by Sharon Lee
The Road Boss' office, well – say it was big enough to do the job, and not much room built in for anything more expansive than behind-the-desk calisthenics.
After she'd found her head heavy again, she snapped to her feet, crossed the tiny space, and jerked open the door.
Nelirikk spun 'round his chair, his reactions a little less quick than normal, too. She grinned.
"Captain?"
"I'm up for a walk," she said. "Clear the cobwebs out. It's either that or lock the door and put down for a nap."
Her aide considered her.
"A run around the port with a full battle pack?" he suggested.
"I'm too old for that," she told him. "But you do what you like. Let's put up the back in half-hour sign and see if we can make it to Mack's and back."
"The distance, easily," Nelirikk said, fishing the appropriate sign out of its bin, and looming to his feet. "But if Colonel Mack wants to talk. . ."
Miri laughed.
"Be there all day, easy. So we'll go down the portmaster's office. C'mon."
She opened the door, and stepped out into the day, knowing he was right behind her; took a deep breath of crisp-to-the-point-of-crunchy air, sighed –
And spun, going low by instinct, grabbing the leading arm before she properly saw it, pivoting, then falling, as her assailant got a boot around her knee, yanking the leg out from under, and they both went down on the tarmac, hard.
Miri kicked, and twisted, got one arm free and up, just as metal gleamed in the edge of her eye. She grabbed the wrist and kicked again, hard, pitching them over with her on top, banging the wrist against the crete until the knife flew away and a hoarse voice gasped into her ear.
"Good, now, Boss you gotta listen. I'm inna lotta trouble and I need your help."
#
"So," Miri said, "they didn't let you tear up the paper and walk?"
"Worse'n that," said the rangy woman with the black eye, and the field-wrapped wrist. She was holding a cup of coffee in her undamaged hand.
Miri closed her eyes. The woman had given her name as Tina Newark – "Festina's the formal, named after my four-times grandma, never could figure out why." – and it was bad enough she'd agreed to take a job getting the Road Boss – one or the other, the client hadn't been picky, which – retired. Even worse, she'd taken the job from a pair of Liadens, who'd of course insisted on a contract, all right and proper, which o'course Festina had signed, because they were dangling two shiny cantra pieces in front of her eyes like candy, and 'sides, anything written down could be written out.
"What's worse?" she asked Festina now.
"Well, they said they saw I needed more incentive to get the job done, and so they'd bailed Pan – that's my nephew, all the family I got left – outta the Whosegow, and was giving him hospitality – that's what they called it, hospitality, until it happens the terms is met."
That sounded a little edgier than she'd expect from your plain vanilla Solcintra street Liaden, Miri thought. Could be the DOI'd decided to use local talent – wouldn't be the first time, in fact.
Either or any way, though, it had to be taken off at the knees and now, before they lost Tina's boy, or any other sort-of innocent bystander.
"You don't happen to have that contract on you?" she asked.
Festina grinned, and nodded.
"Right jacket pocket, Boss. I can ease it out, nice and slow, or your mountain there can do it for us."
"Beautiful," Miri said. "Help Ms. Newark get that paper out of her pocket, please."
"Yes, Captain."
He leaned toward in, as Miri reached over to the desk and picked up the comm.
#
"The form is unobjectionable," Ms. kaz'Ineo murmured, putting the contract on the desk before her, and squaring it up precisely. "The conditions are. . .somewhat stern, even allowing for the natural grief of kin. On Liad, the second party's qe'andra would have sought softer terms."
She turned her head toward the stocky grey-haired customer leaning against the wall of Miri's office.
"Your opinion, Apprentice Jorish?"
"Well, ma'am," he said slowly; "you an' me been talking about Balance, and how the best contracts strike fair between the needs of both sides –"
She raised a hand.
"Fair is inexact, I think," she murmured.
"Could be it is, ma'am," he said agreeably. "What I'm thinking, though, is about this sternness you was notin'. What I heard was rage and black bitterness. The folks wrote this thing wanted revenge, not Balance."
Ms. kaz'Ineo considered him, her head tipped to one side.
"I believe that I understand you," she said after a moment. "While a contract is not necessarily an instrument of Balance – you will remind me to revisit the concept and place of Balance with you; we seem to have taken a wrong turning."
"Yes'm; not the first time, is it?" he said cheerfully.
She smiled slightly.
"No, indeed, it is not. Nor will it be the last. I am, however, confident that we shall navigate these differences, Apprentice Jorish, as we learn, each from the other.
"For the present moment, allow me to state that contracts are written to provide advantage. The best contracts provide advantage to all members in the agreement. This is not so much Balance as it is mutual profit. While it might be that a contract will be written in order to effect a Balance, you are correct in your conjecture that it ought not promote active harm. This contract. . ."
She touched the small, squared pile before her.
"The payoff of this contract is anguish and loss. No one profits – not even the originators. I admit to some surprise, that it has come from the offices of ver'Lyn and her'With, a reputable firm."
She paused, staring again at her little space of nothing.
"Would you have written that paper, ma'am," asked Jorish, "if they'd come to you?"
Ms. kaz'Ineo blinked.
"A provocative question, Apprentice Jorish. It grieves me to say that – I am not certain. One becomes so busy; it is far too simple a thing, merely to follow the forms, and fail to look beyond them.
"No, I cannot say that I would not have written it. Certainly, had it come to me from the hands of a client, I would have negotiated, and sought softeners. It would not have occurred to me to counsel my client to withdraw. The belief, among qe'andra, is that all is negotiable. We are not accustomed to thinking in such terms as a contract that ought never to have been written."
She inclined her head.
"Thank you, Apprentice Jorish."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"So," said Miri. "What do you advise?"
The qe'andra shook her head.
"I cannot advise. However ill-conceived, the contract has been written; it was presented to the second party, who signed it, thereby signaling her agreement to all terms. We might, on Liad, were the difficulties noted beyond the form, as they have been here, have convened a committee, but, here –?"
She looked again at her 'prentice.
"Is there some native protocol, Apprentice Jorish, which addresses such matters?"
He grinned.
"You mean besides me getting my crew together and going against their crew, knuckles-to-knuckles?"
"We would prefer not to fuel a riot, yes. Also, there is the question of the young man's safety."
She inhaled sharply, and looked to Miri, eyes narrowed.
"In fact, I may be of some use as a negotiator. There is no provision in this contract which requires the holding of a valuable, or a kinsman, as surety for delivery."
Miri considered her.
"You can get the kid out safe, you think?"
To her credit, Ms. kaz'Ineo hesitated.
"There are no certainties in life. However, I believe that the odds of removing the young person from his current situation are with us. They may be misguided, but it would seem that –"
She flipped the contract over to the signature page.
"Geastera vin'Daza Clan Kin
th and Tor Ish tez'Oty Clan Yrbaiela wish to follow proper form, and to see their complaint honorably retired. They wished there to be no opportunity, within the form, for error.
"I believe that it may be possible that the taking of the young person into their care was a rash move which they are even now regretting. They need only to be shown how to come back into proper alignment."
She looked aside.
"Apprentice Jorish – your opinion, please."
"I think you got the straight of it, ma'am. They got rattled, an' let scared, mad, an' tired, push 'em into a power move. Good chances they even knew it was a bad move when they made it, but now they don't know how to give it back without looking weak – losing face, that would be, ma'am. All's we gotta do is show 'em how to unkink that bit, and Pan'll be back home in plenty o'time for supper. But –"
He hesitated.
"Yes, Apprentice Jorish? You have another consideration?"
"Well, only, ma'am, it's all good, getting young Pan back onto the street – leastwise 'til the Watch picks him up for whatever he'll bungle next – no offense meant, Tina, but that boy's got two left feet an' ten thumbs."
"No argument, here," Festina Newark said equably. "But he's everything in this cold world I got to call kin."
"That's right," said Jorish Hufstead. "Ain't nobody can't say he's a good boy at heart, but here's what I'm thinkin, ma'am –"
He turned back to his boss.
"We can get the boy outta this particular snow drift, but that leaves the paper itself. Plainly said, ma'am, that's a bad paper – an' if you can't say it, I will – that never oughta been made. No profit to anybody that I can see comes with retiring the Road Boss. Planet's just getting out of a considerable drift of our own, and we need the Road Boss just zackly as much as we need Boss Conrad and his Council."
"I agree, Apprentice Jorish," Ms. kaz'Ineo said in her cool Liaden voice. "However, the contract is properly formed –"
"No'm, all respect and honor – it ain't," interrupted Jorish. "If these – people – got a grudge 'gainst the Boss here, and need 'er dead for to be satisfied, where's the sense pushing Tina, or one of her pool, to do the job? It's personal, is what it is, an' if was mine to judge right there from m'corner, I'd be tellin' 'em to settle it that way.
"So, I'm thinking – ma'am, ain't there any way to call that paper void?"
Ms. kaz'Ineo pressed her lips together.
"We have Jumped into uncharted space, my friend," she said. "How is it said here? Ah. We are in the belly of the blizzard. On Liad, even a committee would not break the contract, or cause it to be unwritten. It is not done. There is –"
She moved one tiny, precise hand.
"There is no precedent."
She paused, hand still suspended, and looked to Huffstead.
"Your passion does you credit, Apprentice. However, it is the role of the qe'andra to remain objective, and marshal resources for the best good of the client."
Miri stirred.
"I think we can handle the wider issue of the contract," she said. "First things first, though. If these folks – vin'Daza and tez'Oty – are as committed to proper behavior as it seems they might be, then we'll be able to locate where they're lodging, and send 'round a note. Tell 'em that Tina here took the contract to her qe'andra, and the expert opinion is there's been a breach. Set up an appointment, so the breach can be mended, soonest. Serious thing, breach of contract."
"That is correct," said Ms. kaz'Ineo composedly.
"Good. That's the first bit, then. Cut the boy lose before somebody makes another mistake, and things get serious."
"I will be pleased to call this meeting."
"Hold on," Tina Newark said. "If she's workin for me, I need to know how much this is gonna cost."
Ms. kaz'Ineo turned her head and awarded Festina a broad, Terran smile.
"Because you provide both my apprentice and myself with this valuable. . .learning experience, we will preside over the discussion and reparation gratis."
"That's no charge, Tina," Jorish said helpfully.
"I know what it means," she told him, and gave Ms. kaz'Ineo a nod.
"Thank'ee. Much appreciated."
"Good, then," Miri said briskly. She stood up.
"Jorish, you got a minute for me while Tina gives Ms. kaz'Ineo her contact info?"
"Sure thing, Boss," he said promptly, and followed her out into the reception room.
* * *
"Indeed, we admit; it was an error, and a breach in the conditions set forth in the contract."
Geastera vin'Daza Clan Kinth was a straight-backed, fit woman, who fell into the age group Miri thought of as "old enough to make her own mistakes." Her face wasn't quite Liaden-smooth; almost, her expression could have been said to err on the side of haughtiness. High Liaden, with its precise chilly phrasing, suited her.
Tor Ish tez'Oty Clan Yrbaiela, sitting at her left, seemed younger, and tireder. So tired, in fact, that the usual, infuriating Liaden sangfroid was showing a little frazzle at the edges.
In the little waiting room behind Ms. kaz'Ineo's office, Miri sighed.
"Boy's outta his pay-grade," she said softly.
Beside her, Val Con shook his head.
"They are neither one at ease," he answered, his eyes on the screen. He was frowning at tiny tells that were as good as screams to a trained muscle-reader.
"Miri, will you, please, step away from this?"
She reached out and put her hand over his.
"It's gotta be both of us," she said. "We talked it out."
"Indeed we did," he answered, soft voice edgy with anger. "And I am a fool for agreeing to anything like."
"Well, maybe so," she said judiciously. "But you know how they say – once you eliminate all the safe and sane solutions, the one that's left, no matter crazy, is the one that's gonna work."
"That, my lady, is a shameless distortion."
"Information received was that the local custom is physical; that demonstration carries the point more clearly than argument," vin'Daza was continuing. "And thus our error was made. We regret our actions, and will, indeed, be pleased to see the young person returned to the proper care of his kinswoman."
Festina had taken her role as kin and independent business person serious. She'd dressed up real nice in a pair of good dark slacks, and a white shirt under a snowflake-knit red sweater. There was even jewelry – a couple gold and titanium necklaces 'round her neck, and a ring too glittery to be real on her left hand. Miri didn't know if she'd thought of it her own self, or taken some advice from Ms. kaz'Ineo, but, whichever, it played well.
The two Liadens were dressed down, which Miri took to mean they'd found that looking too pretty on the street was an invitation to get relieved of extra baggage.
"We would be grateful to the qe'andra," said tez'Oty, stolidly, "for her advice on proper recompense for our error."
"Ah," Val Con breathed. "They learn. Recompense, not Balance."
Festina stirred, and Jorish leaned forward in his chair to wave Pan, who'd been standing tight against the wall behind the two Liadens – across the room to his aunt. He got there quick as he could while moving quiet, and sagged into the chair at Festina's side. She reached out and patted his knee without taking her eyes off Ms. kaz'Ineo.
"Recompense in this instance may be made by the payment of our fee," Ms. kaz'Ineo said, and Festina's head whipped 'round fast to stare at her. Ms. kaz'Ineo declined to make eye contact.
vin'Daza inclined her head.
"Certainly, qe'andra."
"Excellent. Ms. Newark, I am certain that you and your kinsman are anxious to catch up after so long a separation."
"Yes, ma'am, that we are," said Festina rising right on cue. She bowed – not a Liaden bow, but what was coming to be the common Surebleak general politeness bow – a more or less seventy degree angle from the waist, with the arms straight down at the sides, and a quick glance at the floor before making eye contact again, and coming tall a
gain.
"Thank you for your care," she said, and gave young Pan a glare out of the side of his eye 'til he bowed, too, and produced a mumbled, "Thank you, ma'am. Mr. Hufstead, sir."
"It is a pleasure to serve," Ms. kaz'Ineo assured them.
"Taxi's waiting at the door. You go on home now and rest up," Jorish Hufstead said. "Pan, you take good care of your Aunt Tina; she was that worried 'bout you."
"Yes, sir," said Pan, and by way of maybe proving that he was as good as his word, he turned, opened the hall door, and stood back, one hand hovering near Festina's elbow as she walked out.
The door closed.
vin'Daza and tez'Oty exchanged a glance. tez'Oty cleared his throat.
"Your fee, Ms. –" he began – and stopped with a blink when Ms. kaz'Ineo raised her hand.
"If you please, I would like to speak with you further regarding this instrument which you caused to be written, and brought to Surebleak for implementation." She put her hand atop the single file adorning the top of her desk.
vin'Daza chose to bristle.
"The contract was written by ber'Lyn and her'With. Surely you will not say that their work is suspect!"
"Indeed, no," said Ms. kaz'Ineo. "Their work is, as I would expect, unexceptional. However, there have been errors of. . .implementation, shall we say? It has surely come to your attention that Surebleak is not Liad – indeed, you said so yourself, Ms. vin'Daza. You said that you were aware of Surebleak local custom of using force to carry a point. Might makes right in the local vernacular, an unfortunate aspect of Surebleak's most recent past which we are attempting to refine into something more nuanced and less perilous."
She paused to glance at Jorish Hufstead. He met her eyes with a frank little smile that she mirrored exactly, before turning back to the audience.
"When I say we, I of course mean the accountancy professionals of both Surebleak and Liad. We are forming teams, such as you see here, and attempting to craft a new protocol for a mixed society."
tez'Oty looked somewhere between flabbergasted and horrified. vin'Daza kept control of her face, but the hand resting on her knee curled into a loose fist.
"In keeping with this goal of crafting a new protocol, and also to assist you in forwarding the goal of your contract, I will now turn this meeting over to my colleague, Mr. Jorish Hufstead. Mr. Hufstead was for many years an arbiter of custom, a servant of the common good, and a dispenser of justice. He was employed by Boss Penn Kalhoon in this capacity, which is locally known as cornerman, because cases were heard and justice dispensed at a particular, known corner location. All and any could apply to Mr. Hufstead for the gift of his expertise, which was known as both rapid and balanced, far outside of his own territory."
