Conflict Of Honors Page 19

  "Of course," the old gentleman murmured. "May I walk with your Lordship?"

  There was no escape. Shan inclined his head. "Certainly, sir." He began to move, sternly suppressing a desire to continue at his usual long stride.

  "I am certain," Mr. dea'Gauss said, "that your Lordship will inform Lady Mendoza of the action I have taken. Also, it is necessary to ascertain whether she has notified her House of the fact that it is partnered with Korval in a venture of honor. I retain the impression that upon Sintia, Mendoza is a House of power, enclosing a varied melant'i. It would be wise to establish amicable relations." He paused, and Shan nodded absently. Matching the old gentleman's pace had kept him from reaching the bridge before Jump; the Jump alert sounded peacefully.

  They rounded a corner, entering the long hallway that led to the bridge. Mr. dea'Gauss cleared his throat as the tingle of pretransition raced though the ship.

  "Your Lordship has done quite well in the initial moves. The warnings will cost Trader Olanek much in time, in flexibility, in money. Of course, in this, as in chess, which I believe your Lordship studies, it is important for us to cast our minds ahead, considering the possible countermove open to our opponent."

  The Jump-quiver came. From nowhere, from everywhere—the shriek of a siren. Above Shan's head, a lightplate snapped from yellow to red—and Shan himself was suddenly gone, running flat out toward the bridge.

  * * *

  The digits in the corner of the screen told their final tally and faded as the break-Jump chime rang across the bridge. Priscilla extended a hand toward the board.

  COLLISION COURSE the red letters screamed. Abruptly her hands were flashing over the keys, calling up defense screens, demanding data as her eyes scanned the instruments, assessing what it was, how big, how fast and—

  HOSTILE ACTION

  Second screens up, Jump alert, coords locked back in, coils— Hurry up, coils! She saw it now, the screen providing maximum amplification: a tiny ship, bristling guns, in position for a second run-by. Coils . . . coils—up!

  Her hand was at the Jump control, eyes on the distance dial. There was enough room—just. Now. . .

  "Well done, Priscilla." A big hand closed around her wrist, pulling her away from the switch even as he slammed into the copilot's chair and rammed his card into the slot. "Series A29, shunt 42—second screens up? Of course . . . ."

  Priscilla's fingers flew in obedience, assigning control to him; she heard him snap an order to Rusty for a visual and another to someone unknown, regarding Turret 7.

  "Hurry up, please, Rusty."

  "Got 'em, Cap'n—your screen."

  The image filled both their screens: the bridge of the other vessel, smaller than the Passage by several magnitudes. A man was at the board. From off-screen, a woman's voice, initially inaudible, was becoming rapidly clear: ". . .tell Jury to start her run?"

  "You will observe," the captain said from Priscilla's side, "the position of the gun turret on our off side."

  The pilot of the other ship looked up in shock, made lightning adjustments to his unseen board, and swore. "Tell Jury to hang where she is!" he snapped over his shoulder.

  "A wise choice," the captain said gently. "I hate to belabor the point, but I believe we now have five turrets trained on your vessel. Do correct me if I'm wrong."

  The man took a deep breath. "You're right." He glanced behind him as another man came into the screen, a man older than the pilot, hard-faced and calm.

  "What goes, Klaus?"

  Wordlessly, the pilot pointed at something out of the range of the watchers on the Passage. The boss considered for a moment before turning back to the screen and inclining his head.

  "Nothing personal, Captain. A contract."

  "A contract," Shan repeated. "With whom?"

  The boss grinned and shook his head "Confidential. But I'll tell you this: he wanted you out of the race real bad."

  "Did he? I hope you got your money in cash and up front, sir. No?" He shook his head at the look of sudden dismay on the mercenary captain's face. "That was careless of you. I suppose you're sure that you have the right ship?"

  "He gave me your break-in pattern, a time frame for arrival, approximate mass—real approximate."

  "But he gave you no name? And you didn't ask—no, why should you? This is the Dutiful Passage, sir. Clan Korval. Tree and Dragon Family. Stop me when you hear something familiar."

  "I Dare." The voice of the unseen woman was breathless with awe.

  "A student of heraldry? Exactly. 'I Dare.'"

  The other captain seemed uncomfortable. His eyes strayed from the screen back to the pilot's unseen instruments, then came back to the screen again. "All right, Captain, what's the deal? You've got weaponry and the mass to back it. You gonna use it?"

  "That depends on you, doesn't it? I suppose you wouldn't be betraying a confidence if I asked if the name of the man you dealt with was Olanek or the ship Daxflan? You needn't say yes, only no."

  There was silence.

  Shan shook his head. "I hope you got at least half of your money in advance, sir. No? Forty percent? Thirty? Twenty-five?" He laughed suddenly at the acute distress on the other man's face. "I'm ashamed of you sir! Didn't your mother tell you never to sign a Liaden's contract? Twenty-five percent down on a job that would mark you all for the rest of your lives? Ask your crew member there if she believes a family with 'I Dare' for a motto would let you rest if you'd completed your mission successfully."

  The mercenary captain shrugged. "There wasn't a contract," he said sheepishly. "It was a gentleman's agreement. But I know where to find him."

  "No doubt you do," Shan said cordially "I should perhaps mention that Daxflan is also capably armed. And the captain is counted a very fair shot."

  The boss bowed his head. "What's the price?"

  "Get out of here," the captain snapped, his voice suddenly hard-edged and cold. "We have your ships recorded and filed. The information is being pin-beamed this moment to the Federated Trade Commission. I advise you to take up a different line of work."

  The boss glanced over his shoulder. "Tell Jury and Sal to scram. We'll do the same, if the captain'll deflect his guns."

  * * *

  The last ship reached its Jump point and blinked out of existence. Priscilla's instruments showed empty space around the Dutiful Passage for several light-minutes in all directions. In the chair beside her, Shan yos'Galan took a deep breath and spoke, voice glacial. "Second Mate."

  There was a slight hesitation before Janice answered from directly behind them.

  "Captain?"

  "You will report to the captain's office immediately before prime. You will bring hard copy of your contract. Dismissed to quarters."

  Priscilla caught her breath at the other woman's shock; she thought for a heartbeat that one of them would cry in protest.

  The second mate cleared her throat. "Yes, Captain." And Priscilla heard her go.

  Relief flooded through her, shocking in its intensity, mixed with outrage, pain, and near-manic glee. She gripped the arms of the chair, seeking serenity, buffeted by emotion. Adrenaline high, she told herself, keeping to the search for the path.

  "Ms. Mendoza."

  She took a breath and found her voice. "Yes, Captain?"

  "On behalf of this ship and of Clan Korval, Ms. Mendoza, all thanks. I could have done no better in your place, given the resources at your command. I only hope I would have done as well." He pulled his card from the slot and tucked it absently into his belt. "There will be a meeting of the crew immediately after prime. I would like to see you in my office following it, please."

  "Of course, Captain." The inner chaos was subsiding somewhat. Daring to turn her head, Priscilla met a pair of quizzical pale eyes even as the feeling hit her again—differently, though as intense—an overwhelming impulse to fling back her head and laugh, to embrace the man beside her . . . .

  Just as she knew she must be lost, she found the pathway. She flew down t
he inner way, found the door, and slammed it hard behind her.

  Beside her, Shan sighed sharply and snapped to his feet, spinning to face the incoming relief pilots. "Your boards," he said curtly.

  Vilobar bowed. "The shift changes, Pilots." Priscilla pushed herself out of the chair, still giddy from too much emotion experienced too quickly. But she found her path blocked by the captain, who was glaring down at Mr. dea'Gauss.

  "Well, sir?" Shan demanded.

  The old gentleman inclined his head. "Shall I draft a message to the First Speaker, your Lordship?"

  "I believe," Shan said icily, "that is the captain's duty. I thank you for your concern."

  Mr. dea'Gauss bowed low. "Forgive my presumption, your Lordship. It is, of course, exactly as you say."

  "I'm pleased to hear it," the captain snapped, and swept by, heading for Communications.

  Priscilla watched him leave; realizing that she was watching, she moved her eyes, cheeks flaming, but found her instinctive step away hindered.

  Mr. dea'Gauss bowed to her, not as deeply as for the captain but with a hand flourish indicating profound respect. Priscilla forced herself to be still, to form the proper Liaden phrase.

  "Mr. dea'Gauss. How may I serve you?"

  "It is I who wish to serve your Ladyship. Will you accept my aid in contacting your family? They should, perhaps, be apprised of what transpires." He looked at her closely. "I ask indulgence, my lady, if the offer offends."

  Priscilla stared at him blankly, then recovered herself and inclined her head. "You are all kindness, sir. I thank you for thought and offer, but no. There is no need to trouble House Mendoza with my affairs."

  Mr. dea'Gauss hesitated fractionally. Then, recent contact with Lord yos'Galan having rendered him wary, he bowed again with no less respect. "As you will, my lady," he murmured. He stepped aside to let her pass.

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 155

  Third Shift

  12.00 Hours

  "No," Gordy answered Lina, "I don't." He took an appallingly large swallow of milk. "I guess I'm just dumb, or way too weak. No matter how hard I try, I just can't hold on. Every day I go to the exercise room, grab on to the bar, and Pallin tries to pry me loose." He sighed. "Does it every time. And he keeps saying I've got to think about my strength being a river, all running down my arm and pooling in the hand that's hanging on, but you know what? That don't—doesn't—make any sense at all! Rivers don't hang on."

  "Indeed they do not," Lina agreed seriously. "But perhaps Pallin only wishes you to understand that strength is a fluid thing. A—a variable."

  Gordy stared at her blankly. "That doesn't make sense either," he decided. "You're either strong or you're not. I'm pretty fast, but Pallin says I've got to learn to hold on before I learn how to hit back or run."

  "Ah," Lina murmured, momentarily stumped. She picked up her teacup and glanced at the third member of the dinner party.

  Priscilla sat with her hands curved around a cup of coffee, her eyes plumbing the dark depths. She had put her dinner aside untasted and had appeared lost in her own thoughts. But now she looked up, giving the boy frowning attention. "I know something that might help," she said softly. "It might sound silly to you, but it works."

  "I'll try anything," Gordy said, thumping his glass on the table for emphasis. "Nothing can be sillier than trying to think about a river making you strong."

  Priscilla smiled faintly and sipped coffee. "To do this," she said slowly, "you should close your eyes and sit up straight, but not stiffly, and take two deep breaths."

  He followed her instructions, shifting to set both feet on the floor and squaring his round shoulders.

  Lina froze, regarding both with Healer's senses. Gordy radiated trust and boy-love, untainted by alarm. And Priscilla. . .

  Gone were the grays and browns of unjoy, the coldness of unbelonging. Priscilla was a flame—a torch—of assurance, compassion. It was as if a door hidden within a dark and joyless cellar had been flung open to the full glory of a sun. Lina watched as Priscilla extended herself and surrounded the child's love and trust, saw her pluck one well-anchored thread of confidence from the glittering array of Gordy's emotions and expertly begin the weaving.

  "Now," she said, and it seemed to Lina that her voice had also taken on depth; a vibrancy that had not been there a heartbeat before. "You're going to become a tree, Gordy. First think of a tree—a strong, vigorous tree at the height of its growth. A tree no wind will bend, no snow will break."

  The boy's brows pulled together. "Like Korval's Tree."

  "Yes," Priscilla agreed, still in that supremely assured voice, "exactly like Korval's Tree. Think of it alive, with its roots sunk deep into the soil, pulling strength from the ground, rain from the sky. Think hard upon this prince of trees. Walk close to it in your thoughts. Lay your hand upon its trunk. Smell the greenness, the strength of it." She paused, watching Gordy's face closely.

  Lina carefully set her cup aside, watching the weaving with amazement. A Master of the Hall of Healers would do exactly what Priscilla was. . .

  The boy's face went from concentration to pleasure. "It's my friend."

  "Your friend," Priscilla reiterated. "Your second self. Walk closer. Lean your back against the trunk. Feel how strong your friend is. Lean closer; let the Tree take you, make you one with it. Feel how strong you are—you and your friend. Your back like a trunk, the strength running in you drawn up from the deep—clean, green, absolutely certain strength. You're so strong . . . ."

  There was a small silence as Gordy sat, face joyful, wrapped in love, taking the image into himself. Lina heard the image strike home then, with a chime so pure that outer ears could not have heard it, and felt it click into place in the next instant. Priscilla withdrew slowly; Lina could see nothing in the fabric of the boy's pattern to indicate the new weaving.

  Beside her, Priscilla extended a hand to sketch a sign in the air before the boy's face.

  "It's time to say good-bye to your friend now, Gordy. Take another shared breath . . . take a step . . . another . . . you may come to visit as often as you like. Your friend will always welcome you."

  She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. "Don't you want dessert, Gordy?" she asked, and her voice was entirely normal.

  The boy's lashes lifted. He grinned. "Pretty good," he said, still grinning. "Do it for me again tomorrow?"

  She lifted her brows. "Me? I didn't do anything, Gordy. You did it. All you have to do is close your eyes and think about your Tree whenever you need to renew your strength." She smiled. "Try it on Pallin tomorrow."

  "Crelm! Won't he be surprised when he can't yank me loose?" Gordy laughed, then glanced at the clock. "Guess I won't have dessert, though. Got to get to the meeting room and make sure everything's okay before the crew gets there. See you later, Lina! Thanks, Priscilla!" He was gone.

  "Will it work?" Lina asked carefully.

  Priscilla smiled. "It usually does. A small spell, but very useful. It's one of the first things an Initiate's taught when she's brought to the Circle for training."

  "Spell?" She was unsure of the word. Inwardly, Priscilla had shielded the flame, not hidden it. Lina wondered if her friend yet understood.

  "That's what it's called at—on Sintia," Priscilla was saying apologetically. "A spell. Other people would call it hypnotism, maybe, or voice tricks and psychology. Whatever the right name is, it does work. The image is so easy and so strong." She smiled again.

  "Is it so important for an—Initiate?—to be strong?" Lina wondered, feeling her way, taking care to keep all incoming paths open in case the other should reach out, Healer to Healer.

  Priscilla sipped coffee and nodded. "Learning to make decisions, learning to use your voice, the power symbols . . . and later, the larger magics that might require the woven concentration of ten or twelve of the Circle. It's very important to be strong."

  Lina tipped her head, groping for the best phrasing. The chime announcing the end
of the prime sliced across her thoughts.

  Priscilla stood and held out a slim hand. "Come to the meeting with me, friend?"

  Lina smiled and slid her hand into her friend's larger one. The inner roads were empty. Priscilla would not approach her that way. "Of course," she murmured, standing. "We should also save a seat for poor Rah Stee. He is always late."

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 155

  Third Shift

  12.30 Hours

  Janice had been stoic.

  Yes, she understood the reason for her dismissal. Negligence of duty was a serious matter. No, she did not think she would accept a position as shuttle pilot on one of Korval's lesser ships, though she appreciated the captain's offer. She had friends on Angelus, fourth planet in the system they had just entered; she thought she would pay them a visit before looking for another job. After a small silence, she offered the opinion that Mendoza was a damn good pilot—ripe for first class.