Halfling Moon (6 page)

It was three days before he'd managed to get
outdoors again, two of them spent huddled in the threadbare bed,
staring, thinking, letting impossible things and small noises
frighten him into stiff, senseless panic, closed eyes worse than
open. That first night, only Nugget, the frail very skinny cat, had
come to sleep with him, and then not really sleep, but sit at the
bottom of the bed with big eyes, worried and unpurring. On the
third day, Yulie managed to eat, and then to remember that the
crops would need in, real soon.

Some days he kept track of time, some days
he didn't. The crops and the cats and the auto-calendar helped him
keep up, mostly. Almost a year to the day since Rollie was gone,
and things still needed doing.

Today . . . today he'd actually contemplated
walking all the way down to the first tollgate, but then the
searchers had showed up while he was in the field, and he'd
fled.

Stretching, finally, letting the leaf-fall
and rough browning grass comfort him, Yulie curled his head on his
arms against a wind-breaking rock.

* * *

Mr. pel'Tolian's note, franked as it was
with a pristine Korval seal, looked out of place amid the piles of
local paper, envelopes, and mismatched inks. He'd moved it aside
several times, knowing that it could wait, knowing that the
business of Boss Conrad of Surebleak was far more pressing than the
business of a Pat Rin yos'Phelium, man about town on the distant
and increasingly inhospitable world of Liad. The note had arrived
on the overnight, likely brought in by a scout ship or a Juntavas
courier; possibly it had arrived via Korval's own packet vessels.
Surely it was not more than a day or two out of Solcintra Port,
unlike many of the items in these piles which had taken days to
travel up from the port or down Blair Road, hand to tollbooth to
hand to end up here, with him, in a pile. A pile which had waited
patiently while he was away to Liad, but which demanded attention
now that he was returned and despite that he'd rather be walking
arm in arm with his lady to his casino, or even just having lunch
with his planning committee.

Piles -- piles were his bane. Back home --
on Liad -- his mail came in neat bundles, a few paper newsletters
and such, invitations more frequently, business items -- rarely
more than a piece or two -- and already sorted by likely priority
by the early and steadfast action of Mr. pel'Tolian himself. The
mail and news came self-sorted into the proper channels and
databases of his day screen, where it could be added to his carry
book or not.

Here, there were piles. And in the piles . .
.

Some were letters on paper to begin with,
others were letter size now because anything of on-world interest
that needed to be shared beyond his own staff likely would need to
be in paper format to facilitate that sharing. And paper format
needed to be logged, signed, notated, carried, stored, lifted --
and piled.

Once that happened, of course, and items
were acted on, there was a multiplication rather than reduction of
piles --

Pat Rin sighed. Across the room, Silk, the resident cat,
stirred, and opened one eye enough to check on the Boss and his
work. Ensconced on a pile of paper land records from the old days
of the mining company,
his
work was going fine, thank you.

For himself, Pat Rin stretched, pleased that
there was neither pain nor ache when he did. He was aware, too,
that his family included Healers…and that a recent three-breath,
closed-eye hug from Cousin Anthora, followed by a smile and a
simply-said "You've been taking chances, Cousin. I knew you could."
meant that she'd gathered to him healing that a month of Surebleak
clinic could not.

Well, then.

Now in hand, Mr. pel'Tolian's note had more
weight to it than he'd expected. Unsealing it, he saw it contained
not only a letter but several visiting cards. He laughed -- ah yes,
Shan would have no doubt much enjoyed dispensing these -- after
all, they still carried the soon to be eliminated Trealla Fantrol
address.

Lord Pat Rin
, the letter began without flowery
preamble,
this day I received in your name a visitation by the
yos'Galan lifemates and Miss Anthora in the pursuit of the final
removal, as we previously discussed. I have secured passage for
myself as well as the entire contents of your Nasingtale Alley
establishment. In keeping with our ongoing arrangements, I include
Mistress Miranda in these travel plans and am assured that she will
find the trip comfortable; rest assured she will travel in my suite
and will not be paraded about the ship.

Your clan rug was rightfully of special interest to your
guests and my bindings on it were checked by all. Miss Anthora and
Lady Mendoza also did a "security walk-through" inasmuch as there
have been several efforts by the curious to obtain a glimpse of the
interior since your shot to the capital. Miss Anthora located
several items long missed by Master Quin; these have been included
in his desk, which is sealed for shipping. The final containers for
the more precious items have also arrived. After some discussion, I
have permitted Lord yos'Galan to take several cases of the finer
bottles of your Lordship's sherry and port for safekeeping in
Dutiful Passage's own wine cellar. Several bottles travel with me,
and the rest will be in the general safeguarding of the Passage,
which will carry nothing but Korval's own household goods and
necessities this trip.

Odd, it was though written the words carried
the weight of pel'Tolian's voice with them. Odder, perhaps, was how
welcome that voice had been when Pat Rin had stood shoulder to
shoulder with Val Con and Miri, accepting visitors the second
evening after the blast. On the door were scouts as security, in
the corner were scouts and pilots of Korval, all armed, all
dangerous, and into this midst, unbidden, had come pel'Tolian --
through the security, through what surely was a madman's pattern of
traffic and confusion leading to Korval's valley.

"Lord Pat Rin, Nasingtale Alley stands
firmly with you."

Of a moment, he'd nearly doubted the voice,
for the irony of having his houseman declare for him and for his
actions was not lost on him. Neither was the man's rapid appraisal
of the pilot's jacket Pat Rin wore, and of the flawless faux delm's
ring he wore on the wrong finger, a ring now a fixture, against all
odds. The fact that his man had come armed to this reception of
allies, friends, and spies -- but yes, Pat Rin had heard the tales
of the dea'Gauss taking on the enemy. Why should he be surprised
that the man who'd made sure young Quin ate when his father was not
to home should be prepared for such duty?

His own bow had been crisp with
acceptance.

"How fares the Alley, my friend?"

"As always, Lord Pat Rin -- we have a quiet
neighborhood. Should you require, we are ready this evening to
drive you home ourselves and . . ."

The laughter from Miri was unexpected, but
--

"All honor to you," had come his cousin's
voice. A step and a bow had brought Val Con into the conversation.
"Even such a secure place as Nasingtale Alley is at risk in these
times, Mr. pel'Tolian. In addition, his Delm has need of Lord Pat
Rin's expertise at immediate hand until matters settle somewhat. Be
assured that we do the best we may at feeding and housing him!"

pel'Tolian's bow had been as precise as any
could want: acknowledging a delm's right to order things yet
prepared to press for his own necessities and those of his
employer. If . . .

"Surely the situation is not so dire?"

That was Miri, of course, in her best
Solcintran accent. He'd discovered the delmae something of a
wonder, speaking Terran like a mercenary, commanding the respect of
an Yxtrang, and catching the fine points of Liaden -- and able to
do all with a sense of underlying good nature.

"Your employer is also our kin, and his
presence is both welcome and an honor. May one inquire if you've
ever used that?"

Miri's point, not to the hand gun sealed
beneath a weather guard on pel'Tolian's belt, but toward his
offhand pocket --

His man hesitated visibly, proving he was
more a houseman than a gambler, and bowed a simple yes.

"My grandfather's," he said, "now mine."

"Too large for a pocket, sir. It is a good
plan, but it needs refinement. I firmly suggest you speak to the
very large man over there," here she'd pointed out the Yxtrang! "--
and tell him the Captain sent you -- see if he's got something more
portable for local carry. Else ask Pilot Cheever."

And then there'd been more people to meet
and deal with -- a matter of confirming landing access on Surebleak
for a retired scout and -- but Pat Rin managed to convey his
appreciation, and his concern, and to confirm that pel'Tolian was
not interested in staying on Liad, or in leaving his service. Later
Nelirikk was pleased to give as his judgment that pel'Tolian was
alert and dutiful; fully worthy of carrying a weapon in Korval's
troop.

Thus did pel'Tolian increase his worth even
as his station altered -- from a fribble's houseman to majordomo of
a back-world dictator's prime establishment.

Well, yes, that was true, the Boss told
himself. It was only true.

I look forward to arranging the new house to best
advantage.

Vesker pel'Tolian.

Pat Rin folded the letter and slipped it
into his pocket:

"Changes, Silk, and soon. I'm afraid we will no longer get
by with the modest guidance of Natesa and Mr. McFarland. I assure
you that Mistress Miranda and pel'Tolian will not consider our
current unruly arrangements sufficient, and will insist you work
for your living."

Silk opened his eyes, flicked an ear and
settled in. Silk knew how to deal with changes. And he already
worked for his living.

Closing his eyes again, he left the Boss to
his duties.

The Boss, for his part, saw that the day's
green Action File was not yet delivered, this late in the day, and
frowned. True, he'd barely returned from Solcintra, but surely
procedures hadn't slipped so far so quickly. He rang the small bell
he kept on a shelf above his desk, which would summon someone,
likely a recruit from Miss Audrey's, to find Cheever McFarland or
the green day file, or perhaps both.

* * *

The surly gaze of the double-star
Chuck-Honey barely a light year away was flickerless in the breeze
when he woke, more proof that the wind had turned and came now from
the northwest rather than the southwest -- none of the road's smoke
and smudge in the sky now, none of whatever latent heat the city
and its spaceport might contribute to shimmer the sky.

This sleeping outdoors would have to stop,
should have stopped now that Rollie was gone -- no one to remind
him of the dangers of sleeping himself to death in the cold. And it
was cold … or at least cool, despite his shirt and jacket; pulling
himself to his feet using the rock he'd sheltered against. He'd
managed last winter though, him and the cats. He'd get through.
Boss Sherton told him when she'd walked up with some butter just a
a few days back that he was a good neighbor, and besides, he traded
her fresh coffee, and she told him the news.

This last time, she'd tried to get him to walk to town and
trade direct, but Rollie'd got caught up in all that and never come
back. And him, Yulie, he'd never been down to pick up the stuff
Miss Audrey had. If he'd have really needed it, he would have known
Rollie'd taken it. But trading direct was supposed to be better and
safer now, said Melina. There was a new boss -- a Boss of Bosses!
Not only was he a Boss, but he
had
brought ships to port, which had to be
good for business. This Boss Conrad was a man who was making
changes.

Changes -- Yulie didn't like changes all that much.
Didn't
trust
changes, all that much.

Frost well before dawn then, that was his
prediction, and the skittering he could hear in the leaves more
evidence of the season and the weather. The wind on his face would
quiet sometime before -- ah!

The flash of a meteor: a momentary
scintillation fading into a green line fading into the gathered
darkness, the light a comfort rather than a threat.

Rollie'd thought he spent too much time with
Grandpa watching the sky, and Yulie wondered if he spent too much
time now, on account of he knew the sky. Most of the changes in it
were cyclical -- the sky would look much the same this time next
year, aside from the barely perceptible flight of the double stars.
His full panic came on him easily in the open day, but not as often
in the night. Under the stars it was as if he sat more firmly in
the universe, as wild as the universe was.

A flash -- meteor?

No, what had caught his eye was -- what? It
clearly moved at an orbital speed, low to the horizon, but if he
read it right it was easily as large as the largest ship he'd ever
seen orbit Surebleak, maybe larger. There was more going on in the
sky; it was as if a swarm of ships had arrived nearly at once -- a
host of ships, orbiting almost in a stream or a ring, there were so
many. He felt a flutter of energy, pushed the panic back. Boss
Sherton had explained that the Boss of Bosses was busy, and that
she trusted what Conrad was doing, and that there were ships. The
big one that caught his eye was in a polar orbit crossing that
stream; a small halo of other ships about it -- it might even be
one of the legendary Korval trade ships Grampa'd always talked
about.

Changes!

Yulie shivered, unsure if it was the weather or the times.
Grampa had taught him to be wary of change. Change had taken away
his ship, and then the Settlement Agreement he'd made with the
company had turned into a debacle as the whole organization
evaporated shortly after he'd set down to take over his property,
prepared to lease out . . . well, a regional depression did nothing
to make
that
work.