Halfling Moon (8 page)

The company capitulated and in a final act
of law, after seven years, offered a settlement. They gave all the
company's current right, title, and interest to all its holdings on
Surebleak to Grampa. That included the original administrative
area, and the marshaling yards . . .

Like so many others, he'd been swindled: the
ditch was worked clean and worth nothing, and the marshaling yard
had long been converted into farms for the portside executives.

In the end Grampa moved to his holding,
found himself a wife and a girlfriend and some monographs on
farming, and dug in, sure that eventually, things would turn out.
It wasn't long before he was doing well enough, in the strange way
that things worked on Surebleak. His daughter, of course, was
brought up to farm, and then her sons, after she left…and now Yulie
walked to the people next door, hoping for a boon. He had good
food, what he needed was transportation and trade for it . . .
especially now, a way to replace the lighting that Rollie'd always
traded for.

It was a trick of geography that could let
him arrive first at the market and then at the small streets and
buildings, and then go through the tollbooth, if he were so
inclined -- but really, since he wasn't much interested in anything
but the market and the farmers, he headed that way, the day warming
on him in a way that warned of incoming moisture. He walked more
slowly now, not liking to overheat if he was going to be seeing
people, the road now a sandy gravel as he approached the
market.

Yulie could just about identify the stalls
and stall owners when the edge of his hearing was tickled by an odd
sound. It was not one of Surebleak's rare birds, but it bounced
around considerably, and it wasn't an aircraft. It was a more like
a moan, speeding up and then down, rising and decreasing in volume
. . .

Whatever it was, it traveled the road, a
tail of dust behind it, rapidly approaching the dimly seen
tollbooth, and just as rapidly charging through, all the guards
standing aside.

The distant market folk were as transfixed
as he, and the sound grew both closer and louder, and down slope he
could see the glint of the vehicle. It came on, shiny as dew on the
grass, scattering walkers and small carts out of the way. It rushed
at him, silver glinting from all the polished surfaces, and he
stepped into the gully, trying to push back the panic that rose in
him.

The vehicle charged on, not pausing.

Unless the driver was mad, there was only
one place it could be going.

To his house.

Yulie turned and began running, up hill,
toward home, the cabbages banging at his back.

* * *

The morning had been considerably hectic and much more
uncomfortable than expected. Pat Rin had never expected to
miss
the wallow of his mother's landau but the rattle-filled car
was simply not up to the paving, or lack thereof, on this section
of the road he supposedly controlled. He'd gone to the road's end
once before, at a stately pace, some twelve days before his
expedition to Liad, but that ride had been marked by ceremonial
stops at each of the tollbooths, exchanges of gifts, small sips of
whatever the local Boss thought potable, and the inevitable meeting
of the first three or four ranks of each tollbooth crew.

This expedition was frantic from the outset.
The portacom call had shattered rest, and the breakfast thrown onto
the table soon after had been functional and little else. In need
of speed, they'd all drunk some of Cheever McFarland's blend of
coffee, which no doubt multiplied the current feel of dangerous
speed. McFarland's unfinished mission of the day before haunted
them now.

Awake on need, he heard the unmistakable
timbre, not of Shan's voice or Val Con, as he might expect, but of
the rapidly socializing brother of his cousin.

"Boss Pat Rin yos' Phelium Clan Korval,
Master Gambler, I give you greetings. I have sighted the landing
zone indicated and, following my brother's wishes that this portion
of his art be conducted as smoothly as possible, I have entered
into a course arriving there this day. I look forward to seeing you
again as we walk together with my brother."

And that was that: the tree was landing.

He'd tried of course --

"There are preliminaries, Edger, yet undone.
I do not seek to school you in haste or --"

Uncharacteristically, Edger had spoken over
him.

"My brother is in the throes of what may be
his most elegant and urgent artwork yet. I will not fail him in
this, as my delay in earlier matters of art interfered in the work
in progress. We will walk together soon, you and I, and discuss
this art."

"Wait at least until --"

"Before the local sun sets on the site, you
will assure me that the way is clear."

And that had been the end of the
conversation.

"How many more?"

"We're not there yet, Boss. Two more."

"Excellent!" is what he said, but the ceaseless cry of the
siren drowned him out as he fiddled with two piles, one printouts
of old company records and the second hastily written legal papers
based on the admittedly thin standing his title of Boss gave him.
The other standing he held -- he looked down at his ring --
that
standing was certainly an odd one as well. For the first
time in memory there were
two
Korval Clan rings. Val Con wore his, the proper
original, worn and fractured as it was, while the one recognized
here on Surebleak was the wonderfully crafted counterfeit given him
by the Department of the Interior. Not that the materials were
counterfeit, but that the whole of it was part of a scheme to turn
Korval into a puppet of the Department. And now…

And now Korval was depending on him as much
or more than ever.

"Can we go faster?"

Gwince managed to shake her head and avoid a
lumbering truck full of squash at the same time, eyes briefly on
Pat Rin through the rear-view.

"If you say so, Boss. The car's already
gonna need fixing when we get home."

"Do it."

They could and they did. Cheever McFarland's
overflight had spotted the apparent landowner to home and not
carrying a long gun, and now they rushed past Boss Ira's second
tollbooth without acknowledging the various attempted salutes as
well as the gestures that were not, quite, salutes from those
clearing way for him. Ahead, when he looked, the Boss could see
farmers hurrying to the side, and the occasional lurch showed that
not all of the travelers used enough alacrity, even with the siren.
They'd have to push on the emergency vehicle protocols.

"Little more coffee up here Boss," Gwince
told him. "You want it?"

"I do not. If it keeps you sharp, I suggest
you use it."

They came that quickly to Melina Sherton's
hold, and screamed through it, still scattering people before them.
Gwince said "Last one, Boss," rousing Pat Rin from an inner debate
on how many items of Code he'd broken today. When his mother
arrived from her missions no doubt he'd receive particular tuition
in his faults.

One last straggler before them, knapsack
bouncing, gained the gully ahead, and then open road past the
farmer's market, and perhaps some chance of a successful
negotiation.

* * *

Yulie wasn't like Rollie -- he spent no time
swearing -- but he was running now on adrenaline, a situation that
always put him pre-panic. Not good to have strangers in the yard,
not good to try to do this all himself, not good to --

He stopped his rapid march, stomping his
feet at himself. The "not good" was more dangerous than anything,
right now, because it took thought from him

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath,
felt his feet on the ground, the knapsack on his back, the growing
breeze on his face. He opened his eyes, slowly, and stretched.

Overhead was the new moonlet, bright and
motionless in the light, larger maybe than it had been, but,
motionless.

That, of course, was unlikely. Anything that
size in low orbit should visibly move. He craned his neck and saw
no evidence that it moved.

He closed his eyes again, staggering when he
opened them, and the moonlet remained there.

The other option was that the moon was
larger than he believed, and in the synchronous orbit, always to
remain overhead.

He faced forward, looked up.

No change.

He held no confidence in the idea that the
moonlet was hovering, but --

He shook his head, saw his shadow, looked to
the sky, where a small cloud's shadowed underbelly came between him
and the moon. And then revealed the moon, giving the momentary
sense that the thing was moving … but then as the cloud distanced
itself it was clear that again, the moon was not moving
perceptibly.

He felt like bolting, like hiding and
covering his head until everything went away. That hadn't worked
though, and he'd gotten behind --

"Doing something is better than doing
nothing," Grampa had told him more than once.

He'd been doing something. He better just do
it.

Keeping his head level, eyes forward, he
snugged the knapsack and took a step. Then another, a little
faster, and then another, faster, not quite coming to a trot. The
cats needed him.

* * *

The kitchen was tidy, if one ignored the cat
on the countertop. Pat Rin had been trying to ignore it, but it was
large enough to do damage if provoked, and who knew what might
provoke it, as skittish as it was, and the landowner alike.

His eyes were brown and wary, and he had a
right to be wary. His movements were disturbing in some odd way --
skittish. Like he suddenly might jump for the door, or for the gun
on the wall, or for Pat Rin himself at any moment. It was by main
force of will, Pat Rin thought, that the man Yulie sat at all.

"Melina told me about you," he said, "she
told me I should send to you. She told me I ought to go see you,
but I didn't. She said you were an even-handed Boss, the best she's
seen."

Pat Rin spread his hands slowly, turning the
extremely modest bow he'd started into a nod.

"I'm pleased she speaks well of me," he
admitted, "it makes one feel worthy of being Boss. Boss Sherton
told me of you as well," he said; "of your holdings. Of you, as a
farmer. She speaks highly of you as well. And that is why I am
here, you see, because I have taken it upon myself to hold the road
open, with the help of the other Bosses. It is good for farmers, it
is good for the Bosses, and it good for the Port."

"But this thing about the road -- "

Pat Rin nodded.

"Yes. I have asked you if you are fond of
the old ditch, and you tell me no. I repeat that what I need, as
Boss and as member of Clan Korval, is a place for my kin to live.
It will be a change for you, to have such near neighbors, I know,
but understand, these are neighbors who will appreciate your right
to privacy. In addition, they will assist in the upgrading of the
road, and they will assist in Boss Sherton's plan to take the road,
starting at the farmers market, toward the sea."

He'd begun, had Pat Rin, as soon as the
man's cat had stopped stropping at his legs, as soon as the man had
managed to catch his breath in front of the low house, with the
baldest statement of his mission he'd been able to formulate on the
bouncing ride.

"I am Boss Conrad, also known as Pat Rin
yos' Phelium. I come as both to purchase access through your land
to the abandoned pit, for my kin. Your own lands and fields will be
untouched."

They'd stood in a tableau for some moments,
both aware of the unnatural moon hanging above, neither admitting
it was there until finally the cat had stretched to Yulie's hand,
seeking a head rub. Gwince remained around the car, talking
complaints into a recorder, saying things like "quarter panel
scrape passenger side, gonna need filling. Door gonna need …."

The man had glanced at Gwince, and pointed
toward the house, saying, "And I'm Yulie Shaper. I guess we better
talk. Come on in."

There were on the table ten cantra pieces,
all of which had been examined minutely, and two tested with a
knife, and there were two cups, one of which held coffee of a very
potent scent, and the other, which held a fragrant tea.

"Melina Sherton never told me you was
crazy."

The laugh came unbidden, a natural and not a
social laugh, and Pat Rin nodded the point.

"Nor did she say that you were. It appears
that the times make us crazy, Yulie Shaper."

Yulie's skittishness lessened, which put the
cat at ease. The cat retracted feet until it rested like a furry
log on the counter, eyes on Yulie.

"That's real money," said the farmer,
touching the coins again. "Out there, that's Worlds End, and that's
real. How's anybody going to live there? Nothing there but old
bedrock and streams that don't go nowhere. Let's look at the
reality of the situation. How can ten cantra be a balance for all
that empty?"

"
That empty
, as you put it, that is precisely what is needed
since Clan Korval has contrived, with the assistance of relatives
and friends, to bring the house itself, much as the company brought
here prefabbed units, growing chambers, stasis storage bins --
"

Yulie sat straight, bringing the cat to sit
straight as well.

Pat Rin raised his hands away from the table
and looked the farmer directly in the eyes, speaking
soft-voiced.

"Yes, we do have those records -- we know --
but it is of no matter. Please understand that I am far too
involved with other matters . . ."

The calm voice seemed to help, and Pat Rin
spread his hands, ring bright. He tapped the ring thoughtfully.