Mouse and Dragon

by Sharon

  “This is not the homeworld!” the Healer snapped, and sighed. “Forgive me—you are not informed. We dare not keep the creature here, Pilots. Avontai has a horror of such things as mind control—we are barely tolerated—and only if we are careful not to interfere too much! To hold a norbear in-house would be to destroy the Hall. We cannot allow even such limited aid as we may offer to falter on one life—any life. You have interfered in an alleyway brawl, which you surely know better than—and now you must pay the price. Remove yourselves to a place of safety greater than Avontai. We have summoned a cab—go now!”

  Aelliana met Daav’s remote black gaze and shivered.

  “What is your name?” she asked the Healer.

  “I am Hall Master Ver Sev. Feel free to use my name with the Portmaster. Now, will you go? Every moment those two linger here is a moment that those in pain are without surcease.”

  She could, Aelliana thought, scarcely be so coldhearted as to remain in the face of such distress. She cleared her throat.

  “Daav?”

  “Aelliana, it is well,” he told her in that too-calm voice.

  She doubted it, but there again, if departing this place won him wholly back to her, then she wished to tarry not one heartbeat longer.

  “If you please,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Bring the … norbear and let us go.”

  Calmly, he bent and picked up the case.

  The Master Healer sighed, noisily. “Just through there, Pilot. The cab awaits.”

  Carrying the case, Daav left the parlor first. As Aelliana followed him out into the foyer, she heard Master Ver Sev say, softly, “Thank you, Pilot.”

  The Luck’s hatch sealed securely behind them, and Aelliana spun, fright and confusion flaring into anger.

  “Daav yos’Phelium, stand forth and tell me what has happened!”

  He tipped an eyebrow; she thought his gaze was sharper now, but he maintained a reserve that was both unfamiliar and unwelcome.

  “What would you know, Pilot?”

  “What is that—that norbear? Why must we take it offworld? Is it dangerous? Where are we to take it? What happened to you?”

  “A comprehensive beginning list,” he murmured, and his eyes were sharper; his expression sardonic, his whole self coming back into focus.

  “As for the norbear … ” He dropped to one knee and opened the bag wide.

  “Come out now, rogue, and show yourself to the pilot. Understand, I can do nothing if she decides to space you, or to bake you and serve you up for tea. She is the final authority here, and it is she whose patronage you must win.”

  As before, a small, furry hand rose to grip the side of the case. The hand rested for a moment, was joined by a second, and then a pair of round ears, a round head and large, liquid eyes. It paused with its nose level with the case, as if giving her a moment to accommodate herself.

  “It understands?” she asked Daav.

  “To a certain point. The questions being—which point, and whether he also misunderstands or only ignores one.”

  She frowned at the creature, knelt, and tapped the deck before her with a forefinger.

  “Come here, norbear.”

  It blinked, as if considering the request, then all at once it was scrambling out of the case, sliding and hitting the deck firmly on its rounded rump. Undeterred, it performed a graceless somersault, got all four feet oriented and bumbled toward her. It tried to stop on the spot she had indicated, but its claws got no purchase on the decking and it slid the last distance, bumped into her hand, skittered a little, and sat, one paw braced on the deck and the other on her knee.

  She stared down at it. A less offensive creature would be difficult to imagine, yet neither the crowd’s horror nor the Healer’s fear had been feigned. It bore her scrutiny with the good humor that seemed its chiefest characteristic; not so large as a cat, nor yet so small as a mouse, its brown fur was shot with ripples of orange. Aelliana bit her lip, fighting a desire to laugh—and another, to gather it up and rub her cheek against its plush fur.

  Instead, she raised her head and looked to her copilot, who was watching the proceedings with interest.

  “This is a creature so dangerous that it must be put to death on sight, and all of its kind are banned from Avontai Port?”

  “From Avontai entire, if I understood the Master Healer correctly. As for dangerous—there are some humans who are susceptible, and some of norbear kind, I expect, who are rather loud—”

  The norbear turned its round head to regard him, as if wounded.

  Daav grinned and inclined his head. “As one who is also loud may say without prejudice. The pilot we found was, I expect, extremely susceptible, and our rogue there has already admitted to loud.”

  “But—mind control?”

  “Norbears are natural empaths. If you are melancholy, a norbear may help you feel … better. If you are frightened, a norbear may leach your fear. Someone who is in … a great deal of pain—as I suspect our rescued pilot was—might quickly become addicted. After all,” he added softly, “there are few delights more poignant than the absence of pain.”

  Aelliana looked at him sharply, felt the discrete prick of claws through the fabric of her trousers and looked down.

  The norbear met her eyes, and stood up on its hind legs, reaching one hand high.

  Barely considering, Aelliana picked the creature up and brought it up to her shoulder, where it settled itself as if it were the most natural thing in all the worlds. It caught a disordered lock of hair in its hand and leaned companionably against her ear. There came a contented buzzing, growing slightly louder.

  Aelliana looked to Daav.

  “It’s purring.”

  “Apparently he does not wish to be served up for tea.”

  “That’s all very well, but where are we to take it? Liad?”

  Daav frowned slightly.

  “I think not,” he said eventually. “But I may know better, later.”

  “Oh? And how will that be?”

  “I propose to retire with our guest to the acceleration couch, to make sure of his comfort while you lift us to an outer orbit. It may be that two loud empaths will share dreams during such a time. At the very least, we may all rest once we are safely offworld, and be able to make better plans on the morrow.”

  Aelliana closed her eyes, feeling a certain creeping weariness.

  “It has been a full evening,” she said, and rose, the norbear riding her shoulder easily.

  Daav rose as well, and moved toward her, face watchful.

  “What happened to me,” he said softly, “is a … method, somewhat like the Rainbow. It’s true that my presence sometimes dismays Healers, especially those already under stress. I was not absent from you, Aelliana, only … at rest.”

  She sighed, not understanding, but lacking the energy to pursue the topic further at this moment.

  “Very well, sir. If you will take our passenger and render—him?—safe and comfortable, I will call the Tower and postulate an urgent packet from Master Ver Sev at Healer Hall.”

  Daav smiled. “Excellent, Pilot.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Happy is one who finds a friend on every port.

  —Liaden proverb

  The norbear’s name was, reportedly, Hevelin, and he had once “been employed,” as Daav had it, at a Traveler’s Rest or a Guild Hall, or some similar establishment, possibly in the Far Out.

  Daav had the grace to admit without much prodding from her that this information, while interesting, was … rather vague. He had also some hours later been prompted to say that he knew of a person whom he thought “might answer.” Hevelin, on the occasion of this individual being … described to him, or felt at him—Aelliana sighed, for the dozenth time retreating before the problem of how one communicated with a creature that had no language, excepting an extremely nuanced vocabulary of emotion.

  However it was done, Daav’s description of this personified solution had excited Hevelin’s
interest.

  Which was why they were here, on Staederport, walking, guns on belts, in the warm, slightly sticky rain, down a thin street crowded with tall Terrans. Aelliana clung to Daav’s side, he being taller than she, though in comparison to the company they moved through, even he seemed … undergrown. Still, he had the trick of claiming space upon the walkway—a particular way of holding the shoulders, and a certain swagger in his usually smooth gait—and neither she nor the bag he carried over his shoulder were unduly jostled.

  “Here we are,” he murmured, turning them in toward a grey storefront like all of the others they had passed.

  No, Aelliana corrected herself—not like all the others. The autoscroll over the door of this establishment read, in alternating Terran and Liaden: Guild Temp Office. Accepting Applications and Upgrades.

  A buzzer sounded as they entered a small room bisected by a counter holding several screens and a large green plant.

  “Be out in a sec!” a voice called from beyond the screen on the far side of the plant.

  Daav put the case on the counter and propped an elbow on it. Aelliana climbed onto the tall stool at his side, resisting the temptation to lean against him. She was not, she told herself, afraid.

  Perhaps, she was a little uneasy, but surely that was reasonable? Although she spoke the language—enough, at least, to be understood—she could not feel but that her grasp of culture, especially in regard to what might be held as an insult, was firm. Of course, she thought, shifting carefully on the stool, it was that way among Liadens, also. One could not hope to know the necessities of a stranger’s melant’i, and error was always possible. It was absurd to have felt as if she was at home on Avontai, only because it was a Liaden world. She had no more call upon grace from a Liaden than a Terran.

  A shadow moved behind the screen, and an apparition stepped up to the counter. He was tall—she had expected that. What surprised her was how broad! He made two of Daav on the vertical and three on the horizontal! His hair was confined to a hand-wide bristle of black along the very top of his skull, and his skin—crown, face and hands—was ruddy and freckled.

  “Mr. Peltzer,” Daav said in Terran. “Just the man I’m wanting.”

  The big man put his big hands flat on the countertop. “Well, now. Maybe that’s not as disturbing as it sounds at first hearing,” he said, and jerked his head toward Aelliana. “Standing sponsor?”

  “Pilot Caylon holds a card,” Daav murmured. “But yes, a sponsor in some suit.”

  “Pilot Caylon, is it?” The big man looked at her with renewed interest, and inclined his head with gentle courtesy.

  “Pilot, I hope you won’t think it’s rude of me to say so, but I’m glad of the opportunity to thank you in person. Those Revisions of yours saved my bacon at least twice that I know of, and probably more that I was too space-brained to recognize.”

  He held a big hand out in her direction, palm up.

  “I’m Bruce Peltzer, Circuit Rider for the Terran Guild.”

  His face was earnest; plainly he was offering courtesy, and she gathered nothing from her lanky copilot save a relaxed amusement. She glanced down at his hand, held steady and patient, raised hers and placed her palm against his.

  His skin was warm and slightly moist, as was everything she had thus far encountered on Staederport.

  “Happy I am to meet you, Pilot Peltzer,” she said, forming the Terran words with care. “I am Aelliana Caylon, Pilot First Class.”

  He smiled, briefly covered their joined hands with his free hand and released her before she had time either to take offense or to become alarmed.

  “Well, then,” he said, turning his attention back to Daav. “If you’re not sponsoring this pilot, why are you here—and should I have you thrown out?”

  “Perhaps you should,” Daav said cordially. “But before you call the guard, allow me to present to you Hevelin, who stands in need of a position.”

  He opened the top of the case and reached inside, placing the norbear on the counter midway between himself and Bruce Peltzer, keeping his hands in a loose semicircle about the plump creature.

  “I represent him to you as an individual of exceptional character: observant, polite, and able to recall what he has observed. He has, I believe, been previously employed in an establishment similar to this one.”

  He lifted his hands away, leaving Hevelin to face the large man alone. For a long moment, they regarded each other, the norbear standing tall on his back feet, the man with his elbows folded atop the counter, his head tilted, brow knit in concentration.

  “Hevelin, huh?” the man asked, without looking away from the object of his study.

  “So he has said,” Daav murmured.

  “Sharp, too. That’s good. Where’d you get him, Smokey?”

  “Pilot Caylon rescued him from a crowd on Avontai Port who were bent upon murder.”

  “Be just,” Aelliana protested. “A pilot in peril, I saw. Of norbears, what did I know?”

  “Avontai’s no place for a norbear,” Bruce Peltzer said. “Where’d the pilot who had him get him?”

  “That,” Daav said, “we were unable to determine. The pilot was in need of medical—and other—attention. We delivered him to the Healers, thinking to find sanctuary for Hevelin there, as well—”

  The big man snorted.

  “Precisely. We were encouraged to depart—quickly—and as a life was the stake, Pilot Caylon made haste to do what was necessary.”

  Daav extended a finger to touch a round, furry ear. “From himself, I received the dream of previous employment and a desire for more of the same.”

  The other pilot was silent for three heartbeats, then gave a gusty sigh. “That pilot must’ve been stupid as stone, taking him onto the port.”

  There was a tremble in the air; Hevelin stiffened where he stood. Aelliana slid her hand across the counter toward him, meaning to offer comfort. He flicked an ear and reached down, enclosing her forefinger in a surprisingly strong grip. For a moment, it seemed as if there was something more than the norbear’s wariness trembling on the edge of her awareness, then it faded and she looked up into Bruce Peltzer’s watchful eyes.

  “Ill,” she said, not quite knowing where the word, or the conviction, came from, yet certain that it needed expression.

  “Ill,” she repeated and moved her shoulders. “Needing more comfort than gives a norbear.”

  The big man nodded, slowly.

  “Well, he seems a likely yoster,” he said. “Couple things remain before I can accept him permanent. First being, does he take to me like he’s apparently taken to Captain Smoke and yourself?”

  He extended a large hand, palm up on the counter—and waited.

  Hevelin stood very still, gripping Aelliana’s finger. For a heartbeat, she thought he would dash away and scramble back into the safety of the carryall. She felt a thrill then, of what might have been determination, and her finger was released. Dropping to all fours, he bumbled across the counter with his usual cheerful insouciance and climbed into Bruce Peltzer’s hand.

  “Bold lad. Let’s you and me get acquainted, eh? Maybe you can tell me a little more about your previous circumstances.” He looked at Daav.

  “If you pilots would like to take an hour’s tour of beautiful Staederport, or stop over at the Repair Pit for a bite to eat? I’ll have something to say when you come back.”

  Daav inclined his head. “Of course.”

  He stepped away from the counter, leaving the bag where it was. Aelliana slid off of the stool, and hesitated, looking once more to Hevelin. He did, she allowed after a moment’s study, seem to be engaged and not at all nervous. That was good.

  She turned and followed Daav out into the warm drizzle. Behind them the door sealed with a loud snap.

  Startled, she turned.

  The autoscroll now read: Closed for lunch.

  *

  Daav scanned the street, finding no dangers more immediate than becoming waterlogged in the ince
ssant drizzle, and glanced at his companion. She was, he thought, ridiculously appealing with her rain-flattened hair and drop-spattered face, despite which he sensed that she was about to tax him hard.

  “You have a question, Pilot?” he murmured.

  “In fact, three,” she answered, holding up her thumb. “What is ‘bacon’?” Forefinger. “Why does he call you ‘Smokey’?” Second finger—“Why should we be directed to a garage for lunch?”

  Well, it was not an unreasonable list, he conceded.

  “If it is all the same to you, I propose to address the last question first, as I am most wonderfully hungry.”

  “So long as they are all answered, sir, and no stinting on the count!”

  He grinned. “I will do my best to keep every card in play,” he promised, looking about them again. The very casualness of the suggestion argued that the Repair Pit stood close at hand; that it had been mentioned specifically, surely indicated that Bruce felt it to be a reasonably secure haven for two pilots new on-port, and who were also Liaden.

  “Ah.” He’d spied the end of a scroll message in the gap between two shops. “Just a very short walk, and I believe we may satisfy our—or, at the least, my—craving for food.”

  Aelliana fell in beside him without comment. She kept watch, too, also without comment, and he smiled again, with pride of her. At this rate of gain, she would be as port-wise as any courier might need to be inside of two relumma.

  Not, he reminded himself, that they were to be traveling so long. They ought, indeed, to turn their wings toward Liad, as soon as Hevelin’s affairs were settled.

  “Daav?” Aelliana put her hand on his arm.

  “Ah, your pardon! I was thinking how delightful it will be to again raise the homeworld.”

  She snorted lightly, eloquent of disbelief, but all she said was, “Of course. Now. You were answering three questions, without stint, beginning with the third.”

  “I don’t know how it is that I keep forgetting that you are a teacher,” he murmured. “However, I will not be seen to step back from my word! The answer to the third question is that ‘Repair Pit’ is—a joke, Aelliana. A play on words.”