by Sharon
"Korval," Lord yos'Galan said in quiet Trade, "acknowledges a subordinate position in these negotiations. Debts owed Lady Mendoza are by far the greatest and must be met. We support her claims and are guided by her thoughts."
"Just so," Plemia inclined his head, carefully not thinking about the impossibility of what he had just witnessed. Beside him, Sav Rid sat mute and shivering.
"Thodelm Mendoza. I have seen information provided by Mr. dea'Gauss regarding your grievance against Plemia. Also, I have heard privately from my clansman that which convinces me of the justice of that grievance. Without doubt, Plemia owes. The amount must yet be ascertained. I am interested in hearing your thoughts on this."
The black eyes considered him calmly. "Sav Rid Olanek must be removed as Trader on Daxflan immediately."
He stiffened. "That is a Clan decision, Thodelm."
"Then it is a decision I require of the Clan," she returned serenely. "Sav Rid Olanek is unfit. If he were examined by the Trader's Guild tomorrow, sir, he would be found wanting and his license revoked. More." She lifted a hand, forestalling his protest. "I tell you now, sir, your kinsman gave scant attention to the honor of his crew—Liaden as little as Terran. His cargo included illegal pharmaceuticals: Bellaquesa, I will swear to; others I might guess. He is a danger to the honor of your Clan, the honor of your ship . . . and to himself." She glanced at the man on her right. "Is it permitted that I ask Lady Faaldom to speak—as a Healer?"
"If Plemia agrees."
Taam inclined his head. "Plemia agrees."
"Healer Faaldom."
"Lady Mendoza?"
"I feel that Sav Rid Olanek is not—rational. Are you able to form an opinion? Would you tell us what it is?"
The Healer gave the softest of sighs. "My opinion parallels your own. Sav Rid Olanek is deranged. The pattern is one I have only occasionally seen, most often in connection with ingestion of harmful drugs. Bellaquesa addiction, for instance, might cause such a pattern."
"Can he be Healed?" There was hope in the Terran woman's voice. Taam Olanek looked at her in wonder.
The Healer hesitated. "It is beyond my skill."
"Beyond everyone's skill, Lina?" She spoke insistently, and Olanek felt his wonder grow.
"On Liad, perhaps. The path would be a long one, I think, and tedious." She sighed once more. "If Plemia desires, I will provide names, an introduction."
"You are kind, Healer. My thanks to you."
"You will need that list, sir," Lady Mendoza informed him. "My second demand is that he be Healed."
"Thodelm," he said with dignity, "you do not need to demand it. The child shall have what he requires."
She bowed her head. "Forgive me, sir. I meant no offense."
"None was taken, Thodelm. May I know what items further go to balance Plemia's debt?"
"It must be recalled," yos'Galan said smoothly, before the lady could speak again, "that several attempts have been made on Lady Mendoza's life—which is the life of her House, entire. The first attempt must be laid directly upon Sav Rid Olanek, who ordered Dagmar Collier to strike. The second and third incidents must also be laid upon Trader Olanek for his inability to control the actions of one sworn to his service."
"There are practicalities as well," Mr. dea'Gauss put in. "Unpaid wages, contract fee, clothing, hazard pay, recompense of personal indignities suffered while employed on Daxflan, family heirlooms lost—"
"Korval," yos'Galan broke in, "owes for the heirlooms, sir. Evidence indicates they were destroyed in retaliation for words spoken by Captain yos'Galan."
Mr. dea'Gauss made a notation. "So then. The sum owed, were there no further balance to be established: two cantra."
Plemia inclined his head. It surprised him that the woman should have drawn so low a wage, that she should have possessed so little. "Plemia agrees to a payment of two cantra in balance for these things."
"Lady Mendoza," yos'Galan said gently, "has declined her right to Trader Olanek's life as balance for his attempts on her own. The life-sum agreed upon by the Council of Clans for a first class pilot is three hundred cantra. It must be remembered that Lady Mendoza is currently the sum of her Line and Clan. It is to be assumed that one in her position would desire to establish a solid base for her House. Three children, I think, is not an unreasonable number. Nor is it unreasonable to suppose these offspring would inherit pilot reactions. Nine hundred cantra, then, for the children unborn."
Twelve hundred cantra.
"A just sum," Plemia murmured around the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Precise balance is intended. However, if Lady Mendoza permits, I would propose this alternate plan: Plemia pays a sum of fifteen hundred cantra, over four Standards, the money to derive from Daxflan's profits—"
"No!" she said sharply. "I want no money from Daxflan."
Wearily he raised his eyes to hers. "Lady, I assure you, not all of Daxflan's profits come illegally. A guaranteed payment of three hundred seventy-five cantra per Standard would be made, even should Daxflan fail to earn that sum. Is this plan acceptable?"
She looked at him for a long moment, then glanced beyond. "Mr. dea'Gauss."
"Thodelm?"
"If Clan Korval permits, sir, I would like you to take charge of these—details. The sum of twelve hundred cantra at once or fifteen hundred over several Standards is agreeable to me. Otherwise, it would be—comforting—to know that you act in my interest."
"Korval raises no objection," Lord yos'Galan put in, "if Mr. dea'Gauss feels he can undertake the task."
"I accept the commission, Thodelm Mendoza. I am honored to give service." He inclined his head. "Perhaps Delm Plemia and I might meet on the morrow and discuss the matter more fully."
"Certainly, sir. At your convenience."
"We come now," Mr. dea'Gauss said, "to that owed Korval. There is deliberate loss engineered by Sav Rid Olanek. There is the paid attack upon the Dutiful Passage—"
"Korval," yos'Galan broke in, "makes the following demands for balance: From Plemia, twenty cantra toward the loss on the mezzik-root purchase. Captain yos'Galan will likewise pay twenty cantra to the ship, to remind him to hear more fully. Also, Korval does likewise insist that Trader Olanek be removed from Daxflan immediately and sent home, that Healing may commence.
"Last, Captain yos'Galan would speak with Delm Plemia and Captain yo'Vaade regarding the management of tradeships and the planning of trade routes. Plemia may reap profit from the discussion."
Taam Olanek felt himself adrift. He managed to incline his head. "Plemia agrees to all terms of Korval's balance."
"So be it," Mr. dea'Gauss said formally, and made notation.
"I believe that Master Arbuthnot also holds a just claim," Taam ventured, still unsure of what had occurred.
"Me?" The boy looked up in surprise. "Shan? Does this—does Delm Plemia owe me something?"
"You were in quite a bit of danger through the Trader's mismanagement, you know, Gordy." From the mildness of the tone, yos'Galan might have been discussing a rather mediocre play.
The boy frowned and shook his head. "The only thing he owes me is an apology for calling me 'it.' But if he's going to see a Healer, I guess he'll learn better, so that's okay. Dagmar's the one put me in danger, and she paid as much as she can." Surprisingly, then, he inclined his head, speaking in tolerably accented High Tongue. "Thank you, sir, but I believe our accounts are in order."
Taam bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Arbuthnot. Should you have need, Plemia's name is for you to use."
"Thank you," Gordy said again in response to a glance from Lady Faaldom.
Plemia glanced at the port master. "Madam, I would ask assistance. Daxflan must be searched, and all illegal substances must be removed. Is it possible you could instruct me in the proper procedure?"
She nodded gravely. "Delm Plemia, I would be honored to assist you. Allow me to call on you tomorrow midday for the purpose."
"You are kind, madam. I thank you."
"I believ
e," Mr. dea'Gauss said dryly, "that the meeting may be adjourned." Seeing no dissent, he turned down his papers.
At the head of the table, both tall Thodelms stood, bowed, and glided toward the door. On the threshold the woman turned and raised a hand, tracing an invisible pattern in the air.
"Sav Rid Olanek," she announced in the High Tongue, "you may speak now."
Then they passed through the door and were gone.
Taam Olanek felt a sigh pass him, as if a bubble had given way. Beside him, Sav Rid burst into tears.
Shipyear 65
Tripday 287
Third Shift
16.00 Hours
Acting first mate Mendoza strode toward the captain's office. Hold 6, empty for the past two months, tantalized memory with the odors of leather, resin, spice. She took a deep breath, then sighed it out with a grin. It was hard to believe that they would establish orbit about Liad in five hours; hard to believe that so much had happened in five months. From pet librarian to acting first mate—she nearly laughed as she laid her hand against the captain's door.
He was frowning at the computer screen, his mental signature laced with irritation. At her entrance he looked up, irritation fading. "Hello, Priscilla."
She smiled, relaxing into the familiarity of his inner self. "You wanted to see me?"
He grinned. "Very good. When in doubt, hedge. The captain has several things to discuss with the first mate. Also the first mate was to have discovered what Lina Faaldom was going to do with that damn perfume of hers."
Priscilla laughed. "She's got a buyer in Chonselta City. They're going to package a distillate and sell it for a cantra the quarter ounce. The name is 'Festival Memories.'" She stopped because Shan was laughing.
"Oh, no! Shameless, shameless! She'd have done better to turn her hand to trading than librarying, Priscilla. 'Festival Memories,' in fact! The woman's dangerous." He leaned back, grinning hugely. "She's reserved a quantity for the crew, I hope?"
Priscilla nodded, lighthearted with his pleasure. "Anyone who wants part of their profit in perfume may take it that way, up to two bottles."
He chuckled. "Wonderful, wonderful. Pour yourself a drink, Priscilla, and come sit down."
She moved to the bar. "What are you drinking?"
"Nothing at the moment. But I would like a brandy, if you'd be so kind."
She poured them each a drink, brought him a glass, and settled into the right-hand chair.
Shan sipped, his light eyes on her. "Have you decided what you will do, Priscilla?"
"Do?"
He waved an apologetic hand. "Of course, it's true that you're rather well off now. You might choose to do nothing at all. But I'll tell you frankly, Priscilla, doing nothing is a very boring line of work." He sipped thoughtfully. "Not that there aren't a great many people who don't seem to find it arduous at all. My cousin Pat Rin, for an instance. The first jewels, the most fashionable companions . . . Why, if he didn't play the wheel with suspiciously consistent luck, he'd have no money at all to call his own, and live within his quarter-share he could not."
She smiled. "I don't think I'd do well as a gambler."
"Well, neither do I, frankly. But there are other things you might be about. Buy a house, a bit of land, start talking to people—lay the foundation for possible contracts and alliances."
"To set up my Clan," she surmised.
"Exactly to set up your Clan. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
She sipped her drink, considering him. Emotive patterns told too little. He was not desperate, but there was a—tentativeness—mixed somehow with the desire she had found herself responding to more and more of late.
"I thought I'd invest my money," she said quietly. "Mr. dea'Gauss kindly offered his services."
Shan raised his glass. "I see that Korval will have to begin casting about for a new man of business. Mr. dea'Gauss is clearly smitten. I had hoped it would prove to be merely a case of calf-love, Priscilla, I confess."
She laughed. "More likely he thinks I'm too young to manage my own affairs! He helped me gain funds and status; how can he leave me alone to botch things now?"
"A fair summation of Mr. dea'Gauss's melant'i in the situation," Shan acknowledged. "But you still don't tell me what you'll be doing, Priscilla."
"Have you heard from Kayzin Ne'Zame?"
The slanted brows pulled together. "She brought Daxflan safely home and continues to work closely with Plemia to revise ship's procedures and work out a route that will not unduly tax available resources. I believe she had hopes of showing him the advantages of belonging to a cooperative, with which project I wish her luck. Plemia was rather resistant to the idea when I brought it up in our discussions."
"Does she think she'll be able to finish her work there in time for the Passage's next voyage?" More tentativeness. She knew it for her own.
Shan was surprised. "Kayzin warned me some time ago of her intention to retire at the end of this trip. Most properly, as Mr. dea'Gauss would no doubt agree. In a way, it was good that Daxflan and all its troubles came along. It gave her thoughts a new direction, away from—endings." He sipped. "Kayzin's captain was my father, Priscilla. They ran this ship together thirty years. It's not easy for her to see another in his place, even though she helped train me for just that purpose. She only stayed this long to be certain I was able. Her last duty to her captain."
"You'll be needing a first mate and a second?"
"Indeed I will. Which brings us back at last to my original inquiry, Priscilla. Have you thought of what you will do? Your contract runs out in—what? A day?"
"Fourteen hours," she replied, her mind racing. There was so much she did not know, so much training she would need; and there were people on the Passage who had been there all their lives, child and adult. Kayzin Ne'Zame, working on the ship for fifty years, at the captain's side for thirty of them, a captain she served even after his death . . . .
Shan sipped brandy. She sensed tension in him, and restraint. The decision was hers. Goddess, I'm a fool. How can it be easier to conceive of looking at his face, hearing his voice, sensing his moods for all of thirty years, than to consider myself without those things for even a week?
She licked her lips. "If—I would prefer not to renew my contract as second—" she sensed shocked pain from him, quickly damped, as she hurtled on, "—and to sign a new one, as first mate!"
She was swept by singing triumph and a tangled knot of other feelings, from which she isolated lust, and relief, and joy, and something that seared so she could not find its name before the whole concert was controlled and shackled into the merest background hum.
"Thank you, Priscilla."
Her heart was pounding; she was gasping with the force of his emotions, her own powerfully evoked. Mother, the echo . . . she thought. But it was no echo.
"Priscilla?" He was before her, radiating concern. "Forgive me."
"No." She set the glass aside, hand questing. He took it in his. "Shan . . . ."
"Yes, Priscilla?"
She translated it from the High Tongue, because protocol said it was done this way between Liadens, and it was imperative that he understand, that he not think her grasping or unaware of her place as someone all but Clanless. "Will you share pleasure with me, Shan?"
His fingers tightened as astonished joy flickered between them, weighted, though, with something else. Seeking, her inner eye perceived a wall, thick and impenetrable, with only a tiny slit in its smooth surface. As she watched, the slit enlarged, eating the wall until it was gone and there was only—Shan.
The impression was not just sound now, or pattern, or even an occasional whiff of elusive spice. It was all: a woven whole spread before the inner senses—Shan without defenses, open for her to know completely.
Priscilla cried out, jerking to her feet, gripping his shoulders. "No! Shan, you mustn't!"
Then there was sadness, though not despair, and the inner landscape faded, becoming again the barely breached Wall a
s she sagged against him, craving what she had just denied, and pushed her face against his shoulder.
"Priscilla, I ask your forgiveness yet again." His voice was very gentle in her ear. "I didn't want to distress you."
She drew a shaky breath and stood away. "I—" Words failed her. Goddess, she thought, twice a fool.
He sighed and guided her to the couch. Sitting beside her, he took her hand. "When I came to get you from the precinct house in Theopholis, Priscilla, you said something." She tensed. What was real from all she thought she remembered of that night?
"What you said," he pursued gently, "was, 'Shan, there wasn't enough time to be sure.'"
She relaxed. She did remember that. "True."
"It might still be true, Priscilla. There's no need for haste. And many reasons to be . . . sure."
She struggled with it, trying to balance the Liaden concept of pleasure-love with what she felt in him even now, with what she herself felt. "I asked . . . pleasure. And you want it!"
"Priscilla, my very dear." He raised her hand, lips brushing her palm, cheek stroking her fingertips. "Of course I want it. But not at the expense of your certainty. I'd be a poor friend if I made that trade." He sighed. "And I've already made you angry with me."
"Not angry," she protested, knowing he could read that lack in her. "It's—Shan, it's wrong to—to open up so far. To let someone see your—allness."
"Even when that someone is my dear friend? Even when I wish to give the gift?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. "It is how I was taught," she told him humbly. "I never thought to question it." She had the name of the searingly bright emotion then, and felt tears forming. Too little time, indeed . . . .
He sensed her understanding and nodded. "There are other reasons not to rush, as I said. Consider your new position, for one matter. Will you have people say that you are first mate because you and the captain are lovers?"
Her chin rose. "It's our business, not theirs!"
