apply, why make simple things complex? I can see their point, but here’s what I like about
melant’i
, personally.”

He paused to sip his tea, then looked up to smile at the ceiling.

“What I like about
melant’i
, particularly, is how easy it makes sorting out complex situations. Me, for instance—I’ve got a complex
melant’i
, just like everybody does. I’m a manufactured human—a thing that’s not supposed to exist, by law, just like your AIs. ’Case you’re interested, the law I’m a violation of is the Free Gene and Manumitted Human Act.

“So,
melant’i
-wise, I’m an outlawed
thing
; a specialist in the field of the training and socialization of autonomous, sentient, self-aware intelligences; an autonomous individual person; an industrial spy; an assassin; a person who has been a prisoner and forced to do…that which he did not agree to; and a person who has escaped his imprisonment…several times.”

He sipped again, turned to refresh the mug from the pot, and came back into his lean, looking casually up at the ceiling.

“Now, regarding the current situation and the asking of questions…part of my
melant’i
lately has been mentor to
Admiral Bunter
. In that capacity, I’m pleased to answer your questions. But
right now
, my
melant’i
is prisoner being conveyed against my will, and though you’ve been my student,
your
melant’i
right now
is as my jailor.

“So, what we need to figure out is…from what
melant’i
may I
most rightly act
in the case? As a prisoner, I’ve got no obligation to answer my jailor’s questions. O’course, my jailor can try to compel me to answer questions, but I’ll just let you know here that I’ve had a lot of practice being stubborn and compelling can get a little sketchy, unless you’ve got a natural aptitude.

“I could choose to ignore our present relative
melant’is
in favor of our past relative
melant’is
of student and teacher. Might do that for any one of a number of reasons—whim, fondness, an expectation that calling to mind a previous, more pleasant, relationship might play to my advantage, that kind of thing.”

He sipped tea, and turned to set the mug on the counter.

“It’s a tough one to call, I’ll give you that. What d’you think? Am I your mentor, or am I your prisoner?”

There was scarcely a pause between question and answer.

“Can you not be both?” the
Admiral
asked, sounding…impatient.

Tolly tipped his head to the right, like he was giving the question some thought, then
tsk
’d.

“That’s an interesting suggestion, and there are situations where a single person can act from two closely aligned
melant’is
, but y’know? I don’t think this is one of them.”

Admiral Bunter
was silent.

Tolly let the silence stretch a bit—and then a bit longer, before he sighed, and pushed away from the counter.

“Well, the best I can figure it, taking all the factors into account, is
prisoner being transported
is the most compelling of my various
melant’is
right at present, since it could very easily result in my death. That being so, I’m under no obligation to answer my jailor’s questions.”

“How will I learn?” the
Admiral
asked plaintively.

Tolly eased away from his lean against the counter, picked up his mug and walked out of the galley.

—•—

Padi returned to the suite’s common room, showered, refreshed, and a bit somber. She had placed her trading clothes into the press, to be cleaned and made ready for the morrow, and had put on soft pants and a sweater.

Father was before her in the common room. He had showered, too; his hair was still damp and star-bright in contrast to his black sweater.

“I spoke to Priscilla,” he said, as she returned to her chair by the window. “She extends her congratulations to you, the host of a most promising crush, and hopes that this is the first of many such successful events.”

Padi smiled. Priscilla never spoke in such rolling flourishes as Father inevitably gave to her messages. Very likely, she had actually said something on the order of, “Please tell Padi that I’m happy for her success,” which Father, of course, would find a bit thin.

“It’s very kind of her,” she said. “Though at present I find myself being pleased that the first has been accomplished, rather than anticipating a second.”

“Perfectly natural,” Father said solemnly. “Tomorrow is soon enough to begin planning your next conquest.” He paused.

“I took the liberty of refreshing your glass. I propose to get over the ground that remains between us as lightly and as quickly as possible, my child. I hope we shall come to a mutually favorable agreement, and a plan for forward progress.”

The proposition appealed, Padi thought, especially the
quickly
part. She took up her glass for a sip of wine, and sighed.

She was…not tired…not
exactly
tired. It was as though the storm of emotion she had succumbed to in the last hour had…washed everything out of her head, including the headache. The result was a peculiar sort of emptiness. She had wondered, in the shower, if Father had something to do with this sensation of being
drained dry
. A Healer was supposed to ask permission before undertaking a Healing, though she supposed that, just as there were certain piloting procedures that were always to be followed, but sometimes weren’t, that, sometimes, Healers
didn’t
ask before undertaking a Healing.

Besides, if one wished to be technical, he
had
asked if he might help with her headache at the Happy Occasion.

Father tasted his wine, and put the glass aside. His face was very serious, and when he spoke, it was without any of his usual embroidery. Indeed, he seemed very nearly as plainspoken as Priscilla.

“I must explain some few matters to you, before we plan together how best to go on. I will do this as succinctly as possible. If there is a point upon which you are unclear, you will please ask me to elaborate. You must be fully informed in this, am I plain?”

“Yes, Father.”

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they shone like true silver.

“The first thing you must know is that you cannot resist your nature. You may choose to reside in ignorance, or you may choose to prepare yourself. Those are the choices that are open to you.
Only
those. The obstinate and debilitating headache, the sudden apprehension of the emotions of some of those around you—those are very clear indications that your gift is ready to unfold. Short of death, you cannot deny that unfolding. It is inevitable. I am not simply telling you this because I wish my heir to be a Healer. I am telling you this—as your parent, as your master trader, and as your elder in the craft—because it is true. You can no more choose not to be of the
dramliz
than you can choose to be a Clutch Turtle. Do you understand me?”

Padi took a deep breath—and nodded.

“Yes, Father,” she said humbly.

He smiled slightly.

“I know that you never wished to be anything but a pilot and a trader of Korval. However it unfolds, this new gift does not
diminish
you in any way. You will merely acquire,
in addition
to your skills as a pilot and as a trader, another useful set of abilities. Yes, you will need to accommodate a new
melant’i
and duties, but you are older than six. Nor do you lack for elders to consult with should a particularly knotty issue arise.”

He paused to sip wine.

Padi also had recourse to her glass, feeling relief. It was, of course, why one was so
very
fond of Father. He could easily—and with perfect justice—have added just there, “if there is any elder whom you trust.” He had not done, however, and by omitting that caveat, he told her that her
melant’i
was not in question, nor her good sense, and one wished, very much, to be worthy of his faith.

“Thus far,” Father murmured, “have you a question, or a concern?”

“No, sir. You propose that I accept this additional
melant’i
and the duties which attend it, as I accept my
melant’i
and duties as pilot and trader.”

“It seems a very simple thing, phrased thus,” he commented. “Merely a continuation of what we already do, every hour of every day.”

Padi sipped her wine, lowered the glass.

“Yes,” she said. “I have a question—and perhaps also a concern.”

Father inclined his head.

“Ask.”

“The headache—it’s gone now.”

“The headache is
blocked
now,” Father said. “My fourth attempt, if you will have it. Your nature is…extremely determined.” He smiled slightly. “This ought to surprise no one.”

She put the glass down, and turned somewhat in her chair, so that she could see him more clearly.

“What will happen,” she asked, panic nipping at her stomach, “when the gift unfolds fully? Will I have a headache? Will I be able to hear all the emotions around me, all at once? I will—I will tell you that I seem able to make things around me…levitate. Will I
hurt people
? Other Healers?”

He held up his hand.

“These are the questions that we cannot answer. We might have made a better guess, save that you have subverted your gift into this—stone sarcophagus. Even lacking such an unusual construct, the onset of a
dramliza
’s gift is…often sudden and surprising. Sometimes, it is violent.

“When my gift came upon me, one of the kitchen staff had just cut himself rather badly; we screamed at the same instant. The difference between us was that he was quickly taken into care, had his wound tended and stopped screaming.

“I, who had no idea what had happened, except that something had
hurt me
without touching me or leaving a mark—I kept on screaming.”

Padi swallowed.

“I can scarcely be seen to cry out on the trade floor,” she said, biting her lip. “Can we not…forestall it?”

“I believe that we can do exactly that. However, it is for you to choose.” He held up his hand, fingers against palm, and only the thumb showing.

“Choices,” he said. “We can immediately send you back up to the ship, and place you under Lina’s care. She will guide you in the birth of your gift.”

“But I will miss the port tour!” Padi cried, and bit her lip in earnest. “Forgive me. I hadn’t meant to interrupt.”

Father nodded.

“We were speaking of choices, of which there are two,” he said, and again showed her his thumb.

“The first choice—return to the ship.”

He extended his index finger.

“The second choice—riskier, but not, I think, outrageously so. We shall forestall the onset of your talent for only a few days more. In order to do this, I must link to you. The link will allow me to shield you from the random emotions of others, and it will allow me to smooth out the growing pressure of your gift. We deny nothing, and if it should seem to me, as the Healer who has you in care, that this approach is doing harm, or that your talent will no longer be forestalled, then we will cut the tour short and revert to the first choice.”

He smiled reassuringly.

“I believe that we will be able to complete the tour and deliver you to Lina in good order.”

“You said—riskier,” Padi said, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “What risk?”

Father looked wry.

“If your gift should blossom—explosively—there is a danger that I will be caught in the explosion, rather than being able to remain apart, and guide you. I consider this possibility to be small. I am not a novice, and I have some backup available to me, should it be needed.” He smiled faintly.

“I believe we have a fair chance of pulling this off in something approaching good order, if you are game to try.”

“I am,” she said fiercely, thinking of the port tour, and trying to gauge the strength of the walls she had built. She took a breath, then, another question occurring.