The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  She laid her spoon down carefully. "But an—animal—has no recourse."

  He sipped, eyes on her. "But you're not an animal, are you, Priscilla? Aren't you a person? Isn't respect due you? You can be an animal, if you choose to say you are. Or you can show him quite clearly that you are a resourceful, intelligent person, worthy of the dignity accorded all persons." He set the glass down, his big mouth tight.

  "He has stolen from you—possessions, money, personhood. And you speak of taking on the role of an animal, sacrificing your life for mine. Priscilla, don't you see that you are owed? How dare he order violence against your person? How dare he steal the money you earned, the things you own, your reputation? And by what right did he place your personal honor in jeopardy in the first place, hiring you as master over a cargo of contraband?" He held out a hand. "Wouldn't you rather stay, Priscilla? We'll bring him payment together."

  With no hesitation at all, she slid her hand into his.

  "Yes," she said clearly. "We'll do that."

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 143

  Fourth Shift

  18.00 Hours

  Priscilla laid her hand against the door. It slid away to a soft "Enter" from within.

  Smiling, Lina bounced up from her seat at the desk. "Priscilla! How are you, my friend?"

  "Fine." Priscilla smiled back, sliding her hands into the small ones stretched out to her. "You're busy? I'm not on urgent business."

  "No, come and talk with me! If I look at that terrible report another minute, I shall develop a severe headache." She laughed, tugging on Priscilla's hands. "Save me!"

  They sat on the bed, Lina cross-legged in the center and Priscilla on the edge.

  "So, now, what is this not-urgent business?"

  "I'm afraid it isn't going to make any sense," Priscilla apologized, toying with the quilt. "At least, I can't think of a sensible way to ask it. Lina, isn't Shan yos'Galan the captain?"

  The smaller woman blinked. "Of course he is. Are you having a joke, my friend?"

  "I said it didn't make sense," Priscilla pointed out. "I just had dinner with the captain—" She stopped. Lina folded her hands together, waiting.

  "I had dinner with the captain," Priscilla repeated slowly. "As I was leaving, I asked him about having returned my things. He said the ship bore the expense of buying them back, that I was to consider it my bonus for having been put in danger." She paused, frowning a little. "Then I asked about the earrings, because they weren't mine."

  "And?" Lina prompted softly.

  "He said the earrings were a gift from Shan yos'Galan, and the captain had nothing to do with it."

  "He said so?" Lina moved her shoulders. "Then it is true."

  Priscilla sighed. "Yes, I'm sure it is. But Lina, if Shan yos'Galan is the captain . . ."

  "Surely you know that the captain speaks—acts—for the ship," her friend said carefully. "Yes? So, Shan speaks for himself. It is—I do not know the Terran word. Shan yos'Galan has many . . . roles! He is captain, Master Trader, pilot—three voices with which to speak on the Passage. On Liad he is also Lord yos'Galan. He only made certain that you understood which face he used—from which role he acted—when he gifted you."

  Priscilla stared at her. "It makes a difference? But he's the same man, no matter what title he's using!"

  "Of course he is. But the captain has specific duties, responsibilities, different duties than the Master Trader. A pilot has yet another set." Lina chewed her lip uncertainly. "It is only melant'i, Priscilla." She sighed at the blank look on her friend's face and tried once more. "It is true that Shan yos'Galan is the captain. But the captain is not Shan yos'Galan."

  "I'll work on it," Priscilla said, smiling apologetically. "There might not be a Terran word, Lina." She tipped her head. "Is my Liaden accent horrible?"

  "No. Who said it was? You are very careful and listen hard, but it is true you are just learning."

  "The captain—at least I think it was the captain, but it might have been Shan yos'Galan—told me my accent was execrable and that he was going to introduce me to his aunt—his brother's aunt."

  "To Lady Kareen? Illanga kilachi—no. Priscilla, did he promise that he would do so?"

  "He said he would engage to," she said, somewhat amused. "How awful can she be?"

  "You cannot imagine. She is very proper—ah, he is bad! We will practice, the two of us, very hard. And tomorrow I will choose enhancement tapes. You can sleep-learn? Good. Also protocol lessons." She looked up at her friend, hands fluttering. "What made him say such a thing? To Lady Kareen—"

  "I told him he was high-handed," Priscilla confessed.

  "So he now wishes to show you what that is." Lina grinned. "You are well served, then. However did you come to say something so rude?"

  "It slipped out right after he told me I had a tendency toward melodrama."

  Lina laughed. "It sounds as if you had a fine dinner! Compliments all around."

  "Protocol lessons are a necessity," Priscilla agreed, smiling. She sobered. "Lina? Why is it wrong for me to tell the captain—the Master Trader—that I am all joy to see him?"

  Lina looked at her in horror. "You said that? To Shan? In public?"

  "And in the High Tongue," her friend admitted sheepishly. "Am I beyond redemption?"

  "No wonder he gives you earrings!" Lina cried, taking her hand. "Priscilla, you must never do so again! It is a phrase reserved for . . . a brother, perhaps, or an individual one has grown up with . . . a lifemate."

  "Really? I'm glad I said it, then. It was exactly right."

  "Priscilla," Lina pleaded. "It is most improper! You must not do so again."

  "All right," she agreed sunnily. "I don't think I'll ever need to again." She laughed then, very softly, and Lina held her breath. "Poor Sav Rid!"

  Lina found Shan in the gym. Just inside, she stopped to watch him swing the paddle, strike the ball, spin, connect, dive, connect—faster and even faster, the ball a white blur trapped between wall and paddle, the man moving with lithe intensity, never missing, never pausing.

  After a moment, she walked forward, angling toward the wall, then heard the ball strike just beyond her shoulder.

  "Lina! Are you courting suicide? You could have been hit!"

  "No," she told him calmly, changing her course. "You are far too quick for that, my friend."

  "Accidents happen." Shan walked to meet her, paddle in one hand, ball in the other. His hair stuck in wet points to his forehead, lending him a slightly satanic air; he was breathing hard, and the wine-colored shirt showed darker patches. Lina set aside a spurt of fond sympathy; she stopped at precisely the proper distance and looked sternly up at him.

  "You are meddling!" She spoke in the High Tongue, as senior to junior.

  "I always meddle," he returned in mild Terran. "You know that."

  "You will cease to do so in this instance. Immediately." Her words were still in the High Tongue, commanding, as was proper.

  "Dear me," Shan murmured, looking down with a fine show of bewildered stupidity. "Do you mind if we sit down?"

  She laughed and turned with him toward the side benches. "You are impossible!" she told him in Terran. "You deserve to be scolded!"

  "Often," he agreed cordially, flipping paddle and ball into the wall slot and dropping into the first chair he came to. He thrust his long legs out before him. "Scold me."

  She frowned. He was in a chancy mood. She began tentatively. "Shan, it is serious. Please. You could do harm." She extended a mental tendril.

  She was met with opposition, the familiar Healer's barrier. He rarely took such complete refuge; never in all their years of friendship had he done so with her. Not at the time his mother had died so tragically, nor when Er Thom yos'Galan had turned his face from kin and from duty to follow her.

  Lina withdrew the tendril and considered him quietly. "It is a bad thing," she offered, "for Healers to argue over a proper approach. Most especially when Healing has begun."
/>   "I agree," Shan said.

  "That is good. Now, I will tell you that I am puzzled. We spoke, did we not? And it was agreed that I should proceed, though Priscilla was drawn as much to you as to me. You insisted, old friend, saying you were captain, not Healer."

  "True. I do not act as Healer in the matter."

  Lina stifled a sigh. This was Shan at his least tractable, showing the streak of stubborn reticence that characterized Korval at the fore. In a way it was a blessing—if she could not read him through the protective barrier, neither could he read her. The Wall, like so much of healing, was reciprocal.

  She considered that last thought. One did tend to become entangled with those one Healed. Priscilla . . . He may have feared reciprocity, having felt the strength of her—even half-crazed with pain. And if he had been drawn enough to fear the Healing process . . .

  "What is it that you want, old friend?" she asked.

  He stirred. "I want to be her friend."

  So. "And her lover!" She put a lash to that. If he did not yet know . . .

  "I am not," Shan said carefully, "made of stone. You will have noticed this."

  "Better you should have taken her to Heal yourself, then! The bond was there, from the beginning! Healing across sex is more rapid—you know that! Why—"

  "And have her think herself hired to be the captain's slut? Thank you, no." There was Korval ice in that.

  Lina blinked and gave a flickering thought to her own protections. "Why should she have thought so, old friend?"

  Shan sighed. "She came to me—as captain—for protection. One Liaden had already robbed her of status as a person. It would not have seemed at all wonderful to her if another continued—" He shifted irritably. "Priscilla's Terran, Lina. She wasn't raised to melant'i. I am the captain to Priscilla. She believes it. It would have been nothing short of rape, a violation of trust so basic . . . ." He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, standing it up in sticky spikes. "I was in error, old friend. I act as Healer in the matter, in that I refused to act as one."

  "I am Liaden," Lina said softly. "I am her superior."

  "You are also friends. And I believe that the amount of influence a senior librarian exercises over a junior is somewhat less than what a captain may exercise over a crew member."

  There was a silence that grew lengthy. Then Shan leaned forward abruptly and took her hands between his.

  "I want her to be well. Joyful and complete. That most. I want her friendship, but I don't—won't—force it. A pair of earrings? Call it restitution for another wrong done her by Trader Olanek, if you like, Lina. If it will make all easier—"

  "You have already said they are your gift to her," she reminded him. "But I do not think harm was done." She smiled warmly. "It is a good thing to have friends."

  "I think so, too." He leaned back. "I leave the Healing in your hands. My word on it."

  "So, then," she said, satisfied. She brought a finger to the side of her head. "I had almost forgotten the other. She did not mean it, Shan, when she welcomed you in esteem. I have explained, and it will not happen again. You must not be angry with her."

  "Angry with her?" He laughed. "I'm delighted with her! She would have done no better if I'd coached her beforehand. What a devastating setdown for poor Sav Rid! The look on his face! I could have kissed her."

  "You must not encourage her to behave improperly," she scolded him. "You talk of being her friend! It is important that she learn to behave with propriety. Especially if you will present her to Lady Kareen!"

  "Yes, Lina," he said with wholly unconvincing meekness.

  She shook her head. "No, that will not do. I know you. Priscilla and I will work on her accent, and she will use sleep tapes. Lady Kareen will find her above reproach."

  "A matter of your own pride, in fact?"

  She laughed and stood. "Completely impossible. Good night, old friend." She touched his cheek, very gently, noting that the Wall was yet in place. "Sleep well."

  Shipyear 65

  Tripday 144

  First Shift

  1.30 Hours

  He did not sleep well. Nor did his interview with Gordy do anything to mend his badly frayed temper. He had begun by snarling at the boy, and his mood was not improved by the realization that he sounded rather like his father in that tone.

  Irritably, he crossed to the bar and poured himself a glass of morning wine. There were a few things to attend to here before going worldside to begin a local week of trading. He dropped into his chair and spun the screen around.

  Buzzzz!

  Shan looked up, not quite placing the sound.

  Buzzzz!

  Brutally, he rearranged the mob of documents on top of the desk and eventually uncovered a shiny blue pad set with two unmarked keys. He depressed one at random. "Yes?"

  Buzzzz!

  Shan sighed and pushed the other key. "Yes?"

  "Cap'n? Rusty here. Sorry to bother you."

  "Rusty? Aren't you scheduled for world leave today? I thought you'd be dancing in the streets with a lover on each arm."

  "Well, I'd planned on it," Rusty said seriously. "But when we hit port, there were two—oh, individuals—waiting for us. They say nobody from the Passage is allowed on-world and that they're coming up." There was a tiny pause. "They say they've got a warrant, Cap'n."

  "Do they? What are we to do with that very interesting piece of information, I wonder? And what does it have to do with the crew's leave? Do strive for clarity, Rusty—I'm afraid I'm a bit dense this morning."

  "Well, they say they want to see you. I guess they'll explain it personally."

  "Wonderful. What sort of . . . individuals, Rusty? Ambassadorial? Mere policepersons? Concerned citizens?"

  "Ummm . . ." Rusty's voice drifted, then came back. "Didn't Cap'n Er Thom used to say that if your host wore a dagger, you should wear a dagger and a dirk?"

  "It sounds very like him."

  "By those rules, you ought to wear three daggers and a machete."

  Shan grinned. "And these very formidable persons wish to call on me? How pleasant. Do me the favor, please, Rusty, of asking Seth to bring our visitors up as quickly as possible. Gordy will meet them and serve as escort. You needn't bear them company, if you'd rather not."

  "Right you are. I'm not losing my breakfast. I'll catch a lift with Ken Rik, since they're evacuating him, too."

  "Marvelous. Thank you for the call, Rusty. You always have such cheerful topics of discussion."

  The other laughed and broke the connection.

  Shan spun in his chair, hit the toggle that would summon Gordy, opened a drawer, and began to sweep papers into it.

  The door opened to admit a subdued and rather pale cabin boy. "Yessir?"

  Ruefully, Shan stretched out a hand. "Forgive me, acushla. My dreadful temper. I swear I didn't mean it to sound half as fierce as it did."

  Gordy actually produced a grin, albeit a faint one. "That's okay. I should've been workin' at it all along. Guess I deserved to get my head bit off."

  "That for me!" his cousin cried, snapping his fingers with a grin. Sobering, he shook his head. "An emergency, Gordy. Run to Selna and get a piece of the sample wood—so." He squared it off in the air with big, capable hands. "On your way back, stop and ask Calypso for the loan of his antique. Jet!"

  Gordy was gone.

  In an amazingly short time he was back, armed with the required items, which he placed on the pristine desk.

  "Good," Shan said, surveying things. "Another task. Shortly there will be two individuals in the reception hall. Please bring them here."

  "Yessir," the boy said, moving toward the door.

  "Oh, Gordy!"

  "Yes, Cap'n?"

  Shan grinned. "Take your time."

  The visitors were not pleased. They followed Gordy with rustling aloofness, their sulfur-colored robes brushing the sidewalls, and kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. They came finally to the red door—after having traverse
d the length of the ship twice, had they but known it—and Gordy activated the annunciator.

  "Come!" Shan's clear voice was followed by a peculiar heavy thump just as the door slid open.

  Gordy stepped into the room. Shan was lounging back in the chair behind the desk, which was clear except for a block of oak with a wooden-handled hatchet buried in it. He raised his glass and lifted his brows.

  Mindful of the proprieties, Gordy bowed. "Cap'n yos'Galan, here are Budoc and Relgis come to speak with you."

  "Good day, gentles. A pleasant one, isn't it? How might I serve you?"

  Relgis, who was bald, stepped around Gordy and executed a grudging bow. "Good day, Captain," he replied in hoarse Terran. "We are officials of Arsdred Court. It is my duty to inform you that we carry papers denying your crew access to the planet surface for the amount of time required for the municipality of Arsdred to inspect and verify your cargo. Under this same order, you are banned from trade activities until such time as investigation retires charges brought against the Dutiful Passage, tradeship, and Shan yos'Galan, captain and Master Trader." He paused to glare sternly from beneath bushy eyebrows. Shan sipped wine.

  "The charge," Relgis continued in a goaded voice, "is smuggling illicit pharmaceuticals and proscribed animals."

  "The Dutiful Passage is accused of running contraband?" the captain inquired in the mildest possible tone. "May I know the name of the accuser?"

  Relgis looked at him with suspicion, apparently formulating a reply. Into the silence stepped his partner, saying with ponderous affability that no such thing as charges had been leveled at ship or master.

  "Relgis made a slip of the tongue, sir. The thing is, a complaint has been lodged with the court, citing suspicion of contraband. I'm sure you'll agree that this is a very serious thing."