Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (31 page)

“Yes’m. Must be a slow day.”

Priscilla drew a deep breath, tasting ash and rot. In the screen, the camera pods were released, swarming toward the
Passage
like so many bees.

“Increase the inner shield,” she said sharply.

Dil Nem threw a startled look over his shoulder, his fingers already moving on the board.

“Increase inner shield,” he said. “Yes, Captain.”

“Open a line to the lead cutter,” she said. “I want to talk to the pilot in charge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Kik, fingers likewise moving. “I’m not getting an ack on their private frequency…second try…third…”

“Go to Public Channels,” Priscilla said, stomach tight with sudden panic. Kik touched the switch, sent—

“
Dutiful Passage
,” the message came loud, across the broadbeam. “You are advised that this increased shielding is inappropriate and against regulations established by the Langlast Port Authority for orbiting vessels. You are advised that shields must be brought down to Low Hazard Orbital Maintenance Security level, as per applicable Piloting Regulation Forty-Four. If you do not comply with regulations and allow us to complete our inspection, you will be fined and banned from this port. This is a security and safety operation, orders from shift director.”

“Public Channels,” Priscilla said. “I will answer. Are we logging this?”

“Yes, Captain,” said Dil Nem.

“Broadbeam open, ma’am,” Kik said.

“This is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza Clan Korval, captain of
Dutiful Passage
, out of Surebleak. We see an anomaly. Please explain why there are three cutters releasing an increased number of pods than we have seen on previous inspections. If a situation has been found that is deemed suspicious, we wish to be notified so that we can work with the customs office to resolve the problem.”

“The customs office has its protocols and its reasons. Drop the shields to LHOMS level as previously ordered and allow us to continue our inspection. We must establish and ensure that your ship is not a danger to other traffic.”

“Captain,” Dil Nem said, low-voiced, “the drones are proceeding.”

Priscilla looked to the screen. The drones were indeed proceeding, and there was something about those drones…

“Ship alert,” she said, intuition raising hackles, “crew to General Quarters.”

Dil Nem punched the code in and the two-tone warning echoed through the ship as the Captain’s voice raced on:

“Comm: compare to log. Are those the same drones we’ve seen before? Cross-check drone and cutter database.”

“Comparing—no match to log,” Kik said.

The screen inset flickered with matching images, adjusted for size, for shape, for purpose.

“Open—” A sharp breath. “Different cutter, attack pylons!”

The image flickers stopped and the inset showed clear IDs.

“Type match. They’re military-grade pods, ma’am: seed-bombers.”

Dil Nem snapped his webbing into place, and pulled the seat belt snug. Kik did the same as Priscilla stood resolute behind them.

Seed-bombers explosively released clouds of small, limpetlike bombs, which would then attach to a ship’s hull and explode. No one strike was likely to be fatal, but many small strikes could certainly disable even a large tradeship. The explosive launch easily propelled the bombs through a basic meteor shield like the LHOMS, and could even overwhelm medium hazard shielding.

The cutters continued to close slowly, but the drones accelerated, darting toward the
Passage.

“Top shields!” Priscilla snapped, just as the closest robot-bomber released its deadly cargo.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Gem Garden

Langlastport

“Welcome, Master Trader!” Tarona Rusk called from the back of the store. “Please, join me here so that we may talk in comfort.”

The shop was not so brightly lit today, though the cases themselves blazed with light and color. Shan walked slowly toward the back and the waiting vendor, giving each case that he passed a searching glance. It was a thing traders learned, or they did not stay long at trade—to assess a sample case, or a display shelf with a glance, on the alert for anomalies and items of interest.

Thus far, though it was a perfectly adequate shop of its kind, nothing in the Gem Garden caught his trained eye. Unless Master Rusk had something very interesting indeed back in her corner, this was destined to be a very short visit. One must be courteous, of course, but if there was nothing on offer that would fit the
Passage
’s mix, that was simply a fact of business.

Ahead, the vendor waited, standing beyond a darkened case. He stepped forward, there being nothing to see—

And cried out in agony as fire shot along his veins, and his life boiled away.

* * *

He crouched inside Healspace, one knee and one fisted hand braced against the misty ground. His breath came in great sobs, his thoughts staggering and disordered. Pain, gods; the pain—

“You left the pain behind you, child. Here now, let me help you stand.”

The voice…he raised his head and looked into a familiar hawk-nosed face.

“Lute.”

His other self produced an edged smile. “There, now, I knew your wits hadn’t wandered far.”

Shan cast that aside with a toss of his head.

“What just happened?”

“You walked into a trap, your henchman at the follow. I don’t wish to concern you, but it would seem your case is dire. I am with you—what would you have me do?”

Shan stared into the black eyes, which were as serious as ever he’d seen them.

“If you are truly able to do anything in my time and space—protect my daughter. That trap was closed on one of us previously, and our enemy is without mercy.”

“I will do what I may for the maiden, your daughter. Stand now, and gather what strength you may from this good place.”

Lute rose, and held down one wiry hand. Shan took it, and rose, distressed to find that he needed the aid.

“Come to me now,” Lute said, opening his arms. Shan likewise opened his arms and they embraced.

Strength rose in him, cold and implacable. The thousand cuts through which his life had bled out were healed, and he heard his blood singing in his veins. He saw the links to Padi, to Priscilla, as bars of living light, and Lute cradled him as sweetly as his mother had used to do.

He sighed, drawing upon the virtue of Healspace, then blinked, as if woken from a dream, as Lute ended the embrace and stepped back, raising his hand to show the red counter, held between thumb and forefinger.

“A token,” Lute murmured, “so that the maiden will believe.” He turned his head abruptly. “She comes,” he said sharply. “Fare you well, child. I to the maiden.”

He was gone, faded away into the mists just before the mists themselves faded, and Shan opened his eyes into a blare of light.

* * *

He was sitting in a chair—no, he corrected himself, glancing down. He was bound quite thoroughly into a chair, his back straight, his arms tight against the rests, his feet flat on the floor, knees wrapped with the chair legs. He could move his head, which he did at a slight sound from his left.

Vanner Higgs sat, unbound, in a chair very similar to his. His blunt, lived-in face was utterly without expression. His eyes were open, but it was plain that he saw nothing. Shan extended his senses, seeing a tangle of black intent twisted cunningly around the man’s emotive pattern, and around what might be his waking mind.

“Splendid! You return!” a woman’s exclaimed from quite nearby. “How did you enjoy your first kiss from the
dramliz
-killer?”

He turned his head to face Tarona Rusk, his captor, sitting on the desk before him, leaning back on her hands, and utterly at her ease.

“Sadly without finesse,” he replied, keeping his voice calm. “I wonder why you have removed me from its embrace.”

“An excellent question.”

She smiled, as if he were a particularly clever student.

“While there are those of us who believe that it would satisfy our mission goal to simply deprive Korval of its master trader, yos’Galan of its thodelm, and Val Con yos’Phelium of his
cha’leket
, others of us wish to conserve resources. I speak no flattery when I say that you are extremely powerful—doubly so, for one who is merely
cha’dramliza
. As a teaching master myself, I find it possible to be critical of your teachers. They did not push you hard enough, merely—curiously—to the point where it suited you to have them give over, eh? Coming full
dramliza
would not have done for you at all, would it? A Healer might yet pursue a life of trade, but a
dramliza
would have other calls upon his time and his nature.”

“Power alone does not a
dramliza
make,” Shan said, his inner sight on the dire tangle around Vanner’s soul. The man had not moved, he had not blinked; he was utterly in thrall, and if that was the work of the woman before him…

“True, very true,” Tarona Rusk said now, as if they were merely chatting over tea. “Proper training, however, may accomplish much with raw resource. Sometimes, you know, we masters must be a little cruel, in order to open our students to their fullest potential. You will understand, presently.”

“Do you intend to make me your student, then? As much as it must pain me to say it, I would prefer not.”

“You will change your mind, in time,” she said, with perfect good cheer. “Now! In a moment, you will be tested. If you are not able to rise to the challenge—well. There is always the path favored by those of us who see harm to Korval as the greatest good we might accomplish. I will tell you, however, that I believe you will triumph in the testing.”

“Your faith in me is humbling,” Shan murmured. “But I do not think that I am interested in participating in your test.”

“That is every student’s choice,” she said cordially. “Attend me, now.”

She raised a hand and pointed at Vanner, sitting enthralled and motionless.

“Here we have a subject. I shall influence him to an action, while you will seek to influence him to a different action. Thus, we shall test your innate ability.”

Shan took a breath, trying to still the sudden fear.

“He is not of Korval, and he is not of the
dramliz
,” he said reasonably. “You have no quarrel with him. Let him go.”

“Certainly, he is no
dramliza
: blind and dumb, this one, and so charmingly open to suggestion—thus.”

Sitting stiff in his chair, Vanner moved, slowly, while his face remained blank and his eyes remained sightless. He raised his right hand, reached beneath his jacket…

…and withdrew his gun.

Shan’s breath went short; horror filled him. Healer sight showed him the black threads moving, manipulating, compelling. The sense of those manipulating energies was beyond him, but he could glimpse Vanner’s emotive grid in gaps left by the encroaching threads—and what he saw was terror and despair.

He tried to enclose the threads—he could not touch them.

And Vanner’s hand still rose inexorably, turning now, and the muzzle sought its nest under the square chin.

Shan took a breath and thrust his will through one of the gaps in the threads, snatching at the place where Vanner’s pattern was light and lit with joy—memories, those were; happy memories—and threw them before the unseeing eyes.

The gun stopped moving.

Vanner surged to his feet, casting the thing away, joy singing through his pattern, and ecstasy on his face. He took a step, toward what encompassing happiness only he could know—

And folded onto the floor with a final thud, the life torn from him between one breath and the next.

Shan clamped his jaw, locking his cry of protest, of pain, in his chest.

There was silence. A glance at his captor revealed her to be studying him, head tipped to one side, eyes wide and intent.

He drew a breath, and another, and asked the question as calmly as he could manage.

“Precisely what was the point of that?”

She shrugged, very much in the Terran way, dismissing Vanner as if he were so much soiled laundry.

“He is of no further use to us. The other members of the team would certainly not have granted him his freedom, save in this same manner, only with much more pain beforehand. You made your point over me by recalling him to ecstasy. It seemed the best I might do for you, my student, who held his oath, to free him on that note.”

She shrugged again, the gesture more fluidly Liaden this time.

“Now that you have passed your testing, and become therefore my student, I will examine you. It will, as you know, be far less disagreeable if you open your shields and willingly allow me within.”

“But I don’t want you within,” Shan said, gathering his will and thrusting it the core of her dense pattern like a knife. “I don’t like you. I am not your student, and I believe you have bitten off a far bigger piece of Korval than you can reasonably chew. You might save the lives of yourself and your team, if you let me go now.”

She laughed.

“You must of course try, and it was, if you will allow me, a very credible effort. I am impressed by such an effort from a mere Healer. Now, we have very little time for pleasantries. My colleagues will be returning with your heir very soon, and they will then wish to see results. In order to save your life, we must proceed.”

“My heir is a child and utterly untrained.”

“Indeed, indeed. I saw how it was with her during your first visit to this establishment. Her naivete will make her a pliant student. However, the lack of even the most basic training makes her less desirable to me as a student than yourself—trained, talented, and quick-witted. You will be a jewel in the crown of the Department’s recruitment program.”

“Recruitment?”

“Yes, did your brother not tell you? Well, no matter. Soon you will know for yourself. Open to me!”

The command voice was augmented with a lash of agony, which he managed to partially turn aside.

“Well done,” said Tarona Rusk mildly, and snapped again—“Open to me!”

The lash this time was a physical stripe across his forearm, slicing fabric and flesh. Blood welled, the pain quite astonishing.

“I am
dramliza
, little Healer. Spare yourself; open the shields.”

He threw his whole will into the shields, retreating behind them as much as he was able, even as the lash sliced twice in quick succession, and he heard himself cry out.

Behind the shields, he turned his attention to the links he shared with Priscilla, and with Padi. Tarona Rusk was strong; eventually, she would break his shields, and Padi—

Lute had promised to protect Padi.

If he managed it, Tarona Rusk would not find her through him.

And by all the gods that might exist, she
must not
find Priscilla.

He broke those links—
all
of them, even the strongest and most intimate…especially those. So much damage, so quickly—he was hurting her!

One more set of links to Priscilla. He cut them as quickly as he could; felt a wave of faintness, the searing blare of headache—and shook both away, turning his attention to the web that linked him to Padi.

This would be easier, he told himself. Padi herself had no awareness of the bonds; she would not feel the pain of separation.

He would.

Shan centered himself, feeling his shields shudder under Tarona Rusk’s continued attack. Quick, he must be quick. And, gods, he must not falter.

He extended his will toward the web that bound him to Padi—

—Just as they broke from the other side, a surgical slice that severed all at once.

Agony flared—and was gone, flaming out all in an instant.

Shan gathered his wits, and his strength, and turned his attention to the matter at hand.

—•—

They’d been right, of course, to strap in, and she should have done the same herself immediately, having issued General Quarters.

Now—

She felt the tension in the bridge, read the distant hum of the crew’s concern and fear, watched the screen as she moved quickly to her own chair to belt in. Anger flirted with annoyance in her: there was no need to threaten their child for some local chief’s bid for celebrity!

That
was a true Seeing, Priscilla knew, feeling power rise in her, feeling Moonhawk watching over her shoulder where no one stood, helping guard the child unformed. She blinked away the sense of Moonhawk, and returned to the streaming
now
of the monitor.

The unpowered swarm of limpets was like snow on the screen, tumbling toward the
Passage
and then jouncing in their movement as the ship’s fields took hold, rejecting them, pushing most of them into odd arcs and bouncing some few directly away from the ship.

“Shall I arm weapons?”

Dil Nem’s inquiry brought a frisson of power again, and a voice…not quite Shan’s, a shadow, fingering a flashing counter, “A blade loose too soon is a mistake with someone’s blood on it.”

Moonhawk had bowed to that voice in another life. Priscilla nodded at the memory.

“No,” she said to Dil Nem. “Do not arm. That’s what they want. Track, but do not arm.”

Images on screen showed a confusing disarray now, the cutters braking and evading the very mines with which they sought to entangle
Dutiful Passage
.

“Comm,” she said, “broadcast these screens live on one channel, and the replay of our contacts on another. Broadbeam it and send direct to the Trade Guild, the Pilots Guild, and to Langlast Port Authority. Add this—”

Priscilla sat straighter, took a deep, calming breath, and pressed the comm button:

“To all pilots, traders, travelers, and citizens of Langlast. This is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza Clan Korval, captain of
Dutiful Passage
, out of Surebleak.