Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  As, Padi realized, she had done.

  “Do you recall the discussion we had, regarding the proper tool for the job?”

  “Yes, Instructor.”

  “This tool which you have just demonstrated will be of great use to you during the upcoming time of increased and accelerated study. Remember it, and use it wisely.”

  Padi bowed as one with additional information to impart.

  “Yes?”

  “We—that is, beginning pilots—are warned not to overuse this exercise. It does not create energy, but only borrows from the future, creating a debt that will be called in by the body.”

  “Another excellent lesson!” Lina said, bringing her palms together lightly. “In fact, there is no boundless source of energy. You may borrow on future reserves, but eventually, the loan will come due.”

  She raised a finger.

  “There is a corollary to this—pilotkind typically know their physical limitations to a fine edge. We are not always so wise. Even very experienced Healers may overspend their resources and their reserves. There is no limitless well of energy from which we may draw with impunity. Willpower, focus—these are tools to our hands. Ultimately, however, even the most powerful dramliz is only as strong as muscle and bone. Your gifts can kill you. Respect them, and use them sparingly.”

  Padi bowed again, somewhat baffled. Why this now—again? She wondered, even as she straightened.

  “Yes, Instructor. I understand.”

  Lina’s face softened, losing the fierce, unaccustomed lines.

  “I know that you do, child. I make the point repeatedly because the danger is greatest where the gifts are strongest. This new schedule you have been given is—challenging. And it is made even more challenging by the fact that the end of the course will not bring relief, or relaxation, but increased demands upon your gifts.”

  “Surely,” Padi said slowly, “the additional work will act on my gifts as exercise does on muscle? I will grow stronger as I meet and surmount increased challenge.”

  Lina sighed.

  “To a degree. In your particular case, I note that your will is adamantine. No amount of exercise will render your body its equal.”

  She stood. “So! You have practiced control on your off-shift. Show me what you have learned.”

  Carefully, Padi took her stylus out of a pocket and put in on Lina’s table. It lay there, perfectly convenable and well-behaved. Padi cleared her throat.

  “Rise, do,” she said.

  Obligingly, the stylus rose into the air. When it had reached fifteen centimeters, she said, “Stop, now.”

  The stylus stopped, reposing in the air quite calmly.

  Padi turned to look at Lina, who was considering the stylus closely.

  “Describe to me what you felt—what you are feeling—at the seat of your power,” she said.

  Padi hesitated, and Lina brought that narrow gaze to her.

  “Your feelings are indescribable?” she asked politely.

  “My feelings are—nonexistent,” Padi said. “I don’t think that it’s drawing on me—on my energy—at all. It’s as if I—taught it to float, and now it . . . does.”

  “I . . . see.” Lina took a breath. “May I?”

  Padi hesitated.

  “I—cannot be certain what will happen. To the best of my understanding, I’m not holding it there . . . ”

  “You did not utilize a construct,” Lina said. “It seems to me that this is exactly what you describe. The stylus has learned how to float, and now does so upon request.”

  She gave Padi a sharp look.

  “Does it require your request?”

  “I—don’t know,” Padi confessed. “Perhaps not. They all do float, sometimes . . . ”

  She stopped, recalling too late that she had failed to share this detail previously.

  Lina eyed her speculatively.

  “Ah, do they so? What method do you employ in grounding them?”

  “I just tell them to behave,” Padi confessed, not quite meeting Lina’s eye.

  “I see. Well then.”

  She took one step back from the table.

  “Please, Trader, recall your stylus to more seemly comportment.”

  “Yes,” Padi said, and to the stylus, “On the table now, quickly!”

  The stylus hit with a muted thud, and remained where it had struck.

  “That was . . . interesting,” Lina said. “I understand you are to see Priscilla after we are done here. Please demonstrate this. Tell her that I particularly wanted her to see how it was done.”

  “Yes, Instructor,” Padi said.

  “So. We have other work before us. Let us determine your aptitude for shielding.”

  VIII

  Padi liked to be busy; further, she was accustomed to being busy. She very rarely tired, being young and of energetic stock. It was therefore with no small sense of alarm that she found herself yawning profoundly and very nearly staggering as she approached the master trader’s office for the last meeting on her schedule.

  The time was two hours into her sleep shift, but it was not unusual for her to work so long, catching up on technical reading, researching trade opportunities, or completing such off-shift work as her various tutors and supervisors might have required of her.

  It was true that today’s schedule had been heavily weighted toward tasks that she found difficult, and which tired her all out of proportion with the actual, physical energy expended. But she had several times during the shift accessed the board drill recommended by Lina and had not thought she had overspent to the point of making a spectacle of herself in the hallways.

  Well, that would never do, and especially not when one was about to engage with the master trader. One needed sharp wits with the master trader, who suffered dullards not at all—or worse, he suffered them kindly. Besides, she wanted to discuss with him in depth this new trade scheme he had found. However had he found it? She had attempted to follow his research, and had become lost within seconds, though she already knew The Redlands existed! Whatever had prompted him to go looking for them? Had he been considering a section of space, and providentially come across a . . . news item, a market report, the breath of a hint of something?

  In any case, she certainly could not come before the master trader in a disordered condition, and she absolutely would not cast herself in the role of fool. Tonight—now—she must be quick, clever, and persuasive. Nothing else would do.

  That being so, there was only one course open to her.

  She swung to the side of the hall, closed her eyes and accessed the simple board rest exercise one more time.

  Energy flowed into her, buoying her spirit and sharpening her wits. Padi sighed. Now she was of an order to engage the master trader on his own field.

  She stretched her legs, eager to meet him there.

  * * *

  Father was standing in front of the couch, glaring down at the chessboard set out on the occasional table.

  He sighed as she entered the room, and looked up, sweeping out one big brown hand.

  “I believe that the longer I play this game, the more inept I become.”

  “Practice,” Padi said, recognizing the theme on which they had parted, “is said to make perfect.”

  His eyes glinted silver.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

  He stepped ’round the table and threw her a glance over his shoulder.

  “Sit, do, Trader. What refreshment may I be pleased to offer you?”

  She had already drunk too much tea on the day, and she did not dare to have wine.

  “A glass of cold water, of your goodness,” she said, moving to her usual chair at the master trader’s desk.

  “Now, there’s a perfect prudence,” Father said.

  A moment later, he joined her at the desk, placing a tall glass by her hand. There were slivers of ice floating in the water, and the glass glistened with condensation.

  “Thank you,” she said, and drank
carefully.

  He inclined his head and took a single sip of his wine, which was everything that was proper, and put the glass aside.

  “So, Trader, you’ve had a long day.”

  She inclined her head.

  “A long day and a surprising one,” she allowed.

  “Surprising in what way?”

  “Well, for an example, I had not expected Priscilla and Lina to be so . . . unalike in their methods,” she said slowly. “I suppose, had I . . . considered the matter, I would have realized that of course it must be so, with Lina a Healer and Priscilla of the dramliz. It is merely that . . . Lina does not use her talent, no more than she uses her eyes or her ears. But Priscilla . . . takes up her gift, like a tool in her hand; she uses it, and then she puts it aside.”

  “That is an apt observation. The difference you note has to do with their basic training. Lina was trained in the Liaden style where one’s talent is, as you’ve said, merely another sense to be used in concert with the others. Liaden Healers and dramliz, as far as their gifts allow, remain open to the world; the melant’i of a Healer is always of a Healer. Shields are used only in extremity.”

  He paused and added, with a wry look, “And, sometimes, not even then.

  “Priscilla was trained in the Sintian style, which requires the dramliza to live shielded, opening only when her gift is called upon. When the task which called her fully into the world is completed, she again steps into isolation.”

  He tipped his head slightly to the side.

  “Some of the Liaden dramliz have likened this method to tying a scarf over one’s eyes before going for a walk in a garden.”

  Padi laughed.

  “Indeed. What else did you find surprising upon the day?”

  “I wouldn’t say surprising,” Padi said, “but rather astonishing. However did you find The Redlands?”

  “Why, by luck, of course.”

  Padi eyed him.

  “Luck?” she repeated, and then, not quite managing to keep her voice level, “Our Luck?”

  Father laughed.

  “Spoken like a true child of the clan,” he said, “and it is my sad task to tell you that it might well have been our Luck.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, and it was the master trader present now.

  “Tell me, Trader: What do you think of The Redlands?”

  Padi had been trying to determine just that since she’d read the files he’d sent her. Rostov’s Dust was, according to almost everyone, dangerous, though that hardly mattered in the scheme of things. Runig’s Rock was supposed to have been safe—and only see what had transpired there! Besides, The Redlands weren’t in the Dust, only at the edge.

  Which marked her first concern.

  “They are not very conveniently situated,” she said carefully, “with regard to Surebleak.”

  He had leaned back in his chair and was watching her with interest.

  “No,” he said now. “They could scarcely be less convenient, with regard to Surebleak.”

  There was, after all, no reason that Surebleak must have a direct route for The Redlands, but Padi’s research—admittedly rushed—had not revealed any existing trade, convenient or not.

  “I checked the Guild’s records, and TerraTrade’s,” she said. “There are no routes serving The Redlands. One wonders why.”

  “I participate fully in your wonder. Though I feel compelled to point out that not all trade routes are recorded with the guilds.”

  That of course was very true. Perhaps there were local indie Loops operating in Redlands space which might benefit from consolidation, and the support of a master trader, to the profit of all. It was worthy of exploration.

  “Have you other thoughts?” asked the master trader.

  Padi sighed.

  “Far too many, I fear,” she confessed, “and none which are to the point.”

  She bit her lip, and met his eyes. “I do have a question, if I may ask it?”

  “Only one question? I am astonished. By all means, ask.”

  She drew a breath. She rather feared that her question was impertinent, which she did not intend. It would only be very good to know if . . .

  “Are we desperate?” she asked.

  Father might have laughed. The master trader merely inclined his head.

  “An apt question. I would say that we are not . . . quite desperate, though we are sorely tried. My own master’s instruction was that, when one is sorely tried, and the wisdom of the past has failed, it is our duty to find new wisdom from which to shape the future.”

  Father’s master had been his father, Padi’s grandfather, Er Thom. During his tenure as master trader, Korval’s trade had expanded via the Loops he had built and integrated into the existing routes of small contractors. On the face of it, that would not seem bold enough to alter the future. All of those routes were in far-flung systems, the contractors largely Terran; Korval goods were delivered to them, and thence to their proper markets via a system of intersecting Loops, from Korval ships. It was a very good system, as Padi knew, having spent very nearly a Standard studying it. And only now was it revealed as far-seeing. Korval had lost many trade partners and allies in the so-called core worlds upon their banishment from Liad. The outspace Terran contractors, however, simply continued as they had been doing, and it was Master Er Thom’s system of interlocked and intersecting routes that was the main source of the clan’s income now.

  “Master Er Thom,” Padi said to her own master’s interested eyes. “Had he been working his way out to the Dust?”

  “Excellent,” the master trader murmured, with a slight smile, “and—perhaps. I recently had reason to reread his personal logs. Certainly, he had an interest, as a pilot and as a trader. He took updates on the movement and condition of Rostov’s Dust, and monitored the reports from such Beacons as could make themselves heard.

  “All of us have of course made a study of Gobelyn’s Envidaria, but his was intense. He built the outspace routes as stepping stones, interconnecting, one with the other, the next farther out than the last, until he seemed to meet an impasse, thwarted by observations of a new bubble of Dust building.”

  He reached for his glass, but did not pick it up. Rather, he sighed and briefly closed his eyes.

  “He had another route sketched in—the veriest draft, though he had obviously returned to it several times over a period of years. The last mention of it was a memo revealing his belief that Korval might soon need a place to go—he called it Dragonhold—and that perhaps it might be wise to shape a route that included Edmonton Beacon, or even Spadoni Station, though at the time the memo was written, Spadoni was still embroiled in that wretched bubble.

  “So you see,” he continued, “I did not so much go looking for The Redlands, as I thought to revisit my master’s work—which opened my eyes to a future. The Dust is taking a new direction, freeing The Redlands. In addition, the bubble which isolated Spadoni Station has burst. I realized—not quickly, you understand—that here was an opportunity to build directly upon my master’s work and to expand it.”

  That was well, Padi thought, and yet . . .

  “May I ask another question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why did Master Er Thom believe that we would need . . . Dragonhold?”

  “Recall that his cha’leket’s lifemate had been assassinated, and attempts made afterward, on that cha’leket’s life.”

  Padi knew that; it was why Uncle Daav, who had been delm, left Liad, leaving Grandfather Er Thom to hold Korval—Ring and clan—in trust for Uncle Val Con, Daav’s heir.

  “But that had been the Terran Party,” she said, and stopped, brought up short. “It was the Department of the Interior? So long ago as that?”

  “So I believe, looking at events through the lens of what we now know. Master Er Thom knew that the clan was a target. There were many reasons why we might be, after all, including the fact that Korval was wealthy, privileged, and too thin to adequately protect itse
lf.

  “Very possibly, Master Er Thom believed that one among the High or mobile Middle had identified an opportunity, and was moving to clear the field of obstacles. One could scarcely envision the Department, without prior introduction.”

  That was certainly true, Padi thought. A rare combination of determination, error, and deadly efficiency, the Department of the Interior—and it was still hunting Korval.

  “And, you know, Korval had been dissatisfied with the homeworld since before Master Er Thom was born, and growing more so. Especially Line yos’Phelium who, despite all yos’Galan might do, longed to truly stretch their wings.”

  He gave her a too-earnest look.

  “I do believe that any relocation envisioned by Master Er Thom would have been done in a more orderly fashion than our actual removal to Surebleak, though I find it . . . interesting that he looked toward the Dust for Korval’s safe harbor. Rather puts Surebleak into perspective, doesn’t it?”

  It did at that, thought Padi. Compared to reports of planets and stations situated inside Rostov’s Dust Cloud, Daiellen System was nothing worse than a rustic getaway for the citizens of the core worlds.

  “It may be that The Redlands are every bit as luxurious as Surebleak,” she said. “One could have wished for more data regarding the planets and societies we are likely to encounter. The world books are unhelpfully laconic, and TerraTrade doesn’t bother with a rating at all.”

  “More data specific to our needs would be comforting,” agreed the master trader. “However, we may make some extrapolations. For instance . . . ” He extended a hand, fingers folded into his palm, thumb out. “One. We know that a large number of vas’dramliz emigrated to The Redlands, which had advertised for colonists ‘of all genetic types’ to bolster the struggling colony.”

  He extended his forefinger.

  “Two, Korval provided transport for those of the vas’dramliz who wished to fly that route.”

  Second finger.

  “Three, talent tends to evolve. The small talents may have grown into large ones, or they may have diversified. In either case, we are likely going to see things we have never seen before, dramliza and Healers alike.”