Korval's Game

by Sharon Lee

  “Something I oughta know?” Cheever McFarland asked.

  Jacket settled, he looked up into the face of his oathsworn, seeing worry and . . . care in the strong lines. Gods, when had Cheever McFarland’s face become as precious to him as kin?

  He inclined his head.

  “There is something you should know, yes,” he said, deliberately cold. “When we are with my cousin Val Con, you will forget that you are armed. You will protest nothing that may happen while he and I . . . converse.” He looked closely into the Terran’s eyes. “I will not insult you by asking for your oath on this. I will merely remind you that—I am the boss. Is this understood?”

  Cheever’s face tightened, but—“Yessir,” he said, mildly enough.

  “Good,” Pat Rin murmured.

  ***

  SOMETHING WAS BAD wrong, Cheever decided as Pat Rin bowed to the young buck from Binjali’s who’d won the brief bowli ball game for the right to play taxi, and turned to look at the building where Val Con yos’Phelium had set up a temporary headquarters.

  The slim shoulders rose and fell inside the leather jacket, then Pat Rin was gone, walking steadily across the street, head up, back straight. Cussing softly, Cheever went after him.

  The door was flanked by two soldiers, male and female, each massing about as much as Cheever did. The male dropped his rifle across the door, barring the way.

  “Name is?” the female asked, her Trade carrying a heavy accent that Cheever didn’t quite place. “Business is?”

  “My name is Pat Rin yos’Phelium Clan Korval. I have come to speak with my kinsman, Val Con yos’Phelium, on business of the clan.”

  “Hah.” She snapped her fingers, the rifle was lifted away, and Pat Rin walked on, Cheever at his back.

  They went down a short hallway, following the sound of voices to a room cluttered with people and equipment. Pat Rin hesitated on the threshold, scanning the crowd, maybe. A woman in working leathers pushed by, and ran down the hall. Still, Pat Rin stood there, oblivious to the jostling.

  Suddenly, he moved, striding purposefully across the room toward a knot of people in leathers, uniforms, and Low Port motley. A dark haired man in working leathers turned his head, said a quick word to the group and stepped forward, hands extended, smiling across a face so familiar that Cheever had to shake his head and look again—by which time Pat Rin was on his knees before the younger edition of himself, forehead on the floor, the back of his neck exposed and vulnerable.

  ***

  SOMETHING MOVED across the busy room. Val Con glanced aside and saw two pilots approaching, the Liaden walking with purpose; the Terran—

  “A moment,” he said quickly to the cluster of scouts, and went forward, hands extended in welcome.

  “Cousin, well-met!”

  Pat Rin flung to his knees, face against the floor. Behind him, the Terran slammed to a halt, openly shocked.

  Val Con looked down at the exposed neck, at the dark hair curling softly, several fingers longer than its accustomed length, and the smooth, unmarred leather of the Jump pilot’s jacket.

  “As ill as that?” he murmured and bent forward, checking when he sensed the big man start.

  Looking up, he met the man’s eyes. “I will not hurt him.”

  The Terran nodded, brusquely. “Right.”

  Carefully, Val Con bent and put a hand on a bowed shoulder. The muscles were rock hard. “Come, cousin,” he said softly. “You’d best tell me.”

  Nothing. Then, slowly, Pat Rin straightened. Val Con dropped lightly to one knee, putting them at the same level. Pat Rin, he saw, had lost weight; his face was chapped, as if he had spent too much time out in the cold; and there were new lines around his mouth and eyes.

  “My lifemate and my oathsworn are blameless,” he said, in the mode of transgressor to delm. “I claim all.”

  “Ever more terrifying,” Val Con returned, lightly, deliberately, in the Low Tongue. “Pray reveal at once the horrific crimes of which they are innocent.”

  Pat Rin raised his left hand, on which gleamed Korval’s—no.

  “Ah, I see. Very prettily done, too. Though they should have been more careful about the emeralds.”

  The edge of a smile glimmered. “Just so.” The smile faded, and he moved his hand again; light ran liquid over dragon scale and leaf.

  “Using this, I have subjugated a world to my necessity. I have allied with the Juntavas. I have made promises in Korval’s name. I have put things . . . into motion . . .”

  “As well we all know, having seen that motion work wonders. Very well. And your necessity was—what? Usurpation of Korval?”

  Pat Rin shuddered and closed his eyes. “They came to me,” he whispered, and his voice was haunted. “They came to me and they said, all your kin are dead. They said, Korval. They expected that I would be grateful for their care of my interests—and that I would represent them to the Council.”

  “They were very foolish,” Val Con said softly. “That was at Teriste? Where did you go after?”

  The brown eyes opened. “First, to a Juntavas base. Then to Bazaar, to purchase stock. Finally to Surebleak, where I set up as a boss, and—and began my Balance—” the smile again, slightly more visible this time. “Among other necessary tasks.”

  “Ah.” Val Con tipped his head. “And these are the crimes of which you alone are guilty?”

  Pat Rin sighed. “I don’t doubt there are others—impersonating a pilot comes to mind.”

  “Commander?” A voice called from behind. “We have word from the Low Port.”

  Val Con glanced over his shoulder. “A moment.” He reached out and gripped Pat Rin’s hand.

  “Duty,” he said. “Quickly now—tell me the name of your lifemate.”

  “Inas Bhar,” Pat Rin said softly. “Called Juntavas Sector Judge Natesa the Assassin.”

  Val Con smiled. “The clan increases.” He rose, pulling his cousin up, and embraced him, cheek to cheek.

  “Bide,” he murmured. “We will go home together.”

  DAY 59

  Standard Year 1393

  Solcintra

  Liad

  SPEAKER FOR COUNCIL was enjoying the show, Miri thought. Come to think of it, she’d be having a better time herself if she was sitting behind a high table, with a pretty silver bell to ring whenever she felt like hearing it, and a cup of her favorite brew to hand.

  Unfortunately, Defenders Before Council had to stand on the low floor facing the paid seats stretching up to the ceiling, with the Speaker’s high desk behind them. As far as Miri was concerned, the whole set-up was a melant’i trick designed to make the Defenders feel all humble and unworthy. What she mostly felt was annoyed—and she wasn’t exactly getting humble-vibes from Val Con, either.

  “Korval has been called before this Council to answer for the following crimes against the homeworld,” Speaker said from behind them and considerably over their heads.

  “Landing a hostile force comprised of Terran and Yxtrang soldiers at Solcintra Port.

  “Leading a military action against Liad.

  “Subverting the planetary defense net.

  “Firing upon the homeworld.”

  She paused a nice, long while, to let the assembled delms get a good look at them. Miri ran a quick Rainbow and felt her shoulders relax under the ceremonial delm costume. From Val Con she caught a flutter of warmth, as if he had quickly kissed her cheek.

  “Korval’s answer, given before this Council, invokes the contract originally made between Captain Cantra yos’Phelium Clan Torvin and the Combined Houses of Planet Solcintra. The Council’s attention was directed most particularly to the articles discussing the duty of the captain toward the passengers; the charge upon successor captains; and the term of contract.

  “It is Korval’s contention that this contract, made before the Exodus from Solcintra, remains in force, according to its conditions of termination. They provide evidence that a call for Captain’s Justice was made in Standard Year
1061, which Justice was dealt by the delm of Korval in her melant’i as Captain Genetic in this very chamber.”

  There was a pause, and a small clink. Miri sighed inwardly. A cup of tea would taste good right now. Especially if she could have it in the back kitchen at Jelaza Kazone.

  Another clink, as Speaker put her teacup down.

  “Korval argues that their contract of employment burdens them with the duty of protecting the residents of the planet Liad, whom they are pleased to term ‘the passengers.’

  “Korval provides evidence of the existence and the crimes of an organization calling itself the Department of the Interior. The list of names of those allegedly impressed or murdered by this organization is particularly notable in that it includes many of those whom Korval has been charged with harming.

  “Korval’s conclusion and final answer to this Council is that the Captain Genetic, having ascertained the mortal danger presented to the passengers by the Department of the Interior, acted to remove this danger. For the best good of Liad.”

  She didn’t, Miri thought, sound too impressed with all Nova’s careful compilations and cross-checks.

  “I must note, with some surprise, that various organizations and individuals have indicated a willingness—on the side of Korval—to file briefs and informational materials or have in fact filed briefs and such material sufficient to fill several warehouses. These organizations and individuals have, for the most part, a clear, well-known, and on-going relationship with Korval. I mention a few—the Scouts of Liad, the Accountants Guild, the Pilots Guild, the Solcintra Feline Appreciation Society, the Taxicab and Pedicab Association of Solcintra, Binjali’s Repair Shop and Jalopy Garage,” here there was a clear and distinctly disapproving pause, “ . . . the Juntavas.”

  That brought a murmur from the chamber and Miri raised her eyebrows Val Con-fashion as she glanced at him. He raised his back at her.

  Robertson, she thought, you ain’t takin’ this serious enough . . .

  “Also,” Speaker continued, “University, the Defenders of the Code, the Little Festival Association, Tey Dor’s Sporting Clubs—and the list is quite long, and will be appended to our decision which will be hung on the chamber door and published as required, with copies to all major parties. Given the seriousness and time-sensitive nature of the charges, the Council has decided to forego introduction of such material into the hearing process. We thank each of those who have offered assistance.”

  Hanging judge! Miri thought. She don’t want to be confused by the facts.

  A pause, the sound of a tea cup being placed too close to the microphone.

  “The Council will now render its judgment. Hedrede is called.”

  From the fifth row up came a stir and a rustle, and finally a man, decked out like they all were, in formal delm gear, arose and bowed toward the floor.

  “As Korval will doubtless recall,” he said, his voice about as warm as a Surebleak winter morning, “House Hedrede was among the signers of the contract with Captain Cantra yos’Phelium.”

  “Korval recalls,” Val Con said from beside her.

  “The Dragon’s memory,” someone said, loudly, from high near the ceiling, “is not in question.”

  There was a titter and a murmur of agreement through the hall.

  “Mizel is found to be out of order,” Speaker snapped. “Honored Hedrede, pray continue.”

  He inclined his head.

  “The Council of Clans finds Korval in error,” he stated coldly. “The contract between Captain yos’Phelium and the Houses of Solcintra was never intended to continue so long, or to place so much of a burden upon one clan. In undertaking the described actions against the so-called Department of the Interior, Korval has overstepped, to the endangerment and distress of the homeworld.”

  He paused, maybe expecting an answer from the floor. Miri preserved a dignified silence. Beside her, Val Con inclined his head slightly—courteous permission to continue.

  “The Council of Clans likewise finds,” Hedrede continued portentously, “that it has erred, in that it has not caused the contract in question to be terminated according to its articles, thereby removing the burden of captaincy from Korval.” He bowed, employer to employee.

  “The Council of Clans, successor to the Combined Houses of Solcintra, hereby terminates, closes, and declares fulfilled the contract of employment originally made between Cantra yos’Phelium Clan Torvin, captain-owner of the starship Quick Passage, and the Combined Houses of Solcintra.”

  From Val Con, a flare of joy so pure and so vivid, her breath caught in her throat.

  “Korval hears,” he said, his voice perfectly composed.

  “This also means,” said Hedrede, perhaps a bit testily, “that the defense of Liad shall no longer be the concern of Korval or its assigns. We require a timely transfer of the defense net to the duly constituted authority of the portmaster.” Hedrede glanced up from the document he read from. “Is this clear?”

  “To avoid potential conflicts of interest Korval relinquished control of the defense net to the Commander of the Liaden Scouts upon entering this chamber,” Val Con murmured. “I am certain that the portmaster will contrive an orderly transfer.”

  There was a collective sigh in the hall.

  Hedrede inclined his head. “We now come to the matter of Balance.”

  “It is the decision of this Council that Clan Korval is an active threat to the safety and security of this world. Therefore, Korval shall be cast out. No longer shall Korval have a voice in this Council nor may Korval look to the assembled clans for justice, sustenance, or comfort.

  “Korval is required to vacate Liad and Liaden space. All and any Korval properties or persons remaining within Liaden space on the one hundredth forty-fifth day following this judgment shall be forfeit to the Council of Clans.”

  Miri blinked.

  The bright joy radiating from Val Con went incandescent.

  In the fifth row, Hedrede bowed once more.

  “Thus, the Council’s judgment.”

  He sat. The room was real quiet; nobody shuffled papers; nobody coughed, or whispered, or dropped a stylus. Everybody was watching them, Miri realized; waiting to see what they’d do.

  “Cha’trez?”

  She turned, saw green eyes smiling at her, and a slim golden hand extended. Grinning, she wove her fingers with his. Together, they bowed to the assembled delms—farewell. Nothing else.

  Hand-in-hand, not hurrying, but not wasting any time, either, they walked up the long ramp. The door swung open as they approached.

  Neither one looked back.

  ***

  “ONE HUNDRED FORTY-FOUR days to leave planet, lock, stock and piglet?” Shan repeated incredulously. “Have they lost their wits?”

  “Certainly not,” Val Con said drily. “They merely hope to hurry us sufficiently that we will leave a few things behind, to their benefit.”

  “Did the Council forbid sales?” inquired dea’Gauss—this the new dea’Gauss, a woman in her early middle years, with a serious face and unexpectedly merry eyes. Her father was yet with the Healers and he would be well, with time. Though his notes were before her, it was happily clear to Val Con that her course was her own.

  Val Con shook his head. “The vote was close, as I counted. Close enough that those who most dearly wished us gone dared not risk their victory by burdening the issue with petty Balance.”

  The dea’Gauss inclined her head. “That is good, then. Allow me . . .” She bent to her keyboard.

  “Even supposing we can pack everything of importance,” Shan continued. “How the devil are we going to ship it? Worse, where will we go? Somehow, I don’t believe Erob would be willing to have us.”

  Miri laughed, and Merlin, who was curled up on her lap, muttered a sleepy protest.

  “Bad idea, anyway,” she said. “Given the family tendency to force things into our own mold.”

  “There’s that. We might try for New Dublin, I suppose . . .” />
  “Or Surebleak,” Pat Rin said quietly from his place next to Shan.

  “Surebleak’s at the back end of nowhere—and it’s cold,” Miri said, and then shook her head, with a half-grin. “Why’m I telling you that, Boss?”

  “In fact, Surebleak is not so ill-placed as it first appears,” Pat Rin replied, earnestly. “Certainly, the presence of trade and an upgraded port would be more than enough to overcome any difficulty of location. As to the weather—” He moved his shoulders. “The portmaster has specs for climate satellites on file. It does not need to remain cold.”

  There was a brief pause, then—

  “He’s right,” Shan said. “There aren’t any major trade routes close, but there are three solid mid-level routes through that sector. If there was any reason for ships to stop at Surebleak—”

  “They would stop,” Val Con concluded. He glanced aside. “Cha’trez?”

  She sighed. “Well, it’ll give us a base. Hafta buy up a buncha real estate and do some heavy renovating . . .”

  “There is land beyond the city, which is only lightly lived in,” Pat Rin said, looking at Val Con. “We might be situated as we have been here, near enough to port and city, with easy access at need.”

  “And thus be invested in keeping the Port Road open.” Val Con grinned. “Well-played, cousin.”

  “If we liquidate all holdings,” the dea’Gauss said abruptly, “over a period of one hundred forty-two days, we may be able to prevent the Exchange from collapse, assuming we get and give value.” She looked up.

  “Unless your lordship wishes to incept a market collapse?”

  “It is not necessary. We prefer to sell at fair value, however.”

  “Certainly,” she said. “We have a list of off-world investors who have previously expressed interest in various acquisitions.” She paused, touched a key.

  “The accounts currently held at the Bank of Solcintra must be moved. Shall I query the Bank of Terra?”