Crystal Dragon (38 page)

He was
not
mistaken!

"Scholar tay'Nordif!" Tor An moved toward her, aware that Hanth had shifted, and that Jarn was looking stubborn. The scholar herself—she turned to face him, pilot smooth, the line of frown between her brows.

"You're talking to me, Pilot?" There was no glimmer of recognition in her face, and yet, if Jela had sent her—surely there could not be two such! Tor An took a deep breath and bowed.

"Scholar, perhaps you will recall me. It is Tor An yos'Galan. I had not expected—has Captain Jela come with you? Just yesterday, the master was wishful of speaking to him, in regard to—"

He stopped. The lady was no longer frowning; indeed there was a complete and frightening absence of expression on her face.

"Jela's dead," she said flatly. "And my name, if you'll do me the favor of recalling it, Pilot, is Cantra yos'Phelium." She moved a hand, showing him Hanth and Jarn. "Might be you're able to talk sense to the gate guard? I'm bearing a message from Jela to Captain Wellik, and I'll not hide from you, Pilot, that my temper's on a thin tether at this day and hour."

Dead. Yet another loss. Tears rose. He blinked them away and inclined his head.

"How?" he asked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, and raised his head to meet her eyes. "If it can be told. Pilot."

Something moved in the foggy green eyes, and the lady's mouth tightened.

"He took rear guard," she said softly. "I see you honor him, Pilot. Get me to Captain Wellik, and we're both in the way of following last orders."

"Certainly." He turned to Jarn, who was still looking stubborn, and then to Hanth, who was looking wary.

"This pilot," he said to both, "is known to me. I vouch for her."

"She's so known to you," Jarn answered, "that she had to tell you what name she's using today."

"I knew her as Maelyn tay'Nordif," Tor An admitted. "However, Captain Jela—who I know you honor, Hanth—told me that this lady is vital to the profitable outcome of the scholar's work. Captain Wellik will wish to see her. If you will not pass her, then call him to the gate."

Hanth exchanged a glance with Jarn; she hitched a shoulder and jerked her head, using her chin to hit the comm switch set inside her collar.

"Captain," she murmured. "Pilot at the gate asking for you by name. Says she carries a message from Captain Jela. The boy claims to know her, but calls her by a different name than the one she gives to us." Silence, then—"Cantra yos'Phelium," she murmured. "The boy says Maelyn tay'Nordif." A shorter silence. "Yes, sir."

A sigh and another jerk of the chin, then Jarn looked up at the tall pilot.

"Captain's sending an escort," she said.

Cantra yos'Phelium inclined her head and moved to a side, leaning an indolent hip against the wall and crossing her arms across her breast. Tor An hesitated, his mind half on Scholar dea'Syl's errand, and yet loath to let the scho—Pilot yos'Phelium—go.

"How," he began, moving toward her. She looked up, face neutral in a way that he recognized. He paused, and showed her empty hands. She inclined her head.

"How did you escape?" he asked, letting his hands fall slowly his sides. "We—the captain would have the duel a diversion engineered to allow us to win free with Master dea'Syl. When we had raised
Light Wing
, and the scholar was safe inside, then he—he and the tree—left us. They were going back to Osabei Tower, he said. For you."

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "Stupid damn' thing," she muttered, then opened her eyes and gave him a hard look.

"I came out through the smaly tube, since the topic's stupidity. Jela scraped me up off the floor and took me back to my ship."

Tor An stared at her. "The smaly tube?" he breathed. "You might have been—"

"Killed," she finished. "That's right."

She seemed to find the matter of no particular interest, nor the fact of her survival astonishing. And yet—this was the pilot Jela had claimed as partner, who had accepted self-delusion in order that Scholar dea'Syl might be brought out of his prison, and his work placed at the disposal of—

A tall shadow moved inside the gate, resolving into Corporal Kwinz, her tattoos blue and vivid in the sunlight. Her gaze passed over Tor An and settled on Cantra yos'Phelium.

"You're the one with a message from Captain Jela?" she asked.

"That's right," the pilot answered, straightening out of her lean to stand tall and ready on the balls of her feet.

"Come on, then," Kwinz said. "You're late for the party."

The pilot fell in behind the soldier, and the two of them marched away across the commons. Tor An tarried, in case she should have need—but she never looked back. For all he was able to tell, she had forgotten his existence entirely.

"You'll want to move smart," Hanth said, "if you expect to be back from town by curfew."

Tor An blinked. He should have asked her, he thought, if she wanted her cat.

"The pilot—" he said to Hanth, but that soldier jerked a shoulder.

"The pilot has business with the captain," he said. "You have business outside. And if you're not back by curfew,
you'll
have business with the captain, which I think you'd rather avoid, eh?"

Well—yes.

Sighing, Tor An took up his errand, moving into a jog, and finally into a run, keeping his thoughts determinedly on the scholar's mid-week order.

THE SOLDIER WITH the blue tattoos didn't waste any time marching them through the garrison's center and into the dim quiet of inside. Cantra followed, keeping her hand away from her gun and projecting calm good citizenship. She tried not to think about the yellow-haired pilot at the gate, who'd been a breath away from crying true tears on hearing of Jela's demise—and who'd looked so happy to see her that on-lookers might've supposed them kin. Clearly, she'd made an impression on the kid, though she couldn't say the same for him. If she put her mind to it, she could probably dredge some tenuous recollection of him out the mists that served as Maelyn tay'Nordif's memory. Memories she shouldn't have, come right down to it, and best left alone. Might be they'd fade full away, over time.

She could hope.

"Down here," her guide said, triggering a door and standing aside to let her pass, then closing up behind her as they moved down a narrower, more private hall.

"First door on the left," the soldier said, and Cantra squared her shoulders and marched on.

She sighed, feeling the weight of Jela's book in the inside pocket. Now it came to turning it in to its rightful owner, she felt a certain reluctance to let it go, which was nothing more than plain and fancy nonsense. She'd read it, o'course—as much of it as she could read. A firm, precise, strong hand, that was what Jela wrote—who would expect different?—and the most of what he'd set down had been in cipher. Even stipulating she could crack it—which she likely could, given time and
Dancer's
brain—the information would only be of interest to Captain Wellik and his kind, now that Jela's commander was gone.

The passages not in cipher were descriptions of people he'd seen, cogitations on this or that thing that had caught his fancy. At the back, he'd kept an informal ship's log, detailing
Dancer's
ports o'call, cargo movement, and interaction of ship's personnel. Reading those firm, precise words, it seemed he'd found the time pleasant and easeful—comforting, in some way that defied belief, yet was no less true for being incomprehensible.

"Right here," said the soldier, and Cantra stopped, turning to face the door.

The soldier leaned over her shoulder and hit the button set in the frame.

"Corporal Kwinz escorting Pilot Cantra yos'Phelium," she said, nice and smart.

The door hesitated, as if weighing the likelihood of such an assertion, then slid silently up and out of the way.

CAPTAIN WELLIK WAS A big man, which she'd expected; his only concession to the X Strain fashion of facial decoration a tan star tattooed high up on his tan cheek.

What she hadn't expected was to find him standing three steps inside the room, dwarfing the chairs along the side walls, his arms crossed over his not-inconsiderable chest, legs braced wide, and an ice-blue glare aimed at the center of her forehead.

Cantra stopped, there being no place to go save through him, which course of action she thought she'd reserve until later, and craned her head back.

"I ain't," she said tiredly, "in any mood for games. Jela said you were a true man and stood his friend. If that's so, then cut the pose and we can deal."

The glare didn't abate, nor even did Captain Wellik uncross his arms.

"And if it's not?" he thundered.

She sighed. "If it's not, then I'm gone."

The glare stayed steady, but the eyebrows were seen to twitch.

"There's a soldier behind you," he said, slightly less thunderous; "armed and ready."

"Right. I'd hate to have to hurt her, being as I hear there's a war on and every soldier's needed. But it's your call."

Wellik threw back his massive head and roared. It took a heartbeat for abused ears to process the racket as laughter, by which time he'd recovered himself enough to send an amused glance over her shoulder.

"Afraid, Kwinz?" He asked.

"If Captain Jela trained her," the reply came; "I'm afraid. Sir."

"If Jela trained her,
I'm
afraid," Wellik said, unfolding his arms at last and bringing his attention back to herself. "So, little pilot, did Jela train you?"

"He did not," Cantra answered. "And my mood's not getting any better, with regard to games."

"I apologize, Pilot," he said, surprisingly. "You're the latest in a string of people arriving at this garrison of late, all bearing a token or a message from Jela. It's getting to be something more than a joke—soldier's humor, you understand."

That she did, soldier's humor being not unlike Rimmer humor in hue and edge. Cantra inclined her head. "I'm just through a bad campaign," she told him, almost hearing Jela murmuring the words into her ear. "Took some damage, lost—" her voice broke; she cleared her throat. "I'm on a thin edge, Captain. Take the message and let's part easy."

The pale blue eyes considered her seriously now. "When's the last time you saw Jela, Pilot?" He held up a hand. "Need to know."

Cantra took a hard breath. "I last saw Jela on Vanehald, about eleven Common Days ago. You'll also have a need to know that the last I saw Vanehald, it looked to be overrun by the Enemy."

Wellik nodded. "I have intelligence from Vanehald, thank you, Pilot. But you last saw Jela on Vanehald. You left him alive?"

"He was leading a defensive squad, rear guard at the port," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I saw him fall."

"Eleven Common Days ago," the big man repeated thoughtfully. "And he was hale enough to lead that squad..."

Cantra sighed. "The medic at Vanehald Garrison gave him a couple months more. Reason was the fact he'd absorbed some
sheriekas
energy off the event that destroyed the birth lab he was in at the time."

Wellik frowned. "Stupid—" He caught himself and glanced aside. "Eh, well. The medics have their own arts. What's important to me is that date." Another quick blue glance over her shoulder. "Dismissed to the door, Corporal."

"Yes, sir," Kwinz answered, sharp as you like. There came the sounds of her departure, which Cantra didn't turn to see, preferring to keep both eyes on Captain Wellik.

The door shut with a hiss and a bump, and the captain's thoughtful blue gaze was back on her face.

"Your message, Pilot?"

Right. She took a breath and raised her hand. "It's inside my jacket," she told Wellik, in case he had a nervous disposition. He nodded, and she used that same hand to reach, slow and careful, into the jacket, fetched Jela's book out of the inner pocket, and held it out.

"Well, now." He received it with respect, and Cantra dropped her hand to her side, fingers curling to preserve the feel of the worn leather against her skin.

Wellik opened the book, riffled the pages with rapid gentleness, then closed it and slipped it into his right leg pocket. Cantra saw it disappear with a pain that was like a knife thrust through the gut. She ground her teeth, met Wellik's eyes and gave a sharp nod of the head.

"That's done, then," she said, briskly. "I'll be on my way."

"Actually, you won't," Wellik said, stepping aside and jerking his head at the door his bulk had concealed. "Step into my office, please, Pilot."

"Why?" she demanded, giving him as good a glare as she had in her.

"Something you can help me with," he said. "It'll take but a moment of your time."

She considered turning around and walking out, but there was Kwinz on the outside, not to mention a good many other soldiers between her and the gate, and she'd gone and promised Jela to see his damn' tree safe, which she couldn't likely do as a dead body.

Not that she had much chance as a live body, either.

So, she gave Wellik a shrug and moved forward. The door opened ahead of her and she stepped into what was properly the captain's office, blinking at the crowd of folk around the table—

"Pilot Cantra!" One of the crowd leapt to her feet, and rushed forward. She paused just a few steps away, her face suddenly Batcher bland.

"Dulsey," Cantra said, keeping her voice slow and easy with an effort. "Nice to see you again."

"It is good to see you again, too, Pilot," Dulsey said softly. Slowly, she extended her hand, keeping it in sight. Cantra brought her own hand up in reaction.

"Careful, Dulsey."

"Indeed," she said, voice breaking, as sudden tears spilled down her cheek. "Indeed, Pilot. As careful as may be." Her hand moved, slowly, slowly, and Cantra stood frozen, aware of Captain Wellik at her back, and the stares of the other Batchers from 'round the table.

Dulsey's hand touched hers, warm fingers slipping between her cold ones.

"He's gone," Dulsey whispered. "I can see it in your face."

Cantra stared at her. "Not exactly comforting, Dulsey," she said, and for the second time in an hour heard her voice break. She swallowed. "He died in battle, like he wanted to." The room was going a bit fuzzy at the edges. She took a hard breath and focused herself, suddenly realizing that she was gripping Dulsey's hand hard—hard enough to hurt, it must've been.