The Saga of the Renunciates (63 page)

Russ Montray scowled at her and asked, “What did you say?”

Russ Montray jerked his head toward her, in sharp disapproval. “What was that you said?” he demanded, and Jaelle felt again that fuzzy consternation, she had spoken out of a certainty that even now was ebbing away like the tides.

Montray said, his lips pressed together tightly in scorn, “I don’t know where you got your information, Mrs. Haldane, but the facts are, shortly after we received this news from our men in the field, we had a message from the—” he frowned, fumbled, Monty filled in for him quickly.

“From one of the aides of the Regent, Lord Hastur, in the City. They also have located our plane and they have offered to retrieve the bodies of the men in return for a share of the salvage in the metal.”

Jaelle pressed her hand against her head. This was absurd, she never got headaches! Well, she had never been pregnant before either; she supposed it was natural enough.

The Coordinator said, “I think we should tell them, hands off! It’s our ship and our metal and what the hell do these Darkovans think they are anyhow? Just another Terran colony like any other—

“I venture to remind you,” Peter said softly, “of the Bentigne Agreement, that a Lost Colony which established its own culture is not subject to automatic attachment by parent stock in the absence of cultural continuity. And in the case of Darkover there is less cultural continuity than in any other planet I studied in the Intelligence School.”

Monty said, “It seems a fair enough arrangement. Mounting a full-scale salvage operation into the Kilghard Hills would be expensive—even if we could get permission to do it, which isn’t by any means certain—”

“It’s our plane,” his father insisted. “We certainly have a right to recover it, and we don’t want the natives mucking around with the machinery—they’d probably be dumb enough to melt it down for the metal!”

“The operation would belong to Intelligence,” Cholayna said quietly, “though certainly the Coordinator’s office has some interest in the matter. What’s the problem, Russ? Didn’t you bother to get permission for the Mapping and Exploring Flights, and are you afraid you’ll have to answer for illegal surveillance outside the Trade Zone?”

Typical Montray trick
, Jaelle found herself picking up the thought, and realized her arm was linked with Peter’s and she was once again reading his thoughts. Certainly Russell Montray was incompetent, if even his own subordinates felt this way about him!
Possibly the whole history of the Empire on Darkover has been bungled because some damned bureaucrat wanted to get rid of Russ Montray and pushed him out here
. It was hard to believe that a civilization spanning the stars could have made a mistake as petty as this—wouldn’t a stellar empire make mistakes only on the grand scale?

“Whatever the case may be,” Montray said, frowning, “we have been summoned to speak with the Regent, and you, Mrs. Haldane, are familiar with their protocol; you are our choice for interpreter. Can you be ready to go in an hour?” His chilly eyes rested on her, but it was over her head that he spoke to Cholayna Ares. “I’m trusting you to find the leak in Intelligence Services; Mrs. Haldane shouldn’t have found out about it before I saw fit to release it. You ought to check your people, Ares.”

“I’ll let you go in a few minutes to be ready for the trip into the City,” Cholayna said. “I wish I could go with you; perhaps some day I’ll have a chance.” Jaelle heard;
some day when this planet isn’t quite so xenophobic; visiting the Guild House will be a good start
. “But before you go, Jaelle, just how
did
you hear about the envoy from the Hasturs? I know I didn’t leak it to you—couldn’t, I didn’t know it myself. You’re on good terms with Sandro—Aleki, I mean. I won’t let it get back to him, but was he talking when he shouldn’t?”

Jaelle shook her head. “Peter didn’t know either,” she said. “That’s the truth, Cholayna, I don’t know where I picked it up. Somewhere—someone in that room knew and I must have read it in his mind and thought it was something everybody knew. I don’t know how I did it…”

Cholayna laid a light hand on her arm. “I believe you, Jaelle. I’ve heard something about the ESP that’s common on this planet. The earliest reports spoke of it, then everything closed down. I’ve suspected before this that you were psychic. Don’t worry about Montray. I’ll smooth him down.” Jaelle read in the woman’s mind an uncomplimentary epithet she did not understand. “Go and get ready for the trip, and be sure to dress warmly; it’s a beautiful day, but my own ESP, such as it is, tells me there’s a storm coming up.”

But she did not even glance toward the window, and Jaelle was sure she was not speaking of bad weather.

Jaelle was ready, even eager, for the trip into the City, but Peter spoilt her enthusiasm at once; he was furious when he saw she was wearing Darkovan clothing.

“What are you trying to do to me, dammit?”

She realized now she would never understand him. “What has it to do with you? We are going over to my side of the wall this time! And you should know how our people—” she said
our
people deliberately, trying to remind him, “react to Terran uniform; not even a prostitute would dress this way in Thendara. Why, Magda was intelligent enough to know that—” she stopped herself before she said something unforgivable.

He scowled at her and said, “You are going as an employee of the Empire and of the HQ—” but he stopped there, jerked his head forward and said, sullenly, “Let’s go.”

At least he knew he could no longer make arbitrary demands of her which she would obey without protest, simply out of a desire to please him. And she had yielded so far, she wore uniform around the HQ, understanding that in a sense it made her invisible, not singled out everywhere as
that Darkovan woman Haldane married
. But she would not wear it in her own city.

Outdoors the weather was so mild and pleasant that she felt even Peter must toss off his sullen mood; one of those wonderful days in early spring when, although snow is still only a cloud-flicker away, the soft air seemed to hold all the beauty of summer. It was a delight to walk the cobbled streets of the City, away from the sounds of machinery and the bland characterless music that was supposed to mask the sound and never did. Peter himself, and Li, and Monty, and even the Coordinator, whose intolerance of cold weather was a joke all over the HQ, had come out wearing light summer uniform. She slipped her arm through Peter’s, unable to endure a barrier between them on this lovely day.

“Piedro! Would it really please you to have me dress as if I were a shameless woman? I know it is custom in the HQ, but would you really display me in this way before all the strangers in the street? Even if Cholayna visits the Guild House, I shall supply her with proper clothing!”

He stopped then, and thought it over for a minute. Then he said quietly, “It’s not fair to you, and I know it. I shouldn’t blame you. But especially right now, while Li is here examining the status of the colony—they’re saying I wrecked my career; I could have been the first Legate here. I don’t see why it should make any difference, especially as you are adapting so well to life in the HQ, and there’s really no question of conflict of interests. But I felt it might be better, just now, not to—not to ram it down their throats, that I’d married across the wall.”

He stopped, and Jaelle felt as if he had slapped her. But it was nothing she had done. He had married her knowing who and what she was, and what it might do to his career. Now if he was having second thoughts, she should not blame herself for them. She had never guessed at this kind of ambition which would be willing to build on a lie! She stared straight ahead, blinking back tears she would not shed. All her pleasure in the beauty of the day had gone. Now, in the afternoon sky, there was as yet no trace of the late-afternoon fog preceding nightly sleet or rain. Jaelle’s life often depended, traveling in the hills, on her ability to judge weather conditions for a whole caravan, and she felt a little uneasy prickle down her spine.

There’s a storm coming. Maybe Cholayna did mean weather after all.

The Terran escort left them at the formal outer gates of the Comyn Castle, where a very young cadet, unshaven fuzz downy on his cheek, very stiff in his shiny new uniform, informed them self-consciously that the Lord Hastur had sent an honor guard to escort the guests. Peter replied politely, in flawless
casta
, but Jaelle wondered if he knew what was perfectly clear to
her
, that the guard was not to do them honor but to keep these clumsy intruders out of places where they were not wanted.

They were guided into a room Jaelle had never seen before, but she guessed at once that it was the Regent’s presence chamber. She had never thought they would be allowed to see Prince Aran, not even to pay their respects; had supposed they would be fobbed off with some minor functionary, but it seemed that the Hastur would deal with them himself. So it was serious. Prince Aran Elhalyn, like all the princes of the Comyn, held purely ceremonial and ornamental functions; the real power of the Council lay in the hands of the Hasturs.

Guarded by two more of the youthful cadets in green and black uniform, some unidentifiable metal fragments were laid out on a polished table. The Terrans began to drift over to examine them, when one of the young cadets cleared his throat hesitantly, and Jaelle tugged urgently at Peter’s arm. He spoke in an undertone to Coordinator Montray, who turned as, between two more of the Guards, a slender, pale-haired man, not much over thirty, came into the room. He wore elegant blue and silver, the colors of the Hasturs, and his manner was quiet and unassuming; yet Jaelle could see how much in awe of him all the Guardsmen were.

He said, “I am Danvan Hastur, and my father, the Regent, has been unexpectedly called away on family business; he sent me to make you welcome; please forgive him, it is not intended to slight you that I am sent in his place.” He bowed to the strangers, and Peter translated this for the Terrans.

The Coordinator said, “Haldane, say whatever is suitable about the honor he does us, and tell him as diplomatically as you can that the sooner we get down to business, the sooner he can get back to family matters or whatever they are.”

Jaelle stood listening quietly while Peter translated in his perfect
casta;
the young Hastur listened with a bland smile, but Jaelle, nevertheless, had the feeling that he understood what Montray had really meant.

When the formalities had been concluded, Hastur gestured them toward the table. “These are the bits of the fallen aircraft which contain identifying numbers or letters, which of course our people could not read. Everything else, I am assured, is only bare metal, and you must realize that these people, although they are very poor, are very honest; in returning these materials, they are renouncing what would to them be a fortune. It would be generous of you to reward them in some way.”

Montray said, “In our culture people don’t expect rewards for common honesty—no, don’t translate that,” he added with a wry face. “Their sense of duty is probably different from ours. If I live here a thousand years, and it seems I’m going to, I’ll never understand a world where honesty isn’t taken for granted as duty, and rewards kept for something unusual.”

Aleki said cynically, “Oh, come, Montray, you can’t be
that
naive. Matter of relativity. Suppose somebody left a hill of diamonds lying around and told you to guard this heap of worthless rocks? That’s the whole history of Terran civilization— taking valuable things that the natives never thought were valuable, and trading them for worthless junk. How do you think we got the plutonium on Alpha?”

“It
was
worthless to them, with their current level of civilization—or lack of it,” argued Montray, “but we can talk ethics some other time, if you don’t mind. Right now, tell him we appreciate the courtesy, and make a note to send the farmers or whoever found this stuff, some kind of reward.”

Jaelle, remembering a conversation at Ardais, volunteered quietly, “A few good metal tools—spades, hammers, axes— would be the most welcome reward possible.”

“Thank you, Jaelle. Make a note of that, Monty,” Aleki said, “and Haldane, start getting the data on those fragments before they’re moved.”

Peter went with Jaelle to read off the numbers and record them on his pocket scriber.

“Flight recorder, tapes intact,” Peter said. “We can find out why the plane crashed, though I suppose, in the Kilghard Hills, bad weather and crosswinds are as far as we have to look.” He sorted through the neatly packaged fragments. “Only three ident disks? Mattingly. Reiber. Stanforth. There is a Carr listed in the records. His disk must still be out there in the wreck. How many bodies did they find?”

Jaelle translated the question, and Danvan Hastur shook his head. “I fear I have no idea. You must question the men, who said they are willing to guide you to the wreckage. But they told me that they buried the bodies decently. The plane was, you understand, at the very bottom of a nearly inaccessible ravine; they felt that transporting the men out would have been unnecessary labor, since nothing could now be done for them.”

Jaelle paused with a piece of metal in her hand, a picture suddenly clear in her mind,
a plane crashed on a high ledge, perched there precariously for moments, then when a single figure made its way outside, the sudden precipitous crash into the irrecoverable depths
… she clutched at the edge of the table, dizzied, wondering at the vertigo which had suddenly overcome her.

“One of the men survived the crash?” she blurted. “What happened to him?”

Hastur’s pale eyes met hers and Jaelle realized she had spoken in her own language. “How did you know there was a survivor,
mestra
? Have you
laran
?”

She blundered, “I held this—and I saw him, plunging out of the plane, on to the ledge, when it fell—”

Peter turned to look at her, startled, and she realized she had drawn all eyes to herself. Hastur ignored the other Terrans. “It is true there was a survivor of the crash; he is living at Armida. I have a message from the Lord Damon, Regent of Armida for the Lord Valdir, who is still legally a child, that the man Carr is in his employ. He was asked if he wished to send a message to his kin, and declined, saying he had no living relatives and the Terrans had no doubt presumed him dead for many years.”

“That can’t be allowed,” said Coordinator Montray when this was translated to him, “he must return and regularize his status.”

Monty said under his breath to his father, “No, sir, that was what that business was all about last year. Private contracts between Terran citizens and Darkovan employers are legitimate, if we want to be able to hold contracted Darkovans to their terms of employment.” He asked Lord Hastur, “Tell me only this, sir, who is the patron of the man Carr?”

“The Lord Damon Ridenow himself,” said Hastur, and Monty’s eyebrows went up. “That settles
that
, father. The rule says that if a Darkovan of substance makes himself personally responsible for the Terran employee, it’s legal, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Lord Domenic out at Aldaran asked for a dozen Terran experts in aircraft design—he wants to try and get helicopters or some form of VTOL aircraft working out there. Lorill Hastur has half a dozen hydroponics experts working with solar technology out on the Plains of Arilinn. If Lord Armida wants to keep this Carr working for him, all we can do is put it into records that he’s alive and well somewhere in the Domains, and leave it at that.”

They ended the session by bundling up the logged thirty pounds or so of assorted debris to be returned to the city for study. Lord Hastur stated, “I am willing to mount a salvage operation, complete with guides to take you there, when weather permits. But I think we must meet soon and discuss the rules under which your overflights for Mapping and Exploring are permitted.”

The Coordinator said, “With respect, sir, we do not accept your jurisdiction over our flights. You are making no use of your airspace whatever and there is no traffic problem. We intend to continue all necessary mapping flights, and, while we are grateful for your cooperation, it should be abundantly clear that we ask this cooperation as a favor, we do not admit that we are required to do so. Our position is unchanged; Darkover is an Empire colony and while we will not interfere with the self-determination of your people, we do not admit that these overflights come under your jurisdiction to protest.”

Hastur’s face went pale with anger “About that, sir, you must speak with my father, with Prince Aran and with the Comyn Council; you are invited to appear before us at Midsummer, if you wish, and present your case. And now, I fear, duty calls me elsewhere. May I offer you help in having these things transported to the Terran Zone? And it would be welcome if you would speak with the people who brought these things and make arrangements to sell them the metal for adequate compensation or to have it transported.” He arose and departed, followed by his escort, and the Terrans were left alone.

“Cool customer,” said Aleki, “I’d give a lot to know why everybody is so damned deferential to these Comyn—Jaelle,” he added, “aren’t you related to some of them?”

“Only distantly,” she lied, eager to get away from them and suddenly unwilling to remain there any longer.

“What about that damned metal? It’s no good to us, but we don’t want to disturb the local economy by leaving it out there to start what amounts to a gold rush, either. We’ve got the important part here—” Li gestured to the identification disks, flight recording box, the fragments which identified the particular aircraft. “Should we waive the rest of it out there? Haldane, Monty, you know local conditions; what do you recommend?”

Peter said, “The Regent of Alton has the reputation for being a reasonable and honorable man. Granted, I’ve never met him personally, but he has that reputation. I suggest we send someone to discuss it with him; after all, it’s on his land.”

“Good idea,” the Coordinator said, “and at the same time we can find out about this man Carr. What the hell, if he wants to take some job over the wall, nobody’s stopping him, and after all, he didn’t come in to collect his severance pay!” He laughed uproariously, and Jaelle could not help but see the grimace of the other Terrans behind his back. Did anyone take this man seriously?

“But we’ve got to make sure,” the Coordinator went on, “that they’re not holding this man Carr out there to squeeze out everything they want to know about the Terrans. Brainwash him. We might wind up having to send someone out to rescue him!”

Peter said in his dryest tone, “Somehow I cannot imagine the Regent of Alton would be guilty of anything so dishonorable.”