Scout's Progress (40 page)

"Yes."

Nadelm Mizel took a step back, hand creeping toward his pocket.

"Show it!" Samiv cried. "Show your delm what you wear on your hand!"

"I do not take orders from you!" snarled the nadelm.

"But you do take orders from me," Mizel said, and extended her hand once more. "Let me see this ring, Ran Eld."

Reluctantly, he pulled the cluster from his hand, and laid it in her palm.

"It is a foolishness, ma'am—a bit of paste. I—"

Mizel stared at her palm. "How came you by this?"

The nadelm stood speechless.

"Ran Eld! I ask how you came to have this ring. An answer, if you please."

"It was Aelliana's," the elder sister moaned from her crouch on the bottom stair. She looked up, showing a wet and ravaged face. "He took it off her hand. I saw him. Just before he sealed the lid on the Learner."

IT WAS A SLOW NIGHT at Chonselta Guildhall. Rab Orn and Nil Ten were playing pikit in the common room and Keyn was over in the corner, reading. Beside the occasional hand-bid from the card players, the only noise came from the Port comm, a continuous babble so familiar to the three pilots that none consciously heard it.

Nil Ten sighed. "Fold," he muttered, throwing his cards down in a heap. "Glad we're not playing this for cantra."

"We're not?" asked his partner, wide-eyed and the first pilot laughed, looked up and gasped.

Her face was a mottle of cuts and bruises, so swollen the pupil-big eyes could scarcely open. Her hair was snarled in a hopeless knot. She was trembling, visibly and continuously.

"What—" Rab Orn turned in his chair to see, and froze.

"Daav's the card I want to play," the apparition stated, her voice like sand being ground into stone.

"Merciful gods," that was Keyn. She got up out of her chair and came forward, peering into the newcomer's battered face.

"It's the Caylon," she breathed. "I saw her last evening, at Solcintra, when the Guildmaster gave over her license. Sitting on Korval's lap she was and happy as you please."

"It is the duty of the pilot to protect ship and passengers," Aelliana Caylon said gravely. "It is the duty of the co-pilot to protect pilot and ship."

The three exchanged glances, then Keyn reached out and touched the other woman's shoulder. "That's right, pilot. Guild rule, plain as plain." She took a deep breath. "Come along with me, and let's get you to a 'doc, eh? Everything's going to be binjali. . ."

"Binjali." The slitted black eyes locked onto Keyn's face, one trembling hand rose, fumbled and fastened 'round the pilot's wrist.

"Jon dea'Cort." Keyn stared and the Caylon said again, voice rising. "Jon dea'Cort. The retrograde planet will release a hysteresis energy effect proportional to the velocity and spin of Smuggler's Ace, cheese muffins, Daav, efficient function! Call, call if you need me, Aelliana!"

"That's plain." Nil Ten jumped up, oversetting his chair, walked over to the comm and punched in a rapid code. The screen blanked as the unit on the other end chimed, three times, four, five. . .

"Binjali's."

Nil Ten inclined his head to the old pilot in the viewer. "Master dea'Cort. Nil Ten pel'Quida, Chonselta Guildhall, sir. We have one of your crew here, in distress."

MIZEL RAISED HER HEAD, lines showing hard about her mouth and she looked to her son.

"Aelliana's father," she said, speaking in the Mode of Instruction, "wore one of these. Other than himself, it was his clan's whole treasure. This ring will ransom a Jump-ship, will it not, Korval?"

"Indeed," Daav said gravely, "that was the purpose behind its making. Ma'am, I beg your pardon. The timer and intensity meter on the Learning Module are frozen at such levels as must cause me extreme alarm. I have found the course Aelliana charted, out the window and through the back gate. She—she is very likely brain-burned, ma'am, and I fear for her life if we do not go after her at once."

"Yes." Mizel looked up at him. "I am correct in thinking that your personal name is Daav?"

"It is."

"So." She held out the Pilot's Cluster. "You will safeguard this and return it to my daughter when you find her. I will do—what is discovered to be necessary—here. Pray inform me of—your progress. Should she return here—" Her mouth tightened. "But you will know where she is most likely to go."

Daav inclined his head, slipping the ring into the inner pocket of his cloak. "If she should return here, ma'am, leave word with Master dea'Cort at Binjali Repair Shop, Solcintra Port." He glanced over to Samiv, who slipped her gun away.

"Will you help me search?"

"I demand the honor," she replied, and followed him down the hallway.

HE TRACKED HER DOWN the alley, following the path her shoulder had smoothed against splintered fencing. He found the places where she had fallen, the places where she had crawled until she found a fence post, an arbor or a tree to cling to and drag herself up to her feet.

The alley was intersected by a street; on the other side there was no sign of her passage. He and Samiv recrossed the street, she went right and he to the left, looking for a hint, a footprint, a thread.

A thread.

A snag of bold blue, caught in the rust of a sign pole. He cast out, moving in a gradually widening circle around that whisper of hope, but found nothing else. Defeated, he returned to the pole.

Had the Peacekeepers seen her, ill-balanced as she was, and born her away to their Guildhall? But, surely, she would told them her name, her clan?

Or, he thought with a shiver, perhaps not. Brain-burned, she might not recall such things.

Where would she go, if she were able to recall herself?

Binjali's, no doubt.

But in such a condition as he had seen, falling flat when there was no wall to support her? She might, he supposed, flag a taxi, but Aelliana rarely had more than a few dex in her pocket. . .

The hum of a motor brought him to a sense of his surroundings and he turned to see a cab moving slowly up the street. Apparently the cabbie noted his interest, for the vehicle pulled to the curb and the passenger door rose.

"Service, your Lordship?"

"Information," he said, bending down to look at the driver. He pulled a cantra out of his pocket. "I am in search of a friend—a fair-haired lady, very slender. Green eyes. She would have perhaps been confused in her direction and—unsteady on her feet—" The cabbie stiffened, but said nothing. After a moment, Daav murmured.

"You have seen her."

The man moved his shoulders, leaned forward to make an adjustment on his board. "I saw her," he said, and the look he gave Daav was hard and straight. "Took her up-city. Set her down at Commerce Square."

Commerce Square? The opposite direction of the Port. Daav frowned, considering the man's face, almost tasting the lie. And yet. . .

"You must forgive me if I ask again," he murmured, hearing Samiv coming down the walkway from his right. "I am the lady's co-pilot and I fear she is—very ill. Perhaps she was not—precisely as I had said. Perhaps she had been hurt, eh? And you think you are looking at the cause. I beg you tell me if you took her to Port. I tell you plainly that I fear for her life, should she board ferry for Solcintra."

The cabbie hesitated, then. "I'll see your hands."

Wondering, Daav held them out. Korval's Ring gleamed in the cabin light. The cabbie stared a long moment, then raised his eyes.

"That wouldn't have done the damage I saw. You want stones for that kind of work." He sighed and looked away. "I took her down to the Pilot's Guild, and I'll tell you right now she wasn't making no sense."

MIZEL LOOKED AT THE deeds of transfers in her hands. Two deeds of transfers, each from Aelliana Caylon to Ran Eld Caylon: one for an Ormit Shares account, one for a spaceship named
Ride the Luck
. Both were signed.

Neither signature was Aelliana's.

"Voni has already confessed to signing these in her sister's stead," Mizel said, her eyes still on those damning papers. "I have seen, I think, enough. While it is possible that your sister Aelliana has survived your use of her—while it is possible, though not probable, that she has survived
intact
—the delm cannot but see that your actions are consistent with a deliberate and knowing desire to take what was not rightfully yours, counting no cost too high. Not even your sister's death."

Mizel raised her head and stared at the man standing before her desk. A man dressed for travelling and not in the first style of elegance. The cloak was serviceable but shabby. The shirt and trousers had been made for him, but some time ago. The boots—would be a difficulty for him. He wore no jewelry. His face was pale.

"Mizel does not sanction kinslaying. Having shown yourself capable of such horror, the delm is unable to do otherwise than declare you dead. You will leave this house now. At once. You will never return. You have no call upon Mizel. You are clanless and outcast."

The man before her bowed his head.

"Because you were once my son, I give you somewhat to take away with you. The clothes you stand in. A cantra-piece." She reached into the desk drawer, removed the keepsafe that had belonged to her mother and the half-gone box of pellets. "A weapon."

Ran Eld looked up, face wet with tears. She put gun and ammunition on the desk. After a moment, he picked them up. Mizel inclined her head and stood.

"I will escort you to the door."

He walked silent beside her down the hall, silent across the foyer. When she opened the door, he turned, but she averted her face and in a moment heard him walk down the steps, whereupon she closed the door and locked it.

Duty done, Mizel gave way to Birin Caylon, whose son had just now died, she lay her cheek against the inner door—and mourned his passing.

 
He found it in a desert, so he told me—the only living thing in two days' walk. A skinny stick with a couple leaves near the top, that's all it was then.
I don't remember the name of the world it came from. He might not have told me. Wherever it was, when his Troop finally picked him up, Jela wouldn't leave 'til he'd dug up that damned skinny stick of a tree and planted it real careful in an old ration tin. Carried it in his arms onto transport. And nobody dared to laugh.

—Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book

"YES," THE DOORKEEPER at Chonselta Healer Hall sighed, stepping back to allow them inside. "Jon dea'Cort had said you would be here and that it was out of his power to prevent you." He closed the door and beckoned. Silent, they followed him down a short hallway and into a small parlor.

"There is wine on the sideboard, and filled bread. Hall Master will be down to speak to you very soon. In the meanwhile, I am asked to convey to Pilot yos'Phelium the Master's most urgent plea for serenity. We have novices in-Hall." He bowed and left them, the door swinging shut on his heels.

In the center of the room, Korval sighed, then turned, looking down at her from eyes as giving as obsidian.

"Shall you wish refreshment, pilot?" he asked, with a gentleness she would not have expected, from such eyes. "Seat yourself, I beg. I have used you cruelly this evening, when you are already in pain through my ineptitude. At least, let me bring you a cup of wine."

"Thank you," Samiv said, moving to a doublechair and sinking into the soft cushions with bleary gratitude. "I believe I will sit, but I do not think wine. . ."

The door swung open and a white-haired woman in plain shirt and trousers stepped into the chamber. She bowed, briefly.

"Chonselta Hall Master Ethilen. Pray, Pilot tel'Izak, do not trouble yourself to rise. Recruit your strength." She turned her face toward the man in the center of the room.

"Well, Korval?"

"Not well, Master Ethilen," he replied. "You have Aelliana Caylon in keeping here. The report I have of her condition from the pilots at Chonselta Guild is—terrifying. I will see her, of your kindness."

"Alas."

Samiv saw Korval's shoulders tense, though his voice was as calm as always.

"She had wanted me, said the pilots at Guildhall. I would show her she is not abandoned by one in whom she placed trust. I am her co-pilot. I have this right."

"Masters Kestra and Tom Sen are with Pilot Caylon. I cannot allow interference of their work at this juncture. The report you have from the pilot's guild-fellows appears overstated. It is in her best interest that her co-pilot allow himself to be satisfied with this preliminary information and retire to Solcintra."

"I—"

"Korval, you are blinding the House," the old woman said sternly, and held up a hand. "Yes, I See that you are attempting to control yourself, and I thank you most sincerely for the effort. Without it, my shielding would not be sufficient to allow me to stand in the same room with you and converse. However, no amount of converse will deliver you to Pilot Caylon's side this evening. Believe me in verymost earnest." She sighed and lowered her hand.

"Daav, go home. Come again tomorrow. She will love you no less then."

There was a moment of silence charged so strongly Samiv felt the hairs rise on her arm. Then, Korval swept a bow to the old Healer.

"Tomorrow, Master Ethilen, I am not denied."

She inclined her head.

Samiv got her feet under her and rose, muzzy-headed and aching.

"Pilot."

She looked up into a face utterly without expression. Korval offered his arm.

"Allow me to take you to your delm."

SHE SAT IN THE co-pilot's chair, but her board was dark. Korval flew, silent, as he had been since leaving Healer Hall.

"Samiv," he said, and she started, though he spoke gently.

She straightened against the webbing and looked to him, seeing the side of his face, the quick, clever fingers, moving among his instruments.

"Yes, pilot?"

He glanced over to her—lightless eyes in a hewn-gold face—then went back to his board. "I wish you will tell me true. May you?"

She licked her lips. "Yes."