Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (5 page)

“Disrepectful—no. Perhaps a little disdainful, at first—but that is not unusual for one coming to the Small Dance after having partaken of
menfri’at
. I had the impression, when she entered the room, that she had not expected to find so many co-students. Definitely, she was…displeased to find Jon among us. She kept her temper, however, and after an initial misunderstanding regarding the timing of our dance, she comported herself well.”

She reached for her glass and sipped again, frowning.

“I noted that it was very difficult for her to move in proper rhythm. She wanted speed;
her body
wanted speed. To move so slowly was, not merely a novelty, but physically stressful.”

Shan swirled the wine in his glass; looked up to meet her eyes.

“She is a pilot, with a pilot’s reactions; newly come from an…intense course of specialized training.”

Lina nodded. “From which spring Jon’s concerns: that the specialized training had been too intense, and had unbalanced her judgment. His hope is that the Small Dance will assist her in reasserting her balance, as he and I have seen it do for other dancers.”

She paused, and Shan considered her carefully.

“You have reason to believe that this therapy will not be of benefit to Padi?”

Here
was the crux; he felt the heat of her frustration even as she blew out her breath.

“Padi…is—oh, bah! I will say it, and it will sound like idiocy, but perhaps we two may then parse it into sense. Padi, old friend,
does not relax
.”

Shan laughed.

“Korval as a clan is driven to succeed. Surely that hasn’t escaped your attention? Padi is very much a child of Korval. Worse, she is one of Korval who has been forcibly diverted from her life-path and her plans. She is running hard to catch herself back up.”

He stopped here because Lina was shaking her head.

“It is…something more than that. Something
other
than that. You have studied the Small Dance; what is its purpose, aside from focusing intent?”

He
had
studied
daibri’at
, when he had been Trader yos’Galan and scarcely older than Padi was now. Its principles and purposes had long ago entered his general repertory of skills. Trying to isolate its purpose, rather than seeing it as a part of the tapestry…

“Options,” he said. “
Daibri’at
defuses reflexive action, and opens the mind to possibility.”

“Yes. It is, at its heart, a tool to relax and to expand the awareness.” Lina drew a hard breath. “Padi does not relax. She is
always
on high energy. Even at the end of our practice, when we sit together and breathe…I saw her”—a sharp headshake, as if Lina was out of patience with her inability to find the perfectly correct words—“I saw her divert the energy, rather than accepting its benefits.”

Shan frowned.

“Divert it…where?”

She gave him a wry look.

“That, I did
not
see. However, I may make a guess. As she rose to leave, I noticed the suggestion of stone in her aura, as of walls within.”

Shan blinked.

“You think Padi is hiding something, and is diverting energy from everything she does in order to keep a…secret…behind walls?”

“Yes! I knew you would shape it sensibly!”

Well, he might have done so, but the feat gave him no joy; not when the next question was, naturally,
Hiding what?
closely followed by
Why hadn’t he noticed?

But, no; he
had
noticed. The children—
all
of the children, save perhaps the infant twins—had returned from Runig’s Rock…changed. The nature of the training—the very
reason
for their presence at the Rock—who would not be changed by such things? And he had noticed, not walls, but a reserve, certainly. Priscilla had also noticed…and Anthora. Between them, they had made the decision to give the children time to heal themselves—if Healing was indeed required—while their elders kept watch. It was a conservative course; self-healing was in almost all cases to be preferred.

“I had noticed a certain…reserve,” he said carefully, not wishing to lie to Lina, and equally unwilling to burden her with Korval secrets. “I would not have said a
wall
.”

Lina nodded. “It is well hidden. I think I would have not seen it, but that I had just danced, and was thus open to all input. Which leads me, old friend, to the last of the problems I have to place before you today.”

He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head.

She smiled.

“It comes to me that Padi is a halfling.”

He raised his hand.

“You will say that she is ripe to come into her powers. I ask her, as often as I might without becoming entirely tedious, you understand—and she denies the classic symptoms of onset. I also scan, of course, but I’ve found nothing to indicate a budding Healer.”

“I venture to predict that Padi will come
dramliza
,” Lina said.

“Based on this glimpse of stone?”

“And the fact that it is so very well hidden, yes.” She seemed about to say more, but at the last moment changed her mind.

Shan, however, knew what she might say—that a
dramliza
coming into her power was a far different—a far
more dangerous
thing—than a Healer coming into hers. Such a coming of age might even endanger the
Passage
.

“I will speak with Priscilla. Will you be available to assist, should we decide it best to force the issue?”

“Certainly. One dislikes such methods, as I know you do, but the ship…”

Indeed, the ship.

Lina rose and bowed as between equals, which put a fine point on the discussion they had just completed: Healers discussing the proper concerns of Healers.

He rose and returned the bow, then walked her to the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dutiful Passage

They would break out into regular space within the next ship half-day, and begin Andiree approach, the
Passage
sending information packets and news ahead.

She would be on the trade bridge with Father, trading catalogs, questions, offers, invitations, news packets. The catalogs would be her priority; Father would answer queries, and review the catalog entries that she marked for his interest, if any.

Depending on the planet, and the number of traders on-planet seeking an early and advantageous connection, the double shift on the trade bridge might be either exhausting or boring. It would, in any case,
be
a double shift, and she ought, really, to be sleeping now rather than studying.

Padi sighed and rubbed her eyes. She’d been diverting two hours of her sleep shift to study since the
Passage
had departed Surebleak, having long ago found that she didn’t need much sleep—not really.

Not when there was so much work to do…

Not when there was so much
catching up
to do.

Father had said she would be running double time, in effect, taking two lines of training simultaneously: cabin boy and ’prentice trader. He’d told her, quite seriously, that even with the double-track training, she would very probably not meet her goal of achieving her trader’s license on her eighteenth Name Day. He had been quite kind, and laid the fault where it belonged, on the attentions of the
stupid
Department of the Interior, which had taken Korval so very much in dislike, and had therefore interrupted
everyone’s
proper life-course, and not on any deficiency she had displayed. He had said, too, that it was no shame to stand a full trader on one’s nineteenth Name Day, which goal he was confident she could meet.

She had chosen to, well…not
discount
his words, no. She had merely chosen to see them as a
challenge
. After all, it wasn’t as if she had come to the
Passage
with no training at all. She had served two trips as cabin boy on
Pale Wing
, one of Korval’s first-tier tradeships, and would have transferred to the
Passage
herself for the next long circuit, save that Plan B had been brought into effect at the most inconvenient moment conceivable, sending her, Quin, Syl Vor, the twins, Grandfather Luken, and Cousin Kareen scurrying to hide in Runig’s Rock.

There they had taken lessons of a very different order, in addition to their usual school fare, and accelerated piloting study—disappointingly, on the sims—while they had waited for word that Korval’s enemy had been vanquished.

In truth, their sojourn in the Rock had not been so ill as it might have been, given close daily proximity to Cousin Kareen, who was a stickler of the
first
water. Quin had minded it, of course, in addition to being all a-twitter over Cousin Pat Rin, when, if he had only taken a moment to consider—but there. Quin was made of nerves.
She
had known there was no reason to worry, though she did allow that she might have felt differently, had it been
her
father who had failed to report in, not once or twice, but
at all
…

In any case, eventually, they were called home. Or, not precisely
home
, but to Surebleak, a planet of which
no one
had ever heard, nor was that circumstance anything to wonder at, once one actually saw the place.

It had all been rather bewildering—indeed, it was still…unsettling…to recall that
Surebleak
was now the home port of
Dutiful Passage
, and the seat of Clan Korval.

Father and the delms—including Uncle Val Con, who had been away for so very long with the Scouts, now joyously returned to the clan, and bringing to Korval a completely unexpected lifemate, who was forthwith revealed to be a Tiazan of Erob, so
that
was all right…

Father and Priscilla, the delms, and Cousin Pat Rin—all of them had been there, around Liad, when it had happened.
All
of them had taken a hand in the event.

And they had explained, very carefully and very thoroughly, exactly what
had
happened; why, and what the stakes had been, not only for Korval, but for all of Liad; and why they dared not fail nor take half measures.

Padi understood the situation perfectly, though the Council of Clans had not, which had led to Korval’s removal to Surebleak in the Daiellen Sector.

Father had explained, privately, to her and to Syl Vor, why Trealla Fantrol—yos’Galan’s own house—had to be razed, which had made her
angry
. Then she found that Jeeves had brought all of her things and had arranged her new suite, in Jelaza Kazone—Korval’s first, and most ancient, house—exactly as it had been in her own, lost rooms, and perhaps she had, just a little, cried…

Well. One could have accommodated even
so much
change, in the service of destroying this Department of the Interior, so that it would do no more harm, to Korval, or to anyone else.

But, as it transpired, the Department had
not
been destroyed, it had merely been wounded, though badly.

Indeed, the Department had been so grievously wounded that anyone might have thought they would withdraw from the field. Father told her that this had been expected.

Only…the Department had not withdrawn. They had, unexpectedly, and perhaps unwisely, after the most modest of pauses to rest and recruit themselves,
increased
hostilities.

And
that
was why they—herself and the other youngers, and Grandfather and Cousin Kareen—had been removed from the clan’s safe place at Runig’s Rock.

Not
because their enemy had been utterly vanquished, and their name ground into the dust, but because there was no certainty that the Rock would not come under attack in the mad increase of hostility.

One might have supposed from this that the delm intended them to sit quietly under guard at Surebleak, but no,
that
had not been the plan, at all. Korval needed to establish itself upon its new homeworld: there were trade routes—trade routes advantageous to ships based upon Surebleak—to be built, alliances to be redeemed and lives to be lived.

“Korval,” had said Uncle Val Con, in his
melant’i
as delm…” Korval is ill-suited to the role of mouse. We began as dragons, and as dragons we shall go on.” Here, he had sent a stern look to
Father
and added,
quite
unfairly, “
careful
dragons.”

Careful
dragons meant that the
Passage
herself would not take port at any of the worlds they called upon, but would rather remain in orbit, while crew was given leave, or went about the ship’s portside business in groups of no less than three.

Which was a circumstance, Padi thought, stifling a yawn, not entirely convenient for one who would learn to trade, and for whom a solitary ramble around port might reveal treasures untold—or, at least, unanticipated wares which might be turned to profit.

Behold, for instance, Andiree. She was already scheduled to go down in Father’s group, and while she was not fool enough to think that a ’prentice had nothing to learn from a master trader, her own attempts at trade could not but be influenced by his presence. He might hold himself back, but folk would see the big amethyst ring of a master trader, and they would
bargain
with him, no matter they
spoke to
the ’prentice.

It was a vexing situation, and one that she had been considering since the schedule had arrived in her duty queue. She could hardly refuse the assignment—she
didn’t want
to refuse the assignment! It was far more than an honor to watch Father at work! And he was going to be concentrating on artworks! Merely she wished to be certain it was
her skill
that carried
her trade
, rather than Father’s ring. She had great hope for the
milaster
scheme—perhaps too much hope. The transaction had somehow acquired a weight in her mind, as if turning the
milaster
around at a handy profit would define her fitness for trade.

Ridiculous.

Well.

She sighed again.

Father was a Healer, after all. Perhaps he could simply suggest to the breeze that he was a sack of potatoes, and thus be safely ignored.

Her screen beeped, reminding her that she had been staring at the same page of text for twelve minutes—and without, she thought irritably, having read a word of it. She might as well have gone to bed, if she was going to waste her study time in dreams and regrets.

Irritably, she closed the text, promising herself that she would catch up her deficiency by studying tomorrow over breakfast…well, no. She needed to review the tolerance tables over breakfast, so she would be ready for her shift with Cargo Master ira’Barti. Over lunch—but no. She would be on the trade bridge by then; Father had promised a cold tray at the console, and a
large
bottle of tea…

Oh, she would
find
time! Perhaps she would be less distracted next-shift, and be able to borrow another,
productive
hour from her sleep schedule.

For now, though, she’d best go to bed.

—•—

“Hey, Haz?”

The voice was familiar, even welcome, but entirely out of place. Even so near a comrade as Tolly had become, he had no place by her berth. Indeed, should the Elder find him…

“C’mon, Haz, rise and shine!”

Blades and blood! If he kept up in such a manner, he would see himself dead before this day was out, and by her hand, before she obeyed the order to turn the weapon upon herself.

She extended an arm, meaning to snatch and stifle him—

“Ouf!”

Her elbow smacked into a barrier; her hand smacked her nose hard enough bring tears.

“Yeah, sorry ’bout that. We had to fold you up some to get you into the ’doc. Gonna take some unkinking to get you out.” There was a pause.

“Be a lot easier if you’d open your eyes and get with the program. The pilot’s gonna be needing me back at the board for breakout. An’ you don’t wanna be stuck in there, now you’re awake. You’re awake, aren’t you, Haz? ’Cause, if not, maybe I should wait to thank you for saving my life.”

Recent memory came boiling back then. Tolly, the whistle, the woman striking him with the butt of her gun, opening a gash on his face. The kick of her weapon against her palm as she neutralized the threat to her partner.

She opened her eyes.

Tolly’s face was above hers: tan skin, freckles, even features that she had come to understand soothed Terrans and Liadens alike. His hair was an undistinguished yellow, and his eyes were blue, neither particularly dark, or noticeably pale. At the moment, they were squinted slightly, as if he were looking into a bright light, or straining to see something clearly at a distance.

“You are yourself again?” she demanded. “You were not late for your ship?”

But he had said something just now, had he not, about breakout and the pilot wanting him at his board?

“I’m myself again
and
I made my ship, all because of you,” he said, giving her a grin. “C’mon, now, let’s get you up on your feet.”

* * *

Some while later, unkinked, on her feet, and in the galley, second handwich half-eaten, Haz considered what Tolly had told her.

Wounded and in danger of her life, she had been brought aboard the ship that had contracted his services, and placed in the autodoc. The pilot’s mission was of some urgency; Tocohl was reluctant to put her lift back, and also reluctant, so Tolly had it, to endanger one in the service of Clan Korval. Pilot Tocohl had, therefore, contacted Captain Robertson herself, and obtained her permission for Hazenthull’s attachment to the mission.

“How is it that the captain gave her permission so easily?” Hazenthull asked.

Tolly was leaning against the counter, a mug in one hand, from which he occasionally sipped tea. “Pilot Tocohl’s known to Korval,” Tolly said. “One of the first things the pilot said to me, once we got you situated, was that this ship doesn’t count Korval as trouble.”

Hazenthull thought about that, around another bite of handwich.

“I will make myself known to Pilot Tocohl,” she said eventually. “She is not among the lists of allies which I was given to learn. Also, I should report in. Commander Lizardi—”

But, given Tolly’s recital of events, Commander Lizardi had likely struck Hazenthull nor’Phelium from the lists of Port Security several Surebleak days ago.

“Captain Robertson being aware of your situation—and ours—it wouldn’t surprise me if she right away called Commander Liz and explained your leaving so sudden.”

The captain, of course, understood chain of command, Hazenthull thought, finishing the handwich and reaching for the mug of plain water. It had surely been done as Tolly said, and already someone else walking her beat…beside a partner who was not Tolly Jones.

She finished the water, stood, and placed the mug into the washer, waiting a moment while Tolly dealt similarly with his mug.

“I will,” she said again, “make myself known to Pilot Tocohl.”

“Sure thing,” Tolly said. “You stay right here; I’ll send her in.”

—•—

“It might be,” Priscilla said, sipping her wine, “that Padi’s being prudent. Runig’s Rock generated a great many secrets. She might well have locked them behind walls.”

They were in their private quarters, and at their ease, having ruthlessly rearranged schedules to gain two shifts together—saving an emergency call upon the captain, naturally. There was also the possibility of an emergency call upon the master trader, but that was not nearly so likely. At least, not until they came out of Jump.

“I spoke to Lina,” Priscilla continued. She was reclining on the lounge, her long, slim shape draped in a starry blue robe that bared her breasts—a fashion from her homeworld, where Priscilla had been the initiate of a goddess. In comparison, Shan’s robe of deep red ’broidered with yellow flowers, and belted at his waist, was the merest commonplace. He sat on the rug beside the lounge, looking up into her face, and her eyes, like black diamonds beneath arching black brows.