The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  The subject of this palpable untruth turned his head to glare. "Are you going to help raise this pavilion or not?"

  "Absolutely! Nothing could induce me to miss such an undertaking! I was only just now having the most delightful chat with Merchant Herr Minata. We could have gone on for hours, so at one did we find ourselves on all matters of importance. But no, I said to him, making my excuse, I must go and help raise the pavilion, for Master Ken Rik rules me with an iron hand."

  A small sound escaped Priscilla, somewhere between a sneeze and a cough. The captain looked at her curiously.

  "Are you well, Ms. Mendoza?"

  "Perfectly, sir. Thank you." She took hold of the slippery pavilion cloth and kept her eyes lowered.

  "Now," Ken Rik said, shoving a portion of fabric into the captain's hands, "we begin."

  It took some time to arrange the corners to Ken Rik's satisfaction. Eventually it was accomplished; the valves were closed, and the pavilion began to inflate.

  Priscilla, standing a little way back and watching the first wriggling upheaval, caught sight of a tip of bronze against the bright yellow fabric and inclined her head, as if welcoming a friend.

  "Is Korval the dragon or the tree?" she wondered to no one in particular.

  "Neither," the captain said. "Or both. The Tree is Jelaza Kazone, originally the cipher for Clan Torvin—Line yos'Phelium. The Dragon is Megelaar, for Clan Alkia—Line yos'Galan. Together they're Clan Korval."

  She frowned a little. "Two clans merged to make one?"

  "Oh, well," he said, smiling, "they really didn't have a choice. Cantra yos'Phelium was the only member of her clan on the colony ship—when it landed on Liad, you understand—except for her unborn child. Tor An yos'Galan was in the same fix. At least, he wasn't pregnant, so perhaps his fix was worse. She had been pilot; he'd been co. When they finally raised a world—landed the ship safely—she asked him to raise her heir, should something happen to her. He accepted it, poor child, ready to abandon Alkia to the void and become Clan Torvin. But Cantra seems to have been a fair-minded sort of person, among her other faults, so Torvin and Alkia ceased to be, and Clan Korval emerged." He moved his shoulders. "Family history. But you asked for it."

  "Yes, I did. Your Clan was made when the ship landed on Liad?" Priscilla was still frowning; it seemed a very long time.

  "A young House," he said cheerfully. "An upstart. There are some who trace their ancestry back to the Old World. Sav Rid's family, for instance—"

  "Captain?" Ken Rik said from the seat of the jitney. "I'll go to Thessel's now and see if there's news. Unless you would rather go?"

  "I," the captain said, "would rather get my hands dirty setting up the nerligig. By all means go to Thessel. And do say all those polite things she seems to find so necessary to her comfort."

  Unexpectedly, Ken Rik grinned. The jitney slid easily into the flow of traffic, heading west.

  The captain wandered over to the sample case, rummaged about for a few moments, and emerged with a toolbox in one hand and a dark nerligig in the other.

  Dropping the toolbox, he sat on a crate before the slowly inflating pavilion and put the nerligig on his knees.

  "Might as well put waiting to work," he murmured with the air of quoting someone. "Why don't you take a walk, Ms. Mendoza? There's nothing for you to do here right now."

  Priscilla hesitated, nettled by this casual dismissal. But his head was bent over the mechanism, and he was to all appearances absorbed in making the necessary adjustments, so she eventually stalked away.

  Ochre Square was a crowded, busy block under the shadow of the monotrain station. Over the buzz of the track, the jitney traffic kept up a perpetual whine. Priscilla considered the other Traders' displays and tents from a distance that said she was not a potential customer. Several things tempted her, and she regretted her lost money. Presumably Dagmar had kept the cash she had found in Priscilla's cabin.

  Shan was still concentrating on his work when Priscilla came leisurely back toward the fully inflated pavilion with its striking dragon and tree design. It was comforting, she thought suddenly, to see him there, patiently working, the big, clever hands manipulating the tools with precision.

  Frowning, she shook her head. There was no reason at all for her to be comforted by the captain's presence, yet twice now she had distinctly had that sensation. She was not altogether certain she approved of it. Irritably, she looked away.

  The jitney was driverless. It was speeding, helped along by the double load gripped in its front claw. And it was on a collision course with the Passage's tent.

  Later, Priscilla was never sure if she had run or merely flung herself across the distance that separated them. She struck the captain with brutal force and knocked him rolling from the crate, rolling herself as he twisted away, hearing sounds of destruction from too near at hand until she caught up, gasping, against the wall of the temporary-permanent.

  She came to her knees, horror-filled.

  He lay a little distance from her, his back against the wall, his eyes closed. If he was breathing, he was going about it very quietly.

  "Captain?" she whispered. She laid her hand along his cheek.

  The slanted brows contracted, and the dark lashes snapped up. "Don't do that, Priscilla."

  "All right." She dropped her hand and looked at him uncertainly. "Are you hurt?"

  "No," he said shortly. "I'm not hurt." He sat up and looked past her, his silver eyes enormous. Priscilla turned.

  The pavilion was gone, tangled crazily about something that surged and tottered and whined like a netted wilmaby. A crowd was beginning to gather.

  "Your arm please, Priscilla," said the captain, eyes still on the wreckage.

  She rose and offered a hand. He accepted the aid and linked his arm in hers, his hand curved lightly about her wrist.

  "Captain?" she said softly, hating to say it but certain it should be said. "I saw Dagmar earlier, on Tourmaline Way . . . ."

  "She has a right to be here, Priscilla; this is the port. Ah, a policeman. How nice." He started toward that official, and, arm-linked, she went with him.

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 143

  Second Shift

  10.30 Hours

  Thankfully, the library was empty. Priscilla had no wish to speak to anyone at the moment, not even Lina. She located an isolated screen by the door to the pet library and sat down, fumbling with the keys.

  The interview with the policeman at the port had been interesting. Disentangled, the jitney was identified by an emaciated gentleman in cherry and white robes as belonging to his employer, one Herr Reyes. He had noticed its absence approximately twenty minutes before and had reported the disappearance to the police before undertaking a rather lengthy walk back into the city. By coincidence he had been turning into Ochre Square as the Tree and Dragon suddenly shrieked, shuddered, and folded in on itself.

  A quick examination by the policeman at the site showed that the steering rod bore no imprints at all.

  At that point Priscilla had opened her mouth. The captain's fingers tightened briefly on her wrist. Priscilla closed her mouth.

  This happened three more times during the course of the captain's conversation with the cop and once as he was speaking with a visibly shaken Ken Rik. He then gave Priscilla into the cargo master's care and instructed him to escort her to the shuttle.

  "What!" she cried. "Why?"

  The captain returned her stare calmly. "You've had a hard shift, Priscilla. Take the rest of it off and come to me at Prime. Be back as soon as you can, Ken Rik. There's a bit of cleanup to do. I'll be speaking with Merchant Reyes's clerk." He had turned away.

  The screen chimed, bringing her back to the present. She fed in her request, then waited a few anxious moments until the proper file was retrieved and displayed.

  SERVICE RECORD. PRISCILLA DELACROIX Y MENDOZA.

  She began to scroll through it impatiently. Suddenly she hit PAUSE and went back a screen.


  STANDARD 1385, TULON. TEMPORARY BERTH DAXFLAN, CARGO MASTER TRANSSHIP JANKALIM AS AGREED DUTIFUL PASSAGE, PILOT (PROV SEC), LIBRARIAN. NOTATION: COMMAND POTENTIAL; SECOND MATE TRAINING INSTITUTED.

  She read it twice, each time going back to the beginning and scanning every line to the end. There was no mention of thievery or of jumping ship. TRANSSHIPPED JANKALIM AS AGREED.

  At the end of the file she paused again, staring at the certification from the registry office on VanDyk.

  It was dated one Standard Week ago.

  "Impossible," she told the screen.

  The words persisted. She read them again and keyed in her next request.

  CONTRACT SIGNED BETWEEN PRISCILLA DELACROIX Y MENDOZA, FIRST PARTY, AND SHAN YOS'GALAN AS CAPTAIN, DUTIFUL PASSAGE, SECOND PARTY. FIRST PARTY SHALL AGREE TO PERFORM DUTIES INHERENT IN THE POST OF PET LIBRARIAN AND ALSO TO UNDERTAKE PILOT TRAINING ONE SHIP WATCH OF EVERY NINE, WITHOUT FAIL, AND ALSO TO UNDERTAKE ANY ADDITIONAL TRAINING OR DUTY DEEMED REASONABLE AND JUST BY SECOND PARTY.

  Priscilla leaned back. There it was. She briefly and belatedly recalled advice given a much younger Priscilla: "I tell you what, youngster. Don't you ever sign a Liaden's contract. I don't care how careful you read it. If he won't sign yours, let the deal go. Safer that way."

  Still, there was nothing wrong with undergoing second mate's training. She would have appreciated being told, but she was sure that he had meant it for the best.

  It was not until she had cleared the screen and left the library that it occurred to her to wonder why she should be sure of it.

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 143

  Third Shift

  16.00 Hours

  Priscilla exited the lift and walked resolutely toward the captain's office. She was dressed in the yellow shirt and khaki trousers she had worn when she first walked down this hall. In her pocket was the provisional second class. The rest of her belongings were in the cabin that had been hers, the clothes neatly folded and stacked beside the scrounged plastic box. She must remember to tell the captain to offer the bracelets to a collector. The price they would bring as curios would go far toward paying her debt to the ship.

  She rounded the corner by Hold 6 and nearly walked into Kayzin Ne'Zame.

  The first mate recovered first and swept a surprising bow, as deep as one would accord the captain, augmented by an odd little flourish that mystified Priscilla entirely.

  "We are well met, Priscilla Mendoza," she said in a light, quick voice much unlike her usual manner of speech. "I have been remiss in offering you an apology for my behavior several shifts gone by, when we spoke near the central computer." She took a breath and looked up. "Pray forgive it. I was discourteous and in error."

  Priscilla blinked, collected herself immediately, and bowed in turn, though not as deeply, nor did she attempt to copy the flourish.

  "Do me the honor of putting the incident from your mind, Kayzin Ne'Zame. I shall do the same."

  The Liaden woman inclined her head. "You are kind. It shall be as you have said. I leave you now."

  "Be well, Kayzin Ne'Zame," Priscilla murmured, laying her hand against the captain's door.

  "Come!"

  He was standing, hands hooked in his belt, his bright head bent over a chess problem. It was a new one, Priscilla saw, and she wondered if the other had had a solution, after all. He glanced up as the door closed and smiled. "Hello, Priscilla. Did you rest well this past shift?"

  "I visited Master Frodo for a while," she said, hesitating between desk chairs and couch.

  "A very restful companion. I've always found him so, at any rate. Ken Rik labels him terminally cute. But Ken Rik likes snakes. What may I give you to drink?"

  "Nothing, thank you, Captain." She decided on one of the chairs before his desk, drifted over, and perched on the arm.

  "Nothing?" The slanted brows drew together as he crossed the rug. "Are you angry, Priscilla? Or am I angry? If it's me, I assure you that I'm not. And if it's you—but surely you knew I had to send you away? It would have been unforgivable to keep you by, especially when I'd put you in so much danger already."

  "You put me in danger?" She stared at him. "It's the other way around, Captain. I put you in danger. Which is why I would rather not accept a drink. I'm not stopping long." She forced herself to meet his eyes calmly. "I think it would be wisest for me to leave the Passage immediately."

  "Do you?" He paused. "What a very odd notion of wisdom. If you were staying long enough to have a drink, Priscilla, what would you prefer? Purely hypothetical, of course." The light eyes were mocking her.

  "Idle speculation, since I'm not staying that long," she said crisply. "I came only to say that—"

  "It would be wisest for you to leave the Passage immediately," the captain interrupted, holding up his hands placatingly. "You did say it. I heard you. Now, Priscilla, please pay attention—this is very important. You might at least have some consideration for my feelings in the matter. I'm thirsty, and you're telling nonsense stories, which you could as easily tell while having a glass of wine with me like a civilized person." He tipped his head. "Do strive for some courtesy, Priscilla."

  She felt laughter rising and clamped down, with limited success. A small sound woefully reminiscent of a hiccup emerged. "Red, please," she said, glaring.

  "Red," he repeated, moving toward the bar. "An excellent choice, as even Gordy will tell you. Though, of course, there's nothing wrong with the white or the jade or the blue." He was back and handing her a cut-crystal glass. Her fingers curved around the stem automatically. "And the red won't ruin your taste for Prime—you will have time to dine with me, won't you, Priscilla? I agree that I should have first found if your schedule was clear, but it did seem rude to ask you to come to speak with me at dinnertime and then rob you of dinner."

  She sipped her wine and tried again. "Captain, surely you must see that the longer I stay with you—with the Passage—the more danger you're in? If I'm gone, then you—"

  "Priscilla, you have a woeful tendency toward single-mindedness," he interrupted, sitting on the edge of the desk and swinging a leg.

  She clamped her jaw and stood. "Thank you for all you've done, Captain, but I really must be going."

  "You can't do that, Priscilla; you have a contract. You're bound to this ship until Solcintra. That's four months, as the route runs. You don't have the buy-off fee, do you? I didn't think so." He raised his glass. "It looks like you're stuck, child. Might as well sit down and finish your wine."

  "I'm not a child!"

  "Well, I can't be expected to know that, can I, if you persist in acting like one? You really must try to curb these tastes for melodrama and resignation."

  "Melodrama!" She glared at him, her fingers ominously tight about the glass. "At least I'm not high-handed and—"

  "High-handed!"

  "High-handed," she asserted with relish. "And dictatorial. And obstinate. As if you couldn't see why—"

  "High-handed! Of all the—Priscilla, when we reach Solcintra, I engage to introduce you to my brother's Aunt Kareen. Call me high-handed! Before that, you'd best improve your grasp of the High Tongue—your accent's execrable. And another thing! How dare you profess yourself all joy to see me? Have you no sense of propriety? I hardly know you."

  "Nor will you know me any better," she stated, suddenly calm. She set her glass on the edge of his desk. "Because I'm leaving. Contract or not. Sue me."

  "I won't. But I will arrest you, if you force me to it." He was in front of her, his face quite serious. "Priscilla, have some sense. Don't you realize you saved my life this afternoon?"

  She gaped, aware of a strong desire to take him by the shoulders and shake. "Do you realize it? You act like—Captain yos'Galan, if you know it, then let me go! Surely you see that the sooner I'm gone, the sooner you're safe! People will stop trying to kill you—"

  "No, wait." A big, warm hand closed around one of hers. "Priscilla, please—a favor. Come sit down . . . here's your
wine. Now, if you please, tell me what happened at the port today."

  She sat carefully, accepted her glass, and took a sip, steadying heart rate and breathing, embracing serenity. "You know what happened, Captain. You were there."

  "I was there," he agreed, back at his station on the edge of the desk. "But I'm Liaden. You're Terran. From what you've said, it seems clear we think that two different things occurred." He leaned forward, eyes intent on her face. "Tell me, Priscilla. Please?"

  She took another sip and looked at him straightly. "Today someone deliberately tried to kill you by aiming a jitney at you, jamming the rod, and jumping out. By the grace of the Goddess, I was close enough to knock you out of the way." She took a breath. "I believe—though I have no proof—that Dagmar Collier made the attempt. I also believe that it was ordered by Sav Rid Olanek, striking at you because you gave me sanctuary. So, if I leave the Passage, show myself to be a free agent, no more attempts should be made on your life."

  "There it is," he said softly, brows pulled slightly together. "Why sacrifice yourself to keep me safe, Priscilla? Assuming all of what you say is accurate, of course."

  "I brought danger to you," she said patiently. "It's only just that I take it away again. It's what is honorable."

  "Is it?" He raised his glass, reconsidered, and lowered it. "Then I'm afraid we have a conflict of honors. The code I was raised to says that, having been so careless as to have necessitated your saving my life, I am very much in your debt. Setting aside the fact that allowing you to go would be murder, if my assessment of Ms. Collier's character is correct, I owe you the protection of this ship—of my resources, say rather. To send you away—unprotected and unprepared—to decoy danger from me is lunacy. And also highly dishonorable. It makes far more sense, is within the limits of honor—and duty!—to stay where it is relatively safe and work to balance what is owed them!" He did drink this time, slowly, then lowered his glass and shook his head.

  "The fact is, Priscilla, you don't know the rules. I grant that the admission of Ms. Collier and yourself into the game alters things somewhat, but not enough to matter. Certainly the larger points remain constant. Am I being sinister enough, or should I wrap myself in a cloak and snigger?"