Accepting the Lance Page 8

  This other old friend…he had sought another path to their licenses, as had the delm. Aelliana had acknowledged that their arrival might surprise Clonak, and even dismay him, but that he was a practical man, who had long been a Scout, thereby having long ago achieved an easy way with regulations. He might possibly refuse to assist them, but he would be unlikely to report them as unnatural, which was their biggest fear, until their records had been firmly established.

  Daav sighed as they gained the entrance of the so-called Surebleak Scout Headquarters. Despite his new, youthful appearance, he was feeling old and behind change. He remembered, for instance, a time when the Scouts—the Liaden Scouts—had been a single organization. There had been differences of opinion naturally, but not an outright break, as now. Liaden Scouts. Surebleak Scouts. And the Surebleak Scouts open, so they said, to training all who qualified.

  There had been other changes, too, since he’d left Surebleak at the Delm’s Word, an old man, his lifemate a ghost tenanting what he must suppose to be the abundant empty parts of his brain. Not only had he returned as a young man, his lifemate walking at his side, but the port—Surebleak Port—had bestirred itself toward improvements.

  Improvements meant construction, and construction meant detours; in the present case, an unanticipated and lengthy detour around construction of a recruitment center for the mercenaries, a temp agency, and a multiuse building, which had leapt into being between the old port and the civic mainstream.

  The Surebleak Scouts were headquartered, for the moment, in a slightly renovated hangar in a part of the port that had long been abandoned for lack of need. The hangar was easily adaptable to Scout necessities, and by reason of its unfashionable location, they had their own yard and their own traffic manager. The slight distance from the heart of the port had likely been seen as a feature, Daav thought, but the emergence of the work zone had rendered the Scouts very nearly isolated.

  Still, here they were, at last, through the doors and into the warmth. They paused for a moment just to appreciate that warmth, to put their hoods back, and pocket their gloves.

  They approached the reception station, the Scout sitting there considering them with bright-eyed interest. It was the tradition that any Scout who was wounded or bored might sit reception. This one, with his bright, roving eye might have been of the latter class.

  “Service, Pilots?” he asked.

  “If you please,” Aelliana said, stepping forward. “We seek a meeting with Commander ter’Meulen, if he should have time for us.”

  “ter’Meulen? I daresay you’ll find him in the cafeteria, drinking tea and reading a novel. He’ll want to hear names. I can make up a pair, if you’d like, but I think it might go less well than if you only gave me yours.”

  “Daaneka tey’Doshi and Kor Vid yos’Phelium,” she answered serenely, those being the names they had chosen for themselves at the delm’s direction. They stood ready to produce a homeworld every bit as rooted in fantasy, should it be required, but the receptionist was satisfied with the names. He tapped a series of keys on his board, waking a soft buzzing. When it interrupted itself, he spoke with such high good humor that Daav was certain he had roused Clonak in the middle of his sleep shift.

  “Master Clonak? Two young pilots here to see you, sir. One Daaneka tey’Doshi, and one Kor Vid yos’Phelium. Are you—Sir? Yes, sir: yos’Phelium. Indeed, sir: Kor Vid. The small meeting room? I will, yes. Is there—”

  He frowned, for which Daav hardly blamed him, the snap as the connection was cut had seemed rather too loud to him from his position across the desk.

  “Master ter’Meulen will see you in the High Commander’s own meeting room, Pilots. Have you been?”

  The gleam in his eye betrayed him; clearly he wished to receive a negative, so he might try out some new riddle masquerading as directions.

  “Never, I thank you,” Daav said severely, which ought to have brought the scamp to a lowering sense of his own worth. He was a hardened lad, however, and only grinned the merrier.

  Aelliana turned slightly and, spotting a Scout with a tool belt ’round her waist, stepped forward.

  “Your pardon, Scout. My partner and I are to meet Master ter’Meulen in the Commander’s small parlor, only we do not know the way. Could you advise us?”

  The Scout paused and glanced over her shoulder to the reception desk, her gaze thoughtful. He on the desk did not, precisely, cringe, but it was clear he felt that a rebuke had been delivered.

  The tool-belted Scout looked again to Aelliana.

  “As it happens, the small parlor is on my way to debriefing. Please, Pilot, I would welcome your company—and your partner’s, too.”

  * * *

  The small parlor was locked when they arrived; Scout sig’Attaj was kind enough to unlock it for them and point out the teapot on the side table.

  With that, she left them, and they stood at a loss for a moment, neither wanting tea, nor to sit down, and both brought sharply to mind of the difference between the best course and the only course.

  The door snapped open and, yes, Daav thought, Clonak had been roused from his bed for this, damn the boy on the desk for a mischief-maker.

  Besides the look of weary ire on his face, Clonak looked much the same as he had when Daav had last seen him, some months ago. They—

  Clonak stopped between them and the closed door, hands on hips, looking from one face to the other, and back again.

  His gaze finally settled on Aelliana.

  “They didn’t get you quite right, Goddess.”

  “No, he didn’t, Clonak, and you never saw anyone so apologetic. But you know, there was nothing to work with, after all these years, even had he been forewarned. He did the best he was able, working from what records were available and such material as he had put by. The gene map is a comedy, so I’m told—I can scarcely be counted Liaden at all. But, you know, I can’t be angry, when we imposed on him so dreadfully.”

  Mouth tight, Clonak turned his attention to Daav. “You agreed to this.”

  “In fact, I did not. I lay one breath from death at the time the decision was made. When I woke…I will tell you frankly, old friend, I had no heart to die again.”

  “You woke. You were well, you were strong, you were young—and he had given you Aelliana Caylon back, or near enough. What was that worth, Daav?”

  “Oh!” said Aelliana and moved one step closer to Clonak. Daav bit down hard on his impulse to grab her arm and pull her back. Clonak was his oldest friend. Clonak loved Aelliana. He would die rather than see her harmed. And yet…

  “No further,” said his oldest friend coldly, and with that look in his eye.

  Aelliana stopped and folded her hands before her.

  “You might at least be interested in knowing that I am not a doll created for Daav’s amusement. In fact, it was the very circumstance of my being resident in Daav’s mind for so very many years after my murder that imposed the necessity of improvisation upon our benefactor. He had been prepared to generously give one of his own—blanks, as they are called—in order to preserve Daav’s life and his peace with Korval. Then, what should he discover but there were two requiring resurrection—and he did not stint us.”

  She moved her shoulders.

  “I can see that you are out of sorts, Clonak. We would have told the boy on the desk not to disturb your rest, had we known. But, indeed, you must think! We have been to the delm, and we have not only our lives, but a place in the clan. Would Korval accept monsters?”

  “Korval is thin,” Clonak said, and Daav laughed.

  “Not so thin as that.”

  Clonak’s mouth twitched.

  “Your point,” he conceded, and raised a hand to smooth his mustache. “You want licenses, I suppose.”

  “We want testing,” Daav said, “and proper licenses.” He reached to his jacket and withdrew the packet that had been waiting for them on their wakening yesterday morning.

  Clonak looked at it sourly. “Jee
ves’s work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put it away then; no question those papers will pass.”

  Daav tucked the packet back into its pocket and waited while Clonak took consultation of the floor.

  “I’ll put you both on sim,” he said at last. “We can do that now, if you have time.”

  “We have time,” said Aelliana.

  Clonak nodded. “Sim, then. While you work, I will take a look about. You’ll want Jump pilot tickets, at least. Master if we can manage it.”

  “Korval,” Aelliana said, “insists that the tickets be accurate. If we test at third class, then that is how we will fly.”

  Clonak nodded again.

  “Understood, and the sim will help us determine if we are looking in that direction. If so, we can test you live right here. If it comes about that you will go for first class though—arrangements will need to be made.”

  He sighed. “Come with me,” he said, and paused in his turn toward the door, head tipped.

  “Daav?”

  “Yes.”

  “It pleases me, that you are not dead.”

  “Thank you, Clonak.”

  “Goddess?”

  “Yes, Clonak.”

  “You gave me quite a fright, you know.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I will try not to do so again.”

  The Consolidated School

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  “Are you all right?” Syl Vor asked, as she slipped onto the bench next to him at the long table. He had his lunch tray before him. Kezzi, uncharacteristically, had walked past the food lines, neglecting to fetch a tray entirely. Her stomach was, maybe, a little upset, and she was cold. Syl Vor would be warm: that was her thought, when she saw him across the room.

  Which was…actually true. Syl Vor had a warm nature and a bright soul. That he would warm her was a fact of the universe, very simple, as all such facts tended to be. That she sought him particularly for this special warmth meant it wasn’t just her hands that were cold, but her spirit, too.

  “Why are you late?” Syl Vor asked, breaking his roll and putting half by her hand.

  Had he been any of the others seated at the table with them—gadje all—she would not have answered that question…or she would have answered with a lie. Syl Vor was her brother, and a brother’s part was the truth, but there were all those others seated near them, some with very sharp ears indeed.

  “There was a meeting called,” she said. “I needed to help my sister.”

  Those statements were both true, she congratulated herself, and neither one put Bedel truth in gadje ears.

  Syl Vor frowned, sensing that she had not quite given him a brother’s full portion of the truth, but he only pointed at the half roll she had crushed in her hand.

  “Eat your bread,” he said, and returned to the tray, cutting the meat in half.

  “Anna is a little under the weather,” he said to those nearby, using the local idiom which meant either that someone had a queasy stomach, had had too little sleep, or ached from a discipline delivered with too much enthusiasm. “Can someone give her a spoon or a fork?”

  “Here, Anna,” said Benet, from across the table and two seats down. She slid a spoon down the table toward Kezzi. “I picked up two by accident.”

  “Thank you,” said Kezzi, which was easy and even…correct. Benet was no sister of hers, who would be insulted by the phrase; and she had, after all, been kind, and useful to Kezzi. Gadje supposed that those things earned them a thank you. It was not a position that Kezzi cared to debate.

  “Here,” said Syl Vor, cutting her half of the meat into pieces with his knife. He also pushed half of the stewed carrots toward her side of the plate.

  Kezzi sighed. She was not an admirer of stewed carrots in general. But today, cold and just barely not shivering as she was, she made no protest.

  “Anna?” he said.

  “It is well,” she said, bringing her spoon into play with the carrots. “Did I miss anything important in history class?”

  “I’ll repeat it for you, when we get home,” he said, which she knew very well he could do, since he had a very good memory indeed. “Also, there’s reading.”

  She sighed. Of course, there was reading. Mr. Beerdriki, the history teacher, was mad for reading.

  She extended her spoon again, again for the carrots.

  Around them, the gadje children grew loud again, so that she dared to lean close and murmur, in Bedel, for his ear alone.

  “I will tell you, when we are home together.”

  Jelaza Kazone

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It was the second morning after Ren Zel had done battle for the continued existence of the universe, died of it, and been resurrected.

  Yesterday, Ren Zel, and also Anthora, his lifemate, who had taken—possibly—less severe wounds in the great invisible battle that had preserved all as it had been…those two children of the clan had been transported to the Healer Hall in the city, there to be examined and, insofar as it was possible, Healed.

  Escorting the wounded to the hall had been two…newly youthened, not to say entirely problematical, members of the clan. After, they had intended to visit an old friend to restore Balance between them; thence to the port, where there were two ships awaiting their inspection. While at the port, they were to propose themselves for pilot testing at Scout Headquarters, a notion that was not quite entirely harebrained, while being at the same time the most nearly viable plan available.

  Today, Val Con stood as Delm Korval, Miri having chosen to be Road Boss. He therefore entered the delm’s office, after having seen the Boss and her ’hand off, his thoughts on the delm’s business.

  “Good morning, Jeeves,” he said. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Bechimo reports himself in orbit and in the first stages of cleanup, Spiral Dance has landed in the back field, Lady Nova and Mike Golden have returned to her city house. Lady Nova bids you a good-day.”

  Val Con winced.

  “That was Lady Nova herself?” he asked, moving over to the sideboard and pouring himself a cup of tea.

  “So she stated. She did not wish there to be any confusion.”

  “She has achieved her goal. I am not confused in the least. Is there else?”

  “The Pathfinders continue to study and to exercise. They put themselves at the service of the House, should there be any task that they might usefully take up.

  “Daaneka tey’Doshi and Kor Vid yos’Phelium overnighted at Lady Kareen’s city house. Pilot tey’Doshi called this morning to say that they were bound for the port and Scout Headquarters, where they hope to speak with Scout ter’Meulen.”

  That would be the scheme that had satisfied none of them, which had been put into play only because nothing more satisfying had arisen. Val Con sighed. Well, and who better for the thing than Clonak ter’Meulen, a veritable connoisseur of harebrained schemes?

  “Also, today is my scheduled verbal quarterly report, which follows.

  “My workshop and storage area in the sub-basement are currently safe to enter with your keycode. While we can quickly build or rebuild a Tocohl-style chassis if required, I am currently assembling and testing other household security devices in the area as suggested by recent interactions with Bechimo, as time allows. I will report noteworthy progress when there is some.”

  At last, a normal note on the day! Val Con actually sighed.

  “Thank you,” he said, moving to the desk.

  There were no cats on the chair. Fondi was curled around and snoring in a basket meant to hold hardcopy. Val Con sat down, put his teacup on the desk well away from Fondi, and tapped the screen up.

  Unsurprisingly, there was mail in the delm’s inbox.

  What did surprise was the letter from Lady yo’Lanna, directed to himself, personally.

  He considered it for a moment, as it sat unopened, there in the
queue.

  To: Val Con yos’Phelium Clan Korval

  From: Ilthiria yo’Lanna Clan Justus

  He shivered slightly—apprehension, perhaps, as he recalled her ladyship’s last correspondence with his sister Nova. It would seem that Lady yo’Lanna was suffering from the chiefest infirmity of advanced age: She had outlived her lifemate and nearly all of her contemporaries.

  Worse, she who had been always at the center of society, privy to the ambitions and intrigues of each of the fifty High Houses, the most brilliant host of two generations, was now relegated to a chair at the edge of the dance floor, watching the children gracelessly cavort.

  In that last letter, she had confessed to Nova that she might like to visit such a frontier world as Surebleak—she who had lived her entire life in the most privileged segment of the most privileged world in the known universe.

  On the face of it, Lady yo’Lanna and Surebleak would not suit. She was a canny woman; surely she would know this, Val Con thought.

  Wouldn’t she?

  He drew a breath, gathered his courage, and opened the letter.

  Val Con, I offer greeting from one who was your grandmother’s truest friend and closest confidante, and a good friend to your father, your mother, and your maternal aunt.

  I flatter myself that you and I have been friends, though I have not been able to know you as well as I have known previous generations of your Line.

  Were Chi still with us, I would naturally appeal to her. Alas, she has gone ahead of me into the peace that has no ending, as have her son and his lady.

  Necessity therefore places me in your hands.

  I will be brief.

  I have applied to my delm, who agrees to my relocation, with my household, to Surebleak.

  Justus has neither agents nor properties on Surebleak, a wretched condition that I shall improve once I am arrived. However, I must have a fitting residence available for my use when I do arrive, which will be in approximately two months, Standard.

  It is here that I solicit your assistance.