Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (21 page)

“Thank you,” she said, pleased to hear him say so, even as some part of her still worried that she might perhaps have made an error which would not come to light until they arrived on port to find the reception hall dark, or the vegetable dishes wilted, or the ices a warm puddle, or…

“Here is the invitation I have written,” Master Trader yos’Galan said, interrupting these increasingly panicked thoughts by spinning his screen toward her. “Please review it, and let me know if you find any omissions or errors.”

He stood.

“May I bring you something to drink?”

“Please,” she said, her eyes already on the screen. “Some cold tea would be welcome.”

It occurred to her, just then, that he ought not to be refreshing her glass. She was the apprentice; it was her duty to ensure the comfort of the master…and then the letter caught all of her attention and the small niggle of misplaced
melant’i
escaped.

* * *

“Well?” he asked, settling back into his chair.

“I see nothing amiss with the letter,” she said, sitting back herself and reaching for her cup. “I am puzzled, though. You kindly recommend me to the notice of those who will attend as a promising ’prentice trader with a bold trade record, and yet…”

He waited, lifting his glass for a sip.

Padi sighed.

“In fact, the apprentice has no such record,” she said briskly. “A few small trades at known ports can scarcely be called competent, much less bold.”

“You are severe,” the master trader said—and abruptly spun his chair. “And I am remiss! A moment…”

He reached to the keyboard, tapped in a rapid sequence. The invitation letter re-formed into another document entirely, this one under guild seal.

“Master Trader Nolan—the objective eye in your case regarding Chesselport—has advised the guild that the fault lies with the port, and recommends that Trader yos’Galan be awarded full credit for an effort of trade worthy of one who has earned the ruby. But, please—read it for yourself.”

Padi’s heartbeat quickened as she leaned forward to read the letter.

It was, in fact, precisely as he said; she had been exonerated; her
milaster
trade had been recorded at full profit.

More than that, Master Trader Nolan advised the guild that Chessel is a port that the smaller and more vulnerable traders have taken to avoiding. Word is that the auction hall employs a reference-checking service that is known to examine records with a suspicious eye. It often advises the hall of outstanding fines, even when such fines have long been retired; or of criminal activity on, shall we say, very little evidence—and often even when contrary evidence is easily accessible.”

He moved his shoulders, deploring the insolence of fools.

“Master Nolan also notes that the reference company receives a one percent
finders fee
out of all monies collected from erring ships and traders.”

Padi muttered.

“I beg your pardon, Padi?”

“I said, I wonder if Magistrate Tinerest knows of this.”

“An interesting question, but one that need not concern us.”

She looked up.

“Will Chesselport not be part of the new route, then?”

He sipped his wine, a frown pulling his brows close.

“It will not,” he said, and held up a hand, as if he had heard her intent to protest.

“There is, of course, this matter of an overzealous interpretation of circumstance for its own benefit on the part of a portside entity. Not only were you defrauded and detained, I was apparently invited to a
portmaster’s reception
in order that I be taken up by Port Security as a criminal. I believe that I would not have spent much time in detention, Priscilla’s feelings in such matters being firm. Still, I feel that any levied fines would have remained with the port, the magistrate utilizing precisely the same reasoning which lost you your profit, while releasing you to your ship.”

He shook his head.

“No, I fear Chesselport will not do.”

“But…the
milaster
trade. It would be profitable next time, now that we’re known!”

“Would it?” he asked, eyebrows raised now.

Padi hesitated.

The magistrate had seemed honest, to her, but if port admin was not…

“Perhaps we might revisit in…a Standard or three,” she said slowly. “Enough time that they may have made…needful changes?”

“Perhaps. I do intend to open a correspondence with Master Nolan and the guild regarding the matter. Master Nolan’s information would seem to be that the behavior is fixed, and of long duration.”

That was, she conceded, reasonable, and fell within the proper care of master traders, while also ensuring the safety of ship and crew.

“I would like to learn the outcome of those discussions, if it can be shared,” she said.

Master Trader yos’Galan considered her for a long moment. Padi met his eyes firmly; it was, after all, a reasonable request, and not forward.

Well. Perhaps only a
little
forward.

“I will inform my correspondents that you have an interest, and ask if they have any objections to copying you on our deliberations.”

Padi caught her breath, and bowed her head.

“Thank you, Master Trader.”

“No need to thank me,” he said. “In fact, I believe it possible that you will be wishing me at the devil, for you will be a silent partner in these discussions. You and I will, of course, talk about what may go forth, but you will not intrude into the deliberations of masters.”

“So long as you and I may discuss what’s being said, I am content,” she told him, formally, and pretended to ignore his grin.

“I believe,” he said, spinning the screen to face him, “that it is time for you to go off-shift. If you will take my advice, you will be certain to have cards and copies of your trade résumé available at the reception.”

She blinked at him.

“How many?” she asked, and he turned his head to look at her, his face just a shade too serious.

“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Perhaps you had better research the matter.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Admiral Bunter

Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

What with one thing and a solid Haz stall, they got seven days at station before word came from Stew that the stationmaster’d got himself convinced to call in the hunters.

Seven days that were seven hours on/seven hours off, with Tolly layin’ in the broad strokes and Inki filling in the details. Basic stuff, lots of cross-refs, weeks of mentoring crammed into hours. Sometime in between tutoring and sleep, he talked with Tocohl, who in turn talked with Inki; the
Admiral
, was reasonably enough, privy to all and everything that was said.

The mentors and Tocohl felt that the best thing for the
Admiral
, and for any pirates or bounty hunters he might encounter, was for Tolly to stay with him. Not only would the presence of a human pilot on board waylay any questions regarding the
Admiral
’s nature, they would be able to continue with the curriculum.

The
Admiral
had not been…completely on board with this plan, the
Admiral
being of the opinion that he could take care of himself, in addition to being somewhat averse to further education.

Haz, so the plan went, would serve as Pilot Tocohl’s insurance, on her trip back home to Surebleak, and Inki would go on to wherever it was that Inki was next bound.

Tocohl had a go at convincing the
Admiral
of the need for local color, at least until he had live-tested discovery scenarios, and had practiced his clean getaway a couple times or more. The most she got was a promise from the
Admiral
to “sleep on it,” which Tolly and Inki both considered to mean, “I’ll give you my definitive answer on our next shift together.”

So it was that Tolly’d walked into the study room on his last shift, with a heavy heart. He’d gotten to know the
Admiral
pretty well during this intensive training course, and knew him to be of a mind to leave humans and human space far behind him.

Couldn’t really blame him, considering the treatment he’d gotten so far from humans, themselves not excluded. On the other hand, being as paradoxical as any other living thing, the
Admiral
wanted to be of use. Tolly worried that was Cap’n Waitley’s influence, even now, setting that order to keep the station safe.

Well. Not much he could do about it, except ask the question and abide by the answer, same as he would if Haz took it into her head to go haring out into the wide universe with no backup and no real understanding of what she was getting herself into.

“’Mornin’,
Admiral
,” he said—his usual greeting, no matter what the station clock said.

“Good morning, Tolly,” came the answer. “You will be pleased to know that I have reconsidered, and will welcome you as my pilot when we leave Jemiatha Station.”

He blinked, and scrambled a moment, mentally.

“I
am
pleased,” he said, in the warmest tone available to him. “Mind if I ask what changed your mind?”

“I had a discussion with Inki last shift, and she was able to show me the wisdom of the proposed course.”

Well, well. Inki and her powers of persuasion. He’d have to remember to thank her.

“Good,” he said. “You want to get a departure time from Station?”

“I have done so, Pilot.”

“Nice parse,” Tolly said, smiling. “Now, Inki tells me you and her were talking about law and justice. Want to give me a recap? We’ll take up where she left off.”

—•—

Padi had her notepad, and her cards tucked into a public pocket of her jacket. Infokeys containing her résumé and contact information, including the
Passage
’s pinbeam code, had already gone down to Langlastport, care of Unet Hartensis of Hartensis Catering and Receptions, who would convey them, along with the trade displays that had also been shipped portside, to the Happy Occasion, where the reception would take place.

Trade Etiquette and Proper Presentation
, which she had found very dull going in the past, had proven invaluable in the case. There was a perfectly straightforward equation for how many infokeys to take to a trade show; it worked out to roughly thirty percent of the expected attendees. She had added a few more, in case Langlast’s traders were eager. Her cards, of course, were not for everyone, though the World Book informed her that the local merchants gave cards as a means of introduction, though they would also offer infokeys. If she gave out two cards, Father would no doubt marvel aloud at her ability to form such rapid connections, but she had hope that all of her infokeys would be taken up.

She patted her pockets one more time, making sure that the Unicredit card was secure—looked in the mirror to assure herself that her hair hadn’t come out of its tail yet, and left her quarters at a brisk walk, heading for the shuttle bay.

Their port-bound party included, beside herself and Father, Vanner Higgs, making their third and providing security. Father had taken a suite at the Torridon Hotel on the port, which would be their base for at least three days, so that they might make a
complete tour
.

A complete tour of a brand-new port was reason to be excited, and Padi supposed that she was—or she would be, after she had gotten the reception behind her, and perhaps taken a nap.

She’d had one last communication from Unet Hartensis, who assured her that all was well, that all packages from the ship had been received; that their client farm had sent an arrangement of fresh-cut flowers with the vegetables, as a gift to the guests. They brightened the room, Unet said, and brought summer onto the port.

Padi hoped that the flowers were not an expensive extra that had been deftly slipped in under her nose. If they were, of course, she would dispute the charge. She had in her notepad a copy of the itemized order and projected cost, and flowers were not one of the items listed.

She was, she assured herself, as she hurried down the hall to the shuttle bay, completely prepared and organized for any eventuality.

She only wished that her stomach believed it.

* * *

“Ah, here she is at last!” Father said, as she entered the shuttle boarding gate.

He was there with Mr. Higgs and shuttle pilot Kris Embrathiri. That was odd; usually the pilot was aboard the shuttle ahead of the passengers, but perhaps Kris had already done the checks, and come out to chat.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I had no notion that I was late.”

“Oh, no, you are most fortunately slightly ahead of our departure,” Father assured her. “Pilot Embrathiri has expressed a desire to sit as a passenger on this trip. You, therefore, will pilot us to Langlastport.”

She stared at him, then looked to Pilot Embrathiri, who gave her a grin, and stepped forward to offer the ship key.

Padi received it, with a murmur of thanks, as a shiver of…anticipation, ran up her spine.

She was going to pilot live. The prospect pleased her. She bowed to her passengers.

“If you please, I will perform the preflight.” She glanced at the bay door, and the amber light above it.

“When the light goes to green, you may board,” she said, though there was not one of them that did not know the procedure.

“Thank you, Pilot,” Father said serenely. “We will await your signal.”

—•—

Shan settled into his chair, engaged the webbing and leaned his head against the rest. Kris was in the observer’s chair, and Vanner in the passenger seat nearest. They were chatting, low-voiced, between themselves, boon companions and canny old campaigners that they were. The murmur of their voices would soothe a pilot’s nerves, simultaneously assuring her that she was not alone, and that no one was paying the slightest attention to her.

Not quite true, of course. Kris
was
observing, and would be quick to the board, should there be need.

Shan didn’t think there would be need. It was a well-known trait of pilots—especially of Korval pilots—that they found sims useful, to a certain, specific, point. But live flight—
that
was blood and breath to them. Danae was very right to suppose that Padi’s late setbacks were attributable to nothing more than simple boredom.

He settled his head more comfortably against the chair rest, and closed his eyes.

Vanner and Kris were fond comrades; their bond burnished by time, glowing with a steady, comfortable warmth, like a banked fire. Shan deliberately shut them out of his perception, and concentrated on Padi.

There was some anxiety there—flutters of oranges and ambers, nothing out of the way for a second class pilot who had been abruptly called to an unexpected duty.

There was also a definite, though rather subdued, sense of pleasurable excitement. He considered that, having expected to find more…vivacity present in the face of live flight. But perhaps the child was still worrying over details of the reception. If so, that would soon enough be put aside. In fact…

“All passengers,” Padi said from the board. “We are cleared; drop in three, at my mark.

“…Mark.”

—•—

Hazenthull had finished laying in
Tarigan
’s outbound course, when it came to her.

It came to her…that she was never going to see him again. That he would travel with the
Admiral
until that person was deemed able to take care of himself, and then Tolly would—take up his life.

His life that had nothing to do with Surebleak, nor with Hazenthull nor’Phelium.

She, of course, would provide cover for Pilot Tocohl until they raised Surebleak, when they, too, would part, and she would return to Korval’s house and take up her duty there. Perhaps Commander Lizardi would have her back on Port Security—but the thought of partnering with some other of the guards…did not appeal.

Perhaps there was some other duty to which she might be set, though she would, naturally, abide by the captain’s orders.

She sighed, and spun out of her chair. The ship was too quiet, she thought, with Tolly and Inki—Tocohl, too—aboard
Admiral Bunter
. Tolly had filed for an interim registration, gaining the
Admiral
a temporary home port at Callian. It would do well enough until they were clear of Jemiatha space. They would likely file for a permanent registration at Waymart, but she—

She would never know.

Hazenthull took a deep, impatient breath, and turned, as the lock cycled.

A familiar step sounded in the hall, and she felt lightheaded, as if she had fallen hard, and all of the air gone out of her lungs.

Before she had her breath back, Tolly had entered the bridge—and stopped, the easy smile fading from his face.

“What’s the problem, Haz?”

She would sound a fool, she thought. But when had Tolly ever laughed at her?

“I was thinking that this will be last time I will see you,” she said. “I will…miss you.”

He came forward, face serious. He’d lost weight, she noticed with dismay. The work was wearing him away, and the
Admiral
did not know enough about human people to insist that he eat, exercise, and keep regular shifts.

“I’ll miss you, too, Haz. I’m glad we had some extra time to get to know each other better.”

Extra time…

She glanced aside.

“That wasn’t what you wanted to hear,” he said. Tolly had learned her too well, and now…

She took another breath, pushing the air deep in her lungs, and met his eyes.

“I like you, Tolly Jones,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper, “very much.”

Blue eyes widened, and she had no trouble reading distress, felt her chest constrict again…

“No, hey—Haz.”

He had her hand between his small, warm palms, and looked up at her, ridiculous fragile Terran that he was—but she knew that for a lie even as the thought formed. He was Tolly; nothing else mattered.

“Haz, I’m flattered—and I like you, too. Very much. But you gotta know something. Everybody likes me, near enough. That’s part of the design.”

She frowned down at him, seeing the exhaustion in his face.

Is this a comrade’s care?
she asked herself.
He needs rest, not a challenge.

And yet—

“Do you say that my…partiality is…an illusion?”

His mouth tightened, and his hands did, around hers.

“Not saying that at all. Your feelings are absolutely real. I’m sorry, that’s all, ’cause you might not’ve had ’em, except for the design—prolly wouldn’t’ve, in fact—and now I’ve made you unhappy, and that’s not how I oughta treat the best partner I ever had.”

His eyes glittered, and it would be among the worst things she had ever done, equal to her part in the Elder’s death, if she forced such a warrior as Tolly Jones to tears.

“The Scout says that there is Balance in all things,” she said. “So if I will miss you…very much, then I have…liked being your partner…very much. I will remember that.”

For a moment, she thought she had done her worst, then he blinked and smiled, and raised her hand.

He bent his head, and she felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

She took a careful breath, and held very still, even as he relinquished her, and looked up, smiling, not the old, bright smile, but a softer thing, perhaps sadder.

“That’s the ticket,” he said. “I’ll remember you, Haz. I’m glad we could say good-bye.”

“I am…glad, too,” she said, and could think of nothing else to add.

“Right, then,” he said, more briskly. “I’ll just pick up the rest of my kit. Early lift, tomorrow.”