Halfling Moon (3 page)

She rose then, with no need to check her
status. Her weapons were old friends; each of their caresses known
and unique. They would not disturb her, nor unbalance her; and they
would come to her hand when they were needed.

So, then, the codes; last in the series she
had been given to memorize. She would in a moment open the door and
step into Korval's treasure-house, where she would doubtless be
greeted by one of the vigilant guardians.

Win them.

* * *

The door accepted the codes, whisking out of
her way. Beyond, the hall was empty, saving the cameras and the
vents that she did not doubt were an active part of security.

Happily, whoever monitored the camera, and
presumably held the decision as to what sort of gas might fill this
hallway, appeared to be of a deliberate nature. She had, after all,
demonstrated mastery of the codes. The guard might grant an extra
few minutes of life to such a one, awaiting . . . confirmation.

There was another door, at the top of the
hall. She did not approach it; certainly she did not try it. Her
information regarding what might happen, did she attempt either,
had been specific.

By necessity, then, she waited.

For the cameras, she adopted an easy stance,
proud without being prideful. She was a pilot; and pilots had
pride. As did Judges, of course, and certain of the better class of
Juntavas assassin.

Scarcely had she counted to eight when the
door at the end of the hall -- the door that led to the interior,
and all the treasures collected therein -- opened, admitting a man
no longer young, his hair silver and his eyes wide and grey.
Childlike, one might say, in ignorance.

As she was very much
not
ignorant, she bowed, supple and sweet, as
she had been taught from a child.

"Master bel'Tarda," she said, in her soft,
accented Liaden, "I am Inas Bhar." She gave him that name -- the
one her father had bestowed upon her at birth. Her other names were
such as might impart little comfort to a man with so much duty
weighing upon him. Yet, there was room for comfort on both
sides.

"Called Natesa," she added, straightening.
She raised a hand, slowly, specifically unthreatening, and showed
him the token. The tree-and-dragon flashed in the light, then held
steady.

That should have been enough to seal the
thing. She should have received from Luken bel'Tarda a bow, and
perhaps a courteous word or two, and a pass into the rocky heart of
the station.

What she received instead was the barest of
nods -- scant, even meager, courtesy -- and a question, harsh in
the mode of Stranger to the House.

"Who sent you?"

It was, on its face, a reasonable question,
as she was, indeed, a stranger to this house, and to this guardian.
Yet the mode -- not one of the kindest, no, but yet without an
inherent harshness; that was from the man himself. And that -- gave
one pause.

To cover her moment of calculation, she
bowed again, youth deferring to years.

"Master, I am sent jointly by Korval
Themselves, and by the Boss of Surebleak. Their personal names are,
perhaps, known to you: Val Con yos'Phelium, Miri Robertson, and Pat
Rin yos'Phelium."

Luken bel'Tarda's face tightened. It could
not be said that he was inept, or in any less control of his face
than one would expect of an elderly Liaden who was, in addition, a
merchant of renown -- still, Natesa felt that what she had seen was
hope, sternly suppressed.

"Why did they not come themselves?" Luken
demanded, keeping still to a harshness that must, from all she had
been taught of his nature, pain him considerably.

She did not bow this time, though she
inclined her head slightly, and sent him as soft a glance as she
might manage from beneath her lashes.

"You may not have heard that the Council
ordered Korval to depart the homeworld, declaring the Captain's
Contract void. The clan, therefore, seeks to set down roots on the
planet Surebleak, where they have the advantage of kin to aid
them."

She paused. He waited, his silence reminding
her that she had not answered his question.

"Korval is needed at the forefront, as they
are the face and voice of the Clan. yos'Galan is likewise required
to show themselves good for business, and also, to supervise the
peaceful settling of the house. It was thought that I would
accompany Pat Rin to you -- in fact, it was quite set, until there
was a difficulty among his jurisdictions which could neither be
ignored nor left for a lieutenant.

"It was then decided that a young cousin --
Gordy Arbuthnot -- might sit my second; another emergency claimed
him when we came to the port itself." She did bow this time,
feeling that it was proper.

"Thus I came alone, Master, trusting to what
I have been given to know, and to the goodwill and uncommon sense
of yourself and Lady Kareen. The delm's order must be obeyed."

"That is of course true for we who stand
within the delm's honor, Inas Bhar, called Natesa," Luken said, his
intonation less harsh; his mode unchanged. "You must forgive me for
wondering why you feel thus."

Natesa sighed. She would very much have
preferred to answer this particular question in far different
circumstances. Preferences were not spaceships, alas, and only
truth and candor would win this old man's trust. Pat Rin had told
her as much.

She met his eyes firmly. "I have the honor
to stand as Pat Rin yos'Phelium's lifemate," she said.

Luken's eyebrows rose, but whatever he was
about to say in answer to such a bold claim was cut off by the
opening of the door.

She had seen a picture of this young pilot,
but even if she had not, there was no doubting who he was. Far too
much of his father showed in his face -- his father in a temper, if
every truth were told.

Natesa bowed, pilot-to-pilot, that being the
least challenging of the modes readily available to her, and one
that observation had shown to be acceptable -- even soothing -- to
all of Korval, of whatever rank, saving Pat Rin himself.

"Quin yos'Phelium, I greet you."

He did not return the courtesy, though he
allowed himself to be stopped by Luken's out-flung arm.

"Why hasn't my father reported in?" he
demanded.

* * *

In the end it was the recording, hastily
made and poor in quality, that won them. They heard it, all
together, in the control parlor, Luken standing shoulder to
shoulder with Lady Kareen, a spare woman with iron gray hair and
hard dark eyes. Quin and the others of Korval's treasure were
ranged behind them. Even the babes were silent as the brief message
played; and Quin was seen to blink rapidly several times, as if to
vanquish tears.

"Father, Mother -- I greet you and I ask
forgiveness, that I do not come to you myself. Necessity demands
that I be elsewhere -- a fuller accounting will be made when we are
all again enclanned. In the meanwhile, I desire you to accept the
protection and escort of my lifemate, Inas, also called Natesa. It
may seem madness that the children are desired in the midst of such
disarray as she will acquaint you with. Be assured that it is the
delm's madness, and very much the lesser of several risky
paths.

"We are, every one of us, safe, a happier
outcome than I would have predicted only a few relumma gone. Come
home, now. The delm desires it no more than I do.

"Until soon."

Despite the tape, Natesa could tell that
neither of the elders was entirely at ease with her -- for which
she blamed them not at all. She asked them to trust much, and
recordings, after all, could be forged -- or forced.

And, yet . . . There was something -- an
undercurrent between them; something, Natesa thought, that they
knew and which the children did not. Something that was inclining
them toward her, even more than Pat Rin's voice, or her possession
of the codes.

"I think that we must," Lady Kareen said at
last. "If the delm is mad, it is no more than Korval has ever been,
and yet the Clan endures."

"I agree," Luken said, and looked to
Natesa.

"These other risks the boy speaks of. What
of those?"

What of those, indeed.

Natesa spread her hands.

"There was a story told in nursery when I
was a child, of a peculiar beast which had seven heads, all savage.
It would seem that the best -- indeed, the only -- way to defeat
such a creature was to strike off its heads . . ."

"I know this story!" cried the smaller boy
-- Syl Vor, his name was. "Every time one of the heads was cut off,
the creature grew two!"

She smiled at him, where he knelt beside the
babes in their baskets.

"Precisely so." She looked to the lady and
gentleman, waiting with edged politeness. "To stretch the simile
full-length, Korval struck off the head of its enemy -- perhaps
even the greater one, that ruled coordination, schedules, and
necessities. But in doing that, it has freed dozens of lesser heads
to act independently."

The elders exchanged a speaking glance.

"We go," the lady said decisively.

The gentleman inclined his head. "I
agree."

He nodded to Natesa. "We have a ship, which
of course the delm will not wish to lose. Quin here is rated an
able pilot. Let us --"

"Grandfather?" the girl, young Padi,
interrupted. She was, Natesa saw, staring at the screens.

"What ship is that?"

* * *

Guns -- in Grandfather's hand; in
Grandmother's hands.

Father's lifemate -- her hands were held
before her, slender fingers spread, declaring herself no
threat.

Quin threw a glance at the screen, at the
ship approaching Beacon One along the proper vector.

"You have shown them the path," Grandmother
said, her voice so cold that Quin shivered.

Pilot Natesa tipped her head. "Please
explain," she said.

It wasn't Grandmother, but Grandfather who
did that, in a clipped, hard voice nothing like his own.

"This same ship has been lurking at the edge
of scan-range the last four-day. It vanished, you appeared."

What?
Quin pushed forward.

"Why didn't you--" he began, and gasped when
Padi stamped on his foot.

"It is possible that I did show them the path," Pilot
Natesa said, calmly; "or some part of it." There was a sharp
snap
, which was the safety coming off of one of the
weapons.

It might have been someone cracking a nut,
for all the attention Pilot Natesa paid it.

"If they have the proper codes," she
continued, in her calm, musical voice, "then you may dispense with
me. If they do not have the codes, I beg that you will allow me to
assist."

Quin bit his lip.
Father has lifemated a
gambler
, he thought. Of course he had; like called to
like.

"Assist!" Grandmother snapped. "If they do
not have the proper codes, there will be nothing to assist with, as
the beacons will have --"

Syl Vor gasped.

Quin turned, his eyes leaping to the screen
that showed the ship, which had not moderated itself in the least,
nor, according to the legend at the bottom, broadcast any code.

A thin red line came from what must be the
stranger ship's forward laser cannon.

Beacon One exploded.

Grandfather slid his gun away and bowed to
Pilot Natesa.

"We accept your assistance," he said.

* * *

Quin sat at the pilot's station; Padi at
second, Grandfather in the jump seat between, where he could see
both boards, though he had none of his own. Grandfather might only
be a third class, but he had been a pilot for longer than Quin and
Padi together had been alive, and experience, so his instructors
had impressed upon him, counted.

It was not their own ship they piloted, but Father's
Fortune's
Reward
,
that Pilot Natesa had brought to them. He and Padi had done a rapid
board check, and he had found those pre-sets that Pilot Natesa had
told him of, coded precisely as she had said. A quick check with
the navcomp verified that their course was for Surebleak near-space
-- again, precisely as the pilot had said.

He fingered the keys, bringing the pre-sets
into the active queue. One tap and they would load. One tap . . .
but not quite yet.

Padi had the audio wide on all the bands. He
himself was connected by private line to the control parlor, where
they had left Grandmother and Pilot Natesa. The screens showed the
docking bay, live, feeds of near-space . . . and the terrible
approach of the wolf-ship. All three beacons were gone, now, and
the ship was on-course for the opposite-side dock.

Quin chewed his lip, and wiped damp palms
surreptitiously down his thighs. What was to prevent the wolf-ship
from loosing their weapons on Runig's Rock, breaching it, killing .
. .

He ground his teeth, tried to bring his
ragged breathing under control -- and felt a hand, firm and warm on
his shoulder.

"Pilot Natesa seems to be fully capable,"
Grandfather said, as calm and unhurried as if they were discussing
whether or not to go for a walk. "And her reasoning is, by my
reckoning, sound."

Quin swallowed, inclined his head, recalled
the pilot's explanation.

"They have been brutal with the beacons, yes
-- but the beacons are merely mechanicals -- barriers to their
progress. This place -- is a treasure-house of many kinds. They
will not wish to undermine it, nor to destroy that for which they
search. Their first goal must be yourselves, for hostages have a
high value. However, they must also be on the hunt for any small
thing that may give them an advantage, or a grasp upon Korval."