by Sharon Lee
“Of course,” the guard said again, and stood aside to allow them, one by one, to exit the booth.
* * *
Karna rose when they entered the waiting room outside of the Community Standards Hearing Room.
“Master Trader,” she said, approaching them. “Captain Mendoza called, sir, to ask if reinforcements are required.”
Father looked faintly amused.
“How very good of Captain Mendoza,” he said brightly. “Did you assure her that we are quite complete in ourselves?”
“Not in those exact words, sir. I gave her a précis. She advises that she is in communication with Captain Denobli of Nubella Run and that they are monitoring.”
“Hah! I join you in the soup, my friends. The only one of us who escapes is Vanz.”
“No, sir,” said the trader firmly. “I insist on joining the soup, in solidarity.”
“That’s a good lad you have there, Janifer,” Father said solemnly.
“When have I ever said otherwise?”
Vanz met Padi’s eye, looking droll, but wisely said nothing.
The door opposite opened, to admit a security guard with four stripes on his sleeve.
“Trader Vanz Carresens-Denobli. Trader Padi yos’Galan. Officer Karna Tivit. The Community Standards Committee will see you now,” he said. “You will be required to face those whom you accuse.”
“My master trader accompanies me, as witness for the ship,” Padi said firmly.
“My trader will stand at my side,” Vanz stated, every bit as firmly.
Karna stood with her hands folded, and said nothing.
“The witnesses may be in the room. They may not accompany the accusers to the floor.”
“Understood,” said Trader Denobli.
Father inclined his head.
The four-striper turned and led the way through the door. Padi followed, Father walking beside her.
“Be wary, daughter,” he murmured in Low Liaden. “Virtue is your sword and shield.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered and guiltily closed her shields.
There was a long table at the front of the room. Three persons in Volmer Admin livery sat behind it. Before the table, to the right, stood Madame Zoe, flanked by two mercenary soldiers, faces grim. Beside Madame were the two vendors Padi recalled having mentioned the specialty shop to her.
“Stand forward and face the committee,” the four-striper said.
Padi walked forward, Vanz on her right, Karna on her left.
“State your names for the record.”
They did so, and the questioning was opened by the woman seated at the center of the table. She led them neatly through the account of their day, with no words wasted, gathering corroboration between them, and finally put the question.
“And do you see before you, Trader Carresens-Denobli, the person who attempted to bind you?”
“Yes, Committee Chair. It is the woman with the long braid, standing between the two soldiers.”
Madame’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Padi feared—
But the soldier on the left shook her head, sadly, so it seemed to Padi, and Madame gasped, hand half-rising, as her shoulders slumped.
“The accused will comport herself according to the customs of law-abiding persons,” the committee chair said calmly.
“Now, Traders, we also received information that you were both injured in a manner peculiar to such adepts as Madame. The committee of course wishes to verify this, and we have therefore asked Master Healer sig’Endra from Volmer’s Healer Hall to make an examination, and report the nature of these injuries to those of us who are unable to see and assess them for ourselves.”
The door at the back of the room opened, and it was all Padi could do not to turn around and look for who had just come in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vanz twitch, but he, too, maintained a proper decorum.
There came the sound of footsteps that Padi recognized as belonging to the four-striper, but no others.
The footsteps stopped.
“Healer sig’Endra,” the four-striper stated.
A leather-clad figure stepped silently onto the evidence floor, and bowed gently to the committee.
“Ter Ans sig’Endra,” he murmured, “Healer and Scout, attached to the Volmer Hall.”
“Healer,” said the committee chair. “These traders accuse Vendor-Resident Zoe Martenegsburg of mind control and murderous violence. The committee requires verification of these statements.”
“Certainly.”
He bowed again and turned to face them; an elder Scout, Padi saw, with lines at the corners of his eyes, as if he spent much of his time looking into bright lights.
“Traders, as you have heard, I am a Healer. I will require your permissions in order to examine you. I will not hurt you. I hope that I will not alarm you. All I will do, as the committee chair has said, is look at you using senses which are available to me, but which may not be available to you.”
He glanced at Padi, and his eyebrows lifted, very slightly.
“Trader, may I have your permission to make an examination of your private self?”
“Healer, you have it.”
“I thank you. One moment.”
Truly, she felt nothing. Healer sig’Endra’s eyes may have widened, or it might have been her fancy, but in the next heartbeat, he was bowing to her, and turning to address Vanz.
There was a pause . . . long . . . and longer, until the Healer sighed and turned to face the table.
“Regarding the accusation of a violent attack, my examination reveals that this trader,” he moved a hand to indicate Padi, “has been the recipient of a massive blow. The marks I Saw upon her persuade me that the force utilized in this attack would have killed or unminded her, had it landed . . . fully. Happily for the trader, and for those who hold her in esteem, it went aside.”
He paused. “There are technical details, Committee Chair, if you require them.”
“The committee will require a detailed report to enter in the files of the proceeding,” the committee chair said. “For now, we take note of your assessment. What can you tell us regarding Trader Denobli?”
“There, Committee Chair, I am in quandary. I can . . . see that the trader was Healed recently, and deftly. So deftly, in fact, that I cannot say what it was he was Healed of.”
Vanz drew a breath, but before he could speak, Father did.
“If I may address the committee. My name is Shan yos’Galan, and like Healer sig’Endra, I embrace two vocations. I am both a trader and a Healer. It was I who Healed Trader Denobli of his distress. If the committee allows, I will open myself so that Healer sig’Endra may witness what was done.”
There was a small pause.
“Is this possible, Healer?”
“Very possible, ma’am. Healer yos’Galan and I may establish a rapport, so that I may have access to his memory of this event.”
He paused.
“It is a very generous offer,” he added. “It is not an easy thing, to submit to such an intrusion.”
The committee chair sighed. “Pray establish this examination.”
Father stepped onto the floor, offering his hands palms up. Healer sig’Endra placed his hands, palms down. Both closed their eyes, and the moments stretched. The two Healers stood motionless, linked, breathing as one. Padi fought against the need to open her shields, to See—and at last, Healer sig’Endra stepped back to address the committee.
“I confirm that an artifact, which created an . . . unnatural compulsion, was placed upon Trader Denobli. Had it been completed, this compulsion would have subverted his will and made him the slave of the artificer. The construction was interrupted before it was complete, but the first effect was an order to return to the creator. This . . . ” He took a breath.
“This is not civilized behavior, Committee Chair,” he concluded, his voice stringently calm.
“Thank you, Healer. You may go. The Committee will require your technical
report.”
“Yes,” said the Healer. He bowed and left them on soundless feet.
The committee chair glanced up the table and down, before addressing Padi and Vanz.
“The accusers may return to their lodgings on-station or to their ships. Do not leave Volmer until you have received a determination from this committee.”
“Thank you, Committee Chair,” Padi said, and Vanz, too.
They turned and stepped off the floor, Padi slipping her hand into Father’s and deliberately opening her shields.
“Drink,” she said in Low Liaden. “You are tired.”
V
Trade Bar
Security Officer Tima Fagen escorted them to a private parlor in the Trade Bar, and left them there with a jaunty bow, assuring them that she would be on the door until Master Trader ven’Deelin dismissed her.
Mar Tyn scarcely had time to study the control panel, from which he learned that the room was set to “private, passive monitoring only,” when the door chimed slightly, and slid open.
Dyoli’s brother was very like her, Mar Tyn thought. He matched her in height, and had his pale red hair pulled back into a tail. His face was round and personable, with a firm chin and a soft mouth. His eyes were dark brown, rather than blue; he wore two white, glittering gems in each earlobe, and one ring between both hands—an amethyst. The badge on the breast of his jacket was a stylized rabbit silhouetted against a full moon, Sosacilli embroidered in a curve above the moon, and ven’Deelin countercurving beneath the rabbit.
“Til Den!”
Dyoli rushed to him, lifting her hands to his face—and froze.
“Til Den?” she asked, hands descending to perch on his shoulders like small golden birds.
The trader looked earnestly into her eyes.
“Do you remember,” he said, with a melancholy lilt to his voice, “when we had used to slip away from the house at night and go down to the docks to watch the ships unloading?”
Her eyes narrowed, slim brows pulling together in a frown.
“We never did anything so daft! First of all, the house would have whistled us gone before we had opened the front gate. Second, we were so utterly worn down from being at the docks and the warehouses and shadowing our mother in active trade all day that we slept the night through!”
The plump trader laughed, then threw his arms around her waist and spun them both about.
“Dyoli!” he cried, when he had set her on her feet again. “Where have you been? Mother is . . . well, you know . . . Mother. But Ixin is beside himself, poor fellow, between worrying after you, and fending off Aunt Gruin, who wants your shares brought back into general funding.”
Dyoli laughed, breathless, and shook her head.
“Gruin would sell her left ear for an extra cantra in the general funds,” she said. “But tell me, Brother, how long have I been absent?”
“Three Standards and a relumma,” he said. “So you see, Gruin really is before herself.”
“The delm decides when and who has died,” Dyoli said, sounding truly annoyed. “Six Standards is traditional, and she surely knows that. She only wants to devil Uncle Vis Dom; she takes perfect pleasure in making him unhappy.”
“And always has done. Now! Enough of this dancing about in the meeting room as if we were strangers! Let us get you on board and situated, and—”
He blinked, as if he had only just then come back to himself, which, Mar Tyn thought, might actually be so. A man might be made temporarily unthoughtful on the occasion of his sister’s return from the dead. On the other hand, Til Den ven’Deelin was a trader—a trader who wore an amethyst ring. The last person Mar Tyn had seen wearing such an amethyst had been addressed as master trader.
“Your companion,” Til Den ven’Deelin said, his voice not quite faltering. “Forgive me, I should have asked you to make me known.”
“Yes,” Dyoli said. “We were both caught up. I am as much to blame as you.”
She spun and caught his hand, pulling him forward.
“Mar Tyn, please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he assured her. “I would be surly indeed if I begrudged you a proper reunion with your brother.”
“You are too easy with me,” she told him, and looked to that same brother, whose plump face displayed an expression entirely amiable.
“Til Den, this is my partner, Mar Tyn pai’Fortana. Mar Tyn is the reason I survived the last three Standards and a relumma. Mar Tyn, here is my brother Til Den ven’Deelin, who will not dare to disapprove of you.”
Mar Tyn bowed as she had taught him, accepting an introduction to an equal.
“Master Trader,” he murmured.
The bow he was returned duplicated his in every particular.
“Master pai’Fortana,” answered Til Den ven’Deelin—and met his eyes.
There was sorrow there, and Mar Tyn sighed. He had expected anger. Sorrow would make it harder for Dyoli’s brother to do what he must. Though he would bow to necessity, Mar Tyn thought. He depended on that.
“Dyoli . . . ” Til Den began, but she had snatched his hand up and was gazing down at his single ring, her eyes narrowed as if she stared into a sun.
“You have captured the amethyst! Ge’shada, Brother! I know that Mother must be very . . . Mother.”
He laughed.
“That she is, exactly! Dyoli—”
She raised her head and met his eyes, her grip tightening on Mar Tyn’s hand.
“Til Den, do not tell me that I must forsake Mar Tyn now, given what Ixin will not allow. I know full well what Ixin will not allow, and I have no wish to break Uncle Vis Dom’s heart.”
“What will you then, Sister? Leave the clan?”
He glanced to Mar Tyn.
“Master pai’Fortana, forgive me, I beg. If my sister has not explained to you—”
“Bah!” Dyoli said. “The two of you would have me embrace nothing but propriety! It won’t do! And you—Til Den, you have earned the amethyst! That means—that means—”
She stumbled, her words slurring for an instant. Mar Tyn shivered as his gift wakened, and he waited in breath-caught horror to see what his feet would choose to do—
Dyoli’s fingers tightened around his.
“That means,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp and clear, “that you may go to Master Trader yos’Galan and offer to become a partner with him in his newest venture. It will be of benefit to Ixin, of benefit to Korval, and of benefit to Civilization! He will want Ixin in person, and you will offer me. I was trained as a trader. I will not shame the clan.”
“Dyoli.”
Her brother slipped his hand free and put both hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. After a moment, frowning, he looked to Mar Tyn.
“A Seeing,” he began and sighed sharply. “Is this a Seeing, Master pai’Fortana?”
Mar Tyn inclined his head, the feeling—that feeling—when his Luck was engaged and was moving him toward an event . . .
“A Seeing, yes, sir. We—our talents enhance themselves, when we are together.”
Understanding washed over that round, amiable face, and he looked again to Dyoli, who was beginning to wilt.
Mar Tyn stepped forward, still holding her hand, the grip of her fingers slackening.
“She overstrained herself,” he said rapidly to her brother. “She must sit, and if there is something to eat—sweet tea, at the least . . . ”
“At once. Here—let us have her to the couch. Pray you keep watch while I call for a tray.” He paused. “Medic?”
“I think—” Mar Tyn began, and Dyoli snapped, low-voiced.
“No medic.”
Til Den and Mar Tyn exchanged a glance.
“No medic,” Til Den said, and moved toward the intercom. “I am calling for a tray, and then—you will tell me everything.”
“Yes,” said Dyoli, settling back against the sofa. She looked at Mar Tyn and smiled.
“Everything.”
&nb
sp; VI
Dutiful Passage
They were met at the hatch by Security Officer Grad Elbin.
“Master Trader, Trader. The captain wishes to see you in her office, immediately.”
“Thank you,” Father said composedly. “We will, of course, honor the captain’s wishes. In the meanwhile, please see to Karna. I fear we have not given her an easy shift.”
“Yes, sir,” Grad said, and looked past them. “Karie? Cup of coffee and a chat?”
She smiled tiredly. “Just what I need.”
“Excellent!” Father said brightly. “Pray continue. The trader and I will find our way to the captain.”
“Sir. Trader.”
Father waited until they had exited, the door closing behind them, before he sighed and looked to Padi with a wry smile.
“Well, Trader. I fear not so much soup as stew. Shall we?”
“Best not to keep the captain waiting, if she is so much tried before us.”
“True, true. To the captain then, bold hearts to the fore.”
The door chime sounded, and Priscilla raised her head.
“Come!”
The door slid aside. The master trader entered, trader on his heels. He approached the desk without hesitation and bowed.
“Captain, you wished to see us. We are here at your word.”
Hungrily, she read him, finding him tired, but not dangerously so, and no signs of having depleted himself yet again.
Padi—but Padi was a burning bush, too bright and chaotic, still, to read with any accuracy.
“Sit,” she said to both of them, and they did, facing her across the desk like good children, faces attentive, hands folded in their laps.
She wanted to shake the pair of them. She wanted to hug them.
She wanted to weep.
“The captain,” she said, “was made aware of an incident on the port. Is the ship compromised or under restraint?”
“Station Admin has asked the ship to remain at dock until such time as an official finding has been filed,” Shan answered. “The traders and Security Officer Tivit may be called again to witness before the committee, but the chance of that is, I believe, small. The hearing was thorough, all necessary experts were speedily called and made their examinations. The accused is held, firmly I believe, by a mercenary unit styling itself Blades of the Goddess, and I believe will be undergoing a thorough examination by an extremely competent Scout Healer.”
