The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  "The game is afoot!" Clonak shouted, clattering off his stool with a flourish. He looked to Jon. "I'll get on that maintenance update, if you like."

  "Always after the sit-down job," the old Scout grumbled. Clonak laughed and headed toward the office, flipping a casual hand at the rest. Patch jumped from Daav's shoulder and followed.

  Across the half-circle, Trilla slid to her feet and tossed Aelliana a grin. "Set for a bit of dancing, Pilot?"

  "If you have the patience for me," she said. "I am aware I cannot give the challenge you might like."

  The other woman laughed as she unbuckled her tool belt. "Oh, and can you not?" She turned to the dark haired man as if she'd heard him speak. "Just a bit of menfri'at, Master Daav. No harm in it. Quite of a bit of good."

  He inclined his head. "As you say."

  He watched them walk away, noting the set of Aelliana's shoulders, the light, confident walk.

  "Hard to believe that's the same woman slunk in here half-a-quarter ago and whispered for her ship," Jon commented from his side. Daav looked down into a pair of speculative amber eyes.

  "We'll have her brawling in taverns before the year is done," he agreed, watching Aelliana shed her jacket and face Trilla across sub-bay one. "Fine work, Master Jon."

  "Now, now, I can't take all the credit. It was a certain young captain set her feet on the path by handing her a bowli ball and telling her to fight."

  Daav laughed. "Cow-handed as that? Poor captain."

  "Well, as I say, he's young, but his ideas aren't too bad. Usually."

  Trilla's first pass was fast and low—rather faster and lower than he would have expected. He felt his own muscles tense as Aelliana slipped gently to the left, sidestepping the attack and spinning, establishing her rhythm and the range of her dance.

  "How long has this been going on?" he asked Jon.

  "Matter of two days."

  "She's good."

  "Not bad. The fast stuff don't bother her, but come at her hard, like you're going to do damage and damn me if she won't back down every time." Jon sighed. "Never did hear who beats her."

  The crew door cycled and Daav looked around in time to see Sed Ric bin'Ala and Yolan pel'Kirmin step through. They came forward, the girl to the boy's right, stopped and made their bows.

  "Captain."

  "Children. Pilot Caylon tells me you are joyfully re-clanned."

  Yolan made no answer to that, though the look she flung him held no amazing charge of joy. The boy was likewise somber, but replied courteously enough, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "Show the captain here your toy, young Sed Ric," Jon directed, pointing at the boy's belt. "Look at this, Daav."

  The jang-wire came out with a flash and a snap, held in the down position, limp and almost pretty.

  "Hah." Daav extended a hand. "May I?"

  Sed Ric offered the leather handle and Daav slid his fingers into the loop.

  "I believe this may be original," he said and went back a sudden, silent step, snapping the wire up and flicking his wrist, so.

  The limp wire went stiff, becoming an arm's length of double-edged blade, Daav grinned, shook the blade carefully and handed the quiescent weapon back to its owner.

  "Very nice, indeed. Where did you come by it?"

  "Uncle Lip Ten left it to us," Yolan said, "in a crate of things he'd gathered, star-hopping. Aunt Fris said it was junk and wished us joy of it."

  "Doubtless Aunt Fris has other virtues," Daav murmured and Yolan laughed, short and bitter. Over in sub-bay one, Aelliana spun and kicked, dancing neatly away from Trilla's snaking grab.

  "What—" Daav began, but the question was never finished.

  "Aelliana!" Clonak was on a dead run from the office, face, for once, entirely serious. "Aelliana!"

  In the circle of the dance, she spun, dropped her stance and came forward.

  "What is it?"

  "Tower on the line. Fellow on Outyard Five toppled into the mechanics. Autodoc mended the worst, but his heart failed him. Can you lift the spare and the health tech—"

  "Yes!" She snatched up her jacket. Clonak was already on his way back to the office.

  "Daav." She paused before him, hand on his sleeve, green eyes bright as she looked into his face. "Ride second board for me?"

  Adrenaline surged. He grinned. "Yes."

  "Thank you," she said, and was gone, running at the top of her speed.

  In the next instant, Daav was likewise gone, his shadow merging with hers as the crew door closed.

  THE DELM HAD DECIDED against a partnership with bel'Fasin.

  Oh, she had reasons, and gave them in-depth, her wish, she said, was to instruct him, so that when he was come delm . . .

  He scarcely attended her; sat, cold and disbelieving, while she spoke—rambling, meaningless sentences that meant, in final cipher, one thing:

  He was ruined.

  In his apartment abovestairs, Ran Eld riffled accounts that had been squeezed dry years ago, called up balance sheets and dismissed them, his hands shaking so badly he must make two and three attempts to strike the proper key.

  At length, he rose from his desk, poured himself a brandy and wandered the room, wracking his brain for something—for anything—he might sell or take loan against, that would keep San bel'Fasin at bay.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emergency repairs at Tinsori Light. Left my ring in earnest. The keeper's a cantra-grubbing pirate, but the ship should hold air to Lytaxin. Send one of ours and eight cantra to redeem my pledge. Send them armed. In fact send two . . . .

  —Excerpted from a beam letter from

  Jen Sin yos'Phelium Clan Korval to his delm,

  written in the first relumma of the year named Dalenart

  THE TECH WENT INTO the hold with his life unit, strapped into the rumble-seat and reported himself ready.

  Daav checked the webbing, made certain the unit was properly dogged, advised the tech to take a nap and walked back to his station.

  "End," Aelliana said into the comm as he slid into the copilot's slot and pulled the shock-straps tight.

  "Confirmed," Tower announced half-a-heartbeat later. "Lift at will, Ride the Luck."

  She shot him a look from eyes more brilliant than emeralds. "Ready?"

  "Ready."

  "Engage gyros."

  * * *

  JON DEA'CORT STOOD before the command wall in the side bay, working the dials, swearing ferociously at a shower of static. The band caught suddenly, delivering the curt tones of Port Control.

  " . . . shift lanes immediately. We have an emergency. Freighter X38519, slipshift to alternate path R9. Tansberg's Folly on approach, divert to Binjali's sling—"

  "Trilla!" Jon shouted.

  "On it," came the laconic response as the alert sounded overhead.

  "Allow me to provide visuals, Master dea'Cort." Clonak stepped to Jon's side, his hands dancing over the screen-controls, bringing the four most pertinent to sharp life.

  "This is Pilot Aelliana Caylon, Ride the Luck." Calm as if she were discussing the likelihood of rain. "We have our package and are ready to lift at pilot's two minutes. Mark. Request clearance, Tower. Route computed, checks in line, transmitted . . . End."

  "Markham's Mistress, change lanes now!" Tower snarled. "Lift at will, Ride the Luck. All ships, priority clearance to Ride the Luck. We have an emergency . . ."

  There was a roar and a shifting whine, which was the gyros spinning to full, and then the muted, held-out throb of power that was lift-off, close by. On the visuals, Ride the Luck cleared Solcintra Port and hurtled upward. The radio had a moment free of chatter, into which Trilla's exuberant, "Caught her!" sang savage with delight.

  The chatter took up again, grousing about skewed schedules, hovering deadlines, pile ups, back ups and—

  "At nearest convenience, will Ride the Luck put navcomp on line?" Tower requested with unusual politeness. Clonak gave a shout of laughter and Jon grinned. The pirates, hovering at wall-edge, l
ooked at each other with wide-stretched eyes.

  "At nearest convenience," Tower repeated—"Thank you, Pilot Caylon."

  There was a gabble of chatter—wonderment, such like: "Caylon? The Tables? That Caylon? . . . chel'Mara's ship . . . Flies her like a Scout!"—and then another voice, overriding all the others.

  "Aelliana Caylon, Ride the Luck, amending filed course. Projected time savings seven-point-three minutes."

  "Continue," Tower directed, while the rest of near space held its collective breath.

  "We'll be adding a delta vee of 23.8 percent at 14:01.33; and we'll be crossing shipping intersections 14, 15, 16 and 23. At 14:08.14 we will change attitude to 170 degrees exactly and add a delta vee of 33.6 percent plus or minus a tenth. As we hit the tidal effect zone we'll pick up an additional delta vee of 17.04 percent and also be south of the main equatorial shipping lanes so we'll have no clearance problems. My window is 13:59 to 14:03, which at my mark begins in three minutes. May I have confirmation?"

  Silence hummed through the lines for a full thirty seconds, broken, at last, by Daav: "Verified."

  "In her head!" a Terran-tinged voice whooped from close in. "Working it in her head, damn me for a mudhog! Who's running second—"

  "Ride the Luck, we have a confirm on that." Tower sounded just the tiniest bit rattled. "You're all go."

  The chatter broke over the comm in waves: "Tower fifty-eight seconds behind, running a comp as big as your homeworld!" "I'll drink for free tonight! Caylon at the board, is it?"

  There was more of approximately the same, which Jon ignored, glancing instead to the wall of screens.

  "What's she got in—"

  "The tide!" Trilla cried, leaning over his shoulder to point as Sed Ric and Yolan crowded closer. "She's going to catch the tidal effect at the juncture with planetary grav—"

  "She's what?" Clonak cleared a screen and flung the equation into it, fingers blurring as he built the schematic. "I'm damned," he said suddenly. "Jon, look at this."

  "I see it. A rare wonder, our math teacher."

  It was pretty much textbook then, with one more small adjustment, as Daav kicked them onto an auxiliary approach that put them practically in the yard's back door. It shaved another minute and would have been counted very pretty, had it not been overshadowed by Aelliana's stunning bit of work. Jon backed the chatter down and shook his head, Terran-wise, in admiration.

  "The woman's unbelievable," Clonak murmured, keying up the replay. "On the run, in her head . . . I'm in love, Master-mine."

  "For the fifth time since yesterday," Jon snorted, elbowing himself a spot at the board. He watched the replay in reverent silence, lost in the beauty of the maneuver. To shave seven minutes—seven minutes—off a lift measured and calibrated and understood to the nanosecond, while she was running board, close in traffic, with the possibility of someone breaking out—in her head, as Clonak said . . .

  "I'd sign her first class this minute," Jon murmured, "and a blight on the regs. Anyone who can fly like that—"

  "A goddess," Clonak sighed, sounding more than half-serious. "I claim the privilege of naming her first class, sir, and I am prepared to duel for the honor."

  "Yes, but she'll never believe she earned it that way," Jon said, keying the replay to storage. "The book is the path and the math teacher aims to follow it through every twist and cranny."

  "We've been avoiding the tidal effect ever since the first ship shed atmosphere," Clonak was almost singing. "Avoiding it! Compensating for it! Aelliana Caylon uses it and speeds her package on its way! Poor Daav."

  "His trick lost in shadow, eh?" Jon grinned. "He won't mind."

  "No, I suppose he won't. Anything that improves the lift is joy to Daav, no matter if your grandmother conned it."

  Jon started, eyes widening, then going narrow. "There's a notion, though." He turned from the screens and strode down-bay, snagging his jacket from the hook as he went by.

  "I'll be back!" he called and vanished through the door, as Trilla, Clonak and the pirates exchanged puzzled stares.

  TECH AND PACKAGE off-loaded, Ride the Luck rode a holding pattern, waiting for Port Control to sort the scrambled traffic and give them clearance to land.

  The pilot had gone to fetch tea from the pantry, leaving the board in charge of her copilot, who had reclined his long self at his station, watching the go-lights through half-closed eyes.

  Brief as it was, Daav thought, one ear cocked toward the radio, this lift had thus far been among the most remarkable of his career. Who but Aelliana Caylon could have conceived the notion of using the tidal influence every other pilot in the universe so busily avoided? Who but that same amazing mind could have framed, checked and executed so exciting a new maneuver in the time—

  "Daav? You did want tea?"

  He opened his eyes with a grin and extended a languid hand for the mug. "It's a lazy second you're burdened with, Pilot."

  "Yes, certainly." She laughed softly and perched on the edge of her own chair, eyes flicking over screens, lights, readouts.

  "It was fortunate you had known of that auxiliary route," she said. "I should have lost us three minutes at the last, lining up the primary approach."

  "No more than one-point-five," Daav corrected. "And you had already gained us seven that were utterly unlooked-for."

  She moved her shoulders and glanced down into her mug. "I had been working on a notion about the tidals about a year ago," she said. "It wouldn't come together, so I put it aside. Something—shifted—when you showed me Little Jump the other day. And then today, when I saw the numbers and the relationships—" She looked up, pride apparent, though she fought to keep her features composed. "It all just tumbled into place." Abruptly she gave up the struggle for dignity and allowed the grin its freedom. "Pretty, isn't it?"

  "A thing of astonishing beauty," Daav agreed, smiling into sparkling green eyes. Those same eyes widened, then moved aside, flashing over the stat-lights.

  "You did send Delm Reptor to find the pirates, didn't you?" The look she gave him was quizzical. Daav sighed.

  "I suppose I will have to own the act, though I refuse to bear all the blame." He raised his mug to her in light salute. "Jon found who they were."

  "Oh." She sipped tea, frowning slightly at the floor-plates.

  "That was clever of him," she said eventually. "I had tried, you know, to find their surnames, but I don't expect I was very subtle." Her frown deepened and she raised doubtful eyes to his.

  "Do you think we—do you think we did well?" she asked, leaning forward.

  Daav raised an eyebrow, caught by her intensity. "Do you think we did not?"

  "I—am not certain," she said hesitantly, frowning once more at the flooring. "It had seemed—they were hungry and—and compelled toward thievery—and so young." She glanced up, tawny brows drawn. "I do not—you spoke as if it—the Low Port—as if it were dreadfully dangerous . . ."

  "It is," he assured her, with utter sincerity, "dreadfully dangerous."

  "Yes! And so it seems that we must have done well, to have caught them away from danger and returned them to safety—and—to kin. Yet . . ."

  "Yet?" he prompted softly, when a minute had passed and she said nothing more.

  She came to her feet all at once, leaving her mug behind in the arm-slot, and paced to the center of the cabin. There, she spun to face him, fingers twisting and twining 'til he thought she might never unknot them.

  "They left," she said. "They said that they had left because the time was coming when they might be eligible for—for marriage. Neither wished to be married to any other. They spoke to their delm of their desire to be always together, but he was not—not disposed to hear them as more than children. They spoke to him again on the matter, and he was abrupt, saying consanguinity was too near. They went a third time, bearing gene-charts which showed them unlikely of producing a defective . . ." She faltered.

  Daav set his cup aside and straightened in his chair. "Their delm spoke of
separating them so they might learn to deal with other folk."

  "Yes." She bit her lip. "Yes, of course he did. How could he not? To lose the possibility of liaison marriage from two of the younger—he must look to his clan's whole good. I do not fault him—he spoke as he must. But—" She paused; plunged ahead.

  "I—I don't pretend to know a great deal about—and of course marriage is—extremely—distasteful—"

  "Is it?"

  "Yes—and only think how much more distasteful when there is one you—prefer—above all others—I pity them from my heart and wish—I wish we had not stopped to play!"

  "For that I shall bear the blame. They looked in desperate case and unlikely to ask for aid. My whole thought had been to force aid upon them—at least as little as a meal." He paused. "Does their delm still speak of separation?"

  She sighed. "It is—under negotiation. A trial separation, to determine the—the depth of their devotion. Sed Ric—Sed Ric speaks of being apprenticed to a cousin on an Outworld, so that Yolan may finish her pilot's study at home."

  "Ah. And Yolan?"

  "She cries," Aelliana said, shoulders slumping. "Cries and looks at him—I cannot tell you how she looks at him." She frowned at the floor.

  "What else may their delm do? They are assets of the clan, to be used, as all are used, for the good of all."

  "So the Code teaches us," Daav said rather dryly. He tipped his head, considering her downturned face.

  "Is marriage—of course—so very distasteful?" he wondered softly.

  She glanced up, mouth hard. "I do not know that it must be," she said with precision. "My own—but that was many years ago."

  "From the distance of your exalted age," he said lightly, misliking the tightness of her muscles and the way she stood there, tensed for a blow.

  She drew herself up, eyes wide. "Next relumma, I shall have twenty-seven Standard Years," she said sharply. "I was married the day after my sixteenth name day."

  Too young. Far too young, Daav thought, for one such as Aelliana. Quivering with something between pity and outrage, he began a seated bow of apology—was arrested by her raised hand.