Scouts Progress

by Sharon Lee

  "Afternoon, math teacher!" Jon called, raising the tin in salutation.

  "Good afternoon, Master dea'Cort," she replied solemnly. She paused, Patch purring like a cat besotted in the basket of her arms. One-by-one she surveyed Trilla, busy with her measurements, Syri's open-faced concern, Jon's hand and the tea-tin. The question, when it came, was addressed to Daav.

  "Forgive me. I wonder if there is something—gone awry."

  "Not a bit of it," he returned cheerfully. "Jon is only building a shelf to house a newly-acquired treasure."

  Aelliana's head turned back toward Jon, hair shimmering. "A tea-tin?" she asked, bemusement sounding clearly. Daav grinned.

  "Damn me if you're not as bad as he is!" Jon cried, sweeping his unencumbered hand toward the taller man. "This isn't just any tea-tin, math teacher, this is a gift from Master Trader Er Thom yos'Galan, honored son of the exalted House of Korval! What've you to say now, eh?"

  Aelliana cuddled Patch absently against her. "It's a very pretty tea-tin," she offered after a moment.

  Trilla choked and nearly dropped her measuring-wand. Syri gulped and walked rather unsteadily over to inspect the contents of the pastry-carton.

  "Pretty," Jon repeated tonelessly. He reached into his vest pocket and reverently produced a folded card of the sort used to write notes of invitation. Gravely, he showed the front of the card—the Tree-and-Dragon, complete with the boldly embossed "Flaran Cha'menthi"—and thrust it at Aelliana.

  "Read it, then."

  Smoothly, she readjusted Patch's weight, took the card and opened it, one-handed. She frowned for a moment at the message within, then raised her head, hair falling away from her face as she offered the card back to Jon.

  "I am ashamed to admit that I neither read nor speak Terran," she said quietly. "It is a deficiency I intend soon to remedy. For today, however, I am ignorant."

  "Hah." Jon fingered the card open. "It says—this is from Lady yos'Galan, understand, Learned Scholar of Language Anne Davis, out of the Terran Community. It says: 'To Master Pilot Jon dea'Cort. Please accept this token of . . . regard . . . from myself and my—' lord, would you say that rendered, Daav?"

  Daav lifted an eyebrow. "How can I know?"

  "Uncommonly awake," Jon commented and went back to his note. "' . . . lord. It is our . . . wish that you will . . . delight in . . . the gift, as we delight in the giving.' Then it is signed, you see, 'Anne Davis, Lady yos'Galan.'"

  Aelliana's head was bent above Patch, her hair obscuring all of the cat but the blissfully kneading toes. "She sounds a—most gracious lady," she said after a moment. "Though I cannot help but wonder, sir, if she might have wished you to drink the tea."

  "Truly, Jon," Syri said, turning from her study of petrifying pastries, "Lady yos'Galan cannot have meant you to imprison the gift in a lock-box. Where is joy in that?"

  "Joy a-plenty," he returned promptly. "How many other garages have a gift from Korval to display, eh, Daav?"

  "I have no notion, Master Jon. Shall I mount a survey?"

  Jon grinned. "I thought you were sent to Min Del's on an errand."

  "I can take that one," Syri offered. "My shift is done and it is a simple matter to chart a course past Min Del's on my way down-port."

  "Simple enough," Jon agreed. "Are you here tomorrow?"

  "Dawn to luncheon," Syri returned, "then I'm wanted back with my team." She bowed. "Pilot Caylon. Good health and fair flying."

  "Fair flying." Aelliana tried to return the courtesy, but Patch took exception and the bow turned into a scramble to set him safely down. When she looked up again, Syri was gone and Trilla was walking toward the back of the bay.

  "What've you been up to today, math teacher?"

  Aelliana sighed and looked to Jon dea'Cort, who was carefully returning Korval's note to his vest pocket.

  "I've been to the dispatch offices, and to the guild hall, requesting my name be added to the freelance rosters," she said. "The dispatcher at Korval's office advised me to put my name on the Port Master's list, but the guild rep ruled I must lose provisional status first."

  "So you did go to Korval's offices." That was Daav, moving silently over to perch on a stool.

  "Of course," she said, with a flicker of green eyes. "Korval is ships, after all."

  "So it is," he agreed gravely. "Were you accepted for the roster there?"

  "Readily—and asked to update my information, when I came full second-class." She turned to Jon dea'Cort.

  "Your word of reference was in my favor, sir. I—am grateful—for your kindness."

  "No kindness about it," he said gruffly. "If you'd done a bad job, there would have been no reference. Happens you did a binjali job and earned every word. How are you going about learning Terran?"

  She sagged onto the edge of a stool, blinking at him. "I—hardly know," she said, somewhat abashed. "I had—thought—sleep tapes, you know. Chonselta Tech's library is not so well supplied. . ."

  "Hah. No surprise. You might be able to get tapes copied from Scout Academy—your name's cantra there. Problem with tapes is you need to practice or the data just fades out again."

  "Most of us are fluent," Daav said, offering her a smile. "What sort of Terran do you wish to learn?"

  She blinked. "What—sort?"

  "Indeed. You teach practical mathematics, do you not? So—do you wish to learn practical Terran, or theoretical?"

  "Oh. Of course. I—I wish to understand and be understood under—under field conditions."

  "Easy enough," Jon said, moving over to the teapot and pouring himself a mug full. "You get around all right in Trade?"

  "I am comfortable conversing in Trade," Aelliana assured him in the mode-less monotone of that language.

  "Even easier, then. We teach you from Trade, eh, Daav?"

  "It would seem best," he replied. "Shall you arrange for the tapes?"

  "Might be better for her to learn it in waking mind." Jon chose a pastry and ambled back to the stools. "You have a timetable?"

  She swallowed, took a breath, and raised her eyes to his. "As soon as possible," she said, voice gone raspy and tight. "It would be—good—if I were—fluent—within the year."

  The amber eyes held hers for a long moment, then Jon looked away and hoisted himself atop the green stool. "All right. We'll lay the basics, then supplement with tape as necessary. Daav's most fluent among the current crew. Trilla's good. Clonak's good, if he can be prevailed upon to speak something other than Aus-dialect. My ear is better than my accent, I fear, though I read well enough. Syri's about at my level—no, Syri's back to her team tomorrow. . ." He paused for a sip of tea. "This course of study suit you?"

  "I—" She cleared her throat, looking from the old man to the young one. "Thank you—extremely. Balance must be—owing, however. I cannot—"

  Jon sighed gustily. "First lesson in Terran, math teacher—pay attention."

  She swallowed. "Yes, sir."

  "Stop thinking like a Liaden." He grinned. "Thought it was going to be easy, did you? I told you we're all comrades here, eh? Happens that's true. What's owing is what's received: Comfort, safety and succor. Balance, right?"

  The words vibrated in the air. She sat on the edge of the stool, listening to them, feeling them strike, one by one, at the core of her. What they offered was—clan. What they asked in return was that she strive for her most perfect self—to the betterment of them all.

  And I tell you, Birin Caylon, it's Aelliana should be set upon the Delm's road, and none of that vain, precious boy of yours! Hanelur Caylon's voice was as strong in memory as it had been a dozen Standards ago, when carelessness had left a study door ajar and two pair of ears heard what had far better been left unsaid.

  Aelliana raised her head and met Jon dea'Cort's knowing amber gaze. "Balance," she said, solemnly. "I shall do my best."

  Chapter Sixteen

  The thing to recall about Dragons is that it takes a special person to deal with them at all. If you lie to them they wil
l steal from you. If you attack them without cause they will dismember you. If you run from them they will laugh at you.

  It is thus best to deal calmly, openly and fairly with Dragons: Give them all they buy and no more or less, and they will do the same by you. Stand at their back and they will stand at yours. Always remember that a Dragon is first a Dragon and only then a friend, a partner, a lover.

  Never assume that you have discovered a Dragon's weak point until it is dead and forgotten, for joy is fleeting and a Dragon's revenge is forever.

  —From the

  Liaden Book of Dragons

  IT WAS WARM IN THIS corner of the garden—warm and blessedly quiet. So quiet, indeed, that orange-and-white Relchin had given over birding to lounge in the shade of the old stone wall and watch Daav grub about in the dirt.

  Korval employed several very able gardeners, whose task it was to tend the formal gardens and lawns. The most senior of these formidable individuals walked the Inner Court once each relumma, offering suggestions and advice—only that. The care of the Inner Court, from the moss garden to the Tree itself, was Daav's self-appointed and jealously-held privilege.

  This morning, he was engaged in digging and dividing gladoli bulbs. Much of this bounty would be ceded to his gardeners, but he wished to hold out a dozen to present to Lady yo'Lanna, who had been his mother's stalwart friend, and would know how to value a gift of Chi yos'Phelium's favorite flowers.

  He was roused from this agreeable work by the step, and then the person, of his butler.

  "Delm Bindan is come, sir, on the matter of Your Lordship's pending nuptials."

  Daav sat back on his heels, bulb in one hand, trowel in the other.

  "Bindan is here?" he repeated stupidly.

  Mr. pel'Kana inclined his head. "I have put her in the Small Parlor, sir."

  Daav closed his eyes, swallowing a regrettable reply.

  "Provide Delm Bindan with refreshment," he said instead. "I shall be with her, say, before next hour strikes."

  Mr. pel'Kana bowed and departed, leaving Daav to stare down at his crusted gloves and grubby coveralls. For one mad instant he considered rising and going directly to the Small Parlor in all his dirt, which was surely no more than she had purchased by appearing thus, dispatching neither card nor call to warn him.

  The instant passed. He sighed and lay aside his trowel, made certain the bulbs were damp in their nest of moss, and rose, stripping off his gloves.

  "On the matter of Your Lordship's pending nuptials," he told Relchin, in wickedly accurate imitation of Mr. pel'Kana's stately tones. The big cat smiled up at him through slitted green eyes. Daav dropped his gloves beside the trowel and went, reluctantly, away.

  IT LACKED A FEW minutes of the new hour when he arrived in the Small Parlor, freshly showered and dressed in a comfortable white shirt and soft blue trousers.

  He bowed, Delm to Delm, and Bindan rose to do likewise, muscles stiff with outrage.

  "I regret you were obliged to wait," he said, in response to that outrage. "Had word been sent ahead, I should have been immediately accessible."

  Her eyes narrowed, though she otherwise preserved her countenance. "I shall bear the lesson in mind," she said, inclining her head. "In the meanwhile, Korval, there is a matter touching upon our contract which must be discussed."

  "Ah. Then you must allow me first to refresh your wine, and provide myself with a glass."

  She did allow it, though he had the impression she would have rather not, and took a single ritual sip before setting the cup aside.

  In his turn, Daav drank and set aside, then leaned back in his chair.

  "How may Korval serve Bindan?"

  She considered him for a long moment before inclining her head. "It is known," she said, very carefully, "that Korval charts its own course and cares little for scandal. It is perhaps lesser known that Bindan holds itself aside from such matters as may lead to the shouting of its name in open council."

  Daav lifted an eyebrow. "And yet the matter upon which Korval was called in yesterday's council was found to be no scandal at all."

  "It was found," Bindan said tartly, "that Korval had sidestepped the question in favor of showing that initial discovery was made by a Liaden scholar from a clan of scholars, all of whom are quite mad enough to wish such a thing introduced to the world." She inclined her head, ironically. "Korval's greatness is no matter of luck."

  He grit his teeth against irritation and inclined his head in calm acceptance of the jibe.

  "I ask you plain, my Lord: Shall you keep your Terran within propriety?"

  There was a charged silence, long enough for Bindan to feel the full force of her error.

  "Thodelmae yos'Galan," Daav said deliberately, "is an honored member of Korval. She has done nothing to incur her delm's censure and much to excite his pride. I remind you that a contract of alliance does not in any way surrender Korval's authority to Bindan."

  Her mouth tightened, but, to her credit, her gaze did not falter. "I say again, we are a House unused to scandal. Korval shall soon have the care of one of Bindan's dearest treasures. If Korval cannot hold itself aloof from scandal for the duration of its alignment with Bindan, Korval might best seek contract elsewhere."

  For a heartbeat, he thought he would accept the trade she offered and count himself well-rid of Clan Bindan and Samiv tel'Izak.

  Then he recalled the weary round of searching to be undertaken once again—the grids to be scanned, the gene-maps to weigh, and there were none of them different at core from Samiv tel'Izak, and none of them less respectable and solid than Bindan. Korval was trouble and scandal and oddity. It had always been so: Descendants of a pirate, a soldier and a Houseless schoolboy, had could it be otherwise?

  Gods, he thought, only let me soon hold my child.

  He inclined his head into Bindan's glare.

  "Korval shall make every effort to avoid scandal from this hour and until the conclusion of our association with Bindan," he said formally, and glanced up.

  "Bindan must understand that Korval's necessities are—unique."

  "Necessity does not trouble me," she replied. "Scandal is my concern."

  She rose and made her bow, and Daav likewise. He touched the bell and Mr. pel'Kana came and escorted Delm Bindan out.

  "CORRECT TO FIVE PLACES," Aelliana announced, leaning back in the pilot's chair with a sigh.

  "At least while we're sitting safe and cold," Daav amended, concluding his own checks and releasing the second backup comp to slumber.

  Aelliana turned to look at him, hair a silken shimmer in the glow of the board lights.

  "You suspect a main system error?"

  "Ah, no, nothing on that line!" He raised a quick hand, smile tinged with irony. "It is merely that Jon certified the former comp while the ship was quiet—and see what nearly came of us while we flew!" He moved his shoulders, sending a bright black glance sideways into her face.

  "Jon predicts I shall grow into a suspicious old man."

  "Better than to die a naive young man," she replied, tawny brows drawn above frowning green eyes. "You are correct. In light of previous failure, a prudent check must include lift and land."

  "Hah." He grinned. "Shall you request clearance, pilot?"

  She hesitated on the edge of an eager affirmative, looking away from his face to scan the board. The clock's message killed the yes before it passed her lips, and she glanced back to him with a sigh.

  "I haven't time left me today for a proper test. What is your shift tomorrow?" She bit her lip, then, the darker gold of a blush kissing her cheeks as she looked aside. "Forgive me," she said, voice tight. "I meant no offense, pilot."

  "Nor was offense taken," Daav answered, still in the warmth of Comrade mode. "I had said it was an honor to sit board with you and wished to do so again. Gods know, it's an ill enough face, but does it seem to you deceitful?"

  Her eyes flew up, startle-wide and brilliantly green. And then was Daav forced to sit quite still, fa
ce and eyes plain as for any comrade or clanmate, while she subjected each feature to minute study.

  "Indeed," she said, eventually and quite seriously, "I find it neither ill nor dishonest. As for the other matter—It is my understanding that you are a master pilot employed by Master dea'Cort. Surely it is out of my place to order you?"

  "But you had not ordered me," he pointed out. "You had merely asked my shift. To which the answer must be, as I am casual labor and Jon allows me woeful license—When shall you be ready to lift?"

  "I—" Her eyes moved, taking in the board, lit and waiting to receive its office. Hunger, and a dizzying desire to spin her chair now, open the line to Solcintra Tower and file a course up—out and away. . .

  "Tomorrow," she said to the man at her side and looked into his calm eyes. "I can be here in the first hour after Solcintra dawn." Better—much better—to be gone from Mizel's clanhouse before anyone was about to ask questions, or to forbid her going at all.

  Daav inclined his head. "I shall meet you at the foot of the ramp," he said, "in the first hour after dawn, tomorrow." He grinned. "And then we shall give her a proper testing, eh?"

  In the depths of her chest it seemed as if another knot loosened and relaxed toward uncoiling. Aelliana felt her lips curve upward as she met the sparkling black gaze.

  "Indeed we will."

  "Hah." Daav tipped his head slightly to one side. "I wonder, must you leave at once?"

  She flicked another glance at the clock, wariness awake once more. "There are nearly three hours," she said slowly, "before the twilight ferry leaves."

  "Plenty of time to inventory your emergency equipment," he returned briskly, "and to be certain your suits are functional."

  She looked at him in patent dismay. "I—forgive me. I am afraid I don't even know where the suits are."

  "I thought as much," Daav said, with an odd side-to-side movement of his head. He rose and beckoned with one long-fingered hand. "Come along, pilot."