Scouts Progress

by Sharon Lee

  "He wanted to seal my ship," Aelliana repeated, blankly. "Ran Eld knows nothing about my ship! I—" She swallowed, looked up into Frad's face. "It was on the news wires," she whispered. Her heartbeat was a hollow roaring in her ears. "Yesterday's lift."

  "I expect it was," he said, voice neutral. "You seem unwell, pilot, is there—"

  "It's nothing. . ." She gasped, pressing damp palms together. "I—forgive me. I must think."

  The two Scouts exchanged glances.

  "Pull up a stool and think away," Clonak said, almost serious. "Shall I bring you a mug of tea, goddess?"

  "Thank you, no," she managed and went numbly toward the clustered stools. She hoisted herself up on the first she came to and closed her eyes, hands gripped along the edge of the seat. After a moment, and another mute exchange of worry, the Scouts drifted back toward their work.

  Ran Eld. Aelliana ground her teeth to keep them from chattering. Ran Eld, here—demanding her presence, demanding her ship be sealed. Her heart wanted to scream that it could not be so. Her mind was made of sterner stuff.

  Fact: She was discovered.

  Fact: Ran Eld would exact his price. Perhaps he would even beat her, as he had in the days just after her marriage, to reinforce her subservience.

  Aelliana shuddered. She had no illusions regarding her ability to withstand such treatment: She would surrender The Luck's keys willingly, if they were the coin that bought an end to her punishment.

  Options. One: Run. Leave now, lifting for the Liaden Outworlds, and hope the luck smiled sufficiently for her to find cargo and contract before her outlawed condition became known.

  Objections: She would be leaving Jon dea'Cort and all his shifting crew open to Mizel's Balance. A very creditable case of kin-stealing could be shown to the Council of Clans, in settlement of which Jon might easily lose his Yard, while Daav, Trilla, Clonak and Frad might find themselves called clanless. . .

  No. She would not call disaster down upon her comrades.

  Option Two: Submit to Ran Eld's wishes and hope, in time, to appease him sufficiently that she might live in tolerable peace.

  Objections: Prior testing proved this application failed of success.

  Option Three: Go home and put her case before the delm.

  This was risky. Historically, Mizel championed her heir in any dispute. On several occasions, such as the matter of Aelliana's marriage to Ran Eld's friend, Mizel had allowed herself to be guided entirely by her son's advice and refused to hear any other.

  Balancing history was an indication that of late the delm had softened toward her middle daughter. If she were clever enough to show the profit a working ship might bring to the clan—many times over the single gain of a sale. . .

  An imperfect solution, but the best she could fashion, for the best good of herself and her comrades. The clan's fortune had not been—robust—of late, despite Voni's marriages. Mizel might very well be receptive to the addition of a new source of funding.

  Aelliana opened her eyes, slid off the stool and crossed to the busy Scouts.

  Two pair of eyes immediately lifted to her face.

  "I am going home," she said, and wished her voice sounded steadier; that she felt more certain of a happy outcome. "You may tell my brother so, if he should come again. I—he will not trouble you further."

  Clonak cleared his throat. "Trust me, goddess, he was no trouble to us at all, despite that Frad would not allow him to await Master Binjali."

  "You might stay an hour or two," Frad put in. "It seemed to me that your nadelm was—very angry. Perhaps it would be best to allow him time to cool."

  She looked at him straightly. "Ran Eld does not cool, thank you, pilot. If he has—if he has reached so high a pitch as you say, it is—best—that I return home and put the matter before the delm."

  "Hah." Frad looked at Clonak. "Local custom."

  "Local custom," the pudgy Scout repeated, but there was a frown between his taffy eyes. "Still it might be better, Aelliana, to stop until Jon returns. Or Daav does."

  "That's the card you want!" Frad said, leaning forward. "Call on Daav's assistance, pilot. Surely, he—"

  "No!" she said sharply. Frad blinked and flicked a look to Clonak, who nodded and reached for a rag.

  "Then I will come with you," he said, with unClonak-like firmness, "and see you safe before your delm."

  "No, you shall not." She drew herself up and mustered a glare. "You do not understand how spiteful—should my brother consider you have thwarted him, he will do his utmost to ruin you." He continued to wipe his hands, entirely uncowed by the prospect of ruin. Aelliana bit her lip.

  "Indeed, Clonak, you must not come with me. I—my nadelm several times has ordered me to—to absent myself from the company of Scouts. I have not obeyed and it would. . ." She faltered.

  "It would," Frad took up, "make matters immeasurably worse, were you seen to be championed by a Scout." He shook his head, mournfully. "Pilot, take advice. You want Daav for this. He can mend the thing in a thrice."

  "No," she said again, and reached into her pocket, pulling out the bank envelope and thrusting it into Clonak's hand. "If you would, however, see that Daav receives this, when he does arrive for his shift? It is his share of yesterday's lift-wage. And. . ." She yanked the chain over her head, ship keys jangling as she pressed those, too, on Clonak.

  "Please, ask Jon to hold these for me. I will—say that I will come for them—myself, or. . ." She drew a hard breath. "Or my co-pilot may claim them, should he have need."

  Clonak stared at the items in his hand. "Aelliana. . ."

  "No," she said for a third time. "Truly, friends, it is better so. I will—Good lift, pilots." She turned and ran, not waiting for their well-wishing in return.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kin and love

  Comfort

  Home.

  —From "Collected Poems"

  Elabet pel'Ongin, Clan Diot

  SHE SOUGHT THE ship's Healer, who listened, probed, and laid salve upon her pain, so that all was well. Until she slept again.

  Twice more, Samiv tel'Izak sought the Healer. The third time, he denied her.

  "I eradicate the memory of the dream, Pilot, but, when you sleep, you dream again. To eradicate the memory which causes the dream—that I might do. But in a situation such as yours, where the pain-matrix or referents to the matrix will be shortly re-encountered, eradicating the older memory—and what defenses you have thus far built—serves you ill, and the Guild counsels against it."

  "And what cure does the Guild counsel?" she inquired, voice grating in weariness.

  "An old cure," the Healer said softly, "and a harsh one. Confront that which gnaws at your soul, stare into its face and achieve what Balance you may."

  Harsh, indeed. She left the Healer and sought her immediate superior. She informed that serious and ship-wise pilot that lack of sleep and stress of spirit made her an active danger to ship and crew; that the Healer had no succor.

  Her superior did duty, cancelling what remained of her contract, which was required, as a matter of ship's safety, and would show in her permanent Guild record. He also commended her for exemplary service and expressed willingness to see her under his command at any time in the future, which would also find a place in her record, and fell on the full side of Balance.

  Samiv signed the separation paper, removed her effects from quarters and twelve hours later was walking out of Solcintra Guildhall, pack slung over a shoulder, and her heart cold with dread. Confront her fear, indeed.

  And then there was one's delm to consider.

  STEP BY STEP, Aelliana forced herself home, hands fisted in the pockets of her old blue jacket.

  Her feet faltered at the corner of Raingleam Street. She drove herself onward, shaking.

  The delm. It was her right, as one of Mizel, to ask a hearing and justice of the delm. She could not be refused this.

  Her hand touched the gate and her knees locked, so that she stood f
or an entire minute, unable to go on.

  The delm, she told herself. Lay all before the delm . . .

  Her hand moved, the gate swung open. She entered Mizel's front garden, closed the gate behind her and walked, step-by-step, to the door.

  Three wooden steps to the porch; a touch of her hand to the lock pad.

  "Good afternoon, Aelliana." The luck was out. And yet it was her right, to ask, to be heard, by her delm.

  She bowed, so low that her forehead touched her knees, and straightened only somewhat, eyes fixed humbly on the faded pink stone of the foyer floor.

  "Good afternoon, brother," she murmured, though the words seemed like to choke her.

  "So respectful," he commented, rising from his chair in the stair-niche. "Indeed, the very portrait of subservience, drawn with rare skill. I confess myself charmed—but no longer deceived."

  She did not raise her head. She did not move. Barely did she breathe. Ran Eld's boots came into her range of vision: They were dusty and scuffed; the right bore a stain of oil along the instep.

  "You keep to your character?" he inquired, voice poisonously sweet. "But perhaps you are correct! We are so open here that anyone might chance to see, should you choose to fly your true colors! I suggest we adjourn to the parlor. After you. Sister."

  "I have—urgent—need to see the delm," Aelliana said, staring, staring, at that scuffed, stained leather. "Pray conduct me to Mizel at once."

  "The delm is from house," Ran Eld purred. "She returns tomorrow, midday." There was a pause, in which she felt his gloating like rancid grease across her skin. "The parlor, sister. Of your kindness."

  There was no help for it. Shoulders slumped, eyes lowered, steps mouse-light across the old stone floor, Aelliana entered the parlor. Ran Eld's footsteps gritted noisily behind her. He crossed the threshold and closed the door with a bang, striding to where she waited in the center of the room, eyes on the nap-worn carpet.

  "Look at me!" he shouted, augmenting the order with a savage yank of her hair.

  She ground her teeth, imprisoning the cry, and met his eyes.

  "So. . ." Satisfaction settled in her brother's face. "Have you truly forgotten the old lesson, Aelliana? Do you no longer recall what I had done to you, the last time you challenged me?"

  "I remember."

  "Ah, she remembers! But where is the failing note in the voice—the twisting together of the fingers? She remembers, but appears to discount the memory. Perhaps she takes comfort in the Delm's Word! What was that promise, Aelliana?"

  She stared at him, recalling all of what he had caused to be done to her. He had boasted of it, after, and spoken of such things as made it certain that he and the contract-husband had spent many delicious hours, planning how best to harm her.

  "You know well what the Delm's Word was," she told him, and heard the acid in her voice with dismay.

  "Ah, but of course I know!" Ran Eld returned, in high good humor. "But you will tell me, Aelliana, because I have commanded it. As nadelm, it is my right—indeed, my duty!—to command you. Surely, you cannot have forgotten that."

  She took a careful breath, trying to still her body's shaking, which was all of long-pent fury and hatred, and nothing whatsoever of fear.

  "The Delm's Word," she said, neutralizing the acid note with an effort, "was that I had fulfilled my duty to the clan and need never marry again."

  "Yes, that is what I thought," her brother said, with a smile. "Never marry again. I may be able to keep to that, when I am delm." His face hardened. "In the meanwhile, I learn from the news wires that you are a holder of real property which you have neglected to report to the clan." He moved an elegant, heavily-ringed hand. "Step to the desk, if you please."

  She went forward to the tiny letter-desk, stood blinking down at the paper laid there, at the pens, bare-tipped and ready.

  Bill of Transfer, the words shouted from the page. I, Aelliana Caylon Clan Mizel, hereby transfer all right, profit and holding in the starship Ride the Luck to Ran Eld Caylon, Nadelm Mizel to be his personal property to dispose of or profit by . . .

  "No."

  "No?" Incredibly, Ran Eld sounded merely amused. "But you are grown bold!" He smiled viciously into her eyes as she looked up. "You will sign this paper, Aelliana, and this. . ." He pulled a second from the pile on the letter-desk and thrust at her face.

  She danced aside, flicking the paper from between his fingers. Another transfer, this one of her Ormit Shares. She dropped the paper onto the desk.

  "Not that one either," she said, her voice shaking. "I sign nothing until I have spoken with the delm. If she is from House, I ask that you put me in contact with her. If she is not to be disturbed, I will wait upon her arrival."

  Ran Eld's eye had snagged on the glitter of Jon's ring.

  "What's this?" he asked, snatching her wrist. "A love-token? Relinquish it."

  Her throat closed with outrage. She forced herself to stand quiet in his grip, as Trilla had taught her, waiting for her moment.

  "Come along, Aelliana! Have it off!" His fingers tightened. "Or shall I take it off myself?"

  "You may not have it," she said, striving for Daav's tone of calm reason. "I earned it and it is mine."

  "You earned it?" her brother jeered. "In that wise, it is wages, and we had long ago decided what was best done with your wages, hadn't we?"

  So they had, and her wages had bought her nothing. Aelliana looked into her brother's eyes and saw that he would never be placated, that no harm he visited upon her would ever be enough to Balance his own fears and failings.

  Fool, she told herself. Why did you not listen to your comrades and stay away?

  Ran Eld jerked her hand forward and reached for the ring. She clenched her fist, braced and twisted free, all as Trilla had taught her.

  "I will return when the delm is at home," she said, backing toward the door.

  Ran Eld lunged, fist raised, which would have been enough, at some forgotten, rageless point in the past, to have her on her knees, begging his forgiveness.

  Aelliana swept sideways, coming 'round in a deceptively graceful spin, her right hand, weighted with Jon's ring, rising, to whip, pilot-quick and anger-hard, across her nadelm's face.

  THE BLOW KICKED him backward, dazzled by pain. His hand went up, came down—there was blood—blood! And Aelliana was at the door—through it—hair streaming behind her.

  Ran Eld leapt, snatched—caught not hair, but jacket, yanked—

  She came around fast, landed a blow to the side of his head, twisted free of his staggered grip and flung into the foyer.

  Ears ringing, he hurtled after, grabbing for an arm.

  She eluded his fingers like mist, one foot flashing out to touch his knee.

  Pain.

  He screamed, lurched and went down, flinging out a hand too late to break his fall—

  But soon enough to catch her ankle, destroying her balance, and sending her crashing beside him on the gritty marble floor.

  He rolled, using his weight to hold her, cuffing her face a time or two, while beneath him she fought with silent ferocity—teeth, fists and feet. His cheek was clawed from eye to chin while he struggled to pin her arms, and when finally he accomplished that—she kneed him.

  He grunted, gasped—and she twisted, pitching him aside, flashing to her feet, turning—

  There was a sound, as of a particularly sturdy vase being forcibly broken. Aelliana swayed—and crumpled to the floor, left cheek rubbing grit.

  "Ran Eld!" Voni's voice quavered. "Brother, can you speak?"

  Cautiously, he rolled to his back and blinked up into her horrified face.

  "I can speak," he managed, somewhat breathlessly.

  She swallowed. "Your face. . ."

  "Yes, I don't doubt she marked me well. She certainly meant to do so." He sat up, then wished he hadn't. Blearily, he considered Aelliana's still shape.

  "She went mad," he said, for Voni's benefit. "I gave nadelm's instruction and she—struck m
e." He took a breath, wincing at the pain.

  "She ran for the door," he continued. "To have her show such a face to the world—I tried to hold her. She—"

  "I saw," Voni said hoarsely. "She was—an animal. I have never—" She gulped. "She must have gone mad. I—Shall I call a Healer?"

  A Healer? Ran Eld's stomach turned to ice. A Healer would immediately perceive the cause of Aelliana's revolt—and report it to Delm Mizel. Who would doubtless have many difficult questions to lay before her son and heir.

  He licked his lips.

  "No," he whispered, then, more strongly, "No. We shall—we shall put her in the sleep learner."

  Voni blinked. "The sleep learner, brother? But—"

  "The sleep learner," he said firmly, while the idea took root and grew before his mind's eye. An overlay of intensive direct-learning might very well befuddle Aelliana's remembrance of this confrontation. Perhaps, were the session long enough, she would forget the matter altogether.

  "She has broken with the Code," he told Voni. "It is our duty to reinitiate her to proper behavior—and that before the delm returns. Only think of our mother's distress, to find Aelliana as you saw her just now—a beast, raising fists against her kin."

  Voni looked to Aelliana, lying like a broken doll, her cheek pillowed on stone. "How—"

  "The two of us can drag her to the study," he said. "Give me your arm and help me to rise."

  She did, flinchingly, and refusing to look at his face. He shambled over to Aelliana and used his foot, none too gently, to roll her over.

  "Take her right arm," he directed Voni, bending for the left. Bruises were rising amid the cuts on Aelliana's face, he saw with satisfaction, and the left cheek was badly scored. She would be well-served if he denied her use of the 'doc when she emerged from the sleep learner.

  "Pull," he told Voni.

  Squeamishly, she did.

  HE PUSHED THE timer to the top, selected maximum intensity and yanked the abort button from its socket. In the act of closing the lid he paused, reached down and snatched up his sister's limp hand.