Heirs to Trouble Read online

  "Indeed, I am almost wishful that the qe'andra might take the point, for there is a limit to the rewards for good service, and none at all, as I have been able to find, to the amount that will be paid in order to preserve one's honor."

  Tom Lei saw it in a flash, then. His grandfather was not merely foolish; he was a bad delm, actively dangerous to his clan and those who rested in his care. Indeed, when had Severt ever cared for those who resided under his hand? Only see Aunt Manza, ceaselessly at labor with neither thanks nor input into the clan's business, her joy broken. Or his own mother, dead by her own choice, rather than endure any more abuse from this delm who was no delm at all! Or–yes!–himself, flung away as useless; his new life broken without a thought to his well-being, when he suddenly came to hold value as a game piece!

  "Well?" said his grandfather, false delm. "Now you have the reasons, and the rewards laid down. What think you, now?"

  He took a breath, meaning to say that his refusal stood, that he would welcome death rather than continue in such a clan, with such a delm.

  . . .and he took another breath, thinking, indeed, of his mother, and his aunt, and all those caught in the supposed care of this man. He thought of the Code, and the section dealing with those things that are owed, by an individual, to one's clan; and those other things, which are owed, by a clan, to its members.

  He looked down into his grandfather's face, and he made answer, gently, in the mode of obedience to the delm.

  "I would see these prisoners, that Severt holds in care for Lord ven'Astra. And I would see Lord ven'Astra, so that I may, indeed, place myself at service in the matter of their proper disposition."

  His grandfather smiled.

  "Excellent! We will tomorrow pay a morning call to his lordship, after which we will together go to the farm–"

  He dared to lift a hand. His grandfather paused, and gestured for him to speak.

  "I wonder if it might not be profitable, for all of us to meet at the place the prisoners are being kept. Lord ven'Astra may have those things which he may wish to convey to those whose lives he holds, in order that they have a clear understanding of their situation. I am an expert in languages."

  His grandfather smiled again.

  "And thus we demonstrate immediately your willingness to assist! Yes! It is well-thought. I shall arrange it!"

  "Thank you," Tom Lei said, and bowed, gods help him, honor to the delm. He straightened.

  "If we are done, sir, I will leave you. The night is fine, and I have not yet had my walk."

  "Ah, the energy of youth!" His grandfather laughed. "When this matter is done, and we have our rewards, we must see you married–yes! To a proper daughter of the High! That will fix us well, indeed!"

  He moved toward his desk, fluttering his fingers.

  "Go, go; have your walk. Only take care that you are sharp for our meeting tomorrow!"

  "Never fear, sir. I shall be as sharp as an Yxtrang's grace blade."

  #

  Lord ven'Astra was to meet them at the place—at Severt's own estate. That suited Tom Lei, who drove the clan's lumbering landau, less than half-listening to his grandfather's instructions regarding his demeanor toward his lordship, and the tenor of his apology.

  "Do not be afraid to be bold–a mercenary's plain speaking will stand you well with him. You saw how it is with him, last evening, I think. He does not care to be gainsaid, but he likes a forthright manner. Only do whatever he asks you–and he will ask something, as a test against your changed opinion!–show yourself able and willing and all may be recovered."

  Yes, certainly, Tom Lei thought, and glanced at the map on the dashboard to see how far yet they had to go.

  At last they arrived. His grandfather had him drive past the house, and his stomach tightened, for he knew then where they were going, and the riddle of how a group of seasoned mercenaries were held was answered.

  Some generations in the past, the delm had traveled to some or another far outworld and there became introduced to the sport of hunting to the hounds. So enamored of this sport had she become that she imported her own pack, and keeper, and every relumma hosted a hunt throughout the neighboring fields.

  The dogs–quite fierce dogs, who bonded to the pack, of which they considered their keeper, but no other human, a member–the dogs required kennels. And the kennel, given the temper of the dogs, was required to mete out stern discouragement of escape.

  Once the dogs were kenneled, a switch was thrown, which electrified every floor, every wall, every surface, save those in the dog pens, proper. An escape from the den room into the main hall, would be rewarded by a jolt of energy sufficient to stop the heart of a being far larger than a hunting dog.

  The dogs were sold off by the delm's successor, but the kennels had endured.

  "Here," his grandfather said from the seat next to him. "Stop here."

  #

  He had scarcely stopped their vehicle, when Tom Lei spied the approach of another. Moments later, Lord ven'Astra emerged from the small car he had driven himself.

  "Severt," said his lordship. "Good morning to you."

  "A delightful morning, indeed, my lord," his grandfather responded.

  The cool eyes came to rest on Tom Lei, who bowed as one who has discovered oneself in error.

  "Your delm tells me that you have undergone a change of ideology, young pen'Chapen. Is it so?"

  "My lord, it is," Tom Lei answered.

  "It gratifies me to hear you say so. Let us by all means survey the prisoners, and you may do a small thing for me, if you will."

  "Certainly, my lord," Tom Lei said calmly.

  #

  There were six mercs in the large den room. The water was running in the drinking pool; and a light on inside the basic sanitation unit that had been installed for the use of the hounds' keeper on the not-infrequent nights when she slept with the pack.

  The six prisoners–Terrans, all–looked well enough, though pale. They wore what appeared to be house robes, which were short in length and sleeve, leaving legs, and wrists, and bare feet on display.

  "Well, if ain't Mister Bully-for-Me and Uncle Me-too," said a voice in Aus-dialect Terran.

  Tom Lei glanced at his two companions. If either one understood the dialect, or the insults to themselves, they chose not to react, which seemed like neither of them.

  Tom Lei felt his heart lift, slightly, and he turned again toward the former den, one hand against the plexglass window and the other at belt height, fingers dancing lightly in merc sign.

  The man who had spoken–his robe so short as to be immodest, and his beard in need of a good trimming–lifted an eyebrow, and braced his feet wide.

  "That one," Lord ven'Astra said, "with the hair of his face almost touching his chest. He is a leader of some sort; the others listen to him. I would have you translate my words to him, young pen'Chapen; exactly my words. Will you do that?"

  "Yes, sir," he said, meeting the Aus' eyes calmly. He winked, and saw the man's other eyebrow rise.

  "Excellent. First, tell him who I am."

  "Yes, sir," he repeated, and spoke in the thickest, most incomprehensible Aus dialect he knew.

  "Do you understand me?"

  "Y'sound just like my old grandpaw."

  "Excellent. The man with the brown hair, beside me, is a lordship. He's instrumental in keeping you here, and if he has his way you'll die, on camera, as a warning to others who'd invade Liad."

  "We had a contract," the Aus said.

  "He chooses to ignore that. He's going to give me words to say to you, now. Remember that they're his words, and reflect only his opinion."

  The Aus nodded, and Tom Lei turned to his lordship.

  "I have explained to him who you are, my lord."

  "Excellent. Now, say this to him, and tell him to tell the others." He took a deep breath, and began to speak, rather too rapidly for a translator.

  "Tell him that their officers no longer seek them; their names have been writ
ten out of the rolls of their companies and their families have been notified of their deaths," said Lord ven'Astra. "Tell them that their only remaining hope of honor is to confess before the Council of Clans that they are captured invaders of Liad, and pay the price named."

  Tom Lei repeated it, as near as he was able, in that thick Aus accent. When he was done, the man before him asked a question.

  "Is he nuts?"

  "Might be," Tom Lei said. "What's important now is that his clan's powerful, and he wants all of you dead, publicly, to demonstrate his power and Liad's might."

  The Aus glanced behind him, where the rest of his comrades stood silent.

  "Two medics, two newbies, and a couple grunts," he said. "Some invasion force."

  "Your lives are precious," Tom Lei said, which was something of a risk, but he would think of something to tell him, if ven'Astra asked to know what he said. "I won't let him harm you."

  "You got point, brother," the Aus said. "I'll tell 'em now, unless there's something more. Any on your side speak Merc pidgin?"

  "I think not."

  "Have to risk it."

  The Aus turned his back and approached the little knot of his comrades.

  Tom Lei turned to Lord ven'Astra.

  "If one may ask, my lord, how do you intend to execute them?"

  ter'Astra was staring into the den, at the prisoners, a look of revulsion plain upon his face.

  "I had expected that the Council of Clans would, eventually, be willing to see the deed done, but I learn only this morning that the Council will not even hear us. Other arrangements are being made, even as we speak. These will know full Balance within the next relumma, and all the galaxy will know what it is to trifle with Liad."

  "Stand where you are, and place your hands on your heads," an authoritative female voice commanded. This was followed by a definite snap, as if of a safety being thumbed off.

  ven'Astra half-turned; the voice told him to stop or accept the consequences, and a form stepped out of the hall behind them.

  She was dressed in the neat business attire of a qe'andra. Her bow was crisp and unafraid. Her weapon was military grade, and held with confidence.

  "I am Fantile dea'Starn," she said, calmly. "In this matter, I represent the planetary council of qe'andra. You will come with me."

  "Where would you take us?" demanded Severt.

  She considered him calmly.

  "I would take you to our council chambers, where you will present evidence. There will of course be Healers present, to ensure that your evidence is presented in good faith."

  "Thank you, madam," said ven'Astra. "You will only need these men here–" He nodded at Severt and Tom Lei. "These poor creatures are, as you see, imprisoned on the property of Clan Severt."

  "Mine, is it!" shouted Severt. He swung out, his hand diving into his pocket.

  Tom Lei lunged, snatched the arm up, brought the wrist sharply against his own forearm, and watched the gun fly from suddenly senseless fingers as he continued moving the arm, up behind the old man's back, heedless of his scream, and stood holding him.

  "My thanks," said Fantile dea'Starn, and looked to her left. "Proctors, please, do your duty."

  Lord ven'Astra lunged then, too late. One of the proctors swung something against his knee, and calmly caught his shoulder and snapped on binders as the afflicted knee buckled.

  Tom Lei relinquished his grandfather to the second proctor, who likewise bound his wrists. He waited with the qe'andra, and the third and fourth proctors while the prisoners were escorted out.

  "Thank you for your information," Fantile dea'Starn said, with a small bow. "The qe'andra, and also Korval, are in your debt."

  She turned toward the den, where six pairs of eyes were watching the proceedings with very evident interest.

  "Please," said Fantile dea'Starn, "tell them who I am and what has transpired. Tell them, too, that Liaison Officer Oshiamo is on his way to them even now from the port. He was delayed in traffic."

  She used her chin to point at the comm on the third proctor's belt.

  "If they wish it, we may call him; I have his code."

  "Yes, ma'am," Tom Lei said, and turned to address the mercs.

  #

  Aunt Manza was Severt now; the qe'andra had quietly overseen the transfer, and duly recorded it. Grandfather was confined to his rooms.

  "When we return to the estate," Severt said, "then he may find occupation that will risk no one."

  "But you, Tom Lei–advise me, what shall I do?"

  They were sitting together in the evening in her office, the same office overlooking the back garden, for, as she said, it was no use to move all of her work to grandfather's old office when she would only have to move it again, when the house was sold and the clan removed entirely to the country house.

  "I ask," he said slowly, "that the delm kill me."

  She blinked.

  "That is hardly the Balance I should have suggested for such a service to your clan."

  He shook his head.

  "Aunt, consider: Lord ven'Astra is High House. There are others of his opinion who know me. Any one of them may decide that my betrayal of his lordship deserves the true death. It is not wise to have a target living among the clan, for sometimes even skilled assassins miss and the innocent are harmed." He gave her a wry half-smile.

  "Notice that I do not dare speculate what terrors Grandfather would attempt to visit upon me!"

  She chuckled, but protested anew.

  "And, yet, for us, your kin, your clan–you have largely done good," she said, and again he shook his head.

  "I presumed to judge the delm, and I found him wanting. I laid a trap and caught him." He leaned forward and touched her arm lightly.

  "I am not safe for you, Aunt. How can either of us know that I will not do the like again?"

  She laughed, and sat a moment, sipping her tea and thinking.

  Finally, she sighed, and put the tea cup aside.

  "You are determined that we mourn your loss, and I find that I must agree." She paused. "Very well, I will do it. But, first, you will tell me how long it will take you to be safely off-planet."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You, who have thought of so much, did you not think of this? If you are correct, and Lord ven'Astra's co-conspirators wish Balance, I will not give them a clanless man as a target. Once you are off-planet, then will Severt publish its sorrow abroad."

  He inclined his head, chastised and pleased. Aunt Manza would be a good delm. She might even recover the clan's fortunes.

  "I can be off-planet within the next day," he told her.

  "Tell me when your plans are complete, and the time when your ship will lift. Now," she said, briskly. "You will take all that is yours, naturally, including the clothes the clan provided to you. There is no one here who they will fit, and you will need clothes, wherever you go, and whatever you may become. You will, in fact, take anything that is in your room which catches your fancy. In addition, you will take the rings that your grandfather gave to you—"

  "But—" He began the protest, and swallowed it as she fixed him in her eye.

  "You will take the rings your grandfather gave to you. Rings can be sold or bartered, and if your delm is to do as you command, my child, she cannot send you off with your pockets full of cantra pieces. In the meanwhile. . ."

  She rose and bowed gratitude, as he scrambled to his feet.

  "Severt thanks you for your service, Tom Lei pen'Chapen," she said, and straightened before he could return her courtesy.

  She smiled then and opened her arms.

  "Come now, child, and give your aunt your kiss."

  This he did, willingly, and hugged her until she gasped a laugh and called him a great lout, and reached up to touch his cheek, tears in her eyes.

  "Go and pack," she said softly. "I know you are eager to be away."

  #

  He dressed in his leathers and sweater, packing his new clothes, though they wer
e far too fine for a merc. He touched his vest then, and heard the crackle of paper from the inside pocket, and smiled. The print out of the letter from the qe'andra, detailing his part in the rescue of the captive mercs, and another, from Liaison Officer Oshiamo, which had also been forwarded to Headquarters, to be appended to his file.

  Yes, he was eager to be away. Away to Headquarters, where he intended to sue for re-enlistment with these letters, and the proof that he would never be called home by his delm again.

  He wanted none of the ornaments in the room; he packed the rings, promising himself that he would sell them at the earliest opportunity. Then he straightened and looked about him, for anything else that was his.

  There, on the bureau was. . .

  He approached, and found three cantra pieces in a neat stack before a folder of holograms. A chill ran his spine; he picked the folder up, flipped it open, and. . .

  . . .there was his mother, younger than ever he had known her, a progression of images, a few with Aunt Manza, a few more with him, and more, now older than he had known her, looking weary and thin. . .and another of them together. She was smiling, and he was, and she was holding an untidy bouquet of wildflowers that he had picked for her.

  He flipped to the next page, but there were no more pictures, after.

  Swallowing around the tears lodged in his throat, he slipped the little folder into an inside pocket of his vest and sealed it up. He picked up the cantra pieces as an afterthought, and dropped them into his public pocket.

  #

  Miri Robertson Tiazan Clan Korval, aka the Road Boss, on alternate business days, sat in her designated booth in the back of the Emerald Casino in Surebleak Port and tried not to be bored.

  It was tough. Bidness was so slow, she'd even read all the outstanding reports and bulletins, and answered a couple of not-exactly-burning inquiries.

  She wished that she dared take a nap; she was tired, and her back hurt, though not enough to make her swear that she was going to find whoever'd though it would be a good idea to get pregnant and dislocate their jaw.

  She sighed. Maybe just a quick nap, with her head on the table. Couldn't hurt, could it, and Nelirikk, leaning against the wall by the booth like he could do it all day–which, he prolly could–he'd tell her if there was company–