Accepting the Lance, page 28
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
“We recovered Clarence and Kara in good order because of your courage and quick thinking,” Bechimo said, not sounding sarcastic at all. “We were in danger at Ynsolt’i, but your calmness, steadiness, and determination that we would—all of us—survive infused us, so that we achieved correct action and rose to the captain’s expectations.”
There was a pause.
“And releasing the drones into Surebleak’s lanes to embarrass Captain yos’Thadi?” Theo asked at last, wondering how he expected to get anything but bad temper and juvenile behavior out of that episode.
“That,” said Bechimo, “will be for the songs, as the Pathfinders have it. If we had not left those drones in the shipping lanes, if Surebleak Portmaster had simply let the matter go—if we had not been where we were, when we were, the Assembly would have descended upon an unknowing and defenseless Surebleak, destroying a world and an entire system without a pause to think of their orders, or the ethics of killing thousands of sentients.
“Instead, here is Captain Theo Waitley, who stops the invasion with not one shot fired, and sets the Assembly to questioning their orders, their lives, and the necessity of destruction in the present circumstances.”
A short pause. Theo drew her breath, but she never got a chance to say whatever it was she might’ve said, because Bechimo spoke again, his voice full of admiration.
“Theo, you are a wonder and a marvel!”
“I…” she began, her cheeks hot—
Klaxons sounded, and she was out of bed, hitting the deck with bare feet, grabbing her jacket—
Bechimo was speaking, clearly audible over the racket: “Shields on full. We are under attack.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Kara cried out, one hand going to her head, the other groping at her board. Chernak, her own head afire, stood and swung behind the whimpering engineer, putting both arms around her, restraining her as gently as possible.
“Mind probe,” Stost warned, and Joyita snapped, “Alert!”
Hevelin growled again, projecting an image of a slinky, over-toothed creature coiled around a victim, held back from another attack by a long, bladed object—and Stost shouted, feeling its attention, its malice; feeling the claws in his mind, his strength and his skills as nothing against this assault—
“Shields on full. We are under attack.”
The screens showed a disruption among the Assembled. Beams danced and darted; the device that had been transforming was now glowing brightly, as if its shields had been breached.
The protections that had been laboriously created in Stost’s mind snapped into place, fighting pain with pain.
Hevelin’s growl deepened; other devices glowed in the screens, the comm sounding off across numerous frequencies.
Weapons came live, the targeting computer ranging everything but Stone Ronin.
Stost cursed, his head full of confused pain—and his throat suddenly closed, constricted by some fey force, while Hevelin leapt to the deck and slapped it with one clawed paw, the image of a concentrated barrage of blows from a spear aimed at the snarling, snaky horror with not quite sufficient force.
Behind that came another image, green and strong, working without anger, without fear.
A collar of wood protected Stost’s throat, thrusting off the choking attack, allowing him breath—and thought. Hevelin’s blade sought and pierced some vital spot in the attacking creature; it shrieked its dying defiance. The norbear screamed—and collapsed.
Two of the devices sharing an orbit around Benoo exploded, the targeting showing fragments. The fragments began to glow and shatter as the orientation of a number of the orbiting objects changed, as if following the debris.
“Gone,” said Stost, wiping his hand across his forehead and falling clumsily to his knees beside the still, furry huddle that was Hevelin.
“Touch no weapons!” came the captain’s order and, close behind it, the captain, her jacket caught around naked limbs and her bare feet flashing across the deck. She threw herself into first chair.
“Captain, a message from the Assembled!” Joyita snapped.
“I’ll hear it,” the captain said grimly. “We’ll all hear it.”
“Yes, Captain.”
A small click, and a voice, mellow and soothing, flowed over the bridge. The voice of a hero, thought Stost, and then—perhaps not.
“Aberthaz Ferry, speaking for the Assembly, requests a return to truce state. A leadership disagreement within the Assembled arose. It has been settled. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
Her Trade was flawless.
“Joyita, I’ll answer.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Are you in charge, Aberthaz Ferry?”
“No one is yet in charge, Bond-Captain. Do you offer yourself as leader?”
Theo spun in her chair, her grim eye taking in Stost bent over Hevelin, Kara limp and pale-faced in Chernak’s arms, and now—Clarence and Win Ton staggering to stations, eyes wide and faces strained.
“I have wounded crew to attend to, Aberthaz Ferry.”
“Bond-Captain, my personal apologies. I offer what aid I might give, if you request it.”
“What I request,” Theo grated, “is that the Assembled finish its discussions without any more…incidents.”
“I will myself ensure that, Bond-Captain. Aberthaz Ferry, out.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Hevelin stirred in Theo’s bare-legged lap, attempting to push her restraining hand away and sit on his own.
Win Ton stood at her side, a zero-G bulb of water to hand for the norbear, murmuring comfort in Liaden—the children’s tongue, Theo thought.
Clarence had borne a shivering Kara off to the galley, with the stated intention of returning with snacks and drinks for all.
Chernak sat at Kara’s station, her broad face impassive, the tracks left by tears of pain still visible on her cheeks.
There had wafted through the bridge only a moment ago a suggestion of greenly health. Stost had stood and requested permission to go, which Theo had given with a nod.
On her lap, Hevelin had righted himself, sending a vision of a very dead, very toothy sort of sleek-furred horror. It was accompanied by none of his usual braggadocio or bright pleasure in his own prowess—and that worried Theo more than anything else.
Through the bond, Bechimo fed unsettling information about the norbear’s abnormal heart rate and elevated pressures, with side notes on the cleanup of pheromones and scent Hevelin had released during the height of the attack.
Stost returned, three tiny pods held carefully in one large hand. He approached Theo and showed her this bounty.
“These two,” he said, separating them with his forefinger, “are for Hevelin. This one is for me. They should be taken into the mouth whole and allowed to dissolve. The Tree says there will be more, very soon, for all.”
Theo took Hevelin’s two pods onto her palm. The norbear sighed; she felt him shudder on her lap. He picked up one and put it in his mouth. After a moment, he extended a paw to Win Ton, who leaned close, water bulb at the ready.
Stost looked to Chernak, then to the bluish-green item in his hand.
“Crew,” she said. “Crew does for crew.”
“As it must be,” Stost agreed, and popped the pod into his mouth, a thrill of trepidation running through him, knowing it against all of his training. He closed his eyes at the taste of it, traces of spice chasing a flow of energy smoother than coffee, more soothing than wine, more intense than an eight-hour sleep.
He opened his eyes, sought Chernak’s face, saw the concern there melt away.
“Senior,” he said, “it is well. And it is good to be crew, on this ship, among these, our comrades.”
* * *
They were all better for the hot drinks and snacks.
In the screens, the Assembly had re-formed peacefully. The conversation over the bands was calm, even perhaps subdued.
Theo and Kara carried Hevelin to his nest under the Tree. He was not as revivified as Stost, and for once it was clear that the Tree was actively soothing the norbear, persuading him to accept relaxation, to eat another, more ordinary pod, to have some fronds, to sleep…
Theo paused to dress before entering the bridge again.
She sat in first chair, noting that Clarence had second, Win Ton covered Kara’s station, while Kara occupied the jump seat; Stost and Chernak were at the cobbled-together translation consoles where they had done such good work last shift.
“Discussion?” she said.
There was a pause, which was expectable, Theo thought. She didn’t know where to start, either.
Into the silence came Joyita’s voice.
“Six new devices are approaching the Assembled,” he said quietly.
Theo spun back to her screens.
“Bechimo, bring this up on the main screen so we can all see. Joyita—anything we can hear?”
“…sometimes of this company,” said a grating voice in Old Yxtrang. “We have received information of the new order for our kind. We heard the screams when the Old Universe finally died. We have come, now and here, in this present, to join the discussions and to participate in the decision of what we are becoming.”
Port Road
Yulie Shaper’s Place
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Udari paused, head tilted, eyes deliberately unfocused.
He was a creature of the city, was Udari, yet there were many skills born in the city that served well in the country—the feeling that a man was being followed, for instance; or that, ahead, someone waited in the shadows.
He had such a feeling now. Ahead of him, the path wound through bare-branched trees. Behind, the way he had just traveled, was more of the same—a path, not wide, and of a meandering habit, with trees on both sides, near to the path, but not breathlessly so.
It was unlikely that he was being followed. He had only just come from Yulie Shaper’s farmhouse, and the cats had given no indication that there was anything unusual in the dooryard.
None of the cats had chosen to come with him, which had happened before, though most usually one or even three would give him their company, a group of brothers out for a stroll along a path well known to all.
No. It was doubtful that someone had followed him from the house. The danger, then, lurked ahead, only it should have been perfectly visible, even to city eyes, yet…
Not a breeze stirred; not a branch moved. The path ahead, which had been empty, suddenly—was not.
A man stood there, in the center of the path; the collar of his leather jacket pulled up; his hands tucked into deep pockets. He nodded when he saw he had Udari’s eye and spoke.
“Well met, brother of Rys.”
“Well met,” Udari answered, “brother of Rys. I am on my way to Mrs. ana’Tak with sprinyons and roots.”
He showed the pail that he carried, and the other nodded again.
“Mr. Shaper is a deal too good to us,” he said. “Shall I take the pail and spare you the walk?”
“It is a good day for a walk,” Udari said calmly. “Perhaps we might go together.”
“That would be pleasant,” said Val Con, stepping to one side of the path and waiting for Udari to come even with him.
“It is good, when brothers walk together,” Udari commented as they went, not hurriedly, on their way.
“It is…and, as it happens, on this occasion, fortunate. I was on my way to find you.”
“What thing might I do for the brother of my brother?”
“Perhaps no thing. I merely wonder—has the ship set a date, a time, a location for its arrival?”
“The ship—no. Not as yet. It queried an old comm code. Pulka, another brother of Rys, had been listening and brought the message received to the headman. The headman called the kompani together, so that all would know what had happened, and stated that an answer would be sent forth to the ship, agreeing that we are here, and available for pickup.
“This message will go to the captain, who will send again with details for our boarding.”
“Do you all go?” Val Con asked. “I ask in particular of our brother’s wife and their daughter. He asked me to care for them as if they were my own, and I had sworn it.”
“Yes,” Udari said. “Rys had said this to me.”
“Then I ask: Is it possible that I may speak to the one called Droi, in Rys’s voice, and find what it is she would have of me, for herself and for the child?”
There in the path, Udari stopped. He put the pail down upon a convenient stump, and opened his arms.
“Brother!” he cried. “Let us embrace!”
Embrace they did and heartily, Udari having learned from Rys that slender did not mean frail. When they stepped back, he kept his hands on the other’s shoulders.
“You must understand that—yes, the ship comes, and when it lifts again, it will bear some of our kompani in its belly.
“But it will by no means bear all, Brother. By no means. Abigail—you have seen her among us—she goes, for her mother, more than for herself. Silain the luthia, she will go, because that is the duty of the luthia, and the headman will go, because the headman is likewise compelled. There are others who will choose the ship. I think that Pulka will.
“But there are others, Brother—many others!—who will stay.
“I, myself, will remain, and Memit, our brother Rafin, and—Droi. Droi has said to me that she will seek a place with the Lady and the Professor, who she knows. She has Dreamed for them, and taught them the meaning of those Dreams. She…”
He hesitated, looked deeply into the green eyes of Rys’s Brother Undertree, and hesitated before that bright gaze. This man, brother of Rys though he was and a man of both heart and head…this man…was not Bedel, and there was a limit to the truth one told even to a brother, when that brother was not of the Bedel.
“I might,” said Val Con, “understand this strange thought you wonder if you ought to share with me. I have been a Scout, which is to say that I have made a wide study of custom. I may not understand it, of course, but I promise you that I will accept it.”
Udari smiled.
“Droi is a powerful sister,” he said. “She courts danger, and her Sight is dark. What is given her to protect is forever safe within her ferocity. That she loves…I would not have said it, before Rys. And now I say to you that she is the keeper of Rys’s soul, that the luthia had him Dream into the tiles before he left us all to see your task well completed. She will keep him safe until the stars freeze and all of the ships, everywhere, fall out of the firmament.”
Val Con smiled, bright eyes of a sudden sparkling with tears. “But you see, Brother, this I understand very well. For my own lady holds my soul, and I would have no other keeper.”
“Yes,” said Udari, and pressed the other to his breast once more before letting him, in fullness, go. “Yes.”
He turned and took up the pail again, resuming his stroll along the path, his brother walking silent and easy beside him.
It was not until they had crossed the crack in the land and nearly reached the place where his own gardens lay fallow, that Val Con spoke again.
“Those of you who refuse the ship—where will you live, if it may be said?” he murmured. “In the tunnels still? Or will you join us here in the free air?”
“Some of us had thought of Yulie, though Memit acted first.” Udari slanted a look at the other man. “She asked him to marry her.”
“Ah, did she so? When may I wish them happy?”
“He turned her aside, for his own faults. But he made the offer of land and housing for any who might wish to work the crops and assist in the expansion we had been planning.”
“Certainly, that sounds fair. Will many come, do you think?”
“We are talking and Dreaming. I think that Yulie will not be alone.”
“That comforts me. The cats are all very well, but he is better, I think, when he has people to care about and projects to think upon. I hope Memit is not angry with him for his rejection.”
“Memit?” Udari laughed. “Memit has received a challenge, Brother. She is not in any way angry.”
They swung wide across the field, coming onto the house from the kitchen wing, and paused at the gate of the small garden there. Udari nodded at the sleeping patch.
“Memit has a way with herbs and savory things,” he said. “I will ask if she will share her art with Mrs. ana’Tak.”
“That would be a kindness,” Val Con said, opening the gate and standing aside to allow Udari free passage.
“I will leave you to Mrs. ana’Tak, if I may, Brother. Another calls me to their service, and I cannot but answer.”
“Fare you well, Brother, until we meet again.”
“And you also, Brother.”
Surebleak Port
Office of the Road Boss
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The special edition of the newspaper was delivered to the Road Boss’s office just after lunch.
There being nobody present at that hour who required the attention of the Road Boss, Miri addressed herself to the paper.
Daten Eliot, the editor, had gone out of her way to make this edition real special. Instead of looking exactly like the daily broadsheet, the Voting Edition was about the size of a broadsheet folded in half, then stapled down the fold, so it looked more like a booklet than a newspaper. The paper felt different, too: thicker and slick under the fingers—putting up a convincing argument that it could last multiple readings before it began to crumple and tear.
The first page—which was to say, the cover of the booklet—said in big, bold type:
FIRST VOTING ISSUE
BOSS CONRAD’S PLANS FOR SUREBLEAK
BOSS SUREBLEAK’S PLANS FOR SUREBLEAK
VOTING RULES, INCLUDING:
WHEN YOU CAN VOTE/
WHERE YOU CAN VOTE/
AND WHO CAN VOTE
INFORMATION: THE HISTORY OF VOTING
Miri turned the page. Right inside—in a two-page spread so nobody could be upset because either Boss Conrad or Boss Surebleak was shown first—was Boss Conrad’s letter on the left, and Boss Surebleak’s on the right.
