by Sharon Lee
“I have Seen us—you and I only—among a great group of people on a hilltop in the gloaming.”
“This all sounds innocuous enough,” he said. “What troubles you?”
There was a pause, an in-drawn breath.
“As my Sight was fading, I Saw . . . I thought I Saw—you, on the hilltop . . . beginning to—fall.”
“I . . . see.” Shan closed his eyes. This was what came of scrying the future. Who could possibly parse cause and effect from those disparate glimpses that were not, in any wise, guaranteed?
Still . . .
He bethought himself of Dyoli ven’Deelin, of Mar Tyn pai’Fortana; of the Passage, and the unreliability of Luck.
Prayer must be rewarded.
He blinked.
“Shan?”
“I will make the leap,” he told her.
She bowed her head.
“I’ll assign them each a crew cabin,” she said, looking up to meet his eyes.
“Thank you, Priscilla,” he said gently. “Master Trader ven’Deelin and I are almost done here. I swear I will be on board in time for departure.”
“That would be useful,” she said, sounding more weary than wry.
“Even the most probable future may change,” he said, meaning it for comfort.
“Yes,” she said, and pressed her lips together.
“Priscilla, it will be well.”
“You always say that,” she answered.
“Well, I’m bound to, you know. If brashness doesn’t come with the amethyst, it surely comes with Korval.”
She laughed then, a half-laugh, at least, and some color returned to cheeks that had been too pale. Shan smiled, a small warm glow around his heart.
“Hurry,” she said. “The ship leaves in five hours, and we won’t wait for laggards.”
“Yes, Captain,” Shan said. “yos’Galan out.”
Civilization
* * *
The first duty of this day, as every day, was to speak with the Oracle. As every morning, Bentamin brought her a cup of tea, carried in his own hand.
The head of housekeeping let him in, with a smile and a bow.
“She’s in the library, sir.”
Bentamin blinked, felt the cup move in slackened fingers and spared a thought for its contents.
“The library,” he repeated, inclining his head. “It must be the change of season.”
“As you say, sir.”
It had been a full seven years since he had last visited Aunt Asta in her library. On the occasion of that visit, the books had all been tidied away in their shelves, and the Oracle to the Civilized had been dozing over a word puzzle at the table.
Today . . .
As on that former occasion, Aunt Asta was seated at the table. A tea service sat on a tray next to her, and before her was a perfect muddle of books. They were all of them open, each exposed page displaying a flatpic of some exotic landscape.
“Good morning, Bentamin,” she said without looking up from the volume she was perusing. “Please pour for yourself. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Bentamin looked down at the teacup in his hand, returned it to his kitchen counter with a thought, and bent over the tea service to pour for himself.
He pulled out the next chair at table, returning a volume that had apparently slid to the seat to the company of its kin, and sat down, slouching comfortably, ankle on opposite knee.
He sipped his tea and considered the Oracle. She looked well, her cheeks positively dewy, her gaze firm, and her eyes a-glitter.
He felt a stab of guilt. He had known that the universe’s supposed peril had weighed upon Aunt Asta, but until he was confronted with this concentrated, vibrant person, he had not marked how heavy that weight must have been; nor realized how far she had traveled within herself. He should have known that; should have found some way to ease her.
“Well!” she said, pushing her book a little away on the table and picking a cup off the tray.
She sipped, and bestowed a smile upon him that was positively benevolent.
“I think it only proper,” she said, “that you should be the first to know. You may then take the news to the Council.”
“But what news is this?” Bentamin asked, a little ball of ice beginning to form in his belly.
“The Great Ones will be arriving among us, very soon now. I will of course stay on as Oracle until they are settled, which I don’t imagine will be very long. After, I will be retiring—and I intend, Bentamin, to fully retire. I will not be contained. I have been a hothouse plant long enough.”
“Will you leave us alone, without your wisdom to guide us?” Bentamin asked carefully. Of course, the Oracle could retire at any moment she chose. What she could not do was give over being a hothouse plant. Oracles and Civilization did not—
“Of course,” Aunt Asta continued, “I wouldn’t dream of placing anyone in peril, or of embarrassing you or the Warden’s office. I intend to travel.”
“Travel, Aunt Asta?” Bentamin eyed the tumble of books before her. “Travel where?”
“That is precisely what I am trying to decide! So many possibilities, but frankly, none seem to require me. Perhaps I’m simply not required anymore. Or perhaps I need to wait. The possibilities are still unformed. Once the Great Ones are settled, my Sight will become clearer.”
“What will you do,” Bentamin wondered, “as you travel?”
Aunt Asta warmed her cup and sat back in her chair.
“Do you know, I think I might teach.”
“Teach?”
“I feel that I may be wanted,” she said. “Nothing so definitive as a Seeing. Well! As I said, the futures have yet to be fine-sorted, the impossibilities eliminated. Once that has happened, I am confident that my path will grow clearer.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile.
“You might tell Tekelia, too, dear.”
“Yes, certainly.”
Bentamin put his cup down.
“Aunt Asta, you know the Council will not simply allow you to walk away. The Oracle is so very important to Civilization—”
“Balderdash,” she said calmly.
He blinked.
“Your pardon?”
“You know as well as I do that the Oracle is considered a danger to Civilization. There are never very many of us at one time, so it’s been easy to keep us sequestered, and take what benefits may arrive, but I think . . . ”
She paused, and there came that arrested look, her eyes focused on something beyond the room, the present, or both.
“I think,” the Oracle said slowly, “that Civilization will end, and the Haosa, too.”
Bentamin shivered and sat up.
“You are speaking of an apocalypse,” he said.
The Oracle blinked.
His Aunt Asta smiled, leaned forward, and patted his knee kindly.
“Only of change,” she said, and sat back.
“Go away now, Bentamin; you have better things to do than listen to an old woman dither over her retirement plans. You look quite worn out—perhaps you might take a nap.”
Tarona Rusk
Daglyte Seam
* * *
They had not needed her after all. One of the old machines had engaged to do Kethi’s work for her. The Commander had gone willingly to her death hours before Tarona arrived at headquarters.
No, it would appear that Kethi’s plan was for Tarona’s own rehabilitation. She was to stay with the Healers who had assumed the care of headquarters. There was a Scout team expected, and a new commander who would protect the interests of those who remained. So much had been Seen, and headquarters was in shape to receive this new, benevolent commander.
“Mistress, we need you.”
“Kethi, you do not need me. And I have my own business, yet, to attend.”
“What business?” asked the Healer, tears in her eyes.
Tarona cupped the distressed face between her hands, as if the other woman was her child
, in truth.
“My business, child,” she said softly, and leaned to kiss damp cheeks, before stepping away. “I will remain,” she said, “until the new commander is come.”
And with that Kethi was apparently satisfied, for she said nothing else, and Tarona left the room.
Dutiful Passage
Rostermin Breakout
* * *
I
They broke out at Rostermin Point to download news, update the navigation databases, and collect replies to the letters the master trader had sent before the Passage Jumped out from Volmer. Or so the master trader hoped.
They had a busy time during Jump, the master trader, the ’prentice trader, the trade-wise daughter of Ixin, and her astute partner. The master trader, of course, had his letters to write. In addition, he had held himself available for consultation in the matter of sorting their current inventory into trade lots, and was the final sign-off on the lot descriptions and order of offering.
Young ven’Deelin and pai’Fortana had together taken it up to edit the ship’s catalog into a Redlands Edition—and very attractive it was—while Padi had produced a history of Tree-and-Dragon Trading, not stinting on the reasons for their relocation from Liad to Surebleak, nor standing shy of spelling out why the arrival of the Dutiful Passage in their space was an unparalleled opportunity, not only for the Redland System, but for their current trade partners.
Good work, done well by all, and now—well, now, Shan thought, he very much hoped that he would find useful answers to his previous letters on the screen.
He poured a glass of the red and approached his desk, a positive spring in his step, sat down, lifted the glass—and glanced over his shoulder at the sudden person in the chair opposite.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked mildly.
Lute smiled.
“Now, there’s a sweet welcome.”
Shan turned his chair so that he fully faced his visitor. He looked . . . different. Less shabby, perhaps, and somehow more definite. Also, his big, clever hands were folded on his knee, fingers quiet, the sense of power palpable.
“Our time in this space is limited,” Shan said slowly, “and, while I know you disdain it, yet I do have work that must be accomplished.”
“Nay, then! Whenever did I disdain work? I merely said that a wise man does not allow his work to kill him.”
“So you did,” Shan said, with a small bow of his head. He met Lute’s eyes.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It’s not so large a thing. Merely, I ask to be released from the geas you laid upon me.”
Shan eyed him.
“And that geas would be?”
“It’s a poor witch who fails of recalling his obligations,” Lute chided. “Still and all, you’ve been ill and beset. I forgive this small lapse.”
“I am, of course, grateful. Does forgiveness encompass revelation? Under what obligation of mine do you labor?”
“You had lain it upon me to guard your daughter,” Lute said. “Mind, it has not of late been an onerous task, nor even unpleasant. Only, I will soon be unable to fulfill your charge, and I would not break an obligation when I might instead be honorably released.”
Shan shivered.
“Your dying,” he murmured. “It is—imminent?”
“It approaches. You will see me once more, I believe, before it is done.”
He tipped his head, and extended a hand across the desk. Shan took it, feeling firm, warm flesh.
“I am at peace with this thing, child,” Lute said softly. “Do not mourn me.”
“One does mourn the loss of the usual,” Shan observed. “Whether I willed it or not, you have become usual.”
“More sweet words! I fear you are mellowing.”
“It is possible,” Shan said modestly. “The universe is wide.”
“So it is. So it is. May I be released? I don’t wish to seem precipitate . . . ”
“Not at all. I daresay we are both busy. I hereby release you from all and any obligations I may have wittingly or unwittingly placed upon you. Specifically, I release you from your obligation to guard my daughter.”
He paused to take a breath and added, “If it is permitted, and will do you no harm, I also offer my thanks for the meticulous manner in which you performed that duty.”
“Child, child! My blushes!”
Warm fingers exerted pressure before Lute withdrew his hand.
“You’re a good lad,” he said, with a pure and open smile. “It is a blessing to have known you in your wholeness, and an honor to have seen what I have grown to be.”
The chair was empty.
Shan closed his eyes.
After a long moment, he turned back to his screen.
* * *
In fact, there were three replies to his letters sent at Volmer—and two more, which were both unexpected and gratifying.
The first of the unexpected letters was from Janifer Carresens-Denobli. He opened it, his face relaxing into a smile.
You will soon hear this from other sources, but I wished very much that you hear it from me, first.
You must allow me to praise Trader Padi to you. She is everything that her elders want to see in those who follow—she is fiery, she is courageous, she is compassionate, she is canny. I am not, I think, her most ardent admirer, but admire her I do, most sincerely. I am impressed by her trading acumen from my own observation of her, and of her work, at Volmer. I took it upon myself to read her records, and I am impressed even more. Were she independent, or of other Family and seeking a more expansive berth, I would offer her a daughter’s contract. This, so you understand the full scope of my admiration, which I had arrived at on my own.
Having become an admirer, I was content to remain so. She was a breath from the garnet. Matters would proceed as they would.
Only then did I speak with our Vanz, who showed me this collaborative venture he and Trader Padi have built. I hide nothing from you—my admiration overflowed. But I did not allow it to inform my judgment as Senior Trader. Vanz and I went over this deal line by line, intention by intention, he explaining to his heavy-headed elder all the particulars. An expansion is built into this agreement, so if—no, I will be as bold as they are—when another opportunity is seen, it may be added into their collaboration.
It is an art form, this deal. I say this to you—the two of us having made similar art so recently together. What our juniors have made is worthy of us, were we still wide-eyed and youthful.
I sat and I thought about all I had seen, and all that I knew. I reviewed, again, Trader Padi’s records on file; I reviewed her work at Volmer.
Having done these things, I wrote to the Guild, and put Padi yos’Galan’s name forward as a young trader worthy of the garnet, detailing my reasons, and my personal observations of the trader, her skills, and her demeanor. I asked, because the Guild, as you know, demands this clarity, that my letter of recommendation be placed in the trader’s records on file, and that a copy also be forwarded under seal to her master.
So! You are now made aware of my actions. I regret nothing, and I urge you not to delay this matter, which will—I am an old trader, and I must think this way—greatly benefit your own goals in approaching The Redlands.
All this said, I remain Janifer Carresens-Denobli, Senior Trader, and your willing partner in our own small collaboration to redefine the art of trade.
Shan read the letter twice, grinning, and had a celebratory sip of wine before he cleared the screen back to his inbox.
Yes, there was the copy of Denobli’s recommendation, under seal. And just above it in-queue, the acknowledgment of the Guild’s receipt of Shan’s own recommendation for Vanz Carresens-Denobli.
Still grinning, he tapped up a blank screen and began to type.
My dearest Janifer.
Truly it is said that old traders think alike . . .
II
The comm pinged as Padi was attempting to finish her assig
ned piloting sim. As she was running solo, she swept a hand out to press the toggle.
“yos’Galan,” she said crisply.
“Good-day to you, yos’Galan!” Father’s voice came gaily out of the speaker. “How delightfully sharp you sounded just then.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, her hands moving over the board. The sim required that she dock before signing off, and this particular docking, at stationside, was being decidedly difficult.
“Was there a particular reason you called?” she asked, when she had hit another pylon and had to retreat to try again.
“Why, yes, now that you mention it, there was! The master trader would like to see you in his office directly you’ve finished with the sim.”
“Thank you,” Padi said. “Please allow the master trader to know that I will wait upon him immediately after I make a successful docking at Lasilati Station.”
“Ah, Lasilati Station!” Father—or possibly Master Pilot yos’Galan—said, with a certain fondness in his voice. “I believe it required two dozen attempts, my first time there on sim. Be of bold heart, Pilot; it can be done.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, keeping the ship steady under her fingers.
“You’re quite welcome, Pilot. I leave you now. Good luck.”
“Good luck,” she muttered, eyeing the instruments. She made a fine adjustment and started the approach again.
Shan turned his attention to the last of the letters he must write before they made their last Jump to the unknown. He doubted Val Con would be pleased, but, there—he had already written to the delm. His brother was forewarned.
Denubia—
To say that I am astonished by the news contained in your last letter would be to understate the case by many factors. I hereby utilize this excess of astonishment as the excuse for my own woefully belated correspondence.
I trust that Ren Zel and Anthora are fully recovered by now, and that the babe is secure. I have nothing from Anthora, but that is not wonderful, as you know. I follow my usual practice of failing to write, lest I be seen as an overprotective elder brother. I also receive nothing from Nova, which is slightly more wonderful, but I gather from your letter that she is markedly busy, even by her standards. Boss Nova! It suits her, I swear.
