by Patty Jansen
"I do. My uncle is in Miran."
Both Braedon and Rehan looked at her. Braedon's face was red.
Izramith said in a low voice, "So, the expedition is on?"
"I'll be your pilot."
Rehan interrupted. "No, if you're going, I will fly the craft. I know the procedures and routes to take. I can make it look like we're a commercial shuttle."
"You're not going, brother. They almost killed you last time you were in Miran, and you're about to get married. When I die, I will leave no one. I won't even leave anyone a business to look after, at least none to speak of!" His face had gone red again.
A tense silence followed Braedon's outburst.
Braedon pressed his balled fist against his lips. His nostrils flared and his chest heaved with deep breaths.
After a tense silence, he said, "I will go with her, because if someone will be kind enough to shoot me, I will die having done something useful with my life." He rose and strode across the room. He opened the door, and screamed, "Fuck it!"
His voice echoed in the hall.
He slammed the door behind him, leaving Rehan and Izramith behind in astonished silence. The door opened again, and Mikandra came in.
"Was that Braedon?"
"It was," Rehan said. His voice sounded astonished or awed, it was hard to decide which. Braedon who never lost his temper, who had told her that it was part of a trader's ethics to keep calm. Who had driven her mad by being calm.
Mikandra said, "What got into him? I've never heard him swear."
"I don't know." Rehan shrugged. "Ever since that incident in the forest, he hasn't been the same." He met Izramith's eyes. "Did anything happen out there that could have rattled him more than having shot a few men while we were escaping Miran?"
Izramith spread her hands. "It was violent, but no more than what he described to me about your escape from Miran. He's very good with a gun. He's very gentle and I'd never expected him to be such an ace. Maybe the thought that he kills so easily upsets him."
That thought made her shiver. Killing was surprisingly easy. It was the thoughts you had about it afterwards that were hard.
Izramith left, unsure what to do now. The Rhion was free tonight or tomorrow, but she would be missed at work tomorrow, and any moment they waited was a moment that someone could suspect what they were doing. She wanted to leave as soon as possible, but didn't see Braedon anywhere in the hall. Did this mean he was still coming? Was anyone going to ask him?
Rehan was definitely coming, he confirmed that. Mikandra glanced up the stairs a few times and before she could offer to come instead of Braedon, Izramith said, "That's his room up there?"
She nodded.
Izramith climbed the stairs. She didn't miss the first door on her right being ajar and quickly pushed shut and didn't miss the sound of children's voices. If one needed to know what went on the house, those boys would know everything.
She knocked on the door. "Braedon?"
A moment later, the door was opened.
Braedon had changed out of his uniform into sturdy trousers, dark-coloured, and a jacket of the same fabric. Both had plenty of pockets. He wore a belt with a Mirani-style dagger and a Mirani crossbow over his shoulder. He carried a heavy-duty charge gun in brackets on each arm. He had tied his hair at the nape of his neck.
"I'm ready."
Their eyes met for longer than necessary. She searched for signs of emotion, but there were none. She wanted to say something personal, but had no idea what. She wanted to tell him that he didn't need to try and out-do her in toughness. She wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right, even in his work, but there was no way she could be certain and she hated empty reassurances. She understood so well the difficulties of trying to get ahead while you couldn't, and while your friend and colleagues all went on as normal with their lives. And she understood the feeling when well-meaning people said, "Everything will be fine," and you knew that it wasn't, and you felt that if one more person was going to say that, you'd smash their face in.
So the only thing she ended up saying was, "All right then, let's go."
* * *
Izramith went to the guesthouse and dressed in her insulation suit. Over that, she put her armour, both guns, her knife in a bracket, her rope, three comms, her infrared sensor and toolkit.
Dressed like this, she met Rehan and Braedon on the corner of Market Street. Wairin just came out of the guesthouse, carrying an ominous bag, the contents of which had probably best stay where they were. Rehan distributed thick fur cloaks. Izramith had some trouble draping it over her jacket. The weight of the fur made it slip from her shoulders.
Someone leaned against the wall behind them. Dressed in fur, with a dark-coloured jacket and trousers, guns bulging from the sides of armour and on his arm brackets. He was much taller than Wairin, and with loose curls.
"Daya!" What was he doing here?
In the gap between the two sides of his cloak, something glistened: he also wore an insulation suit.
"You're coming?"
"I am."
"I thought you didn't want us to do this?"
"I said that in my capacity as Chief Councillor of Barresh. After you left, I had a talk with Anmi about the things you said. It wasn't an easy talk, and you won't need to know the details. But she has instructions to, the moment this craft leaves the ground, send my resignation as Chief Councillor to the council, to become effective after the wedding. I will concentrate as advocate for the Aghyrians. So technically, that means the council doesn't know about this expedition, and can't disapprove of it."
Izramith's head was reeling. Things were changing faster than she could keep up with. And he'd resigned because of something she said?
"Well then, let's go," Braedon said. He was looking at his reader. "Our window to arrive in Miran on dusk is fast closing."
When they arrived at the airport, Dashu waited there with a group of about twenty people, mostly Mirani, mostly Nikala, and many of them wearing cloaks that weren't half as nice as Rehan's. "Who are these people?"
Rehan said, "We're a commercial flight. We need passengers, so I asked Jocassa to offer a bunch of his friends free tickets. One way only."
Chapter 29
"There it is," Rehan said.
Izramith peered out the window against the glare. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. For now, she couldn't see much more than mountains, mountains and more mountains. There was white stuff on the tops, but the lower slopes were blinding green, and the sky was unbelievably clear blue. Ceren's two little moons hung like cut fingernails high above.
Braedon pushed himself from the back seat and clambered over Wairin's legs. Having no capability to fly or operate any part of the aircraft, Wairin was still asleep, which, in the pilot cabin designed for a crew of four, wasn't an easy thing to do. Dashu sat in the corner with her reader. She had changed into the Pilot's Guild uniform, and she would be the one to "assist" the passengers off the craft.
The ancient city of Miran lay in a saddle high above the level of Ceren's sea. The city had been built there because the first settlers had feared attacks from other people, and Miran was fabled to have the best views of any settled world. From the front of the shuttle, Izramith had an even better view than on the ground.
She glanced sideways at Braedon, who was peering intently into the distance. Drops of sweat twinkled on his upper lip.
"See anything yet?"
"Not many craft on the airport. Do you have vocal contact with them yet?" The latter to Rehan.
"Not yet. Just the beacon."
"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Izramith asked.
Rehan shrugged. "Probably routine."
Izramith yawned so much that tears sprang into her eyes. All of a sudden she felt hungry, if fact so hungry that it made her feel sick. Did she have anything to eat in her bag? The stuffy air in the cabin did nothing to improve her alertness.
Braedon was looking at her, his eyes intent. What h
ad he meant with that outburst before they left? She gave up the search in her bag and leaned back in her seat, her eyes closed. "I hope a visit to Miran includes breakfast."
Seriously, she was over this adaptation crap that kept rearing its head unexpectedly..
"We'll get some food," he said, again meeting her eyes in an intense look.
Why did he keep staring at her like that? For fuck's sake. The scent of bodies and armour became suffocating, but where she expected her cheeks to get hot with a flush, this didn't happen. Her own body kept disobeying her. Was there anything else that adaptation could upset?
The city of Miran now came into clear view. Surrounded by walls and only with a narrow path trailing down the mountain pass, the main way in which people got here was by air. Yet the airport was surprisingly quiet.
Rehan landed the craft without problems and Dashu guided the passengers off. Now it was Izramith's turn.
She explained to the Exchange that the shuttle had a mechanical problem and needed a technician to deliver and install a part. Did they have any technicians? Which of course they didn't; Rehan already knew this.
Dashu then deflected a visit from a couple of Mirani guards by not speaking Mirani, and Izramith asked if, now that they needed to wait for tech service to come from elsewhere, the crew could at least have passes to go into town and buy something to eat.
Passes were produced, much to the amusement of Rehan. "No idea it was so easy to get these."
"I work at an airport. I know the stuff that goes on at airports all the time. No one would be surprised being asked for any of those things. No one would suspect an ulterior motive."
But it worked. They were in.
As agreed, Rehan was going to stay with the craft.
When Daya opened the door, a breeze of icy air came into the craft. He jumped out first, after having pulled his cloak over his head. Then Izramith. The cold stung her face. Braedon, Wairin—looking more heavy-set than normal with his gear strapped to him— and Dashu also followed.
Rehan waved briefly before shutting the door again.
The group set off across the wide expanse of the airport. Directly ahead was a low building with windows overlooking an area where a few private craft stood, all of the black Mirani type. To the left, a meadow sloped up the mountainside, luminous green and interrupted only by patches of pink and yellow, and the occasional rocky outcrop. Except on closer inspection, some of the outcrops weren't rocks; they moved.
The sky above was completely cloudless and deep blue. With the suns were almost overhead each person walked in their own shadow.
With the air cool and thin and fresh unlike the heavy humid stink of Barresh, Izramith understood the beauty of the place, even if it left her feeling light-headed.
They arrived at the airport building, where everyone except Dashu and Wairin pulled their hoods over their heads. Dashu stumbled through the permit check. Her cloak hung open, clearly displaying the Pilot Guild uniform.
None of the bored guards objected.
Then they were in the city. First came the old gate in the city wall, and then stately old houses, streets paved in intricate patterns of natural stone, houses and shops with intricate stone-carved facades, houses with towers, statues, patterns even in different coloured roof tiles.
Hidden in the hood of the cloak, Izramith marvelled at what she had thought would be a dreary, cold, forbidding place.
"It's beautiful," she said in a low voice to Braedon when he came to walk next to her.
"This city is history. Miran has the most complete written history of any place in all of the settled worlds. We can't let Nemedor Satarin destroy it."
Further downhill, the buildings became bigger and closer together and even more elaborate. Braedon pointed out the council building and the famous library. They entered the central square which Izramith had only seen in pictures. The Foundation monument bathed in bright sunlight. A group of children sat in neat lines on the steps while a woman spoke to them. The sunlight made their hair shine like silver.
Then Braedon pointed out the dark windows above the shop on the corner, dirty and one had been broken and boarded up.
"Our office," he said in a low voice. "The Mirani council and various other businesses have offered us lots of money for it. We've retrieved all our possessions from the office and the house, but we won't sell either."
"Will you ever go back to Miran?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe some of us will go back. I don't think Rehan and Mother will. Taerzo might go back, and maybe Iztho if he feels he can be accepted as a musician rather than a Trader."
It was the first time she'd heard any of the family talk about the oldest brother. She'd heard rumours of Anmi's refusal to marry him.
"What about you? Will you ever go back?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
He didn't reply to that question.
They arrived at a big building where it was very busy.
"Markets," Braedon said. "Breakfast."
Inside the building were many stalls where merchants in fur coats sold their wares. Large fires burned at set intervals and people sat around eating and drinking steaming drinks. The smell of food and smoke hung in the air.
It was cosy and pretty. Izramith saw how people could love this place. There was pride in survival in harsh conditions. That's what people did at Hedron. These people were more in tune with the climate. They didn't hide, but lived, in the snow and biting cold, and they stuck a finger to the rest of the gamra entities. She could identify with that. For so long, Hedron had done the same. Shut out everyone who wasn't a local. There was still a big barrier to coming into Hedron. Hedron could easily have been Miran and faced the same sort of scrutiny. The two nations had a fair bit in common.
They found a table around one of the open fires, and Daya went to buy food at one of the surrounding stalls.
Dashu sat huddled in her chair with a I-hate-this-place look on her face. Wairin had his cloak's hood pulled far over his face. Braedon wore his loosely to cover his Barresh-style hair, but Daya had pushed his hood down and chatted and laughed with the food seller.
"He lived in Miran for a while," Braedon explained.
Not much later he returned to the table, with a tray of bowls of steaming, lumpy sauce.
Izramith gave him a questioning glance, not wanting to speak and give herself away. He nodded from within the hood of his cloak. Mirani ate yellow-coded food, so there was no safety issue, but what was this?
He gave her a spoon and started eating his portion.
Izramith tried the sauce. It was very salty and had a strange tang that she couldn't place and wasn't sure she liked. But it was warm and she was hungry, so she ate all of it.
Neither of them spoke. On the tables around them, men sat talking and laughing. Some chewed leaves and sat staring into the fire. Their faces were rugged, with chapped and red skin from the cold. Sometimes they glanced at the group of assorted visitors.
The food merchant walked past, stopped and said something to Daya.
"He says to watch out, there are gangs about."
"We better move," Braedon said. "Let's check out the building."
They left the market building again for the bright and sunny square. The council complex was to the left, an impressive construction with a façade of a double row of columns. An open door between the columns offered a glimpse of a large foyer where people walked around.
Braedon led the group up the stairs, but instead of to this entrance, they veered off to the left, past the side of the building with the many columns. At the back, away from the square, it was attached to another building via a covered walkway. That second building was in a different, more elaborate style, with cornerstones of granite carved into flowers and leadlight windows with many coloured panes. To the left was another building of two floors. The steeply-sloping roof had many little towers. A gallery-style balcony went around most of the top floor. The windows at the front were d
ark and dusty, the front entrance closed off by a roughly-built wall.
"It's this building," Daya said in a low voice. "Second floor. At the back. The Trader Guild building is the one on the other side of the street."
That building stood on the other side of an alley. A wall with only a few windows on the top floor faced the council buildings. Those windows were likely to be the ones from which Mikandra had seen into the courtyard.
The stone wall that blocked the building's façade left only one entrance, in front of an archway that led underneath the building to a courtyard. A uniformed guard stood there, feet slightly apart, a crossbow slung over his shoulder. The Mirani wore white and grey uniforms which really stood out elsewhere, but blended in with the bright colours here.
"How do we get in?" Wairin said.
Time for another silly idea.
Izramith simply walked up to the guard. His frown grew deeper while she approached, until he could ignore her no more, and stopped her going into the entrance.
He said something in Mirani.
She mimicked eating.
His face cleared. He said something else, pointing to the market building.
"Oh. Thank you."
She turned around and went back to the group. Dashu gave her a what-did-you-do-that-for look.
"It looks like the courtyard on the other side is unsecured," she said. "If we climb the wall, there are no more obstacles that I can see."
Chapter 30
They left the building and walked past the markets to a commercial are with shops. Compared to Barresh, this area looked bleak. Whereas in Barresh, shop owners had crammed every available space of their rickety shops with wares, many of these shops had little stock. Clothes offered for sale were sturdy and plain, furniture basic, and Izramith spotted only one shop that sold any technology. They did, however, pass at least three places to buy weapons. Heavy Mirani-style crossbows with fearsome bolts. Big knives and clunky-looking charge guns that probably shouldn't be underestimated.
