by Sharon Lee
". . . you have the advantage of me," he concluded.
The man paused at the proper distance for speech between non-kin, Daav was pleased to note, and performed quite a credible bow to the master.
"You are Jen Sar Kiladi, are you not? I—of course, out of so many students, you wouldn't remember me. Chames Dobson, sir. I was in your class on comparative cultures at Searston University, and it—" He blinked, and appeared at last to see the man who stood, broadly puzzled and perhaps losing patience, before him; his leather well worn, and his partner standing at backup.
"I . . . It is I who beg your pardon," he said slowly. "You—you might be his brother, sir, but I see that I am in error. You are not Jen Sar Kiladi. Please accept my apologies for disturbing your peace, Pilot."
"Please," Daav said, carefully, as would a man who had been surprised, but after all not threatened, and by one who had some grasp of proper manners. "It is a simple error. I have made it myself, when on a strange port, and hoping, perhaps, to see a friend."
Dobson's face relaxed into a smile, and for a moment he was entirely the earnest young scholar he had been.
"Yes, exactly. I just got word—well. Say that circumstances brought him to mind—and I wished that I could share my news, and tell him how much his teaching had meant to me. Then I saw you as I came out of the bookshop . . ." He shook his head, half amused, half regretful, and stepped back, lifting his free hand politely.
"Safe lift, Pilot."
"I thank you. May your day embrace joy."
Chames Dobson turned and walked off, a trusting man.
Daav braced himself for the question that, alas, was not long in coming.
"Who," Aelliana asked sternly, "is Jen Sar Kiladi, and why did you lie to that man?"
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Liaden Scout" must now be seen as a misnomer, for to become a Scout is to become other than Liaden. It is to turn one's face from the homeworld and enter a state of philosophy where all custom, however alien, is accepted as equally just and fitting.
We are told by certain instructors that not everyone may aspire to—nor all who aspire, attain—that particular degree of philosophical contrariness required of those who are said to have "Scout's eyes."
For this we must rejoice, and allow the Scouts full honor for having in the past provided refuge for the disenfranchised, the adventurous and the odd.
—
Excerpted from remarks made before the Council of Clans by the chairperson of the Coalition to Abolish the Liaden Scouts
"A wager," Aelliana repeated. "You fabricated an entire person—for a wager?"
"Well," he said apologetically, "at first, it didn't seem so difficult—comparative linguistics was near enough to a portion of a Scout's course of study. By the time the wager had come against its deadline, Kiladi had defended his first degree and taught a seminar or two, and it seemed impossible that I just stop. He had colleagues, correspondents, students—in a word, he would be missed, poor fellow. I could scarcely murder him out of hand." He sipped, and admitted, "Besides, I was curious to know how long he might support himself."
Aelliana reached for her glass and sipped wine. It was not very good wine, being what was on offer at the Pilots Mart, but it was well enough for its purpose.
"How long has Scholar Kiladi persisted?"
He sighed. "Nearly fifteen Standards. I admit, it will be hard to end the Scholar's life." In fact, it was remarkably dismaying, the thought that Kiladi would no longer be with him. It was not as if the scholar had been a constant companion; his needs were modest: time and resources for his researches, and leave to produce his papers and keep current with his correspondence . . .
"Why must you?" Aelliana asked, fortuitously breaking this increasingly bleak line of thought.
"The terms of the wager were that the fabrication might continue only until it was discovered. Even though he has far outlived the circumstance that birthed him, he has been found out, and thus is forfeit."
She shook damp hair back from her face.
"But he has not been found out," she said. "The man on the port just now—Chames Dobson—he admitted a likeness, but was convinced at the last that you were not his teacher."
"Be it as may be, yet you are wise to Kiladi's secret, Aelliana."
"Yes, but I am your lifemate," she answered serenely.
"Are you?" he asked, softly.
She frowned. "Am I not?"
"In the eyes of the world, you are not until there is a contract between us," he said, and wondered at himself, that he pushed this point at her now.
Her frown became more pronounced.
"That is a separate issue," she said sternly. "Which I am not prepared to discuss. At the fore is Scholar Kiladi's life. Has he a résumé? A bibliography?"
"He has. Shall I download his file for you from the Scholar Base?"
"There is no need to trouble yourself; I have an account."
She rose, taking her glass with her.
It was no small effort to keep his tongue behind his teeth and his posture inoffensive. Aelliana was plainly annoyed with him and he had no wish to provoke her further.
"I will want an hour alone," she said.
He bowed his head. "Of course, Pilot."
* * *
Jen Sar Kiladi's bibliography was extensive. She was by no means an expert in his fields, but that mattered not at all. His work had been studied—not to say scrutinized—by those who were expert, and had formed the basis for further illuminations and scholarship.
The words brilliant, radical, original were more often than not the descriptors applied to Scholar Kiladi's work. There was of course a leavening of popinjay, recluse, and dangerous madman from his detractors, but those served more to relieve than alarm her. A scholar who did not make collegial enemies was a scholar who was not exercising his intellect to its fullest extent.
It might seem odd that a Liaden had taken all of his degrees at Terran universities, but it appeared that Scholar Kiladi had originated upon a Terran world which also housed a lesser Liaden population. This early living astride two cultures, so he had written in his supplication letter to the Admitting Officer at Dobrin University, was what had first excited his interest in the field of cultural genetics, an interest that had only deepened as he pursued his degrees first in comparative linguistics and then in the dynamics of diaspora.
She requested half-a-dozen papers from various stages of his career and skimmed them, finding evidence of a supple mind and subtle thought. His arguments were solid, his presentation confiding and occasionally playful. His conclusions, while sometimes risky, in her sample never lacked the support necessary to their weight.
In fact, Scholar Kiladi was brilliant, Aelliana thought, leaning back in her chair and looking at last to the copilot's station, where Daav sat cross-legged; freshly showered and relaxed in a long-sleeved sweater and soft pants, his hair loose and fresh along his shoulders.
No, she thought—not relaxed. Daav was awaiting her judgment, and he was . . . concerned of what it might be.
She sighed again, ran her hands through her rain-sticky hair, and wrinkled her nose, feeling grubby.
"Van'chela, you cannot deny the galaxy the gift of Scholar Kiladi's thought," she said slowly. "You are . . . Daav, you are"—she waved her hand hopelessly at the screen, brilliant, radical, original—"a jewel."
He shook his head. "Not I, lady of my heart."
"Is it not you, at base?"
"It may be," he said slowly. "I consider Kiladi to be—other than myself. We have points of similarity, and I read his papers, among dozens of others, with interest, for we overlap in our areas of expertise. Daav yos'Phelium does not write papers, nor hold any degrees, saving his survival of Scout Academy and ascendancy to the rank of captain. But, melant'i teaches us, does it not, that we must tailor ourselves to fit the role in which we stand?"
Aelliana felt a slight, not entirely pleasant thrill, recalling the man he had become out on Staed
erport; the man who was so definitely, to the eye of the admiring student, not his beloved professor. It had been stance, she thought, and a dozen subtleties that had remolded Daav, her copilot, her lover, her lifemate—remolded him into a rough pilot, perhaps a little chancy in his temper, perhaps, even, just a tiny bit the worse for his wine . . .
"You have never seen me stand fully as Korval," Daav murmured. "It is necessary from time to time, and one must be . . . convincing. It comforts me, that I feel less in common with the delm than I do with Kiladi."
"I want to see him," she said abruptly. She spun the chair around, her hands gripping the armrests. "Scholar Kiladi."
Daav lifted an eyebrow, and drew in a long breath. He unfolded his legs and stood, closed his eyes and let his breath go.
Aelliana leaned forward in the chair.
It was not so marked a translation as that in the port, yet she had the uncanny certainty that she was beholding a man similar in form to her lifemate, yet undeniably someone . . . other.
Like Daav, Scholar Kiladi was an upright man, proud without being prideful. It seemed that he was not quite so tall as Daav, nor, when he opened his eyes, so bold or ascertaining in his glances. He looked into her face, then courteously looked aside, as would a newly acknowledged colleague. He seemed younger than Daav, or perhaps, Aelliana thought, it was the lack of Korval's weight burdening his melant'i. A mere scholar, no matter how many times an expert, was a simple thing, compared to Daav yos'Phelium.
"Walk," she whispered. "If you please, Scholar."
"Scholar," he murmured, and turned, walking from the copilot's chair across the chamber, toward the hall.
His step was light, but by no means silent; his carriage easy, even graceful, but it did not cry out "Pilot!" nor even whisper "Scout."
"Stop," Aelliana said, wrenching herself out of the chair. She approached him, and looked boldly into his eyes. The gaze that returned hers was intelligent, polite, inquisitive. The eyes and the face of a stranger.
"You can support this?" she asked. "For how long?"
An eyebrow twitched. "Your pardon, Scholar?"
She took a breath, recalled herself and bowed. "Forgive me, Scholar; I misspoke. I met one of your students today on the port. He spoke of you warmly and with genuine regard. The message he sends is that he has recently received great news, and that it was the influence of your teaching upon his life which had brought him to this happy circumstance. His name is Chames Dobson, though he doubted you would remember him, as indifferent a scholar as he had been."
He smiled with unfeigned pleasure, and inclined his head. "My thanks to you, Scholar. Chames was—an earnest student. One is gratified to hear of his success, unspecified as it is. To have one's teaching credited with so much, must of course bring joy to a teacher's day."
"Exactly," she murmured, and stepped back, suddenly exhausted, and of no further mind to have a stranger on her ship.
"Daav."
Jen Sar Kiladi melted; she could not have pointed to the moment when he was gone entirely and Daav yos'Phelium stood before her, his face etched in an exhaustion that echoed hers.
"I can support it more easily at length," he said softly. "It becomes worn in, like a favorite sweater."
She nodded, and sighed, and raised her hands again to her sticky hair.
"I am going to have a shower," she announced. "If you please, find us a meal and some tea. While we eat, we shall plan our best return to Liad."
Chapter Twenty-Three
The most dangerous phrase in High Liaden is coab minshak'a: "Necessity exists."
—
From "A Terran's Guide to Liad"
"Uncle Daav!"
A missile hurtled out of the branches of the decorative tree they strolled past. Aelliana twisted sideways, heart in her mouth, the outcome of the child's trajectory as obvious to her as if he had already struck his head and snapped his neck. She was too far away to catch him!
However, Daav was not.
He spun in a graceful arc, arms extended, as unhurried as if there were no possible danger, swooped the hurtling body out of the air and continued his spin, faster now, the child slung over his shoulder screaming with laughter.
Daav slowed, coming to a halt with his back toward her. Shan grinned at her, blithely upside-down.
"Hi, Aelli."
"Hi, Shannie," she returned, over the frenzied pounding of her heart. "Perhaps next time you might consider an approach less fraught with peril. How if your uncle had missed you?"
"Uncle Daav never misses," Shan said comfortably.
The subject of this encompassing trust gave a shout of laughter, snatched the child off his shoulder and set him upright on his feet.
He dropped to one knee, and peered down into the small face.
"Even the quickest pilot sometimes misses," he said, seriously. "And it is not at all the thing to be ambushing your kin from the shrubberies."
Shan frowned uncertainly. "No?"
"No," Daav said firmly. "Also, you had frightened my pilot, a circumstance of which I am required to take a very dim view, indeed."
Silver eyes sought hers.
"Were you frightened, Aelli?"
"Yes," she said, kneeling beside Daav on the grass. "I could see the path of your fall, and I could see that you would strike your head, and that I was too far away to catch you."
"Oh." Shan looked down, frowning ferociously.
"You see numbers," he said at last, looking up again. "Like sparkles."
She had previously been introduced to the concept of "sparkles," by which Shan would have one believe that he could see another's emotions. It said much for the change in her circumstances, that she had not found this odd in the least, though he was young, so Anne had told her, to be showing Healing talent.
"Perhaps, a little," she admitted. "Recall that I cannot compare directly, for I do not see sparkles."
He nodded, and abruptly bowed.
"Forgive me," he said formally.
Aelliana inclined her head. "It is forgotten," she answered properly.
"Very well," Daav said, rising. "Now, if you please, young pirate, lead us to your parents!"
Their arrival was greeted with embraces, and exclamations about timing and the luck. It transpired that Er Thom had only arrived home himself within the last two-day, and had scarcely, as he told Daav with perfect solemnity, had time enough to sort through his mail.
Shan being returned to the care of his nurse, with whom Daav had a quiet word apart, the adults repaired to the patio overlooking the twilight wild park, where a cold meal was served, over which she and Daav were quizzed on every detail of their trip.
Anne asked the majority of questions, while her lifemate contented himself with studying Daav's face, his displaying what Aelliana could only say was tenderness. It was very much pilot and copilot work, Aelliana thought, though she could not have said for certain who sat which board.
"No more!" Daav protested at last, falling back in his chair and raising his hands, as if in surrender. "You now have every crumb upon which we had hoped to dine out for the next relumma!"
Anne laughed.
"We won't tell a soul," she promised. "Besides, you know that Lady yo'Lanna refuses to believe anything she hears of you, unless it comes from your own lips."
"Whereupon she disbelieves it doubly! But, here—turnabout is fair play. Tell us all and everything that has happened to you while we were apart! And mind you tell it well!"
"I'm to be interviewer and interviewee? What will you do?"
"Sip my wine and be entertained," he retorted. "I hope you don't believe that I memorized that long list of inquiry."
She laughed, and shook her head, brown eyes dancing.
"If you want it then, laddie, here it is—I was dull and held at home, teaching my classes and playing with my son while Er Thom went out on the route. He came home once, between, and then we were merry."
"A pleasant tale, if a short one. Brother? Have you nothi
ng with which to embroider this spare narrative?"
"A single thread, I fear, though perhaps it will please."
He extended a hand to his lifemate, who received it with a smile so brilliant Aelliana felt her eyes tear.
"yos'Galan will soon welcome a second child into the house."
Anne laughed.
"Don't let him cotton you," she said. "I'm only just caught, so it's more 'eventually' than 'soon.' "
A ferocious joy struck Aelliana from across the table, nearly unseating her. Daav being Daav, it was nothing so simple as only joy, no matter how fierce; it carried envy on its back; hope, anticipation, delight, and a single dark stroke of fear.
"The clan increases!" he cried, and it was joy only that informed his face and his voice. "May we reap much delight from Korval's new child!"
They arrived at Jelaza Kazone with the rising of the stars, and went first to the inner garden, walking hand in hand along the flower-choked path, toward the center, and the Tree.
"I see that I shall have to free the pathways," Daav said, "else random strollers will become engulfed."
"Do we have many random strollers?" Aelliana asked, letting his happiness marry her own. The result was a gentle euphoria, edged with excitement.
"We do from time to time host gathers, and the garden is of course open to our guests. I will lead here, Pilot, in case there is a savage beast lying in wait . . ."
He stepped forward without relinquishing her hand and led her safely past a tangle of twigs, leaves glossy and black in the starlight.
When she was able to walk beside him again, she murmured, "I like the garden wild."
"As I do. I swear that I envision no such pretty tribute to the landscaper's art as we might see in the city. Though they have their place, it is not this place. No, I merely wish to widen the trail so that two may walk abreast."
They left the path altogether then, and walked across the root-woven grass to the Tree. Daav put his free hand flat against the broad trunk, and she did the same.
