Halfling Moon

by Sharon Lee

  There were, of course, sub-plans to guide them, committed to memory long ago, and each assuming a catastrophic impetus. This . . . uneasiness was formed by a circumstance that, despite the instincts of two grown old in society, might yet be only happenstance.

  "If we formed a less vulnerable grouping . . ." Kareen murmured, perhaps to herself.

  Oh, they were vulnerable, Luken agreed silently; never think otherwise! Two silver-hairs, two halflings, a younger, and a pair of babes-in-arms. Had they been more grown, or less old --

  Well. Had they been more grown, Korval's treasures, there would have been no need to hide them away.

  Luken looked to the screens . . . blinked and looked again.

  "It may be," he said slowly, "that our decision has been made for us."

  * * *

  It was not the same ship, and it was possible that they had over-reacted in sending the children to the Ready Room, the ship keys usually on Luken's belt in Quin's hand, and the backup keys, in Padi's. Lady Kareen waited with him in the control parlor, one hand on the back of his chair, watching the screens over his shoulder, ready to move on the instant through the panel directly behind them.

  On the screen, the ship approached, slowly, inexorably.

  "Now . . ." Kareen breathed, and as if in response the first beacon sent its challenge.

  The approaching ship made answer, properly. On the master board, Luken saw the beacon begin its countdown from twelve. If the ship were still range of its sensors when it came back online, it would die, friend or -- but there, it was past and on course for the second beacon.

  A ship of the Clan, Luken thought, but found scant comfort in the thinking of it. Ships, after all, could be captured; and pilots subverted. The codes that held their doors against those who wished to gain Korval's treasures for their own enrichment were not invincible. And as much as he wished the vessel that was now past the second beacon and on its way to the third and last, to be the answer to all their waiting, the closer it came, the more he mistrusted it.

  "Does it seem to you, good Master bel'Tarda,"Kareen yos'Phelium murmured in his ear, "that the ship we see is somewhat too . . . apt?"

  "It occurs to me," he answered, his voice hushed. "One does so wish it to be a Korval vessel . . ."

  "Precisely," she said, suddenly crisp.

  Luken drew a careful breath, and watched the ship in the screens. I am too old for this, he thought and not nearly clever enough.

  "The docking computer's been fairly answered," is what he said aloud. "Will you step aside while I go to greet our guest?"

  "I'll remain here, I think," she said, not entirely surprisingly, "and monitor the situation. If matters . . . clarify, be assured that I know my duty."

  None better, he thought, and pushed out of his chair, suddenly feeling all of his years and the accumulated weight of the children's.

  "I daresay I won't be but a moment," he said with false cheer, and left the control parlor, heading for the dock.

  * * *

  Syl Vor sat with the twins, who were being very good, very quiet, in their separate carriers. That was precisely as it should be, Quin thought approvingly; Shindi and Mik were Syl Vor's job until they had to move. If they had to go before Grandmother was with them, then Syl Vor would pick up Shindi and he would take Mik, and they'd run as fast as they could, with Padi bringing up the rear. That was as it should be, too, because Padi was co-pilot; her charges, the pilot and the passengers.

  Quin, watching the screen, thought that Grandfather and Grandmother had -- perhaps -- been too enthusiastic in their duty. Indeed, it was all he could do, to hold to discipline and not open the door. For surely, surely, this was recall at last, for here came a ship whose pilot held all the proper codes . . .

  "Why don't we have an all-clear?" Padi demanded, echoing his thought. "The systems accept the ship -- it's docking! What more does Aunt want? A calling card?"

  "They want the pilot to prove the door code, too," Quin said.

  "Why?" Padi was fairly dancing from one foot to the other. "He had all the others. What proof can one more door hold?"

  Quin touched the screen's keypad, accessing the camera on the hall outside the forward dock. It would, he thought, be Cousin Shan, or perhaps Cousin Anthora. Or . . . if Cousin Nova -- if the First Speaker couldn't spare any of the Line Direct for the errand, then it would certainly be Pilot Mendoza, or . . .

  Familiar and firm. That was what Grandmother said. That the pilot the First Speaker sent to them, when it was come time to go home, would be familiar to them, and firm in their loyalty to Korval.

  For long moments, the bay door remained sealed, ready light glowing green above it. Quin's stomach clenched. What if the pilot failed, after all, of having the proper codes for the door? That would mean -- Gods, would it mean that the ship had been stolen? Or that the pilot -- their pilot, familiar and firm -- had been stolen, and -- and coerced into revealing --

  "Quin?"

  Padi was frowning at him, and that would never do

  He took a deep breath and gave her a smile. "Don't you want to know who has come for us?"

  Her face relaxed into a grin.

  "The pilot could," she agreed, "take our feelings into account and make some haste."

  As if the pilot had heard her, the ready light snapped to yellow, and the bay door slid open.

  "Syl Vor!" Quin hissed. "Count of twelve!"

  He had never in his life seen the woman who stepped, soundless as a Scout, into the hallway.

  * * *

  The ship rejoiced in the name of Fortune's Reward; a ship of the line, lately assigned to the wastrel cousin, whom Korval's great enemy and the Juntavas alike had thought to be easy meat.

  Not so the Office of Judgment, and in that they had been proven wise. Never an ill thing, to have the sagacity of the Judges proven.

  It was ill, the pilot thought, releasing the webbing, but not yet rising from the chair . . . It was ill, indeed, that she came thus into Korval's most secret treasure-house, alone, and unknown to those who stood guard. It had been better -- but no matter. Done was done, and, truly, she had finessed more volatile situations. She would need to win them, that was all.

  Win them.

  She rose then, with no need to check her status. Her weapons were old friends; each of their caresses known and unique. They would not disturb her, nor unbalance her; and they would come to her hand when they were needed.

  So, then, the codes; last in the series she had been given to memorize. She would in a moment open the door and step into Korval's treasure-house, where she would doubtless be greeted by one of the vigilant guardians.

  Win them.

  * * *

  The door accepted the codes, whisking out of her way. Beyond, the hall was empty, saving the cameras and the vents that she did not doubt were an active part of security.

  Happily, whoever monitored the camera, and presumably held the decision as to what sort of gas might fill this hallway, appeared to be of a deliberate nature. She had, after all, demonstrated mastery of the codes. The guard might grant an extra few minutes of life to such a one, awaiting . . . confirmation.

  There was another door, at the top of the hall. She did not approach it; certainly she did not try it. Her information regarding what might happen, did she attempt either, had been specific.

  By necessity, then, she waited.

  For the cameras, she adopted an easy stance, proud without being prideful. She was a pilot; and pilots had pride. As did Judges, of course, and certain of the better class of Juntavas assassin.

  Scarcely had she counted to eight when the door at the end of the hall -- the door that led to the interior, and all the treasures collected therein -- opened, admitting a man no longer young, his hair silver and his eyes wide and grey. Childlike, one might say, in ignorance.

  As she was very much not ignorant, she bowed, supple and sweet, as she had been taught from a child.

  "Master bel'Tarda," she said, in her so
ft, accented Liaden, "I am Inas Bhar." She gave him that name -- the one her father had bestowed upon her at birth. Her other names were such as might impart little comfort to a man with so much duty weighing upon him. Yet, there was room for comfort on both sides.

  "Called Natesa," she added, straightening. She raised a hand, slowly, specifically unthreatening, and showed him the token. The tree-and-dragon flashed in the light, then held steady.

  That should have been enough to seal the thing. She should have received from Luken bel'Tarda a bow, and perhaps a courteous word or two, and a pass into the rocky heart of the station.

  What she received instead was the barest of nods -- scant, even meager, courtesy -- and a question, harsh in the mode of Stranger to the House.

  "Who sent you?"

  It was, on its face, a reasonable question, as she was, indeed, a stranger to this house, and to this guardian. Yet the mode -- not one of the kindest, no, but yet without an inherent harshness; that was from the man himself. And that -- gave one pause.

  To cover her moment of calculation, she bowed again, youth deferring to years.

  "Master, I am sent jointly by Korval Themselves, and by the Boss of Surebleak. Their personal names are, perhaps, known to you: Val Con yos'Phelium, Miri Robertson, and Pat Rin yos'Phelium."

  Luken bel'Tarda's face tightened. It could not be said that he was inept, or in any less control of his face than one would expect of an elderly Liaden who was, in addition, a merchant of renown -- still, Natesa felt that what she had seen was hope, sternly suppressed.

  "Why did they not come themselves?" Luken demanded, keeping still to a harshness that must, from all she had been taught of his nature, pain him considerably.

  She did not bow this time, though she inclined her head slightly, and sent him as soft a glance as she might manage from beneath her lashes.

  "You may not have heard that the Council ordered Korval to depart the homeworld, declaring the Captain's Contract void. The clan, therefore, seeks to set down roots on the planet Surebleak, where they have the advantage of kin to aid them."

  She paused. He waited, his silence reminding her that she had not answered his question.

  "Korval is needed at the forefront, as they are the face and voice of the Clan. yos'Galan is likewise required to show themselves good for business, and also, to supervise the peaceful settling of the house. It was thought that I would accompany Pat Rin to you -- in fact, it was quite set, until there was a difficulty among his jurisdictions which could neither be ignored nor left for a lieutenant.

  "It was then decided that a young cousin -- Gordy Arbuthnot -- might sit my second; another emergency claimed him when we came to the port itself." She did bow this time, feeling that it was proper.

  "Thus I came alone, Master, trusting to what I have been given to know, and to the goodwill and uncommon sense of yourself and Lady Kareen. The delm's order must be obeyed."

  "That is of course true for we who stand within the delm's honor, Inas Bhar, called Natesa," Luken said, his intonation less harsh; his mode unchanged. "You must forgive me for wondering why you feel thus."

  Natesa sighed. She would very much have preferred to answer this particular question in far different circumstances. Preferences were not spaceships, alas, and only truth and candor would win this old man's trust. Pat Rin had told her as much.

  She met his eyes firmly. "I have the honor to stand as Pat Rin yos'Phelium's lifemate," she said.

  Luken's eyebrows rose, but whatever he was about to say in answer to such a bold claim was cut off by the opening of the door.

  She had seen a picture of this young pilot, but even if she had not, there was no doubting who he was. Far too much of his father showed in his face -- his father in a temper, if every truth were told.

  Natesa bowed, pilot-to-pilot, that being the least challenging of the modes readily available to her, and one that observation had shown to be acceptable -- even soothing -- to all of Korval, of whatever rank, saving Pat Rin himself.

  "Quin yos'Phelium, I greet you."

  He did not return the courtesy, though he allowed himself to be stopped by Luken's out-flung arm.

  "Why hasn't my father reported in?" he demanded.

  * * *

  In the end it was the recording, hastily made and poor in quality, that won them. They heard it, all together, in the control parlor, Luken standing shoulder to shoulder with Lady Kareen, a spare woman with iron gray hair and hard dark eyes. Quin and the others of Korval's treasure were ranged behind them. Even the babes were silent as the brief message played; and Quin was seen to blink rapidly several times, as if to vanquish tears.

  "Father, Mother -- I greet you and I ask forgiveness, that I do not come to you myself. Necessity demands that I be elsewhere -- a fuller accounting will be made when we are all again enclanned. In the meanwhile, I desire you to accept the protection and escort of my lifemate, Inas, also called Natesa. It may seem madness that the children are desired in the midst of such disarray as she will acquaint you with. Be assured that it is the delm's madness, and very much the lesser of several risky paths.

  "We are, every one of us, safe, a happier outcome than I would have predicted only a few relumma gone. Come home, now. The delm desires it no more than I do.

  "Until soon."

  Despite the tape, Natesa could tell that neither of the elders was entirely at ease with her -- for which she blamed them not at all. She asked them to trust much, and recordings, after all, could be forged -- or forced.

  And, yet . . . There was something -- an undercurrent between them; something, Natesa thought, that they knew and which the children did not. Something that was inclining them toward her, even more than Pat Rin's voice, or her possession of the codes.

  "I think that we must," Lady Kareen said at last. "If the delm is mad, it is no more than Korval has ever been, and yet the Clan endures."

  "I agree," Luken said, and looked to Natesa.

  "These other risks the boy speaks of. What of those?"

  What of those, indeed.

  Natesa spread her hands.

  "There was a story told in nursery when I was a child, of a peculiar beast which had seven heads, all savage. It would seem that the best -- indeed, the only -- way to defeat such a creature was to strike off its heads . . ."

  "I know this story!" cried the smaller boy -- Syl Vor, his name was. "Every time one of the heads was cut off, the creature grew two!"

  She smiled at him, where he knelt beside the babes in their baskets.

  "Precisely so." She looked to the lady and gentleman, waiting with edged politeness. "To stretch the simile full-length, Korval struck off the head of its enemy -- perhaps even the greater one, that ruled coordination, schedules, and necessities. But in doing that, it has freed dozens of lesser heads to act independently."

  The elders exchanged a speaking glance.

  "We go," the lady said decisively.

  The gentleman inclined his head. "I agree."

  He nodded to Natesa. "We have a ship, which of course the delm will not wish to lose. Quin here is rated an able pilot. Let us --"

  "Grandfather?" the girl, young Padi, interrupted. She was, Natesa saw, staring at the screens.

  "What ship is that?"

  * * *

  Guns -- in Grandfather's hand; in Grandmother's hands.

  Father's lifemate -- her hands were held before her, slender fingers spread, declaring herself no threat.

  Quin threw a glance at the screen, at the ship approaching Beacon One along the proper vector.

  "You have shown them the path," Grandmother said, her voice so cold that Quin shivered.

  Pilot Natesa tipped her head. "Please explain," she said.

  It wasn't Grandmother, but Grandfather who did that, in a clipped, hard voice nothing like his own.

  "This same ship has been lurking at the edge of scan-range the last four-day. It vanished, you appeared."

  What? Quin pushed forward.

  "Why
didn't you--" he began, and gasped when Padi stamped on his foot.

  "It is possible that I did show them the path," Pilot Natesa said, calmly; "or some part of it." There was a sharp snap, which was the safety coming off of one of the weapons.

  It might have been someone cracking a nut, for all the attention Pilot Natesa paid it.

  "If they have the proper codes," she continued, in her calm, musical voice, "then you may dispense with me. If they do not have the codes, I beg that you will allow me to assist."

  Quin bit his lip. Father has lifemated a gambler, he thought. Of course he had; like called to like.

  "Assist!" Grandmother snapped. "If they do not have the proper codes, there will be nothing to assist with, as the beacons will have --"

  Syl Vor gasped.

  Quin turned, his eyes leaping to the screen that showed the ship, which had not moderated itself in the least, nor, according to the legend at the bottom, broadcast any code.

  A thin red line came from what must be the stranger ship's forward laser cannon.

  Beacon One exploded.

  Grandfather slid his gun away and bowed to Pilot Natesa.

  "We accept your assistance," he said.

  * * *

  Quin sat at the pilot's station; Padi at second, Grandfather in the jump seat between, where he could see both boards, though he had none of his own. Grandfather might only be a third class, but he had been a pilot for longer than Quin and Padi together had been alive, and experience, so his instructors had impressed upon him, counted.

  It was not their own ship they piloted, but Father's Fortune's Reward, that Pilot Natesa had brought to them. He and Padi had done a rapid board check, and he had found those pre-sets that Pilot Natesa had told him of, coded precisely as she had said. A quick check with the navcomp verified that their course was for Surebleak near-space -- again, precisely as the pilot had said.

  He fingered the keys, bringing the pre-sets into the active queue. One tap and they would load. One tap . . . but not quite yet.

  Padi had the audio wide on all the bands. He himself was connected by private line to the control parlor, where they had left Grandmother and Pilot Natesa. The screens showed the docking bay, live, feeds of near-space . . . and the terrible approach of the wolf-ship. All three beacons were gone, now, and the ship was on-course for the opposite-side dock.