Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (3 page)

“If the pilot sneezes,
Bechimo
will bounce off of that rig,” Dulsey said, apparently forgetting that whatever had happened there had been finished long ago.

Behind the tightly boxed ship, another phased in—a corsair with the lines of predator. Breath caught, they watched as more hunters appeared. Orders were issued;
Bechimo
was to yield to escort, and prepare to surrender to authority.

The answer to that was remarkably clear, as if the pilot had spoken directly into the comm of every ship about Ynsolt’i.

“Orsec Twelve, First Class Pilot Theo Waitley, on
Bechimo
, flying for Laughing Cat, Limited, here. Be advised that we’re targeted by three unannounced ships and that we are targeting in return. I am directing my Exec and my ship to take immediate defensive and responsive action as required. We will not comply with your request while, outside, hunter ships approach.”

Evasive action, indeed! The Uncle realized that he had been holding his breath and took in air, his whole attention pinned to the screen.

There was too much noise; pilots objecting; pilots demanding—the tumult went unheeded as
Bechimo
ran, and returned fire until the hunters, one by one, were lost in traffic.

Except for one.

That one…leapt forward, firing what the energy grid at the bottom of the screen classified as neutrinos.

Bechimo
returned fire; the attacking ship was hit—The vid flickered, and when it steadied again,
Bechimo
was gone.

There came more noise: pilots demanding to know what had happened, some few clever souls proclaiming that
Bechimo
had Jumped, others claiming that a Jump in such traffic was impossible, the other ship must have been killed in the same blast that had taken the hunter…

When at last it was over, Uncle took a deep and not entirely steady breath, and leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his belt buckle, a slight frown on his face.

“You’re not amused?” Dulsey asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“On one level,” he said slowly. “One must allow Pilot Waitley and
Bechimo
to be formidable. And one might almost feel, a little, sorry for the poor agents of the Department. How could they have considered it possible that
Bechimo
’s crew would give themselves up? What were they thinking, to provoke and attack, with so many witnessing their actions?”

He flung a hand up and toward the screen, fingers sketching disdain.

“
This
is the enemy Korval cannot defeat.”

“Nor can we,” Dulsey observed drily.

He sniffed. “Nor
have
we. Yet.”

“Fair enough. But at this pace, there will be nothing left for us; Pilot Waitley and her ship will have eaten them all.”

“Perhaps not, though certainly they are within their rights to take as many as they deem fit.” He shifted somewhat in his chair. “It is unfortunate that the actions of idiots pressed
Bechimo
into an indiscretion—again, with so many eyes upon them.”

“I mislike that neutrino bath,” Dulsey confessed. “It seemed
Bechimo
’s shields were thinning…badly.”

“I thought so, too. And while we may sit here, comfortable in the knowledge that they long ago outmaneuvered brigands, within the moment it must have seemed as if there was nothing else to do, save Jump. The situation is regrettable—but survivable, most especially given Seignur Veeoni’s work, eh?”

Dulsey smiled.

“In fact. When will she publish more widely?”

“An excellent question. I think it must be soon. Very soon.”

—•—

“Andiree will be the first new stop on the route,” Father said, as Padi brought him his wine. Before he had asked her to refresh his glass, they had been talking about her cartography coursework, but she knew him too well to be found on the wrong foot by so minor a change of topic as that.

“So it will,” she agreed, placing the glass on the flat disk of green-and-blue mottled stone that served as a coaster. Padi remembered the stern-faced person who had given it to him—Ambassador Valeking of Granda—as a gift of good faith. Ambassador Valeking hadn’t liked Father; her dislike so plain that Padi, who had been present at the meeting in her
melant’i
of cabin boy, had tasted sour grapes for hours afterward.

Father had been amused by the Ambassador, though Padi hadn’t been able to fathom precisely why. And in the end, neither dislike nor amusement had mattered, so far as she could see; Korval and Granada together reread the standing treaty, no changes were made, and both parties signed, accepting the terms for the next twelve years.

Oh, and Father had gotten a pretty stone coaster.

“How do you plan to mark this momentous event?” Father asked as she settled into the chair across the desk from him.

She considered him blandly, her best trading face in place.

“I plan to mark the occasion by taking on cargo that I will sell for profit at Chessel’s World,” she told him, seriously.

Father’s eyebrows rose. He picked up his glass and settled back. “But how piquant! Tell me more.”

The urge to sit up straighter and stiffer in answer to his comfortable slouch was almost irresistible. Nonetheless, Padi resisted it, sitting respectfully at attention, as befit a ’prentice in the presence of a master, but with muscles relaxed and face bland.

“My studies have shown me that Chessel’s World is the largest importer of
milaster
in its quadrant. Demand long ago outgrew the planet’s ability to produce it. The homegrown sort is triple-A grade, and is reserved to the Redcap caste and above. The rest is imported, which means that the lower castes pay too much for a product that is often inferior.”

“Shocking,” Father murmured, his silver eyes half-closed. “But tell me how you will turn this sad situation to your hand.”

“Easily enough,” Padi answered. “Andiree produces
milaster
—enough for its needs, which are modest, and a surplus, which is sold for export.”

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her eyes on Father’s face.

“Andiree
milaster
does eventually find its way to Chessel’s World,” she continued, “but it is transported slowly, via serial transfers between looper ships. By the time it arrives at its market, it is not in the best shape, nutritionally, and the transport costs have raised its price considerably, though the traders’ margin is small.”

“This is dreadful; neither side of the trade is satisified!”

“No,” she dared to correct him. “Both sides are, grudgingly, satisfied, but neither is
happy
.”

“However, you have a scheme that will repair this situation.”

“I have a scheme that will deliver a superior product to market, and which will provide a profit. For us.
Dutiful Passage
.”

He raised his glass and gestured with it, an invitation to continue.

“The
Passage
is not a loop ship; we propose to Jump from Andiree to Chessel’s World. We will therefore have only our own transport expense in the equation, with whatever the cargo itself costs. At Chessel’s World, we can undersell our competitors, very slightly, while earning a significantly larger profit, for a superior product.”

“My recollection of the lists suggests that
milaster
, despite its popularity at Chessel’s World, is a low-end item.”

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “That makes it fitting spec cargo for a ’prentice, who is neither plump in pocket, nor likely to be sought out in the marketplace for her name alone.”

“How much do you intend to commit?”

She named a figure: fully half of her original spec fund for this trip, reserving those small profits she had gained at their previous ports.

“Depending on supply, of course,” she added.

“That is quite a lot of money,” he commented.

She allowed herself a smile. “I wish to become
considerably
plumper in pocket.”

“As who does not? Well, you appear to have thought the matter out. Please, keep me informed of your progress.”

“Yes, Master Trader.”

“Excellent. Now, I fear, I must come the parent for a moment, and allow you to know that Arms Master Schneider has been to see me, expressing some concern regarding your defense training.”

Padi blinked. “Concern?”

“Indeed. He praises your abilities in
menfri’at
lavishly, and is quite convinced that you will eventually excel at a higher level. His concern, however, has to do with your—let us say your
willingness to embrace
the ultimate answer to all questions. He expressed it thus: ‘If she was in a street scrape, there wouldn’t be anybody but her left standing.’ As arms master, he finds that you are too willing to adopt a single-solution stance to multiple—oft-times complex—problems. Such inflexibility weakens your defenses. He also confided his concern that this dependence upon one solution springs, not from control, but from a lack of confidence in your own abilities. He has therefore recommended that you be placed into the
daibri’at
class taught by Lina Faaldom. This will necessitate a very slight change in your schedule, which I trust will not discommode you in the least. You will begin with Master Faaldom your next on-shift.”

Padi took a breath, and another, struggling slightly. She had expected to be moved from her dance class, yes—but to a higher level within
menfri’at
!

If Arms Master Schneider had been
concerned
about control, why could he not have spoken
to her
, his student? Surely
he
did not share Tech Varoth’s absurd notion that her kin-ties meant that she could not be corrected!

She took a hard breath, aware that Father had stopped speaking and was looking at her with curiosity.

“Surely, if my moves lacked control,” she said keeping her voice even, though she wanted to shout. “Surely, if I were
inept
, Arms Master Schneider had only to correct me.”

“It is not, as I understand it, your moves which lack control,” Father said, his eyes on hers, “but your motivation.”

“I…don’t understand,” she said, trying not to feel as if she had…failed.
Daibri’at
—that was for babies! Well, no, of course it wasn’t. Hadn’t Syl Vor practiced
menfri’at
with them at the Rock? Very focused he had been, too, and his kills the cleanest of any of them, though she and Quin had been dancing for years. But
daibri’at
hadn’t a
use
; it was all about describing graceful movements, and breathing into the moment. It was, it was more akin to flower arranging than
real
dance.

“Padi.”

Father’s voice was soft, warm. She blinked up into his face.

“Sir?”

“I wonder, child, if you’ve been experiencing any discomfort? If perhaps your head might pain you at odd times, or you are suddenly disoriented, or…frightened, for what seems to be no reason?”

In fact, she thought irritably, he was wondering if she was
cha’dramliza
—a Healer—which she assuredly was not, nor would she ever be. Of that, she was determined.

Oh, it was reasonable to expect that she might be—Father himself was a Healer, and so was Aunt Anthora, though Aunt Anthora…well. In any case, Korval was strong in the
dramliz
talents; talents that typically manifested when one became halfling.

However, just because many of Korval became Healer or
dramliza
, did not mean that
all
of Korval did so. One need look no further than Quin and Cousin Pat Rin to find kin who were not Healers.

As
she
was not a Healer, nor ever would be.

She shook her head, and smiled for Father’s care, which was proper, and really, she was quite fond of Father and did not wish for him to worry.

“No, sir; nothing like that. I’m only running to keep up, so if sometimes I seem odd…”

“No odder than usual, I think,” Father said, and gave her one more considering look before leaning back in his chair and reaching again for his glass.

“Well, now, I have heard your plans for Andiree and Chessel’s World! Would you care to hear mine? I fear you’ll find them considerably less bold than yours, and so I warn you!”

“Only if you will explain what you mean to accomplish by meekness,” she said.

He smiled.

“Did I say
meek
?”

CHAPTER THREE

Dutiful Passage

In addition to her duties as librarian and cultural officer, Lina Faaldom served the ship as a Healer. Padi had been in the habit of considering her a sensible woman; the information that she was master of a dance as trivial, as
purposeless
, as
daibri’at
…had come as a shock. But, there. Quin was…mostly…quite sensible, wasn’t he? And didn’t he, regardless, spend time better used for reading, or for exercising, threading beads along wires and chains? Some of his creations were quite pretty, and could at least be given as gifts, and worn. And some cachet accrued to the creator when others willingly wore his handmade trifles, even if the stones were semiprecious, at best.

By contrast, this…
daibri’at
left no residual that might benefit one or one’s acquaintanceship. Of course, when one danced
menfri’at
, there was no
immediate
benefit, saving that gained through exercise. The real benefits became apparent when one was set upon by brigands and obliged to defend oneself or one’s comrades.

The aim of
daibri’at
, as far as Padi could divine, was…to look pretty.

In short, she thought, moving briskly down the hall toward her class with Master Faaldom,
daibri’at
was a waste of her time.

She did, however, have her orders and her schedule, which was why she was on her way to one of the smaller practice rooms. It had occurred to her, while she showered, that the case of Lina Faaldom being a Healer might not be…an accident. Father might well have asked a colleague for an evaluation of his daughter’s proclivities and talents.

After all, Father clearly
expected
her to come Healer—perhaps he even
wished
for his heir to share his talent. One didn’t like to disappoint Father, of course, but—no. She was
not
a Healer. It was simply not possible.

However, the more she considered the notion that Lina Faaldom had been asked to provide a second opinion, the more she believed that she would find herself a class of one for
daibri’at
—which had the effect of lifting her spirits somewhat as she came nearer the practice room. After all, if
daibri’at
practice was a mere subterfuge, then she would be back dancing
menfri’at
at her
proper level
, within a shift or two.

That thought cheered her so much that she was nearly dancing in fact when she reached her destination, and put her hand against the plate.

The door whisked open—and her mood crashed, from bright cheerfulness to dark despair.

For she was not Lina Faaldom’s only student in the dance of
daibri’at
. There were five others in the room ahead of her.

And one of them was Arms Master Schneider.

—•—

Shan tapped the keypad, and reached for his glass.

His first glance at the messages in-queue failed to discover the words, “Terran Trade Commission.” It was beginning to be worrisome, this lack of communication from the Terran Trade Commission.

He had initially considered it a positive sign that the honored members of the Rating Committee hadn’t laughed in his face, or issued a flat
no
on the spot, but had rather promised to take the matter of upgrading Surebleak Port’s rating, under advisement, review the files he had provided, and contact him with their ruling in three Standard months.

As that date came ever more near, he was beginning to suspect that their unusual agreeableness had been nothing more than a stall.

Well. He closed his eyes and indulged himself with a few deep, calming breaths before opening his eyes to consider his message queue again.

Carresens-Denobli…

He blinked, touched the access key, and eased back into his chair’s embrace, his eyes still on the screen, and a communication he had never thought to see during his career as a master trader.

In short, he was looking at a working memo from the Carresens Syndicate, under the signature of one Janifer Carresens-Denobli, Trader-at-Large. Trader Carresens-Denobli styled the memo a “first exchange of thoughts.” He confessed that he had only just begun thinking of Surebleak as a port of potential interest to the Syndicate, and thus his first thoughts were necessarily incomplete.

Other matters will doubtless occur to each as we discuss this in more depth, trader-and-trader. I offer here, as my first thoughts, a loop that accommodates Surebleak and also Ashlan, which is an anchor port for three Carresens long-loopers and many others, of the small-loop ships. I am thinking, too, of Nomi-Oxin-Rood, which is something much on the lines of Surebleak—there is potential, but nothing that would tie it into existing routes. If there were to be a new loop, perhaps a hybrid loop, though I have not thought deeply on this, it may be that the potentials of Surebleak and Nomi-Oxin-Rood may be realized, to the mutual benefit of traders.

I append a list of such cargoes as might be of interest to Ashlan and Nomi-Oxin-Rood, for which I have some information. Also, I append a list of those cargoes which are standard on Carresens ships, in our loops which now exist.

Of very great interest to me is information regarding those items which might find favor with the traders of Surebleak, and also perhaps an indication of speciality items, which might show well in the Festevalya, and so open up the mind of the wider universe to Surebleak.

I await in lively anticipation your first thoughts regarding this enterprise, which may be directed to me at the beam code below.

Sealed by the hand and will of

Janifer Carresens-Denobli

Carefully, Shan set his glass aside.

Of the several names he had given to Theo as possible contacts along the exploratory loop he had launched her upon…of those several contacts, he had supposed from the beginning that the Carresens would roundly ignore Korval’s overture and their ambassador.

The Carresens, after all, had no need of outside trade arrangements; they were complete in their trade family and their vast, intersecting network of loops, and felt no need to expand their range, or change their methods.

Until, apparently, now.

He tapped up a new screen and filed a query for Janifer Carresens-Denobli, then flipped back to reread the good trader’s “first thought,” and open the appended lists.

They were remarkably complete lists, for a mere “first thought.” One might almost wonder if the Carresens—or if
this particular
Carresens—had been expecting contact from Korval.

The list of the trade goods commonly carried by Carresens ships made for fascinating reading, revealing, as it did, quite a bit regarding the nature of the Carresens loop and long-time trade worlds.

Shan drew a careful breath.

What in the name of the gods had Theo said to the man?

The console chimed then and he flipped back to the research screen, learning in very short order that Janifer Carresens-Denobli not only stood as one of the Carresens three Ranking Traders, but was also a senior trade commissioner.

“The question changes,” Shan murmured, picking up his glass, and draining what was left. This was no ordinary Carresens trader. How had Theo
gotten an interview
with this person?

But that was obvious, wasn’t it?

Her ship.

Putting aside the fact of its sentience, the ship…was an old ship, with, let it be said,
interesting
lines. A ship that had been specifically built, a very long time ago, to be a long-looper.

Carresens and Denobli would not yet have merged families and routes, Shan thought, when
Bechimo
had been built. And if the present-day family members hadn’t quite seen anything like those lines, rest assured that they had records. Almost definitely, they would have been in contact with the Uncle, trade being one of his many…hobbies.

In fact, it wasn’t at all unlikely that the Carresens or the Denoblis—either or both—had invested in the building of
Bechimo
, many, many Standard years ago.

So, then, Theo wins an interview with a high-ranking Carresens trader because of her ship. The Carresens might even be excused for thinking that the ship was a message.

And so one of the three Carresens elders set himself to explore just what, precisely, that message might be, and if it was to the benefit of the Carresens.

Well, well; how novel. How
exciting
. He would have to consider carefully, to offer Trader Carresens and his Syndicate as fully realized a “first thought” as he had been offered.

Surely, there was profit to be made, for all.

They only needed to work out the details.

—•—

“And here arrives a new practitioner of our art,” Lina Faaldom said, as Padi stepped into the room, the door falling closed behind her. “Join us, please.”

Padi slipped her boots off and moved six steps across the soft floor, bowed to the master’s honor and straightened to meet a straight, honey-brown gaze.

Lina Faaldom was very slight, and somewhat shorter than Padi, who, after all, came from a clan known for the height of its members. She seemed to project—perhaps, being a Healer, she
did
project!—a cool serenity that put Padi immediately on her mettle. She was here to take a
lesson
, not a
nap
!

The master was seen, perhaps, to smile before she inclined her sleek head.

“Please, allow us to know your name,” she said, and raised a hand slightly, as if to restrain Padi’s enthusiasm. “Here, we are all students. Therefore, we share call-names only.”

“Yes,” Padi murmured, and bowed to the five who stood patiently in a semicircle before the master. “I am Padi.”

The student closest to her, who she thought worked in the cafeteria, bowed. “Riean.”

Next in line was Arms Master Schneider, who bowed and murmured, “Jon”; then a woman whose face bore the marks of many years, “Keslis.”

Then was Caz Tar, with an outworld accent; Padi thought him about Quin’s age. And she had certainly seen the next student, Brisalia, among the maintenance crew.

“Lina,” said Master Faaldom, in her cool voice. “Please, Padi, take your place beside Riean. You will want to have an arm’s width or more between you; we stretch wide here!”

This was apparently a joke, greeted by several chuckles. Riean grinned, and obligingly stretched his arms out at shoulder height, giving Padi her range. She nodded her thanks and took up a position beside, apart, and slightly behind him.

“Good,” Master…Lina said. “As I have said, we are all students here. Some of us have been studying longer, but
daibri’at
is a discipline which may be studied for a lifetime, the diligent student finding always some new facet to explore. The art has been described as a many-petaled flower; also as a multifaceted gem. And we come together, as students, to
practice
, each at our own level. As the eldest student of the art present, I often lead our practice. However, this is not always the case. Any one of us may lead a practice. And each of us will be asked to do so.”

She looked at them each, one by one, then said, “Since we have a new student among us today, who will explain our art?”

“I will,” said Brisalia. “
Daibri’at
focuses the student’s attention on movement. It’s…inward-turning. We pay attention to the movement, and our mind’s connection to our muscles, instead of focusing on the results of our movement.”

“As we do in
menfri’at
,” Arms Master—Jon—added.

“That is a useful contrast,” Lina said. “
Menfri’at
is an outward-looking art. It
acts upon
others.
Daibri’at
is inward-looking. From it, we learn the intent of our movements.”

The
intent
of her movements? Padi thought. Surely, when she kicked at a target, or an assailant, she
intended
to connect; to disable the threat? What other
intent
—

“So, having described what is essentially indescribable, let us begin our practice. Please find your center—feet under hips, weight evenly distributed. We will bring our arms up until our palms touch over our heads, and we will take four complete breaths before lowering our arms to our sides.”

Padi was already centered—one thing
menfri’at
had taught her was to
always
be centered; you never knew, after all, when an attack might come—and raised her arms until her palms touched.

…only then seeing that…Lina and the rest were still in the process of raising
their
arms, slowly and deliberately. She slid a surreptitious glance at Riean, and saw his eyes half-closed and his face rapt in concentration, as if the process of centering himself and beginning this simple movement had triggered some deeper process.

She looked to Lina again, seeing that her palms were now touching over her head, and watched as those four “complete” breaths were executed, as slow and as measured as a pilot might take them, in preparation for board rest.

Then, the arms came down, as slowly, if not more slowly, than they had risen. Padi lowered hers, as well, struggling to match the agonizingly slow pace, and found she was trembling and slightly sweaty by the time her fingers were pointing toward the floor again.

Lina opened her eyes and smiled.

“Next, we will raise our arms, as we just did, and, when we have completed four breaths, we will bend at the hips and bring our hands to the mat.”

Once again, the agonizingly slow rise of both arms. Padi grimly kept pace, pilot instincts, honed for precise, rapid action, abraded almost past bearing. At the top of the form, she breathed four complete breaths, hinged at the hip and bent until her fingertips touched the mat.

A drop of sweat plashed against the mat between her feet and her fingers. Padi breathed in, feeling her muscles shake with the need to
move
, breathed out, four times, and came up again to her full height.

“Excellent,” said Lina. “Now, place your right foot ahead of your left on the mat, bring your hands up as if you are holding a large ball, immediately before your heart.”