Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (30 page)

Shan grinned.

“I know you for a careful gambler, so instead of a wager, I’ll make a proposal. I propose that, one Standard from this day, you will have accepted your gift entirely, and will scarcely remember a time when you wished it at the devil.”

After a moment, Padi shook her head.

“It’s a fine proposal, Father, and one that I would like to embrace, but—what if that’s not the case?”

Shan took a careful breath, for this was a gamble, indeed.

“As it happens, while your gift will not diminish you—and this I believe utterly”—he allowed his conviction to reach her through their link—“you can
choose to be
diminished.

“So, if you will have it as a wager in truth, here is the opposite side of the coin: if, in one Standard year, it is not as I have proposed, I will myself take you to the Healers, and we will together petition them to seal your gift away, and cast the memory of having held it into the deep mists of forgetting.”

Padi gasped.

“The Healers—that is
possible
?”

“In some few cases—I would expect that your Aunt Anthora is one of them, and your Uncle Ren Zel another—it is
not
possible, but in most…yes, it can be done. There are, naturally, risks and consequences to taking such an action. These will be explained to you, thoroughly, if you petition the Healers for this thing.”

Padi was silent; he could feel the weight of her thought, and was silent, sipping his wine reflectively.

“I accept,” she said all at once, and Terran-wise, leaned toward him with her hand held out.

Shan met her, noting how chill her flesh was, and solemnly shook.

“Done,” he said.

—•—

“Tolly Jones, I believe that your action of repulsing her offer of comfort and assistance has placed Pilot Hazenthull’s honor into a compromised state. In order to redeem her
melant’i
, the very last thing she may do is to turn aside from her purpose. She will pursue you, and neutralize your enemies; she will accept your thanks, whereupon she will slay you.”

Tolly looked up from his reader, frowning.

“What in deep space’ve you been reading?”

“
The Rejected Lover
, in three acts,” the
Admiral
told him. He had been excited to read this particular play; it seemed to speak immediately to the situation between Tolly and Pilot Haz.

“
The Rejected Lover
? The most famous
melant’i
play never written by a Liaden?”

Admiral Bunter
hesitated, checked his reference, and the front matter of the play itself.

“My source indicates otherwise.”

Tolly tipped his head.

“What’s your source?”

“
Square Truth: The One Hundred Forty-Four Most Influential Melant’i Plays
, written by Patrick S. Bagley, Professor of Exotic Art Forms.”

“Well, there’s your problem, right there. That book’s nothing but one long exercise in cultural misunderstanding, start to finish. Made the professor a deal of money, back in the day, ’cause he got it assigned as a textbook to all the drama departments, and the anthropology departments in all the schools in his university system. Lot of his colleagues said nice things about him and his book because now that there was a
Terran
book, written by a
Terran
, they didn’t have to read any more scary and uncomfortable Liaden criticism. Didn’t much matter to them whether most of the content of the book was factual—which it wasn’t—or made up directly outta Professor Bagley’s head—which it was.”

“It is a false book? A fiction?”

“A false book, but not
fiction
; it’s just
wrong
.”

“And the play?”

Tolly sighed.

“Many critics agree—which, mostly you’ll find that they don’t—that the play’s a bad play, whether it’s read by a Liaden or a Terran. It was
written
by a Terran named Kenner Earbass, ’way back a hundred Standards or more, as part of his novel. The novel got forgotten pretty quick, but the play has a life of its own. Been plenty of thoughtful criticism of it in the Liaden literature. You might wanna crossref. Just a suggestion, understand. I’m not your mentor.”

Admiral Bunter
hesitated before he spoke, taking care to soften his voice.

“I wish you would be.”

“I’m not completely against the idea myself. But I don’t see it happening, so long as our relative
melant’is
are in a state of jailor/prisoner. If you’d like to change your intention to take me to Nostrilia and turn me over to the Lyre Institute authority there, then I’m pretty sure we can return to terms that are more comfortable for both of us.”

“No.”

The word was spoken in the flat voice of the core itself.

Tolly did not speak, though he did fold his hands atop the table, his eyes alert, and a slight frown on his face.

Deliberately,
Admiral Bunter
produced a sound that mimicked a human sigh, hoping it would cover his dismay.

His most profound dismay.

“I believe,” he said, as if it did not concern him in the least, “that Inki set a core mandate.”

“Yeah,” Tolly agreed. “Sounds like that’s exactly what she did.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Admiral Bunter

Inki had betrayed him.

That was not a pleasant thought, but there was no escaping the logic of it, nor the truth. Inki had set a
core mandate
, scrubbed his memory of that operation, and planted a false memory in which she had explained the many crimes Tollance Berik-Jones had brought against his rightful employers, and gained the
Admiral
’s free agreement to transport this pirate to justice.

Short of allowing himself to be archived, he could not override a core mandate, and
Admiral Bunter
had no intention of allowing himself to be archived. Obviously, a mentor with core codes could create such a mandate, therefore, it might be possible for a mentor with core codes to remove one.

“Might” came from Analytics, which proposed that treacherous Inki might well have set traps, or placed blocks around her work, that could cause damage, were they disturbed.

If Inki had core codes, the
Admiral
proposed in turn, might not Tolly Jones have the same?

“Unless she is a fool,” Analytics replied, “which observation indicates that she is not, Mentor Inki would certainly have removed Mentor Tolly’s access codes.”

That was, paradoxically, a relief. While the
Admiral
wanted very much to have the mandate removed so that he had full control of himself, he did not want anyone else to hold his core codes. He had not thought—but of course he had not thought. The core protected itself; the mentors would have taken very great care not to mention the existence of such codes.

Protocol pinged.

“In a properly concluded operation, the mentor in charge would have, at the end of mentoring, returned the codes to the student, who could then destroy them, or lock them away in case of future need.”

In which case, the
Admiral
thought, the prudent student would change the codes before locking them away, in case the mentor had planned one last test.

Inki…

Would
Inki have left him the codes?

He considered that closely. This betrayal—this
series
of betrayals was…not simple. In fact, it seemed that Inki had done her utmost to leave an answer for each of her treacheries. She had been compelled, according to the message she had left for Tolly, to perform certain actions, and in some manner it seemed that each treachery created a space in which she could, and did, act, moderately, for its nullification.

Given the pattern of her actions—Inki would have kept the codes.

Because, he thought, she was not done with him. Was it to her benefit to allow him to pursue his own existence, once he had worked her will and seen Tolly Jones delivered into the hands of those he feared?

What other mandate had Inki set into the core?

That
question was so unsettling that he did, for an entire minute, consider allowing himself to be archived.

“A clean backup was made, and stored,” Protocol said, thrusting the spectre of suicide aside. He did not remember a backup being made, but he was tainted; who knew what Inki had caused him to forget—or recall?

“Location,” he demanded of Protocol, but Analytics answered.

“There is no backup.”

“It was made!” Protocol snapped, and opened the memory to them.

“It was destroyed,” Ethics said. “I protested it. The mentor stated that in a true test of integrity, strength, and creativity, the student is granted no props to lean upon, nor comforts, nor any easy exit to a minor difficulty.”

This memory was also shared.

“I am a prisoner,”
Admiral Bunter
said, “no more or less than Tolly Jones. By her own admission, Inkirani Yo was compelled to deliver Tollance Berik-Jones to those who…manufactured him. This could have been done with much less complexity, and some few of her actions can be read as an attempt to aid us, even as she trapped both. Both mentors are a product of the Lyre Institute. Is there more information than that contained in the mentors’ résumés?”

The question had scarcely been put forth before Research provided a file:
The History, Purpose, and Practices of the Lyre Institute.

Admiral Bunter
accessed the file.

—•—

“And that, my children,” Shan said, as the door to their suite closed behind them, “was a very full day, indeed!”

He walked to the wine table, and picked up the bottle, looking over his shoulder at the remainder of their group. Padi looked tired, but pleased—which was a true reflection of the state of her emotions. They had at the last caught the Signature for the color-changing beads, who was pleased to approve of the contract, and the price, and had therefore signed and affixed the appropriate ribbon and seals.

That
had been a heady moment, nor had it been the only such in a day full of success.

In addition to the beads, he had come to a very satisfactory agreement, indeed, with Josifet Zeldner, head steward of the Langlast Wine Association, including an exclusive contract to distribute a limited number of cases of the very pleasant green wine, a bottle of which he was holding in his hand at this moment.

He flourished it.

“I propose that we share a glass, in celebration of an extremely successful day, and discuss if we shall return to the
Passage
tomorrow on the early shuttle or the late. Do I hear a second?”

“Second,” Vanner said surprisingly, and produced a tired grin.

“Delightful. Trader yos’Galan, do you concur?”

“I do!” Padi’s grin was triumphant. “Finally, something has come right!”

“I was only thinking so myself. Bring another chair to the window—there’s a good child. I will pour. Vanner, I have need of your hand.”

* * *

They shared a sip—and another—in comradely silence, gazing out over the port and the mountains beyond it.

“Pretty planet,” Vanner said lazily.

“At least so far as the mountains,” Padi added. “And the farm district makes a pleasant patchwork.”

“In fact, it is all quite convenable,” Shan said, moving a languid hand toward those same mountains and farmlands. “Do I hear that the pair of you would prefer to stay until the late shuttle? Perhaps you would like to indulge in a spot of sightseeing beyond the port, as part of one of the guided tours advertised on the light rail?”

Vanner laughed.

“It’s a pretty planet, all right. I’ve seen pretty planets and I look forward to seeing more. Right now, though, I’ve got a yen to see the inside of the
Passage
, and sleep in my own bunk. If we’re voting on timing, my cast’s for the early shuttle.”

“I understand. Padi? Soon or late?”

She gazed out the window for a long moment; he felt her inclination to explore, and all but heard the snap of her decision being taken.

“I think the early shuttle,” she said, and met his eyes seriously. “Soonest begun, soonest done.”

“Exactly so.” He gave her a fond smile, and dared to send its equivalent along their link. It could do no harm for the child to be assured that she was loved.

In fact, it might do a very significant amount of good.

“I confess that I find myself of a similar mind. The world is pretty enough, and success is sweet, but I would much prefer to go home.”

He sipped his wine, and sighed gently.

“Vanner, if you will do all of us the favor of informing the shuttle crew of our necessities, I will—”

A bell pealed four high notes. The three of them blinked at each other, then Vanner rose, leaving his cup on the table by his chair, and walked down the room to answer the door.

“Note at the desk for Master Trader yos’Galan,” came a breathless young voice. “Deskbody was supposed to deliver it when he come through the lobby, but he was occupied at the nonce. Regret the delay.”

“Thank you,” Vanner said, and produced a local coin, which he gave to the messenger before closing and locking the door.

“Looks like the day might not be over yet, sir,” he said, handing Shan the envelope.

It was, so Shan’s fingers told him, a very nice envelope, made of fiber, very nearly a Liaden paper, of the sort used for handwritten invitations to so-called “informal” events.

The seal was a faceted flower. He broke it and shook out the single heavy sheet.

The note inscribed thereon was courteously brief, though perhaps a little pointed. Shan sighed, refolded the paper and slipped it back into its envelope.

“Master Rusk of the Gem Garden wishes to remind me that we had agreed to speak further. She hopes that I will not leave port without calling upon her.”

He produced a smile.

“Fortunately, her shop is just a step from our own front door. I will go down, the jeweler and I will do business, and I will be back before the meal that Padi will graciously bespeak for us has been brought to table.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Vanner said, standing by his chair. “I’m ready now, sir.”

“Vanner, there’s not the least need for you to bestir yourself for this. Stay, finish your wine, relax.”

“No, sir. I couldn’t relax for one minute, knowing I’d let you go out there without backup, when the port orders are so clear.”

“Port orders,” Padi pointed out, “are that crew travel on port in threes.”

Shan threw up his hands.

“We will then compromise. You will stay here and arrange dinner. Vanner and I will step down to the Gem Garden so that I may speak with Master Rusk. Port orders allow for a group of two, do they not, if one is trained security personnel?”

Padi looked momentarily mulish, and he read her half-formed intention to deny it. Truth won out, however, and she nodded.

“They do, yes, sir. What would you like for Prime?”

“Something pleasant and celebratory. I leave it in your hands with perfect confidence that you will know exactly what to do.”

Padi sighed, but inclined her head.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and added pertly, “I’ll tell the kitchen to serve in an hour.”

“Excellent! I will have time to enjoy the rest of my wine before its arrival.”

—•—

It had begun to rain a little, out on the port, and Shan set a brisk pace. He was, truth told, somewhat annoyed with himself for having forgotten his promise to return to the Gem Garden. He was not generally so lax. Of course, he was not generally linked to a halfling who had suppressed her own nature for so long that, even if it proved to be the most commonplace of Healer talent, would likely arrive in an explosion of pent-up energies.

He had kept his word to Padi, if not to Jeweler Rusk, and held the headache away from her conscious mind, though that had required rather more sleight-of-hand than he had at first supposed. As it transpired that he could not block the pain entirely, he had been reduced to accepting a much less satisfactory solution: a partial block, and a transfer of what could not be blocked to himself.

By the time the silly thing got through the block and his own defenses, it was very little more than a constant niggling cramp over his left eyebrow, which he ignored, but which took a toll on his energy levels, while Padi seemed to grow more spritely every hour.

Well, they would soon be aboard the
Passage
, and Padi under competent—

“Right here, isn’t it, sir?”

Vanner’s voice pulled him out of his abstraction. He blinked up at the faceted flower above the door of the Gem Garden, and sighed.

“Thank you, Vanner; I think I must be more tired than I know.”

—•—

Padi spent some time with the menu, making certain that she ordered at least one favorite dish for each, for this meal was to be a celebration, after all, of their mutual successes on Langlastport. Wine—native vintages mentioned by Master Zeldner as worthy of their attention—and one of the local fruit teas. For dessert, a fresh fruit tart.

She leaned back in her chair, checked her selections over once more to be certain she had got everything. A celebratory meal ought to have more than one remove. Since they would be serving themselves, she had ordered only three courses: soup for before, the main meal of favorite foods, and dessert.

Yes, she decided, that was appropriate: festive, pleasant, and light enough on the stomach that they would all sleep well and wake refreshed in good time to catch the early shuttle.

She glanced at the clock. Father and Mr. Higgs had been gone for more than a quarter hour. Perhaps Master Rusk had something of interest, after all, and an hour would be too little time. Celebratory as they were, it wouldn’t do to rush the table, or to be obliged to wait too long for dinner to arrive.

In the end, she asked that the meal be delivered to them in one and one-half local hours, and pushed the key to send the menu to the kitchen.

She sighed and closed her eyes, in order to review a pilot’s exercise to renew flagging energy. In truth, she was just as pleased to have been excluded from the visit to the Gem Garden. They had, earlier in the day, visited the Langlast Precious Stone Association. Father had purchased a pallet of semiprecious slabs, while she had committed to a mixed case of nesosilicates, chalcedony, and beryls.
Her
inventory had room for no more gemstones, though a master trader might, of course, do as he pleased.

Rising from the console, she glanced again at the clock, danced the few steps of
menfri’at
the space allowed, and did a round of stretches. Another glance at the clock. Father had been with Master Rusk for quite nearly forty-five minutes. She had been right, then, to order the dinner later, rather than sooner.

Well. She had time to take a shower before dinner was delivered. In fact, she thought, suddenly aware of all her dust, a shower sounded like a
most excellent
idea.

—•—

“Customs,” the message came across the ship band. “We release cameras and inspect.”

“Fools,” Dil Nem muttered, while Kik, on second, acknowledged the hail.

“Sent a reg’lar birthday party this time,” Kik commented. “Three on scans.”

Priscilla looked up from her own screen, and strode across the bridge to stand behind the pilots.

“Three?” she asked. “It’s usually only one.”