Scout's Progress (30 page)

"Anne!" Er Thom snapped to his feet, his hands on her shoulders, his body between her and his delm. "Have done."

"I repeat." He was breathless, voice squeezed out of a chest gone achy and cramped. "We may be interchangeable. We are certainly not identical. And even if what you suggest is true—that we were both formed for lifematings—there is yet no guarantee that—my—lifemate has been born." He took a hard breath. "Or that she has survived."

"Oh," she said, and of a sudden sighed, reaching up to rub at her eyes like a child. "Well," she murmured, almost too softly for him to hear, "I guess you'd better ask the Tree."

"I guess I had better," he returned, just as softly, and smiled sadly into Er Thom's eyes.

RIDE THE LUCK
tested clean.

Aelliana heard Sed Ric and Yolan's account of their adventure and read them a stern lecture on the stupidity of charging unknown and potentially deadly lurkers. They both looked rather sheepish and assured her most earnestly that they would never again undertake so shatterbrained an enterprise.

All thus in accord, they exited
The Luck
and walked back toward the garage, Yolan speculating on this ship and that, with Sed Ric occasionally amending her IDs.

They turned out of the avenue of sleeping ships just as a landcar pulled up before Binjali's and a light-haired man got out, heading for the crew door.

"Father!" Yolan hissed, braking hard and flinging an arm across her partner's chest.

"Uncle Zan Der!" Sed Ric gulped at the same moment—and in the next, they were gone, flying back down the row of cold pads, heading for the eastern gate.

Aelliana had gone three steps after them before common sense reasserted itself. It was useless for her to chase them, Port-wise as they were. They knew the way back—and the odds were they would return, once they reckoned "Uncle Zan Der" gone.

So thinking, Aelliana turned back to discover what it was about a mere light-haired man that sent two Port-runners to flight.

". . .PILOT CAYLON?" the stranger was asking as Aelliana stepped through the door.

Jon used his chin to point over the man's shoulder. "There she comes now."

He turned, brown eyes flicking across her face in the moment before he bowed respect.

"Pilot Caylon, I am Zan Der pel'Kirmin, Clan Reptor," he said, as if he were but a clansman, and the delm's Ring he wore merely an ornament. "I ask pardon for this disruption of your peace. My excuse can only be that I have had news of two over whom you have spread your protection."

She considered him, and he bore it, patient as if he treated with Scouts every hour. Besides patience, she saw worry, and weariness and a wary sort of hope. Behind those cares, she saw also humor and a glimmer of indefinable something that reminded her, forcibly, of Yolan.

"I have recently—commended—two halflings to Master dea'Cort's attention," Aelliana said carefully, watching the man's weary, wary eyes. "He is kind enough to provide them day-work. But I must tell you, sir, that this pair of children claim—most strongly—to have no kin."

Hope flared beyond wariness for an instant; the mouth bent into a tired smile. "I had heard that they claimed themselves clanless. To you, I take oath that this is not so, though they may themselves believe otherwise. If I might be granted an opportunity to speak with them—" He raised a quick hand, Ring glinting. "They are under your protection. I honor that. There is nothing I wish to say to them that I would be ashamed to have you hear as well."

And that, Aelliana thought, was extraordinarily courageous, for a man who had all but lost two of his clan through what he represented as a misunderstanding. She had thought Yolan and Sed Ric might have had reason, such as she had, to embrace the clanless state. Indeed, it might be that their reasons were just. Yet this man here seemed no one like Ran Eld, only exhausted with worry and eager to amend a wrong.

"If you might—produce them . . . ?" he said, delicately.

Aelliana smiled wryly, thinking of two swift figures, racing down the row of cold pads. "I think it unlikely—" she began—and heard the crew door cycle behind her.

DAAV SET HIS HANDS along the trunk, took a breath and swung up into the branches. At the first major cross-branch, he ended his climb, sitting astride the big limb, feet swinging in air, leaves rustling and whispering around him.

"If you have anything to say," he stated, rather crossly, "you might as well say it to me."

There was neither a cessation nor an increase of leaf-rustle. Not, Daav thought, that he had expected it.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," he continued aloud. "Terrifying a guest of the House—and one's wife-elect. I should think an ancient hulking brute like yourself might find more seemly amusements. Forgive me if I speak too plainly."

The leaves directly above him flittered. Daav frowned.

"Laugh, by all means. I suppose it's nothing to you if yos'Phelium dies with me? No, I do an injustice. yos'Phelium shall die with Pat Rin—but before that, young Shan will be delm."

A breeze kissed his cheek, and the smaller branches nearby danced. Daav closed his eyes, feeling the warm bark beneath his fingers, the age-old solidity of wood between his thighs."I shall marry Samiv tel'Izak," he said, forming each word with precision, "and the child of that union shall come to Korval."

The wood beneath his hands cooled. Perceptibly. Daav sighed.

"May I then solicit your further guidance? Or do we return to placing an advertisement in
The Gazette
? Notice, I do not ask how I shall extricate Korval solvent from a contract most binding. I am fully alive to the fact that details do not interest you."

The leaves had stilled all about. The branch he straddled became neither warmer or cooler. Deliberately, Daav emptied his mind of all conscious thoughts, treading a path Rockflower had once shown him, past need and want and everyday busy-ness to a place where there was only—peace.

He sat there, tranced, until the late noon sun lanced a ray through the leaves and dazzled him awake. Jelaza Kazone had not spoken and he wished, with everything in him, to be at Binjali's.

"UNCLE ZAN DER." He came forward, alone, which made him seem half, for Aelliana had never yet seen one pirate without the other—and made his bow to his elder.

"Sed Ric." The man put out his hands, eyes afire with longing. "Are you well, child?"

"Well. . ." He went another jerky step forward, and stopped, face twisting. "I think—we should come—home, Uncle. . ." His voice choked out and he threw a glance to Aelliana, eloquent of she knew not what.

"Where is Yolan?" she asked him, thinking, of a sudden, of lurkers, and guns and the girl's bright, brash courage.

"Here." The single word was flat with despair. Stiff-legged, Yolan came forward, to her place at Sed Ric's right. The look she gave him might have frozen iron.

"Now what?" she rasped—and began, quite suddenly, to cry.

 
Delm's Discretionary Account Three, The Pilots Fund. Established for the aid and succor of pilots and former pilots, regardless of clan, race or lineage. Profit margin of funding stocks no less than forty percent.

—From Korval's Account Ledgers, Discretionary Monies

THIS TIME SHE WOULD not elude him.

Ran Eld waited in the shadow of the main staircase, ears straining for the sound of stealthy footsteps.

He had determined to follow her yesterday and the day before yesterday, only to find upon arising that she had quit the house hours before, leaving behind insolent messages about engagements to dine elsewhere. Very well.

Today, she would not elude him.

He would follow her to the Scout and deal with that. Then, he would escort her home, and deal with
that
.

In the shadow of the staircase, Ran Eld smiled.

It was plain that Aelliana wanted disciplining—oh, badly. She so far forgot herself as to disobey a direct order from one who was both her elder and her superior—then flaunted her disobedience, daring him to do what was no more than his duty. For the good of the clan.

The fact that disciplining this most dangerous of siblings would give him positive delight was to Ran Eld's way of thinking no more than just. Aelliana should not be delm. It was a sad pity that the old delm, their grandmother, had put such a notion into the girl's head. The idea was ludicrous on the face of it. He was nadelm, in every way his sister's superior.

Which he would prove, as often as necessary.

He considered that his first attempt at bringing this point home had been successful. One year of marriage to Ran Eld's friend had produced ten years of quite satisfactory behavior in Ran Eld's sister. To be sure, it had occasionally been necessary to administer certain—remedial—lessons, but that was expectable, even—enjoyable. Ten years for one was a good investment of time and funds, so he flattered himself.

From the landing above came the lightest of footsteps.

Ran Eld half-crouched in his dim niche, eagerness shortening his breath. The footsteps continued their light path, across the landing, down the remaining stairs. He smiled and dared to lean just slightly out of his hiding place, to better see—

His delm.

He shifted sharply in disappointment, boot heel scraping against marble floor.

Birin Caylon turned. Seething, Ran Eld slipped out of the niche and made his bow.

"Mother."

"My son." She inclined her head, appearing to find nothing unusual in either the time or the place of their meeting. Indeed, she smiled. "I am fortunate to find you about so early. Break your fast with me, if you have not already eaten. I have completed my study of your analysis regarding San bel'Fasin's offer of partnership and I believe you may be interested in the decision."

So. Ran Eld bowed once more to hide his smile of triumph. "I am, as always, at your service, ma'am," he said and followed her into the dining hall, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Tea had barely been poured when he heard footsteps on the stair, and saw a slim shadow flicker across the half-open doorway. Half a heartbeat later, the front door moaned on its hinges, and snapped softly shut.

AELLIANA STRODE DOWN Mechanic Street, head high and face glowing. She was to train with Trilla this morning, after which she was to lift with Jon himself, who had sworn to put her through an emergency drill like no other.

The door cycled and she stepped into the huge dim cavern of Binjali Repair Shop.

Around the teapot was a cluster of leather-clad figures: Jon, Trilla, Clonak—and a tall man, dark hair clipped neatly back, silver twist swinging in one ear, cat sitting tall on his opposite shoulder.

Aelliana felt her heart lift; she very nearly laughed for the sheer joy of beholding him.

As if he heard her unvoiced joy, he turned, a smile lighting his eyes.

"Hello, Aelliana."

"Daav." Her own smile felt wide enough to split her face. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen," he returned gravely and she did laugh then, standing before him with her face tipped up to his.

"Good comes in odd packages," Jon commented from his stool.

"Jon scolds me for carrying Patch," Aelliana told Daav, reaching up to offer the cat a finger. "He says I'll spoil him."

"The damage has long been done, I fear," he replied as Patch bent his head and allowed her to rub his ears.

"Spoil a cat when there are the rest of us, hungering for a smile!" That was Clonak.

Aelliana finished the cat's ear and stepped forward. "Good morning, Clonak."

"Good-morning, goddess fair! Will you rub my ears?"

She made a show of giving it consideration, head cocked to one side. "No."

"Heart-torn again! Hold me, Daav, I'm bereft!"

"Perhaps if you grew fur on them?" Daav suggested, not noticeably moved by this plea for comradeship.

Clonak glared. "Mock me, oh Captain."

"If you insist."

"The pirates' delm came," Aelliana said, turning back to Daav, "and fetched them home." She grinned, throwing a glance over her shoulder to Jon. "Or mostly."

He snorted. "Ring-and-monkey show."

Daav smiled down at her, one eyebrow slightly askew. "I surmise that they were not clanless, after all?"

"Not—entirely," she said, slowly. "It did seem to be all in a muddle. But the end of it is that they shall come here to work off—work off a debt Delm Reptor feels most strongly is owing, for Jon having given good wages for grunt-work. In the meanwhile, they—the pirates—shall live under Reptor's roof and—and—strive to—amend their difference." She looked up at him. "Or so he said."

"Ah. And do you believe what he has said, I wonder?"

She frowned, chewing her lip. "Yes," she said finally, "I do. He seemed an honest man—and honestly joyed to find them." She lay her hand on his sleeve and smiled. "It was good of you to send him."

Both brows shot up. "I?"

"Well, it must have been you," she said reasonably. "He knew exactly where to come, and asked for me by name. Jon didn't tell him, nor Trilla nor Clonak. I certainly didn't—I hadn't the least idea of how to go about finding their clan! So—"

"When you have eliminated the impossible," Daav murmured, in Terran, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Aelliana blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

He grinned. "An observation by a Mr. Holmes, I believe, on the nature of solutions."

"The game is afoot!" Clonak shouted, clattering off his stool with a flourish. He looked to Jon. "I'll get on that maintenance update, if you like."

"Always after the sit-down job," the old Scout grumbled. Clonak laughed and headed toward the office, flipping a casual hand at the rest. Patch jumped from Daav's shoulder and followed.

Across the half-circle, Trilla slid to her feet and tossed Aelliana a grin. "Set for a bit of dancing, pilot?"

"If you have the patience for me," she said. "I am aware I cannot give the challenge you might like."

The other woman laughed as she unbuckled her tool belt. "Oh, and can you not?" She turned to the dark haired man as if she'd heard him speak. "Just a bit of menfri'at, Master Daav. No harm in it. Quite of a bit of good."