Liaden Universe Constellation Volume 3

by Sharon Lee

  Alara bowed lightly, Simple simple repeating mildly in her pilot’s hands, and laid the basic situation out succinctly, avoiding the formal as much as she could, and also at the end of her explanation, not quite avoiding the spray of water from a thrown water-bulb, the bulb itself snatched out of the air by pilot-quick hands.

  “Ring the bell and she’ll be playing bowli ball if we’re not careful!”

  Miri handed a small hand-towel to her guest, nodding, and then adjusting the child’s position to sit easier against the pillow-back, she sat straighter herself before turning back to Alara.

  “Listening for Korval,” she said, “I hear that your clan’s going through some changes and your delm’s dropped you into a hard spot. And I can see what’s some behind it, ’cause I hope you don’t mind, but I did some research, and pretty much Silari’s been one to lean toward Korval almost since that tree out there took root on Liad.”

  Abruptly Lizzie rolled from her sitting position and worked her way to standing against the pillow, sharing a self-pleased smile with her onlookers despite a not-quite firm stance.

  Miri watched, absorbed for several seconds in the gentle swaying, and then, assured there was some stability there, looked at Alara seriously.

  “Don’t know we need me to come delm for this, but I can tell you there’s a case here, over time, that Silari ought to have a connection with Korval, money in the budget or not. We got council votes, we got old farming agreements, we got help with—heck, Silari himself knows it . . .”

  Alara, startled—it might have been what her delm had thought but the idea hadn’t crossed her own mind—raised her hand as if to protest, but Korval was shaking her head gently, hands saying, wait wait.

  Miri paused, pursed her lips, and looked straight at Alara again.

  “Just like Silari, though, Koval’s a bit thin right now. We got Syl Vor or Quin a few years down the line, but parents are already thinking there, and I’d hate to have to make call for six or eight years out, if you hear me.”

  Mother instinct, she reached over just in time to steady Lizzie against a sudden rocky step, and turned back, still serious and thoughtful, as much talking to herself as Alara.

  “There’s Gordon Arbuthnot, but again, he’s more out of the yos’Galan side of counting, and not necessarily going to get into the contract stuff. No one’s talked about that with me, busy as we all been. Details, all these details.”

  Now she was touching fingers, and then almost snickered, “I dunno, I think we can’t figure Pat Rin’s gonna have much free time any year soon . . .” which made them both laugh, even as aghast as Alara was at Korval assuming . . .

  “And I think we might need to figure that altogether, we’re in a spot with you. I’m doing my part here, but lifemates being lifemates, Val Con’s in the same spot as Pat Rin, and if we was to go to bel’Tarda I’m thinking that’s another thing would have to be worked out—

  Bel’Tarda? The rug merchant? Alara ran the connections in her mind, and saw the odd subordinate line—yes, he stood as foster father to Pat Rin in the lists, and as old as . . .

  “Korval,” she said, though in reality Korval had yet to be invoked directly in this catalog of potentially available gene donors, “it is my understanding that Silari is not as bold, nor as demanding, nor as acquisitive, as these choices you mention, and which honor me even if not possible. I suspect that my delm, at least, will be pleased to see a contract produce a child of a connection favorable to ourselves and to Korval. That our long-connection is fractured I have mentioned, and it is clear that Korval has many more connections within reach than Silari . . .”

  Scout-talk in the hands, from Korval: shredded more nets than we’ve mended, orbits on remainders still computing . . .

  Alara signified, read that message and match it.

  The child made a noise that made Alara cringe and Miri laugh. The redhead shook her head, muttering something about being glad when Val Con was back for kid-duty, and then smiled brightly up at her guest.

  “So, Alara, I think what we both need to do is to think; and for our side, we’ll read the records deep and see if we spot anything to bring to you. Look at the details. If you are thinking of someone else on port, not directly of Korval, it might be good if you could have names and information to hand so that our connections might be considered, and their own needs. Take the day tomorrow to think of it. Certainly I can understand that Silari, moving in support of beliefs, is as worthy as any, and more so than many, when it comes to our consideration. Let us agree that the conversation is not over, and we’ll talk in the afternoon, tomorrow. Let us say an hour after the midday meal is cleared here.”

  Taking child to her then, Korval rose, and the interview ended, Alara still in amaze.

  Diglon’s night had ended with a quiet cup of whipped-top cocoa, an unexpected gift of the house on his return from Ms. Audrey’s in the early hours, brought by Jeeves in his role as night sentry and door master. He doubted that there’d been a sleep agent in that draught, yet he’d slept exceptionally well, and was wide awake and well-satisfied with himself some moments before the call-tone on the chronometer chirped.

  Surebleak, he’d heard from his poker combatants, was a place where the good things were hard to come by, an inhospitable place on the fringe of civilization, a hardship post, a place to escape from if at all possible . . .

  But, in the afterglow of his night, he considered that perhaps not all eyes saw the same world. Here, there was relative quiet, and though the security work he’d been doing was serious enough, there’d not been open fighting for some time, and Boss Conrad’s dominion was secure, particularly with the backing of the rest of Line yos’Phelium, who could command battleships to stand off-planet if need be.

  Surebleak—he’d done his research and knew the name of the planet itself to be a sign of the original colonists’ disapproval—but there, after their hard work Surebleak had breathable air, drinkable water, and land that could support farms and a spaceport, and—and he’d discovered last night that Ms. Audrey’s was but one of a dozen or more pleasure houses! How could port security think it such a burden, when the duty helped make it all safer?

  He dressed quietly, taking time to glance out his window into the inner garden where grew the tree and its surround of flowers. In the morning light the usual heavy dawn mist was giving way to dew-topped fronds and flowers, and to the flowers came birds, some few, the winter having been gone some weeks now, and parading about were several cats. Cats amused him, and apparently he, the cats; he was not yet entirely used to them and still, on Hazenthull’s standing order, he found he needed lock them out of his quarters else he’d wake to purrs and clothes covered in cat hair.

  A motion among the bushes, and from a spot that seemed far too small for him, Jeeves emerged, several more cats in his train. Jeeves offered names to the cats, fed them, communed with them. Truly, Surebleak was a world of marvels, and he pleased to be part of it!

  He wondered who else might be seeing the mist drift away. Was the Captain up? That was likely, he supposed, for the baby kept her own hours and he often found the Captain at common table when he arrived, if the one she called Tough Guy were away, as was often the case.

  Was Alara the biologist up? No way of knowing that certainty unless he met her: her room was on the opposite side of the tree’s incredible trunk. He’d walked the gardens until he was sure of that, supposing it was his security consciousness at work. It comforted him to know where the folk who were important were . . .

  There was a sigh then, recalling that she was Liaden and her ways were not the ways of the troop, nor of Surebleak, nor of Liad, either, since she was a Scout. She was, however, comfortable to work with and he wondered how he might Balance her assistance for what had truly been a memorable experience. He doubted he should share that he’d thought of her there at Audrey’s, for as surely as he would have enjoyed sharing his bounty with her, she’d have cited something from the Code, or from a rulebook,
explaining why it couldn’t have been so.

  A bird, launched by a stalking cat, fluttered very nearly into his window and he knew that the day was upon him, and opened his door, to find two dark cats sitting primly in front of it, as if waiting for him. Indeed, they became his escort, and walked him knowingly to breakfast, their feet avoiding his on the back stairs.

  The common table was set; nearby on the old wooden side tables sat the breakfast teas, coffee maker, juices, nut-milks, water, and even the carafe of Yittle, a yeast and caffeine drink he’d asked after one morning and which had been added to the menu. He often started with a few sips of that, and when Haznethull was on-station she, too, would have some. He’d been startled to see several other guests partake as he assumed it was a vestige of his trooply upbringing . . . but several claimed to appreciate the robust flavor, and considered it food rather than beverage.

  And so, Yittle first, with a side of coffee, and a flash toast of hearty bread brought up from the city. No one else present, he still sat at the end chair, which for the youngsters like Syl Vor or even for the absent Quin and Padi, might be a two-person bench, leaving the places he’d decided were preferred in case others joined. There being rank within rank even here, where so often the unannounced guests might be pilots having left their jackets in the room, or commanders, on holiday, his current spot was the most practical.

  A sound behind him as he slathered nut spread on his first flash-toast, and he smiled wide for Alara, who was dressed for—not for field work, but not yet for visiting the city. Perhaps it was her day off . . .

  She’d come in with a commpad and missed his first look; when she did see him she’d already been aiming for one of the seats at the other end of the table, which surely was her right . . .

  Then, seeing no others in the room, the scout caught his glance and gave a wan nod, changing course to place her keypad across the square angle of the table, to his left side, before angling back to the beverages.

  “Diglon, I hope the morning finds you well and in spirits?”

  This was said over her shoulder, in Trade.

  The words were there, he heard, but her concentration was elsewhere, he thought, and not simply on the morning duty of her tea.

  The languages of this house were slippery; unlike the small spaceport guard garrison in the city, where the common language was Terran with as much Surebleak dialect as possible, and fell back first to basic Terran, and then to Trade, moving on to Liaden rarely and against custom, to the tongue of the troop not at all, here, sentences might vary from one to the next, and at times, even with the sentence words, tense, and dialects might be sprinkled about with impunity, and with great accuracy. Even in the presence of the youngsters, who were all now away from house, it was the expectation that communication would take place. He himself was picking up some of this side-language spoken with fingers. Rarely would a sentence be spoken in troop—if the others of his background were there, principally, but then from time from some hidden necessity might come a phrase, a word, even a paragraph or two—not necessarily well-formed—from those two who were Korval, and as well from the elder Scout when he was present.

  Yet the Trade Alara offered was a distancing effort, more formal rather than the everyday. He had recourse to his Yittle, and then nodded, though she might not have seen, agreeing.

  “The morning fog found me happily awake; my spirits are high and I am well, and I am rested. And yourself, if I may inquire?”

  This, of course, could be shunted aside; their relative ranks being such that permitted casual discussion but did not encourage it.

  The musical sound of spoons and ceramics and such came to him, and then she returned, steaming beverage in one hand and a simple buttered cheese roll wrapped in one of the impeccable cloth napkins in the other.

  She sighed as she sat, raised her cup toward him as if a salute, and sipped carefully before answering.

  “I am well, that I am.”

  She stopped there, took a bite of her roll, and leaned back into the seat, sipping again soon, and then stared into her cup reflectively, then tapped on the commpad idly to bring forth a screen already waiting. What she might see there he couldn’t tell, yet such total distraction was unlike her, and he leaned forward to offer a gentle observation.

  “I see you are not dressed for field duty this morning. Have you information or orders for me?”

  Her cup to lips, her free hand danced over the keys, and she stared at the screen, sighing, before looking up and bowing a bow of contrition.

  “Diglon, you are correct. I have . . . other necessities today, and a meeting this afternoon as well—in fact, thinking of it now, I should have left a message for you that you might also have the day free for yourself. I am behind hand on this.”

  Now his concern rose, and he weighed his thoughts before making them into words.

  “Is it possible that my performance has not been up to standard and that you must make amends with the Captain? I have seen, without understanding, that there has been an issue. I am proud of my posting with you, and your regard, and will do what whatever I may improve. If I may assist your work today, whatever it may be, that we may continue with our studies and bring the fields to full and timely production—”

  She startled him, clinking the cup on the table and rising.

  She gave him a bow, full of import that he could not read, and then shook her head Terran style, admitting in a quiet voice:

  “I have been unkind to you, have I not, these recent days? And you, you with an event of importance I have not honored. We do, very much, need to work as a team and I am foolish to forget. Teammates should help each other.”

  She paused, spoke a brief line of Liaden:

  “Let us do this: Give me a moment or two and I shall return and we will begin the morning again, in better Balance. I will put aside this cloud . . .”

  She gathered up her commpad, slapping it into clear screen and tucking it into her belt loop, and then quick marched out of the room, placing the used cup on the side table and leaving him briefly to wonder if she had a pressing physical need. A time passed, of perhaps ten breaths, and she returned.

  What exactly she had done in that interim he was unsure; it was said that Scouts had attention exercises, and perhaps it was that. Yet she arrived with a hint of energy and awareness that she had lacked on her first entry; and it was if she spotted him for the first time of the day.

  “There you are, Diglon,” she said now, and a smile touched at the corners of her mouth. “I hope your day is well-started?”

  This was an oddity, but indeed, he had trained well enough to understand when a situation was reviewed and begun again.

  “Yes,” he managed, and added, “the Yittle is an excellent start and soon I shall move on to meat!”

  “And good!”

  Now she scooped up a new cup and new tea, and along with that, some fruit and another roll. She selected the same seat, and began, as if newly arrived indeed.

  “Ah, my friend, I have been remiss; duty calls me to other necessities for much of the day and I’m inclined to permit us both a day away from the field. Indeed, I should have told the house so last night, that you might have slept in after your date in town, for surely a lazy morning would have treated you well!”

  She spoke in Terran, with more ease about her.

  “I woke easily as I always do,” he told her, “and ready to work.”

  “We shall amend your day in any case, I fear, for the field can use a day or two of growth before we recheck. I’ll let Jeeves know you are available, if the house needs you, else, perhaps it would be wise of you to study on what clothes you may need for future civilian use so that we may not have Jeeves and Mr. pel’Kana in such a sweat as last night again.”

  He laughed despite himself, allowing the image of their rush of the evening before to be the stuff of stories, had he but a troop to share it with.

  “Nelirikk Explorer has suggested as much for the future, tho
ugh I doubt that I shall often win such a prize. . . .”

  He went silent with consideration of his prize—and after a respectful moment she asked him:

  “And were you dressed sufficiently finely?”

  He nodded, and allowed, “The staff of Ms. Audrey’s told me so, and, and in particular, Tova was appreciative. The shirts were very fine, she told me, and she took special care to . . .” here he fumbled, having run out of the correct words in any of the languages he had quick to tongue, “that is, she helped to get me out of them, gently and with much touching, and admired how well they fit, and how well-formed they were for me.”

  He paused. “I was struck there, with Tova and Diam, that it would have been a good moment for, for . . .” he struggled, started again. “I lack a full troop here, of course, and some events are as good to share as they are to experience. You had paid such attention to finding these correct choices, these choices that helped—and your own adjusting of the clothes had begun to give me the feeling that this was special. I thought that it would have been good if a comrade, a team member, that is . . . had someone like you been there to share in this triumph!”

  “Teams,” she said, “can do some things together better than others. And some teams can do everything together. Triumphs . . . some share better than others, I think.”

  “It would have been good,” he said, but honesty took over and he said, “It was good, it just could have been better! And they told me to come back as soon as I might, because I was not so foolish as to be stupid drunk, nor drugged to numb, and I paid attention, which is good and would I please come back . . . they were afraid I was one of the new spacers and would be gone after last night. And for me to dress in fine clothes they thought a present to them!”

  Alara laughed, which made him smile, and she said, “Yes, but see, perhaps you can have such a time again and you’ll wish to have the dressing of yourself. There’s no reason why, in this house, you may not order the clothes you wish!”